#(some generational trauma she picked up and carried over) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dontaskmemybias · 1 year

Text

Safe

Pairing: Non Idol!Han Jisung x afab reader

Request: No

Theme: Friends to Lovers

Contains: Family trauma, alcohol, Fingering, Oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (don’t be stupid wrap it before you tap it), marking.

Word Count: 5,102 (Jeez I got carried away)

Note: MINORS DNI!!! This is a work of fiction and does not portray any of the members irl. This is my first fic like this so I hope you like it 🥰

You knew today would be hard, visiting your family always is. Your mom is constantly worrying over you and your life decisions, asking about your dating life, your mental health, and just generally being as invasive as possible. That’s why when Jisung texted asking if you wanted to hang out you jumped at the opportunity to get some one-on-one time with your best friend.

You were driving to pick him up after leaving your moms house, blasting your favorite band and attempting to sing along to get your head back on your shoulders when you realized that you had forgotten your wallet at your moms. Cursing yourself, you shot a text to Jisung to let him know you’d be late and flipped around to head back to your moms apartment.

As soon as you walked in you saw her with a glass of red wine in hand and a look on her face that you know means she has more questions for you. You let out a sigh and prepared yourself for the words hanging on the tip of her tongue.

“What did you forget this time?”

“My wallet”

“I swear you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your body” she sighs into her wine glass, taking a long sip.

You try to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her statement and instead bunched your hands into fists at you sides while you looked around for your wallet. Once you found it you grabbed it and waved it above your head. “Found it”

She looks at you and shakes her head “You really need to get your shit together Y/N, one of these days you’re going to lose something important and it won’t be there when you go back to get it.” She takes another drink of her wine and looks at you with sadness and disappointment in her eyes.

You took in a shaky breath trying not to let her words get to you and thought for a moment before speaking. “You’re right, I’ll try to get better.” And without another word you left her apartment.

When you got into your car the tears started falling freely and you tried to catch your breath. You looked down at your phone and saw a text from Jisung.

- No worries! Just let me know when you are on your way. ☺️

If the tears were falling before they were positively pouring down your face now. You picked up your phone and called Jisung.

“Y/N! You on your way?”

You sat in silence for a moment and took in a shaky breath, Jisung heard and immediately got worried.

“Hey babe take a deep breath and tell me what happened.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname and you pushed down the feeling deep inside of you so you could focus on just telling Jisung what happened.

“My mom…” you trailed off. Jisung had known you for years now and you had told him a bit about the love-hate relationship you had with your mother, so he needed no further words to understand what was going on.

“Do you still want to hang out? It’s okay if you need some alone time to process everything.”

“No,” you immediately replied. “No I really need to see you, get some good vibes back in my day you know?”

He let out a shaky breath and you couldn’t tell what he was feeling on the other side of the phone but he spoke out a soft “okay good. I’ll see you soon.”

The drive to Jisung place went by faster than usual and as soon as he saw your tear-soaked face he opens your door and leans in to give you a warm hug. He pulls away and brings his hand up to wipe a tear off your face. “Hey beautiful, you look tired, do you want to just stay here tonight?”

You smiled at his kindness and how gentle he was treating you, like a cat that might get spooked if he spoke too loud. “Yeah that sounds really nice.” You replied with a soft smile on your face.

When you got into Jisung apartment he wraps his arms around you again and sighs into your hair, rubbing small confronting circles on your back with his thumbs. You let yourself melt into him, his familiar scent comforting you. The tension in your shoulders lessened as he continued his comforting movements and after a few moments he was the first to break the silence “How does pizza sound? We can order in and watch your favorite show?” You looked up at him, still in his arms, and a genuine smile graced your face for the first time that day. “That sounds heavenly.”

Jisung ordered the pizza and now you two were cuddled up on his couch watching your favorite show. It felt like the stress of your day was washing off you with every low chuckle Jisung let out and you wondered how you possibly could deserve someone as wonderful as him in your life.

After a bit the pizza showed up and the two of you INHALED the delicious treat, not realizing how hungry you were until you smelled the cheesy delight. After the pizza was gone and you had cleaned up you looked to your phone and saw how late it was.

“Ji, it’s like 3am, I should probably head home”

Jisung looks at you with worry in his eyes. “Y/N, it’s like 3am, you should not be driving right now.”

You locked eyes with him and let out a small chuckle at his worried look. “Well how else am I supposed to get home?”

“You aren’t, you’re staying here tonight.” He said as if it was the most obvious fact and not something you had never done before.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be an inconvenience, plus I’m not sure I can fit on your couch.” You gestured at the small couch you were seated on, barely long enough to fit a child let alone someone of your height.

“Who said anything about the couch? My bed is big enough for two and if you aren’t comfortable with that I can always sleep on the floor!” He flashes you his heart shaped grin and crescent eyes and you swore you could feel your heart stop at the thought of sharing a bed with Jisung. You weren’t blind, your best friend was incredibly attractive and on certain days you found yourself daydreaming about what a relationship with Jisung would be like. But that was it, you made sure to never act on these dreams for a fear that you may lose him if you said anything. But now your beautiful best friend was offering his bed to you with a smile that made you feel at home and you would be a fool to turn down his offer.

“Okay I’ll stay with you tonight.” You tried to hide your nerves by flashing him a full faced smile but you couldn’t help the rapid increase of your heartbeat. You just hoped that the TV was loud enough that he couldn’t hear your labored breathing.

Jisung just smiles at your words and grabs your hand to lead you to his room as he turns off the TV. Your mind was racing as he pulls out a spare tee shirt and hand it to you. “I figured this would probably be more comfortable to sleep in, would you like some shorts too? I know you said before you can’t sleep in pants” he says, getting quieter as his sentence goes on and all you can think is how he remembers that even though you’ve only mentioned it once. You take the tee shirt and smile at him. “Shorts would be nice.” You shyly say, deciding to ignore the fact that he remembered something so small about you.

Jisung hands you a pair of shorts and gestures towards the bathroom so you can go in and change. When you walked in you closed the door behind you and began to undress and put on Jisung’s clothes, smiling to yourself when you notice they still smell like him. After you changed you knocked on the door to make sure Jisung was dressed before you walked into his room. If your heart wasn’t racing before it definitely was now that you saw Jisung in nothing but boxers and a tank top looking sheepishly at you from his bed. “I can put pants on if that would make you more comfortable but those are actually my only pair of clean shorts at the moment and I also can’t sleep in pants.” He says gesturing to the shorts you are currently wearing.

“No that’s okay!” You quickly say. “I want you to be comfortable too.” You smiled at him and began to walk towards the bed. Jisung opens the blankets for you and you slid underneath them. He smiles at you and gets under the covers as well, putting a decent amount of distance between the two of you.

“Get some good sleep sweetheart, I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that he turns out the light and you are left in the dark, mind racing thinking about the new nickname he used.

~✨~

You woke up feeling… trapped? You couldn’t really move your body but for some reason it didn’t scare you. When your eyes adjusted to the dark you realized that you were not experiencing sleep paralysis, rather sometime in the night Jisung had wrapped his whole body around you. His arms were holding your body flush to his and his leg was draped over your own, you could feel his steady breath on the nape of your neck indicating he was still fast asleep. You closed your eyes and took in the feeling of having him so close to you and your body relaxed into his. You smiled and let yourself drift back to sleep.

~✨~

When you woke up next the sun was up and Jisung was still clinging to your body like a second skin. You chuckled lightly and the movement must have been enough to pull Jisung from his sleep because you heard him let out a hum and you felt him shift a bit. Then after a second his eyes shot open and upon seeing the position you two were in he flings himself off the bed and starts rambling off apologies. You laughed and looked over at his wide worried eyes and smiled at him. “It’s okay Ji, it was kinda nice.” You turned your head away to hide the blush forming on your cheeks but if you had looked a bit longer you would’ve noticed the pink flush that appeared on Jisung’s face when you spoke.

The rest of the morning went by quickly, Jisung insisted on making you breakfast but after burning his third piece of toast you took over the cooking. You made your signature pancakes and the two of you laughed and ate and you felt lighter than you had all day yesterday. Finally around 3pm you decided to head home, giving Jisung a hug on your way out. As you walked out the door he grabs your wrist and clears his throat. “Hyunjin is throwing a party Friday, would you want to go?” Jisung sounded… nervous? But why would he be nervous? You always went to Hyunjin’s parties together.

“Of course I will! We always go together!” You smiled at him.

“Right, yeah, of course!” He let go of your wrist and smiled back at you. “See you then!”

~✨~

The week went by super fast with all the projects you had at work and before you knew it Friday was here. You were excited and nervous to go to the party but you didn’t really know why, you and Jisung went to all of Hyunjin’s parties, why did it feel different this time?

Maybe because every time you went to sleep you remembered how his arms felt around you, how his breath tickled your neck, how safe you felt in his embrace.

You shook the thoughts out of your head. This is just Jisung, the same Jisung who told you awful dad jokes, who didn’t know how to spell necessarily until he was 21, the same Jisung who once burped the ABC’s for you when you said he couldn’t do it. You could do this, so what if he was incredibly attractive and kind, he was just a friend.

You decided that you were probably just horny and Jisung is the only guy you had any kind of connection with, so with that in mind you set a goal for the night: to get laid. That way you could get it out of your system and Jisung would go back to being just a friend in your mind. You put on your favorite black dress (that Jisung had picked out at the store) and some sparkly makeup. Looking in the mirror you saw how hot you looked and smiled at the thought of catching someone’s eye tonight. After finishing your hair you put on your heels and headed out the door.

~✨~

You got out of the Uber at Hyunjin’s to find the party in full swing. Once you walked in you could practically feel the bass reverberating in your ribcage. You looked around and found the alcohol on the bar in the kitchen and walked over to grab a seltzer. Once you got there you felt someone’s eyes on you and smiled thinking you’d attracted a potential hookup, when you turned around your smile faltered when you saw who it was. Jisung’s eyes were glued to yours and you felt your breath hitch at the intensity of his stare. Your heart started pounding as he walked over to you dressed in black ripped jeans, a white v-neck shirt, with a black jean jacket to complete the look. When he reaches you he eyes you up and down and leans in to whisper in your ear. “You look stunning tonight sweetheart.” You felt your face flush and you took a large swig of your drink before answering. “You don’t look so bad yourself handsome.” And you flashed him your most confident smirk thanking Hyunjin for keeping the lights low so he hopefully couldn’t see how red your face had gotten.

“TRUTH OR DARE LIVING ROOM COME JOIN IF YOU AREN’T A SQUAREEEEEE!!!” You heard Hyunjin scream from somewhere in the house. Jisung looks at you, extending a hand. “Let’s play?” You took it and let him lead you to the living room where your friends were already forming a circle.

“Alright here’s the rules, we spin the bottle and the person it lands on picks truth or dare, no mean dares and no fucking in my room but other than that everything goes. If you refuse the question or dare you drink. Everyone understand?” Hyunjin looks around to see if anyone’s got questions and when he sees they don’t he takes a seat and spins the bottle.

It lands on Felix first who picks truth and has to confess that he has never had sex in public before, no one is surprised.

The rounds keep going until Lee Know spins and it finally lands on Jisung.

“Truth or Dare?”

“Dare” Jisung’s reply is immediate and leads to your friends laughing and mumbling about how eager Jisung seems.

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest person in the room.” Lee Know locks eyes with Jisung and smirks like he already knows who Jisung will pick.

Jisung’s eyes flit to your own and you feel your breathing become erratic when he swallows hard on nothing and before you can react he brings his beer to his lips and takes a large drink while the whole room erupts in chaos of people shouting things like “It’s just a kiss!” And “Pussy!” Jisung chuckles and ignores them to spin the bottle. And to your horror it lands on you.

Jisung smirks the hottest smirk you’ve ever seen before leaning over to Chan, the two exchange some whispers before Jisung sits up and asks, “Truth or Dare?” The gleam in his eyes makes your heart speed up as you run through the options in your head. If you choose truth he could ask if you have a crush on someone and if you drink and don’t answer he will just ask you in private and you’ll have to say something or else it would be obvious, so before your mind can make the decision your mouth speaks “Dare.”

The “oooohhhs” that come from your friends mouths barely register as you best friend smirks again and all you can see is him. He opens his mouth and nothing could have prepared you for the words he spoke next.

“I dare you to leave this party with me right now.”

A hush falls over your friends, you look around and you see most of them displaying clear signs of excitement, others of confusion. Before your eyes land on Jisung once again and without speaking you say “Okay.”

If you thought it was chaos after Jisung’s turn it was nothing compared to the screams and cheers surrounding you now. You clearly hear Hyunjin mumble “Finally” and Chan screaming “YASSSSS!” At the top of his lungs but it all fades away when Jisung reaches his hand out to you and pulls you off of the floor. He puts his arm around your waist and walks you out the door.

Once you are outside you see Jisung has already ordered an Uber and it pulls up moments later. As the two of you got into the car you realize neither of you had spoken since you left the game. Jisung is the first to break the silence.

“I really just wanted to be alone with you for a bit, the party was getting to be a bit much.” He sheepishly says while running a hand through his hair. You look over at him and see a clear blush across his cheeks. “Yeah I agree, the party was a bit much.” You couldn’t help the blush that creeps up your own cheeks as he rests his head on your shoulder and puts his hand on your knee.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence and when the Uber drops you off at Jisung’s he thanks the driver and takes your hand in his own. Your heart is hammering out of your chest at the small gesture and you mentally curse yourself for reacting like that when it’s common for you two to hold hands, but something about this time feels different.

After you got into Jisung’s apartment you fiddled with your hands, not sure what to do. “So did you want to watch a movie or something?” You say, finally looking at Jisung. When your eyes land on him he is sheepishly smiling with a crimson blush painting his face, unable to meet your eyes. He reaches up to run his hand through his hair again and let’s out a little chuckle before looking as if he is in deep thought.

“Jisung?”

He finally meets your eyes and let’s out a long sigh before muttering “fuck it.” Before you can process what is happening he takes a step toward you and grabs both your hands in his own.

“I like you, as more than a friend, I have for a while. I didn’t say anything because you are my Best. Friend. And I cannot bear the thought of losing you but I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this way, I can’t keep acting like every time you touch me I don’t feel my heart stop and every time you dress up I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. I can’t keep acting like I don’t fall asleep thinking about what it was like when you were in my arms and it kills me to think I might be fucking this up right now but I can’t keep going on like this because I love you Y/N, I think I always have. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same but I don’t think I can keep going on like this, I love having you in my life but it is getting too hard to not take you into my arms every time I see you and kiss every inch of you to show you just how much I love every single part of you.”

When Jisung’s eyes find yours again he sees they are filled with tears and you can see the panic on his face as his eyes begin to dart around the room. Before he can jump to any conclusions you whisper. “Why didn’t you kiss anyone during the game?”

He looks at his feet and says “I didn’t want our first kiss to be meaningless and just because of a stupid game.”

“The games over.” You whisper.

He looks at you again and sees the smile on your face so he leans in and kisses you. It’s a soft kiss, hesitant at first, but when he pulls away you closed the gap once again and the two of you melted into one another.

Kissing Jisung felt right, it felt like the world around you stopped so you could just enjoy the feeling of his plush lips against your own. You were first to pull away this time to catch your breath and as you did you put your hand on his cheek. He nuzzles into your hand and looks at you like you just hung the stars in the sky.

“Bedroom?” You ask and see as his loving gaze turns lustful. Without another word he grabs your hand and leads you to his room.

When you got to his room he pushed you up against the door and kissed you more passionately than before, you whimpered into the kiss and he took the opportunity to deliver a filthy lick into your mouth. You moaned at the sensation and his hips bucked into yours. He pulled away for a second to look you in the eyes. “If we continue I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.” You looked into his eyes and simply said

“Don’t stop.”

He growled and picked you up from under your thighs and pushed himself further into you. The sensation on your clothed core made you moan and throw your head back. He took the opportunity to attach to your neck biting and sucking so you knew there would be evidence for days to come. He walked you over to the bed, lips never leaving your neck as he threw you onto the bed and took a second to tear his jacket and shirt off his body. You took this as your cue to take your dress off as well. He groaned when he saw the lacy pink bra you had on and all but fell on top of you to latch onto your tits. You gasped at the sensation of his mouth on you even through the bra and through your head back into his pillows.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes and his hands moved from the bed to your waist and up your sides. When he came to your bra he stopped and when you nodded in confirmation he unclasped your bra and flung it somewhere in his room.

“Fuck I’ve wanted to play with these for so long.” He all but moaned as his hand came up to pinch your pink buds. You moaned at the sensation and when he latched onto your nipple with his mouth you gasped as his name fell from your lips. After what felt like hours but was realistically only a minute of him sucking your nipples his hands wandered down to the top of your underwear, playing with the hem. He suddenly stood up and you almost complained until you saw him undoing his belt. You sat up and placed your hands on his own and saw panic flood his face.

“Fuck am I going to fast? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I was just s-”

“Ji!” You stopped his panic and smiled at him. “It’s okay, I just wanted to take them off.” His brain short-circuited at your forwardness but he slowly moved his hands so you could take over. You slowly unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper, all whilst maintaining eye contact, and pulled the offending material off him. Once he stood before you in just his boxers you noticed the very prominent tent that had been pitched. You smirked at him as you reached out to touch it. When your hand made contact he groaned and threw his head back.

“Fuck baby you’re gonna be the death of me.”

You smiled and continued to palm him through his boxers until he brought his hand to your wrist and looked at you. “If you keep doing that I’m gonna blow and I REFUSE to cum before you.” His words caused you to clench on nothing and you nodded at him.

He pushed you gently back down on the bed and looked at you with the hungriest eyes you’ve ever seen your best friend sport. Then he positioned his head between your thighs and looked up at you while playing with your panties again.

“Can I take these off?” He asked flashing you a smirk.

If looks could kill god damn you’d be dead by now.

“Yes please Ji, I need you.”

At your words he pulled your underwear off of you slowly at first, then at seeing how wet you were already he all but ripped them off your body and threw them across the room. He put his hands on your thighs and spread you legs open for him. Then he leaned his head down and latched onto your clit, giving it such a hard suck you just about screamed his name. Seeing how fucked out you already were he went to work and ate you out like a man starved. You gasped and moaned, sure the neighbors knew exactly what was happening as Jisung gave you hands down the best head you had ever received. You frantically pulled at the sheets until one of Jisung’s hands reached up and moved your hand to his hair, not saying a word then returning his hands to your thighs. You experimentally pulled at his hair and he let out a lewd moan at the feeling directly into your clit making you let out an equally lewd moan.

“Ji, please.” You pleaded for nothing in particular but Jisung must have known what you needed because then you felt one of his hands move from your thigh so his fingers circled your hole a few times before sinking in and moving in a vigorous come hither motion. The action had you a panting moaning mess.

“Ji, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered which only caused him to double down on his efforts and give you the most satisfying orgasm of your life. He fingered and sucked you through it until your legs stopped shaking and finally he pulled up from you and looked at you with your cum dripping down his chin. The sight of him like that made you let out a moan as you pulled him on top of you for and messy kiss.

He pulled away and looked down at you with hearts in his eyes. You looked at him with lust blown pupils and said the words he’d wanted to hear for years.

“Ji, I want you inside me right now.”

His adoration filled eyes darkened and he pulled down his boxers to finally reveal his rock-hard dick. You stared down with your jaw on the floor at the mere sight of him.

“Let me grab a condom.” He said turning away from you. You grabbed his wrist and looked him dead in the eyes.

“I want you to fuck me raw Ji and cum inside. I’ve got an IUD and I can take a plan b if you want, but I want to feel you inside me.”

“Fuck baby what did I do to deserve you?” He groaned and leaned over you.

He laid you on your back with your legs spread wide for him to lay between. When he finally lined himself up, put his hands on your waist, and pushed in the first inch he let out the most pornographic moan you could’ve cum from that alone. He slowly made his way in so he didn’t hurt you and once he bottomed out you both moaned out at the sensation.

“Fuck I’ve never done this without a condom, I-fuck- don’t know how long I’ll last you feel so f-fucking good around me.” He struggled to get out.

“Don’t worry b-baby we’ve got all the time in the wo-world, c-cum soon if y-you need to.” You breathed back.

At that he started moving. Slowly at first, then finally picking up speed until you could feel the knot beginning to tighten in your belly once again. As if he could tell he brought his hand down and started circling your clit.

“FUCK JISUNG fuckfuckshit right there baby!”

He pounded into you and you knew there would be bruises on your waist tomorrow from the death grip his one hand had on you. The thought of his marks on you brought you over the edge and you let your orgasm wash over you, clenching on his cock in the process.

“FUCK Y/N baby your clenching so hard fuck I’m gonna fucking cum!” And with that Jisung painted your insides white, thrusting a few more times while you milked his cock.

After his final thrust he fell on top of you, a panting sweaty mess. After a few minutes you both started giggling and he rolled over to lay next to you. He reached out and moved your hair from your face, the look of adoration back in his eyes.

“That was more incredible than I ever imagined.” He breathed out.

“Same here, you’re a fucking god with that mouth.” You giggled back at him

“Oh?” He cocked his head up “This mouth?” He leaned in and kissed you, this kiss was filled with nothing but love. When he pulled away you sighed.

“Yes, that one.”

He giggled and pulled you into him, cradling you in his arms.

“Hey, Ji?”

“Yes beautiful?”

“I love you too.”

#han jisung smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #han smut #jisung smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours

252 notes · View notes

questionableratatouille00 · 6 months

Text

𝓜𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓷 5

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n knows that Natasha is dead. And once her friendship with Wanda really kicks off, from smiling at each other during therapy to going to each other’s houses for tea, she thinks she’s finally ready to move on. But the question is: how far will she be able to go?

Warnings (Entire Series): This series deals with mature topics, including, but not limited to: death, mental health issues, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, grief, trauma, general unwellness, illness (both mental and physical), and a most likely inaccurate portrayal of group therapy (though it’s much better than whatever was going on in TFATWS.) Please mind the warnings below.

Warnings: cursing, dead romantic partners, death, Halloween. Let me know to tag anything else.

