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kriffingunlucky · 3 years

Note

Hey I absolutely adore your writing and was wondering if I could request a female reader with Crosshair where the reader is just straight flirting with him and he’s completely clueless to it?

Uh, totally? This is absolutely perfect. >:] And omg! Thank you so much, dearest! I really appreciate that. You guys liking my work is all that keeps me going. So these compliments make my world brighter. I put a "read more" link because this got longer than I was expecting hehe.

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This has been going on for way too long.

Every morning for the past couple of weeks you greet Crosshair with a chipper "good morning, handsome!", or a compliment of that sort. A huge smile plastered on your face. The day goes on, your tasks get done, but you always follow him around and spend whatever time you're able to with him. Smiling all the while. You help him with anything he could possibly need help with. You compliment and tease him. You pat his arms and shoulders affectionately.

Why hasn't the clueless asshole caught onto your hints yet?

You really thought you were being pretty damn obvious. But it's also kind of cute that he doesn't really notice it, or at least think anything of it, at least; you hope.

You lay on top of the Havoc Marauder. Deep in thought. Eyes cast onto the stars above you.

Another Republic base in a small village you all have docked yourselves at to stock back up on supplies, another gift you've snuck onboard for Crosshair. And he still thinks nothing of the kiss that came with it. Damnit.

Chatter spread throughout the Republic occupied space, you casually walking with Wreckers huge poncho over your shoulders back to the ship, trying to be as inconspicuous as you could be.

Which wasn't very inconspicuous.

Because as you approached the Marauder Hunter did a double take at you, brows furrowing in suspicion at your form.

"Hello, (Y/n). What are you doing out?" He crossed his arms firmly over his chest.

You scoffed, placing a hand over your chest. Mock hurt in your voice. "Can a girl not go out and enjoy the city while she finally has the time?"

"Mmhm," Hunter takes a breath in. Giving you an up-down scan. "Why are you wearing Wrecker's poncho?"

"It is comfortable."

"But you have your own that fits you perfectly fine."

"Yes but his is comfier."

"Okay. But it looks as if you're hiding something underneath it. You're more bulky."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Wha- No? Why would I do that?"

"Because you're mean! You're questioning me!"

"(Y/n)-"

"I am going to cry. And it's all because of you."

"I-"

"ALL BECAUSE OF YOU."

The Sergent throws his hands into the air, groaning, absolutely exasperated. He turns to walk back to where he was before. Loading things into the cargo hold of their small home. "Fine! Whatever! I just hope that thing you're sneaking into the ship for reasons that are beyond me do not involve me! At all!"

You grin as smooth as a tooka cat, sauntering your way into the Marauder, cooing behind you. "No worries, sarge. You'll never hear of this again."

Shedding off the large poncho you'd worn, you lay it on Wrecker's bunk, yelling through the ship. "Thank you for the poncho lend, Wreck!"

In which you get a hardy laugh and, "No problem, little'un!" in response.

Taking your time unwrapping the large basket of sweets you'd smuggled into the ship, you repackage them in a fancy way. Thinking it's rather pretty before you pick it up and scamper to wherever you thought Crosshair might be.

With no luck on your first attempts, you hear Echo's breathy chuckle. "He is outside, napping, surprisingly. You'll see him. He's laying out on the grass like a dramatic starfish."

You grin and yell a loud "thank you" as you jog from the ship, clearing your throat a couple times as you look for him. It really didn't take long to find him sprawled out in the grass. Eyes open, and looking up at the sunset that paints the sky.

Good, so I don't have to wake him. You thought in a sigh of relief.

You open your mouth to speak as you halted yourself in front of him. Standing above his head.

But when he looked up at you with his honey filled eyes, you were love struck again, and at an awkward loss of words. Again.

"(Y/n)." He greets curtly. Not having anything against you, really, but also not being super friendly with you. He was, though, very curious as to what is in that basket of yours.

He was re-situating to see whatever you had in your hands better as you began to gather your thoughts again. "Hi, Cross!" Was your very annoying, in your own anxious opinion, start. "I brought'cha something!"

The sniper raises his silver eyebrows, holding his hands out to take it from you when you offered it towards him. He hummed in confirmation and interest when he set it in his lap.

He was sorting through the contents, so you took that extended silence to speak. "I bought you some sweets from the village venders, because you're a sweet treat yourself!"

Crosshair snorted a small laugh, picking through the items and very silently judging them. You swallowed as you kept smiling. Worried you'd overdone it this time.

But when he looked up at you, meeting your eyes, his expression was absolutely beaming. No, he wasn't smiling. Nor was he really showing that he was happy with it through his facial expression par say. It was through the vibrancy of his eyes that you could tell he loved it.

They were extra shimmery.

"Hope you like it." You grinned, very satisfied with your results. And with a newfound confidence, you leaned down, kissing his cheek softly.

Turning around and walking away, practically skipping, actually, you left a dumbfounded but now quietly happy Crosshair behind you.

And you hadn't heard anything about it from him since. You rubbed your face, half of you frustrated and the other half was entertained by his obliviousness. You'd all eaten dinner together, and laughed about the day.

Tech said that you were making heart eyes at Cross the whole time, but, you refuse to believe that. Even though Echo and Wrecker second that accusation.

"I can be happy being his friend." You spoke to yourself, trying to convince your own brain of this, "He doesn't have to like me the way I like him."

The silence outside was almost mocking your statement.

"Who am I kidding?" You groaned into your hands.

Moments later, after you'd calmed down and just ended up silently gazing at the stars. You heard footsteps climbing the latter to the top of the Marauder. Lifting your head a tad from your laying position you make eye contact with Crosshair.

Letting your head thump against the ground, you sigh quietly. Not even really having much energy to chat with him. You hoped he hasn't come up here to scold you for your gift. Calling it "dumb" and "unprofessional", like you'd worried he thought it was.

"Hey, handsome." You mumble. Adjusting your hands to lay on top of your stomach, laced together slackly, eyes cast away from him.

Crosshair comes close to you, and stands beside where you're sitting for a couple of moments. The atmosphere a tad tense. And you knew it was only because of your tired mind.

You'd been so confident about flirting with him before. But you've slowly come to worry, well, you're at least just worrying right now; that maybe he understands you're flirting and is just ignoring you.

Crosshair sits beside you with a small thump, not saying anything still. Crossing his legs, then pulling something out of the ammo pack on his belt, he hands it to you open palmed.

"Here." He spoke softly.

You hummed and sat yourself half up on your elbows, furrowing your brows at what he holds. You couldn't really see it. It was dark and unlike him, you didn't have enhanced vision. "What's this?"

The sniper snorts. "Take it and find out."

You huff a laugh and sit up fully, taking the mysterious object from his hands with care. Inspecting it for a moment, you soon come to a realization.

It's a piece of candy.

One of the piece's you'd given him earlier, to be exact.

"I thought I'd thank you for giving me those nice sweets." He commented, almost bashfully, when you'd looked up at him with a smile.

"Of course, honeypot! It's my pleasure." You grin and wiggle your body from side to side. Scooting a tad closer to him. Your heart fluttering when your actions earned a small smile from the man.

You love it when he smiles. Especially at you.

"Don't call me that." He huffed out, but with no venom in his voice. Shaking his head as he watched you re-situate closer to him.

"Awww," You whine playfully. "Why not, beautiful? You're as sweet as honey! It's a perfect fit."

"No. It's cringy."

"I'm hurt by your words," you joke as you gently lean your head onto his shoulder. Breathing in a big breath. "Can I call you honeybear?"

"Oh," He snorts, "Please no."

"What about just honey?"

Crosshair sighed, smiling, even though you couldn't see it. And laid his head on top of yours. "That will be acceptable if you insist on with these dumb honey themed names."

You giggled - arm hooking around his, small hand laying on top of the other's larger one, (e/c) eyes fluttering closed - then sighed. "Perfect."

And that is when Crosshair realized, he realized he was catching feelings for you. But much to his unknown relief, he's lucky you felt the same, because all of your pickup lines and pet names still haven't clicked for him. Not yet at least.

Just wait until he asks Tech about it.

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fairyhee · 3 years

Text

Chocolate eclairs (pt.1)

“Aren’t you a Valentine’s day hater, though?”

“Only because I don’t have a date and I’m bitter about it, but you can change that.”

🍫optional bias x reader (h/n means his name)

🍫enemies to lovers, kinda slow burn?, flirting (smut in pt.2)

🍫inspired by: 5sos-valentine

[I know Valentine’s Day has already passed but I got this idea while daydreaming a few days ago and I couldn’t help myself. And also maybe I love this made-up celebration a bit too much and I don’t want to accept it’s over. If you dislike cheesy stuff this might not be for you lmao]

When it comes to Valentine’s, people are always either hardcore fans or hardcore haters. While you were definitely part of the first category, you just couldn’t understand how anyone can dislike a celebration that’s meant to spread love. And also, the pretty lingerie, the sweets, the champagne and the sex, hello?? You would have them any day of the year if you could. And if you had someone to celebrate with, in the first place.

As for people in the other category, they could hate it all they want but in your eyes they were probably just painfully single. Not that you weren’t, but you never wanted to let that spoil the fun. So what if you were single? What one can do with a partner, you could very well do on your own. So every year you made plans to do everything you wanted, but on a solo date instead of with somebody else. Love yourself first, right?

So on the morning of february 14th, after you were done with your self-pampering ritual, you stepped out for coffee and pancakes. The plan was that after breakfast, you would stop by the lingerie store and treat yourself to a nice set, then buy some sweets from the french bakery, then go home and get all dolled up for the evening, when you had reserved a table at a pink-themed restaurant, beautifully situated on the top floor of one of the highest buildings in your town. It was definitely among the most popular spots for that day, but you couldn’t care less that you were going by yourself. You could have gone with one of your girl friends, if they weren’t all already taken and spending the day “watching netflix”.

Thinking about the peaceful day that was ahead of you, you had almost reached your first destination. Your favorite cafe held an event today and served red pancakes with chocolate hearts as a special menu, as well as v-day themed coffee cups that you couldn’t wait to take photos of. As you entered the cafe, you spotted a familiar silhouette by the counter. He didn’t have to turn around for you to confirm it was him, because as soon as you heard him order his ice americano, your perfect day was already ruined. It was h/n.

Instead of saying hi, you groaned as you approached the counter. “Who drinks iced coffee in february? You have serious issues.”

He turned around, seemingly suprised to see you at first, but he quickly got to back to his usual self. “Only cool people can drink iced coffee, you wouldn’t understand. And also, a ‘good morning’ would have been enough.”

“It was good until I saw you, so now I can’t say that anymore, can I?” you said while scanning the menu. “One rose lemonade and the special strawberry pancakes with fresh cream, please.”

From where he was standing, you heard a dramatic gasp. “How can you tell me I have issues when you ingest so much sugar from this early in the day? If this is what you have for breakfast, what the hell are you having for dinner?” You wanted to slap that overly exaggerated shocked expression off his face.

“None of your fucking business. Now if you don’t mind I’m gonna walk to my table and go on with my day. If I spend another minute with you I’m afraid it might turn bitter and cold, like you and your beloved americano.”

You were beyond irritated that you had to put up with his shit today, too. You had met h/n at a party during university because of a mutual friend, and you immediately found out you had absolutely nothing in common, except both wanting to excel in your field and to be right at all times. Both of you had strong opinions and just wouldn’t back down. Every time you met, your personalities clashed, and the useless arguments and snarky remarks wouldn’t stop coming. It certainly didn’t help that he was so handsome and so good at what he did (he was a singer in a band) and that everyone else always complimented and admired him, because that made his ego grow and everything just annoyed you even more. Handsome boys always had to be over-confident and you hated that with a passion. The worst part was that he had every right to be confident, but you would never admit that. You weren’t sure what his opinion was of you but you didn’t care to know.

While you were sat at your table, scrolling through your phone and trying to block the previous conversation from re-entering your mind, he just casually sat down across from you at the table, putting down not one, but two iced americanos.

For a few seconds you stared at him blankly. “Can I know what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m gonna try to convince you that americano is the best coffee.”

“Ha, nice try. What makes you think I would even try it? It’s way too cold outside to drink. Haven’t I told you I don’t want bitterness in my life?”

He smirked. “I asked the barista to put 3 pumps of sugar syrup in it so it can be at least remotely drinkable for you. You will also need someone to watch over you, since I expect you to have a heart attack from all the sweetness, so, before you ask me to, no, I don’t want to leave your drink here and fuck off. So since you’ll be stuck with me until you finish your breakfast, tell me, what have I done to make you dislike me so much?” he placed his chin on his left hand and took a sip of his americano. “I’m curious.” rather than annoyed with you, he looked rather playful.

“Wow, you seem to be having a lot of fun interrupting my day. Glad at least one of us is having a good time. If you want me to touch that drink, you better take out at least half of that amount of ice cubes. After that, we can talk.”

You didn’t expect him to actually do what you said, but he stood up without a word and slowly walked to the counter to ask the barista to fix it. He was so tall, that the strings of the heart shaped helium balloons that were floating around the ceiling reached his eyes, so he walked around the cafe shielding his face with his hand. Why did you find that cute all of a sudden? It’s like you had just realized that his height was very attractive to you. When he turned around, you were smiling at him.

He gave you a wide-eyed look while he was placing your drink down for the second time. “Now you’re smiling at me? Did the sugar from those pancakes get to your brain already?”

“It’s just kinda funny seeing you between all those heart-shaped pink balloons after our last argument.” He had argued that all these holidays, like Halloween, V-day, Mother’s day and so on are made up for purely capitalist purposes and people who celebrate just feed into the consumerism. Besides, his social media posts had appeared on your feed the other day, because he had shared a bunch of memes poking fun at the cheesy traditions. “So what are you doing here today anyway, I thought you were a Valentine’s day hater?”

“Only because I don’t have a date and I’m bitter about it, like you said. But you can change that.”

You quickly looked up from your plate to check for any sign that he’s joking, but he definitely wasn’t laughing. His eyebrow was cocked up and an annoying smirk was planted on his face. He looked so hot, it was absurd.

His proposal, combined with your own thoughts, made you burst into laughter. You were annoyed at the fact that you were considering it. “Aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself? Of course I can change that, but do you really think I will?” you asked ironically. You took a sip of the iced americano, hoping it would cool down your brain and help you think straight again.

He smiled. “I don’t know, but the fact that I just made you laugh is a good sign. Also,” he said pointing at the coffee, “you just drank that and didn’t complain. You just accepted my drink and I got you convinced it’s not bad, both at the same time. That’s three wins in a row for me.”

Shit, he was right.

“I love it when you talk back to me, so I’m almost feeling sorry I left you without any comeback to that.”, he laughed. “So what other plans do you have today? What else do I have to try to ruin?”

“Oh, just a bunch of uninteresting things. I’m sure a self-proclaimed cool dude like yourself would be bored just hearing about it.” That was it. Your defense had fallen, you were actually starting to like him, but you still wouldn’t admit it, so now you were adamant to prove you were completely uninterested in him and he didn’t affect you even in the slightest. You were even willing to accept him tagging along when you went shopping if he wanted. Half because you wanted to spend more time with him without actually accepting his half-hearted date proposal, and half because you wanted him to think you don’t care even if he tries to bother you.

“Well, I don’t have anything better to do today. You asked me what I’m doing here, I actually simply came to get coffee. So do you mind if I come with you? Annoying you is more fun than doing nothing on a sunday.”

Perfect, you thought. You fake-rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You’ve already ruined my day, it can’t get worse no matter how much you’ll talk. Let’s go shopping, I know men are absolutely crazy over this activity, so let’s see how much fun you’ll have there.”

“Try me.” he said while finishing his drink.

You smiled and, having finished your breakfast, you stood up.“You might want to have another americano to-go, to keep you from getting tainted with my sweetness. Get up, we’re going to buy chocolate eclairs.”

...

part 2

#optional bias #optional bias scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #oneus scenarios #oneus imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #optional bias x reader #kpop fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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astro-rain · 3 years

Text

delicate; b. barnes

chapter five - “fight or flight”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: bucky and (Y/N) have their first official therapy session.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: this story is available my wattpad as an OC @/ typicaldaze :))

She stood in front of her bed, ringing out her hands. Her gaze trailed off to nowhere specific, feet planted firmly on the floor of her room, body rigid and straight. She was nervous. This was no foreign feeling, but unpleasant all the same. Today was the first ever therapy session with Bucky.

She hadn't realized how strange it felt until she really thought about her position here. She never worked as an official therapist. She studied neuroscience and psychology, and the relationship between neurobiology and behavior. Don't get her wrong, she knew psychology, she knew trauma and how it interacted with the brain. In fact, sometimes her knowledge seemed like the only thing she could rely on, a consistent comfort and constant truth to keep her feet on the ground.

She shook the thought with a shake of her head, cracked her knuckles, and went for the door. She would have to get used to the Wakandan royal-guest living quarters. It looked like a five star hotel. No, a six star hotel; there is no such thing as a six star hotel, but Wakanda made it happen. That's what Y/N thought, anyway.

Briefly, she wondered what Bucky thought of it. Was he staying in the same area? He could be across the lake for all she knew. The castle was huge and had extensions everywhere. She wondered if he felt lonely here. She wondered if he felt scared, or relaxed, or if he didn't care at all. She thought this was all a little intimidating. She was wary of getting lost as she followed the directions Shuri gave her yesterday.

Her hands found themselves fidgeting again as she continued walking. Before, she was standing by, assisting Shuri and Bucky when needed. Now, she was going to be sitting in a room alone with Bucky. One on one. This would be more personal. (Y/N) was again intimidated. Not by Bucky, but by the nature of their relationship. She just wanted to do well. She just wanted to do right by him.

Alone in a room, tips of fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of a chair. Simultaneously, while walking down the hall, tips of fingers tapped nervously on the side of a thigh.

(Y/N) stood up as a Wakandan royal-aid escorted Bucky into the room. Immediately, she noticed his eyes scanning over the room, undoubtedly and probably unconsciously surveying for exits, possible threats, etc.

A brain that never rests, she thought.

The two of them thanked the aid and bid him farewell before standing in an awkward silence.

"It's nice to see you again, Bucky. I trust you're doing well," (Y/N) cut the tension.

The eloquent politeness was a weird taste on her tongue. She put up with it.

Bucky offered a smile. "Yes, thank you."

It took her a second to realize they were still both standing.

"Oh! Please sit. We can get started."

There were two couches across from each other. One a deep green, the other a pale blue. They were a nice contrast again the walls, which were clad in beautiful Wakandan designs of various shades of orange, yellow, and red. Except for one. On the far end of the room was a huge glass window, taking up the entire span of the wall. There were two end tables on each couch, and a small desk in the one corner with a warm golden lamp. The room was calm and welcoming.

"So, today isn't gonna be huge," (Y/N) started. "It is our first session, so we'll just talk, ya know, settle in."

Bucky nodded.

"So, how have you been? Adjusting well? Hating it? Absolutely no opinion?"

There was then a slight lightheartedness in her professionalism. It helped to put him at ease.

Bucky looked at his hands. "I'm doing alright. This place still needs a little gettin' used to, but that's expected."

"That's good to hear." She smiled slightly. "Wakanda is... a lot for an outsider. I don't think it matters if you're from another century or not."

Bucky chuckled.

"To be honest, I don't even know what therapy really is. They didn't have much of it in the forties."

"Well, it can be pretty hard sometimes, so here's a fair warning. Especially seeing the stuff you went through, just be prepared for difficulty."

As soon as she mentioned this, his demeanor changed.

"Yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess difficulty is to be expected... with me."

That last part was so quiet she almost didn't hear it.

"Hey," (Y/N) said softly, "difficult is fine. It just means a little extra work.

Bucky looked up at her.

His eyes are very blue.

"A little extra work," he repeated, thoughtfully. "I think can do that."

"Do you get escorted everywhere like you did earlier?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Security measure, I guess," Bucky shrugged.

