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casualhedonists · 3 months

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✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter five)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder) , MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, roughhousing, eventual piv, one chapter specific dubcon scene (pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 5/6

words: um. 9.5k (sorry? but also you're welcome??)

chapter warnings: this chapter contains a scene that falls solidly into dubcon territory, so please proceed with caution, stay safe out there.

moodboards

series masterlist

a/n: WELL. here we are, almost at the end of our little rollercoaster ride. i've lost brain cells over this chapter, almost cut it up into smaller chunks, but ended up leaving it as long as i originally planned (longer, in fact. whoops). as always, feedback is very welcome + encouraged (i love hearing/reading your thoughts as things progress) buckle up, please do take note of the dubcon warning, prepare for the angst, and most importantly, enjoy!

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

He was back to ignoring you again.

But this time, the feeling was mutual. You’d never felt as thoroughly rejected as you did the night he had you walk back to your room, legs weak, wrapped in nothing but his shirt.

Once upon a time, this scenario would have been one you dreamed of, but reality often falls flat on its face. You wouldn’t have dreamt of walking away from him like this if you’d known it would feel this empty.

Humiliation ran rampant through your body, starting with the tears you blinked away as you left his room, closing the door behind you, and then flooding over as you stepped into your own room, slumping on the bed, curling up into yourself and weeping, pressing your still aching legs together but too upset to finish yourself off.

You kicked yourself for getting carried away, for getting too loud, too possessive with his face between your thighs and your hand in his hair. For getting so caught up in the moment, briefly forgetting your games, and for believing even for a second that you would be on the same page.

This push and pull had begun to wear you thin, and you were tired. So, you slept. Until nearly midday the next morning, when Lucille knocked on your door to remind you it was time for your monthly PR debrief.

The good news, though arguable at this point, was that your arrangement hadn’t been affected by recent events. At least, not on paper. Cordelia ran you through each gala, public appearance, and dinner, barely noticing your preoccupation, rambling on about speeches, coordinating outfits, dates and times of events, what to say and how to say it.

For you - and you could only imagine, Coriolanus too - everything had changed over the span of a month.

Your shame made you abnormally quiet, head hung low, gaze averted, nodding along as Cordelia prompted either a response or approval from you. Snow just stared, glancing at her only when completely necessary, but otherwise, he didn’t take his eyes off you.

He was enjoying this. The sick fuck. You were glad when the meeting ended and you could scamper into the library, eager to lose yourself in a story of any kind other than the one you were living.

This went on. By day, you barely looked at him; by night, you tried over and over to prove that your own fingers were enough to keep you satisfied. To convince yourself that you just wanted him, you didn’t need him.

Because if you needed him, then he called the shots. He would win. And victorious as he may seem, the game wasn’t over yet. You’d slipped up in a moment of vulnerability, he’d tricked you into a corner just to prove his point.

You wanted him, you didn’t need him. But if you did… well.

He was going to have to need you more.

You held back this time. Keeping your cards safe, close to your chest. In a strange way, you found a kind of solace in your arrangement. Recent events had caused it to feel unstable, breakable even, but the meeting had ensured that it was all still on the right track. It allowed you to take a small piece of what you wanted from him without guilt or repercussions. After all, it was planned out to benefit you both. Then, when you were ready, and with a gentle hand, you began to weaponise it, loading it up in the barrel of a gun aimed directly at Snow.

You didn't have much left, but you had this. You knew where your promiscuity had led you. This time, you wanted to pull on his heart strings. Make him feel remorse, or whatever similar emotion he was capable of. Make him soften to you. Torture him with almosts that were never enough.

So when you took, you took cautiously, tentatively. You deepened your usually light kisses to what was just past socially acceptable, only to pull back when Snow began to lean in, turning away and smiling at the people surrounding you, or full-on entering into conversation with somebody else. You'd brush your thumb against his when you held hands, waiting for him to look at you, drawing your hand away when he did. You'd offer smiles to everyone but him, talk and laugh a little louder when you could feel him watching.

You pretended he didn’t exist. You could feel him begin to simmer. It wasn't as brazen as your usual game, but it was working.

Until it wasn’t.

“Something’s wrong, what is it?”

Lucille’s face dropped, her shaking hands lowering from the zip she was struggling with. You were getting ready for a luncheon, and you’d picked out an emerald green dress, one of your favorites for daytime events.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice, ma’am. I apologise. It’s my brother, he… it’s getting worse again.”

“Sit down for a second. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You listened to Lucille open up uncomfortably, visibly nervous that you would offer your financial support as you’d done before. But you didn’t, sparing her from having to turn you down.

Lucille was stubborn - she would never accept your charity. She was more than happy to work for her wages, and frequently worked longer hours. As months went by, you’d brought her pay up as high as you could without her noticing. But now things were getting more critical, and you knew there was only one thing you could do.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go and see your brother.”

“But you’re not dressed-”

“I’ll take care of it. Go home, Lucille. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled softly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

You’d tried with the zip, you really had. You didn’t want to have to knock on Snow’s office door with two favors to ask instead of one, but the dress was tight and the zip kept getting jammed. So, there you stood, dress half undone at the back, heart in your throat. You counted your blessings; at least it wasn’t his bedroom. You didn’t think you could face him at all in there. You heard typing from inside.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, feeling like an intruder.

“Sorry, I just… Could you help me with this?” Your hand tightened behind your back, holding the dress together.

He narrowed his eyes. He was already in his suit, typewriter on the desk in front of him.

“Lucille forget how to do her job?”

“I don’t need snide right now. Please, Coriolanus? I’ll explain when I’m not half naked. It’s drafty in here.”

You tried to make it clear in your tone that this wasn’t some ploy. You weren’t sure you had many of those left to offer.

“Fine.” He sighed, and stood, making no motion towards you, so you crossed the room, gripping onto the fabric, turning your back to him.

His hand came to rest on your waist as the other took the zipper, and you tried not to flinch at his touch. You pressed your lips together as he carefully zipped you up, cold metal sending a chill down your spine. Or maybe that was just him. You felt your eyes slide shut and your lips part as his hand lingered on your waist. You couldn’t hear anything but your heartbeat and the tick of his grandfather clock.

“Is that okay? Not too tight?” His breath on your neck gave you goosebumps, you hoped desperately that he wouldn’t notice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

The second his hand fell from your waist, you missed it. You carefully met his eye; he was looking at you like you had something he wanted.

So why hadn’t he wanted you? You’d been right there, and he’d turned you down.

He cleared his throat.

“I should finish this letter before we leave. Was there anything else?”

You paused.

“Actually, there is. Could I ask you a favor?” You glanced off to the side, suddenly very interested in the knots of wood on his desk. What helped was that you'd never seen inside this room before, and you hid behind your curiosity like it was a lifeline.

“What is it?”

“It’s…” you lowered your voice, “it’s about Lucille. Her brother, actually. He’s in the hospital again. The family can’t afford the medical bills to keep him in for as long as he needs. I’d like to foot the bill, but I can’t do it anonymously. I thought… well, I was wondering if you could pull a few strings.”

You were overexplaining, something you weren’t at all used to doing, but these days, just being in the same room as him made you nervous. You stared at his desk, at the lack of photographs on it, the single pen laying to the side, the smoothness of the glaze.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Consider it done.”

You looked up.

“Really?”

“Did you think I’d say no?” He asked.

“I- no, but…”

“It’s something that matters to you.”

You blinked, dumbfounded at how simply he put it.

“Yes. It is. Thank you, Coriolanus.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll make sure it’s anonymous.”

“Thank you. Or, I mean…”

He looked at you, and you wanted to melt. Wanted to throw strategy out the window, god, but -

You couldn’t. It hadn’t worked last time. You’d hoped to avoid a stalemate, but here you were, sat right in the middle of one.

“The car’s coming in a half hour. Are you almost ready?” He asked.

“Yes. Almost.”

The luncheon was going well, at first. You were at the head of a large table, sat beside Snow, straightening your salad fork as he stood up to make a speech. You’d been glancing at him throughout the afternoon; it wasn’t so hard to anymore. It felt like his willingness to help Lucille without question, just because it was what you wanted, had more of an effect on you in five minutes than the entire week of your teasing had on him. One conversation, and the tides had changed.

As he began talking, you started to realise that your gentler approach may have been affecting you more than it had him. The party was transfixed; people loved to hear him talk, and you were proud. He had a certain way with words; you knew better than anyone. You’d fallen victim to them.