🌻Series Masterlist 🌻

————————————————————————

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 You and Wanda had started to take turns going to each other’s places for tea or coffee or even dinner every so often. The first time you’d brought her to your apartment, after two days of cry-cleaning, she’d smiled warmly as she sat with you at your kitchen table.

You’d learned her husband’s name was Jarvis, but everyone called him Vision, because his eyesight was really good and his eyes were different shades of blue.

You’d told her about Natasha, about some of your funny memories together. You told her of deep red hair, icy blue eyes that held nothing but warmth and love and a sharp sense of humor. You told her of sarcastic jokes, of loving roasts and bad puns every so often. Of nerdy movies and DIY furniture.

And you knew you were developing a little bit of a crush on her, but you knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere. She was straight, wasn’t she? She had a whole ass husband, and she’d never mentioned anything about liking women.

Either way, you didn’t say no when she invited you on a mysterious outing one day.

You drove over to her house, which was in a pretty big suburban neighborhood. You were positive that you were the last one to arrive, noticing all the cars parked in the drive way and against the street.

You rang the doorbell, and it was Clint who opened the door for you.

“Hey, c’mon—Wanda’s elbow-deep in old Halloween decorations in the living room.” He explains, leading you through the house. It was a nice house, warm and comforting.

Clint led you into the living room, where Wanda, Sam, and Bucky were all sorting through decorations. On a first glance, you could see who was responsible for what—Bucky was surrounded by Halloween decor, and Sam had all the basic fall decorations, including pillow covers and painted canvases, and Wanda was separating the two things.

“Hey, you’re here!” Wanda grinned as Clint walked off to help Steve hang a banner on the wall of the dining room.

You smile, nodding. “How can I help?”

“C’mere, I need help carrying these bins back down to the basement.” Wanda directed you, having you help her stack the plastic tubs, and then the lids.

“I can carry the bins,” you offer, and before she can reply, you lift them off the ground.

“Thanks.” She picks up the lids, before guiding you through her pretty house and to a door. She opens it, revealing a set of stairs.

“The basement’s a bit rough-looking, and there’s a light with a string you have to pull down there. It’s a bit dark, sorry.” She apologized, beginning to walk down the stairs. They creaked as she stepped on them, and you bit your lip. It was a stereotypical scary basement.

“S’okay.” You replied, though for some reason, you were a bit scared. It felt scary, though you knew that rationally, it was just a basement.

You followed her down the creaking steps, taking slow, cautious steps. As you rounded the corner of the wall that kept the stairs out of view from the rest of the basement, you bit your lip.

“Here, I’ll find the light somewhere..” She mumbled quietly, tucking the bin lids under her left arm as she reached her right hand up at the ceiling, seemingly searching for the light string.

It was completely dark in the basement. It smelled like a basement, which somehow managed to mean it smelled like a dark and creepy enclosed space with no windows that was very much underground. You took slow, small steps, unable to see your feet from the way you were carrying the bins. You didn’t separate your knees when you walked, wanting to keep your chance of falling as close to zero as it could be.

As she searched for the pull chain of the light, you tried to glance around in the darkness. The only light was the mostly concealed light spilling out from the door at the top of the staircase, making the basement ten times creepier.

“Where is it..” She muttered, taking a few steps around in a circle, hand still in the air.

A figure stepped into your vision, and the first thing you noticed was its face. A true monster, with green skin and black details on its face, with horns protruding from its forehead. You couldn’t see anything but its face, but that was enough. It jumped out at you and Wanda, as it croaked out some broken strand of speech.

It let out a horrific shriek, and you screamed, dropping the bins as Wanda let the lids fall out of her hands, and they skittered across the hard and rough floor of the basement. She screeched too, racing behind you as you raced to her, hoping that you’d get taken out first and she could get away.

You both stood there, joints locked tight and frozen in pure terror, screaming. This will be the day that you die. You’re going to die right here, in some basement, being murdered by some monster that you didn’t even know existed.

Your thoughts screamed these words, as you screamed incoherently. At least, until you heard the sound of laughing.

A flesh hand pulled at the chin of the monsters face, pulling it back. It was a mask. It had just been a mask.

Tony cackled as he took the mask off his face entirely, and it took you a second to process everything.

You heard stomping from upstairs, and before you knew it, Steve was racing down the staircase, Bucky in tow, a panicked look on his face.

“What is it?” Steve wheezed as Bucky said something similar.

“Tony, you ass!” You hissed, heat rushing to your face as you realized you’d been screaming over a stereotypical Halloween mask.

“Seriously?” Bucky’s brow was raised as he pat Steve’s back, the blonde leaning on his knees, attempting to catch his breath.

You were about to yell at Tony when you heard something from behind you. Giggles.

Wanda Maximoff was giggling, snorting every so often. She found this funny. You found yourself laughing too, albeit unintentionally.

You realized she was still clinging to your arms, her hands wrapped tightly on your biceps. She seemed to realize this too, quickly letting go.

“Sorry,” she blushed.

“It’s alright.” You smiled shyly, completely missing the knowing look Steve and Bucky were giving each other.

Eventually, you all dragged yourselves back upstairs, continuing to change out the summer-slash-regular decor for the fall-slash-Halloween-and-kinda-Thanksgiving decor.

When everything was up and finished, everyone left. Everyone except you, who was still talking to Wanda. You eventually made it to the doorframe before she stopped you again.

“Hey—er, do you..do you want to go out with me tomorrow? Like a girls day?” She stared up at you, biting her lip anxiously.

“Sure. Where do you wanna go?” You asked after a moment, hoping that your face wasn’t as red as you thought it would be.

“It’s a surprise. Just..meet me here at..12:00 tomorrow, alright?”

You nodded, quite eagerly, and you cringed at yourself as you walked to your car. Biting your lip as you drove home, you wondered what you were meant to wear. Wanda hadn’t really said anything about dress codes, so you assumed you could just wear something not stained, and that would be fine.

Even though it technically wasn’t a date, you couldn’t help but feel excited for tomorrow. But if it had been a date, would you have been able to say yes? You weren’t entirely sure. Yes, you wanted to say. But what about Natasha?

You didn’t have an answer to that.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #Moving on #wanda maximoff fic #wanda fluff

62 notes · View notes

xalygatorx · 3 months

Text

Unbound | Chapter 15, "Their Jagged Edges"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Astarion tries to comfort Áine through the night and she shares a little of her past with him in good faith. The next morning, Gale sits before the party at large and offers Áine an apology. Astarion expresses his disapproval at Áine’s (in his opinion) swift forgiveness. The group returns to the goblin camp and enters the Underdark. Astarion comes to terms with his feelings.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Comfort/hurt; angst; fluff; trauma; post-traumatic flashbacks; description of feeling triggered and of a panic attack; discussion of the non-con portion of the previous chapter; more of Astarion's internal monologue flashbacks; suggestive content & dialogue; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.9k

Listening to: Butchered Tongue - Hozier, Daylight (Acoustic) - David Kushner, Jenny of Oldstones - cover by Rachel Hardy

The instant he slid her from his arms onto his bedroll, Astarion’s movements became tightly strung and ever more agitated. He could still feel her rapid heartbeat in his chest even after he no longer carried her, like a song echoed in an endless cavern. The remembered staccato of it spurred him on like a self-inflicted whipping cane as he tore through his wares for something, anything, to help her.

He swore when he knocked over one of his picking kits. Bleeding Hells, Astarion was positively rattled and wasn’t entirely sure how to calm down without going back out to the woods and actually killing Gale, which he still had half a mind to do. No, that would upset her more and possibly blast them all to smithereens. He didn’t have the faintest idea how the damned orb in Gale’s chest worked but he was sorely tempted to test it.

Roughly, he snatched up the tattered blanket at the foot of his bedroll and leaned over Áine to drape it around her shoulders, muttering a curse at himself for having such a bare interior for a tent. For having so little to call his own, so little to offer her. He should’ve just taken her to her own, she would’ve been more comfortable there, but no he’d acted selfishly again at the worst possible time because he didn’t want her out of his sight.

Unsatisfied with just the old brown blanket, he leaned out and snatched the velvety red one that still hung across one of the mirrors outside his tent, bundling her in that too. Astarion had no idea if this would even help, but he was running out of things to try.

His eyes next caught on the old bottle of brandy he’d taken from a chest on a whim weeks ago at this point. Astarion uncapped it and snatched up the empty goblet he still had from Áine’s wine at the tieflings’ party, splashing some of the amber liquid into the vessel. “Bleeding fucking Hells, my left arm for some tea leaves,” he was muttering under his breath, rifling through a nearby bag even though he knew for certain he’d yet to come across any tea in their travels.

Áine watched him, his every movement half-coiled like a predator still aching to pounce, still dangerous despite its retreat. She hugged her knees to her chest, making herself take longer, deeper breaths to slow her tired lungs and racing heart. Her head swam from stress and a shortage of air, but she kept telling herself she was safe now. She’d have to do damage control in the morning, she expected, but for now, she was safe and just needed to calm down.

She heard him remark upon their lack of tea leaves and in his manic state he missed the way her expression softened. He still remembered that? That she’d said she found a warm tea with brandy to be comforting? She let the realization warm her chilled bones, his care as healing as any drink he could have brewed her, as he pressed the goblet of straight, lukewarm brandy into her hands.

Her darkened eyes flickered down to the light golden ripples of the drink. When had she said that again? Surely not the only time she could remember with any clarity—the very first day they��d met. When he’d remarked preferring a dry red as his go-to drink and she’d not yet had the context to understand he was making a joke about his vampirism. It made her smile ever so faintly now. That had been…so long ago. And he remembered. Even back then, when she’d been firmly under the impression that he hated her, he’d been listening.

Áine jolted when she heard him snarl toward the door at the faintest sound of footsteps outside. The footfalls had passed too closely to the tent for his liking and he’d immediately gone on the offensive as his instincts to protect himself and his mate had surged to the surface. “Astarion, it’s okay,” she murmured. “It just sounds like someone going to bed or going off to relieve themselves. Nothing dangerous.”

Astarion rounded on her for saying that, incredulous as he repeated her words. “‘Nothing dangerous?’ I truly don’t understand you sometimes, Áine,” he gritted. “How are you just okay after something like that?”

As soon as his words had left his lips in such upset, Astarion had chastised himself, dropping his head forward to rake a rough hand through his hair. Frustrated as he was, he wasn’t frustrated with her. He was worried for her. She needed to know that, not feel as though he was mad at her for what had happened.

She didn’t begrudge him his stressed response it seemed. He almost wished she would. “I’m not,” she whispered with patience, her fingertips pressing more firmly against the sides of the goblet as she took a tiny sip of the beverage. “But… I don’t think I’m worried anymore. Just…shaken up.”

Astarion looked down at Áine, bundled in his blankets with her barely nursed brandy in her hands. Whether it was how she sat, so curled in on herself, or that he simply wasn’t used to standing over her like this, she looked so heartbreakingly small to him now. So unbearably fragile when there were more times than he could count that “fragile” was the last word he would’ve ever chosen to describe her.

His expression bared without so much as an attempt to hide how helpless he felt, Astarion slowly slumped to his knees in front of her, his head hung in defeat. “I apologize for getting cross with you, I… I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what you need. Or how to fix this.” He finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, finding the amber windows to his favorite soul glassy with unshed tears. “You can have anything you want. Anything of mine. Of me. Just name it.”

Áine’s expression crumpled. “Astarion—”

It’s all I’m good for, he wanted to reassure her. I know. It’s okay. It’s okay if it’s you. Aloud, he said, “You can have as much or as little of me as you want. If it will help, I’ll do it.”

Áine stared into his eyes, her brows canting upward as a fluttered blink of her lashes made her tears spill over at last. He was set off by all this too and not just because he was worried for her—she could see the pain, the barely staved off dissociation in those gorgeous crimson eyes. Not nearly for the first time since she’d met him, since she’d known him, since she’d loved him—yes, she was tired of lying to herself about her own feelings—she wondered, Gods, what happened to you? How much did she still not know?

The bard set aside the goblet, reaching for Astarion’s hands. He deposited them without question into hers and let her guide him down to lie on his bedroll. Instinctively, his fingers reached for the laces of his shirt, ready to do whatever she asked of him, even if it hurt. He was utterly lost to her and that was finally spiraling into such a maelstrom of fact that he no longer felt an ounce of his former kneejerk denial. Áine could do almost anything to him now and he was convinced he’d forgive her in an instant. Was this trust?

Her warm fingers covered his, firmly stilling them against his collar. Astarion looked up at her and Áine saw that look in his eyes again—half-present, half-slowly slipping out to sea past where she thought she could reach him. She ran her thumbs against his knuckles like the smallest ritual, a tactile prayer. She pressed a kiss against the spot where his hands met before she guided them apart and found her place within the circle of his arms.

Astarion kept his arms hovered just above her while she situated herself, suddenly out of his depth again. His face heated with the palest flush of pink as she fitted herself perfectly against his body, nudging his legs apart just to entangle them with hers. He could feel her face burning against the fabric of his shirt when she finally settled her head against the curve of his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, finally allowing his arms to come down to rest around her. Timidly at first and then more securely as he grew comfortable holding her. One of her beautifully content sighs graced his ears and, even though it took Astarion a moment to relax, he managed it as his somber eyes traced the starlight crown of her head. “Of course,” he whispered back, trying to make sense of what she could possibly see in him, how she could possibly want him.

Hesitantly, he raised a hand to her brilliant pearlescent halo and followed an instinct he had to stroke her hair. The way her prone body melted further against him rewarded his cautious venture and he marveled at her vulnerability, her warmth, and her trust in him. They were fitted against each other in every curve and he only wanted her closer, impossibly so. Until he could no longer find their separate starts and ends.

Astarion adjusted to rest his chin against the top of her head. “Are you alright, my sweet?” he asked and his voice was so gentle Áine’s eyes burned anew with tears. He felt her tense and, afraid both that he’d upset her and, selfishly once more, that she’d leave, he quickly said, “We needn’t talk if—”

“I’m fine,” she squeaked and he realized that she’d tensed to stifle a sob.

Astarion’s jaw set and he pulled her tightly against him. She molded willingly against him, burying her face into his neck. Her tears dripped like summer rain past his collar. He sighed and mumbled, “I should’ve killed him.”

“No, you shouldn’t’ve,” she asserted with a hiccup. Hidden from Astarion’s view, Áine’s features strained against the tears that came and she forced herself to inhale deeply, even as her breath shuddered. She could feel a headache forming as a dull pain behind her eyes.

“Please?” Astarion asked in a quiet whine and it caught her so off-guard that a small watery giggle escaped Áine’s aching throat. He cast a fond smile down at her, a smile she felt hints of when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Leaning further into his natural inclinations, Astarion traced gentle patterns against Áine’s back until she was able to calm herself. He let his eyes close, meditating on her heart and her heat.

He was almost sure she’d dozed off when he heard her murmur, “It all brought back some unpleasant memories. That’s why…” She trailed off and he waited for her to collect herself and continue. “That’s why I fell apart so thoroughly, I think.”

Astarion dropped his head forward slightly, pulling her scent into his more or less useless lungs to ground himself and remind himself that she was more important than his anger. “Because I need you more than he does right now.” He skimmed his lips against her temple as he murmured back, “I can relate to that, for whatever it’s worth… Anything you’d like to talk about?”

Áine pursed her lips, bringing one of her hands up to her face to wipe away her tears. Was there anything she wanted to tell him? Anything that had been dredged up that would feel better left to the night air? Would it change anything, or make a difference? She’d never talked to someone about her past in any detail. “I’m not sure,” she admitted plainly. “I…don’t know if any of it’s worth bringing up.”

Astarion’s eyes opened into barely discernable slits to peer down at her. He couldn’t see her face, but he admired the sight of her wrapped up in him all the same. Besides that, he knew her well enough by now to not need a constant read on her expression to know at least somewhat how she felt. “It is up to you. But should you be inclined,” he mumbled, “I’m all pointy ears, my love.”

A small smile tugged at Áine’s lips. She sniffled again, but it was residual, and said, “In the shortest terms I can place it, I was a soldier once. Years ago. And mixed barracks are often not a kind place, especially among other drow.”

Astarion’s arms tightened around her just the slightest bit. His mind flashed back to the “kennels” wedged deep into the bowels of Cazador’s palace. The moldy, scratchy, tattered bunks. The smell of decaying rats and their old excrement amidst an array of other horrible, sour smells. Another deep inhale of her scent helped to center him, but barely.

“Your soldiering doesn’t surprise me from how many times I’ve seen you tear through a battlefield at this point,” he murmured. “Is the…barracks instance why you left?”

He felt her shake her head against his chest before she craned her head back to meet his eyes. Áine smiled softly when he took the opportunity to kiss the tip of her nose. “No,” she replied. “Those sorts of things were normal.”

Astarion scowled at the idea, suddenly wondering if anything he’d done or any of his advances had set something off for her in their time together. Without knowing, he could only be so upset with himself, but he still found himself half-asking, “...when you say ‘those sorts of things’?”

“The, uh, handsiness, I suppose,” she said carefully. More of that red-hot anger lanced through him. “The drunk handsiness specifically. Worse than what Gale did, but never the worst it could’ve been if that makes sense.”

While she spoke, Áine watched Astarion’s features, seeing a mingling of anger on her behalf and discomfort whenever his eyes drifted out of focus, taken by an unpleasant memory. She recognized that cocktail of emotions with ease as she often felt it, herself. With hesitation, he said, “I believe I understand what you mean.”

She was glad she didn’t need to go into further detail. She’d normalized it all to cope over the years, but the longer she’d spent away from her family and former comrades-in-arms, the more she’d realized just how fucked up the first 45 years or so of her life had been. It took getting away from it to see it at all. “It was more violent than anything,” she found herself admitting. “Just constant scraps and drunk fights. And training was no different.”

“It sounds dreadful, darling,” he informed her.

Her gaze shuttered slightly, remembering. “It was.”

“Why do it then?” he wondered. “Surely that sort of life wasn’t what you signed up for when you started, er, soldiering. You could hardly be blamed for—what?”

Áine had looked up at him while he spoke and she had a peculiar twinge to her expression. It took him a moment to realize it was sorrow. The sort with roots so deep they mixed with one’s marrow. “Astarion, I—” Her voice cracked, but she steeled herself. “I like to think I had a choice, but the older I get, the less I think I did.”

“Whatever could you mean?” he asked.

She shrugged, ducking her gaze to fix upon his shirt ties as she murmured, “It’s all I was born for.”

Astarion scoffed a little. “As in you felt it was your destiny?”

“No,” she said. “I mean it’s the only reason I was born.” Her whispering voice hardened. “I was conceived to serve and I did. Until I didn’t.”

“It’s all you’re good for, after all.”

Astarion’s throat constricted, searching the top of her bowed head as if it could provide as much context as the expression she hid from him. He didn’t know what to say to that. It hit too close to home and yet he had to acknowledge that he didn’t know how she felt in some ways at all. He’d had a life before he was nearly killed, before he began his next “life.” He could scarcely remember most of it, but he’d had it. And while it had been criminally short for the expected lifespan of a high elf, he couldn’t imagine being born into, raised into war.

His eyes traced the faint points of her ears, the crease between his brows deepening. A familiar recurring dread sent a wave of nausea through him to think about her mortality. Half-elves could live past 200 years of age, but it was so variable by blood. “It feels particularly wretched to have done that to you,” he murmured, “considering the time allowed to half-elves.”

“That’s why I’m half, too,” she murmured, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand. When she glanced up at him to find his features pinched in confusion, she explained simply, “Faster soldiers.”

So she’d been bred a half-elf because she’d mature faster than a full drow. A quicker workup for another body to be thrust into battle. For what? No reason could suffice, but he had to wonder what could’ve possibly been happening during his cyclical time suffering all means of torture and procuring prey for his master to have warranted such a cruel recruitment.

Bereft of anything else he could think to say, Astarion murmured, “...I’m sorry.”

Áine gave him a gentle goading look that he didn’t understand until she said in her little impression of his voice, “What could you have to be sorry for?”

He snorted and inclined his head. “Touché, my love.” Astarion traced his fingertips against the curve of her cheek, a complicated feeling curled in his chest like a sleeping cat. He realized gradually that it was compassion, only “complicated” for him. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, given what you’ve just told me,” he said slowly, “but I’m glad you are here.”

A tender smile traced her lips. “And I, you,” she murmured. “I suppose we can be selfish together.” More seriously, she added a quiet, “...Thank you. For listening.”

“Anytime,” Astarion said. He hesitated and pointed out to her and himself, “You would do the same for me. You have done the same for me.”

“Happily,” she said, sighing with contentment as she adjusted to settle back in against him and was rewarded by him drawing the blankets more snugly over them both and kissing her forehead. With sleep-bleary eyes, she glanced up at him and cautiously asked, “Are you alright?”

Astarion watched her affectionately as her body started to forcibly wind her down. “Me?” he asked with a teasing lilt to his voice as he gathered the woman lying against him even closer, finding that even that still wasn’t close enough. Would it ever be? “I’m in heaven, darling.”

Áine smiled and laughed a little at his flirting, but her features remained taut with seriousness. “You know what I mean,” she murmured. “Tonight set something off for you, too.”

He gave a noncommittal grumble. “Of course it did,” Astarion snipped, “I was worried for you. I still am.”

“And I appreciate that more than you know,” she reassured him. “But that’s not what I mean either.”

One of Astarion’s reflexive responses began to bubble up, but he contained it and he sighed instead. He sighed an awful lot for someone who had no functional use for breathing apart from a comfortable habit. “Not tonight, darling,” he said instead. “Soon. But not tonight.”

“Okay,” Áine said. “You’re okay though?”

“I am,” he reassured her. “I’ll be all the better if you rest.”

Áine yawned, accidentally emphasizing his point. “Tired of talking to me?” she teased him.

“Exceptionally,” he teased her back, smirking when she pressed a kiss under his jaw and returned her head to rest against his shoulder.

“Is this comfortable or should I move?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open at this point.

“I will be personally offended if you try to move,” he warned her, bringing a sleepy smirk to her face. It was a sight he memorized, craving to preserve it for an eternity at minimum.