"I can understand that. You don't look scary though."

He then looked very confused.

"Th...thank you?"

"I'm just saying-I feel like it would probably be fine to let you walk here by yourself. It's only a problem when you hear the trigger words, right?"

"I think so, but I can't be sure. Neither can they. It's best to just keep everyone safe."

"Safe from..."

"Me."

"Well, you look perfectly gentle to me. I think it's the Winter Soldier they want to keep at bay."

That threw him for a loop. Gentle. Never in Bucky's life has he been described as gentle. At least... he didn't think so. He wasn't overly trusting of his memory.

"Kinda the same thing, don't ya think?"

"No."

Simple and head first into the point. Bucky once looked confused at her sureness.

"No?"

"No. You and the Winter Soldier are separate. It's not like you decided to go down that road. You weren't given a choice."

"Yeah, I guess."

She didn't seem the least bit convinced of his answer, but she decided to leave it alone.

(Y/N) uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, changing the subject and the mood.

"So, tell me about Steve!"

"Steve?"

"Yeah, I mean he rebelled against like a hundred countries to help you. I assumed you guys were close."

"Well," he started, leaning back in his seat, "he's my oldest friend, and my only friend now, I suppose. Stubborn ass, isn't he?"

"Maybe," (Y/N) smiled. "Sometimes stubborn is good, though. I can admire that. He isn't easily pushed around, that I can tell."

Bucky nearly snorted. "You should've seen him back when we were kids. Pushed around was part of his daily routine."

She almost giggled. "Oh, man. Poor Steve. He was lucky to have you, I take it?"

"We were lucky to have each other. But an argument can be made in Steve's favor 'cause he always made me look good. Not even because he was small or whatever, but because he was always puttin' me in situations where I'd act like a hero. Ya know, savin' his ass in the back of an alley or somethin'."

He seemed to get more comfortable as he talked about things that made him happy. Familiarity and goodness opened him up like a blooming flower. (Y/N) wasn't sure how to describe the sight, but the word that came to mind was golden.

"Sounds like you guys had a lot of fun."

"Yeah..." Bucky trailed off with a smile, thoughts tinted by memories of the past. Memories of an easier time.

"Oh, I've been meaning to ask. What did you think of all the exams we did with Shuri? How was it for you?"

"There's so much... stuff, and I have no idea what any of it is or does. I mean, it's been fine so far, but I can't help feeling constantly... confused. And unaware."

"Is that uncomfortable? Being unaware?"

"Well it's not a pleasure, that's for sure," Bucky said with a slight chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

He seemed nervous.

"Does this place make you nervous, Bucky?"

"Nervous? I don't know if I'd say nervous, but it is a lot to take in."

"That is true. Is that why you looked around the room for exits when you first came in? And why you're sitting facing the door instead of having your back to it?"

Bucky straightened his back.

"Didn't realize you caught that," he shrugged. "Just a habit."

And the flower began to wilt.

"Do you do that in rooms that you feel comfortable in?"

"I-uh... I'm not sure."

"That's alright. It's called hyper-vigilance. You're on high alert at all times. It's a common symptom in PTSD."

"In what?"

Bucky began to wipe his hands on his knees.

"PTSD stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but we can get into all that in a later session."

"Do I... do I have that?"

"I think so," she answered calmly and surely, "but I'd wait 'til I got to know you before I formally made that diagnosis."

He glanced at the clock. A few dense moments of silence pass.

"Bucky?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

The blue in his eyes looked like ice. They were frozen. Most people think that in stressful situations the body activates the fight or flight response, but there aren't only two options. There's fight, flight, and there's freeze. Bucky was freezing.

The irony, (Y/N) thought.

He snapped out of whatever trance he was in and stood up abruptly. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just-"

His head shot to the door and he wrung out his hands as his feet shifted in place. Mind undoubtedly going haywire trying to decide what to do.

"I think I need to go," Bucky said so fast he didn't realize he even said it.

He made a beeline for the door, restlessness all but pouring out of him.

"Buck-"

She couldn't get through the rest of his name before the door had open and shut, leaving her sitting alone on the couch.

Now she could check off freeze and flight...

PLS feel free to leave some feedback/constructive criticism, i’d really like to know what i can do to make this story better!

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky headcanon #marvel #steve rogers #bucky reader insert #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel fanfiction

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solediem · 3 years

Text

reality re-written; a collection of thoughts and happenings ( @solivaganted )

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 20 years in the future, reaper estate

“holly, he’s like forty years old. stan someone your own age. “

holly sighs heavily as she clips a photocard of the ‘like forty-year old’ to her display board. her friend’s opinion was not asked for, and yet any mention or visual reminder of holly’s affinity for d:fi acts as some sort of invitation for ridicule.

“ yeah, but i’ve been looking for this photocard for months. it’s rare and i’m a collector. so fuck off.”

holly is very organized with her collection of photocards and albums. albums are displayed on shelves in chronological order, with the packaged photocards pinned nearby to indicate the era. she does her best to get two copies of each album – one to keep intact an one to display for her own pleasure. sadly, each album only has so many photocards. much of her collecting is online interactions with sellers willing to part with pieces of their own collection so that holly may complete her’s.

the friend sucks her teeth in annoyance, mumbling something about knocking her collection over if she keeps up such a rude demeanor. holly ignores her friend and stares at the photocard that’s completed her most recent collection venture – clé: levanter.

“ there you go, oppa … home with the rest of your members…”

hanuel lee is making a peace sign at her from his new place among the other cards. her heart swells a little with pride.

don’t be so difficult to find next time, okay??

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 20 years in the future, reaper estate

“hey, you finished levanter!”

holly looks up from her book with a smile and beams over at her collection. her father is standing in front of it, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze is caught on the latest addition,

“ yup! it came today.”

“this is really incredible, bean. your dedication is amazing.”

“call it what it is, dad, obsession.”

jayce turns on his heel to look at his daughter. the bright, beaming smile she had faltering to one a bit more sad. shame. there’s nothing to feel shame over. but one can only handle so much mocking before the words start to hit. she can say ‘fuck off’ to her friends a dozen times, put on a mask of how proud and happy she is when they’re around. but the moment she’s behind her doors, the pain each comment made opens new wounds in her that have turned this collecting hobby of hers from the joyful affair it was to something much more bittersweet.

“ bean…”

holly’s smile is gone, “ it’s like … “ she’s quiet a moment, “ jia collects cards and albums too. but everyone she likes is her age and having comebacks every month. but because i…because i like the groups and the singers that i associate with you and mom and uncle i…somehow i’m the strange one. i’m wrong— i have reaper cards too. and x-gene. you guys did so much for music, but i’m not allowed to look at that and admire that …?? why am i the strange one ?? is it because we’re related ?? do i have to be some obsessive fifteen year old in her bedroom two cities away writing fanfiction for this to be acceptable ??"

jayce finds a spot on holly’s bed, and within seconds, she’s up from her armchair and crawling into her father’s lap like she’s a child again. he wraps his arms around her all the same.

“ reese was here the other day while you were out with your friends. “ as if holly needed to be reminded of who reese kim was, her father pointed to the picture of d:fi’s maknae hanging a couple spaces to the left of hanuel, “ i was showing him the studio, and when we passed your room, he asked if he could see how your collection was coming. he stood there staring at it, and he was so quiet. i thought something was wrong, but then i saw his eyes. i think if he’d been in there by himself he might’ve cried a little bit, because he looked the way i did on reaper’s final tour – touched, honored, amazed. like he couldn’t fathom so much love. he pulled himself together and smiled at me. and he asked me to thank you for remembering him and d:fi like this.

holly presses her lips together tightly and sniffs loudly, desperately trying to not cry. to know he understood her and her intentions brought a sense of relief. she’s not obsessing. she’s not going overboard. she’s immortalizing. remembering. letting the people she grew up with that influenced her so much know that if no one else in the world loves them, she will. if the world decides they aren’t worth remembering, she will remember in spite of it.

they deserve as much. her family deserves to be loved beyond their music and influence.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 20 years in the future, reaper estate

“happy birthday!!”

holly’s not to fond of surprise parties. especially not when they consist of some thirty people all gathered in the main house with party poppers and horns. she’s practically on the floor cowering when her brain registers that a mix of friends and family had gathered to celebrate her 20th birthday.

“ oh my god … “ she can’t even register happiness. her heart is to busy trying escape her chest.

“ sorry, sweetheart. “ her mother puts an arm around her and guides her into the crowd, “ are you okay ??”

holly nods, “ you guys scared me, my gosh … there’s to many of us for it to be a surprise. this is a heart attack party, fucking hell…”

jaehwa sighs a bit, “ do me the favor of keeping your mouth clean at least when you’re around me, hm?”

“ sorry. “

their conversation ends at the kitchen island where the family has gathered to watch her blow out the candles of a very tall cake. holly tucks a few strands of hair behind her ears and, with a deep breath, manages most of the candles on her first go. when she’s taking her second attempt, the estate’s intercom system sounds to let the house know someone’s waiting to be let in. jaehwa takes it upon herself to let them and waits a little bit by the door until the guests arrive.

holly’s made it through the candles and the cake is being cut when she glances up to see who her mom is greeting at the door. two towering figures stand over her with gift bags in hand and toothy grins on their face. they’re bowing politely and holding out the bags to holly’s beaming mother.

“ oh she’ll be so excited!! these are from all of d:fi? that’s so thoughtful. “ holly just barely hears.

she’s straining a bit to identify the individuals, but when they turn to look at the commotion that is her party, her heart drops into her stomach, and she’s caught between a happy smile and an embarrassed one. reese gives her a small wave and a heart with two fingers while mouthing what she assumes is ‘happy birthday’. from where she stands, she gives a small bow.

jaehwa is motioning for them to come in, but the other visitor is shaking his head. holly’s half tempted to break away from the party to go speak to them directly, but cake is being shoved in front of her, and friends are pulling at her for pictures. before she gives in to their pestering, she catches sight of the other visitor peering around reese to catch his own glimpse of the party.

gaze meets, and holly feels her heart (that finally made it’s way back to her chest) thud against her ribcage. hanuel smiles and holds up a peace sign to her before giving jaehwa another small bow and directing reese out the door. the next few minutes are a bit of a blur, as all her brain can really focus on is hanuel greeting her.

it shouldn’t be so odd to her. this isn’t the first time she’s met him, and it surely won’t be the last. but something about that moment felt so off. like she was seeing a hanuel she’d never met before. a hanuel that’s tugged at her heartstrings with just a smile and she can’t seem to gather her senses back up. the world had shifted beneath her and she might’ve fallen if she wasn’t being gripped onto by her friends still pestering her for pictures.

get it together, holls

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 2 years ago, ‘my pace’ video set

music video sets aren’t a new thing for holly, but that doesn’t squash the rush of excitement that comes from being on one. especially considering the set she’s found herself on. the man that would be her father is near the tech set up behind the camera, talking to staff about this and that, and holly doesn’t care. she’s scanning the tunnel and her mind is filling in the blanks. in her mind’s eyes she sees d:fi running forward followed by a crowd of extras on skates and scooters. tickets are on the ground and cameras are panning around to catch different angles.

it goes dark suddenly, then a single very bright spotlight is turned on and nearly blinds her. scaffolding are being moved into place and holly realizes that the next part of filming is a dance sequence. and judging by the pink and purple lights that have joined the spotlight – she knows exactly which. and she’s a little more giddy than she’d like to be showing, but how else is she expected to react to seeing the foundation of d:fi’s career coming to life in front of her?

“ hey – “

holly whips around to see her father in front of her, looking a bit uneased by the affair that is a breach of time and space. understandable.

“hi. hey. sorry. i’m…” she stops, realizing she has nothing to apologize for. jayce just smiles a bit, his expression reading something she doesn’t quite understand.

“you’re in the middle of the shot. come over here.”

he leads her away from the spotlight and back to where he’d just been sitting. from this perspective, holly can see the set coming together to shape the image she has in her mind of this music video. the only thing missing are the boys – and as she waits with jayce behind the camera, they eventually find their way to the center of the spotlight, stretching and chatting.

they look so young.

even knowing that age never really catches up with these boys, they look and feel much younger than the polished and perfected senior group she knows them to be from home. they haven’t moved to their starting positions yet, and so the members that would start in the back of the formation are standing upfront and center.

gazes meet. for him, it’s the first time. for her, it’s one of many. but just as on her birthday, the small smile and wave that hanuel gives her sets her entire world off kilter and she stumbles a bit. her father’s behind her and catches her.

“i’m fine.” she says. just confused. very confused.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 2 years ago, ‘my pace’ video set

“ … hello, there. i was told to bring you this…”

the fact that holly hasn’t fallen over with the way everything around her seems to be shifting is a miracle. hanuel is settled in a seat near the back when she approaches him with a small tub of water bottles on ice. the dancer beams and takes one, thanking her profusely and starting up a conversation.

it literally feels as though the ground is shifting underneath her, and to avoid looking like she’s going to collapse, she sets the water bottles down and takes her own seat while they talk. she’s a theatre major, and he thinks that’s incredible. and ‘jayce-hyung’ is really nice to have let his ‘niece’ stop by the set.

he’s talking so casually. so sweetly. he seems fully invested, and every attempt she makes to break eye contact with him fails. the longer the conversation goes on, the more holly leans in, not even realizing that she’s inching closer and closer to him. he doesn’t seem to mind it. in fact, he’s smiling so much it seems his face might get stuck that way. his eyes are lit up and he’s reaching for conversation topics. he wishes he could see her perform, because he bets she’s really good. because someone related to jayce must be talented, right?

“ hyung !!”

reality crashes back down on them. the set comes back into view and they acknowledge that there’s more to existence than just each other. reese kim – a lankier, more akward looking version of him – is bounding over and motioning for hanuel to return to set.

he asks her to wait around so they can talk. she agrees. the world is still shifting.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ one and a half years ago, practice room

she can’t stop laughing. and maybe it’s because she’s prone to giggle fits, but every word out of hanuel’s mouth makes her laugh harder. she’s convinced he’s doing it on purpose now because he’s got a mischievous grin on his lips.

“ stop it!! “

he’s not doing anything. it’s not his fault she can’t stop laughing. holly grabs at his arm and takes a series of deep breaths, trying to calm herself out of her own hysterics. when she meets his gaze again, the wicked smile is gone, replaced with gentle eyes. eyes of admiration.

holly wants to smack him.

don’t look at me like that. don’t give me those eyes.

because he doesn’t know who he’s looking at. he doesn’t know that their time is limited. he doesn’t know the truth. but he’s still leaning into her, and she’s leaning in as well. he doesn’t know that the next time he sees her like this, it will be awkward at best, mortifying at worst. but their foreheads are together, and he’s holding her like she’s suddenly the most precious thing in the world. she feels tears in her eyes, but keeps them back.

she wants to not kiss him. she wants his lips to not feel as soft as they do. she doesn’t want her heart to be soaring, and she doesn’t want to be pulling him closer. the world is shifting beneath her again, but she feels less shaky in his arms.

i want to stay…

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 22 years in the future, backstage

you’re impossible. my impossible girl. but you have to live your dreams, yeah? don’t…get caught here by some stupid boy. you’ve got important things to do.

“positions !!”

the audience is filing in and holly’s mind is everywhere other than it needs to be.

you’re to talented to stay here. i love you. i’ll always love you.

“holls? why are you crying?”

two years! one would think that after two years she’d be alright again, but she’s not. the anguish has eaten at her since the day she left him behind and not a damn thing she does can assuage it.

all her photocards and albums are gone. her entire collection boxed and shoved into the corner of the garage, never to be seen again. every indication of her admiration wiped away as though it never happened. and she hasn’t seen d:fi either. not a single member, since the day she came home. it’s like they don’t exist. and she supposed rightfully so. she’d stay away too if she realized. the awful position she forced hanuel into, she can’t forgive herself. she had so much time while she was there to dissuade him, to not lead him on and yet

and yet

in her selfishness she let it happen. and now that time has put itself right again, surely he’s stuck with the realization of who he’d fallen for. surely he’s avoided every event and party she’d be at for that reason.

“ i’m okay. are we ready?”

she remembers the moments fondly. when she lets herself sink into them, it’s the most right she’s ever felt. but reality always brings her back and every part of her aches. she feels weak. heavy. like she’s wrong.

but the show must go on, as they say. holly’s dedication to her ‘dream’ is the only thing that’s kept her going. without something to focus on, the sadness is too much. the stage is waiting for her. she’s come this far. she has to do it. she has to keep going now.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 22 years in the future, holly song’s memorial service

there are some horrors you can’t unsee.

there are some tragedies that can’t be reframed.

there is nothing that sits worse on the hearts of parents than to put their child into the ground.

jayce and jaehwa don’t see anything but her that day. as many people surround them, they perceive no one. kind words mean nothing. holly song is in a casket at the front of the room and the building is packed to capacity with those come to mourn her.

she was to young. and this is all wrong.

her parents are doing everything in their power to hold themselves together as person after person comes into the room to pay respects. but after nearly an hour of this, jaehwa is on the floor letting out cries of anguish that only a mother could make.

hanuel is in the next room. arms over his stomach and head bowed. the sound of jaehwa’s wails, however, bring him to the ground. he sits on his knees, doing everything in his power to not be loud as his own sobs take over his body. he doesn’t have the right to grieve in such a way. not when he could’ve prevented this entirely. but that truth makes the pain worse. better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. such a sham of a statement. he’s loved and lost. twice.

I should’ve stopped her.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 2 month ago, two star lobby

as wobbly as she feels, it’s the most stable she’s felt in her life. her mind is a mess. A mix of memories and shifting realities that come together to form a jumbled mess of a new existence. council this, fate that, reality this, aries that.

she needs hanuel.

the only thing in her jumbled mind that’s certain is the necessity that is hanuel lee in her life again. he’s moved on, she knows that. she can’t expect him to be what he was before, but for the love of everything, he’s the only thing that makes sense and the only one that can hold her up while she gets used to this new reality. holly leans against a column in the two star lobby and slides to the ground, finally giving in to the fact that her body is not yet ready for movement.

he says her name. he can’t believe what he’s seeing, and he’s in tears as he falls next to her and wraps her in his arms. he’s sorry, he’s so so sorry. he should’ve never told her to leave. he should’ve held onto her and made her stay and saved her. he’d been broken since she left, the wolf in him was dying. everything in him was dying.

holly lets herself fall into him.

“ nothing was right…”

he agrees. he’s never letting her go again. he’s her’s forever. there’s much to talk about and understand. but hanuel can see the state she’s in. he doesn’t say anything but kind and loving words to her. a hand gently strokes her head. everything is right. he knows exactly who he’s looking at, and he knows that time isn’t limited for them.

the world isn’t shifting anymore.

#* ▷ ╰ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ━━ 「 holly && hanuel 」

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gaycrouton · 4 years

Note

First: love your writing, Second: are you planning on writing more of the Newlywed Game? I was dying to read fluffy Mulder and Scully answer more questions. ❤

THANK YOU GUYS FOR YOUR SUPPORT! HERE IS THE FINAL INSTALLMENT (FINALLY) Thank you to @admiralty-xfd for the beta!

Part III

“When did you first know you were in love with your partner?”

Mulder felt his heart start beating rapidly in his chest. The other questions were answered honestly, but could be danced around. This was… telling, to say the least. He supposed it could just be a platonic, partnerly love. He loved her in many ways, after all. But he had a feeling they both knew they had been revealing too much in the undercurrent of truth in this game for a question like this to be dodged so easily.

Scully was sucking on her bottom lip as she stared at her board, clearly having the same struggle that he was. Subconsciously, Mulder already knew they were going to have to have an awkward conversation after this. A quick exchange where they dismissed everything with uncomfortable agreements that this had all been a game before continuing with their pattern of ignoring what was obvious between them.

Why not throw another log onto the fire and stamp it out later?