You weren’t sure why his words affected you – you’d been there, you’d agreed when Cordelia had suggested he say something nice about you in this particular speech, really make the crowd swoon, lay it on thick - but when he started to talk about you, about how proud he was to have you by his side, how strong you were-

You knew he was just reciting a script written for him, but you couldn’t help it. The tears began to quietly fall. You thanked whatever higher being was listening for not letting anyone notice.

Or so you thought.

It was just typical that out of all the people that could’ve noticed, the one person who knew better was the only one who did.

The rest of them would’ve brushed it off as you simply being moved by emotion, honored by his kind words. You blinked away your tears, taking small, polite sips of your wine. It was painful because you knew it wasn’t true. None of it was, you knew he could never say those words and mean them.

And he knew that too.

It was dark when you got home, and you trailed behind him awkwardly on your way upstairs.

“Can I have a word?” his voice was gentle, and it set you on edge.

“Sure.”

You stood awkwardly in the hallway, then he led you into the office. He leaned against his desk, and you shifted your feet where you stood, eyes on the floor, on the art on the walls, on anything other than him.

“You were upset today.” He started.

You swallowed.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” you kept your voice steady. He paused.

“If that was my fault, I apologise. If I took it too far, if I upset you-”

You weren’t sure which part he was talking about, but you finally looked at him in a sort of distant defiance.

“Do you even care if I’m upset?”

“Of course I do. Especially when it’s something that affects you… publicly.”

You huffed, forcing yourself to stare him down.

“Because that’s all that matters, right? What the public sees?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it is. It’s okay, Snow. I’m a big girl. And I can take a hint, too. So don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine. Business as usual, right?”

He just stared, puzzled. You took a breath.

“Look, it’s been a long day. Can I go, or are you going to keep me here all night?”

The silence was like smoke, clouding between you. His brow furrowed, calculating. Then he sighed, long and heavy, and you tried not to let it phase you.

“Fine. Go.”

You nodded.

“Goodnight.”

You’d never been more relieved to get away from him. Your broken walls were starting to build back up. You wouldn’t let him break you, you couldn’t. You were stronger than this.

That night, for the first time, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly what you wanted.

“Darling, you look ravishing.” Lilian drawled. “It’s a pity Snow is so far across the room, and can’t appreciate you. If I dressed half as nicely as you did, perhaps my dear husband wouldn’t be screwing the maid.”

A scandalised chorus of giggles erupted from the group. It was a pretty dress, one of your best. Long and smooth black fabric, ruched at the waist, with a deep cut up the leg that was just acceptable for an evening gala. You stood tall, champagne glass in hand, gossiping with your friends.

Well.

Friends was being generous. You kept few true friends, and they would hardly be gossiping in a circle like this.

Acquaintances was a better fit. Pawns if you were being brutally honest. Politicians’ wives, senators’ mistresses, a chancellor’s daughter or two. Pieces of chess, really, in this bigger game. Anyone who could help you climb higher, whisper carefully spun words into open ears at your whim.

“I just know George would rip that dress off me the moment I got home. He might not even be able to wait, and just pull me into a closet here instead.”

Another eruption of giggles.

“Well, I’m flattered, my darlings.” You smiled. “This is one of my favorites. Coriolanus treats me well.”

“I’m sure he does,” a suggestive glance from Lilian, “in all the ways one would expect, I assume?”

You gasped in mock modesty.

“Lilian,” you drawled, “I certainly hope you’re not suggesting I disclose our-”

“Oh, just tell us dear, please. We’re all dying to know. You’re always so coy about it. What’s he like?”

You pulled your lips into a knowing smile, your perfectly painted face helping you slide into this facade. You scanned your eyes across the ballroom, across to Snow. He stood talking to a group of men, colleagues of his. You recognised their faces.

It had been four days since the luncheon. Four days since your outburst. Four days of hiding away. You’d been dreading tonight’s gala, but it gave you an excuse to dress nicely, and as soon as you’d arrived, you and Coriolanus has gone your separate ways.

“Well,” you hummed, masking your uncertainty as anticipation, “he can be a slight tease.”

A few dramatic gasps sounded through the group, and you turned back to face them, their eyes wide and expectant.

“Salacious. Do tell.” Another voice piped up with a giggle.

“He can be fun to toy with. I do enjoy pushing back, but sometimes he takes it… a little far.” You said carefully.

“My, who would have known? But you get what you want, my dear, surely.” Lilian asked.

You smiled, glancing back at him, suit pristine with a white rose in his breast pocket. You hated how good he looked. He was smiling politely at the group of men around him, but you could tell from the tick in his jaw that something was bothering him.

“Sometimes, I do. Others, I wait for my chance to push his buttons right back.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I don’t suppose,” she pressed, “that you’re in one of those… entanglements at the moment?”

“Lilian, darling, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Another giggle sounded from the group.

“Oh, my.” Lilian repeated, glancing between the two of you. “I do hope you’ve been making him suffer.”

“Well, I’m playing a longer game this time, so I’m afraid there hasn’t been as much fun lately.”

Lilian sucked in a breath, like the perfect idea had just dawned on her.

“Well, I see no moment like the present. You’re here, you’re dressed marvellously, I propose you walk right over there and show him just what he’s missing.”

A chorus of yes and do it and we’ll cheer you ons rang out. Loosened by the champagne, you looked across the room at him again. You could do it. He wouldn’t be able to react, it would be the most perfect torture. You suddenly decided that you were done making small moves, done playing it safe like this was some schoolgirl crush. It was time to step up to the mark again. Take your power back.

Your group could sense the newfound determination in you. You smiled, slow and cunning.

Show him what he’s missing.

Simple. It’s what you did best.

“Watch and learn, ladies.”

A hush fell over the group as they watched you run a hand through your hair, handed your glass to one of them, and pressed your lips together. Before you’d left the house you’d added a swipe of red lipstick, dark red, almost bloodlike. It always made you feel more confident and tonight, you needed the pick me up.

The middle of the ballroom was practically empty; the dancing was over, and everyone had long since gathered in groups to the sides. So you turned heads when you stepped out, the only one on the floor, black satin hugging your frame like a second skin. You didn’t look at them, you made a steady beeline to Snow. You felt more and more eyes on you as you crossed the room, heels clicking on the floor. They all watched, waiting for… something. Coriolanus didn’t look up until you were a mere few steps away, now deep in some conversation he was going to forget very shortly.

Blue eyes flashed to yours with a confused apprehension, but you didn’t give yourself time to think about the twitch of his brow, or the looks on the faces of his colleagues. You didn’t think about the way he opened his mouth as if to say something, only for it to be swallowed away.

You didn’t think about any of that.

Because your lips were on his.

Hot and hungry, teeth clashing, your hand grabbing the back of his neck as he leaned in, surprised at first, then warm, wanting. Lips tugging at yours like he was starving.

It was sinful.

You’d never been kissed like this before. Your fuzzy brain wondered how you’d gone through life not knowing what this felt like, the press of his lips devouring yours, heated and messy.

He kissed you like breathing, like you were his oxygen supply. His hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, and you heard the echoes of chuckling coming from around you, morphing into a few light claps.

Then, just as you felt him fully melt into you, your hand slipped higher to the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of perfect platinum curls, and tugged.

It was nothing but an affectionate display to the people surrounding you, but a brazen reminder between the two of you. It was your way of showing you hadn’t forgotten, that you wouldn’t be made to feel ashamed, to cower in a corner while he got the better of you.

Not in this lifetime.

The second it happened, his breath hitched, and his hand tensed on your waist. You were the only one who caught it, getting high off the satisfaction, finally pulling away.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a prettier sight; his blown-out eyes, his face stained with scarlet.

How’s that for tasting your own medicine.

Watching him attempt to collect himself was sweeter still. Watching him reset his face into one of distant amusement. He let out a small laugh, glanced at the rest of the party.

“Everything alright, doll? Had a little much champagne, perhaps?”

His colleagues chuckled, but you didn’t look their way. You stood your ground. Offered a sweet smile, but he could see your slyness.

“Oh, I’m swell. And I think I’ve had just enough, actually. I’m gonna go freshen up.”

You turned on your heel and made your way through winding halls to the bathroom, riding an adrenaline high. You picked up a glass from a server’s tray along the way – the champagne had dried out, all they were serving now was posca, which while disgusting, worked a treat to take the edge off. It wasn’t long before the door swung open and you saw Coriolanus appear behind you in the mirror.