“If I weren’t so tired, I’d do it just to see what happened,” she mumbled and he believed her. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

Astarion felt her heart slow as she slipped into sleep and he found himself studying her relaxed features for some time after. “Goodnight, sweet girl,” he murmured after she was already gone, simply musing over the turns his night—his existence even—had taken as he let himself bring his guard down just enough to let himself slip into a light meditation.

His first in centuries that was completely free of nightmarish memories and visions.

Their late night became morning with a swiftness that bordered on criminal and the pair were awakened too early for either of their likings.

Áine stirred with a groan, her hand finding purchase against soft cottony fabric and her fingertips feeling the smooth, cold plane of muscle beneath that brought her waking brain the recognition it needed. She ran her hand up until her hand cupped against the side of her bedmate’s neck and she was able to hook her arm back around him. She lifted her head and willed her eyes to open, greeted by a sight she was starting to find more beautiful than most sunrises.

Astarion, already alert, met her eyes and watched her wake with just the faintest line of tension in his otherwise softened expression. “Good morning,” he murmured, ever amused and bewitched by how wild her hair became once tossed by sleep. When she uttered another quieter grumble and tried unsuccessfully to blink the sleep from her eyes, Astarion chuckled. “Or perhaps not?”

“I slept like the dead,” she mumbled after using the arm she’d moved around him to pull herself up to kiss his cheek. “I think it may have killed me.”

He smirked. “Well, if you’ve passed, apparently you took me with you,” he remarked. If he were being honest, he would prefer it that way at the end of things. He couldn’t think of a better way to go than with her. Astarion inwardly balked at the hopelessly romantic thought, wondering who’d injected that into his mind. Worse than a tadpole, truly.

He felt Áine hum her acknowledgment of his statement against his throat between kisses and Astarion used his arm still wrapped beneath her to roll her into lying atop him. Undeterred by being transplanted, Áine nuzzled back into his neck, kissing a trail down to his collarbone and only lifting when her roving hands smoothed his shirt up off his torso. She held the offending fabric out of her way as she continued her winding trail down his stomach, taking her time with every languorous press and suck from her lips.

“And what are you getting up to?” Astarion asked, wincing slightly at how his voice broke a bit at the end, betraying the effect she had on him.

“Getting up to? No,” she murmured, her voice a sleepy, sensual husk that sent an immediate jolt through his body. “Going down…maybe. If you’ll humor me?”

Humor her? Hells, he’d get on his knees and beg her for the privilege. Astarion swallowed hard and nodded when her sleep-softened, hooded amber gaze flicked forward to check in with him. Áine’s mouth formed a faint, smug smile as she dropped it back down to his abdomen, her hands releasing the bunch of his shirt as she skimmed her fingertips down to his thighs, leaving tickling trails of heat in streaks down his stomach. He shivered, his hips instinctively canting upward as she gripped his thighs and settled herself between them.

“Are you always so frisky in the morning, my dear?” Astarion tried to tease her, but the pointed question came out so breathy he just felt a little embarrassed.

As far as Áine was concerned, his attempt to tease her had worked as just the sound of his oft-overcomposed voice trembling at the bare beginnings of her ministrations sent a clench through her inner thighs. She breathed in deep, composing herself as her fingertips moved deftly to make short work of his pants.

At least until they were interrupted by a not-distant-enough voice outside.

Áine’s hands stilled and she cocked her head ever so slightly to see if she’d imagined it. Or perhaps she’d misheard the word that sounded like her name. However, she heard it again and expelled the breath she’d just taken in with a frustrated sigh. Gale was asking after her next door, at her tent.

“Ignore him,” Astarion murmured severely and Áine may have found his ferocity amusing if she weren’t just as upset. Her fingers flexed against his waistband, wanting to keep going and ignore him as Astarion suggested.

And then again from the tent adjacent, “Áine, I’m sorry and I would love to explain in detail just how ashamed I am if you’d permit me to do so.” Gale’s voice was faintly muffled as if running a hand down his face.

Fainter still, closer to the fire, she suspected, Karlach’s voice joined the mix. “Gale, where’d you get the shiner? Drop a book on your face in bed?”

“Nothing so intelligent,” Gale sighed. “Am I being foolish, has she gone out scouting or something?”

Lae’zel’s voice emerged. “Astarion took her to his bed last night.” Something bristled in her tone and Áine couldn’t decide what it was until she heard Lae’zel add, “What is it exactly that you have to apologize for, Gale?”

Oh dear, Lae’zel was putting two and two together, which meant Áine had to brace to save the little rat’s life again.

“I’m going to kill him,” Astarion growled as Áine gave up on her morning misdeed, picked herself up off the tent floor, and straightened her clothes. “I was going to kill him before and now I’m going to kill him more slowly. Perhaps use one of his nasty little scrolls to bring him back so I can kill him a second time as well.”

Of all the bloody times for her to have to play party leader, it’d had to be this morning. This morning after he’d surfaced from a deep, satisfying reverie almost entirely free of the usual torment of painful flashbacks. He still struggled at times in their intimate moments, especially in the moments he felt out of control, regardless of whether or not he slipped into a script to cope. He didn’t feel in control this morning, but it didn’t feel bad either and, gods, he wanted to try at least! Even his usual anxieties about something being too much for him and her seeing him shut down seemed quieter than usual.

“There will be no killing the idiot wizard,” she declared in a whisper as she leaned down and captured his lips in a loving kiss. “As tempting as it may be. This wasn’t a one-time offer, don’t worry.”

“That’s hardly the point, my darling,” he grumbled, attempting to pull her back down with him to little avail. She laughed at his pouting expression. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re so unbearably sexy as you wake in the morning?”

“You could’ve found out for yourself, you know,” Áine pointed out with a smile as she ruffled his curls. She decided to needle him a little as she put her boots on. “Besides, you woke with me after our first night together. Was I not so interesting then?”

Plenty interesting, frighteningly so, he answered internally. “Of course you were,” Astarion assured her, glaring at her boots as if they were singlehandedly responsible for taking her from his tent. “You’re simply even more ‘interesting’ now.”

Áine smirked. “What can I say? I like to snuggle.”

“Duly noted,” Astarion purred. And before she could insinuate it, he added, “And not just for the carnal bonuses… Last night was nice.”

Her features softened. “Apart from what inspired it, yes. It really was,” she agreed. Áine dared to lean in for one more smooch and dodged with only seconds to spare when he meant to snatch her back and tumble her beneath him. “Nice try, my love.”

Astarion dramatically threw his arm across his eyes when she stood up, soon forcing himself up—and the rest of him down—as well to follow her out of his tent and into whatever fray they were soon to step into. No way in the Hells was he going to let her walk out and face Gale alone, even if she didn’t seem concerned about doing so.

The first thing he saw, with satisfaction, was the blackened state of Gale’s left eye.

The wizard looked over when Áine emerged with Astarion directly behind her, his hackles already up. Clearing his throat, Gale looked at Áine, his studious brow creating a deep fissure at its middle. “Far be it from me to ask for a thing from you, but may I have a word?” he asked.

Áine nodded, glancing down the path from their camp and suggesting, “We can step out to chat if you’d prefer,” allowing him to save face, at least for the time being.

To her surprise and slight concern as well, he politely refused her out. “No, I think it’s best that I hang myself out to dry in mixed company,” Gale said, punctuating his words with a small shake of his index finger. “Good for the ego, you see.”

But good for the vitality? Áine wondered despite not arguing. “Very well, if you think so.” She had to give him some measure of props for this, she supposed. It was a bold choice.

Astarion was less impressed, no surprise there. Not only was he quite sure that nothing Gale could say would calm his ire, but he was quietly rooting for the others now to be upset like he was. More than that, he wanted Áine to be properly angry at him for the position he’d put her in.

They gathered near the fire and Áine sat adjacent to where Gale parked himself, feeling Astarion plunk himself down directly beside her. It was comforting, but she was also wary of her lover being only too happy to make Gale’s right eye match his left.

Lae’zel remained nearby, her eyes already severe on Gale’s back, and Shadowheart lingered while she worked on her breakfast. Áine felt the cleric’s gaze scan her for any signs of injury, the other woman’s frame only relaxing faintly when she found none. Karlach and Wyll were already at the fire when the three of them sat down and Halsin sat nearby as well, still portioning out breakfast. Karlach and Wyll’s conversation went quiet as they glanced between Áine, Astarion, and Gale, and the only sounds left in camp save for the crackling of the fire were Scratch and the owlbear cub having a game of tag nearby. Well, Gale had his audience.

“Right, what’s happened?” Shadowheart finally asked, clearly uneasy.

Gale cringed at her tone, his jaw working as he tried to parse together what to say. Áine remained silent, watching him clam up and deciding that she’d leave them in awkward silence until he drummed up the courage he’d had just a moment ago upon suggesting this route.

Astarion wasn’t as patient. Furious ruby eyes shot to meet Shadowheart’s as he said, “Our little Gale decided not to keep his hands—and his mouth, I’d wager—to himself last night, Áine’s consent on the matter be damned.”

Áine paled. Oh dear.

The ladle Halsin was using clacked loudly against the pot where he dropped it, his expression horrified as he looked between Gale and Áine. “Oak Father preserve us,” he murmured, but his expression was tinged with tension as if trying to keep his wild shape in check.

The scrape of steel preceded Lae’zel’s response, a fierce glare twisting her features. “Chk, I knew it,” she muttered, her sword glittering dangerously as she freed it. “I demand clarification.”

Wyll went ashen next to Karlach, who crushed the bowl in her hand, remnants of porridge burning black when they hit her blazing flesh. Through clenched teeth, Karlach ground out, “Please tell me there’s a good explanation for this, Gale.”

Shadowheart’s expression twisted with rage, but her attention went first to Áine instead. “Are you alright?” she asked, her fingertips white with pressure as she clutched her dining implements. When Áine nodded, her gaze burned a hole into Gale. “Your destroyer Mystra help you if she weren’t.”

“Please… I—,” he paused to sigh, leaning down to bury his face in his hands and collect himself before he sat up straight and turned fully to face Áine. “There is no ‘good’ explanation for something like this. And it is no excuse that I was out of my mind with wine, fear, and self-pity.

“However, I cannot properly express how sorry I am, Áine. That it happened at all with anyone, but especially that it was you. You’ve done so much for me—you’ve aided me in my affliction, you’ve been a trusted friend, a trusted ally, and I’ve repaid you with this and a deadly lie.”

He drew in a deep breath and she heard it shudder in his next words. “I do not deserve to carry on with you on this journey. In fact, I deserve little more than to find a barren patch of Faerûn to end my sorry existence on,” he stated, his hands balled in his lap to keep them from shaking. “But if you would allow me, I will take every available opportunity from here on to be a better friend, a better travel companion, and a better ally. And I will endeavor to never again take your kindness and care for granted as I know I have so far.”

Gale gave a weakened sigh as he pushed an anxious hand through his chestnut locks. “And…for whatever it’s worth, nothing about what happened was premeditated,” he added. “Again, it fixes nothing, but I wanted you to know that.”

The silence sat for a long few minutes. All eyes shifted to Áine, awaiting her verdict, while hers stayed fastened on Gale. He felt her measure his worth and the weight of his words as if she, too, were imbued with magic. As if she could see through all that he was.

Slowly, Áine nodded. “So stay. And prove your intentions.”

Gale hastened to nod. “Thank you. I swear, I’ll never a—”

He fell silent when Áine raised a hand. “I require action, not more words,” she said, letting her hand fall back in her lap. “I’d rather not speak of it again.” Astarion could tell in the strain of her voice that she was still upset and just hiding it as flawlessly as ever.

A large hand lowered in front of her and offered her a bowl of porridge and fruit. Áine looked up and accepted the bowl from Halsin as he laid a brief, comforting hand against her hair. She thanked him and he nodded then turned away to reclaim his seat and continue his work by the fire.

Wyll had shifted closer to them from Astarion’s unoccupied side, reaching across him to touch Áine’s arm and ask quietly again if she was okay. When she said she was, he glanced toward Astarion to get confirmation. The vampire gave him a nod of confirmation and only then did Wyll relax, glancing at Karlach as she worked to temper her rage.

Lae’zel scoffed at the outcome, resheathing her blade. “I have killed gleefully and for far less,” she intoned, glaring down at Gale. “Do not test my might with a second misstep.”

Áine felt Astarion’s arm slip around her shoulders as he agreed with the githyanki. “I, too, have killed for much less,” he said. “Legally and otherwise.” She occasionally forgot he’d been a magistrate in another life.

“You know, normally I’d offer a quick fix to alleviate something like a black eye,” Shadowheart mused, inclining her head to get a good look at Gale’s face. “However, I think you could do with a little suffering for your transgressions. If you’re good, I might change my mind further down the road.”

Gale winced at his companions’ threats, nodding in acknowledgment to each as he wrung his hands. “It’s less damage than I deserved surely,” he agreed. “This will be left to fade in its own time.”

“Karlach, did you want a fresh bowl?” Halsin offered the blazing tiefling.

“Maybe here shortly,” Karlach replied, giving her chest a couple of pounds with the side of her fist. The iron chamber echoed in response. “I love you lot to bits, but you give me heartburn.”

Áine and the others broke the tension a few degrees by smiling at her semi-intentional joke. When the group had more or less dispersed to begin packing up camp, Astarion addressed Áine, his arm still draped around her and his fingertips tracing small circles on the back of her arm. “You,” he accused, “were way too soft on him.”

She shrugged, looking tired all over again as she popped the last raspberry from her breakfast bowl into her mouth. “I know,” she said. “I’m still upset, but I do understand where it came from. And nothing…okay, almost nothing, stop looking at me like that…actually happened.” Áine pursed her lips. “I’m just trying to let bygones be bygones, I suppose.”

Astarion glared down at her but still stroked her arm despite his agitation. “Dearest, just because ‘nothing happened’ does not mean you’re not due your rage.”

Áine laughed sharply. “If I ever really unleashed all my pent-up anger at everyone who ever wronged me, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop.”

Astarion gave her a considering look and responded with a shrug of his own. “I would personally pay admission to see it,” he said, his lingering impulse to have a few more swings at the wizard nearby only assuaged by the sweet sound of her laughter.

“Hardly a welcome party,” Wyll remarked as he cast a glance toward the iron portcullis that separated them currently from a raging minotaur.

It roared as it beat its horns against the grated gate while the stone atop the statue of Selûne towering above them in the outpost they were setting up camp within shot the beast with bolts of light. The bolts ceased the moment the creature fell dead to the ground, thin tendrils of smoke rising from its smoldered flesh.

Áine frowned and cast a vague gesture toward the dank yet somehow still beautiful caverns surrounding the manmade lookout they camped inside which looked like a pinprick in comparison to the vast cave system that was truly its own world beneath a world. “Welcome to the Underdark,” she said dispassionately. They’d made good time in getting there, only an extra two days added to their journey to backtrack.

“I don’t mean to make any assumptions, Áine,” Gale said, “but did you grow up down here?”

Astarion stiffened and watched Áine out of the corner of his eye to see how she reacted to the question about her younger years. Now that he knew what he knew, even these casual questions made him want to intervene in some way.

She took it in stride, not looking bothered at all, and he could only assume that she’d had to deal with friendly personal questions often enough that reaching back just far enough into her memories no longer came at much of a cost. “I didn’t,” she said. “This isn’t my first time down here, but I frequented Baldur’s Gate more than I ever frequented the Underdark.” It wasn’t a lie in the slightest, Áine self-congratulated. It just adjusted the conversation away from the natural next question, which would have been, “Oh, then where did you grow up?”

Shadowheart grimaced up at the Selûne statue and the light that shone from its gem. “Just how long are we intending to leave that infernal thing up there?” she asked.

“As long as it’s of use to us,” Áine asserted, nodding toward the felled minotaur. “When we get ready to leave, I’ll shoot it down or something. For now, while we rest, it’s a nice bit of insurance.”

“Already nostalgic for the sun, Astarion?” Lae’zel guessed when she spotted the vampire. Áine followed her gaze and found him frowning up at the pitch-black cavern ceilings.

Astarion sighed without looking at her. “Of course, I am,” he replied, sounding more inconvenienced than nostalgic. “Imagine being deprived of something for 200 years, getting it back, and then ending up in a place you can’t enjoy it for however long your reprieve lasts.”

To his surprise, he heard the gith grumble in agreement. “Understood,” she acquiesced. “It is only a matter of time before we surface again.” Was she trying to reassure him?

“Even then,” Halsin said with a forlorn expression, “it will be some time before the sun can touch us again. The shadow curse is…” He paused, considering his words. “Vicious.”

“What exactly is the shadow curse?” Wyll asked, his voice appropriately wary.

Suffocating, Áine answered silently. Dismal. Horrifying. She’d never grown accustomed to it in her lifetime there. After quick missives to the city or even to the Underdark, the lands surrounding Moonrise had always felt even more macabre. Darker. Hungrier. Because for all its darkness and strangeness, the Underdark wasn’t a cursed region. It was simply different as it was underground. In some ways, it was beautiful. The curse cloaking the lands they were heading toward was unnatural.

Halsin essentially answered with the same feelings she had, if not different words. Her eyes cast down toward the campfire Gale was working over to prepare them some dinner and, across from her a few paces away, Astarion watched the flames lick her amber irises.

He was a bit of a fool, but he wasn’t fool enough to not realize when two puzzle pieces fit together. Her reaction to Halsin’s first mention of this place and then everything she’d told him last night was piecing together. Astarion could be wrong, but he had a feeling that they were walking back into someplace she’d much sooner forget than return to. He knew next to nothing of her past ten years, only that she’d gotten away in that time to find her own path.

The entire idea was a conjecture. It could’ve been something entirely different that had driven her to panic at the idea of going to Moonrise. However, he couldn’t think of an alternative theory, so he let that one sit for now. Instead, despite knowing from the sun’s position just before their descent into this place that it would be nighttime aboveground, he glared toward the caves surrounding them as if he could drill skylights into them through the power of spite.

Astarion glanced over when he sensed someone coming to stand beside him, knowing instinctually that it wasn’t Áine based on the footfalls and presence alone. The last person he’d expected to see was Gale.

Their eyes met and Astarion’s narrowed with wary speculation. The black eye he’d given the wizard was starting to yellow at the edges as it healed. Shadowheart had finally offered to relieve him of it the previous evening, but he’d politely refused. Astarion also knew that Gale was capable of a simple healing spell that would absolve his bruising within seconds. Was he trying to prove something by keeping it?

Gale noticed Astarion scrutinizing his handiwork and gave a self-deprecating smirk. “It was a good punch,” the wizard commented, his pale companion stiffening when spoken to. “And well-deserved.”

“Indeed,” Astarion agreed, his suspicion at the interaction coating his words.

Gale sighed. “Thank you,” he said finally, “for putting me in my place. For helping her.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Astarion snapped.

“I know,” Gale murmured, his tone careful and placating. It did the opposite to Astarion’s mood. The wizard seemed to be thinking better of approaching in the first place, but he squared his shoulders a little instead of changing his mind. “I also want to offer my apologies—”

“You’re apologizing to the wrong person,” Astarion interrupted him, his tone dismissive.

“I’m not,” Gale said with the patience of a saint. “I’ve apologized to Áine almost every time I’ve dared to speak with her. She’s since told me I’m not allowed to say that I’m sorry more than once daily ‘if I absolutely must say it at all’.” A faint smirk crossed Astarion’s lips at the wizard’s recollection of Áine’s direct orders. That’s my girl. “All that to say… I broke your trust, too.”

Astarion scoffed. “Bold of you to assume you had it at all.”

“Indeed,” Gale said, nervously resting his hand against his neck. “Too bold. But if, on the off chance I did in the slightest and it is now broken, I am deeply sorry, Astarion. I wronged her most, but I wronged you as well. I don’t remember much from that night, but your relationship with her has never been a secret, and even blind-drunk it would be an obvious thing.”

The vampire shifted uncomfortably. “You speak as if you moved in on my territory.”

Bewildered, Gale said, “Well, of course. I did.”

“She is not mine,” Astarion murmured. “She is not beholden to me and can bed whomever she wants. That’s hardly the point of my upset.”

“I think I’ve misspoken, so let me try again,” Gale said, weighing his words over again. “I endangered her. Full stop. This is my greatest sin. Separate from that, I caused a shockwave of worry and hurt for everyone who cares about her.”

“Then why apologize specifically to me?” Astarion demanded defensively.

Gale’s pleading demeanor began to dissipate and he raised a brow at Astarion as if to ask if he was seriously asking that question of him. “Because, exclusive or not, you care about each other deeply,” he said.

“That’s too bold,” Astarion declared in a grumble.

To Astarion’s surprise and irritation, Gale just smiled. “It’s a good thing,” he stated in a gentler tone. “It’s not my place to press, so I won’t. Just know that I value you as part of the group and I hope to earn back—to earn your trust someday, despite probably not deserving it.” He glanced toward the portcullis as another minotaur slunk closely enough for the statue of Selûne to rear back to life. “I at least hope to not do anything that will warrant getting punched by you again.”

“Let’s start with that,” Astarion muttered, thrown off by the idea of someone wanting to prove themself to him.

“It’s a deal,” Gale agreed, palpable relief in his voice that simply served to confuse Astarion even more. “Right, well, I’ll cease bothering you. Thank you.”

Astarion gave a noncommittal grunt that sent Gale on his way. He still had an inkling to maim him, but his ire had slowly wound down over the last couple of days. He’d gone from a state of hypervigilance and practically hovering over Áine back to his normal level of watchfulness once it became clear that Gale meant what he’d promised her and seemed to be actively trying at every turn to redeem himself. Unlike the others though, Astarion was at best slow to forgive if he did at all and never to forget.

The sweetly low drone of a flute note drew his attention back to the center of camp, his scarlet stare fastening with a quiet reverence on the bard perched upon the statue’s massive base, a purloined wooden flute held enviably to her puckered lips. The flute was a bit clunkier but more ornate and unique than the one she’d been carrying when he’d met her, an indistinct instrument only special when she’d turned it into an accidental weapon.