The night of our first case together.

He’d thought about this question before, laying on his couch at night and thinking of her. An occurrence that happened more than he was proud to admit. But that’s always the moment he was able to pin it down to. The moment she made it clear she trusted and, at least to some degree, believed him, and the moment he began really trusting her.

He fell and never came back.

“You both ready?” he heard the announcer call. He looked up and nodded while watching Scully quickly scribble down a few more words.

“Yep,” she called out.

“Three-two-one.”

When he first confided in me.

Regardless of the fact it was the same evening as what he himself had written down, he couldn’t believe it was that early in their partnership. He glanced up at her and caught her giving a shy smile in response to what he’d written. As happy as he was to see her answer, he felt the anxiety about their post-game conversation grew.

“How long ago was that for both of you?” the young man asked.

“A few years,” Scully answered softly.

“A few years,” he replied in kind.

“Well our next question is a bit in the same vein. What made you fall in love?” he asked.

This one was easy, as she reminded him why everyday she remained by his side. Erasing his last answer, he wrote in its place: She believes in me.

He thought he’d answered fast, but by the time he was done, Scully was already waiting for him expectantly. As soon as she saw he was ready, she flipped the board around.

His compassion

He flipped his and another smile broke out on her face her eyes slowly scanning the words he’d written. “Always,” she murmured.

He looked back down at her answer and felt a surge of pride. Scully’s opinion of him mattered greatly to him, and seeing her say something so complimentary boosted his confidence. “Are you sure it wasn’t when you saw my sexy forearms?” he teased, breaking the tension.

The crowd laughed as Scully threw her head back. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” he chuckled, enjoying watching her be so carefree and giggly, even if it was just for a night.

“Ooooh, we have another juicy one!” The boy proclaimed with annoying enthusiasm. “Where is a place you haven’t made whoopie that you would like to?”

Mulder had still been looking at Scully when the kid was talking and he watched as her face changed from amusement to chagrin - him being the only one to fully recognize the change. They both sat in silence for a moment as they mentally tried to navigate the question. Anywhere was his real answer, but he couldn’t write that. He didn’t know which type of answers backed them into corners more, the sexually charged questions or the romantically charged ones.

He wrote down his answer and felt his palms grow sweaty and his knees grow weak. There were plenty of places he’d imagined on those same lonely nights he spent on his couch thinking about her. What it would be like storming to her apartment, catching her in her pyjamas and a sleepy smile, and just ravishing her. Or maybe what it would be like to slam the emergency button in the elevator and throw her against the wall. Sometimes he even imagined running his hand far up her skirt during business meetings with Skinner and the rest of the team. One of his favorites was a night hanging out in one of their motel rooms going too far.

But one setting in particular got him hot and bothered more than any. One that he just had to write down without even indulging the thought too much lest he pop a boner in front of people just trying to eat.

He ran his hands along the sides of the whiteboard anxiously, swallowing his anxiety down as he wondered if free pie would be worth the possible awkward tension this answer might cause.

By the look of Scully’s flushed cheeks and averting eyes, he felt like she might be thinking the same thing. “You go first,” he called out, wanting to have her answer as a buffer to his.

He watched her open her mouth, most likely to refute him, but she just let out a sigh instead and ripped off the Band-Aid by flipping around her board.

In our office

Mulder felt his mouth go dry, his head go faint, and all the blood in his body rush south. Holy fucking shit. Without moving a muscle, barely acknowledging the audience’s hoots and hollers, he turned his around.

At work

He watched as one of her eyebrows quirked up as her mouth dropped open slightly, a perfect visage of pleasant surprise. “Well,” she whispered. He heard her perfectly despite the crowd growing even more raucous at the match.

“Wow, Scully. I’d never would have guessed all those expense reports you threw my way were actually come ons,” he joked, trying to ignore the strain he heard in his voice.

“You know what they say,” she shrugged. “Subtlety is an art form lost on man,” she joked back.

He erased his answer while staring at her with amused surprise. “I hope you know I’m never going to be getting any work done ever again.”

“Of course not, looks like there’s something else you guys need to check off your bucket list first,” the kid crassly teased.

Scully widened her eyes in mock disapproval of the kid as she shook her head playfully at Mulder. “Oh my god,” she mouthed, laughing lightly. He smiled back and felt a pleasant warmth radiate through his body.

“We only have a few questions left before we have to call an end, but can we have a quick round of applause for the Mulders for being such good sports!”

A smatter of applause erupted from the audience as Mulder and Scully goodnaturedly gestured to the other. The applause died down after a moment or two as the announcer cleared his throat. “Okay, okay. Here’s a juicy one. Does your partner get jealous easily?”

He tried to think back to a time in the past four years where Scully had been markedly possessive or jealous. He already knew the answer she’d be writing down without a second thought. She called him territorial in the first month of working together and he didn’t even have the energy to deny her claim. And that was just one of the times he was a little more blunt about it, he didn’t even want to know if she picked up on every time he got jealous of a man she was paying attention to.

But Scully? Was she really jealous when it came to him and oth-.

Then, like a bolt of lightning to his brain, he remembered one Disney-named entomologist that he knew for a fact made Scully’s blood boil.

Yes

When he made eye contact with Scully, her brows furrowed in what looked like unsure disbelief. He shrugged playfully at her, which prompted her to boldly turn her board around, revealing a highly emphasized:

ABSOLUTELY

The crowd laughed at her intense response and the moderator asked, “Is that so, Mr. Mulder?”

She raised a challenging eyebrow at him and he just shrugged in concession. “Absolutely.” The crowd laughed again, but he was busy focusing on the endeared smile Scully was trying to hide. For a moment he wondered if she liked the fact he was territorial. He’d always presumed it aggravated her, like he was overstepping a boundary by being overtly possessive. But that smile on her face indicated she didn’t seem to mind.

He realized attention was on him, so he reflexively turned his board around, causing Scully’s face to light up in shock. “I am not!” she exclaimed with a laugh.

“Are too,” he replied confidently.

“Name a time,” she challenged.

“Bambi,” he confidently lilted.

She looked like a deer caught in headlights, absolutely not expecting that to be said. “Oooooh, Bambi, sounds hot,” the kid boasted, causing Scully to roll her eyes. “Did Bambi make you jealous, Mrs. Mulder?”

Scully looked him straight in the eye, and with a smirk, boldly answered, “She did.”

He’d been taking a risk calling her out on it, but he was glad he did. If not just for the simple boost of pride he got in knowing that Scully was, at least in some regard, territorial of him.

“What is the most embarrassing thing you have done around your spouse?” the sound of the announcer’s voice rang out, making him jump in surprise - not quite yet done registering the notion of a jealous Scully.

He looked down at his board and began wiping away his prior answer idly. Maybe this was presumptuous of him, but he didn’t really think they had a relationship where they got embarrassed. He’d seen Scully drop yogurt down the front of her blouse, trip over her own feet more times than he could even count, she’d even walked in on him while he was changing, yet all moments were brushed off with laughter and jokes. He was pretty certain she would probably feel the same.

Except when he looked up to check on her, she already had an answer ready and was waiting patiently. “I always knew you have no shame,” she joked, smiling to let him know she was only teasing.

He chuckled in response and wrote the only thing that came to mind.

Fall on my ass (many times)

He turned his answer around to face her, and the smirk stayed on her face. “I find it endearing,” she replied with a shrug.

“What about you, Mrs. Mulder?”

The smile faltered on her face as she looked down to her board. “Wait, I want to change my answer.”

“No! That’s against the rules!” Mulder declared, pointing his board towards her.

“There are no rules to this game!” she laughed back, trying desperately to find where she’d put her marker, too frantic to realize it was in her hand.

“Let us see, Mrs. Mulder,” the announcer drew out jokingly.

Scully rolled her eyes and flipped her board around, lifting it high enough so that it covered her face.

Fart.

The crowd roared with laughter as Mulder tried to repress his beaming smile. “No you haven’t,” he refuted, genuinely not recalling a time she’d ever farted around him.

She let her board fall back down, revealing a pink blush had spread across her cheeks. “I always blame it on you. I say yours lingered,” she admitted with an embarrassed chuckle.

He put a hand on his chest and smiled at her. “Aww, Scully. I never knew you were comfortable enough to fart around me. I’m touched.”

“Shut up, Mulder,” she laughed, erasing the answer.

“Okay everyone. Time for the final question.” There was a boo-ing sound from the audience and they shot each other a look of surprise, confused that people were interested enough in their answers to want to hang around.

“I know, I know, but all good things must come to an end. Now, Mulders, your final question is: What is your spouse’s favorite, cute pet name for you?”

The obvious answer would be last names, but ‘cute’ made that a little tricky. He couldn’t really imagine calling Scully a nickname without some sort of repercussion, and he couldn’t imagine her using a pet name on him. What would Scully call him? ‘Sweetheart’ was too unlike her. He couldn’t imagine her seeing 'baby’ as fitting. 'Babe,’ maybe? This was hard, he looked up and noticed Scully was biting her lip and staring intently at her board. They didn’t do pet names.

Darling.

He didn’t really see Scully calling him that, but he knew she liked British period pieces and old novels. Plus, the thought of her saying it to him was pretty hot.

Scully seemed to notice he was finished and quickly scribbled something on her board, sending him a look that signified she also had to guess.

Baby.

Of all the names he could imagine calling Scully, he would have been sure 'baby’ would be the name that would cause him the most bodily harm for attempting. He’d chosen one he wanted to hear. Did she do the same?

“Good choice, baby,” he drew out.

A playful smirk tugged on her lips as she motioned for him to show his answer.

“Darling?” the announcer chuckled.

“You know my so well, darling,” she praised jokingly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mulder, could you please come to the front of the stage so we can all give you a proper round of applause,” the kid asked before taking a few steps away as the lights above them came on.

He looked over and offered his hand out to Scully who surprisingly took it with nothing more than a gentle eye-roll. They walked up to the stage hand-in-hand and stood there awkwardly as the audience applauded them for embarrassing themselves in the name of free pie.

Speaking of which, the announcer held out a piece of paper to Scully who flipped it back over so they could both read it.

FREE PIE FOR ONE YEAR. ENDS APRIL 12TH.

His beaming smile faltered slightly when someone in the audience yelled “Kiss her!”

Mulder looked at Scully for permission, but was shocked to see she was already raising herself on her toes, her gaze focused solely on his lips while avoiding his eyes nervously. Ignoring the way his heart was beating out of his chest, he closed the gap, bringing one hand up to cup the side of her face.

The first thing he noticed was that he could still feel the remnants of her chapstick on her lips, the second was that he could feel the way she sucked in a quick breath through her nose as soon as his lips touched hers, and the third was how warm she felt against his lips. How many times had he imagined what it would feel like to kiss her? Somehow it was all he’d dreamed and more.

Scully, clearly not wanting to give this diner full of strangers any more of a show than they’d already had, lowered herself back down while biting back a grin. This time, however, her eyes flickered up to his and he could see the same sentiment he felt reflected in their depths. Wow.

He heard the announcer going into the technicalities about whatever the confusing score was as the entire diner bustled back to life. Everyone that had been playing now gathering their stuff to leave. Mulder guided her back to their table with a gentle hand on the small of her back. A few people congratulated them along the way and told them how cute they were, but aside from a few brief 'thank yous’, they still hadn’t spoken.

When they finally found their table, Scully turned around to say something to him, only to have her gaze wander beyond his shoulder as her eyes widened.

He heard the source of her expression before he had a chance to turn around. “So when were you going to tell your mother about your nuptials?” the voice of Margaret Scully rang out.

“Uh-Mom!” Scully exclaimed in shock.

“Hello, Mrs. Scully,” he beamed, turning around and accepting the woman’s hug.

“Hello, Fox. Or is son-in-law better?” she teased with a firm squeeze.

“Well, Mulder would be best, but we were just playing the game, Mom,” Scully began, playing with her fingernails like she did whenever she was nervous.

“Yeah, we were just pretending. Scully was helping me get the prize Free Pie coupon,” he explained, holding it up.

“Please don’t be offended by my relief,” Mrs. Scully said with a small huff of laughter as she clutched her chest in exaggeration. “I think you both would make a lovely couple. I would just hate to think you wouldn’t tell me. Especially about something so big.”

“Trust me, if I ever asked for Scully’s hand in marriage, I’d make sure to ask your permission,” he joked. It didn’t land like he’d hoped it would though. Scully shot him a look that, if vocalized, probably equated to 'I’m not property’. While on the other hand, Mrs. Scully looked like he’d just made a promise.

“H-How long have you been here, Mom?” Scully stammered nervously. Her question made his ears burn red as he realized the intimate, embarrassing questions she may have heard.

“Let’s just say I won’t be visiting your office anytime soon,” Mrs. Scully teased.

He heard Scully groan as he quickly squeaked, “We were just kidding!”

Mrs. Scully laughed at their mutual embarrassment and squeezed both their arms lovingly. “I’m joking,” she reassured them. She adjusted her purse and looked like she was about to go when she admitted one last thing. “I must say though, it was very convincing. You two seemed like a perfect couple up there. I mean, you even had me convinced.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Scully deadpanned, clearly wishing that comment had been saved for a different conversation. One that presumably didn’t involve him standing right there.

The both watched as Mrs. Scully left, a heavy tension taking her place. He turned to Scully and noticed her grabbing her coat and purse, avoiding eye contact. “You don’t want to redeem any pie tonight?” he asked, trying to let his disappointment come out too much.

“I’m beat, Mulder. Do you care if you take me back to my apartment?” she asked before awkwardly adding. “And drop me off there?”

Mulder could tell she was nervous. Probably thinking that he wouldn’t let her live this down, or that things would be awkward from here on out because of what they’d said. Despite every inch of him wanting to ask if she felt what he did back there. He wasn’t going to push her. “Of course. Yeah, and-um thank you for doing all that for me.”

“No problem,” she replied with a small smile, walking next to him as they left the diner. “But I hope you know that’s my coupon too. I helped earn that. You better be prepared to see a lot more of me,” she joked.

“Always.”

@peacenik0

#gaycrouton #my fanfiction #x files #msr #mulder #scully #early msr

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 4 years

Text

Descending into Madness An Anarchist-Nihilist Diary of Anti-Psychiatry

Just sayin’... The opinions expressed in this text represent no other than my own. My position against psychiatry is based on my own personal experience and should not be taken as an authority on the subject. Psychiatry, medications, and or psychiatric incarceration is considered helpful by some, and I wish them the very best experience with it.

But also... To the ‘freaks’, the ‘weirdos’, the ‘delinquents’, and the unruly... To those who embrace these words like daggers drawn against civility, To the insubordinate youth who refuse to tranquilize their play with meds, To those who riot in the asylums, and those who dare to escape from them...

Let the moonlight illuminate our iconoclasm, witches and savage animals spellbinding fire in the night, for the destruction of society, with the courage of unmedicated confrontation.

Any society that you build will have its limits. And outside the limits of any society, unruly and heroic tramps will wander with their wild and virgin thought — those who cannot live without planning ever new and dreadful outbursts of rebellion! I shall be among them!” — Renzo Novatore

I’m sittin’ at a big round table with about three nurses and two doctors. My eyes are sensitive to the light cus I haven’t slept in days. A nurse directly beside me has been gently nodding at me with the same look of concern for about an hour. My vision keeps blurring and then re-focusing. My hands are slightly trembling. I’ve been fighting the urge to lay my head down since I sat down. It appears this awkward meeting is almost over, and I have some papers to sign. The doctor who has been talkin’ since I got here is still talkin’ and I admit, I haven’t really been paying much attention. Finally the talking stops and everyone stands up. The nurse beside me helps me up by my arm. I start to feel dizzy. We begin walking down a long hallway and eventually enter a room. Another nurse in the room greets me with a pillow, a blanket, and a pill to “help with rest”. Before sittin’ down on the bed I’ve been assigned, a nurse calmly requests my belt and shoe laces. I comply and decide while I’m up I might as well take a shit before I go to sleep. About five seconds after my ass hits the toilet seat I hear a commotion - frantic pounding and demands to unlock the bathroom door. Confused and startled, I jump up, trip over my pants, and unlock the door. Apparently I’m not allowed to lock the bathroom door - or have it totally closed while I’m in there. I quickly finish shitting in plain view of a nurse and walk back to bed. I notice a different nurse has pulled up a chair right beside it and sits down with a clipboard and pen. I lay down and try to get comfortable while accepting the awkward close watch by this nurse beside me. As I start drifting off to sleep I reflect on everything that’s goin’ on. Oh that’s right. Earlier today I tried to hang myself in my apartment and this is my first night in a psych ward.

**** INDIANAPOLIS, March 18 th 2018 — Resource Treatment Center Riot Nearly a dozen Indianapolis police officers were called to respond Wednesday night to a riot at a juvenile psychiatric treatment and addiction facility on the city’s east side.

Eleven officers were dispatched to 1404 S. State Avenue just before 11 p.m. Wednesday on a report of a disturbance at the facility. The location is home to the Resource Treatment Center juvenile psychiatric facility, as well as Options Transitional Living, which provides sober housing for homeless or at-risk youth.

Police arrived to find that a group of juvenile residents had done more than $50,000-worth of damage to the facility and assaulted four staff members. Officers took nine juveniles ranging in age from 13-17 into custody on preliminary charges of vandalism, rioting, battery and disorderly conduct.

****

During my time at this psychiatric prison I was subjected to what’s called ‘one on ones’ which basically means I’m at risk to myself and therefore require 24 hour observation by staff. Two different nurses watched me shit, sleep, cry in my sleep, and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was required to take meds and a sleep aid everyday. I had face-to-face therapy once a day. I was only allowed one 15 minute phone call per day. I wasn’t allowed outside at all. I was told to “set anchor” because the faculty had no intentions on releasing me “anytime soon”.

All the reasons I was originally depressed took a backseat to this new horror show I found myself in. Everyone in my ward talked about one day gettin’ out, despite being told they would “never make it on the outside”. I couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities to incarceration at a prison for criminals. This was a prison. The more I heard stories of attempted escape, violent physical repression, and hopeless isolation, the more I realized this was not a place to ‘get well’, nor any hospital I ever been to. These prison guards wore scrubs, enforced order with chemical warfare and physical restraint jackets. “The hole” was the padded room. Those who resisted were tackled to the hard floor causing cuts and bruises. And to the nurses and doctors, we were all just “case files” or “subjects” to be talked down to and humiliated. We were in their world now and it was their rules.

“We need a program of psychosurgery and political control of our society. The purpose is physical control of the mind. Everyone who deviates from the given norm can be surgically mutilated. The individual may think that the most important reality is his own existence, but this is only his personal point of view. This lacks historical perspective. Man does not have the right to develop his own mind. This kind of liberal orientation has great appeal. We must electrically control the brain. Some day armies and generalswill be controlled by electrical stimulation of the brain.” - Dr. Jose Delgado, a Spanish professor of neurophysiology and author of the book ‘Physical Control of the Mind: Toward a Psychocivilized Society’

The era of institutionalized ‘care’ for those with ‘mental illnesses’ began somewhere around the 19th century with heavy support from the state. Public asylums were built in Britain after the passing of the 1808 County Asylums Act. This created an upsurge of asylums being built everywhere. These asylums were known for inmates havin’ to live in filthy conditions with bars, chains, and handcuffs.

The Lunacy Act 1845 was known to have changed the status of ‘mentally ill’ people to ‘patients’ who required treatment. This led to the eventual chemical treatment of people as ‘medical patients’ – despite the fact that lab tests, X-rays, and brain scans have never verified psychiatric disorders as medical diseases or brain damage. Over time, this inspired the emergence of psychiatric medical experiments on ‘patients’ in order to chemically ‘cure’ their ‘disorders’. The 20th century saw an explosion of psychiatric drugs. The first anti-psychotic drug, Chlorpromazine (brand names: Thorazine, Largactil, Hivernal, and Megaphen) was first synthesized in France in 1950.