“This is the ladies’ room, handsome.” You looked away, continuing to reapply your lipstick.

He stepped closer.

“What was that kiss about, sweetheart?” Straight to the point.

“Nothing.” You shrugged.

“Didn’t feel like nothing.”

“That’s called acting, Snow.” You rolled your eyes, vaguely aware that your words sounded a little jumbled. You put the tube of lipstick away. “We had an audience. A rather expectant one at that.”

He folded his arms.

“I don’t like it when you catch me off guard like that. Not with people around.”

“Seemed to like it plenty to me.” You mumbled.

He didn’t answer, pacing past you to the other sink, grabbing a towel and wiping it against his face, where the red had stained his skin. It only served to spread it around further, and if you weren’t already smugly entertained by the marks you’d left on him, now it was just plain funny.

He glared at you when you laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. Here,” you offered, stepping across to him, taking the towel and wetting it, “let me.”

You wiped at a patch, but he snatched the towel back and took over.

“No, you’re rubbing it too hard. It’s-” he glowered at you – “fine. Do it your way.”

You went back to lean against your sink and took another sip of posca, admiring the ornate decorations in the room. A little excessive, a little new money for your tastes.

There was a rap on the door.

“President Snow?”

“Just a minute.” He said coolly.

“You’re in a mood tonight.” You remarked, and he huffed.

“Running a country can get exhausting. Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Right.” You said flatly. “Because I’m just a brainless pawn like everybody else.”

He looked over at you, at the drink in your hand.

“How many of those have you had?”

You shrugged again, and he tossed the towel into the sink, walking over to you.

“Answer me.” His voice was stern, and for a second, you soaked it in, drenched in the danger as he approached, closing in. Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips, and your eyes followed his as he moved to stand in front of you.

“Shame you don’t have someone to let all that frustration out on, isn’t it? Sounds like that could be helpful.”

His eyes pierced yours.

“Doll-”

“I’m just saying, it’s a pity you don’t.” You moved to bring the glass to your lips, anticipating the burn in your throat, but he gently stopped your hand.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“Posca? It’s my first glass.” You smiled, eyes batting.

“You know what I mean. I think you should stop.”

You looked at the glass, then back at him, and pried your hand away, slowly and pointedly taking another sip.

“Sweetheart.” He warned.

“What, are you punish me? Gonna make me beg for you then kick me out again? Already did that once.”

He gave an incredulous half-laugh.

“That’s what this is about? You’re not really going to be mad about that forever, are you?”

“That depends. How long is forever?”

The door knocked again, and he worked the glass out of your hand.

“Drink some water. Sober up. We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

You sighed, heading for the door, but glanced back at him, his face still a stained mess. You brushed a finger against your own cheek to mirror his.

“You missed a spot.”

You sat in silence in his office, feeling a little like a schoolchild caught misbehaving. His typing was the only sound in the room. The seat was low; almost as if it was there to point out his authority over anyone who sat in it. Knowing him, it probably was.

He’d managed to clean off the rest of your lipstick, but his face looked rubbed raw, uncomfortable. A tall glass of water sat on the desk in front of you.

“Thought you said we’d talk.”

“Not until you finish that glass. I’m not talking to you inebriated.”

“Seriously?”

He shot you a look from behind his typewriter.

“Fine. Whatever.” You reached for it and took a few sips. He looked back down again. A few folders cluttered the desk, and in your boredom, your eyes scanned them. They looked complicated; legal.

“What are you writing there anyway? Or am I too dumb to understand?”

He offered another unimpressed glance.

“It’s a new bill I’m trying to pass. Except apparently, I’m the only one around here with their head screwed on enough to work on it.”

You waited as Snow pushed the typewriter’s lever, carriage sliding the page as he began writing the next line. You sipped your water.

He sighed. “One day I won’t have to mingle with these idiots anymore. They’ll just listen to me, and obey.”

You took that in.

“Do you feel that way about me?”

He studied you for a second, and stopped typing.

“No. Not really.”

“But you wish I’d be more… compliant.” You stared at the floor.

“Not necessarily.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it the other night.”

His eyes narrowed. Knowing this conversation was a game of chess like any other. But lately the stakes were higher than ever.

“Never said I didn’t like it. Just that you were out of line.”

“And where is that fucking line?” You snapped. “I’m serious, Snow, because we’ve never talked about it.”

“You want to talk, all of a sudden? Okay, sweetheart. Fire away.”

You put the glass down on the table, heavier than intended.

“I just don’t understand you, Coriolanus. I mean, first you don’t want me, then you do want me, then you don’t again. And now what? I don’t know what I’m supposed to think when you don’t give me anything to go off.”

He watched you carefully, and you wanted to shake him, to scream, anything that would give you answers. You stood, unable to sit still, and started pacing.

“You know what’s worse? I don’t even know if you want me here anymore. I don’t know how to act around you because I never know what you’re thinking. At first I thought all this, the whole push and pull, was just some control thing. But-” you laughed, airy and insane, “you know what I realised? You’ve had me fooled, Snow. All this time I thought we were equals, but now I think I finally realise.”

He frowned, waiting for you to continue.

“You pay for my company, if you think about it. We trade services, don’t we? You get something from me, I get something back. I live in your house, eat your food, wear nice clothes. At the end of the day, that’s just it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

You shrugged, tears filling your eyes as bitterness took over, so strong you could almost taste it.

“I’m no better than a whore myself.”

You’d never heard a louder silence. If that hadn’t just taken everything out of you, you’d have begged him to say something. Instead, you just stared, eyes blurry with tears, as he seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and you gave up trying to read his mind, because his expression was indecipherable.

After what felt like hours, he took a long breath.

“Sit down.”

You glanced at the floor, then took a step towards your chair. He stopped you.

“Not there. Here.” He nodded at the desk in front of him, and you swallowed thickly, stepping around the desk, getting awfully close to him, and pulling yourself onto the desk, legs pressed together. He stood, looking down at you.

“That’s really what you think of yourself?” He asked, voice steady and controlled.

You kept your eyes averted.

“Am I wrong?”

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips against your jaw, tipping your head up to look at him. And when you looked at his eyes, you knew exactly what he was feeling. He wasn’t hurt, or upset.

He was mad.

“Tell me something. What do you think I’d do if I heard someone talking about you that way?

“I don’t-”

“I’d have them executed. And you expect me to stand by and let you talk about yourself like that?”

You felt a tear spill down your cheek.

“I don’t know, Coriolanus, you tell me. Am I disposable to you?”

“Of course not."

“But you’d replace me if I left.”

“What makes you think I’d let you leave in the first place?”

A chill caressed your spine.

“That’s right. I’m keeping you here, doll. If I made you doubt that, I apologise. But you’re no whore. Though sometimes, I…” He trailed off.

“What?”

His eyes were on your lips again, hungry. You wondered how someone could switch from distant to depraved and wanting this quickly.

“Sometimes I wish you were. Because it’d make it a lot easier for me to take what I want. If you were, then I’d have no hesitation in ripping your clothes off right here. Fucking you on my desk, or up against the wall, not caring if you cum. Not caring if you enjoy it. If you were a whore, I’d have fucked you in every room in this house, twice over. I wouldn’t let you sleep.”

His hand was on your thigh, the now-creased fabric of your dress crumpling as it slid up. You weren’t sure when your eyes had fallen shut, your hot breath mixing with his as his thumb rubbed against your skin.

Your voice was pathetically quiet.

“Then why don’t you?”

He sighed, tone shifting into something tense, something you could cut through with a knife.

“Because you’re fucking impossible, you know that? I can barely think when you’re around. I don’t know where the games begin or end. I don’t… I don’t understand this power you have over me. I thought you knew, you must know that you’re under my skin. I don’t know if you’ll ever stop playing with me. It drives me fucking insane.”

You opened your eyes, hand gripping his wrist and pulling it from your thigh. You slid off the desk and took a step away from him.

“You think I’m playing with you? The only time you pay an ounce of attention to me is when you’re trying to fuck with my head, Snow. I said my piece, you heard me and you still didn’t care. So please, for both our sakes, stop torturing me. Just… come find me when you decide you want me again, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

You made for the door, which you slammed with such an impressive force that it even took you aback.

You replayed his words in your head that night until you fell into a deep sleep, and when you woke, you felt like your dreams made more sense than he did.