A smirk traced his mouth at the memory, unexpectedly tender toward such a gory memory. If he were honest with himself, truly, that was what had started it for him. He absently wondered when it had begun for her as he watched her tease a melody from the unextraordinary hollow tube with little more than her breath and fingers. The purposeful chaining of notes swirled upward, drifting against the obsidian stone surrounding them and returning in gentle form.

Sometime in the “night”—what was night really when it was always so dark?—Astarion ended up near the fire, using its warmth in place of the sun which surely had to be coming up by now on the surface. He was also using a bit of the flickering light to once again mend a fray in his doublet embroidery despite hardly wearing it on their travels anymore, some of the lighter armor they’d found proving a better option as they went further and further into the thick of things. He was among the last awake, which wasn’t unusual, and it was just himself, Halsin, and Áine.

Halsin had been ever more restless the closer they got to another shot at entering the shadow-cursed lands he spoke of, but even he retired after another hour with a quiet “goodnight” bid to each of those remaining awake. Astarion nodded in response, focused on his stitching. He’d completed his fix on his past work and now worked on a new line on the left wrist of the doublet, trying his hand at embroidering a lilac design while he idly listened to Áine toying with her lute behind him.

She’d remained on her perch—he wasn’t completely sure she could get down from that height on her own without it being amusingly clumsy, which he was looking forward to—and forsaken the flute for the night when their party had begun to go off to bed in favor of a quieter instrument. Astarion only lifted his head from his work when he heard her speak.

No… Heard her sing.

He slowly turned his head to look at her, wondering if he even should. Had she forgotten he was still there with her? He had the answer to his question when their eyes met.

Hers were, not unexpectedly, already pooling with tears. A faint smirk played on her mouth as instead of whatever lyric to the song she meant to sing next, she sang in tune to the melody, “Will my performance infringe on your work?” to see if she was bothering him, he supposed. As if she were capable of that.

Astarion chuckled and shook his head in reply, just marveling at her for everything she was. Finding a way to check on him, even make him laugh a little, while she sat there also amused but in such sweet melancholy, he could feel a twinge of it himself by extension.

Her gaze dropped back down to her lute as she adjusted her fingertips and he meant to return to his embroidery, but he just couldn’t look away from her. She was an enchanting sight—long legs half-tucked under her and pressed against the stonework beneath her, starlight-colored tresses that put real constellations to shame, shuttered dark amber eyes that lightened like honey when the firelight caught them just right.

He rose to his feet as she slowly brought her song to a close, her voice ghosting against the walls surrounding them. As she sang through the repetitious last lines—”Never wanted to leave,”—Astarion took measured steps toward her. She watched his progress without faltering as he came close enough to place his hands neatly atop her knee, his chin resting against them as he held her gaze and his silence. He noticed that her skin, even in the faintest reaches of the Underdark’s bioluminescent glow, looked more radiant than ever.

Áine let her final note carry and fade and they simply gazed at each other for a long moment in mutual fascination. She didn’t even think to wipe her eyes until he shifted in their stillness, arranged his doublet over one arm, and then held his arms open for her. The bard smiled, her somber air feathering into obscurity for now, and carefully maneuvered her arms around his shoulders and her lute behind his back.

She let him pluck her off her stage, wrapping her legs around his waist as he supported her with one strong arm firmly slanted across her back, his hand spread to hold the underside of one of her thighs. Astarion kissed her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder and he walked them and their instruments of choice back to her tent tonight.

What they had couldn’t continue to spiral from its noxiously selfish origin point. He’d go mad if it did. He had no idea if he was capable of offering her something real—if he had anything of the sort left to give, if he’d ever had it in him in the first place—but he’d wanted to since that first night they’d spent together. Probably even longer than that if he allowed himself to be sincere.

And he supposed if he wanted an honest chance with her, he had to finally tell her the truth.

Next chapter: Chapter 16, "Full of Surprises"

37 notes · View notes

upheavalofmemory · 1 year

Text

pick a card | comfort

Hello lovelies. Need some comfort before you rest your head? I am here to assist.

Pick a pile before you drift off to sleep, or whenever you feel called to read a message. Some shufflemancy will also be done, featuring Sleeping at Last's Atlas I album (one of my favorite albums and one I find lots of comfort in <3).

All piles are written while I listen to the songs. Piles are inspired by impressionist artwork provided by the National Gallery of Art.

Pile 1

You're on a journey, and it's almost over my love. the uphill battle will soon be calm waters, you just need to take one final leap of faith. the world is in your hands, the universe loves you, and you are loved. Your luck is changing and you'll soon be able to swim in the riches of your hard labor. Don't give up now, you're almost there <3 You don't see it now, but you are like a tree, all of your roots are below you and you are so grounded, nothing can push you down now.

Pile 5 may also resonate with this group.

Cards: Page of Bows (stoat), Nine of Stones (tradition), The Wheel, Queen of Vessels (salmon), The World

Pile 2

There is some generational trauma here, and I want you to know that you're going in the right direction to overcome it. Remember not to fall back into the cycle, but if you do, the universe has it's hand out for you to be lifted right back up. You are protected and little bird, it's okay if your wings are tired, you will rise again.

Page of Arrows (wren), The Green woman, the guardian, the seer, three of bows (fulfillment)

Pile 3

This is an instrumental song. Please breathe. Why do you feel so hurt? Your emotions ebb and flow with the tide, you may feel overpowered or overburdened by your emotions, but I want you to know that it is your strength. Like the mighty ocean, she doesn't change herself, she is powerful, all-mighty. You can look at her negatively, see her anger and how she kills, or you can look at her for how much life she holds, how beautiful she is, and the secrets she has yet to unveil. You have the ability to make any decision you desire, do not let the thoughts of others sway you so easily, like the tide. Remember your roots. Remember that you are life.

page of arrows (wren), two of bows (decision), the world tree, the mirror, eight of arrows (struggle), king of vessels (heron)

Pile 4

You may be carrying lots of responsilibites at this time, but you are at peace. Know that the weight you carry is appreciated by those you love, you aren't doing this for nothing. Remember that you are worth more than just the services you provide and remember that your loved ones don't only love you for that reason, they love you for you. They want you to rest, please rest well and easy, they will help with the load if you simply ask. You are a provider but don't forget to provide for yourself too.

King of arrows (kingfisher), eight of bows (hearthfire), the world tree, ten of bows (responsibility).

Pile 5

Ah yes, you are the embodiment of love. You are loved, so loved. I feel like you forget this sometimes, but please, let yourself be swallowed in the sea of love and care and admiration.

Okay, this is so weird and completely changes the mood but...it says that this song has lyrics when it's instrumental and funny enough... it's the lyrics to Faith by George Micheal. When I think of this song, I immediately think of the movie Sing as well so... these things might be significant to you or they may be a sign??

Also pile 1 might resonate with you as well, it's the same exact cards almost.

Six of Bows (abundance), the wheel, page o bows (stoat), tradition, queen of vessels (salmon)

Pile 6

Oh this is heavy, who hurt you pile 6 :(? ooo! I got a card I've never seen before.

You may feel like you need to continue to keep your walls up pile 6, but I want you to know that someone is going to come and sweep you off your feet pile 6. They will love you so much and they'll be so angry for you against whoever hurt you pile 6. They won't be afraid of you and who you are, they'll welcome all of your pain and love and everything you have to offer, this love is unconditional. They'll do anything to protect you and help you heal if you allow them. They'll go right into the storm of your emotions until you both can get away safely. You'll be overflowing with feelings of being loved and healed, I am happy for you pile 6.

the clock was also at 12:22 when I ended the reading, and I feel called to include a second song as well (Mercury by Sleeping at last)

two of vessels (attraction), knight of arrows (the hawk, this may be this person), nine of vessels (generosity), queen of stones (bear, this is you <;3)

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a card tarot #pac tarot #love tarot #pick a pile #pick a pile tarot #comforting messages tarot #upheavalofmemory #uomTAROT

172 notes · View notes

m0r1bund · 11 months

Text

No, you are right. I lied to you. I was not birthed, but expelled, like a malignant tumor being cut out of a body. The Tree deposited me here with her furthest root. I crawled out of the dirt and into the desert, alone.

When the Court finally found me, they said that they had created me, that they had finally inoculated the Tree with their nightmares. But I believe they were merely taking credit for what was a natural immune response—that is, ridding her body of trauma— in order to groom me.

Nonetheless I carry it inside of me. I am called every day by morbid visions that are mine, but which do not belong to me. The Court wants to use me to sow anguish and heartbreak among their kin, and the Wardens want me dead. Some believe this is why I was really created, so that this immortal and intangible evil could be made into something mortal and tangible… Something that could be killed.

But you are already familiar with such things, no, dragonslayer?

Why are you really here? Did the Pact send you? The Wardens? The Tree herself? Because I cannot imagine why someone like you would come to meet someone like me, except to do their dirty work.

◆◆◆

The Lastborn is a sylvari(?) pariah who mostly keeps to himself and fucks around in the desert. He is dry (pun intended) and emotionally austere, but insightful. People typically get a selfish and callous vibe over a thoughtful vibe, though, because of his rigid commitment to isolation and nonintervention. In truth, he feels that he must “go it alone” to protect himself and those around him.

Everyone knows that something went wrong during his creation… or maybe something went wrong long, long before his creation, and he was just collateral. Either way, the Lastborn emerged from the Pale Tree less like a daughter sprout and more like a root parasite. The Dream that he was fed is completely unrecognizable to most of his peers, a fever dream of great sadness, fear, and pain. The Court considers him to be the first son raised from their Nightmare, and whether or not this is actually true, this narrative has been compelling enough to estrange him from the Tree and the rest of her children. His apparent abandonment—coupled with his induction into the Court during his formative years—is the ultimate condemnation in the minds of his peers.

Worse still, he feels his Wyld Hunt calling him to return to these morbid memories, the way you might pick and scratch at a wound that won’t heal. The possibility that he’ll be called to do something terrible has frightened him into living in isolation—or at least, that’s what he tells those who have the grace to ask first, instead of attacking him on sight. Really, he’s a hermit by choice as much as he is by circumstances outside of his control. He’s not as desperate for belonging as he used to be, and it’s been years since he made his quiet exit from the Court… Though he’ll probably never be out of the shadow of (indicates generally) whatever that was.

Other schtuff:

Not in touch with the Dream, but constantly receives Visions And Nightmares against his will. You could probably consider him an oracle, but only for worst case scenarios, intrusive thoughts, and terrible ideas. And he can’t even tell you if they’re actually going to happen or not.

Not outwardly hung up about being estranged from the Pale Tree and her kids, but maybe a little bit on the inside. Un poquito. I think the two of them reach an understanding later that she did All That to try and protect him (for better or worse.)

Unsure if he emerged with a name or not. If he did, he has never spoken it to others. “The Lastborn” (sometimes “Lostborn”) is an epithet bestowed on him in lieu of a true name. Later on he learns from his friends that you can give yourself a name, or ask other people to name you, and you can change it as many times as you want, and he goes appropriately ham.

Ofc not actually a lastborn (others have come after him, albeit in a more normal way.) but my lot in life is that every couple of years I recreate the last firstborn

⠀

I just think it’s funny if the Court did all these awful things and put all this effort into making a fucked up and eeeevil treebaby. But in the end you fucked up a perfectly good sylvari is what you did. Look at him. He has anxiety.

#lastborn tag #guild wars 2 tag

63 notes · View notes

hmshermitcraft · 11 months

Note

(Anon with the ask regarding TFC - of course, remaining respectful! He deserves nothing less.)

(For the weekly theme: hurt/comfort.) (CW: Polyhermits, if that warrants a CW. One with TFC included.)

Many Hermits go to TFC when they need some comfort. The older Hermit is experienced in providing comfort to his partners, no matter their story, no matter their past trauma, no matter what triggered them this time. TFC always, always has an open door, a warm bed, a good meal/drink and an open ear ready for his partners, should they need it. He's made it clear to everyone that they can always ask him for some comfort, that no project, no nothing is more important to him than them. His partners. His loving, chaotic, adoring partners. And all his fellow Hermits feel comfortable coming to him. There's not one Hermit who hesitates with coming to him when they need some comfort, some love.

... But.

TFC wishes that for once, someone were to comfort him.

He wishes that he could crawl into someone else's bed and just forget about the world for a few hours, while someone gently hold him, strokes over his back, and allows him to relax.

No one notices that he's running himself ragged. He's always down in his mines, so it makes sense. He doesn't see his partners too often down here.

Until one day. A bad day for him. He already woke up in pain and sluggish, but decided to mine anyways. (Bad decision.)

He somehow, even though it never happened before, broke into someone else's mining space.

It's Pearl's.

Pearl sees him, in her mine, and greets TFC with a smile and a kiss. Even though TFC feels terrible for having broken into her mining space.

And that kindness, that unrequited love... something about it makes TFC break.

Pearl is certainly stunned, surprised, and at least mildly alarmed, but this is behavior she has seen with the Boatem Crew and, recently, with Gem and Impulse as well. So, she knows what to do.

She takes care of TFC. Sure, she might've struggled a tiny bit with carrying him - not because of his weight, but because of his diamond prosthetic peg, as it poked her - but she got him to her base, tucked him into her bed, and then cuddled with him until he had cried himself out.

She gently asks him if he wants to talk about it, and though TFC doesn't, he knows it's better if he does. So, he tells her how he is the go-to Hermit for comfort, and while he loves it, and doesn't want to change that (he's very adamant about that), he... doesn't have someone himself.

Pearl, as realization dawns upon her, feels terrible, naturally. But she doesn't let TFC know that (he needs comfort right now, not her). Instead, she works with him through it - as much as they can right now. She talks with him through it, offers suggestions for solutions.

The solution is that TFC will go to Xisuma, Cleo and Joe, and ask them for comfort within the next two weeks. He'll check in with Pearl every day, telling her whether he did or not. (He suggested that - he wants the accountability, else he knows he won't do it. But now he promised Pearl, so he has to.)

He asks Cleo, Xisuma and Joe for comfort within the next three days. Yeah, turns out that there's a lot of stuff in TFC's past that he's keeping bottled up and weighing him down. With how long he's lived, it's no surprise, really, and especially Xisuma mentally facepalms and scolds himself as that realization dawns on him.

From Xisuma, Cleo and Joe, others follow, until TFC knows he can go to anyone of his partners for comfort, if he needs it. And he does.

He's much better off for it, feeling generally happier, healthier, and in less pain.

True, there are still some bad days. But now he can go to his partners for comfort without a second thought. He'll just go to whoever is closest, if he needs comfort quickly.

But if he can pick.. he'll always go to Pearl.

And she will always be there for him.

(Was that alright?)

(it's absolutely wonderful, anon <3)

He begins to learn, too, that each hermit has their only special charm when it comes to comfort. Grian is more subdued than his usual energy, and it's a side of him TFC enjoys seeing. Xisuma is good for quiet company and a cup of tea (often with some biscuits, bought specially for TFC.) TFC doesn't think he's ever tasted soup like Pearl's (the secret ingredient is that it tastes like home.)

It's given him a new way to connect to his hermits. A new insight into how he can comfort them better, too.

None of the hermits treat him differently for opening up, either. They still come to him - often like clockwork. No, the only difference is he's more likely to find a basket of goods outside his door, or a hermit with dinner, or even somebody simply asking how he's doing.

#hermitshipping #ask #tfc tag #pearl tag #xisuma tag #polyhermits #mod 🎀#weekly theme: hurt/comfort

36 notes · View notes

cosmicjoke · 3 months

Note

Do you think Levi has some particular phobia regarding some animals? More than phobia, maybe disgust, like rats: since he lived in the Underground and rats can be a problem everywhere, especially in a place like that.

Maybe he would be apalled that some people outside Paradise would keep them as pets XD

That's a good question.

We saw Levi display a bit of a phobia when Hange was messing around in the water when they reached the ocean and she picked up some sort of sea creature, haha. So I definitely think Levi is probably wary of certain animals. Rats seems like a safe bet, given this idea that they carry diseases, and I feel pretty confident in saying Levi would be pretty put off by that. We know he always wants things to be clean, and since his own mother died from disease, it's not hard to imagine he would have a trauma response to the spread of it.

I think anything slimy would probably weird Levi out. So like snails and slugs and such, or worms of any kind. That would probably wig him out. If he ever saw an octopus, I bet that would freak him out, haha. Maybe even some sorts of insect. Given how filthy it was Underground, and the fact that people probably just dropped dead fairly often in the streets, I can see Levi having a real aversion to flies and maggots, which isn't exactly unusual, but no doubt he would associate those sorts of things with death and disease too.

I generally tend to think Levi would like most animals, just because they're innocent and have no malice in them, which is very different from people. I get the sense Levi would like spending time around animals over people, a lot of the time.

He might be wary of dogs too, if say wild dogs were a thing Underground. Packs of dogs can of course be really dangerous.

There were probably a lot of animals that Levi had never seen before when he came to the surface, and I bet he was pretty fascinated by that. But yeah, if anyone has any other ideas, feel free to share on this post, haha.

I don't think Levi is a very squimish person, but certain things would probably repulse him for sure.

#Levi Ackerman #attack on titan #shingkei no kyojin

19 notes · View notes

veronicaphoenix · 4 months

Text

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: fluff at the beginning, lots of angst and sadness in the second part, hints at an abusive relationship and mentions of childhood trauma, Japanese folklore. | Word count: 3.7k | Cross posted on AO3. | Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

It was 11pm when the glow of my phone pierced the darkness of my room, disrupting my sleep. I had kept it on silent because I had gone to bed early that day, but the brightness was so high, that if it weren’t for that I would have missed Lia’s call.

When I saw her name on the screen and the picture I had of her, smiling happily while she snuggled Gizmo close to her face, her eyes and nose scrunched in an adorable way, I was quickly yanked from my slumber, my alarms going off.

“Lia?”

“Noah,” something was wrong; I could tell by her voice, the way she said my name. “I know it’s late and you were probably sleeping, but do you think you can come pick me up?”

“Of course,” I said without hesitation.

I sat up on the bed, my eyes getting used to the dark. I was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, but it was still freaking cold in the house those days. The temperatures were expected to drop even more in the upcoming weeks. I wouldn’t let Jolly stop me from switching on the heating if needed. The dude had some resistance to low temperatures that maybe had something to do with the fact that he had been born in a very cold country.

“Where are you? Your apartment?” I asked over the phone, kicking the duvet away and rising from the bed.

“No, I’m…” She took a while to answer, and I could picture her looking around, wherever she was, in the middle of the night. “Fuck, I don’t know where I am,” she admitted. “My car won’t start. I don’t know what’s going on. I was at Emery’s house, and we got carried away chatting. I was headed to Mitch’s apartment right now, but the car started making a weird noise, I pulled over, switched the engine off, and now it won’t start. I’ve been trying for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Are you in the city?” I put on the hoodie that I discarded on the floor last night —a few hours ago, actually—.

“Outskirts,” she replied.

“Okay. Send me your location. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just stay inside of the car.”

“Yeah, I will.” Her reply was shaky but determined, a reassurance that echoed through the phone line as I exited my room and hurried to the main door, putting on my sneakers and grabbing the keys. I would send a text to Jolly and Jesse once in the car, letting them know where I had gone.

The city slumbered beneath a blanket of quietude as I drove the empty streets, the eerie radiance of the streetlamps casting a somber ambiance on the dampened asphalt. The clock’s hands seemed to move at a slow pace, nearly twenty minutes stretching into an eternity as I pushed the accelerator, eager to reach Lia. The hum of the engine my only company in the solitude of the cold night.

As I approached Lia’s location, I muttered a curse. Lia’s car was parked on the side of the national road, the shadows of the night taking over the distant light from the lampposts.

I stopped my car behind hers. The quietude and cold air enveloping me as I stepped out at the same time Lia emerged from her car. The chilled air bit through my hoodie, and our footsteps echoed as we met each other.

“Hey.”

Lia wrapped her arms around me and muttered a weak “thank you for coming” before standing back. I noticed she was also wearing a hoodie, one of the recent new ones we had released with her designs for the last drop. It was two or three sizes bigger on her, which made me think that it was probably mine. I could also tell how cold her cheeks would feel, for they were as red as her nose.

“Are you okay?” My hand rubbed her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m worried about the car, though,” she admitted, glancing back at the stalled vehicle. “Whatever the problem is, I don’t think I’ll be able to drive home tonight.”

“Let me take a look. It might be an issue with the injectors, or perhaps it’s just the battery. Either way, we might need to call a tow truck,” I suggested, moving towards Lia’s car.

“Great,” she sighed, her concern lingering. She tried to hide her hands inside the long sleeves of the hoodie. Her shoulders were drawn tight.

Seated the driver’s seat, I slid the keys into the ignitor. The engine responded with a sluggish sound, as if grappling with an obstruction that resisted its ignition.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, trying again. “Look, if it’s an issue with the ignition, we could try something.”

“What?” She asked, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

“There’s a way to get the car back on if the problem is with the ignition, but I’m going to need you to push the car from behind.”

Her eyes widened with a mix of surprise and skepticism.

“Do I look like I’m built to push a car?”

I couldn’t help but smile at her remark.

“No, not really, but it’s not that difficult once the handbrake is off. I need to be here to guide the process. I have to press the clutch, put it in second gear, and move the foot to the accelerator quickly while somebody is pushing the car.”

“Why can’t I do that?”

“Because it’s harder to do than pushing the car, trust me.”

“Okay, Mr. Mechanic,” she concluded.

“Get the gloves from my car, in the storage in front of the passenger’s seat. Otherwise you’re going to freeze your hands.

“Got it.”

I closed the door and rolled down the window. Lia crouched down behind the car, hands gloved. With a signal from me, she began pushing the car, pursuing her lips hard as she used all the strength she could gather from her shoulders and arms. I heard a laugh echoing a few seconds later as the car started to get into motion. I chuckled and shook my head as I tried to get the engine on, stealing a look at the rearview mirror and seeing Lia’s expression. She looked like she had just discovered she had the super strength of a superhero.

Yet, despite our efforts, my idea proved futile.

Five minutes later, Lia stood with slumped shoulders behind her car, looking at me with a pout.