Psychiatry, asylums, and prescribed drugs contributed heavily to reinforcing social order and individual submission through fear. As the years went on psychiatry and asylums expanded, re-defining and strengthening the power of state repression and civilized control.

Along with this came an ever-expanding culture of publicly calling out those who were considered ‘disturbed’ or ‘mentally ill’. The first to be targeted were those who didn’t fit the narrowly defined behavioral expectations of society. In the 18th to early 20th century, individuals assigned female at birth were often institutionalized for damn near everything including unpopular opinions, social unruliness or a politicized refusal to be controlled by patriarchal society. Other individuals of various assigned identities who sexually deviated from hetero-normativity were institutionalized and considered “confused” and in need of being converted.

One major marketing scheme deployed by the pharmacology industry was the social construction of an ideal emotional state that every ‘normal’ individual was expected to experience. Today this same ideal can be found everywhere – from televised entertainment to billboard advertisements and so on. The ‘happy’ and ‘depressed’ binary was used to create social pressure leading people to feel isolated or out of place for not happily accepting the conditions of society on a daily basis. Being “sad all the time” was, and still is frowned upon and ridiculed – regardless of its complex nature and the reasons behind it.

Despite being emotionally fluid by nature, the individual human (animal) is expected to fulfill the civilized role of positivist supremacy. This normalized obsession with positivity plays a key role in suppressing emotional responses of outrage to the multitude of oppressive experiences. The obsession with - and normalization of - positivist performance also encourages people to overlook the deep-seated trauma caused by civilization on a daily basis. Everything from the fear of flying, car wrecks, workplace injuries, to being late on bill payments – all examples of fears attributed to trauma. But because civilized life requires wage-slavery and commitment to continue, these forms of trauma are trivialized and written off - usually followed by something like “that’s life” or “it is what it is”.

As techno-industrial society advances, new laws are constructed to create new definitions of ‘criminality’. This means there is an ever-narrowing idea of legalism. The same can be said for psychiatry. As more labels and identities for ‘disorders’ are created, the pharmacology industry expands. And as the conditions of capitalist, industrial society continue to worsen, more misery becomes available for exploitation with the sale of “feel good” prescriptions.

Under capitalism, where there are ‘correctional’ facilities, there is a profit motive to keep them filled. Where there are ‘inmates’ to fill those institutions, there is financial gain or cheap labor. And where there is any potential for social unrest, there is an ideology and identity to categorically define an unruly individual as ‘anti-social’. Society turns ‘disorders’ into categorical identities assigned to those it considers ‘undesirable’ in order to reinforce the social conditions that pressure people into behavioral uniformity.

Today, within the realm of identity politics, psychiatric-assigned identities garner social capital where ever victimhood is glorified for social benefit. As with any form of identity politics, I have seen many individuals exploit psychiatric identities by brandishing them as reasons to rid themselves of responsibility for their actions. And as this plays out in the all-too-familiar social cannibalism of identity politics, individuals personalize these psychiatric- assigned identities and create inverted hierarchies of social entitlement.

Ultimately, a new identity-based movement is formed, gaining media recognition and becomes assimilated into the broader prison of society.

****

Thursday, September 4, 2014 Riot at Central New York Psychiatric Center A dozen staff members were injured when several inmates started rioting in a kitchen area at the Central New York Psychiatric Center on Wednesday.

Four people were hospitalized for their injuries, authorities stated. The fight broke out at about 11:45 a.m., when five to six inmates started attacking staff in one of the kitchen areas using kitchen utensils as weapons, according to the state Correctional Officers & Police Benevolent Association. The inmates tried to fight their way into the mess hall.

At the same time, another fight broke out between inmates and staff on the floor above the kitchen, officials said. The emergency alarms were raised, and security personnel inside the facility were able to break up the two fights, with help from the state police.

****

After careful planning, I was released from psychiatric incarceration much sooner than originally set. The walls were closing in on me and the monotony of daily under-stimulation, medicated numbness, and confinement started breaking me down. Witnessing the prison cannibalism of infighting between incarcerated individuals, I began spiralling worse than I had prior to being there. On top of that, my two attempts to secretly organize a rebellion had failed miserably; the wards or ‘bunks’ were so small that an artificially constructed bond was easily created between most staff and patients. Snitching was heavily rewarded.

Nobody wanted “any problems”. So instead I turned to another method of emancipation; using my own high school knowledge of psychology to convince my therapist I was merely suffering from “a broken heart” due to a “recent romantic breakup”.

Despite the full spectrum of my hatred for society, the life I was living at the time, and the complex emotional storm that raged in my head on a daily basis, I was able to convince my therapist and the other nurses I was just upset over a breakup. The humiliation of having to role-play such a lie paled in comparison to my desire for freedom from that place. Released into my mom’s custody, I was required to continue taking my medications three times a day and seeing a counsellor once a week.

Against the wards request, I went back to living in my apartment. I could see where the police had went through all my notebooks as well as a pocket book of phone numbers. The noose I worked so hard to construct and attach to a wooden beam along my ceiling was gone. To this day I don’t know if my landlord took it or if the police did. My rent was overdue indicated by the notes in my mailbox. Luckily I was working a self-managed painting job at the time so I couldn’t get fired. I could start back up the next week.

That night I masturbated for the first time in what felt like years. But I couldn’t orgasm. The next day I called the doctor who dealt my meds. According to him, my impossible orgasm was common with people on psychiatric medication. A week went by and I continued to feel numb. Nothing was interesting to me. I often found myself watching the hands on clocks move or staring out my window at passing cars. I didn’t feel sad. But I didn’t feel good either. I just existed.

After about a month of being out of the psych ward, I decided to stop taking my meds. The hassle of getting them filled as well as keepin’ up with taking them everyday just wasn’t worth it. And neither was feeling numb. I didn’t know what would happen. Would they find out and send the police to take me back? A couple weeks went by without meds and I started to feel slight changes. I was scared but prepared for the hellish withdrawals I had heard all about. I got dizzy a bit, and some headaches but nothing more. Soon I stopped gettin’ calls from my counsellor. I expected her to be upset and leave me angry voicemails. It never happened. Eventually I felt my appetite change and I could experience emotional reactions to things easier and more frequently. And I finally had an orgasm!

For the next couple years, I reflected on those experiences and began exploring the origins of my suicidal thoughts, the origins of the morbid depression that caused them, as well as the consumerist life I lived as a wage-slave law-abiding citizen.

****

A Riot on Thanksgiving Morning 2016 at Springfield Hospital Center (a regional psychiatric hospital and former slave plantation located in Sykesville, Maryland) In the early-morning hours of Thanksgiving Day, Catherine Starkes and April Savage huddled in an office with several other employees at the Springfield Hospital Center in Carroll County as patients rioted around them.

Starkes and Savage said patients threw chairs, knocked over file cabinets and tried to break into the staff's Plexiglas-enclosed refuge. The patients poured cooking oil over the floors, making them slippery. One patient tried to crawl into the office through the suspended ceiling, Starkes recalled.

It was like no other night she could remember in 22 years of working with dangerously mentally ill patients at Maryland state hospitals.

"They wanted to take over the unit. They seized the unit," she said.

****

“What we say is the truth is what everybody accepts. ...I mean, psychiatry: it's the latest religion. We decide what's right and wrong. We decide who's crazy or not. I'm in trouble here. I'm losing my faith.” -Dr. Railly from the movie “12 Monkeys”

Similar to religion, psychiatry assumes a powerful role in defining “right” or “wrong” in terms of “normal” vs “abnormal” behavior. The standardization of a particular, socially expected behavior is essential for creating categories of people defined in terms of their contribution to the collective success of society. With psychology as a basis for analytically outlining ‘problems’ and suggesting “potential cures”, mass society becomes dependent on its authority for deciding who is “normal” and who isn’t. Certain behavioral characteristics unique to an individual become outlawed in order to maintain this social conformity.

Speaking from my own experience, psychiatry and all its theories, roles, and chemical prescriptions at best aims to merely manage ‘symptoms’ of ‘disorders’ - not eliminate the sources of their creation.

By ‘symptoms’ I am referring to any set of behaviors or emotional responses that indicate an individual’s struggle to conform to societal expectations or ‘normal’ behavior.

By ‘disorders’ I am referring to the set of behaviors or emotional responses that have been selected and condemned by society, and therefore declared a ‘mental illness’ by the authority of psychiatry.

By ‘sources’ I am referring to any and all prisons, societal forms of coercion, and civilized society – all of which pressure individual subservience and ideological conformity.

The conflict of interest in ‘curing’ the ‘mentally ill’ becomes apparent when acknowledging that successful cures to particular behaviors and emotional responses would require the abolition of civilized society all together - the same civilized society that creates trauma, followed by the concept of mental illness and subsequently a ‘solution’ via many forms of emotional anaesthesia.

Another factor of social control built into psychiatry is its ability to distort and control dissenting information. Social systems that require the subordination of individuals are always sharpening their ability to suppress or demonize information – especially information derived from rebellious experience. When it is individuals themselves who are considered living examples of this information, those seeking total control will portray them in such a way that renders the nature of their rebellion a mere product of mental illness. For example, the Soviet Union responded to rebels with psychiatric wards called “Psikhushkas”. One of the first Psikhushkas was a psychiatric prison in the city of Kazan. In 1939 it was transferred to the secret police. Psychiatric incarceration was used in response to political demonstrations and attacks. It was common practice for soviet psychiatrists in Psikhushka hospitals to diagnose those who rebelled against soviet authority with schizophrenia.

Just as religious authority figures speak of purging people of their sins and demons, psychiatry seeks to purge people of their ‘sickness’ and ‘bad’ habits. In the church of psychiatry, only those most committed to social conformity (or emotional suppression) can enter the heavens of being socially recognized as ‘sane’ or ‘normal’. Normal or civilized behavior is rewarded with social capital and easier access to survival resources. And in the eyes of those who fear unbridled freedom, without the church of mental psychiatric authority, ‘the masses’ just might descend into madness...

****

Sept 5 2016 John George Psychiatric Hospital Riot Nurses at Alameda County’s embattled mental hospital say three patients tried to incite a riot overnight and escape the facility. Staff members are blaming chronic overcrowding at John George Psychiatric Hospital’s emergency room. It’s the latest in a string of troubling incidents at the hospital uncovered by 2 Investigates.

Nurses – who didn’t want to be identified for fear of jeopardizing their jobs – tell 2 Investigates that two male patients and one woman demanded to be discharged from John George’s Psychiatric Emergency Services (PES) department Sunday night. But when they were refused, they turned violent, according to staff.

The patients allegedly tried to encourage others to help them push the facility doors open to escape.

****

“The Law, social expectation, and psychiatric tradition and practice point to coercion as the profession’s paradigmatic characteristic. Accordingly, I define psychiatry as the theory and practice of coercion, rationalized as the diagnosis of mental illness and justified as medical treatment aimed at protecting the patient from himself and society from the patient.” - Psychiatrist turned anti-psychiatry, Thomas S Szasz, M. D.

While reflecting on my experience with psychiatry, including being on three different medications and my stay in the ward, I started asking myself questions I had never thought to ask before: what are the social conditions contributing to my feelings of misery? What type of behavior is characteristic of ‘mental illness’ and ‘normal’ functioning? Who enforces these definitions as universal truths to begin with? Is it the same psychiatric authority that at one point considered homosexuality a mental illness – then changed their minds in 1973?

I couldn’t help but notice that despite all the therapy, meds, and psychiatric hospitality the world outside my head was still the same. Poverty still dominated my hood, rich billionaires were still playin’ golf while the government continued bombing other countries. Millions of non-human animals were still bein’ mutilated in slaughterhouses on a daily basis, and the environment was still bein’ devastated by industrial expansion. I still needed to wage-slave away to pay my rent. And like everyone else, I needed to do this until I got too old and eventually live out my days in a nursing home. But somehow I was supposed to be ‘happy’ - or at least apathetically accepting of it all without a fuss. Obedience without incident. Without question. Or as the others in the ward had said to me “no problems”.

Currently in my life, I am still angry, still depressed, and still sometimes suicidal. But rather than seeing these things as what’s broken about me, I see them as a reflection of how fucked up the world is around me. I find little things to help me channel the anger, depression, and suicidal thoughts. I exercise, practice mixed martial arts, enjoy a walk in the woods at night. I star-gaze from park benches, rooftops, and moving freight trains. I indulge in stolen food and cherish the excitement of criminal activity. Managing my emotions is a daily activity coupled with observation and growth. I listen to the stories of others and learn from their experiences. I listen to my emotions and source their origins, making it easier to understand my needs and desires. My emotions – my madness - manifesting as anger, depression, and so on remain sharp and act as the best tools for understanding the effects of this imprisoning society on my well-being.

My disposition lacks evidence of being broken or brain damaged – if anything, it would suggest the contrary. My emotional state is a complex response to the anxiety that occurs when recognizing society for what it is – a prison propagating itself as ‘normal’ life. And integrated within this prison is a web of altered realities that materialize the logic of control and domination: Wage-slavery masquerading as productivity and personal responsibility. Coerced submission and obedience to law and order in “the land of the free”. Pictures of happy cows on packages of mutilated body parts. Borders, bio-technology, cyberspace communities of friends interacting with the emotional vacancy of digital communication.

And it is here, in this same social prison society, that the word insanity is used to describe an individual person rather than industrial civilization - the epitome of mechanized social control.

“The stars up close to the moon were pale; they got brighter and braver the farther they got out of the circle of light ruled by the giant moon” ― Ken Kesey, from the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I believe deep down all people are ‘insane’ - not in terms of mental illness - but in terms of individual, unique differences that remain defiantly incompatible to behavioral order. In society, some people hide these differences better than others. And many people I have come across express frustration with having to keep themselves locked up inside, aching to break out. The fear of being socially labelled insane or crazy keeps people passive and submissive. But some people experience difficulty assimilating themselves. And while society attempts to frantically control and eliminate certain undesirable people and behaviors, natural responses to environmental conditions continue to produce both.

If one were to really examine the social interactions between individuals, one can see the subtle tip-toeing of animals peeking from within the wardrobe of humanism. It is the fear of being too loud, too angry, too sad, too imaginative – the fear of allowing oneself to exist at full bloom – that incarcerates the animal individual. It is the fear of exhibiting any personal qualities or characteristics that would violate the boundaries of socially expected behavior. Breaking the laws of psychiatry could be punishable by chemical injection, imprisonment, or even death.

This fear also plays a vital role in creating an obsession with relying on institutional specialization rather than peer to peer support. This obsession is normalized when, in response to someone reaching out for emotional support, friends suggest ‘professional help’ as if to surrender themselves ineffective by default. It says something about the nature of one’s confidence, ability, and will to support another when that support is often outsourced to an elite group of ‘professionals’. I’m not tryin’ to say that every individual has the capacity to support others at all times: I am suggesting an examination of the inferiority complex internalized by people in the face of institutions, and how individuals often find themselves too busy obeying the demands of capitalism, or too distracted by consumerism to make time for supporting their loved ones – let alone themselves.

If one were to examine society as a whole, one can see how over-simplified, quick-fix solutions to complex problems is built into it. If one were to examine this even on a personal level, one can see how everything about industrial society reduces personal time to the point where one often neglects their own emotional health. Against the demands of technological addiction and wage-slavery, making time for supporting one’s self and or those they care about is, however under-rated, nothing less than an act of personal revolt. “You need professional help” is often the quick response to an individual simply looking for support from close friends. Not all people (including myself) enjoy being pathologized or assigned a diagnosis like a broken machine. It is this ‘professional help’ that replaces intimate support with capitalism where someone struggling is treated as a profitable ‘case file’ and dealt a bottle of pills.

From a vibrant friend struggling with a unique history of complex emotional experiences, to a patient branded with an over-simplistic set of psychiatric identities – the individual becomes merely a unit of diagnostic measurement.

Diagnoses act as identity configurations defined in terms of symptom-based sameness. These identity assignments are constructed by the specialists of psychiatric authority, and are enforced socially by those who uphold its power. The same way that leftists are quick to use statist terminology to publicly label and shame “undesirables” or those unwanted by The Movement (for example, using the word “terrorist” to describe proponents of anarchist attack), they are equally quick to call people ‘mentally ill’, or ‘toxic’- demanding they seek ‘professional’ help. Perhaps without realizing it, leftists socially reinforce the validity of the state and psychiatric authority by reducing the complexity of individual behavior to mere psychiatric constructs and moral condemnation.

Psychiatry provides a comforting sense of order in the refusal to accept the chaotic nature of behavior. By asserting psychiatric terminology and morality many leftists seek control over social interactions with the intent to sterilize and homogenize them. This attempt at behavioral uniformity goes hand in hand with the treatment of individuals as members of monolithic, identity-based groupings. Behavioral uniqueness and variety are often discouraged or condemned when they don’t fit neatly constructed scripts. One’s behavior or emotional expression could be trivialized by being socially called out as ‘problematic’ - a label which itself requires the conformity of a generalized consensus to define and enforce.

Society and all its defenders require the dam of psychiatry to subordinate and control the tidal waves of individualist variety and social unrest. I can only imagine what would happen if the mechanisms of control failed on an individual level - if freedom of emotional expression took aim at the crystal castles of psychiatric authority, shattering the illusion of sterilized permanence. One after another an individual cannonball weakens the continuity of the structure, an ungovernable individual compromises the strength of collectivized subservience.

****

Jan 31, 2006 Riot at the Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth Five male patients at a state-run psychiatric hospital for children face rioting charges after they ripped out a phone line and tried to steal a worker's car keys before barricading themselves in a room over the weekend, a state official and other sources said Monday.

The incident at Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth occurred less than a week after employees protested over conditions in the facility, contending that the hospital is increasingly unsafe because of the volatile mix of patients.

Sources said that between 11 p.m. and midnight Sunday, a group of boys in the hospital's 11-bed Lakota Unit came out of their rooms and started confronting and arguing with staff. A male clinician and two female employees were assigned to the unit at the time.

Sources said the boys surrounded the man and tried to get him to turn over his keys but he refused. When one of the female workers tried to use the phone to call for help, the boys pulled the phone line out of the wall, sources said. The youths then barricaded themselves in a room and tried to smash a large exterior window, which broke off its hinge.

Sources said the boys intended to escape through the window but were stopped by a Connecticut Valley Hospital police officer who was called to the scene and was outside near the window .

Authorities would not release the names or ages of the boys involved. All face charges of inciting to riot, disorderly conduct, criminal mischief, unlawful restraint and threatening.

****

When, in expressing themselves, individuals let their emotions rupture the confines of psychiatric authority, and fan the flames of their contempt for social control, psychiatry begins to resemble the shell of a burnt out police car. If psychiatry is the agent enforcer of mental law and order - let it die along with every cop and agent of the state. As with identity politics, I refuse to participate in the use of psychiatric terminology when describing other individuals. As with all other socially constructed assignments, I reject psychiatric labels as they seek to limit the horizon of emotional complexity.

When, in expressing themselves, individuals become wild with nihilist hostility toward all ideological roles and identities, what is left of a society without individual conformity? What is ‘male’ or ‘female’ without being fixed to an aesthetic or performative role? What is ‘black’ or ‘white’ without the social construction of race? What is the sane/insane binary without the commanding authority of psychiatry? What is social law and order without anyone willing to obey?

My anarchy is found in the obliteration of these social constructs and the rejection of their ‘social contract’ that universalizes their false existence. I use the phrase social contract because that is precisely what accepting these identity assignments is. It surprises me to see such little prisoner solidarity with those incarcerated at psychiatric facilities. I imagine total anarchy looking like all prisons - including every manifestation of the educational-industrial complex, every zoo, and every asylum – being burned to the ground.