“Tigris!” you exclaimed, catapulting into the blonde’s arms. The people who stood scattered around you in the manor’s large ballroom spun their heads around at your display. A few even dodged to the side as the momentum that you’d built running down the stairs nearly knocked her over.

A few days of silent glances and fewer exchanged words had passed. And now, you were just happy to be hosting in the comfort of your own home, and to finally see Tigris again. You wondered if she noticed how you hugged her, if she wondered - like you did - if you’d ever let go.

“I’m so happy you’re here. How’s your Grandma’am?”

“She’s quite well, she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. You look beautiful as ever. It’s been too long!”

“I know! I don’t think I’ve seen you since your birthday, which makes me the worst friend ever.” You groaned, scrunching up your face in shame.

“It’s okay! I know busy Coriolanus keeps you with all these functions. You must be going out of your mind by now. How are you holding up?”

The two of you walked to the edge of the room, where prying eyes had settled down after your greeting.

You looked at Snow, stood across the ballroom, dressed in a pristine suit with a champagne glass in hand, talking to yet another group of men who worked for him – ministers and such, a little higher ranking than the group from the other night – and spared you the occasional glance. As if he was keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t long before Tigris caught on and politely inquired.

“I don’t understand him, Tigris. I think he hates me.” You sighed.

“What? No, he could never. He has a soft spot for you, really, and I have it on good authority.”

“I’m not so sure anymore. I think I’ve pushed it a little far this time. I think… maybe we both did. I’m in uncharted waters, here.”

“Look, I know I don’t know all the ins and outs of how this thing between you works, but I don’t think he could ever hate you for doing anything. Coryo – I mean, Coriolanus, he does care, contrary to popular belief. It’s just that his way of showing it can get a little…”

“Fucked?” You offered, and she laughed.

“Yes, exactly. Now, I’m not going to lie to you and say that he’s an angel on earth, he’s had to do things to get to where he is now. Things that even I don’t know the extent of, and they’ve… changed him.”

You rarely got the chance to speak with Tigris alone these days, with Snow usually playing chaperone, or keeping one or the both of you busy, but it had always been easy to slide right back into conversation with her like you’d never been apart.

You’d first met Tigris at a Plinth gala years ago, on the same day you’d met Snow. The two of you had talked and laughed and she had an easiness around her, she wasn’t shallow and judgemental like a lot of the girls you’d grown up with, though you never knew why until many months later. Snow had placed a large wall between his life before the Plinth endorsement, and after. Few people knew the conditions he’d grown up in, but after countless hours with Tigris, you’d begun to assemble small pieces. Despite your closeness with her, you knew from her warnings that Snow had a sort of temper when it came to this topic, so you approached it with caution.

“Changed him how?” You inquired, finally.

“Well… It wasn’t always fancy balls and lunches with him. It never was, with any of us, as you know, but especially for him. He’s… had a different experience. Grandma’am and I, we’ve known hard times, but we haven’t seen what he’s seen. Not even close.”

“What kind of things?”

She glanced over her shoulder, making sure nobody was hovering.

“He’d kill me for telling you.”

“You know I won’t say a word. But you don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much to ask.”

She took in a breath, and sipped her drink, voice dropping to a whisper.

“This stays between us, okay? Coriolanus has… been out there. In the districts, I mean. Before all this. And I can’t go into detail, he’d have my head if I…”

You swallowed.

“The districts? But… why? I don’t-”

“Tigris, lovely to see you, it’s been so long.” A male voice interrupted, and you quickly excused yourself, slipping away to let the two of them talk.

After mulling it over in your head and making small talk with a few more guests, you snuck out of a side door and into the hallways, winding upstairs until you were finally met with Snow’s bedroom door. The sound of voices and music a mere echo below you, you pushed tentatively, and stepped inside. It was strange, being in there alone, for the first time since he’d turned you away. But you paced the floor, looking for something, anything, that would answer the questions you had. Why the districts? Why couldn’t Tigris tell you what had happened there?

Glancing back at the door, you began thumbing through his closet, peeking inside drawers. You’d already given his room a once over, but you worked more meticulously this time, every corner you unsuccessfully turned over only fuelling your curiosity. You walked around the room again, getting frustrated.

You headed back to the door, scanning the place, and retraced your steps a third time. Knocking a little on cupboards and anything that appeared the slightest bit odd or out of place. It was a perpetually tidy room, neat as ever, save for the desk which contained folders you were sure weren’t for your eyes, but that didn’t stop you. You kept on, trying your best not to leave any stone unturned, and most importantly, trying not to move anything out of place.

Eventually, you moved to the smaller desk drawers again, rifling through them haphazardly, annoyed by the lack of evidence you were finding. One of the two drawers had very little inside it, just a pencil and a pocket dictionary, and as you pushed your hand further inside to feel for anything else, you noticed it felt smaller than the first. Shallower. When you knocked, it was hollow.

It had a false bottom.

Your father used to keep his cigars beneath one of these when you were growing up, so you knew what to look for. You felt around the edge until you touched a small, metal handle, then emptied the drawer, hooked your fingers into the handle and pulled. You frowned at first, there was less in the hidden compartment than there was above it. But you peered inside, and there lay two items: an old photograph, and a silver dog tag.

Suddenly, it all made sense. His efficiency, his drive, his orderliness.

Military. The districts. The dog tag.

You unfolded the photograph, caked in a layer of dust, and it hit you like a ton of rocks.

Coriolanus was a peacekeeper.

But why? When? And why keep it a secret?

In the photograph, his hair was buzzed, and he was in a uniform you recognised immediately; if only because of the annual reaping ceremony shown in every building in the Capitol. He was standing next to a boy with dark hair, also buzzed. You recognised him as Sejanus Plinth, you’d never met the kid but you’d been to his funeral with your family, and had seen enough pictures to know.

You knew that the Plinth family had backed Coriolanus’ education, that he became their new heir, a protégé of sorts, but not that he’d been friends with their son. Not that they’d been this close, at least. They weren’t smiling in the photo, stood pin straight and alert in what looked like barracks.

You folded the photograph and placed it back where you found it. Your hands lingered on the dog tag, though, despite the logical side of your brain screaming at you to put it back, leave the room and pretend you didn’t see this. But the louder part egged you on as you pulled it out of the drawer, examining the engraved words, running your hands over the name SNOW and, further down, DISTRICT 12.

You’d heard bedtime stories from your mother while growing up, about the war, the Hunger Games and why they existed, and why it was never safe to set foot in the districts, not even the richer ones.

They’re beneath us, she’d said. They’re dangerous. Barbaric. And 12 was notoriously the poorest, most dangerous of them all.

Coriolanus had now become more of an enigma to you than ever before, and a thousand new questions flooded your head.

You closed the drawer halfway, holding the chain, pulling out a chair in front of the mirror to sit down. You turned the tag over in your hands, as if it would start giving you the answers, if only you looked hard enough.

Why was he sent to 12? Why couldn’t he talk about it?

Despite the conditions Snow grew up in, there was respect behind his family name. It didn’t make sense why someone of his social standing and education would leave to be a peacekeeper, of all things, and in 12, of all places. A strange sort of pity filled you, wondering what he could’ve seen out there. What he could’ve done. It all drew you in as you got lost in a world of what ifs.

Despite yourself, you pushed your hair from your neck, and as if in a trance, wrapped the chain around it. It fell heavy and cold against your skin, sending a chill through your bones. You were so busy staring down at it, so lost in thought that you barely noticed the sound of the door pushing open. Or the floorboards lightly creaking. Or his reflection in the mirror. You didn’t notice any of that, until the door swung shut with a bang.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Coriolanus had had a long day, most of which he’d spent simmering over work and you. He’d kept his eye on you that evening; on the way you’d thrown yourself into Tigris’ arms, and talked, transfixed, and he hated not knowing what was being said. A strange feeling set in as he saw the two of you get deeper into conversation from the other side of the large room, a deep-seated uneasiness stirring him up as he drowned out the tales of his associates’ incompetence. It felt like a breath of relief when he sent someone your way to interrupt whatever talk you were having, pretending that Tigris had been looking for him earlier. He focused on your brief tour of the room when the distraction worked, eyes flitting around like you were preoccupied.

When he saw you dart away from the ballroom and up one of the stairwells, he followed you as soon as he got the chance.

He’d wondered if you might act up today, but this wasn’t what he was expecting. When he saw you, the all too familiar glint of silver around your pretty neck, something shifted in him. Something he’d done a very, very good job of keeping at bay during his first few years of presidency.

Rage.