“It’s either the battery or the injectors,” I conluded, releasing a sigh. “They’ll have to take a look at it.”

“Ugh.”

“Don’t worry. Call the car insurance, and let’s wait in my car until the tow truck arrives. Then, I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”

She grabbed her things from her car and circled mine to open the passenger door. Once inside, I helped her put her stuff in the backseat, my expression furrowing at the sight of the flowerpot she was holding.

“What’s that?” My curiosity piqued as Lia cradled the plant in her hands.

“What do you mean? It’s a flower plant. I got it this morning and it’s been in the car even since. Poor thing,” she mourned, checking its leaves. “It’s a bellflower. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Yeah,” I replied, not being much of a flower enthusiast, but the vibrant plant had a certain charm to it.

“I was thinking if I ever have a daughter, I will name her after this flower. Bellie.”

“What?” I snorted a laugh.

“What?” She repeated, a playful defiance in her tone. “You don’t like it?”

“You don’t think people will call her “Belly” by mistake? No, I don’t think I would name my daughter Bellie.”

“If you put it that way… What about Lily?”

“Lily is cute, but it’s too common.”

“Okay, what about—?

“Are we really discussing baby names?” I interrupted her, bemused. We were in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a tow truck. It was nearly midnight. I was tired, she probably was, too, and we were having a discussion over how we would name our daughter? I mean, each other’s daughter. Or… Whatever.

Our gazes remained locked for a couple of seconds. Then, Lia shook her head and dropped her eyes back to the plant. “Mitch’s apartment is empty as hell, so I decided to get some plants, make it look livelier.”

“Are you planning on moving in with him soon?” I couldn’t help but ask, my tone subtly changing.

Please, don’t say yes.

“No, I don’t think so,” she answered honestly. A straightforward answer. That was good. “I really like my apartment. We’ll see in the future, but no plans of moving together for now. God, can you switch on the heating? I’m freezing.”

“Sure. Why didn’t you call him, though?”

It took her a moment to answer, her eyes wandering in the dark landscape in front of us.

“He just came back from tour and he’s out with his friends tonight. I didn’t want to bother him,” her voice carried a hint of shame. “I’m sorry that I called you and made you come all the way here this late.” She looked up at me, her voice low and soft in the dark.

Her reddened cheeks and nose made me want to reach out to her, to cup her face and warm her skin with my palms.

“Lia, you know you don’t have to apologize for that. In fact, you know you should call me if something happens. I mean,” a sudden wave of anger surged within me as thoughts raced my mind. “What the hell, you should call your boyfriend. You should’ve called him. Fuck his night out. You’re in trouble. He should be here.”

“Well, yeah, but…” She let out a puff, sinking herself in the seat. I didn’t mean to make her feel guilty for calling me. My point was merely to acknowledge what a moron Mitch was being. He just came back from tour and decided to hang out with his friends instead of spending time with Lia? What was wrong with him? “Noah, I know that” Lia replied, the tiredness in her tone evident, “but I don’t need a lesson right now. I didn’t feel like calling him. I wanted to call you. That’s all,” she concluded. And before I said anything else, “What’s wrong with the heating?” She put her hands on the heaters, checking the air.

“Nothing is wrong. You just have to wait a while,” I told her, mirroring her tone.

The conversation was dropped right then, a heavy silence settling between us.

An hour later, we were stopped in front of Mitch’s residence, a recently built five-story brick building situated near the city center. The keys jingled in Lia’s hands as she fished them out of her bag, a moment of hesitation lingering as my car remained parked in front of the entrance. Her gaze remained fixed outside the window, a nervous nibble on her lip showing her unease.

“Lia, don’t worry about the car.”

“It’s…” She sighed again, struggling to find the words.

“Are you worried about the money? You know that shouldn’t be a problem, whatever it is that needs to get fixed. The insurance will take care of it.”

“It’s just been a hectic day,” she told me. Consequently, she shook her head and let it drop. “I really need to get to bed. You’re my savior. I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing,” I replied with a smile. I could see how she was still battling herself for her decision of calling me instead of Mitch, for admitting that he had preferred his friends over her, that her car had broken down. I didn’t want to let her go feeling like that. “Or… Actually, you can take me out to that Indian restaurant. Friday? I’ll be free after seven.”

She playfully nudged my shoulder, leaning in two seconds later to kiss my cheek. Her lips were still cold, and the sensation lingered on my skin even for a while after she was gone.

“Seriously, thank you.”

So many formalities, as if she didn’t know that I would move heaven and earth to ensure she was safe of any danger out there. Sometimes her naiveté astonished me.

“Text me when you get home? Just to make sure your car doesn’t break down in the middle of somewhere,” she pleaded.

“Hopefully not. Otherwise, how do you plan on coming to my rescue?” I joked.

“I’ll steal somebody’s bicycle,” she responded with a grin and determination.

“I can’t wait to see you do that.”

With a small laugh, she closed the door, and the silence I was left in inside of the car filled my heart with sadness.

A week and a half later, Lia and I found ourselves at the garage, surrounded by the scent of motor oil and the clattering sounds of tools. As she sat down to sign the paperwork, her eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and resignation. The mechanic, a burly man with grease-streaked overalls, handed her the pen, and she reluctantly scrawled her signature across the dotted line.

Swiping her credit card over the dataphone to settle the bill, Lia winced at the considerable amount that flashed across the screen. The cost of the repairs had skyrocketed, and the insurance only covered half of it. The issue with her car, as explained by the mechanic, was a malfunctioning injector. It turned out that a single faulty injector had caused a domino effect, fucking up the entire fuel injection system. With a sigh, Lia listened as the mechanic detailed the necessity of replacing all the injectors to ensure the car's optimal performance and prevent future issues.

Despite the amount of money that disappeared from her bank account, Lia's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere as she swiped her credit card. That day, when I picked Lia up from Mitch's apartment, I noticed an air of detachment about her, as if the car troubles were merely a backdrop to something deeper weighing on her mind.

We left the reception, both of us holding back a curse because we had no umbrella and they had left Lia's car parked at the end of the street. We stopped for a few minutes before we emerged from the shelter that was the garage roof. On the street, several people were standing back from the curb with their umbrellas to avoid being splashed with water from the puddles on the road by the cars rushing by. I pulled up the hood of the black hoodie I was wearing and looked in the direction of where Lia's car was. It was about twenty meters from where we were standing. It wasn't much, but we were going to get wet whether we wanted to or not. Lia was wearing a black beanie and a denim jacket, and she hid her hands in the pockets and shrank into herself. After the amount of money she'd had to pay for the car repair, she wasn't too thrilled about having to walk in the rain. I suggested to come spend the afternoon with me and Jolly at home; we would make popcorn, plop down on the couch and watch a Peaky Blinders with the rain drops pattering outside. However, she had turned down the offer almost reluctantly, stating that Mitch would be waiting for her at home to have lunch together.

It had been a long time since we had spent an evening like this together and I missed her, but I understood that she now had a partner and was spending most of her time at his place .I could no longer ask for her company as I did before. Things had changed a lot in the last few months, much to my dismay. I was comforted by the thought that as soon as we went on tour again, I would be back to spending whole days with her around.

“Do you think it will stop soon?” She asked in a rather low voice. Her eyes were lost in the clouded sky.

“Doesn’t look like it," I replied, also looking up. It had been raining all week, and the weather forecast predicted that the weather would stay about the same for the next two weeks. “We'd better get going.”

“Your car is on the other corner," Lia replied then, looking at me with a worried wrinkle between her eyebrows.

“Don't worry about me. Let's go.”

Lia followed me after tucking her hair under her jacket and tying the buttons up to her neck. She ducked her head and scampered down the street until we were halfway to her car. That's when Mitch's voice stopped us.

“I had a feeling you weren't going to take the bus.”

Lia and I turned around.

Mitch was standing a few feet away from us in the rain, also without an umbrella. He was wearing a leather jacket and raindrops were pooling in his hair and beard. He had half a smile plastered on his face, but it was not a friendly smile. His blue eyes looked at Lia with pedantry.

Beside me, I sensed Lia tense up.

“Mitch," was the first thing she said. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” He questioned back, taking a couple of steps toward us.

As it had been happening for the past few months, every time the three of us were in the same room, the air seemed to get stale.

“Noah offered to give me a ride," she explained calmly.

“Of course,” the sarcasm was evident in his voice and in his attitude.

When he looked away from her to me, I returned his look with narrowed eyes.

It was no secret that my relationship with Mitch had frayed quite a bit —to say the least— since he started dating my best friend. It’s not like we ever had such a great wonderful friendship, but ever since he'd started going out with Lia there had been a void between us that we both knew what it was due to.

“I thought you were working," she continued.

“I went out for coffee with Enzo and I asked him to give me a ride to the garage, since you were told to pick up your car today at this time, and here I am, unexpectedly surprised by you instead of the other way around,” his words dripping sarcasm as we stood right outside the garage, under the rain.

“What's wrong with you?” Lia countered, her features shrinking.

“What's wrong with me?” he repeated, his anger flaring. “Your car breaks down in the middle of the road and who do you call? Him!” He shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at me drawing disapproving glances from the garage workers and other passersby. “Him, damn it! And now I find you here with him again!”

“You don't have to react like that,” Lia replied, keeping it down, refusing to let her voice escalate.

“Of course I have to! Who's your boyfriend, Lia? Who?!”

“Don't raise your voice at her,” I ordered without moving. However, I was prepared to step between them the moment I considered that he had lost it.

Both of them turned their heads to me. Lia wore an expression of sorrow, shame, and guilt, while Mitch seethed with anger. If it hadn’t been clear to me before, it was now: the dude hated me.

“I don't think you realize this isn't about you, Noah.”

It was clear he failed to understand that whatever happened to Lia was indeed my business.

Years ago, Lia might have reacted different to Mitch’s outburst, but since she had started going out with him, she seemed to have lost her sense of agency. She didn’t want to acknowledge that the frightened little Lia who once cowered in the corner of her house because her mother or one of the men she had brought home had tried to touch her was there again, making her unable to defend herself.

That day was when I started worrying for real, but Lia wouldn’t let me step up.

She was no longer a child, and she was with Mitch by choice, and there was a line I wasn’t supposed to cross and that was growing thicker day by day.

“I called Lia a while ago to ask about the car. When she told me she was about to leave the house I offered to pick her up. That's all.”

It was a lie, of course. We had agreed on me picking her up this morning over the texts we exchanged last evening. We had even planned on going out and getting a coffee from a Starbucks nearby and taking a walk around the city center, get a few things we needed, but I guessed those plans were totally cancelled now.

“I don't give a crap,” Mitch turned his attention back to Lia. “Have you paid the bill yet?”

“Yes," she responded in a robotic tone.

“Then let's go.” Mitch walked toward her, extending his hand not for her to take, but to collect the car keys. Lia handed them over and he made a gesture for her to follow him.

When I spoke her name in a whisper laden with concern, Lia's eyes reached for mine. She had such huge, beautiful eyes, and I couldn't bear to see what lurked in them, that sadness.

“It's okay, don't worry," she whispered to me. She brushed the fingers of her hand over mine as she turned her back to Mitch. She was hiding the look in her eyes and at the same time trying to reassure me. The pain I saw in them made me furious, but what angered me the most was the small, forced smile he tried to sneak on me under the increasing rain.

Any other time, she would have stood on her tiptoes to give me a kiss on the cheek before leaving. It was something Lia had always done with me. Wherever we were, before disappearing, she always sought me out to say goodbye. It didn't matter if I was busy or at the other end of the house. Lia always kissed me goodbye.

This time, she didn't. And I watched her walk away from me as if a piece of heaven had just been ripped out of my hands.

Mitch took her hand. I let her walk away. She took one last look over her shoulder at me.

Things were not going well.

I felt a tug in my stomach. I knew I would get sick that day, and in a few hours, I would be coughing up flowers.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian x ofc #bad omens fic #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction

11 notes · View notes

venus-celestial · 4 months

Text

(Mini Acotar Rant kinda)

I have an inherent need to see Nesta In the day court and summer court you can't convince me she wouldn't thrive in those courts

Like Traquin and Helion could both help her tremendously and they could become great friends with Nesta

(More under because this is a long one boys)

Traquin could help her overcome her fear of being submerged in water the summer court probably has pools of many different sizes and depths

They could start small like 5 inches of water and slowly work their way up until they get to the point nesta is ok in water deep enough her feet don't touch the floor

And through it all Traquin being caring and understanding and encouraging never pushing her when she she wants to stop always telling she's done good

Also if she accidentally sets something on fire he doesn't get mad he uses his powers to put it out and comforts her

Helion helping Nesta overcome her fear of fires he notices her flinch when he lights any fire and eventually after gentle coaxing he learns of her fear her trauma

He starts silencing the fires around his house with a spell and eventually asks if she would like him to help her with the fear

Nesta agreeing and Helion slowly getting her used to fire by making small fires in his palm and slowly making them bigger

And slowly getting her used to the noise by slowly lowering the spell that silences the fires until she doesn't need the spell up at all

Helion helping Nesta regulate and master her powers him researching and managing to make gems that store and regulate her power (less powerful siphons I hope I spelled that right)

Helion making jewelry out of them and giving them to her Nesta immediately feeling the efforts of them of her power being regulated and filtered and being over joyed

Helion teaching her to use her magic not for combat not for war but everyday tasks having her light the fires in the house or pick up a cup small things at first

Helion and Nesta learning she can manifest particularly anything she can think of her using this power to conjuror cake or books or tea

Helion being amazed when Nesta can not only conjuror fire but ice water plants and even starlight if she tries hard enough

Nesta using her powers to just have fun or do mundane things Nesta throwing water at Helion Nesta conjuring stars on the ceiling at night

Nesta making ice sculptures Nesta growing fruit for the hell of it Nesta conjuring cake and tea out of thin air to have while reading

Nesta finally having control of this power and not feeling like it's going to rip her apart and not needing to use it everyday because of the gems

Nesta happy and healing and becoming friends with 2 high lords and going back and forth between the two courts because they've both become her home

(Ok time for head cannons / just scenarios that I envision with this)

Nesta making friends with a day court male who is twice her size but the biggest book nerd ever

Nesta making friends with workers at both summer and day and them being delighted everytime she returns to their court

Nesta just making friends who fallow her back and forth to both courts and tease her about her books but also read the books she recommendeds them

Traquin and Nesta going on evening works around summer courts Beaches and Traquin putting his jacket/coat on her when she gets cold

Nesta falling asleep on a pool float and Traquin having to have to retrieve her and trying not to wake her as he carries her out of the pool

Helion braiding gold and small jewels into Nesta's her while she sits and reads

Helion just doing Nesta's hair in general and always put in some type of pin or headband or any pretty hair accessories

Nesta falling asleep in Helion's huge library and it becomes a one man game of hide and seek as he looks for her and eventually finds and carries her to bed

Nesta and Helion bonding over books and giving each other recommendations and judging books together

Nesta and Traquin having water fights on the Daily powers and all there always being a huge mess afterwards

Nesta dancing in the shallow pools of the summer court and Traquin joining her

Nesta using her powers to make companions for herself basing them off of azs shadows and later making more animal shaped ones

The attendants of both summer court and Day court loving to help Nesta get ready be it for the day or an event

Nesta dressed in Day courts white and or summer courts blue and silver and white

Or fuck it Nesta in dark blue that fades to white and gold combining both day and summer because their both her home

Nesta Walking around both courts and at events wearing the colors of day and summer with her hair down and gold and silver in her hair and people mistaken her for the lady of both courts

Nesta finding a home friends and freedom in the courts of day and summer and no one being able to take her away from either court least they anger the respective High Lords

(That's it for this post sorry if it was long but I just need this in my life and I'm definitely going be drawing and writing about this idea for a while anyway hope you enjoyed)

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #helion spell cleaver #helion acotar #traquin acotar #nesta acotar #nesta archeron #pro nesta #day court #summer court

14 notes · View notes

meta-squash · 4 months

Text

This is a meta/rant/ramble/whatever that I'm sure has been written a billion times over the years, hell I even wrote a (in retrospect, terrible) fic about it when I first joined the Torchwood fandom a billion years ago. But I'm gonna meta anyway because why not.

Last week I watched all the Owen-centric episodes of Torchwood, and recently I've just been watching the other ones at random. Tonight I rewatched Meat and I always forget how pissed off I get at Gwen's "You all think it's cold and lonely" monologue.

But! I think it's a fascinatingly consistent character flaw.

Gwen is portrayed as the "heart" of Torchwood. Not as in the centre, but as in the empathetic/sympathetic, emotional part of it. Now, I have multiple issues with this framing of her role and framing of the character. But for now I'll just talk about this specific character flaw.

For all Gwen's heart and sympathy and humanity and whatever, she has a really hard time picking up on her coworkers' misery, or being even remotely empathetic toward them at the level she is with civilian victims or whatever regular people she has to deal with.

It first arises in Countrycide with her "who did you last snog" game, but in that case everyone takes some of the blame because they all forgot about Ianto's recent loss of Lisa.

She's totally oblivious to Owen's love affair with Diane and then his all-consuming grief after she leaves and the "erratic behaviour" it causes, and when Tosh tells her that Owen and Diane had a "thing", she's totally surprised. And her reaction is to bring up her own affair with Owen and call him a wanker.

And then there's Tosh again with the loss of Tommy in To The Last Man. In both cases when Tosh lost lovers, Gwen was there for the event.

And then Gwen has this monologue, accusing the rest of her coworkers of thinking "it's cold and lonely out there" but insisting that it's different for her because she has Rhys. It feels so right, character-wise, but also so infuriating. Because the entire point of the rest of the Torchwood team is that they know it's not cold and lonely out there, because at one point in time for them it really, really wasn't. They desperately want to believe that it isn't cold and lonely. Only, every one of them except Gwen is saddled with multiple devastating losses. They're not just cynical lonely people for no reason. All of them have loved deeply and yet every time they do, they end up losing the person they love. And yet they somehow manage to piece themselves back together and carry on.

Gwen never has to do that. At least, not permanently (until the loss of Tosh and Owen).

And I'm always so fascinated by this bizarrely blinkered part of her character, because Jack spends so much time encouraging her humanity, and she is generally framed to be the empathetic/emotional one about the various victims or civilians they encounter (another framing I have thoughts on but not now). And yet she's totally blind and even callous when it comes to her coworkers, even when it's extremely obvious like Ianto's grief over Lisa or Owen's over Diane.

When I rewatch Torchwood I can never tell if this characterisation of emotional ignorance (wilful or not) is a trait that's established as an original part of Gwen's character or not. I can't tell if it's something that is actively acknowledged in the writers room as a part of her personality, or if it's just something the various writers have noticed.

But it is just so interesting to me because she was there for the deaths of multiple lovers of the Torchwood team, she witnessed their loss firsthand (Owen and Diane aside) so she's aware that they've felt this love, these deep emotional connections, these losses and griefs, and yet she still somehow believes that they just cynically think it's cold and lonely. She's a witness to their traumas but she can't empathise with it, she doesn't seem to recognise it or acknowledge it once the actual event has passed.

Doing this rewatch is really interesting and I have a lot of thoughts.

#squash rambles #torchwood #torchwood meta

10 notes · View notes

astorythatwritesitself · 2 months

Text

Shepard AMA Round 5!

I had the day off and couldn't play anything so writing it is! I'm also likely going to go through the past ones again in the near...ish.... future, since development has been kicking for a good year or so and I've gotten some things ironed out. In the meantime, though!

(As always, almost anything discussing Adrian as a character carries major CWs for discussions of suicidal thoughts/self destructive/harmful tendencies)

And as always, question list from the fantastic @spookyvalentine ! Have fun lol

1. What is Shepard’s favorite store on the citadel?

Less a single store, and more of a shopping area - there's a little plaza in Bachjret Ward that functions as an open market, with vendors constantly changing out. It's a great place to get specialty items - particularly ingredients and flowers, there's a long tradition of hobbyist gardeners who've specialized in growing niche plants on space stations, but you'll find a lot of... for lack of better phrasing, garage-sale type setups too. Adrian's father usually took her there to pick out a treat or otherwise just enjoy the crowds, when the Shepards wound up at the Citadel when she was a kid; and even during the events of the series she would stop by there to find something special for the crew.

2. What is the public’s opinion/awareness of Shepard?

Varied - actually kind of a low opinion through most of ME1 - there was a lot of speculation that the hunt against Saren was a coverup for something else, and the human getting promoted to Spectre just seemed. Weird and not everyone trusted it lol. Adrian actually damn near tanked her reputation after Virmire; if Sovreign hadn't shown up when it did, she'd probably be cemented as 'that weirdo who tried to proposition Counciler Tevos in front of everyone'. ME2 era sees a solid split in human opinions, due to her 'humanity isn't more important to me than any other species' stance; but she's become quite popular among quarian and krogan crowds; generally she's regarded as a solid hero; which carries strongly into & beyond 3.

3. Armax arsenal arena: do they participate? How do they like it?

She'd probably give it a few goes, and actually pick it up a lot more post-war, once she's out of the Alliance. Those instincts aren't going anywhere, after all, and it actually becomes kind of a way to face down some of the like. Trauma lol.

4. Shepard wakes up in an alternate universe. What tips them off?

Define the alternate universe xD ... actually, since I am writing that 'Shep & Thane get to live' AU - waking up at all, and that everyone else is seeing Thane would do it. (Or, sticking her in my other favorite video game... that she is on a world where there's giant terrifying beasts but they just want to be friends is. Weird. But she can gel with becoming a pokemon trainer.)

5. What kind of relationship does Shepard have with Javik?

Weird - but it becomes fairly friendly, and she's actually kind of grateful to have him around, because she's been spending the last couple years with a degree of thought patterns and instincts that are alien beyond anyone's comprehension, and it's so... just. Isolating. He's a little abbrasive for her taste otherwise, but she's dealt with worse and would still choose to hang out with Javik over a few others lol.