****

On New Year’s Day, 2018, 10 Children as Young as Age 12 Riot and Escape from Strategic Behavioral Health Center in South Carolina During the New Year’s Day incident, patients broke furniture to make weapons. The state report suggest Strategic staff missed warning signs that patients had planned to escape. They did not question residents who were wearing multiple layers of clothing that would allow them to change what they were wearing when they left the hospital.

In a less than five-hour span beginning in the late afternoon, there were seven “Code Purple” incidents in which workers are alerted to trouble. A state investigator reviewed video showing patients going from room to room, throwing a trash can, tearing up paper and tearing schedules off the walls. When one employee arrived, according to the report, he heard loud noises and cussing and saw trash all over the floor in the hallway. Patients had barricaded themselves in a room and had weapons he described as boards with six-inch screws.

“There was no staff trying to get into the room and he was told by staff, ‘They have weapons. Don’t go in,’” records say. “The nurse described the situation as a ‘riot, complete breakdown.’”

By the time police arrived, the south Charlotte psychiatric hospital had descended into chaos. Patients at Strategic Behavioral Center — some wielding wooden boards — attacked one worker, barricaded themselves in a room and escaped through a broken window.

**** For many years I paraded psychiatry as a valuable scientific instrument for understanding the inner workings of human behavior. I no longer find it useful after learning to recognize people as complex beings with unique emotional responses to this civilized nightmare. I have come to recognize psychiatry as, at best, another form of identity politics that ultimately attempts to force the infinite complexity of emotional expression into rigid categorical boxes.

Individual people are far more than ‘bipolar’, ‘psychotic’, etc could accurately express. While a person may experience combinations of emotions socially identified by a psychiatric category, their emotional state can not be summarized or represented by any list of fixed terminology.

My refusal to define a person by the emotional struggles they experience is similar to the reasons I refuse to identity people struggling with intoxication as ‘addicts’. An individual's struggle in coping with society is complex and unique. Psychiatric labels and identities are tools of the state – an entity which I reject. As a tool of civilization, psychiatry creates alienation and violence by treating people found to be emotionally unfit for society as ‘broken’, and therefore socially inferior. I personally refuse to disregard an individual’s struggle for survival by assigning them a psychiatric identity that puts blame on them as ‘mentally ill’ - rather than focusing attention on industrial society itself. Like prisons for ‘criminals’, the ‘correctional’ facility of the psychiatric ward seeks to condition submission through coercion and confinement. Solving or curing ‘mental illness’ in the societal sense often ends up becoming a re-defined ability to condemn, suppress, or sterilize emotions.

Like all governments, presidents, and authority, psychiatry never gave me freedom. Assigned psychiatric labels didn’t help me – they only filled me with an internalized sense of victimhood and inferiority. Medication didn’t ‘cure’ or ‘fix’ me – only damaged me, numbing me to my own senses in order to create an emotional void between me and the fuckery of civilized life. So instead, with nihilist celebration I descend into madness, taking aim at social order and civilization. With armed animalism I realize now that there was nothing to fix - my natural contempt for domestication and social control reminds me that I was never ‘broken’ to begin with.

With maniacal laughter I mock the conventional standardization of human behavior. I reject the authorities of psychiatry, their holy book (The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM–5)), and their prisons. I refuse to continue being a test subject for their ever-expanding pharmacotherapeutics. I am an individualist against the collectivized consensus used to materialize institutions of psychiatry. I am a nihilist - hostile to the ideological sane/insane binary and all social constructs that, with pathology, attempt to categorically subjugate individuality. I desire nothing less than a feral revolt against civilization. If civilization and psychiatry marry at the church of morality, then let my anarchy be a fiery black smoke that chokes their gospel of social control.

#anarcho nihilism #anti civ #green anarchy #individualist anarchism #nihilism #post leftism #prisoner support #flower bomb #anti-psychiatry

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flyonthewallmedstudent · 3 years

Text

Re-watching House as a Physician. Pilot Episode. Neurology in the young.

I’d actually recommend this as an exercise. Re-watching this as a means to motivate studying. It’s truly terrible watching it. So much so, that you want to do it properly or throw shit at the TV.

If I had students and we couldn’t physically see patients I’d probably tell them what episode to watch and we’d go through the cases together. Go through all the things the team does wrong. Then discuss the things you don’t know yourself.

Because that is actually how you learn best. Recovering from your mistakes. Identifying gaps in knowledge.

Unfortunately, all my current students are final years and they do have to see real patients.

Opening episode: 29 year old female, no past medical history has expressive dysphasia then a first seizure. How do we know it’s expressive dysphasia?

IN the episode, the patient notices she’s having trouble getting words out, and is able to write. Then has a seizure. Wilson actually has a good introductory statement here. House finds the case boring, this really isn’t boring. If it doesn’t excite a physician it should certainly terrify them. A la house of god, rule number X = Treat the dying young. With urgency. The majority of patients I see in IM are in their 70s-90s, have predictable issues like metabolic syndrome, heart failure, arrhythmias like atrial fibrillation, infections like community acquired pneumonia and dementia. These are my bread and butter.

More often than not, my primary role is to ensure a dignified end of life care. Many of them come in already at death’s door or will be imminently there. To continue to push them through medical treatment when they no longer have resilience to go through them, is to prolong suffering.

You can’t predict how someone young will respond even to the most aggressive of treatment. You give them every chance you have. OFten if the young are sick, it’s really bad. With the elderly, a common cold can make them really sick as their body is in decline.

Young patients with a single organ system issue will usually go to a subspecialty. Actually any medical subspecialty or IM in general is considered “diagnostic medicine”. It’s just different flavours of it.

1st seizures: - it’s rare to have a second. - usually the cause of underlying seizures is infection - follow-up is clinic with neurology. It’s rare to require further. - we could go into differential seizures, but that’s a whole other post in itself

(Epilepsy only occurs if you have a number of them and this is rare)

In the case of House, they jump straight to cancer like webmd.

Before they do much, she jumps straight to radiation therapy. This is completely unrealistic. This sort of thing requires multidisciplinary teams to pour over all her results and discuss the best way forward. Chemo and radiotherapy are notorious in the general public for having crazy toxicities. For obvious reasons.

It’s weird re-watching these, where medicine is no longer a foreign language. Actually, it’s watching someone for whom English is a new language and they haven’t really gotten it yet. The tense and grammar are all wrong.

I watched the Queens Gambit - holy fuck is chess a foreign world and language. I know the basics, but none of the strategies. Sicillian sounds like a great name for a tasty pizza. Or something else.

Anyways, it takes a whole lot of time before they get to differentials.

Honestly, you would be getting to these the minute you hear the presenting complaint. Then considering how to rule them in and out. For students, always have the surgical sieve in mind.

Differential diagnosis of expressive dysphasia in a young woman are then addressed in the episode. here’s what they consider: - Aneurysm and stroke (haemorrhagic stroke in this case if we’re talking aneurysm), incidentally most common cause of berry aneurysms is high blood pressure. this is a decent consideration. but you would have seen it on imaging from the start.

- CJD = very much mad zebra. I wouldn’t even suggest this. You would if it was rapid onset dementia or behvarioural changes and they came from high risk areas (eg ate burgers in the UK in the 1980s and 90s). But rapid meaning weeks to months. Not sudden onset within minutes. It’s more stroke. - Cncephalopathy: requires an LP to go over this, and she doesn’t present with a fever either. regardless, important to consider. would always consider an LP in addition to imaging. - Wernicke’s: only consider if they have a nutritional disorder like severe, chronic anorexia (which she doesn’t have) or heavy alcohol use. This is caused by thiamine/VitB1 deficiency. A thiamine level test takes days or weeks. We would never wait for a thiamine test to come back, you’d treat IV thiamine straightaway. I mean it’s vitamin B. This is a terrible differential to consider so near the top. She also doesn’t really have the other symptoms.

Then there’s the more obvious differentials they didn’t bother to consider: The greatest mimic for a stroke particularly in young women is migraine. You can have similar neurology, but it’s often associated with a headache. If we wanted to chase zebras in the young, you could consider a PFO (holes in the heart that are congenitally there) and thromboemboli causing stroke. (In other words, you develop a clot, normally the lungs will pick up the clot like a filter before it gets to the brain. But the clot can bypass the lungs via holes in the heart and give you a stroke). This is always the consideration in cryptogenic strokes (in which you have a young patient without any reason for having an atheroma causing stroke). Risk factors for thromboemboli can include the oral contraceptive pill (estrogen can be thrombogenic) and then long periods of immobility, think long haul flights or trauma to the long bones or surgery. IN rare cases, those who had particular types of heart surgery as an infant, like a Fontan’s. But this is very niche mind you. And they’re often already on preventative therapy. Infection is a key thing to consider, where there are risk factors. she’s not immunosuppressed or done any exotic travel or eaten raw foods she shouldn’t have eaten (raw pork, bad sushi etc.). It’s a shame they didn’t mention it early. THere’s a few infections that go to the brain but you’d often have these in mind with the risk factors as stated before. THe imaging is often a giveaway

Learning point here - always eat cooked pork! Finally, cancer. But it’d be obvious on imaging if you’d already developed seizures or focal neurology, the lesions would already be large enough to pick up. the sad part to many brain tumours is that they’re already very large by the time of presentation. Beau Biden for instance, presented with acute confusion before his diagnosis, preceding that he had weakness and altered sensation (the lesion was likely too small at the time to be picked up on imaging and was diagnosed as a stroke).

I would rarely be referred brain tumours, the emergency department will have scanned the brain and seen something that would prompt referral to the neurosurgeons. When you’re young and have a lesion/tumour, any team will try everything, including majority surgery, to salvage what life is left. it is very tragic.

Anyway, stopping here. Already too much stuff to dissect and unpack from just the first episode alone. Note that I’m in IM, no doubt a neurologist or neurosurgeon will have different opinions on this episode. Ha.

#medblrs #medblr #house

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lino-writes-sh · 4 years

Text

A Jimon Athlete AU (1/?)

No content warnings in this post, but I anticipate a teen and up rating for the rest of the fic for language. No posting schedule.

Word count: 1170

~~~

Jace is just about dead on his feet as he steps out to the arrivals hall at JFK. He pulls his luggage along with one hand and hauls his gear duffel with the other. He scans the waiting area for the unruly brunette and darting wide eyes of his brother, but the crowd gets in his way and he’s pushed along like the rest.

Point is, JFK airport sucks.

But at least he’s back home.

At the mouth of the exit, the flood of people disperses like an estuary into open sea and he finds Alec hovering anxiously between other happy reunions. Jace calls his name, and again, louder, until Alec perks up and a bright smile spreads right across his face.

Jace starts powerwalking and Alec full-on jogs and they’re in each other’s arms in seconds, luggage temporarily abandoned, and duffel bag swung over Alec’s shoulder, pushing them closer together.

“Missed you,” Alec mutters. Jace holds him tighter.

~~~

Alec catches Jace up on everything he’s missed all the way to the car park. The souffle Izzy made the other day, his annoying new boss, that time the neighbour’s dog ate a bee... It goes on in a similar vein until Alec’s excited voice gains a hesitant, even embarrassed, undertone. The change is almost unnoticeable but Jace has been listening to this idiot talk for most of his life.

Although strangely enough, all he’s talking about is the Yankees.

Jace meets Alec’s eyes over the roof of his car and he knows the look means he has something he desperately needs to say.

“Out with it,” says Jace, pretending to be put-upon with an unimpressed stare.

Alec mulls it over, then tells Jace to get in with a sideways head jerk.

They’re pulling out of the car park when Alec finally says, “I need you to use your sports connections to get me the closest seats possible to the bullpen at the next Yankees home game.”

He says it quickly, almost like if the words go by soon enough, it’ll absolve him of whatever perceived embarrassment they might incur. What embarrassment, exactly? Jace wouldn’t know, because he’s clearly missing something here unless being a dedicated Yankees fan has suddenly become a cardinal sin in the Lightwood household. But sure. He’s back in New York and it’s a good day out. Jace’ll humour him.

“I play soccer, Alec. In Seattle,” says Jace, because there is a chasm of difference between a being an MLS player and an MLB player. Ease of getting front row tickets to a Yankees home game being one of them. Does Jace even have that kind of influence?

Alec can’t see the sideways look Jace is giving him, eyes on the road and all, but Jace is sure he can feel it. “Since when were you a Yankees fan, anyway?” asks Jace, grinning, because it’s been way too long since he’d been able to tease him in person.

“What do you mean?” Alec says defensively. “I watch baseball. From time to time. Who else am I gonna cheer for?”

Jace keeps smirking.

“Look,” says a defeated Alec. “Don’t tell Izzy until I get this...thing...sorted,”

The story that ensues, in Jace’s humble opinion, would make any brother rub his hands together in delight at the wealth of blackmail material at his disposal. Of course, Jace is listening diligently, because he’s a nice brother, but he might be rubbing his hands together mentally. Just a little.

It goes like this. Alec met a guy in a gay night club. This guy was absolutely stunning with dance moves to match (”Alec, I’m very sure don’t need to hear about his ass for your explanation to make sense.”) and they hit it off like a house on fire. At some point, about when Alec’s memory started getting being more alcohol than brain cells, Izzy dragged him home. He woke up the next morning with a hangover gifted by Satan himself and realised he had no identifying information of his mystery man. Not even a name.

(“None,” says Jace, though it’s more of a question than a statement.

Alec sighs and tilts his head to the side. “Well, I knew he was Asian.”)

A couple months and an unknown number of visits to the night club later, mystery man has remained just that and Alec has started looking back at the night bittersweetly with the melodramatic ache of a missed connection. Or at least, Jace assumes he was. Which is beside the point. On mothers day, the Lightwoods, minus Jace, although he facetimed briefly, congregated at nice bar-restaurant (”It’s a new place actually--Lower Manhattan--their pulled pork sliders are amazing, I’ll bring you sometime, I think you’ll like the--” “Alec.”). The TV there was playing a Yankees game and Alec was watching it absentmindedly only because his seat was giving him a clear view.

“And he was there. On the TV,” said Alec, dazedly looking ahead.

Jace frowns. “In the audience? You spotted him in an audience closeup?”

Alec laughs like he’s re-living the incredulity. “You’d think. No, the starting pitcher twisted his ankle or something, so they call in a reliever and the next thing I know I’m looking at his face while the commentators read off everything I need to know about him. Magnus Bane, Yankees relief pitcher, number sixteen, twenty-five years old, drafted from the Spanish league División de Honor this year, lowest ERA of any rookie in Spain. He’s been with the Yankees for--”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” Jace interrupts, because while that’s all very fascinating, Jace doesn’t need to hear a play-by-play of this guy’s entire career and the look on Alec’s face tells him that’s exactly where this conversation is heading. But that isn’t the only thing that look tells him.

“You’re in deep, huh. Leave it to you to fall in love with a pro baseball player,” says Jace. He’s not smirking anymore.

“Yeah,” says Alec. “I think we really had something.”

And it pains Jace to hear it because he can see it play out right before his eyes. A hotshot baseball player almost gets lucky with some young guy and wants nothing more with him once he’s out of that night club. They go their separate ways and Alec comes home to lick his wounds, nurse his broken heart.

Jace can’t deny the love-struck wonder on Alec’s face, he’ll do anything to help Alec find the right man. But at the same time, Magnus Bane is going to hurt his brother. Jace is sure of it.

“I’ll get them for you. But I get to come as well,” Jace says. He’s not sure how he’ll do it, but he will.

“Naturally,” Alec says, smile blooming. “Hey,” he elbows Jace gently, glancing over for a second before shifting his gaze back to the road. “You’re my brother. I love you.”

Doesn’t matter how far away, he reminds himself, we’re brothers.