Your eyes met his in the mirror.

“Coriolanus, I-”

His hands were on you before you could finish your sentence, hauling you out of the chair, fingers wrapped in a death grip around your arms, squeezing as he pushed you to the wall with a satisfying thud.

“What, you can explain? I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” You gasped as he squeezed tighter, gripping your wrists.

“Do you even know what this means?” He seethed, dog tag pressed between his fingers, chain pulling at your neck.

The forest. The birds. The gunshots that deafened him for weeks.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry. I never knew you were a peacekeeper, Coryo, I-” He flinched, saw the way you winced the second it passed your lips.

Snow may have been cold, but his eyes were fire. And you were only stoking it.

“So I’m Coryo now? Who the fuck told you call me that? Was it Tigris? I saw you talking to her, don’t lie to me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “She didn’t tell me anything, I promise. Please. It was just me.”

He moved in closer, eclipsing you altogether, grip on the chain so tight he was certain you’d be able to feel it pinching the back of your neck, digging a mark into your flesh. He let the sadistic part of his brain take delight in it, in the way your eyes widened, face pleading.

Whatever this game was between you, you’d gone too far this time.

“How did you find this?” He snapped.

You were crowded against the wall, unable to move. Tears started to brim, and you didn’t answer, he wasn’t sure you could. You just shook your head over and over, repeating I’m sorry like a broken record.

“Take this off. Now. Take it off.” He ordered, dropping it back to your chest, stepping away a little so you could lift your shaking arms over your head, removing the chain. He snatched it from you, gripping it in his palm, looking down at it, and you breathed out in relief.

“I didn’t mean to… I was just looking. I had so many questions. I didn’t know what I’d find.”

“And? Are you fucking satisfied now?” His voice chilled you to the bone as he looked up at you again.

You shook your head. Apologised again. Wished you could apologise in any way that would matter, but it was too late. You’d never been more afraid in your life, anticipating what might happen, remembering echoes of rumors you’d heard, of Snow poisoning his enemies, of sending them to hang. Some you knew to be true, but others you boiled down to rebel gossip.

Now, you weren’t so sure. These were the eyes of a man who’d dropped his mask, and it was like staring into a dark void. You could get lost in it, and never find your way back.

“Please. Don’t… I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You can trust me.”

He scoffed.

Stupid girl. Hadn’t you learned by now, that trust meant nothing?

“Like I trusted you in here? I don’t think so. Can’t believe you had me feeling sorry for you. Probably just made it up so you could lower my guard then turn around and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t, Coriolanus, I swear.” You pleaded. You were crying, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’ve been very patient with you, little girl. But this is where I draw the line. You have no idea how far you’ve pushed me. And you don’t even realise it, you’re so caught up in your little crush. Do you know how easy I’ve been going on you? The things I’ve let you get away with… I’ve killed people for much less.”

“You’ve…” You trailed off, barely hearing your own words, barely processing a thing. He laughed, low and dark.

“Does that scare you, sweetheart? Does it make you afraid?”

Eyes frozen open, you just stared. You felt your jaw go slack.

“Good.”

Coriolanus toed an invisible line, one that had never been crossed before. You wanted him to show you he wanted you? Fine.

He looked down at the chain wrapped around his fist, but he didn’t pocket it, or place it to the side. He unwound it, and slowly pulled it over his own neck.

Your eyes dropped to where it sat in stark contrast, heavy and shining, garish against his fancy dress shirt. You felt your blood run cold.

“Get on your knees.” You heard him say. Your eyes darted back up.

“What?”

When he spoke, it sounded like someone else was talking. Someone you didn’t know at all.

“You heard me. Get on your fucking knees. Right now.”

What could you do? This was what you’d wanted. Just… not like this. Not when your hands were shaking in fear, and you had no idea what this Coriolanus was capable of.

Your head said yes; your heart wept. But you were far past listening to your sorry heart.

So, you obeyed. Legs all but giving in as you lowered yourself to the ground, knees meeting cold hardwood as the chill cut through your dress.

His fingers slipped under one of the straps.

“Take this off, baby.” He murmured, distant, like he wasn’t all there. Your head hung in shame, eyes on his feet as you pushed the straps from your shoulder, top half of the dress falling down. You heard his zipper slide down, and you shivered. No longer sure if it was in fear or anticipation.

“Head up. Look at me. Good,” he said, when you obliged, “now let’s see what this pretty mouth’s really good for, shall we?”

More tears welled up as his hand brushed your jaw, hooking a thumb to your bottom lip, pushing your mouth open. You couldn’t help the way your tongue grazed over it, tasting salt, whining when you realised it was the taste of your own tears. When your eyes fell open again, you finally caught a look at him, hard and tip weeping, and your brain filled with nothing but want, eclipsing your fear for a mere second, enough to bring Coriolanus to the ground again. He may have done terrible, unspeakable things, but he was still a man. A man who wanted you.

And why did that make your heart beat out of your chest? It thrummed like a hummingbird as you took in the sight of him, unbuttoning his shirt as he waited for you to move.

You’d seen how big he was from a distance. You’d felt him between layers of fabric, and you’d imagined this a million times over. But now, as he stood waiting in front of you, you hesitated, because it all finally felt real. Your mouth watered despite yourself, seeing the mess he’d already made, any more and he’d start dripping -

“Go on, sweetheart. It’s not gonna suck itself.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let him past your lips. The heady taste of precum filled your mouth as you ran your tongue along the shaft slowly, trying to start steady. He wasn’t having it. His hand twisted through your hair, pulling you in closer, making you gag a little. You instinctively lifted a hand up to his thigh to brace yourself, and he laughed.

“Giving up so soon? Thought you’d try harder than that.”

He pushed further, and the indignant sound you made as you adjusted only served to spur him on.

You tried to focus on breathing through it, but he slipped in and out your mouth unevenly, and faster than you could think, catching you off guard. He looked down at the way your mouth struggled to take his length as if you were a piece of art, like he was mesmerised by it, and that feeling was encouragement was enough to keep you going. His hand twisted harder in your hair, making a fist, and he swore when you hummed in discomfort.

“Look at you.” He said, strung-out and shaky. “You strut right in here from your silver spoon life, and think you can call the shots? You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea what the world is really like. What people are like. What they have to do to survive.”

He moved faster, and you let your jaw go slack. You were barely moving now, he was starting to fuck your throat like he owned it. You’d started to cry again, and when you looked up at him, it was a blur. The furthest you could see was his chest, shirt unbuttoned and falling to the sides, and the dog tag, silver catching in the low light, swinging against his chest as he moved. You closed your eyes again, trying to go somewhere else in your head. Trying to breathe through your nose, to focus on being used, on how good you were making him feel, on finally being his. It was all you had left to hold on to.

But he was unwinding you with his words, knowing just where to press to make it sting, to make the tears fall harder.

“You don’t have any fucking shame about it either. Touching yourself on my bed and wearing my clothes, like you’re – fuck, that’s it - like we’re married or something. Like you’re worth more than everyone else. But look at you. Maybe you were right after all. Maybe you are my whore.” he gritted out.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried desperately to catch your breath between sobs.

“I mean, you sure look like it now, on your knees for me, making a mess of your pretty face. So fucking good. You’re sucking me off better than she did, and you’re barely even trying.”

You hated it. Hated the way his thumb brushed painfully gently against your cheek, dusting away a tear as his cock bruised the back of your throat and you tried not to gag around him. Hated the way his words twisted around in your head, and how fucked up it was that your broken brain took it as praise instead of punishment.

Most of all, you hated the throb between your shaking legs, panties soaked through and probably ruined. Humiliation seeped through you as you imagined it dripping down your legs and onto the floor. Your salty tears spilled down your face, mixing with your spit and his precum. Hating every second, until your head went blank, and you didn’t feel much of anything anymore.

You weren’t sure exactly how it happened.

One second, he was pulling your hair, twitching in your mouth and spilling down your throat, and the next, in what felt like a flash, you were on the floor, loud, wrecked sobs spilling out of you as you held your knees to your chest, face hidden. He was on the floor too - when did he get down? - and his voice was soft, oh so soft and gentle, saying something you couldn’t quite make out, dull and repetitive past your ringing ears.

“- so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I know I - I didn’t… I took it too far. Can you hear me, sweetheart? Look at me. Please, look at me. I’m right here.”

You pulled your head from your hands, and through blurred eyes, you looked at him.