6. The first thing a person notices about Shepard’s appearance:

In ME1 - the scars. She works to downplay them, but she could never bring herself to seek reconstructive surgery/otherwise actually like... cover them. Post-Lazarus though... it's her eyes, probably. Very expressive, and they're that sort of deep, still brown that's a little striking at first. (Or a lot striking, if you're asking a certain drell-)

7. How approachable are they?

Adrian radiates some weird invisible 'Please Tell Me I'm Useful' aura that drags people in, no matter how much she tries to put up a prickly stance, and unfortunately it takes until like 2189 until she feels comfortable saying 'no'. (And to her friends... she's not really 'approachable', because most of the time /she's/ coming to /them/ first xD)

8. What is the difference between me1 and me3 Shepard? Do they notice, or does someone have to point it out?

ME1 Adian is nervous but collected, and very good at keeping her internal issues on the inside, where they belong, because of course she can't be a burden; she's a good soldier who will follow orders and do whatever she can for others; and it's not until her death that her crewmates realize... huh, she's happy to listen to our problems, however deep they run, but her answers, when they asked about her? Kind of... shallow.

ME3 Adrian is. Uh. CW for suicidal tendencies in the canon section.

Good end: Openly frightened but there's a lightness to her that's never been there before, and she no longer speaks about the future like she's not going to be there; she's prioritizing her goals and what she feels needs to be done, regardless of damage to her, the Alliance, or the Council's reputations.

Canon: A determined, selfless hero who will see things through to the end, and if she somehow survives... it won't be for long because she is goddamn /done/ with existing.

9. Did/does Shepard have any alien biases?

She's got a soft spot for the krogan, quarians and geth; and has a lot of thoughts about the way first contact with the drell was handled, and this was /before/ meeting Thane.

10. How do they handle a teammate being badly injured during a mission?

Extremely well, all things considered - her intial training and official designation /did/ partially center around being a field medic, after all, so she kind of slips into that detached headspace of assessment and appropriate follow-up that keeps any anxiety at bay for a while; and usually by the time it hits, they afflicted teammate is at least stable enough that she can work through it well. (Garrus' being hit on Omega was probably the closest she got to totally cracking on the job, as it were.)

11. Who is in their inner circle?

Ashley, Wrex, EDI, Joker, Miranda and, of course, Thane, wind up the closest to her in the end. (She was also quite close to Kaiden and Mordin, before their deaths; and she's not necessarily on bad terms with any of the other crewmates - but with the likes of like, Tali, Jack, Grunt and Garrus? They're all more like... she had to be strong for them, there's more of a mentor-ish vibe there where she maintained a certain... veneer of having it together, and the others fall into good friend, great to hang out with, but not quite the same level of 'I am willing to let you see me hurt and crying' closeness).

12. What does Udina think of them?

He'd Rather Not, Thank You. (I.e: He had very high hopes but oh dear god, Shepard is. Such a mockery of his hopes for the first human Spectre, and his only solace is that she manages to piss off the Council about as much as she crosses him.)

13. What does Shepard think of Saren?

She's... honestly not sure. Annoyed with him at first, but after realizing he was indoctrinated for quite some time, and doing some research... in the end? She just feels sorry for him, and wishes there was something else that could have been done.

14. Is Shepard’s first death publicized? (Since in game seems both people know about it and the alliance covered it up)

To a degree - there were theories that she was in some deep-cover operation, but the Alliance did officially declare her MIA/PKIA about a year after the Collector attack, and there was a memorial service.

15. Did they have any relationships pre-me1? Still around?

Not really - Adrian's always been a little weird on the relationship front; there's a lot of sorting out of 'am I actually on the aromantic range or am I just terrified of being in love as a soldier because I've spent my entire life seeing how much hurt that tends to result in' (the answer is six of one, half a dozen of the other) that never gets done, so she mostly wound up with a few things that never got past a third date during her time in college; and it declined even further after Akuze. (And considering her partners were all Alliance, up til Thane... most of them aren't around any more, but there is another XO out there who is absolutely flabbergasted to see that tech nerd she slept with that one time suddenly all over the news...)

16. What additions did Cerberus give Shepard?

I play it as pretty mild, all things considered. Most of her organs are, to some extent, synthetic/artificially enhanced, a lot of reinforcements to her muscle and bones that have left her pretty durable. The biggest differences are that she got her left ear back, and to steal from some other HCs - the cybernetics mean her eyes kind of glow in the dark now - results in enhanced night vision, and delightful terror to unsuspecting crewmates!

17. Have they done any interviews? How did the first one go? And the most recent?

The first interview she ever did was actually when she was a kid, and attending a biotics camp that had just accepted its first wave of human students, which consisted of Adrian and exactly one other kid - most human biotics were headed to BAaT, but Adrian's parents leaned towards 'you know we'll go with the people who've had like. Centuries. To figure this out' mindset. It went pretty well, and definitely set a tone for her future lol, since she was spending a lot of time around aliens and had a pretty positive opinion of the whole thing.

Her most recent interview would probably be just after the Reaper War, and consists of 'I Am Retired Please Leave Me The Fuck Alone.'

18. What do they think of the alliance?

It's been her entire life. Every home, most of her friends, her schooling, her career... all of it was steeped in the Alliance. It wasn't perfect - and there was a lot she wanted to change, but if she was a good enough soldier? Maybe she could make some changes, one day? By the time she realized no, no one soldier (however good) could make a real change to the entire system... well, Sunk Cost Fallacy is a bitch, she genuinely wasn't sure how she could function outside of Alliance structure. Post-Akuze left her extremely disillusioned - that no, they really did value image over integrity. She should have faced some punishment for her actions... and instead, she gets lauded as a hero and a survivor, an example of what humanity can endure, and she would basically lose her entire life if she ever spoke up otherwise... and like a good Alliance soldier, she was too scared of that unknown, so she played along and kept up the good looks.

19. What are they like, when in a bad mood? How obvious is it?

She gets a little more terse and withdrawn, and her usual way of dealing with it is... pretty much dissociation, honestly. She can't snap because it'll be Bad For Image, or because the situation doesn't actually /warrant/ anger, or getting angry won't do anything to help... so. Yeah. Adrian gets angry and swallows it down and just kind of goes blank until her nerves are calmer. Completely healthy coping mechanisms.

20. Does Shepard’s armor hold any significance to them? What about a weapon?

Eh... armor, not really; she often swapped it out. Weapons were also generally regarded as tools, kept well-maintained but without much attachment... until she got the Widow xD She fucking /loved/ that thing - it's big, it's sturdy, it can punch through damn near anything, it's beautiful.

21. What was Shepard like before the alliance?

There was no pre-Alliance Shepard, really... but before active service, she was sligtly less anxiety-riddled and a little more hopeful? Not by /much/ though, tbh, she's just always been kind of tinged with sadness and fear.

22. What was the post-lazarus reunion between shepard and joker like?

Damp.

There were a lot of tears - mostly on Adrian's part, because she had died only half-sure she actually got Joker out, so seeing he was alive... that was. A lot to process. Joker, meanwhile - like he knew this was coming, but hearing 'hey yeah we've got Shepard's frozen scorched corpse and we're gonna bring her back' and seeing her there were worlds apart.

23. Ever had a broken heart?

Losing Kaiden counts in some respect - even if she wasn't sure if she did want to pursue something, there was /something/ blossoming there... and then, there wasn't. (She also very much suffers one in canon!ME3, losing Thane definitely breaks her in a way that never mends. And in my tweaked canon/They Live version... she gets a very intense familial heartbreak (: )

24. Are they funny?

Moderately, and it works best when she's not trying to be funny.

25. Have they made pursuits into further education? Any degrees?

Went to military college and got a degree in computer science (main focus was decryption and disruption), also took a few medical courses to supplement her combat medic goals. Post-wartime, she pursues education in literature and marine biology.

26. Does Shepard have a Twitter account

Adrian has a few social media accounts, and nearly all of them are just there to grab it before someone can try to fake them, there's very little activity beyond Official Needs. (She is (anonymously) active on... for lack of better phrasing, space Tumblr, though. No text posts though, she is strictly there to post & share photography).

27. The last time they were rude to someone:

Honestly, Adrian stays pretty polite? The only people she's really told to fuck off, in as many words, were The Illusive Man and Udina lol.

28. Does Shepard have any family?

A fair bit! Both her mother and father are alive up through & beyond the events of ME3 - Hannah remains in the Alliance throughout, while her father leaves the Alliance in the years between Adrian's first death and resurrection, instead operating at low income clinics on the Citadel (and a volunteer medic during the Battle of London). Hannah's side also sees an aunt, two uncles, and grandparents; while Adrian Sr. was a foster kid who bounced between homes most of his life, and wasn't formally adopted - but he keeps in contact with the women who cared for him in those last couple years before he signed on with the Alliance, and Adrian did meet them a couple times. That said, most of Adrian's life was spent beyond the Charon relay, and she never actually visited Earth in person until she was a teenager; her relationship with her extended family was pretty distant and limited.

29. Does the alliance use their image for propaganda/recruitment? Did they agree to/want it?

For a while, after her death - Adrian expressly denied permission while she was alive, but Hannah okayed digital reconstructions after Adrian's death - and oh god yeah the Alliance regretted the /shit/ out of it. 1: They were creepy as hell. 2: The public backlash was /intense/ - not just from civilians either; Ashley and Joker both sent in some very strong letters.

30. A moment that almost made Shepard quit:

As bad as a lot of them were? None of them actually made her want to quit, really. After all, what else would she have, without the Alliance?

31. Ask Dr. Chakwas: what kind of patient is Shepard?

A... consistent patient. Frequently in, because she's always doing something she shouldn't, but she's very tractable. Sits still, doesn't flinch or jump, gets a gold star and lollipop every time sort.

32. Is Shepard the type to give speeches?

A little - she doesn't exactly /mean/ to, but also she has consumed far too much poetry so it leaks into her pep talks xD

33. What does the council think of their first human spectre?

They'd Rather Not, Thank You. (Okay, actually, they're pretty impressed by the end of things, and they did at least appreciate that she took the charge of protecting the galaxy to heart - even among prior spectres, there was often a bias towards their own species, but Adrian really did exemplify that notion of protecting /everyone/ equally.)

34. What was Jack’s first impression of shepard? And now?

"Oh dear god this fucking prissy bitch is going to be the death of me I am not falling into any uniform or behaviour requirements' lol. Definitely softens, especially since Adrian does really listen to her and doesn't like... try to /fix/ shit, she just listens and /will/ help but doesn't force it. (She also does kinda appreciate the fact that, Adrian is a nerd... but she's a nerd who knows and appreciates poetry so maybe that's something she can share with someone else?) In the end? Considers Adrian a very annoying but beloved older sibling.

35. How was that mako joyride from ilos to the citadel?

White-knuckled terror for Adrian and Garrus. Best goddamn day of Tali's life cause she was at the wheel for it.

36. What was going through Shepard’s head, when they met Sovereign on Virmire?

A Lot. A weird relief, because shit started falling into place. Existential terror of Lovecraftian proportions. And an undeniable flicker of curiosity and awe, because holy shit /sapient robot cuttlefish-/

37. What is their favorite way to eat potatoes

Mashed with a lot of butter, garlic, salt and pepper; though she won't say no to a good jacket potato.

38. Lucky, or unlucky?

It's all in how you look at things - many would say Adrian's lucky to have survived so much, after all. Adrian would... Respectfully Disagree and leave it at that. (She does count herself lucky for her friends, though.)

39. What would Shepard say their flaws are?

That she is, at heart, a coward. She abandoned her squad on Akuze, and then was too afraid to speak out when the Alliance fudged things to save face; too afraid to leave the Alliance even once she started to hate it. She's bad at enforcing boundaries, and fears rejection enough that she'd rather make herself horribly uncomfortable than just say 'no' and have to deal with someone's disapproval.

40. What’s their pain tolerance like?

Horrifyingly high, and this was pre-Lazarus. See 'will endure physical discomfort over rejection' above; Adrian just... kind of accidentally internalized a 'suck it up and deal' approach; to the point she tends to miss some mild injuries, and managed to stay conscious and moving despite thresher maw acid getting into her hardsuit and eating at her. Only increases post-Lazarus, she winds up... /mostly/ accidentally hurting herself a few times during the worst of it.

41. Shepard’s been turned into an animal! What are they?

If she had a choice in the matter - Greenland shark or giant isopod. Going by general vibes though... Ross Seal. Look at em.

youtube

Shep go -laser sounds-

42. Does Shepard imagine what retirement will be like?

In true canon? No. Adrian never does quite reconcile a life outside the Alliance, and fully expects - and after a while, /hopes/ - she'll just die relatively young in battle and not have to face the horrible gaping void that is the future.

Tweaked canon? Not until most of the way through ME2 - the above still stands, but in the tweaked canon... she started spending time with Thane simply because he was also Doomed By The Narrative, and in this situation, had just... not pursued treatment for his condition, so there was a very grim but kind of pleasant mutual understanding of Things. But he's also on a ship with like some of the best medics in the galaxy and a lady who knows how to fix up organs, and saving Kolyat spurs him to see if anything can be done, or if it is too late. And /that/ leads to... not quite a fight, but a Strong Discussion that finally truly cracks through Adrian's whole... wall of Hell that everyone else has already started to wear down, that she finally allows herself to think, well, what if there /is/ a future for her?

It's pants-shittingly terrifying and she hates it, because now everything is /so much scarrier and more fragile/, not to mention she still has no idea what it could actually /involve/, and even up through ME3's events, all she can really think of for if she survives (and gods help her, for the first time in her life, she's hoping she will)?

She'd like a home of some sort, with Thane. She'd like to learn how to cook. Anything else is still... too much. Too scary. But a home on solid ground and a new, useful skill. She can imagine those.

43. What would they rather: wake up four years into the past, or four years into the future? Why?

Tough call - assuming like, end of ME3? Adrian's... really not sure. She's done the timeskip into the future thing, and things did ultimately work out... and she's a little afraid, if she woke up in the past as she is 'now'? She might not be able to pull everything off a second time. So, future it is.

44. Does collateral damage matter to Shepard?

To an extent - she doesn't like causing more damage than is necessary, but also if it's inanimate object vs someone getting hurt, welp, sucks to be an object.

45. Do they vote?

Oh absolutely.

46. Favorite bar/club in the galaxy and why:

Afterlife. The irony of having to go there immediately after coming back from being dead was kind of great, and the music is exactly her sort of jam - seriously, when she's scanning planets or building a ship she just has it on a loop. Idk she just vibes with it.

47. Do they let others take care of them?

Yeah she takes 'physician, heal thyself' a little too seriously and for... pretty much her entire life past 18, the only thing resembling care she'd really accept from others without (much) protest or immediately trying to do something in return was food, and that's because she could never get the hang of cooking even instant noodles.

48. How does Shepard feel about paperwork?

Necessary, often annoying, but also it gets her out of her brain so that's why she's buried in it through ME2.

49. What do they wear to sleep?

Varies a little by temperature, but I imagine biotics tend to run hot so she's usually just in boxers. Maybe a tank top if it's chilly.

50. What was the last thing (non-email) shepard read? Book, play, poem, essay etc

She's usually jumping between a couple books at one time! Through ME1 she's working through a collection of poetry from multiple species, the Cthulu mythos, and some middle-grade Spectre adventure books Joker sent her as a congratulations present (she actually rather enjoys them). ME2 is a lot of news, Revelation & Ascenion, and she dives /deep/ into hanar and drell poetry for. Reasons. Lockdown sees her pick up a subscription to a sci-fi/fantasy anthology and a couple knitting how-tos; and ME3 time leaves... very little time for reading. Most of what she goes through is the same prayer book Thane has.

(She also has a couple books on gardening and cooking. Just in case.)

(+1 would you bang your shepard? Lol jk we all know the answer to that. Share your favorite fact about them!)

In the Good End AU, Adrian and Thane wind up settling on, of all places, Akuze. It's a pleasant climate for him, and despite the memories... Adrian does find it lovely. And more importantly... it's like Omega but. Less. No one wants to lay serious claim to it because, Death Worms, so it's become prime real estate for dangerous sorts who are extremely tired and want to be left the fuck alone to exist in relative peace, they're too damn old and creaky for power plays any more.

The existing community is headed by an ancient krogan whose clan used to revere and work with thresher maws, she took her granddaughter there to pass on the old ways, and she's the one who has ultimate approval over who's in and who can try setting up somewhere else. Roz is a grouchy old bitch who doesn't keep up with the news, and even if she did, one human-drell couple looks the same as another as far as she's concerned, so what's it matter that she's just helped one settle up nearby? Get the fuck outta her town and leave her people alone or she'll get the shotgun.

#shep tag #anyway yea Adrian gets to be a seal bc: Go Swim and Eyes #Youtube

4 notes · View notes

iamnotawomanimagod · 1 year

Note

Shauna had said that she doesn't like her daughter and if Callie is the same as Jackie that means that Shauna never genuinely liked Jackie. Correct?

I don't think it's that simple. There's more nuance there, for both relationships in question.

Shauna doesn't like Callie for some very basic reasons, alongside the deeper ones. Callie is in that very stereotypical mean-teen-girl phase, determined to rebel against her parents (especially her mother) at all costs. She's shown to be a bit of a brat, to be honest. She's constantly insulting and dismissing her mom, not following her requests, pushing against Shauna's authority... the list goes on.

Callie frankly doesn't seem to like Shauna much, that's part of what makes her concern for mother so surprising in the diner scene. But that concern also hints at a deeper, more affectionate connection that has perhaps faded over time - not dissimilar to what Shauna and Jackie go through in the woods. We're seeing a snapshot of the Shauna/Callie relationship, at a difficult time for them both, just like we saw a snapshot of the Shauna/Jackie dynamic.

It's also no coincidence that Callie happens to represent a lot of the worst of Jackie - her snappishness towards her mother reflects the same tone that Jackie had towards Shauna when Jackie was upset with her, especially after she finds out about the pregnancy. Callie and Jackie share a certain manipulative nature, especially when it comes to getting Shauna to do what they want. It's easy to see why Shauna would resent Callie for trying to control her, when it was the thing Shauna disliked most about Jackie.

But it should be noted that Shauna says she doesn't like her daughter, not that she never liked her daughter.

Callie is a constant reminder of Shauna's dead best friend, her biggest mistakes, and her worst traumas. I can imagine a world where Shauna and Callie are quite close until Callie gets older, becomes a teenager, and starts reminding Shauna more and more of Jackie - but specifically, Jackie at the age of her death, the Jackie that Shauna already can't escape, (especially as the plot picks up and Shauna's past catches up with her.) The Jackie that Shauna betrayed, the Jackie whose boyfriend Shauna stole and married and had a child with, that very same child who looks and talks and carries herself so much more like Jackie than she does her own mother. The mean, bitchy, manipulative Jackie that Shauna never got to make amends with, who died over a stupid argument and each girls' mutual stubbornness.

Maybe Shauna and Callie will outgrow it. Or maybe Shauna will just continue to resent her daughter for having the life her best friend could never have. The life Shauna blames herself for ending.

I'd have a hard time liking Callie in Jackie's shoes, too, to be honest.

But no, even detaching from the Jackie/Callie parallels, I don't think the argument can be made that Shauna never liked Jackie. They were best friends. Having myself been a teenage girl with an intense best friendship of my own, the passionate and intense connections teenage girls often share can absolutely border on resentment and hate when things get tough. Especially when one generally outshines the other. It's tough living in someone's shadow. And again, Yellowjackets is a snapshot of the worst moments in this relationship, and we only really see glimpses of what things were like before.

But I think there are enough scenes which show that Jackie and Shauna genuinely care for one another and enjoy each others' company, especially in the first half of the season. It's just a very complex, painful relationship, especially because it ends on such a bitter note, which goes on to inform Shauna's relationship with Callie.

It feels limiting to both dynamics to boil them down to this single line, if I'm being blunt. There's a lot more evidence supporting a more nuanced interpretation for both dynamics, even if we ignore all the parallels between Jackie and Callie. I could expand on this, but I also don't know how important is that any of these characters like each other. It's about so much more than that.

Like each other or not, they can't escape each other. And they can't escape each other because they love each other, Jackie/Shauna and Jackie/Callie, each with its own twisted and heartbreaking caveat specific to those dynamics (best friends and mother/daughter respectively.)

Thanks for giving me a chance to rant about it anon! Been a minute since I've gotten all nerdy about TV writing.

#OG mutuals know that if I'm writing meta and answering asks like this it's gotten serious #we're in deep now lads (gn)#yellowjackets #asks #anons

23 notes · View notes

master-sass-blast · 18 hours

Text

Resurgence.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five: Chapter One, Part Five: Chapter Two, Part Five: Chapter Three, Part Six: Chapter One, Part Six: Chapter Two, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen

Summary: You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

AKA you and Lin meet up for an evening to blow off steam. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: M for sexual content, panic attacks, PTSD symptomatology, vomiting, and arguing.

Word count: 5.9k.

Author's Note: Me? Posting more than once a year? Surely not.

In other news, my CFS/other body and brain shit is still overwhelming. It basically took dragging myself through editing to be able to post this latest round of fics (for those of you who don't check out my other works, no worries, but I like to post in little caches so that everything is updated mostly together). I'm not trying to vie for pity; I'm really fucking proud of myself for pushing through and being able to post. I had an unofficial goal of wanting to post more fics before April was over (because April is my birth month), and I did it! I am that bitch!

Thank you all for your patience -and all the comments! They really kept me going when the grind of editing was starting to wear me down.

Happy Reading!

P.S. Shout out to the commenter who pointed out how guilty Lin must feel for not saying anything about the locks. I hadn't even thought of that.

Wake up. Stretch. Get ready for work. Catch the 8:30 morning tram.

Get to work. Clock in. Review client roster for the day. Confer with reception Start off with your first patient for the day.

Clock out for lunch. Eat lunch. Talk to coworkers. Take a short walk during break.

Clock back in for the afternoon. Work with more patients. Confer with an assistant on upcoming scheduled appointments. Take your afternoon break. Drink some tea.

Wrap up your last scheduled appointment. Update client progress charts. Tidy work space. Clock out.

Catch 5:45 evening tram. Stop by the market to pick up food for dinner. Go back home. Make dinner. Do chores and general “life maintenance.” Try to relax. Get ready for bed. Go to sleep.