“Love you too, dude,” Jace says. He watches the New York skyline whizz by. It’s good to be home.

~~~

Hey folks, feel free to hop into my asks and tell me anything about shadowhunters because everything I know about it comes from fics only. Cheers!

#jimon #jimon fic

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darkestwolfx · 4 years

Text

Earthbreaker - Re-Review#27

Here we go, the start of Series 2!

This is another machine that looks a little bit like the Sidewinder (TOS). Hmmm, I can see why the episode is called Earthbreaker though. I mean, look at the earth. Big clues there.

“We’ve got ourselves another gold rush.”

“Except it’ts scandium ore, not gold.”

“Ten times as valuable though. Ker-ching.”

Nothing like it, ey, money makes the world go around! And where there are money making opportunities, you can expect to find The Hood! Except, oh yeah, the part where he was like caught and put in a GDF prison at the end of the last series.

Oh well, no bad guys. Unless of course, you can find an accomplice of The Hood to fill the gap!

So this looks a little like our new villain! But we’ll get to him a bit later, folks. For now, let’s put our attention on our main family here.

“Let’s go in strong. Three ships at least.”

Oh really? Scott will never agree to that Kayo.

“Agreed.”

Okay... they clearly resolved their differences in the break.

“Virgil, Kayo, get ready to fly.”

“Anything Alan and I can do?”

Look at Gordon itching to get out and in on the action.”

“Just hold down the fort.”

“We could build one right here out of sofa cushions.”

Those faces there say it all, Alan! They are like *speechless*, *don’t know how to respond*, *oh Alan*, and *what on earth did you just say?* faces. I love it!

“Or not.”

Yeah, or not.

EOS is back! EOS is back, this is a big thing everyone - and google images doesn’t have like a single shot of her from this ep. Literally I searched for ages and there is nothing. I gave up because I couldn’t be bothered to keep on searching. I think I got to page 12...

“EOS, this looks like a life reading. Can you get a more detailed scan?”

“Of course, John.”

“Woah.”

“It appears to be the driver.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t look very friendly either.”

“I’m five minutes out. Where are the GDF?”

“On approach now.”

Yes, because they fared so well even with their “weapons clearance”.

Anyhow, don’t worry, because International Rescue have arrived to save the day!

“Colonel Casey?”

“Stay back, Thunderbird One. We’re still accessing the situation. That’s an order, Scott.”

“FAB. Standing by.”

Grandma strikes right again too - definitely be more interested in who is driving it. He’s dangerous and he’ll be back.

“Do we take that as a yes?”

In my opinion Virgil, never take silence as a yes. This is what happens as well so it seems.

“I told you to stay away.”

“Who are you?”

“I am The Mechanic. and if you’re Thunderbird comes any closer, I’ll break it as well.”

And now we have a name. Still, we’ll discuss him later, let’s continue with the story for now.

“This is my ship and I say not a chance.”

Got to love that giant green determination.

Thunderbird Two makes it back safely! That’s a testament to the pilot really. In both TAG and TOS we get displays of Virgil’s calm and skill. In TOS, Thunderbird Two crash landed at Tracy Island in ‘Terror in New York’ after being shot at by the US Navy’s new Sentinel... Oopps. In TAG, it’s a case of mechanical sabotage (add in a little stubborn will). In both cases though, the issues are similar - rear damage to the engines and the possibility of fire or cut outs.

In TOS, Scott is encouraging Virgil to make it a little further to the Island. In TAG however, Scott is the one who almost orders for Virgil to

“The landing will be way too risky, Virgil, you need to ditch her in the ocean.”

Now, my theory on this is that in TOS the boys still had their father, and were a bit older than they are in this series (not too much, but enough). In TAG, they have lost Jeff and so I think it makes sense that they have more understanding of their own mortality and less super human thinking (or visuals for us anyhow). In TAG, their also seems to be more thought into keeping the original Thunderbirds as in tact as they can - upgrades and modifications, yes, but as original as possible. Where as in TOS there’s less consideration of the machines. Maybe it’s just the different ways in which the two series are written, but in TAG, it definitely seems to be that keeping the Thunderbirds as much the same as the way their Dad built them, really matters to these boys.

It was a pretty good remake of the crash landing too, as well as being perfectly original in its own senses. And hey, Virgil didn’t get knocked out this time! But Thunderbird Two did still get drenched in fire suppressant foam. Oh well, you can’t have it all.

“I don’t know who this Mechanic fellow is, but I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts he’s getting some help from The Hood.”

“Uh, Grandma, The Hood’s in prison.”

And Grandma calls it right again! Anyone want to give her a third go this episode?

Interesting method of rescue. We’ve never seen anything like this before... And Kayo’s off doing her snooping. Love a bit of spy work.

Speaking of...

Here is something of a conversation... or should that be interrogation, but subtly?

“You know, Ma’am, hI ‘ave ways to make ‘im talk.”

“I think Miss Creighton-Ward is doing just fine on her own, Parker.”

No! I wanted to see what Parker had up his sleeve, Colonel Casey and I bet others out there did too, someone dare to prove me wrong. Go on.

“This look suits you. Stripes.”

“Yes, and red suits you. We can chit-chat all day if you like, but I suspect you’re here because someone is in trouble. Perhaps something worse than me has come to pass?”

“You mean The Mechanic? Oh, he’s well in hand by now. His first mistake was taking shots at the GDF; his last was taking shots at my friends.”

“This has nothing to do with me, of course. Being in here!”

“Certainly not. This Mechanic fellow has none of your guile and sophistication.”

Look at that creepy eye going.

So these are Mecca’s.

And this is The Mechanic.

Let’s finally discuss what we know about the villain.

“This guy is untouchable, Brains.”

“I believe The Mechanic is using Null-Point Energy in a recombinant distribution matrix.”

So, I’m trying to write this like I know nothing of how this whole story and character pans out, just so we can note the development along the way - so I know we do know more than this, but run with this level of knowledge in keeping with the current reruns of the show.

So we know he’s good with tech. That’s a first.

He’s connected to The Hood in someway for a second.

He can hack EOS, for a third - and John is good with tech so that is saying something.

And he knows Brains, that’s our fourth.

He looks like quite the bad guy actually... Little bit worrying for us.

Now, expanding on all this - back when series 2 of TAG first started, I read an interesting theory that suggested The Mechanic was meant to be in someway like or be the Black Phantom from the original series (Thunderbird Six) who was also mentioned by the IR impostors in the episode ‘The Impostors’ and was clearly supposed to be the person they were working for.

Now, we never really got to know much about Black Phantom, other than the fact that he ran his operations much like The Hood. In fact, Sylvia Anderson apparently referred to him on set as “Hood Jr.” which of course, could just be a nickname she chose to give the character, or could be implying a possible blood relation. ‘The Complete Book of Thunderbirds’ then took this one step further by implying that Black Phantom and The Hood were indeed the same person. Now, of course, there is every chance of this potentially being true as we know the Hood is capable of changing his face, and that he is called The Hood because he has so many alias’ that no one knows his real name.

Of course that above theory would cut The Mechanic out from being the Black Phantom, but it was still a worthwhile penny to flick into our thought space. Personally I don’t think The Mechanic and Black Phantom are the same person, but the post did raise interesting points about their shared traits of shadowy intelligence and ruthless actions. I think these are definitely the kind of characteristics that The Hood looks for in employees and so I can see where the idea came from.

Returning back to the idea of The Hood and Black Phantom being either related or the same person - just quickly to finish this whole section - The Hood is “feared as the most dangerous man in the world”, where as Black Phantom was noted as “utterly ruthless”. In many ways, these two elements and traits can and do cross over. It is likely to think that if The Hood is regarded as the most dangerous man in the world, that he is known to be capable of being ruthless. As a counterpart, if someone if known to be ruthless, let alone utterly, you would probably regard them with caution and consider them a potential danger at the very least.

In case it makes any difference - especially as it could have just been complete coincidence - The Hood’s original puppet was remade into Black Phantom for the sake of the Thunderbird Six movie, so who knows, maybe...

Oh, and the above I’ve included just because I like it and I wanted to put it here. I don’t know who made the original gif, but credit to them.

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siriuslyblack12 · 4 years

Text

chapter 8

Remus watched as his fingers drummed along the table, seemingly separate from his own mind and body. Dinner with the Lupin family usually passed uneventfully, some light chatter and praise of whomever cooked the meal, and tonight was no exception. Or so was to be thought. Aimlessly poking his food with his fork, Remus racked his brain for something to say, anything that would shift his focus from the heaviness of his heart. He’d been on and off about this plan all day, but he was finally going through with it. Maybe.

He was going to come out to his parents.

He had no idea how, but he was.

“The neighbours’ cats have been in the garden again, walked all over the flowers and everything.” Mr Lupin looked up from over the meal in front of him to see his son, quiet as a mouse, “How come you’re not eating, Re? You alright?”

“I’m just not that hungry.” Remus admitted.

His parents gave each other a look, a look that was common between the two when dealing with their son’s habits. They knew they had to help him, but they also had come to realise that the only way to do that was to make him feel comfortable. “I’ll get you some chocolate when I go to the shops after tea, how does that sound?”

“Thank you,” Remus muttered gratefully, running a hand through his hair.

And it continued like that whilst the meal slowly came to an end, warm yet distant conversation. The only thoughts in his head were doubts, anxieties, worries and negativity, not a hint of the positive outlook he occasionally had took (one he had to take, considering who he was friends with). Memories of his father making homophobic jokes when Remus was too young to know any better were there too. An offhanded comment every now and again, a scowl at two men holding hands down the street.

He’s your father, he’ll learn to understand.

But what if he doesn’t?

“Re, darling, are you sure everything’s alright?” He could hear his mother say vaguely.

His head snapped up defiantly, “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.” The dismissive tone only made Mrs Lupin tilt her head, kind eyes studying Remus’s face. He was so unbelievably flustered that what he said next took a few minutes to get out, “Actually, mum and dad, can I-, can I talk to you about something?”

His mother smiled, “Of course. Take your time, love.”

Remus cleared his throat, though it came out as more of a violent cough. His cutlery was placed onto the table shakily as he gathered his nerves, pushing his plate away from him as to have no distractions. Even his father had abandoned his food to give his full attention. “Well, it’s not a big deal… well, it is but-, it doesn’t change anything.”

He took another deep breath, before continuing with the gentle prompts of his parents. “I know that you love me no matter what, and this really doesn’t change anything. It’s just something I’ve wanted to say for a while, and recently it’s been more important to me-” He smirked subtly at the thought. “You both know Sirius, right?”

“After he was here most of summer, yeah we know him.” Mr Lupin supplied.

“Well, yeah. It’s just that he’s…” His eyes closed for a second, savouring his last moments before it was said. The last moments before everything would be out into the open, and there would be no secrets between them. “He’s my boyfriend.”

His father’s face didn’t move, “What?”

“I’m bisexual, dad. I like girls and boys. I like Sirius.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Mrs Lupin burst out of her chair to wrap her son in a tight hug, tripping slightly over the table but getting there nonetheless. She pressed kisses all over his face, holding it between her arms as she laughed wetly. Remus was taken aback but hid that surprise with his face pressed into her jumper. “I’m so proud of you, love, so proud. The only thing it changes is that Sirius needs to come over for tea one night, yeah?”

“Hope, calm down,” Mr Lupin warned.

“Re, you’re so brave, so brave.” She praised, ignoring her husband. “We love you, we always have, we always will. How long have you known?”

Mrs Lupin released Remus from her hold on him but pulled her chair to sit right in front of him and hold his hands. “I think for a couple of years-”

“What?” Mr Lupin interrupted rudely. “We’re just supposed to except this that quickly?”

Time seemed to stand still as Remus processed what he had said. He didn’t even bother to look in his father’s direction, instead staying with his eyes burned into his mother. She made an offended noise, “Lyall, come on now.”

“Back in my day that wasn’t even a real thing, you’re just confused.” He shook his head dismissively and continued with the food on his plate, the only one still doing so. “And there’s no need to drag the Black boy down into that with you. He’s a good kid, good with girls.”

Remus didn’t even realise what he was saying before it came tumbling from his mouth, but couldn’t bring himself to regret it once it did, “It’s a shame he’s gay then, isn’t it?”

“You’re seventeen! How can you know that?”

His mother’s grip on his hands hadn’t released itself and was now serving as a tether to reality. The only thing keeping him steady. “We were younger than that, Lyall.”

“Well we’re not shirt-lifters, are we!” He shouted rather uncharacteristically, before settling back down into his seat. “Re, you know I love you, but you can’t expect me to just… accept this.”

As soon as he heard it, Remus raised from his chair and walked hazily out of the room, unable to bear his father’s judgement. He could vaguely hear his mother calling out to him, but his ears were ringing with realisations going through his head. It burned with the pressure. He doesn’t accept me. He doesn’t love me. Not anymore.

Stop thinking like that. Another voice in his head jumped in, Sirius’s voice. It’s not going to help.

He stumbled into his bedroom, much more gracefully than before with the added confidence that the thought of Sirius brought him. His hand reached for his phone and he pulled it out- his eyes lingering on Sirius’s contact. I can’t bother him with this. It’s going well, we don’t need this. But before his pessimism could get to him, he sent the other boy a simple snapchat, a blank picture with the words “I told my parents”. Nervous yet relieved, Remus fell back onto his bed to wait impatiently for his boyfriend’s reply.

Seconds slipped into minutes as time passed slower than he thought possible. For the third time that night his thoughts started to spiral, negativity overcoming him while his rational thoughts grasped at straws, trying to keep him afloat. Luckily, he was startled out of his own head by the sharp melody of his ringtone.

Scrambling to pick it up, his clumsy limbs must have knocked over most of his night stand in the process, but once it was in his hand he pressed accept. The hazelnut brown of Sirius’s eyes through FaceTime already made him feel better. They sat in silence for a moment, until the boy before him spoke softly, “How’d it go, baby?”

“I-, um, not so good.” He stuttered, hoping Sirius would understand somehow. One of those telepathic things that couples could do. “My dad…”

“I’m so sorry, god Re, that’s awful. I swear I’ll kill him if I have to.”

Remus let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You don’t have to, he’ll come around, I know he will. He’s just surprised, that’s all.” Sirius nodded along as he spoke. “My mum was really good, you know her, she’s really excited that it’s you as well.” He chuckled at that.

“I’ve always loved you mum,” Sirius began. “How is she?”

“She’s fine, she’s great. I-, she wants you to come over for tea one night. Maybe.” He replied slowly.

“I’d love that baby, I really would.” They both smiled giddily at each other, the tawny-haired boy not quite as happily as he usually would.

Three soft knocks sounded on his door, and he looked to see his mum stood in the doorway. Remus hurried through his goodbyes, assuring Sirius that he was okay and that they’d speak later, before being wrapped in a tight embrace; his chin hooked over her shoulder, relishing in the comfort.

It’ll be okay, he thought. It’s going to be okay.

“C’mon Moons, you just need to stop worrying about it. What’s done is done, you know?”

They were all sat on their lunch table, James and Peter making conversation with the girls but now seemingly more concerned with their friend. Sirius’s arms lay across Remus’s shoulders, tighter than usual but the latter was grateful for the change. His anxiety had been getting much worse of late, and his dad was only fueling the fire. He couldn’t even meet his sons’ eyes that morning, the exact opposite of how he would have acted before. Before everything changed. Before I ruined it.

“Re, I can practically hear you thinking right now.”

“Sorry, sorry,” He murmured quietly.

The arm around his shoulders only tightened as he leaned his head back onto Sirius’s chest, smiling slightly, but not quite widely enough.

“We can’t have our Moony feeling like shit now can we,” James interjected far too cheerfully. “He needs something… a distraction.”

Marlene quirked her head to one side, the curls of her blonde hair falling along with it. “In case any of you idiots forgot, it’s my birthday on Monday and my parents are out this weekend. I was thinking of throwing a little get together.” She paused, before adding slyly, “Invitation only, of course.”

“And we’re just hearing about this now!” James said in mock offence, before turning to Remus and asking his opinion.

“I’m not so sure a party is the best idea, we only had one last week.” He replied sheepishly.

“It won’t be a party. Just us and some friends, we’ll have fun.” Marlene encouraged, nodding to the others for some back up.

There was a general hum of agreement, until the only voice he truly cared about voiced itself. “I have to agree with Marlene, babe. It’ll be good to get your mind off things, even if it’s only for a night.” Sirius seemed as though he was convincing himself too.

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, Remus scanning his eyes for any hidden intention, but he couldn’t find it.

Maybe it would be nice to let loose and be a teenager for once.

“For the last time, we’re not playing never have I ever, we’re not 12 years old!” Marlene rolled her eyes.

“C’mon, Marls, it’s not like we have anything else to do.”

She looked over at James from where he’d spoken from the chair next to her and got up to punch him in the shoulder, “It’s not my fault you’re all boring.”

Shouts of praise sounded all around the living room they were all sat in, various people on the floor with no space left on any furniture. Turns out 8 people struggle to fit comfortably in a 3-person space. Sirius was one of the unlucky ones, sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning his back against Remus’s legs. Raising his drink to his lips (non-alcoholic, Marlene’s parents had made her swear not to get people drunk whilst they were away) he smiled, “There’s no harm in never have I ever, McKinnon.”

“As if you have a say, Black.” Marlene side-eyed him. “What does your boyfriend think?”

Sirius put more of his weight against the boy in question, tilting his head back to look at him square in the face, “What does he think?” He prompted playfully.

“I think,” Remus said lazily, playing with Sirius’s head of hair and scanning the room. To his left, James was sat, his legs across Lily’s lap. She seemed to have no objections, leading Remus to wonder if they’d finally gotten their shit together. To his right, Peter was in an armchair, knees to his chest, oblivious to the people around him; with Mary in the other armchair across the room. Marlene and Dorcas were both on the floor, deep within each other’s personal space in a tangle of limbs and love. Remus continued, “That we’re a little past the point of being too old for things. Remember when you made us have a Tinkerbell marathon?”

“That was ironic!” Marlene threw her arms up exasperatedly. “I don’t actually like them. It was a good laugh.”

“Is that why you cried when her wings tore?” Someone interjected.

Marlene fell against Dorcas’s shoulder, as if they hadn’t been sat close enough already, “Remind me again why I’m friends with any of you.”

They all erupted in laughter, sharing fond smiles and nudging each other. James took his legs from Lily’s lap and turned to face the girls on the floor, smiling just like everyone else as he spoke cheerily, “Whatever, unless you have any more complaints, I’ll start. Rules are simple: put a finger down if you’ve done it. Never have I ever…” He combed one hand through his messy hair, the other one stroking his chin as he thought, “…been arrested.”

When nobody put a finger down, Mary jumped in, “I do not believe that for a second! Sometimes I wonder how you boys even got your reputations.”

The boys shrugged, eyeing each other innocently as Lily jumped in before anything else could be said, “Alright then, never have I ever gotten drunk.”

“Y’all are liars, I swear,” Mary huffed, putting a finger down as Remus, Sirius, James and Marlene did the same. Surprise was directed at Dorcas, who hid behind her hair to brush it off. She took the attention away from it as she said, “Ok, ok, my turn. Never have I ever had sex.”

Various people barked shouts of disagreement, utterly shocked that she would ask such a thing. “That’s not very PG of you, Miss Meadowes!” Sirius said in a rather inaccurate impression of McGonagall. She put her own finger down proudly, followed by a pink-cheeked Marlene from beside her. James did the same, to the surprise of absolutely no one in the room. Surveying the couple to his right, he became suddenly curious, “I’d have thought Padfoot and Moony would be all over each other by now, surely.”

Remus blushed profusely, looking down at Sirius to avoid the looks of the people around him. They hadn’t talked about the subject before, neither of them making any moves to take the relationship further than they had. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of it before, hadn’t wanked to the very thought of it but it was far too soon, and definitely not the right time. Thinking about it was enough… for the time being.

Sirius coughed loudly, “And I’d have thought you’d stop being a dick after Primary School, but alas, we were both wrong.”

James threw his middle finger up, his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth both raised slightly. “Whatever, what about Mary and Wormy? You guys not done anything yet either?”

Remus looked over at Peter to see him in a similar red-faced state to what he’d been a few moments prior just as he looked over at his girlfriend for guidance. She shrugged, “Alright, stop perving on other people’s sex lives, people are going to think you’re creepy or something.”

“We couldn’t have that, could we?” He responded snarkily.

The game continued similarly for a while, various people asking various questions that invaded their privacy far too much. They’d always been an open group of friends, nothing to hide or keep from the others and they took pride in that. Not many people could say that.

“Never have I ever liked women!” Sirius declared brashly, followed by eyerolls and groans from practically everyone.

“Now you’re playing dirty, Pads.” James chastised. “Never have I ever liked men.”

Sirius shook his head. “I’m sure you’ve had you’ve had your fair share of gay thoughts in the past, Prongs. You’re friends with Moony, for fucks sake, you’re straight but you’re not blind.”

He looked up at Remus with both loving and giddy eyes, expecting a him to be angry at the compliment. Instead, he was given a pointed look and an affectionate ruffle of his hair, Remus ignoring the delighted noise he made and grin he wore. This served as a distraction from whatever James was saying, just staring at his boyfriend in awe. How did I find someone so willing to put up with my bullshit?