This wasn’t a face you’d seen on him before. His brows knitted, lips apart as he stared at you, like you were some wounded animal he wanted to save.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.”

“I can’t…” You trailed off.

“You can tell me.”

Another wave of choked back sobs took over you. He held your jaw up like you were something breakable. Like maybe you’d broken already, and he was holding you together.

“I can’t do this.” You whispered. “Not like-”

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Okay. It’s okay, baby. Tell me what I can do for you. Just say the word.”

You caught your breath, and he flinched a little as you collapsed into his arms. The cool metal of the dog tag pressed into your cheek.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You cried.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t realise how far I’d pushed you until… I know I can’t make it up to you, but I’ll try. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. If you want to leave, I understand. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“What? No, that’s not…”

He cut you off, looking into your eyes.

“Decide tomorrow, okay doll? You don’t have to think about that now.”

“I didn’t know about… about the districts.” You hiccupped. “About you. You didn’t want me to know. I ruined everything, I-”

“Listen to me. It doesn’t matter anymore, I promise you. It’s okay, baby.”

You nodded into his chest.

“Here.” He leaned away from you, and you looked up in a question. He took the chain from his neck and placed it in your palm.

“You can have it. So long as nobody sees. You can throw it away, wear it around the house, whatever you want. It’s yours.”

You pressed it between your fingers. It cooled your hot skin like a salve.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Your head sank back onto his chest, and when you spoke again, it was barely audible.

“Coryo?”

He tensed for a second, but relaxed again just as quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

His hand brushed gently against your hair, and you relaxed into it.

“Of course you can.”

a/n: baby's first dubcon scene!! (screams cries and throws up bc navigating that was scary as fuck) p.s one more chapter left!! do we think they'll get their shit together?? who knows!! (i know)

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii @tqmqkii @not-avery @natsgf @sleepysongbirdsings @hopebaker @darknight3904 @pemberlystateofmind @bxtchopolis @real-lana-del-rey @24kmar @louweasleymalfoy @m1ndbrand @coconut-dreamz @cosmicgyral @urfavevirgoo @mk15x @theamuz @ashy-kit @violante777 @snowlandstop @badbleep88

(more tags in the reblogs/comments)

if you’d like to be tagged, pls comment on the series masterlist (helps me keep track of everyone!!) 💌

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #snow x reader #snow x you #attention #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #the hunger games #x reader #x you smut

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bdsmrist · 10 months

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gonna get a bit personal here, but as an actor it hurts me to see how ppl misinterpret a character as layered and nuanced as kim

now u might be wondering: girl wtf does being an actor have to do w lieutenant kitsuragi. well, i believe it to be the case that actors are storytellers. its our job to write in our characters studies what isnt in the script, to fill in the gaps, and portray that to the best of our abilities.

while in school, my professor’s always emphasized that as an actor, 100% of the time its more interesting when your characters motivations are rooted in love, rather than resentment. and i feel like too often i see ppl understand kim’s motivations be fueled by a desire to reject, protect himself, and detach himself from a world he resents.

now; thats not to say that isn’t entirely true. after all it is what the canon tells us explicitly: that he gave up on moralism, religion, etc, because he again and again was disappointed by the reality of elysium. therefore, that must mean that from there on out kim was a lost soul, that when coming to contact with harry’s spark, it lit his ambitions once more

and yes, to an extent, thats true, but its not the whole truth. to imply otherwise is very derivative. one of the things that makes kim such a compelling character is how he never stopped loving the world around him, *before* meeting harry. and even tho he limits how much he allows himself to indulge in it, it still bleeds through the cracks. hence, when he meets harry, he pours his devotion into the case, and in turn, into harry, without even knowing the guy

would a detached character have the patience and compassion he has for harry on day one? absolutely not. the man is borderline coddling to harry despite it all. and you can hear it in the performance!

jullian champenois’ voice is characterized by its mellow, soothing quality. hes gentle about it! and the actor made that choice for a reason! kim is a gentle person! he stands his ground, he sets boundaries, keeps u in course, and is nothing of a pushover. but regardless, his temperament is calm and reassuring. thats his function as a literary device! to contrast harry’s self-hatred and self-loathing with compassion and understanding!

think about it: would a character thats insistent on being a cold wall, sit on the swing-sets with harry for the pure purpose of just being there so harry doesnt have to confront that alone? if kim only wanted to keep people at an arms length, would he insist you two to be the ones to break the news to working class woman about her husband when ur at her doorstep? he said it himself; the precinct couldve handled it fine.

if kims actions were rooted in resentment towards an unfair world, would he be an instrument of justice for the rcm in the first place? kim, who verbatim despises the cops who become cops so they can use policing as an ego outlet?

kim kitsuragi cares. he cares very deeply, and i believe that the walls around him are a result of kim attempting to keep himself *in*, rather than keep others *out*. kim keeps HIMSELF on a short leash, because he knows that otherwise he’d go all in, just like harry.

harry and kim are at the opposite ends of the same spectrum of people that are too passionate for a world that does not reward such earnestness. therefore, harry copes with addiction, and kim copes with restrictions. regardless. its all comes back to love.

#y he dicho CASO CERRADO #pls stop implying harry taught kim to care oh so help me #kim kitsuragi #disco elysium #harry du bois #harrykim #kimharry #hdb

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tsukii0002 · 1 month

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A young adult Yuu II

Yuu is isekaied into twisted wonnderlar, but they are a "independent" adult in their 20's, college ended and who is fighting for finding a job and survive.

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Having the vision about the queen of hearts

Yuu: *waking up all of a sudden* I think I should put down that herbal tea…..

Ace: *after almost knocking the door down* I need you to let me stay here.

Yuu: *with squinted eyes* If you wake me up again at this hour you'll stay out, I'm in an age and if I don't sleep I don't yield.

Ace: Ah! whatever, from today on I'm part of this dorm!

Yuu: I don't feel ready and I'm not old enough to have a teenager in my charge. ….

Ace: *wearing Riddle's collar*

Yuu: What weird discipline methods are used in the magical world.

Ace: This was done to me by my housewarden!!!!

Yuu: …

Yuu: What weird bullying methods you guys use in the magic world.

Ace: NO IT IS NOT!!!

Deuce and Ace discussing about Riddle

Yuu: *to Grim* I think this Riddle guy is going to be a problem child.

Grim: Technically he's our superior.

Yuu: ...

Yuu: There goes what little authority I had left….

Entering Heartslabyul dorm.

Grim: This place is incredible!

Ace: *smiling* This is much better than that dump you call a dorm.

Deuce: What do you think Yuu?

Yuu: My gosh to clean all this… so much ornamentation, what a lot of dust that has to accumulate…

Ace and Deuce: …

Yuu: And so many rosebushes, damn, how much water has to be spent on watering.

Deuce: Looks like we're all going to the same class.

Grim: I'm going to outdo all of you.

Yuu: I'm practically your legal guardian already, no one can convince me otherwise at this point.

Crewel: …

Yuu: …

Crewel: You-

Yuu: Don't say another word, I've got enough on my plate.

Crewel: Let's get together once in a while after class, it'll be good for you.

Yuu: Thank you, I could really use someone who isn't a mess of hormones.

Crewel: *putting a hand on their shoulder* My condolences.

In the cafeteria.

Yuu: The food is good!

Ace: Of course this a prestigious school!

Yuu: And it's free!

Deuce: A-are you ok?

Yuu: *almost crying* I won't have to break my head thinking about what to eat every day.

Yuu: So the students are separated into dorms according to their abilities?

Cater: That is.

Yuu: My 10 year old self is shaking.

Cater: ?

Yuu: I'm in a magical school separated by houses, suck on that reality!!!

Riddle: Rules must always be obeyed!

Yuu: *sarcastic* Yes, of course, because people in positions of power always follow the rules.

Riddle: The world works because of the rules!

Yuu: Oh my boy, what a beating you're going to get when you leave school *sighing*

In the botanical garden

Grim: Are you the gardener?

Yuu: Grim!! this kind of work is very hard, *to Leona* you must be very tired, I apologize.

Leona: Tsk, I'm a student.

Yuu: *confused* And shouldn't you be in class?

Leona: And shouldn't you be out of school and working?

Yuu: Ouch.

Trey: You're pretty good at cooking.

Yuu: Ha, ha, ha, I've been living on my own for a long time, although this sweets thing is new.

Trey: Why?

Yuu: I didn't have the time or money for that many ingredients.