And on, and on, and on, and on…

You like your job. You love the field of work you’ve picked. Carrying on your grandmother’s legacy –the tradition of the Northern Water Tribe’s healing work–gives you reason to hold your head high each morning.

You have purpose. Passion. You help people.

Maybe you’re a workaholic in denial. Or maybe it’s the fault of your mad idea to also work at Yue General as a trauma recovery specialist and on-call surgical assistant. Whatever the case, at least once a year, you hit a point where the daily grind of your life starts drilling through your head and draining your will to live.

In years past, you’d usually take a few days off, after about the fifth week of dragging yourself through the motions. You’d promise to “refresh” your life –clean up your apartment, take care of responsibilities left to the side in the wake of your waning motivation–then spend your time off eating your weight in take out and napping on your couch.

Well. It works. Each year, you’re able to return to work after a few days living as a shut-in hedonist with renewed joy and drive.

This year, however…

You grin when you step off the elevator and see Lin waiting down the hall, in the doorway of her apartment.

She smirks when she sees you, then smiles faintly when you jog down the hall to greet her. “Someone’s eager.”

“What,” you say, somewhat winded, as you slow to a stop in front of her. You wind your arms around her neck and curl your fingers into her curly, short hair. “You didn’t miss me?”

She hums into your kiss, one strong arm banding around your waist. “Well,” she murmurs against your lips, “maybe just a little.”

You giggle, then let her usher you inside as she kicks the door shut behind you both.

…

The second the deadbolt slides into place, the weight of your daily grind melts away.

Technically, the second you got a phone call from your darling girlfriend, and thus received the invitation to come over for an evening, a lot of the drudgery bearing down on you had abated. But you’d still waited, balancing electric anticipation, looming over your head as you counted down the days, then the hours, then the minutes…

You moan into Lin’s mouth as she grabs your ass with both hands.

Bliss.

You’ve always hated waiting for what you want –for anything, really.

Lin shoves you against the nearest wall. She growls when you squeeze her ass harder than necessary, then grabs your hands. “Behave.”

“No.” You take the opportunity to nip at her lower lip –which makes her gasp gloriously–then utilize her shock to fight her grip. “I–”

Lin all but slams your hands against the wall, over your head. She brushes her lips along your jawline –which makes you tremble–then murmurs huskily in your ear. “Enough. Be patient.”

“Patient?” you sputter. “I’ve been patient the whole damn week–”

“I called you only three days ago.”

“It felt like a week!” You whimper when Lin nips at the side of your neck. Feigning submission, you tip your head back and melt against her –until she loosens her grip on your wrists.

“You little–” Lin catches your hand halfway on its journey up her shirt with one hand, then grabs your face with the other. She forces you to look her in the eye and glowers down at you. “What did I just tell you?”

“You called me three days ago.” A cheeky, self-satisfied grin stretches across your face when she growls at you. You smile up at her, the picture of innocence, then use her moment of distraction to jam your thigh between her legs.

Lin lets out a choked gasp of your name and stumbles against you.

“Aw, baby, did you miss me?” you purr. “You could’ve called me so –FUCK!”

In one fluid motion, Lin tosses you over her shoulder and marches down the hall, towards her bedroom.

A short grunt escapes you when she tosses you on her bed, and then you squeal when she yanks you over her lap. In short order, your pants are yanked down around your knees. You mock-glare at her over your shoulder when she pulls roughly on your underwear. “Don’t rip these! I like them!”

Lin grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes your head back down against the bed. “Shut up.”

Blissful pain shoots across your scalp. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you moan into her bedspread.

(Regardless, she heeds your demand and doesn’t ruin your underwear.)

Your underwear follow the trajectory of your pants in short order. Anticipation and arousal pulse through your cunt, prompting you to squirm atop Lin’s lap.

She pins you down by barring one strong, unyielding arm across the small of your back. Her free hand gently smooths over the swell of your bare ass –almost worshipful, in contrast to her ire with your bratting. “Last chance. Behave.”

You can’t resist. “Or what?”

Her hand cracks down against your skin.

You yelp –then whimper when she kneads your asscheek, drawing out the underlying ache. “Lin–”

“Be. Good.” She leans over your back to growl in your ear. “Or I won’t let you cum tonight.”

…Come on. She practically set that up on a silver platter for you.

“What makes you think you can make me cum to begin with?”

SMACK!

A delighted sob rips out of your throat. You writhe –well, as much as you can, anyway, since Lin’s always bound to win any contest of strength between the two of you–then moan when she spanks you one, two, three more times. Stars burst behind your eyelids, dazzling and transcendent as all coherent thought leaks out your brain through your dripping cunt. “Fucking spirits–” You groan, low and ragged, when Lin’s hand cracks down against your ass for a fourth time. “Oh shit!”

She keeps spanking you in irregular intervals, until your ass feels hot and you’re a whimpering, slick mess. Lin brushes her fingers against your labia, then pulls away when your hips push against her fingertips. “What? Nothing smart to say now?”

And you don’t. The ability to speak has since left your brain, drowned out by arousal, and endorphins, and the feeling of your girlfriend’s hand against your throbbing skin. So, in lieu of saying what’s on your mind, you opt for a physical demonstration.

“You little fucking brat–”

Or, well, you try to.

You manage to twist your arm and get half a hand on Lin’s chest –her beautiful, soft chest that you would never take your hands off, if you had things your way–before the bottom drawer of her nightstand flies open and a familiar glint of silver whizzes past your head.

Your stomach lurches, akin to airsickness, when the first metal cuff closes around your wrist.

“You never listen, never learn–”

It’s like you’ve toppled into the Northern Ocean in the midst of winter. Every muscle in your body seizes, practically frozen solid. You’re sinking, slipping beneath the surface as La drags you into their depths, theirs forevermore.

“–okay? Talk to me–”

You can’t breathe right. There’s a burlap bag over your head. You’re tied to a chair in a dank basement, there’s a bag over your head, and you’re going to die–

“Breathe.” Lin undoes the cuffs with her metalbending, then tosses them aside. She lifts you into her arms, turning you so that you’re sitting in her lap. “What’s wrong? Did I–”

“Don’t leave me again!” A broken sob tears from your throat. You throw your arms around her, clutching her close as you bury your face into her neck. Shudders wrack your body as you cry louder. “Don’t –don’t leave me–”

“Okay! Okay.” Lin cups the back of your head with one hand. “I won’t leave you. Just breathe for me, alright?”

You’re trying. But it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. You can’t catch your breath, can’t get your diaphragm to open up properly.

“What does she taste like?”

The back of your throat burns. Your mouth tastes like acrid metal.

“I want you to tell me. What does she taste like when you use your tongue on her?”

Clammy sweat beads along your forehead.

“I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

You shove yourself to your feet, then clap one hand over your mouth when you retch.

Lin’s reflexes succeed where yours fail. When you double over, she grabs you by the shoulders and rushes you to the bathroom.

The first heave makes your eyes water and burn. You cough, stomach roiling as your whole body rolls. Putrid bile spews into the toilet basin on the second heave, burning your throat on the way out. You sob when you can breathe again, falling to your knees on the hard, cold tiles of Lin’s bathroom floor.

Lin’s hand is strong, yet gentle on your hair. She quickly tucks a few stray strands away from your face. “Easy. Just let it happen.”

Like I have any control here. Panting, you clutch the rim of the toilet bowl. “I–” You retch, then curl over the toilet again.

…

Things go fuzzy. Once your stomach is empty, you collapse against the side of Lin’s bathtub. You’re gasping, clammy and trembling as you try to suck down enough air to stop the feeling of drowning.

A cool glass of water is pressed into your hands. You take a small sip, rinse your mouth, then spit into the toilet bowl before slumping down again.

At some point, you wind up in Lin’s bed, tucked carefully under the covers. Your knees and hips ache from the harsh, unforgiving tile floor. Still shaking, you wince as you curl up on your side. Short, shallow breaths puff past your lips. I’m okay. It’s okay. Everything is okay. You’re safe, Lin’s here–

Except she’s not.

You bolt upright, terror coursing through your veins. The bathroom’s empty, there’s no light peeking out beneath the door to her home office, and the kitchen is silent. Your stomach drops into your feet, and you lunge out of bed. “Lin?”

“What’s wrong?” Her feet hit the floor in her living room, and then she appears at the end of the hallway, expression pinched from concern. “Are you–” She stumbles back a few steps when you careen into her. “What the –hey!”

You lock your arms around her waist and bury your face in her neck. Your pulse pounds in your ears, racing and erratic. “You left me again!”

“I–” Lin’s hands grip your shoulders tightly. “I stayed with you while–”

“Not then! Earlier! You left me!”

Lin tightens her hold on your shoulders, then forces you back so she can see your face. “I don’t know what we’re talking about!”

You lock your jaw to keep yourself from rambling and gibbering like an unhinged loon. Throat tight with fear and anguish, you force yourself to breathe as deeply as you can. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Bile roils in your empty stomach; you swallow hard, then pull away from her. “You left me. After the warehouse. After Kim.”

Lin goes perfectly still. Her wide, green eyes lock onto your face, then quickly focus on the floor instead, before finally drifting to the empty kitchen. Her scarred cheek twitches minutely. “I don’t understand what that has to do with right now.”

“I’m trying,” you spit out between clenched teeth. Frustrated –with her, with the situation, with yourself–you close your eyes and scrub at your face with your hands. “I’m not –you aren’t –I don’t want to–”

“Breathe.”

You do as Lin says, relaxing minutely when her hand brushes against your upper arm. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Use the diaphragm and abdominal muscles to control things. Deep inhale, even slower exhale.

Once you’re visibly calmer, Lin speaks again. “Why did you panic when I cuffed you?”

“I…” You swallow hard, then shrug small and sad. “I flashed back to –to the warehouse fight.” A pang of anxiety makes your voice crack. “When Kim had me tied to a chair in the basement.”

“Shit.” Lin rakes one hand through her short, wavy gray hair. “I’m sorry, I should have thought–”

“Of nothing,” you cut her off, suddenly weary.

“I should have checked in before restraining you–”

“And I would have said ‘go for it.’” You level her with a firm stare. “I didn’t know it was going to happen, either. It just… came out of nowhere.” The anxiousness crests higher, and you compensate by stepping into Lin’s space and wrapping your arms around her waist. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. “Thanks for helping me when I freaked out.”

“Of course,” Lin says as she wraps both arms around your shoulders. “What, like I was going to leave you like that?”

“I know, I know,” you reply automatically.

She left you after the warehouse.

It’s a poisonous, traitorous thought. Cold, nauseating ire roils in your gut. It turns hot as it swirls up your spine, until it breaks over your head in a tidal wave of rage and indignance.

It’s not fair. You and Lin have talked about the whole Kim aftermath fiasco. It’s been put to bed.

Has it? You chew on your lower lip as your mind turns the issue over. If you’re still upset about it, has it really been laid to rest?

How many times have you lectured your patients, after all? Some small injuries or aches, if left unattended, can morph into much bigger problems.

The tell-tale sensation snaps back –almost like vertigo, your head spins as the room suddenly feels miniscule around you. You can feel the walls of Lin’s apartment closing in around you, feel your scalp pressing against the plastered ceiling, even though your girlfriend is still holding you and your head is still comfortably pillowed against her chest. The urge to curl in on yourself, to find somewhere dark and small to hide claws up your legs and back, snarling and demanding your immediate submission. Breathe. Your eyes slip shut, and you press your forehead against your girlfriend’s shoulder. I deserve to exist. My feelings deserve to exist. Teeth clenched against a fresh wave of nausea, you breathe through anger and frustration and pain. Ask, don’t accuse. You swallow around the lump in your throat. “Why –why did you leave me after I got kidnapped?”

Unsurprisingly, Lin freezes again.

You can hear her swallow nervously. When she doesn’t speak, you decide to keep talking. “I needed you. I–I was so fucking scared, and hurt–” Your voice cracks as hot, stinging tears well up behind your closed eyelids. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, trembling all over as you try to compose yourself. “Sorry. Just –give me a second.”

Lin says nothing, simply waiting in patient silence.

Outside, down in the street below, a Satomobile door thumps shut. The engine revs, then settles into a steady purr before fading away. The familiar rattle of the city tram breaks through the autumnal winds that rip off the harbor. The sound of the tram’s bell soars higher, sailing into the night air like asclepias puffs in the wind.

You flex your feet against the hardwood floors of Lin’s apartment. Pretty grain pattern, part of your brain notes inanely. Must’ve been expensive to refine and install. “Why did you leave me?” you whisper hoarsely, once you finally manage to scrape yourself together. You swipe at your face with the cuff of your sleeve; you hadn’t even managed to get undressed before everything went to shit. You clear your throat. “I… I don’t understand.”

For several long, tense moments, you think she might not answer at all. Then, Lin sighs. “I… I panicked.”

You watch Lin sharply, trying to read her often inscrutable expression and posture.

She walks away from you, over to the window in the living area that overlooks Republic City. She stares out at the night skyline –despite the sun having already set, the city glows from all the electric lights. She braces her hands against the white windowsill; she almost looks like a pensive, noir-style detective from the murder mystery radio shows you like so much.

You tuck your tongue in your cheek to keep from giggling hysterically.

“It was my fault.” She doesn’t look at you. “The nature of my job creates enemies.” She steps back from the windowsill; her hands curl into fists at her sides. “I should’ve known better. I do know better. And despite that, I didn’t keep you safe.”

“It’s not–” With a long, heavy sigh, you shake your head. “You can’t possibly predict every–”

“I did.” When you sputter disbelievingly, she faces you –but her gaze doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The security on your building is shit. And you’d be a lot better off with platinum locks.”

After a moment of your best river carp impression, you manage to close your mouth and shake your head. “Lin…” You hold up one finger when she opens her mouth to argue. “That’s not the same thing as knowing that Kim was going to kidnap me.” When Lin’s unconvinced, pinched expression doesn’t lift, you sputter, flabbergasted. “Okay, look –Lin. Baby. If I don’t expect you to make sure every aspect of my life is safe, what good does it do to hold yourself to that kind of standard?”

“I still–”

“‘Still’ nothing, Lin! You’re not a fucking god! Okay, so you thought about my locks; that –that doesn’t obligate you to do anything,” you insist. Sweat beads along your back, soaking into your shirt. You sigh, then sweep your hair off the back of your neck to try and cool off. “As it so happens, I’m an adult; I’m ultimately responsible for myself, and that includes my own safety. Besides, it’s a nice enough neighborhood!”

Lin stares at you, flat and unimpressed. “Bad things happen anywhere.” Her jaw tightens. “You would know.”

You sputter, caught flat-footed by her audacity to use your own assault against you. “I –how fucking dare you!” You clench your hands into fists at your side, fingernails biting into the meat of your palm. “I am not –I cannot believe–” Sense takes hold before you cavalier too far down the road of rage and indignance; as angry as you are, you don’t want to spew vitriol all over Lin. Even if she’s kind of earned it. You glare at her, jaw locked tight. “Even if you have a logical point,” you spit out through clenched teeth, “the woman who skipped out on me after I was assaulted does not get to use that trauma against me in an argument!”

Lin’s lips press into a thin line. She looks at the floor, expression somewhat chastened. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“Yes, yes it was. And thank you.” In a testament to your self-control –which, normally, you’d pass off as lacking at best–you inhale deeply and try to yank your temper back into some semblance of calm. Your head is starting to throb dully. So much for a relaxing night off. You rub your temples as you struggle to process and respond to Lin’s adamant self-blame. “I don’t –I don’t walk around with this notion that being your girlfriend comes with some sort of pass to perfect protection! I don’t expect you to package me up all nice and safe so nothing bad ever happens to me!”

“I know–”

“Then what, in Yue’s name, is the fucking problem!” You fling your arms wide, voice rising as your frustration mounts again. “There are associated risks with living in the real fucking world, and I have never asked, or intoned, or suggested that you safeguard me from every bad thing that could ever happen! Why…” When your mind finally runs blank, anger petering out, you throw up your arms before letting them fall back to your sides. Your palms hit your thighs with a light slap. “What’s the point? What’s the point of putting yourself through all that, Lin?”

Lin scowls. She turns partly away and rakes one hand through her thick, curly hair. “It’s still my job.” She sighs harshly. “I know you don’t expect me to protect you.” She looks back over you, expression solemn. “I know. But it’s still my job. I don’t–” She presses her lips into a thin line, frustrated, then crosses her arms over her chest. “I believe in police work. I believe that doing my job keeps people safe. Even when I’m ‘off the clock,’ my duties to the people I care about don’t stop, and that includes keeping them safe.”

“Okay.” You nod along, choking back retort after retort through sheer force of will. It matters to her. It matters to her. It matters to her. “Okay.”

Lin fully turns away from you –but even without seeing her face, you can still tell she’s on edge. The line of her body is rigid as she stares out the window of her living room. She takes a deep, audible breath, shoulders rising and falling as she does. She clasps her hands behind her back and bows her head; for a moment, she looks exactly like the countless press release pictures of the indomitable Chief Beifong (which you may or may not have clipped out of the newspaper and tucked away for your own edification, you’ll claim the fifth if asked to testify, presumed innocent until proven guilty). “I didn’t know if we were going to be serious or not. It was more comfortable, for me, to keep you at arm’s length. And that included not making an issue of your building’s security problems.”

It stings, you can’t lie. Her confessed, deliberate indifference to your safety –when it’s apparently a big deal to her–hurts. You swallow hard, then tuck the inside of your cheek between your teeth to keep from firing back before she’s done talking.

“It was my fault,” Lin states, voice flat and final. “After Kim… I couldn’t deal with it.” Finally, she turns and looks you in the eye. Her expression flickers for a moment, nearly giving way to anguish, before locking down to something more neutral with what you know to be an insurmountable, bone-deep reserve of will. “I’m sorry.” She stiffens, then frowns slowly when you start shaking your head. “What? What is it?”

“I–” Hot, stinging tears trace down your cheeks. Your palms are clammy, and your back is drenched in sweat. “That –thank you. Thank you for being honest. But–” You draw in a shaky breath as you try to school your thoughts into something more coherent. “I don’t –the locks wouldn’t have changed anything, Lin. They –no.” You hold up one finger and glare harshly at her when she opens her mouth to argue. “No. We both know that Kim had a very particular goal in mind. Better locks wouldn’t have stopped him. He would’ve had his goons just, I don’t know, kick in my door, or some shit.” You shrug, defeated, then rub your hands over your face. “I –I don’t care about the stupid locks. I get that it’s important to you, and that’s fine, but the locks don’t make a difference to me.”

The locks wouldn’t have held your hand in the hospital, after all. The locks wouldn’t have talked to you on the phone after you woke up from yet another nightmare. The locks wouldn’t have rubbed salve into the rope burn on your wrists from where you’d chafed your skin trying to wriggle free. The locks–

Your face crumples, but you manage to keep going as you start crying. “I needed you.” Your whole body shudders as you draw in a shaky, broken breath. “I was so fucking scared, and hurt, and I didn’t know what was going to happen to me–”

Lin presses her lips together in a tight line, then holds her arms out to you.

You choke on a sob, then rush into her embrace. “I was so fucking scared!” You bury your face into her shirt, trembling as you weep. “I felt so lost, and small, and you just left me–”

Lin tucks your head beneath her chin. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It was cruel,” you insist, voice pitiful to your own ears. “And selfish.”

Lin draws in a shaky breath. “It was,” she agrees, her own voice wavering. She hugs you close, as though she can squeeze the pain and suffering right out of you. “I was wrong –and cruel, and selfish. I’m so, so sorry.”

Something inside you releases, like a locked muscle finally relaxing after a good, thorough healing session. You melt against her, hurt yielding to assurance and peace. A shaky exhale floats past your lips. “Thank you.”

…

Once you stop crying and settle into the post-panic attack-argument-meltdown, Lin disentangles from you and sequesters herself in the bathroom.

You can hear the sink tap running; if you felt up to it, you could probably extend your bending and feel the water swirling down the drain.

Exhaustion has you feeling hollowed out. You peel your shirt away from your skin with a grimace. The stress of the evening made you sweat. You try to adjust your underwear under your skirt. All of your clothes, frankly, feel uncomfortably, grossly stuck to your skin. This is not how I wanted to get wet tonight.

You drop down onto Lin’s couch gracelessly. You slump into the dark green cushions and close your eyes.

Your whole body feels raw. Your skin almost feels like you’ve been scraped along the pavement outside. Throbbing and tender, you shift restlessly, trying to find some position that will agree with you.

Outside, a Satomobile honks loudly, which is quickly followed by the sound of tires screeching.

Flinching, you curl forward and comb your fingers through your hair. Fuck me. Quickly, you flip on Lin’s radio, then let out a sigh when instrumental music starts droning through the speakers. You turn up the volume dial, just until the crushing feeling of overstimulation starts to abate. That’s better.

Eventually, Lin emerges from the bathroom. (It’s probably not very long, but your poor, fatigued brain has settled into the muddy state where time starts moving like molasses.) She heads straight for the kitchen and starts quietly puttering about; a few cabinet doors open and close, the tap for the sink runs briefly, and the range hisses as Lin lights it with match.

You borderline drowse as you half-watch her work, half-melt away into the syrupy ooze of reality.

Hours, maybe minutes later, Lin joins you at the couch. She sets down a tray with a fresh pot of tea and two cups onto the coffee table, then reaches over and turns the radio down. “Here.”

You force yourself into a more upright position and accept the cup of steaming, fragrant tea she holds out to you. “Thanks.”

Lin sets down next to you, and makes no protest when you immediately invade her space and curl up against her. She wraps one arm around your shoulders, then picks up her cup of tea with her free hand.

The tea is nice –no doubt some very expensive, well grown blend. You wish you could do more than sip tiredly at it, but your head feels heavy (probably from the swelling in your sinuses, on account of all the crying).

Distantly, the healer part of your brain starts noting all the facets of recovery after crying. Parasympathetic nervous system takes over. Brain releases endorphins. Muscles release tension from build up of stress. Autonomic nervous system reins in heart rate, respiration rate, and blood pressure.

“You alright?” Lin murmurs when you let out a shaky breath..