Remus had a similar thought himself, Why am I so willing to put up with his bullshit?

“Just for the record,” James had gotten up from his seat to get another drink, and talked from behind the door, “I haven’t ever thought of Moony that way, but I see where you’re coming from.”

“Oi! You’ll pay for that!” Sirius got up and run after him.

He may be an idiot, Remus thought fondly. But he’s my idiot.

A little while later, as the end of the night rapidly approached, the usually rowdy group of friends was quiet with tiredness and subdue, getting ready to leave. Outside was a beautiful sunset, oranges and reds and yellows like a perfect painting: picturesque, almost. Anybody looking in would assume the same, the perfect group of friends on a perfect night. They couldn’t be more wrong, Remus thought, partially self-hating but also more watching the idiots in front of him. He was cuddled into Lily’s side, both laughing as James and Sirius took turns in a game of charades. Somehow, it was entertaining.

“Okay, okay, TV, 2 words,” Sirius stumbled as James acted it out over-exaggeratedly. “Hannah Montana! You’re obsessed with that show!”

“I haven’t even started yet, Pads.”

Sirius waved him off, “Was I wrong though?”

James looked once at him, then at Remus and Lily on the sofa, before sighing and throwing himself on the floor, “You’re no fun.”

Prompting Sirius expectedly, they hollered as he rose and took James’s place standing in the middle of the room. He made a few unidentifiable gestures, more like flailing his arms and contorting his face when the room was blank. Remus smiled, entranced and enthralled, as he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to meet a nervous-looking Peter, chewing his lip and wringing his fingers. “Can you help me with…the um, the Birthday cake?” He whispered.

“Of course,” He said, suspicious at his tone but following him through to the kitchen.

Mary called out from where she was deep in conversation with Marlene and Dorcas, “Are you alright?”

He nodded quickly and unconvincingly, pulling at Remus’s hand to take them both out of the room, breathing heavily. Remus checked to see that no one was had followed them, and leaned forward, “Pete, mate, what’s up? I know it’s not the cake.”

“It’s nothing, I just wanted to talk to you about something.” He took another deep breath, composing himself before tilting his head away. He avoided the other’s eyes as he said, “You said that you and Sirius haven’t had sex yet, yeah?”

“Peter, I swear to god-”

“Remus, just hear me out. Please,” He pleaded, hands clasping together. Remus’s face softened slightly, still unsure of what was going on but asking him to continue. “It’s just that I know Mary wants to, like, really wants to, and I just…”

He groaned, his frustration with himself and the situation apparent. Remus could guess what he was going to say but wasn’t going to take the moment away from him. Peter continued, “I’ve never really thought about it to be honest. I mean, I have, I sat in all those sex ed lessons and stuff but… I don’t get it! I don’t want to do it! And I know that Mary’s only waiting for me to be ready, but I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. God, I sound so stupid, don’t I?”

“You don’t sound stupid, Pete.” He smiled in understanding and support. “Have you heard of asexuality?”

“What?”

“Asexuality,” He repeated slowly, sounding out every syllable. “It’s when you don’t experience sexual attraction. It’s completely normal, actually quite common.”

Peter’s face turned from one of embarrassment to one of pure shock and intrigue, eyes wide and shining. His mouth gaped. Laughing slightly, Remus continued, “It’s like a whole spectrum, some people are completely opposed to sex, other people like kissing and stuff but nothing further. Have you never heard of it before?”

“I thought I was broken.” Peter whispered, causing Remus to make a sad noise in the back of his throat. Whilst he didn’t personally relate to the experience, he could at least show his sympathy. He’d remembered reading about it when he was researching his own identity, desperately filling out ‘What’s my sexuality’ quizzes as he grasped at the support this anonymous online community gave him. Support that Dad doesn’t give me.

He will… eventually.

“It’s also something that you should consider discussing with your girlfriend, you know. Whenever you’re ready.”

“I know, I know, I just didn’t want to disappoint her.” Peter admitted honestly and quietly. A surge of sadness burst through Remus’s bones as he listened to what Peter had said. They both knew that Mary would accept him, but he supposed that paranoia was a part of the coming out experience.

Before he could give any consolation, Sirius and James burst into the kitchen, “Alright mates, dad’s threatening to get a takeaway without us if we’re not home soon so we best be off.”

Sirius walked over to where Remus was leaning against the counter and brought him in for a bruising kiss. “How was it tonight, love?”

“Great, thanks for doing this.” He ducked sheepishly.

James threw his head back and made a vomiting noise, “As much as I’d like to stay here and watch you two snog for the rest of the night, we really have to go.”

It was only a few minutes later as James and Sirius made their way down the street to the Potter’s house, pitch black with an evening breeze, both kicking at pebbles and humming to themselves. It was most likely a song that had been overplayed in the summer, or a Christmas tune that they couldn’t wait to be relevant again. James looked over at his friend, pushing his glasses further up his nose, “Do you think Remus is going to be okay?”

Sirius sighed sadly, “Sure, yeah, it’s just hard right now. He’ll have forgot all about it by tomorrow, I bet.”

“Is that what you did?”

A stray pebble was kicked in James’s direction as soon as he said it. “Can we please go back to talking about your shitty love life. What was with you and Evans, huh? Snuggling up to each other, I thought she hated you.”

“She probably still does.” James came to stand in front of Sirius to stop them, head leaning in close. He clearly wanted to reassure him but was drowned out by the sound of a phone buzzing in Sirius’s pocket. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but Regulus will come around. He’s just scared.”

But Sirius didn’t answer, staring at whatever his phone was showing. “What? What is it?”

Reg: I’m sorry I wasn’t at the Halloween party.

Reg: Mum and dad are spending the weekend at the house in Scotland, you could come round and stay in your old room.

Reg: Call me when you can.

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thisweekingundamwing · 4 years

Text

This Week in Gundam Wing (March 15-21, 2020)

Hey Gundam Wing fandom! Here’s your weekly roll-up. Show your fellow fans some love!!

--Mod LAM

Fanfiction

Man Lion Thing Dude (Ch.10/?) by @anaranesindanarie

Pairing: Duo x Trowa, Duo x Triton

Characters: full cast

Rating: MATURE

Tags / Warnings: alternate universe, supernatural, were-creatures, angst, family problems, arranged marriage, body guards, mentions of torture, smut, wizards, magic, spells

Summary: Duo Maxwell is estranged from the last of his remaining family who are demanding that he return home for an important announcement. Meanwhile, Duo has been having strange encounters with ‘wild’ animals, all of whom seem to be hunting him.

Waves and a Wedding (Ch.8/11) by @noirangetrois

Pairing: Duo x Relena

Characters: Duo, Trowa, Quatre, Relena, Dorothy, Catherine, Sylvia, Treize, Noin, and others

Rating: EXPLICIT

Tags / Warnings: cruise ships, alternate universe, fake marriage becoming a real marriage

Summary: Relena’s mother is pressuring her to get married, so when she meets a handsome and charming man on a cruise, she can’t help but think that he could be the solution to all her problems. ...and now the Big Day has finally arrived!

Held to the Flame by the_black_rose for jenjengundamfan

Pairing: Heero x Relena

Characters: Heero, Duo, Trowa, Wufei, Relena

Rating: EXPLICIT

Tags / Warnings: fluff, smut, lemon, romance, drama, assassination attempt, cybernetics, angst

Summary: It's been four years since Heero left his job as Relena's bodyguard. She's been looking for him for two of those years. “How many times could I lose you? I couldn’t.” Her hands slid around his waist from behind. “It was too dangerous to keep you by my side. No matter how much I wanted to.” He felt her turn her head; her temple rested against the exposed skin just below his neck."I practically gave my life for you."

Graduation by t_shirt

Pairing: Heero x Duo, background Trowa x Quatre

Characters: 5 pilots + Relena, Hilde, Dorothy, Silvia Noventa, Middi Une

Rating: MATURE

Tags / Warnings: light angst, fluff, warm and fuzzy feelings, lemon

Summary: A drunken encounter at a high school grad party forces Duo to reevaluate his life.

Sanctified by the_black_rose

Pairing: Heero x Relena, Relena x OC

Characters: Heero, Trowa, Relena, Lady Une

Rating: EXPLICIT

Tags / Warnings: lemon, angst, drama, angry sex, make-up sex, Heero in prison

Summary: Heero's been...captured?This room didn't have bars like it should. His cell had bars, but solitary confinement was a small, dingy room without the pleasure of variation or truth.He felt the numbness seep into his brain, and for a second, he couldn't breathe. Heero opened his eyes and began his recitation from his position lying on the floor: "Name: Heero Yuy. Rank: Lieutenant Colonel."

Every Moment by @bobo-is-tha-bomb

Pairing: Heero x Reader

Characters: 5 pilots + Reader, Relena, Lady Une

Rating: MATURE

Tags / Warnings: romance, drama, angst, lemon, lime, violence, reader insert

Summary: You really didn’t want to go on a mission with Heero Yuy. In your opinion, he was a robot, an iceberg, and as cold as the North Pole. And you really hated the fact that people started spreading rumors about you. Now, you have two weeks to get to know him better, get comfortable with the idea of playing his wife, and keep from getting into a catfight with Wufei’s secretary (who has quite a crush on Mister Yuy herself). You thought you would be able to handle the mission, but a couple of alcohol influenced kisses really send your world spinning. And it would only get worse during the mission… And really… your careless actions do have very big consequences.

Fanart

Heero Yuy by @gundam-wing-crossovers

Relena Darlian by @therecanonlybeonetrashman

Other Fan Works

Gunpla and Cosplay

Deathsycthe by @anxp

Scans and Edits

GoL Scans by @disturbed02girl

Hilde saves Heero and Quatre from execution

Tallgeese

Zechs / Milliardo

Zechs and Tallgeese

GW Fashion Headcanon: Trowa Barton by @disturbed02girl

Duo Vibes Headcanon by @janaverse

Other Fandom Stuff and Discussions

@incorrectgundamwingquotes continues to rock it. XD

@mtnlesb gives Relena a shoutout

Excellent video shared by @tnbtheories

Article calling for a reboot shared by @airasilver

Self-reflective article on Gundam Wing by @lechevaliermalfet

@2pcb is going hard for the Heero x Trowa ship

Calendar Events

Cocktail Fridays continue with @gwcocktailfriday

This week’s prompt is here.

Post your responses between 3-5PM on Fridays

Gundam Wing Discord Meet-Up!

The next meet-up will be on April 11-12. Information is over here. Be sure to follow @lifeaftermeteor for more info!

25th Anniversary Zine Orders have been Re-Opened!

Get your copy of a FREE PDF zine, FREE Bonus PDF zine, and FREE zine merch (yes, all of it is free) over here! Orders will be open until April 5, so be sure to sign up to get your copies!!!

If you like what you see, consider donating to the Zine Crew’s chosen charity, WAR CHILD

Be sure to follow @gundamzine so you don’t miss any updates!

#gundam wing

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midnightblaine · 3 years

Text

12 - language

Breaking Open

notes: this I actually posted like two months ago and I’m planning to post more 😭 I just need my brain to cooperate with me

AO3

They were right at the gates for artists in no time. Blaine had enjoyed the quiet simplicity of walking through Central Park with Kurt, but he knew better than to try and slow them down to bask in his company. His boyfriend was so hyped up he might have been skipping to the concert.

Kurt was wearing a forest green button up with mustard pants, a gray bomber with violet sleeves that gave him an edge to his look. Blaine could see clearly Elliot’s touch on the outfit, maybe they had gone shopping together, planned outfits together in all the time they spent at Elliot’s place.

Blaine’s stomach churned and he gripped Kurt’s hands tighter.

Staff ushered them to the tents after they showed their passes and soon came face to face with rest of One Three Hill and several other artists milling about.

“Blaine!” a very enthusiastic Dani greeted him. Blaine barely had time to give her a sheepish smile before she leapt right into his arms. She was just short of vibrating and when they pulled apart, he saw Elliot reaching out for Kurt, messing up his hair after a short embrace.

Kurt batted his hand away and pulled Blaine closer to him where he could offer his hand to Elliot.

“It’s nice to see you,” he greeted politely and hoped his hand wasn’t shaking. Elliot grabbed his hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

“You too, man,” Elliot smiled easily, he seemed to do every little thing effortlessly. Blaine returned to Kurt’s side. “And thank you, for giving Kurt back. He has been outrageously busy these last few days.”

Blaine burrowed deeper into Kurt as his boyfriend rolled his eyes.

“I spend too much time with you two as it is, Blaine is just a beautiful, welcome distraction,” he looked into Blaine’s eyes with a teasing glint in his gaze, making him feel warm all over.

“Stop it, you horn dogs – we have a setlist to go over.”

Kurt teared his gaze away from Blaine. “Ugh, Dani! Tell him we’ve gone through it a thousand times; we need to rest until our time’s up.”

The three of them delved into a discussion of setlist and rehearsal time as they walked deeper into the tent, Blaine following awkwardly behind, Kurt’s hand still joined with his.

Seeing Elliot again was like a blow to Blaine’s chest. He could (almost) brush off all the guys at school that tripped over themselves to get Kurt’s attention but Elliot – he was Kurt’s best friend, they got along perfectly. Elliot was funny and smart and cool, he was unfairly handsome, tall and had a head full of thick luscious hair, and Blaine was – he didn’t even want to go there. Blaine couldn’t even begin to measure up to someone like Elliot who – to top it all off, spent a lot of time with Kurt. He didn’t know how long he had left before Kurt realized he would be better off with someone else but he was sure that seeing Blaine and Elliot in the same room wasn’t helping.

Blaine wished he could disappear, find an excuse to get away from their increasingly heated argument and his increasingly loud thoughts. He looked left and right, scanning the place for something to do when a tap on his shoulder made him turn around.

“Marley!”

His shoulders slumped in relief at the sight of his friend in a sundress with tights and a pair of ankle boots, miles away from the dressed down outfits she chose to wear to school, Blaine thought it suited her.

“Told you I’d be here,” Marley smiled sweetly at him before greeting him with a kiss on his cheek and a hand on his arm that told him she was there for him.

He turned to introduce her to the others, noticing a stutter in her step when she went to kiss Dani hello and the girl’s interested glance. Blaine was sure his own smile was splitting his face in half. He would have to ask about it later.

He disentangled his arm from Kurt’s and walked beside Marley to catch up with her, letting the band talk songs and places and cues.

The event started with a flurry of activity, a generously sized crowd that cheered for the opening act and Kurt’s tongue down his throat.

Kurt had started by saying that if Blaine didn’t hold him in that exact moment he would combust, he would be unable to go out and perform. Then he had massaged Blaine’s scalp so nicely and when Blaine looked up at him, their lips instantly connected.

They were in a relatively secluded spot, waiting for One Three Hill to be called on stage so Blaine wasn’t as preoccupied as he could have been considering they were moments away from acting rather indecently in public.

“Should I bring the hose?” Elliot’s voice seemed far away; Blaine couldn’t be sure of what was happening around him with the way Kurt sucked on Blaine’s tongue.

“I think they’re sweet,” Dani’s comment was followed by a hearty chuckled from Marley. Blaine blocked their voices and took the time to appreciate his boyfriend’s hands on his waist, bringing them closer together.

At a particularly loud cheer from the crowd they separated, both of their lips bee stung, theirs chest heaving with exertion. Blaine looked around to find the other’s exasperated but gentle faces, Kurt’s beautiful one coming into view. He planted the most chaste of kisses on Blaine’s lips.

“Shit, we’re next,” Elliot grabbed Kurt’s arm and dragged him away from Blaine to get him to the stage. Kurt sent him a cheesy wink before exiting the tent.

Blaine and Marley followed them outside slowly, going to the area next to the stage reserved for guests and staff. They could see the band perfectly, taking their places, nodding to one another before Kurt introduced them and Elliot started them off with a song by A Great Big World.

Blaine made sure they cheered and clapped the loudest after every song, Marley even singing along next to him with her sweet voice. They had a good time, and the even the crowd seemed to like what they saw too.

There were a lot of flashes and whooping. Blaine felt so proud of Kurt – of everyone up there.

Marley teased him gently when the group sang a cheesy love song, leaded mostly by Dani but Kurt had a few lines and he took a few seconds to find Blaine’s eyes and sing to him

“Only you can set my heart on fire.”

When they finished their (much too short, in Blaine’s opinion) setlist it was really no surprise that the crowd cheered loudly and asked for more. Dani, Elliot and Kurt took their vows, let the band do the same, said thanks and skipped down the stage, huge grins and vibrating energy around them.

Kurt beelined for Blaine and hugged him tight, laughing, so pleased and amazed. They re-entered the tent for water and some snacks, Kurt’s arm safely across Blaine’s shoulders. They congratulated each other, raving about every detail. Marley was listening enraptured to a very excited Dani and Blaine’s heart melted.

“After party at mine’s!” hollered Elliot, earning himself high fives and whoops all around. Kurt told him they had more friends in the audience so they would get invited as well. It was natural to celebrate the band’s success.

They were getting ready to leave when Kurt pulled him aside, holding Blaine’s hands.

“I want to celebrate this,” Kurt told him softly, still radiating vibrant energy, but he was calmer now, his body language relaxed and exuding confidence, the way Blaine could only wish to be.

“Then let’s go, I might get overwhelmed, but you deserve it,” Blaine said honestly, he wanted more than anything to support his boyfriend.

“I want to celebrate,” Kurt repeated looking at Blaine with an intensity that had Blaine pinned to the ground. “But I don’t wanna go to Elliot’s place.”

A bell rang in Blaine’s mind, he was trying to understand, he was pretty sure he understood but still, it didn’t make sense even if it did. He waited for Kurt to explain, he could barely move.

“I wanna go to your house.”

#klaine fanfiction #klaine advent 2018 #breaking open #my words

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pollylynn · 4 years

Photo

Title: Perfidy WC: 1000

She can’t put her finger on the first time she saw him produce a handkerchief with a flourish from the inside pocket of his coat. It was probably somewhere around the five-thousandth time that she’d snapped at him to—for the love of coffee—put on a pair of gloves before he went picking up and putting down every last damned thing at one her crime scenes. She’d ballpark that somewhere inside the first week.

She thinks it’s a funny thing, the fact that he’s roaming New York in his six-hundred-dollar jeans, but he reliably carries a white cotton handkerchief that’s absolutely plain. On the surface, it’s out of character. It doesn’t go with the jeans and the vast collection of cashmere scarves and sunglasses that only admit the most high class particles and waves of light to reach his retinas. It’s at odds with hair that’s perfectly cut, perfectly in place, at every hour of the day and night.

Beneath the surface, though, it’s not at all out of character. It’s a dad thing. And it’s a dork thing, because there’s always a flourish—always an unfurling, as though he’d just produced a string of silk pocket squares, a mile long and in all colors of the rainbow from the mystic depths of his coat sleeve. It’s not at all out of character, because he’s a dad and a dork and his cheesy sense of showmanship goes right along with both those things.

She wishes, right now, she could remember the first time. Her mind calls up its appearance at the Gas Lamp League—the easy fit of his habitual gesture into such a ridiculous, romanticized setting. Her skin tingles with the memory of him unexpectedly pressing it into her hand, the hint of a smug, knowing smile as she startled and he dipped his head in the direction of the dueling pistol. She remembers all that. She remembers, but she knows that wasn’t the first time at all.

Possibilities flit, rapid-fire, through her mind. She sees his hands reaching for things, fiddling with things, gloved and ungloved. She hears the familiar snap of the fabric and pictures the lift of his chin, always the same as he produces it. She feels the transfer fo weight from her hands to his as she hands off some piece of evidence for a second opinion, for whatever wild inspiration it might give him. She replays scene after scene with the handkerchief always in a supporting role, but she can’t remember the first time.

Sky Blue.

The name drops into her mind, solid, sudden, and instantly centering. She relieves the tremors passing from the young woman’s body into and out through her own. She remembers wrapping an arm around her and finding nothing but sharp angles, nothing but absolutely penetrating cold. The struggle to get her on her feet, the near impossibility of maneuvering her into the back seat of the car, it all comes back to her of a piece. It’s a play in one act that ends with a gesture, a flourish—the production of that clean, absolutely plain square of white cotton, followed by Sky volubly, messily blowing her nose, mopping clumsily at her own tears.

It’s not the first time. It’s definitely not. It is, though, the instance her mind was searching for. It’s the instance she needs in this moment, because Mark Fallon is screaming in the face of a vulnerable, terrified young mother. His voice is climbing the walls of the interrogation room. It’s an escalating roar calculated to make the baby wail, to make scalding tears rain down on that soft rosy skin.

Mark Fallon is roaring, and then he is not. With a flourish, he is offering Nazihah a clean white square of plain cotton to dry the tears he took such pains to provoke.

It’s an unspeakable act of manipulation, the he withdraws his fury, instantly and absolutely. It’s cruel and necessary—maybe necessary—but she feels sick being party to it. She feels sick dropping into debrief mode as if this were simply business as usual. She watches Fallon as she tries to get her own heart rate under control. She notes his cool demeanor and realizes it is. For him, it is. For her, it might be, for the foreseeable future. If there is one.

She splits of from Fallon as soon as possible. She scans the bullpen and sees him, hunched over her computer. She watches as he rushes over to huddle with Ryan and Esposito. They have something. She sees they have something, but she’s still too rattled for anything like normal human interaction to approach just yet.

He feels the weight of her gaze. He must, because he looks up, frowning already. He crosses the bullpen to her.

“Beckett.” He keeps his voice low and calm. Dad voice, she thinks and an odd snort escapes her. “Beckett, what—”

“Do you—“ She can’t finish the question on her first try. She feels like such an idiot, standing here like this when the world might literally be ending, but she begins again. She has to begin again. “Castle, do you have a handkerchief?”

“Yeah.” It’s halfway out of the inside pocket of his coat before she’s finished asking. It’s not quite his usual flourish, but he hands it over. “Of course.” He studies her as she clutches the absolutely plain white square in both hands. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she says, surprising herself. “Yes.” She takes a deep breath and manages a crooked smile. “I have to be. We all have to be.”

“Yeah, but—” He frowns at her, then looks over his shoulder to Ryan and Esposito as they talk in low, animated voices. “But if you need—”

“This.” She brandishes the handkerchief. “Can I just keep this for now?”

“Of course.” He regards her with a mixture of confusion and pleasure. “But—”

“No but,” she says, re-centered and ready. “Just this. I’m good.” A/N: Weird object that sent me on a hunt for when Castle deploys his handkerchief. Brain is weird. Happy New Year. Hmmm.