Deuce: *believing that chicks can born from any egg*

Yuu: My maternal instinct is getting triggered again?

Yuu: *seeing Cater's ability* I could really use that ability, fuck magic with fire and lights, I want to do several things at the same time.

Riddle rejecting the cake

Ace: All our work!

Yuu: Ha ha, how nostalgic…. this reminds me of my first job, the exploitation….

Deuce: What ??

Yuu: *with an empty stare* Yeah, you know, all your hard work and dedication thrown away, like this cake.

Ace: *to Deuce* Are we going to become like this when we grow up ???

Deuce: React yuu!!!

Yuu: *come to their senses* How can you throw food away? I can tell you've never been hungry!

Ace: Aaaand back to "responsible" adult mode.

Trey after explaining Riddle's past

Yuu: So mommy issues? Ha, ha, welcome to the club.

Yuu: Do you think it's okay to have students fighting with magic in this way?

Crowley: It's a healthy duel.

Yuu: How can you still be the director of a place full of minors?

Yuu: Today's teenagers are scary!

Crowlwy: Not all our students are like that!!!

Yuu: Are you implying that you're scared of Riddle too?

Crowley: ...

Crowley: Today's teenagers are scary.

Yuu: Please, somebody stop him, the kid is going to get a stroke, he won't make it to 20 if he keeps going like this.

Deuce: Do something Yuu!!!

Yuu: And what do you want me to do? I haven't inherited my mother's chancla ability yet.

Riddle overblot

Yuu: This change can only mean one thing… I don't know if I'm ready for this... but as an adult I have to take care of it…

Grim: ??

Yuu: * to Riddle* I know you're going through a difficult time, it's normal, but it's also natural. We all go through these changes in our body

Ace and Deuce: That's not !!!!

Yuu: Isn't that puberty in the magical world?!?!!!!

Trey and Cater: NOOO!!!!

Yuu: *after seeing Riddle's flashback* Someone please bring the little boy a strawberry cake.

Riddle: *apologizing and saying everything he wanted to do*

Yuu: That's it, get me on that mother, let's have an adult to adult talk.

Crowley: Yuu no.

Yuu: I'll show her what respectful parenting is NOT.

Riddle: I want to apologize for what happened.

Yuu: Oh, don't worry, it's okay, although I still don't get that magic thing.

Riddle: It was childish behavior.

Yuu: …

Riddle: I wish I could be as mature as you.

Yuu: Hey, don't be in a hurry to grow up. That adulthood thing is a scam, you never feel mature enough.

Riddle: But-

Yuu: What matters is not to be more grown up in certain situations, it's to learn from them and take a note for the next one. And even if I seem more mature as you say, I'm just as lost as you are in some things, don't let anyone fool you, adults don't have everything under control.

Riddle: Thank you…

Yuu: And let me give you some advice, the family tree can also be pruned.

150 notes · View notes

stxrvel · 10 months

Text

closer

summary: reader has had many losses in her life, and when she meets Bucky she thinks she's found the one, until life proves otherwise.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!f!reader

words: 4k

warnings: some bad words and angst? also some miscommunication, past trauma, reader letting her past dominate her out of fear, a somewhat slow and indecisive Bucky, no happy ending.

note: i was in front of the computer all day thinking about what i could write, looking for information from everywhere, and this is what finally came out. it's almost three o'clock in the morning. i think i definitely write after midnight. let me know what you think of this piece, i'm not quite sure how it came out. i'll be happy to read your comments tomorrow, feedback is always appreciated! for now, i'm going to rest! love you all and thank you for reading!! <3

there's no part two

You were being indifferent. You were trying to be indifferent. Bucky would talk to you only to talk about the missions, about the objectives and about trivial things like the weather, and you were trying to be indifferent. You'd been on that mission for a week, and you were failing terribly. Sometimes you were so dry when you responded to him that he just frowned at you with a confused look on his face. It was awful. You had never been through so much grief than when he asked you if you were okay, in front of the rest of the group.

Maybe you should put that act aside and start dealing with what was really important.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

And well, that should be normal. Innocent. Warm. But the truth was, you were afraid to acknowledge those feelings. You wanted to forget them, reject them and never have them around again. Or maybe you could let them out. Let the receiver of the message know what was going on and maybe with the rejection you could move on. But no, you were too afraid. You had clung too tightly to people throughout your life and that had never ended well. And yet, despite all the sadness and disappointments, you were still walking through life with your heart in your hand.

Not learning from the mistakes of your past had led you to where you were. You always thought you were making the best decisions, you were guided by that feeling, but those decisions had led you down a lousy path.

Bucky was talking. His lips were moving and from his throat came the words you weren't hearing. It had become a habit to get so lost in your thoughts that you lost yourself entirely from reality. It had cost you a couple of wake-up calls before, and now, seeing Bucky's expression, it looked like you were going to get another one.

Many of those days, you wished you could go back to the way everything was in the beginning, before your heart and your loneliness intruded on the equation. When you shared pleasant chats with Bucky, when you were a perfect duo on missions, when you ate in silence in the big kitchen of the Complex, when he accompanied you in the evenings to watch movies.

Everything was so much easier when you stayed away from people sentimentally, when you didn't want to see them more often, when you didn't want to tell them every single thing that happened in your day, when your heart didn't race just because your looks collided, when you didn't openly want to have someone's company in the solitude of the nights. Your life was so much easier when you didn't compromise with your feelings, and life had shown you that. You had been living well for months, alone, even when you came to the team and a couple of months later everything was fine. You didn't really know at what point things started to deteriorate.

“That's it,” the man in front of the table dismissed the rest of the team and kept his gaze on yours, as if that way he could keep you sitting quietly. And it was working. You hated that it did.

When the last person left the room and it was just you and Bucky inside the room, it seemed like the walls got a lot smaller around you.

“Are you okay?” he was the first to speak.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“It's seemed to me that you've been a little distracted these days.”

“No, no, not at all, I'm fine.”

“If you need to talk to someone…” Bucky paused, his gaze flitting across the place, and your heart leaping wildly in your chest, “…I think Sam's making small talk.”

Ah.

“Ah, I see,” you mused, trying to keep your tone normal, “Thank you.”

“Let me know when you do, and you'll be back in the field.”

“What?”

Bucky stopped at your exclamation, pausing halfway to the door. His brow was furrowed and you were sure his confused look matched yours.

“Didn't you hear everything I said earlier?”

You avoided his gaze. You had told him not long ago that you weren't being distracted and of course that lie was going to come back to you soon.

Bucky sighed, his shoulders languid at his sides. His medium-length hair fell over his eyes as he ducked his head, and with his right hand he rubbed his eyes. You missed when you allowed yourself to share smiles with him, which now seemed like distant memories from other lives.

Only when he looked at you again did you realize the weariness that dominated his face.

“You're not going on missions for a while,” he finally said, and you were about to protest when he added, “Direct order from Fury.”

“Bucky-”

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but I can't risk your safety or the safety of the team or the mission because you're not well now.”

“I'm fine. I swear!”

“You're not.”

You snort. “You only see a quarter of what I do on a daily basis.”

“And that's enough to know that Fury made the right decision.”

“What the hell do you people know about right decisions?” you muttered angrily to yourself, turning your head away.

“What did you just say?” Bucky turned back entirely, his face much more disgruntled than before.

Fuck. You'd forgotten he had good hearing.

“Just… Just leave it at that. It's okay. I'll let you know when I talk to Sam.”

You took a deep breath before standing up and matching the path of the man in front of you. His frown was still furrowed, his tense posture a clear indication that he wasn't exactly pleased with what you had said. You were close enough to catch the scent of his shampoo, but not too close to be able to decipher what was going through his head. You were never too close.

“Anything else to say?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, you couldn't decide if because of your closeness or because of how coarse your words came out, as they always did for the last couple of days.

“No.”

And without further ado, he left the room.

---

As much as you wanted to get back in the field, get back to having missions and serving for something on the team, you couldn't find the strength within yourself to talk to Sam. Maybe because he was an acquaintance and it would be weird to tell him everything you were carrying and then pretend nothing had happened. You were too self-aware to be able to do that. It also came into play that it had been almost years since you last came clean with someone, and that didn't really go well. Talking to Sam, at that time, for you, was not the solution.

Maybe the only solution was to sort out your feelings for Bucky. That was what kept you on edge. That was what made you question the life you had formed over the past few years. In any other situation or time in your life, surely a man would not move you so much; however, you knew you were facing a situation you could not repeat. That you did not want to repeat.