Nodding, you hum, then tip your head back and kiss her softly. Even though you’re tired, your head feels clearer. The consuming static of terror and rage have finally been swept out, leaving subdued peace and clarity.

Speaking of…

“Hey.” You crane your head back so you can see her face better. “If… if something happens to me again–” You pause when Lin grimaces and looks away. After waiting a moment, you press your fingers against her jaw and gently guide her head until she’s looking at you again. “If something happens to me again,” you repeat, “don’t… don’t push me away.” A lump rises in your throat, but you push past it. “I won’t ever be angry at you if something bad happens to me, okay? And it’s –it’s so much worse–” Your voice breaks; you have to take a moment to pull yourself together before you try speaking again. “It’s so much worse with you not around.”

Blinking rapidly, Lin nods. “Alright.” She looks away for a bit, gaze distant. She swallows hard, jaw rolling as she lets out a sigh, then asks, “Would you consider getting platinum locks?”

“They’re expensive.”

“Victim’s Assistance fund should pay for them, considering your apartment was broken into during the course of an abduction,” Lin fires back, almost like she’s reading the fine print straight from the page. “All you’d have to do is submit a request form and a copy of the police report to their office. And if they don’t pay for platinum locks, I will.”

Part of you wants to protest the notion of her paying for any of it. It’s your apartment and your responsibility. Feasibly, you could scope out some options, compare prices, and then allot the necessary savings into your monthly budget.

A quiet, wiser voice in your head whispers, ‘It’s okay to let her help you.’ “Would you feel better if I had platinum locks?”

Lin’s reply comes without hesitation. “Yes.”

You sweep your tongue along the back of your teeth; part of you chafes at the thought of acquiescing. You can take care of yourself, after all. You moved here on your own, put yourself through university and therapeutic certifications, built yourself up as a reputable and capable physical therapist and surgical assistant. While Lin’s compensated you for ruined clothes and the odd day when she’s worked you over enough that you needed to take a day or two off work, you’ve never needed –or expected–her to bankroll your life.

If the Victim’s Assistance Fund comes through, she won’t have to pay, you remind yourself. And it’s just one set of locks, and she’ll feel better knowing you’re safer.

That’s the clincher, in the end. Stubborn pride isn’t worth your girlfriend’s peace of mind –especially over something as non-invasive as a good set of locks.

You nestle back against the warmth and comfort of Lin’s embrace. “Alright. I’ll start figuring out the Victim’s Assistance fund stuff tomorrow.”

“I can give you the number for one of the department heads.”

“Okay,” you murmur, cheek squished against her shoulder. Part of you thinks it’s a little ridiculous –there’s no reason you can’t go through the same process as everyone else–but you’re too tired to argue (and, honestly, bypassing some of the formalities and traditional run-around will be nice). You sigh, then nuzzle against her and close your eyes. “I’m sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I know –I know you were just taking a moment to breathe, and you weren’t actually leaving me; I just –I was still so out of my head from the cuffs, and the panic attack, and I–”

“It’s okay.” Lin wraps one strong arm around your shoulders. “You were scared; it’s okay.” She kisses the top of your head, then squeezes you a little closer. “Stay here tonight. I’d rather you go home once you’ve had a chance to rest.”

You sniff, then nod. “Okay.” Melting into her embrace, you tuck your head into the crook of her neck. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The radio croons on; the singer –a woman with a smooth, low voice–drawls on about the ocean and the land meeting as lovers. Down the hall, the gentle, intermittent rumble of the elevator interjects between the radio and the sounds of the city at no particular rhythm. Outside, the distant, waning sounds of Republic City’s nightlife echo into the air.

The two of you lapse back into comforting silence.

…

Once the two of you finish your tea, Lin tidies up before shepherding you to bed.

You rinse off in the shower first. You worry about washing your hair, or anything too involved, but getting the sweat off your skin is essential if you don’t want to wake up irritable and itchy.

Your stomach still feels shaky –no doubt from all the mucus and drainage from crying. You turn down the water to a comfortably cool temperature (helps with the inflammation), then mechanically work through the steps of washing up as quickly as you can.

You borrow Lin’s toothbrush (and, fine, it’s really not the grossest thing, especially since you’ve made a point of burying your face between her legs whenever she lets you), and she lends you another baggy, Republic City Police Academy shirt to sleep in.

The gray shirt feels exquisitely soft between your fingertips, against your skin. You tuck away the notion of “borrowing” it for future you to ponder.

It’s nice, slipping beneath the covers on Lin’s bed. Her sheets are luxuriously soft –no doubt a vastly higher thread count than what you can afford.

You stretch your legs like a polar bear pup. Something pops in your lower back, and you groan. “Ugh, finally.”

“You okay?”

“Cracked my back.” You wait for her to turn off the lamp, then cross the space between you and curl up against her side.

Lin obliges you by slipping her arm beneath your neck and winding it around your shoulders. Her fingertips slip beneath the collar of your shirt and stroke along the base of your neck.

The familiar sounds of the city dwindle as the night drags on. The surrounding apartments are equally still. Here, in Lin’s bed, in her arms, you’re enveloped by safety. By warmth. Every breath you take is filled with the familiar scent of Lin –traces of the cologne she favors, the fresh mint of her toothpaste, even the fragrant tea you both had earlier. The blankets are cozy, exquisitely soft, and the perfect weight to help lull your frazzled mind and body into slumber.

Just for a moment, right before you drop off into sleep, your body relaxes into a state of perfect contentment. It’s almost like you’re floating, perfectly supported and enveloped, much like floating in a pool for a moment of rest before swimming again. Tranquility seeps through your veins, washing away any remaining tension and panic from earlier in the evening.

You fall asleep to the gentle thumping of Lin’s heart and her steady, deep breathing.

#sass writes #lin beifong x reader #legend of korra #hands that heal #hurt/comfort #tw: panic attack #tw: ptsd #tw: vomit #heavy on the emotional hurt in this one

6 notes · View notes

yelena-bellova · 2 years

Text

Unlucky: (Eventual) Steve Harrington x Fem!Subject!Reader

Chapter Eight: The First Day

Plot: It’s Tini’s first day at Hawkins High and things go far less than how she hoped.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: language, bullying, high school trauma, no use of y/n

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: I hate writing high school because I don’t think anyone had a normal experience. Everyone I’ve ever met has had some awful shit happen to them in those four years. And yet it’s supposed to be the best time of our life? Nooo thank you lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged :) (apologies also if the keep reading thing doesn’t come up, I’m posting from mobile 😬)

————————

JANUARY 6TH, 1984

Hawkins High School.

My new home.

“Okay,” Hopper’s voice broke through the white noise in my brain, “You got your books?”  Numbly, I answered, “Yeah.”

“Lunch money?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You hearing anything I’m saying?”  My eyes followed a group of kids walking through the school’s front doors, “They’re in my backpack.”

He laughed deeply and tapped my hand, “Hey.”

The physical contact finally broke my focus, I looked over to see his reassuring smile. “It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna go to your classes, you’re gonna stick with Nancy or Jonathan, you’re gonna eat the shitty food in the cafeteria-“

I laughed, Jonathan had told me horror stories about the lunches served.

“And then I’m gonna pick you up and you’ll tell me if you think you ate chicken or fish.”

“That’s…oddly helpful,” I grinned before becoming more serious, “Thank you for all this. Getting me enrolled…”  Hopper shook his head, “Nothing to thank me for. Just go in there, do your best and…enjoy it. You’ve been waiting a long time.”

That was an understatement. I inhaled deeply, grabbed my backpack from the backseat and slid out of the truck. Once my feet hit the pavement, it felt real. There was no going back now…

I wandered towards the building, looking for Nancy or Jonathan or Steve, but couldn’t spot them. What I could tell was that people were already looking at me. Aside from the three people I knew, everyone else was a stranger. But they certainly knew me. Then again, pulling up in the Hawkins Police Department truck was sort of a giveaway.

I followed the general crowd into the school, finding chaos as soon as I stepped foot inside. Dozens of conversations overlapped on either side of me, people ran through carrying different creations and structures, I had to duck just to avoid getting hit in the head with a basketball. Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the wrinkled sheet of paper that was my class schedule.

Math - Miss Tanner, Room 104.

Nancy had told me we had three classes together, one of them math, which comforted me. I found my way down another hall, one with lockers down each side, and tried to see if there were signs that could tell me where to go. No luck. But I made a mental note to remember to come back later and find my locker.

Finally, I gave up on trying to find my own way around when a shrieking bell rang. “Excuse me,” I tapped the closest girl on the shoulder, “Hi. Um, I’m new here and I can’t seem to find my first class. D-do you know where this is?”  The girl studied my paper before smiling back up at me, “Oh, Miss Tanner’s not in 104. Must be a typo. You want 108. Take a right down the next hall, then another right and it’s the first door on your left.”  “Two rights, first door on my left,” I repeated, “Thank you.”  “No problem,” she gave a toothy grin before sharing a laugh with the boy next to her.

The halls cleared out surprisingly fast. Hopper had told me that as soon as the bell rang, I needed to be wherever it was I was trying to get to. I hurried down the first hall, struggling to keep my backpack balanced on one shoulder. I nearly ran into another student as I curved down the next hall, grabbing the door to Room 108 before it shut.

Clearly I had arrived just as the teacher, who was certainly not Miss Tanner…or a woman at all, had begun his lesson. The class and him looked at me as if I’d just interrupted something terribly important.

“Uh…I’m sorry, is this…” my eyes scanned the room, “Miss Tanner’s class?”  “Well, what with the lack of equations on my board and the small fact that I am not a woman,” the male teacher said, a few of the students laughing under their breath, “I think we can conclude, my dear, that this is not Miss Tanner’s class.”

I felt like my breath was caught in my chest, not five minutes inside the building and I was already making a fool out of myself. The only person who didn’t seem to be getting a kick out of my mistake was Steve, seated in the back row, who gave a small smile. I counted myself lucky, a little over a month ago, I wouldn’t have been shown mercy from him.

“Miss Tanner’s class is four doors down,” the teacher finished before turning back to his board, “Now, class…”

With at least half of the eyes in the room off of me, I felt like I could move again. I slipped back out the door, looking back as it closed to Steve nodding to encourage me. I hurried back down the hall and took the time to actually read the number on the plaque outside the door. 104.

This time when I entered the room, I knew I was in the right place and was greeted far differently.

“Miss Hopper, it’s lovely to finally see you,” Miss Tanner greeted, still aware of my lateness but not making a big deal over it. She took my wrist and led me to the front of the room. “Class, I’d like you to meet our newest addition. Go ahead and introduce yourself…”

If I’d thought the last classroom was bad, this was worse. So much worse. Not only could I feel like I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think about anything other than keeping my breakfast where it needed to be.

Once my eyes started to register things again, I found Nancy in the second row. She smiled and nodded, comforting me into talking.

“I-I-I’m…Tini...”

I looked two seats behind Nancy and found Jonathan, giving me a discreet thumbs up. I’d saved him from being eaten by an inter dimensional monster, but I needed his reassurance to even get through saying my name…  “Tini H-Hopper.”

Unlike Steve’s class, there were only a few students who looked like they were trying not to laugh. A small grace.

“It’s a pleasure to have you join our class, Tini,” Miss Turned placed a hand on my shoulder, “Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat?”

Robotically, I moved towards the one empty seat in the room. It was in the very first row, the exact place that I’d been told by both Nancy and Jonathan was not where I wanted to be. I had every pair of eyes on me and only two of them cared how uncomfortable I was.

Throughout the class, I struggled to keep up, something I knew would happen. But unlike home, I couldn’t pause and take my time on the equations. I had to follow the speed of the class. When the bell rang, I practically slumped over in my chair.

“Hey,” Nancy greeted, I looked up from my papers feeling like I’d just been through war, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, stuffing my homework in my backpack and following the crowd with her.

“It wasn’t,” she insisted, “Jonathan, tell her…”  Jonathan melted into the outpour of classmates out of the room with us, “Really, it wasn’t that bad.”

 I sighed loudly, “In this class, no. But I think I’m famous in room 108.”

Nancy rubbed my arm and guided me down the hall, “Come on, let’s go find your locker.”

“Good, a place to hide,” I groaned.

“We’ve all been through worse things than walking into the wrong classroom,” Jonathan said, raising a knowing eyebrow to me, “Right?”

Monsters. Other dimensions. Rescuing little kids. Rescuing kids from monsters in other dimensions.

If things didn’t shape up soon, I’d be ranking my first day at Hawkins High up with battling the Demogorgon.

—————————

English class was my first win of the day. After reading so many books in shelters to try and help my speech, it was the one subject I felt confident about. It was also the only class I had without Nancy or Jonathan. I felt proud that I’d made it through on my own.

I figured that the best way to find the cafeteria, rather than ask someone again, was to just follow the crowd. Eventually, it led me to the right place. There was more order to the cafeteria than anywhere else so far. I waited in line, fiddling with the dollar bill Hopper had given me.

Once I got up to the lunch ladies, they scooped various servings of food onto my tray before I could ask what they were. They looked…almost edible. Jonathan’s “mystery meat” stories echoed in my head.

“So you’re the chief’s kid?”

I looked up in surprise, there was someone talking to me. A boy, at least a foot taller than me, stocky and dressed in a band t-shirt I didn’t recognize.  “Oh, yeah,” I tried to smile, wondering whether or not I should add the word ‘adopted.’ It was strange enough to have the last name Hopper.

“Bet you can’t get away with shit,” he remarked. All I could do was nervously laugh.

“Oh my gosh, you’re the homeless girl!” the girl on my right exclaimed.

“Oh, shit,” the boy said far too loudly, “That’s you?”  I looked down at my tray as we scooted down the line, “Yep, that’s me.”  “Wow,” the girl focused all her attention on me, “You so don’t look homeless. You look, like, okay.”

Was she…complimenting me? In some weird way? Was I supposed to thank her?

“Is it, like, super weird to be with normal people now?” she asked.

I inhaled deeply, “It’s, uh…it’s an adjustment.”

“I can’t even imagine…” she shook her head as I moved to pay for my food, “I volunteered at a homeless shelter once and it was, like, the most insane thing I’d ever seen. Like, these people just had no home and some of them looked like they’d been that way for a long time. I mean, a long time…Did you think you’d be there forever? I can’t-“

I felt like I was being interrogated by a talk show host, on display for everyone to see. Even if she meant well, I wasn’t interested in discussing anything about a part of my life I was trying to put in the past.

“But they were so dirty. I mean, really dirty but- oh!” the girl only stopped talking when she had to pay. It gave me the perfect opportunity to escape.

Navigating the cafeteria was more difficult, there were easily over 100 students at Hawkins High and I needed to find just one of the three I knew. I stopped in the main path and searched for Nancy or Jonathan, spotting Nancy first with Steve glued to her side. I narrowly avoided a boy making wild hand gestures while holding a soda and hurried to their table.

“Hey,” Nancy said, perky as ever, “What’d you get?”  I finally looked down at my plate, grimacing at the various dishes. “A dare,” I answered.

Steve snorted, “Hey, it’s only up from here, right?”

“After the morning I had?” I chuckled, “One can only hope.”  Our voices, somewhat quiet, suddenly seemed louder than when I’d sat down. The whole left side of the room had gotten quieter. When I looked up, I saw students at the surrounding tables staring at…me. Whispering, pointing, laughter hidden behind their hands…it was all directed at me.

The homeless girl.

My face began to feel hot, my palms begin to feel sweaty. Everyone, everyone, was trying to figure me out. They wanted to get a look at the girl from the streets, the one who apparently wasn’t a human being for the first sixteen years of her life. They were deconstructing every part of me that was visible and making up the things they didn’t know.

The final insult came when something wet hit my cheek, bouncing off my face and falling on the table. I picked it up to see it was a spit coated ball of paper.

The tears that filled my eyes blissfully blurred my vision. I could make out that Steve had sat forward in his seat and was trying to determine where the attack had come from. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered at this point…everyone had already made up their minds about me.

“Tini…” Nancy gently called.

I was already up, lunch tray in hand.  “Tini,” Steve said, “It’s okay, it’s-“  My feet carried me out of the cafeteria before he could finish his lie.

The further I walked, the quieter the halls got, something I was thankful for considering I had tear streaking down my face. Eventually I ended up outside at the football field. Hungry and tired, I carefully balanced my tray and climbed the bleachers. The few people there were with the same idea were spread out, giving me a large chunk of space to myself. It was as close to being alone as I could get.

Then, and only then, did I pick up a forkful of my lunch and start to cry.

—————————

By the time I was in science class, my last class, I was ready for the day to be over. I had ten minutes left until I could run out the doors, climb in the truck, and try not to choke on the smell of the air freshener Hopper used to fight the stench of his cigarettes.

Science was one of the subjects I had been having the hardest time with. I paid extra attention as Mr. Walters mixed various chemicals I couldn’t pronounce the names of.

“Psst,” the person behind me whispered, tapping me on the shoulder, “Take this.”

He let go of a folded piece of paper that landed on my desk. I unrolled it to see a stick figure drawing of a girl, hair sticking out in every direction with holes in her clothes. If I didn’t already have an idea who it was supposed to resemble, the writing next to it spelled it out perfectly.

‘Homeless Freak’

“Ms. Hopper!”  Still in shock, I looked up at Mr. Walters, a dumbstruck expression on my face.

“I assume there is something on that piece of paper that is more demanding of your attention than our lesson.”

The explanation ran through my head so quick the words ran together, but I couldn’t make my mouth move.

 “Perhaps a little more time would help you craft an answer,” Mr. Walters pulled out a pad of paper, scribbled something and handed it to me, “Head to room 109, detention.”  The hushed laughter acted as the soundtrack to my grand exit. I picked up my backpack, crumpled the note in my palm and headed for the door. The tears were coming faster than they had at lunch.

“Wait, Mr. Walters,” a familiar voice announced, “She didn’t do anything.”

I turned around to see Steve, standing up at his desk and pointing towards me.

“Your loyalty is admirable, Mr. Harrington,” Mr. Walters said, not at all happy about the interruption, “But unnecessary.”  “No, sir. I saw it, she didn’t-“

“That will be all, Mr. Harrington, unless you wish to join your friend?”

Half of the class was watching Steve, waiting for him to make his choice, and the other was glaring at me. I knew Steve was popular and now, in their eyes, I was the one dragging him down. By trying to fix the situation, he was making it worse. When our eyes met, I shook my head discreetly.

Steve sighed, obeying my wish, “No, Mr. Walters.”

“If that is all,” our teacher looked between us both, “Then we will continue with our lesson.”

Even though I knew Steve was watching, waiting for me to turn around to try and convey some message, I hurried out of the room. Thankfully, class hadn’t let out yet and I was free to cry my way down the halls. I was behind all of my classmates, hated by King Steve’s royal subjects, and a life-long homeless freak.

High school was, officially, a nightmare.

—————————

 It was twenty minutes into detention when Hopper burst through the door, accompanied by a woman.

“Ms. Delacourt,” she addressed the teacher in charge of watching the four kids in the room, “Chief Hopper is here to retrieve his daughter, it seems they’ve had somewhat of a family emergency.”

Confused, I looked up at Hopper who was holding his hat in his hands. If it hadn’t been for the wink he shot me, I’d have thought something terrible had happened to El.

I was mercifully permitted to leave. Hopper thanked the teachers for their understanding and we left. The halls were emptied for the most part, giving us the chance to talk.

“You want to explain what happened?” Hopper asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I sighed, the incriminating piece of paper still in my backpack.

Hopper hummed, “Well, your friend felt differently. The Harrington kid came and found me, told me what happened.”  Hopper opened the front door to reveal Steve standing outside the truck, trying to calm down a very concerned Nancy. The sight of me had her jogging over to me.  “I’m so sorry,” she said as she hugged me, “Steve told me everything.”  Luckily, I was all cried out or else the kindness would have moved me to tears.

Nancy pulled back to look at me, “Don’t listen to any of them, please. First days are just…hard. It’s going to get better.”  “I’m not sure I agree,” I tried to smile, Steve joined us as Hopper got in the truck, “You didn’t have to do that…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he replied, “The guy who wrote whatever it was is a dick.”

“Well, thank you,” I hugged Nancy once more, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow…”

Steve reached out to squeeze my shoulder as I passed him. He’d ended up helping me more than even he’d thought he would. I never thought he of all people would be my savior.

On the way home, Hopper heard more about my day. I didn’t tell him about the specific incidents so much as just the general mood of the day. I was given the same sentiment I had from Nancy; first days are hard, it’ll get better. I wanted to believe them both, but neither of them understood why it wasn’t going to get easier. I was a freak. I couldn’t change being gullible or having been homeless. I was forever going to be a target.

El hurried to hug me as soon as I was through the door. It made me feel lighter than I had all day.

“School?” she asked, her eyes bright and wide.

All day, I’d been a burden. Jonathan and Nancy had to walk me through basic things, Steve had to stay late to find Hopper, who then had to lie and bail me out…I didn’t want to feel helpless anymore. I wanted to be someone’s hero.

“It was great,” I said, putting on a big smile for her when she pulled back, “But I’ve been looking forward to Eggos all day.”

The rest of the night was spent eating dinner in front of the tv, something Hopper allowed out of pity. El laughed, I pretended to. It was only when we were both in bed that I let the tears flow freely.

At some point, when I knew I wasn’t going to sleep, I crept over the edge of my bed and grabbed my old backpack. I reached in for my notebook and pencil and pulled them out. I used the faint moonlight peeking through the curtains to see the lines on the paper. Sniffling, I wrote out the words—

I don’t like high school.

I finally dozed off with my headphones on, my Walkman softly playing ‘Army Dreamers’ and Kate Bush singing me into the only place I’d wanted to be all day: blissful unconsciousness.

————————

Unlucky Taglist: @milkiane @raynelbabe @kik51199 @hazydespair @burn1ngw00d @fanficfanatic204 @stratospherewalker @caitsymichelle13 @potatoflavoured @guichi @triscuit-reads @angelbbygrl @daisyjohncn @thel0v3hashira143 @m-rae23 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @dessmxsworld

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction

63 notes · View notes