images via homeofthenutty

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 3 #Castle: Setup #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Kevin Ryan #Javier Esposito #Mark Fallon #Fic #Fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #Writing #Hmmm

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

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🎾 Reaching Out (Tenipuri) #1: The Twins

Genre: Friendship, Family, Comedy, Fluff ☁

Word Count: 1,887 ☁

Pairing: OC x ?? ☁

World: Prince of Tennis ☁

Author’s Note: This was written a long time ago and remains as one of my favorite pieces to date. I don’t know if I’ll be completing this series, but I’m still proud of it and want to post what I’ve already written.

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Rojo Kira followed the pathway toward the tennis courts in Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku, the ponk of the balls growing louder with every step she took. School had ended a while ago, leaving only the after school clubs behind. More specifically, the famed tennis club that the junior high students seemed to go nuts over. The high school division had a tennis team, as well, but they didn’t have as much fame as the middle schoolers’ team got. The reason for that was simple. While the middle school did have other sports, tennis was their main one. It was a big deal though, with all the trophies they’ve won, I guess you could see why.

The high school, however, offered more sports, evenly spreading out the student body to cheer for each one equally; not one was more important than the other. Kira wasn’t too sure why it worked out that way, but she summed it up to the fact that high schoolers are more angsty, and need more choices at outlets they can use to vent their frustrations. Middle school was difficult, but nothing compared to high school. It made Kira glad that this was her last year.

One thing Kira had noticed about the fans at Rikkai, was that they were not at all as crazy as everyone believed. Sure, there were a few delusional nut jobs that believed they could win the love of their beloved regular-sama, but most of the kids who cheered and supported Rikkai were doing it because they loved the team and wanted them to win. At Rikkaidai, it was all about rising together as one to annihilate the enemy. It was as simple as that.

Still, Kira thought it a bit stupid to give the regulars so much popularity just because, well, they were regulars. It’s completely pointless, but her opinion didn’t really matter in this case. She did not attend school with them so she couldn’t voice what she thought. And she thanked Kami-sama that she would never have to share a school with them because when they graduate to high school, she’ll be graduating to life.

Kira’s eyes scanned the crowd around and on the tennis courts, searching for a mess of fire-engine red hair that belonged to her younger brother, who was in his second year of middle school. He often stayed behind after school to watch tennis practice, even though he wasn’t part of the team OR the cheering squad. He simply enjoyed watching it. That’s not to say that he didn’t play, but it was on a more hobby basis; it was something he did when he was bored or needed something to pass the time. Really, the Rojo family wasn’t a very sporty family. They loved to watch, but playing one was just too much effort that could be spent sleeping or just lazing around. At least, that’s how the Rojo children are. They can’t be bothered to do anything unless they want to or are ultimately forced into it.

Kira walked up behind her brother, who stood at four ten, and set a hand on his hair, which had recently been dyed. The boy was originally a blonde, but because he wanted to try something different, he somehow managed to convince his mother to let him dye it when he started his second year. Finally, she caved and gave in to his begging – probably just to get him to shut up. It stood out glaringly against his personality. But he had been set on the idea of going with red since the day his big sister came home with blood-red highlights.

Rojo Kaizen looked up at his big sister, his usual bored-calm expression in place. “You’re early, sis.”

“Did you forget? We have to go pick up Kaoru since Ryuuka can’t do it.” She ruffled his already messy hair lightly. “You said you wanted to visit Seigaku again, right? If not, you can walk home with one of the regulars. You said before a couple of them live near us, right?”

“Kirihara-kun does. And I don’t think Sanada-san is too far away, either. But yes, I would like to visit Seigaku. I want to see Eiji-kun again.”

Kira didn’t want to imagine how bouncy and loud the cat-like third year would be when he saw that Kaizen’s hair was about the same shade as his own. She pushed the image away from her mind as she readjusted her bag on her shoulder, leading her brother to the gates. Ryuuka-san, Kira’s stepmother and the twins’ birth mother, was usually the one who went and picked up Kaizen’s twin, who attended Seishun Gakuen in Tokyo, but since she was busy, it was Kira’s job to get him instead. It had been a while since the two had visited Seigaku, so it was questionable how the regulars would react to the pair. Maybe they could slip in and out without being noticed? The pessimistic side of her brain told her not to count on it.

About fifty-five minutes or so later, the pair found themselves entering Seigaku’s gate. No student was in sight, but the sound of tennis balls being hit told them what direction to go in. Like his younger twin, Kaoru liked to watch tennis matches, but he wasn’t on the team himself. He had been asked several times by Seigaku’s team, but he declined each time. He had his sights set on the baseball club, but he had yet to make an effort to join. The twins were a lot alike, especially in looks – the only way you can tell them apart now is by the color of their hair-, and their personalities only differ slightly.

Kaizen was… well, bland for lack of a better word. He always bore the same bored-calm expression, never changing it no matter what situation he was in. He drawled when he talked, always taking on a bored tone. His voice stayed the same pitch, no matter what the situation – the only exception to that is when he’s crying, which isn’t very often. His hair, now an almost blinding red, was short, but his bangs were long, often hanging in his liquid silver eyes, which he had inherited from his mother. Because of this, he often keeps them pinned to the side and out of the way with bobby pins.

Kaoru was quiet. While he often shared the same expression as his brother, it did change. He wasn’t as rude as his younger twin, and was very kind to other people, especially where their feelings were concerned. He was more social, as well, and people seemed to be attracted to him like magnets, even though he doesn’t go out of his way to make bonds with people. He’s a lot more responsible and mature, though he tends to take on too much, and never can stand up and say it for worry that he’ll let someone down. His hair was still the same blonde color that he had been born with, the same length as his brothers, but parted to the side instead of pinned back.

Rojo Kaoru’s eyes shifted to the pair when they approached and he stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a small smile. “Hello, bro, sis.”

“How was school?” Kira asked softly, pushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen out of place. Kaoru was also the weaker of the twins, despite being older. He got sick easily and spent most of his childhood in and out of the hospital. She believed that was the reason behind Kaizen’s distant nature; he had been really scared that he was going to lose his brother.

“It was good. Ryoma-kun nearly got trampled today by fangirls, but thanks to Momo-chan’s quick reflexes, and Inui-senpai’s threats, the fan club retreated back to their respective classes.”

“You’ve never taken anything from that guy, have you?” Kaizen questioned blankly, his bored gaze set on the elder twin.

He quickly shook his head, causing more strands of his blonde hair to cover his eyes, which he brushed away before speaking. “Iie. Oishi-senpai and Tezuka-buchou forbade Inui-senpai from offering his juice to anyone outside the tennis club.”

“I still don’t trust him. You should have a talk with him, Kira-nee-chan.”

“I agree.”

Kaoru’s cheeks tinted pink at the overprotective nature of his siblings, but he couldn’t help the smile that broke onto his lips. “You don’t have to worry, I’ll be fine, really.”

The pair exchanged a look, but before they could say anything else, a loud ‘Hoi! Look, Echizen!’ caught their attention before Kaizen was engulfed by a red blur. He now lay sprawled on the ground with Kikumaru on top of him, arms tight around his neck and cheek rubbing against his own. “Long time no see, Zen-chan!”

“You’re heavy,” he managed out in a bored voice, despite the fact that the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Eiji!” Oishi came rushing over, a panicked look on his face as he ushered the third year off. “Are you okay, Kaizen-kun?”

The red-head nodded, accepting the offered hand.

“You don’t do that to Kaoru too, do you?” Kira questioned, glancing at the boy beside her who had paused in dusting his uniform off. He wanted to know the answer, as well.

“He tries,” Oishi shook his head with a sigh, one hand on his hip. He really was the mother hen of the team. “But Kaoru-kun’s reflexes are pretty impressive. He usually misses and lands on Echizen…”

The elder Rojo locked eyes with the blonde as if to confirm the tale and he promptly nodded, letting her know that it was okay. Even though Kaoru had been with these guys for a year already, she wasn’t ready to trust them just yet, not with her fragile baby brother. And she knew Kaizen felt the same way.

Kikumaru edged his way closer to the blonde, poking his side with a wide grin.

Kaoru took the hint and turned to his big sister, his hands twisting the strap of his bag, a sure sign that he was nervous. “Um… nee-chan?”

“Hmm?”

“Well, Seigaku has a tournament coming up – ”

“The regional tournament!” Momo added in, excitedly.

“ – And I was wondering if, maybe, I could go?”

Kira and Kaizen exchanged another look. “When is it?”

“In a couple of days,” Oishi responded, offering them a small smile. “If you agree, we promise to look after your brother.”

“What do you think?” Kira asked the red-headed twin, who simply shrugged in reply.

“Your call.”

Kira adapted a blank look as she surveyed the blonde. She could tell with one look that he really wanted to go, but he wouldn’t argue if she told him no – that was Kaizen’s job, not his. “Alright. But we’ll be going, as well.”

“Thank you, nee-chan!” Kaoru smiled greatly, wrapping his thin arms around her waist. She returned the hug, patting the top of his head.

“Well, if you’ll excuse us. Ryuuka-san is probably waiting for us by now.” Kira nodded to the group before turning and heading toward the entrance – or in this case, the exit. Kaizen said nothing, turning around to follow the older Rojo, while Kaoru bid his goodbyes before running after the pair.

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newhopegeorgie · 5 years

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morning confessions I g.s

(hi there! this is my first attempt at writing so please be gentle with me haha. also this is sickeningly cheesey, just the way i like my fluff so heres your warning. please don’t hesitate to give feedback or send me requests if you’d like to! <3)

You had been begging your best friends to let you travel with them on tour for months now. And the boys of New Hope Club really didn’t take much convincing as they were totally on board, but scheduling dates that worked well for both of you was a bit tricky. However, the day had finally come and all of you figured out when they could fly you out to them where you’d stay for the remaining portion of the tour.

You were well past the point of excited to go see the boys. They were your closest friends and it’d been such a long time since you last saw them. But you couldn’t deny that you were most excited to be reunited with George. Of course, you had known all of them for a very long time, but you’d definitely known George the longest. And with your countless years of friendship, you grew an undeniable crush on the boy, of course, your feelings were far beyond a small crush but you had trouble admitting that bit to yourself.

As you heard the pilot’s voice come over the com on the plane, letting you know you were about to land, you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. After getting the go-ahead from the flight attendants that everyone was free to go, you jumped from your seat, rushing to grab your belongings and get out to your gate. Your feet moved much faster than your usual walking pace as you emerged through the gate entrance, almost immediately spotting your three best friends. All of you lit up at the sight of one another and you quickened your pace even more. Once reaching each other you dropped your bags without thought. You haphazardly threw your arms around Blake, him being the first to get to you.

“I missed you so much love,” he said to you, you returned his sentiments and pulled yourself away. You spotted Reece directly behind him. His face broke into a huge grin and he too scooped you up into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey Reecey, d’you miss me?” you giggled into his shoulder, of course, you two were also really close, making your reunions quite dramatic. Once Reece finally let you go you got to see George.

Just seeing him took your breath away, quite literally. His hair was definitely longer now. It was parted in the middle and falling into his face a bit, a very good look on him in your opinion. His skin was glowing and his eyes were shining brightly at you. You seemed to have forgotten how beautiful he was in person after being apart for so long.

“Georgie!” you said with a large grin. His smile widened as he snuck his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. Your arms wound around his neck and you closed your eyes, enjoying his warmth. George pulled his face from your neck for a moment, kissing your cheek before returning to your prior position. Your face flushed red and you felt the butterflies in your stomach return.

You glanced at the other two boys from over George’s shoulder, finding them wiggling their eyebrows and making kissy faces at you since George couldn’t see. Of course, they’d known about your crush on him, they probably knew before you ever did. The two of them always tried to push you to tell G or at least make a move but you never plucked up the courage. You rolled your eyes at the boys and stuck your tongue out at them playfully. George’s hands rubbed up and down your back, squeezing you one last time before letting go. You almost frowned at the loss on contact.

“Right then,” Blake said loudly, clapping his hands together as he did so, “Shall we get your luggage and head back to the hotel?” You all nodded and you moved to grab your backpack but it was taken from your grasp by George. He started walking and you went with, Blake and Reece a few steps behind you.

“G, I can carry my own bag I promise” you laughed, reaching to take it off his shoulder, but he grasped your hand before you could get it.

“I know you can but I don’t want you to” he stated matter-of-factly. He planted a quick kiss on your knuckles before letting your hand fall to your side. The blush spread across your cheeks again as he did so. You definitely don’t remember him being so affectionate towards you last time you saw him. You pushed the thought out of your brain before you had another second to dwell on it. You were probably just overthinking, it’s George, he’d never think of you that way.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you reached to grab it, finding a text from Reece.

definitely looks like hes flirting ;)

You stuck your hand behind your back where G couldn’t see, flipping off the boy behind you, only being met with the sound of him and Blake snickering.

It didn’t take very long for you to find your suitcase, quickly grabbing it and heading out to the car that was taking you and the boys back to the hotel. On the drive there the four of you joked around, messing with each other, laughing, and having a good time. Just like you usually do. You didn’t realize the time passing and soon enough you felt the car stopping and you looked out the window to see you parked in front of where you were staying. Seeing as it was pretty late in the day and the sun was starting to set, the lights outside the hotel were shining, making everything look even prettier.

“Guys this looks so nice!” you gushed. The boys chuckled at your excitement.

“Oh you’ll love it inside even more,” Blake said, elbowing Reece slightly, the two of them laughing a bit. You were confused, and it seemed even George was lost.

“Right then, let's head in,” George said, not thinking about how strange Blake and Reece were acting. Like the true gentleman he is he took your bags for you despite yours, and frankly the other boys, protests. The inside of the hotel was indeed very pretty. The boys lead you to the front desk where they could check in. It was their first night in the city too so they still needed to get the room. The employee at the desk handed Blake the key to the room and then the four of you were on your way.

Once you arrived at the door Blake scanned the key, pushing the door open. The boys' luggage was already inside, presumably put there by someone on their team. As you walked further into the room you noticed a slight problem. There were four of you staying there and yet only two beds. George seemed to take notice of the issue as well.

“Guys I thought you made sure we had more than two this time,” he said, looking up at his friends. Reece scratched his head, looking confused, but you saw right through him.

“Yeah we did, didn’t we B? Didn’t Ben said it’d have more?” Blake nodded his head in response, playing along. “That’s alright though, we’re all friends, no problem. Blake and I will take the one by the window,” he stated, flopping down onto the mattress. It immediately clicked in your mind what the boys' plan was, and it seemed that George did too, hearing his breath catch from behind you.

“Is that okay with you?” he asked you, his hand gently grabbing your arm. You nodded at him, smiling reassuringly. Obviously, you were way more than okay with sharing a bed with George, but that wasn’t necessarily something you wanted him to know. You finally moved forward into the room, sitting down and moving to lay back. George set your bags down and moved to the other side, sitting and leaning back against the headboard.”Comfy?” he asked you, laughing lightly. You smiled, humming a ‘yes’ back. Your long day of traveling finally seemed to catch up with you and you felt yourself getting really tired. The boys looked about the same.

You quickly stood up, grabbing some things from your bag and going into the bathroom. After only slightly rushing through your nighttime routine, you re-entered the room. Tossing your things back onto your bag and climbing under the soft covers of the bed.

“Well I am exhausted” you announced to the boys. They all mumbled agreements, clearly feeling the same way. The three of them shuffled around each other, in and out of the bathroom, getting ready to go to sleep as well. Once everyone was all finished, they got into bed too. George slipped under the covers, not too close to you as he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but not exactly far enough for it to be awkward. Blake shut off the lights and you silently thanked him because you’d otherwise have trouble taking your eyes off G’s bare chest. You all spoke sleepy ‘goodnights’ to one another, before quickly falling asleep.

You were notorious for moving about as you slept. You just couldn’t seem to go a night without tossing, turning, and waking up periodically. At one point you woke up and were having trouble falling back asleep, the clock on the bedside table read 3:24 am and you sighed. You felt the bed shift beside you and George’s tired voice broke the silence.

“You alright love?” he spoke softly to you. You couldn’t help but feel your heart jump in your chest. Not only at his gravelly voice but the nickname along with it. You apologized for waking him up, explaining you were having trouble sleeping. “C’ mere” he mumbled, his hands reaching for you blindly in the dark room. He pulled your body into his, your back flush against his chest. He started humming softly in your ear, his breath hitting your neck where he buried his face. You recognized the tune as ‘Sweet Creature’ and you smiled softly, one of your favorites.

Your heart was thumping in your chest due to the close proximity to George and you prayed he didn’t notice. You tried to pass his actions off as him being tired and just trying to be kind, but secretly hoped it was more than that.

His arms hugged you close to him, and he gently ran his fingers along your skin. His humming gradually faded out and his breathing fell into a steady rhythm, indicating that he’d fallen back asleep. You weren’t far behind, feeling your eyelids getting heavier as you drifted off as well.

•••

Your sleep was interrupted by unintelligible mumbling a few hours later. You grumbled in annoyance, not fully awake yet. You turned yourself over in George’s arms, shoving your face in his neck and hugging him closer in a desperate attempt to fall back asleep. You felt him hug you in return and heard a content hum from the boy. In the same moment, you heard a loud camera shutter go off, immediately waking you up completely. You opened your eyes to see Blake, his eyes wide and his phone held in his hands, camera facing you and George. Reece was stood next to him, giving him a disappointed look.

“Mate I told you to turn off your sound,” he said to Blake, hitting him lightly on the arm. George shifted as you sat up, his arms falling to hug your waist instead.

“Are you guys serious?” you asked them, not angry, more unimpressed than anything.

“We were just heading down for breakfast and you two looked so cute, I couldn’t help it” Blake defended himself, his mouth settling into an overexaggerated frown. George finally joined the conversation, a tired and confused ‘what happened?’ leaving his lips.

“Georgie they were taking pictures of us,” you told him. You looked down at him and ran your fingers through his messy hair, combing it out of his face. His eyes met yours, still full of sleepiness but gorgeous nonetheless. His face then settled into a frown similar to Blake’s.

“So what, let them, I wanna go back to sleep” he grumbled, clearly not paying his two friends any mind. He fell back down onto the bed, tugging on your shirt so you’d join him. Reece looked at you, pointing towards the door and tugging Blake with him, telling you they were leaving. You nodded and gave the boys a small wave, as George got frustrated and ended up just tugging you down next to him completely. You laughed at his actions and settled next to him.

“They left, it’s just you and me now” you spoke softly. His eyes opened up to look at you and he smiled. “Perfect,” he responded. “You know, sharing a bed with you wasn’t as awful as I thought it’d be.” he joked. You scoffed at him in fake hurt. “Kidding, kidding Y/N”.

“Hmm, maybe we should do it more often then,” you flirted, definitely feeling bolder than usual. He raised his eyebrows at your comment and you giggled. “Hey G?” you spoke, feeling your confidence very quickly diminishing. He hummed, urging you on. “I like you.” Your voice fell well below a whisper, scared of what he’d say. His eyebrows knitted in confusion, not quite picking up what you said.

“What was that love?” You took a deep breath and swallowed nervously, repeating your statement, louder this time. George’s face broke into a large grin and he sat up in bed, pulling you up after him. “Wait really?”

“No, I just wanted to see how you’d react,” you said sarcastically, your expression mirroring his. He threw his arms around your figure, practically pulling you into his lap and you let your arms settle on his shoulders. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You hummed in shock, not expecting it and George quickly broke away from you, scared he’d crossed a line.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry, I- I just got excited.” he began distancing himself in fear of making you more uncomfortable but you stopped him.

“Hey, it’s alright” you put him at ease, tangling your fingers in his blond hair. “Just took me by surprise is all.” One of your hands landed on his cheek and you gave him a look, silently asking for permission. He nodded eagerly at you and you smiled in return. You leaned in to kiss him again, staying there for a few moments before George pulled back once more, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I like you too.”

#george smith #george smith imagine #george smith one shot #george smith fluff #reece bibby #blake richardson #new hope club #new hope club fluff #nhc #nhc one shot #nhc imagine #nhc fluff #x reader #george smith x reader

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