The stark reality of the feelings you had for him was like a dagger to the heart, because you felt you had finally found a place where you belonged, where you could be; you felt you had found a home. But it was hard to live in a place like that without making a sentimental commitment to the people around you, and you knew it. You'd only fallen easily for Bucky because…. fuck, he was so caring, so thoughtful, so kind. On the outside he looked like he wanted everyone around him to disappear, but it only took you a couple of chats to understand that he really did have a big, welcoming heart.

The reality of your feelings was the end of you, because it was something you couldn't afford. You couldn't go on living there if you didn't fix that soon. You couldn't risk it again.

“Hey.”

Speaking of…

“Hi.”

Your stoic reply made him turn his head.

You were in the kitchen, sunk deep in thought in a strange calm, when Bucky showed up after three days without seeing him. You knew they had been on a mission, Natasha had told you some things. Internally, you were glad to see that they had arrived without any complications. You were glad to see that Bucky was okay.

“How are you?”

“All good.”

“You sure?”

“Why do you ask?”

You turned your gaze from your now cold coffee to the clear eyes of the man who had pulled a bottle of water from the cooler.

“Just curious.”

Hold on. Don't see beyond what he shows you.

You sighed before replying, “If what you really want to know is if I've talked to Sam, the answer is no.”

“Why?”

You picked up the white cup in front of you and absentmindedly began stirring the liquid inside it.

“I don't think I'd feel comfortable talking to him.”

You felt Bucky move around the kitchen, until he came to the island where you were sitting and sat down across from you with his bottle. You looked up to meet his blue eyes focused directly into yours. He had such a deep gaze that, for a moment, you almost allowed yourself to think beyond what he was giving you. For a second, you felt like you were in a space that was too intimate.

“And who would you feel comfortable talking to?”

You.

You hated that you didn't even need less than a second to think about it. You had the answer so clear it hurt…..

“What?”

You looked at his eyes and raised eyebrows. Fuck.

“Did I say it out loud?”

“Yeah...”

You growled in frustration. You ran your hands through your hair as Bucky spoke again, “I didn't think you held me in such high regard.”

“Really?”

“You barely even look at me lately.”

That was true. But it was for your sake. It was all for your sake. Or at least that's what you wanted to convince yourself of. You'd rather think that than the fact that your limbs ached just from wanting to get closer to him in the middle of his everyday, when he came back injured from missions and you wanted to help him heal his wounds because you knew enough to be a nurse, or help him release tension when he got too stressed out because something went wrong on a mission or they lost track of someone. You just wanted to be a person who could be present in his life. Who could be close. Closer.

“It's because I'm going through something right now.”

“And that something is my fault?”

You pursed your lips. Maybe.

“No.”

Bucky let out a short laugh.

“Those eyes say otherwise.”

“Is there something pointed you want to know, Bucky?”

“Argh,” the man twisted his expression, as if in weariness, and turned his head away. “There's that coldness again.”

You hardened your gaze as much as you could, even though all you wanted to do was let go of the string of thoughts eating away at your head; even though you just wanted to use those arms as a sheet at night so you could sleep in a safe place.

“Okay. I'm sorry,” Bucky held up his hands, retracting under your gaze. “I'd like to know, if like you said you'd rather talk to me than Sam, what's been keeping you beside yourself the last few days?”

Mmm, tough question. You took a deep breath trying to think of a quick answer, but it was difficult having his watchful eye on every millimeter of your face. Would it be too bad to tell the truth? Your past experiences said yes, but… what if it was different with him? It had been too long, he could not be the same as the others…

You shouldn't, the rational part of your brain repeated alarmingly, but he seemed so willing to truly listen to you that you couldn't pass up the opportunity. You didn't want to.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the end of your cycle of bad luck and bad death that had haunted and burdened you for as long as you could remember. Maybe Bucky was the start of something new.

At least you hoped so. You were trying to convince yourself.

“I do what I do because I've lost too many people to give up now. Fury found me in a pot, a city where there was nothing but chaos and hopelessness. I was trying to make things different, I wanted my hope to be enough to be able to remove the evil from the hearts of the people who hurt. But no, it was not enough. And I began to work alone because all the people who got too close to me died or decided to leave on their own, they abandoned me. I was too much to bear. The life I was leading was too much.

My mother died in a raid on my house. She was the first victim of my enemies' revenge. I thought that was enough pain a person could go through in a lifetime, but the deaths didn't stop. And sometimes I didn't know if it was worse that someone died because of me, or that my last memory of them was a look of contempt and their hateful words towards me like I was in some shit they didn't have to put up with or that I was draining their vitality, among many other things.

And the truth is, that has happened so many times that I don't even try to maintain relationships with people anymore. Any kind of relationship. And every time I feel like that's going to happen, I have to leave, because I can't stand the pain of a death or a disappointment anymore. When a person leaves, willingly or unwillingly, it's not something you get used to as time goes by. Loneliness is good, but too much of anything is bad. And even though after a while you long for the company, you know you can't risk it once again because everything is at stake. Those are already things that are way beyond me, that I wish I could control, but I can't.”

You loved and hated the way those words had rolled out of your mouth like butter. It had been a while since you had been that honest with someone, because that last person had walked out on you. After listening to you, after telling you that you could lean on their shoulder when you needed it, that person left as if they weren't breaking a promise; as if they hadn't taken a big chunk of your hope with them; as if they hadn't ripped out a little bit of that hope you still held in your heart.

And you hoped that with Bucky it would be different, because you believed that the two of you were meeting at a common ground through the darkness of your minds. From the beginning, Bucky had proven to be different. Even from before you suspected that he already knew what you had been through, because he often tiptoed around you. Bucky was not a distracted person, he was someone extremely intelligent and definitely someone who knew which people he could and could not relate to. He couldn't be the same as everyone else, because you knew he could understand you.

Or so you wanted to believe.

Bucky's eyes moved over the marble of the island, his lips half-opened and his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. You had been so sure about talking about it with him that you hadn't even given it a second thought, but if he went a few more seconds without responding, you would begin to regret it and devise an escape plan.

You wished you were a little closer to him so you could dare to ask what was going on in his head.

“Wow, that was…”

“Too much?”

“Deep, rather.”

You forced your lips into a smile, avoiding his clear eyes now that he had lifted his head and seemed to have organized his thoughts.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”

“No. No, it's okay. You needed to get that out. Mmm, how do you feel now?”

You hated the way he seemed to be testing the waters when it came to addressing you after everything you just said. Before he was always sure of what he was saying. What could have changed so quickly? Could it be that you were really wrong? No, that couldn't be.

“Pretty much the same.”

“Oh, I see. But do you think you can improve from now on?”

“Well, it's a problem of years. I doubt I can solve much with a little talk.”

“Ah, yes, of course, you're right.”

Bucky folded his hands together on the countertop, his gaze now avoiding yours and entering a tense silence.

“So…” Bucky spoke a couple of seconds later, “…at this point you feel like that? Like you developed one of those relationships with someone and now you want to run away?”

“Yes,” you answered almost instantly, because there was no reason really to hide it. You had already been crudely honest, so what was the point in continuing to lie?

“With whom?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe we could find a solution.”

“I doubt it.”

You narrowed your eyes as Bucky pursed his lips. You'd been through too much throughout your life, and one thing you'd definitely learned was how to read people. With so many disappointments and betrayals, you had to learn to identify a person's true intentions, and nothing else screamed intentions more than body language. You could identify when someone was comfortable with you, when they trusted you, and also when they were uncomfortable with your presence.

“And I think you doubt it too,” you added, after a couple of seconds watching him.

“Why do you say that?”

“You don't need me to tell you who I was referring to. I think you already know.”

“What?”

“You can do with that information what you want. Time will give me the answer.”

“Y/N…”

You stood up and walked out of the kitchen as if you hadn't just opened your heart to that man, your brow raised and your breathing deep. It seemed that in the end you weren't close enough to know the truth, and you couldn't be close enough in the future either.

---

A week went by and time kept proving you right. Bucky took a mission the day after your talk and still hadn't returned. You had begun to worry, but you didn't dare ask anyone on the team. You couldn't afford to be so obvious at such critical times.

However, asking could give you the last piece of information you needed to make a decision.

Because you still had a little bit of hope. You still hoped that Bucky would appear through one of the doors of the Complex to tell you that he understood, that he appreciated your honesty, and that he could walk that long road with you. You still hoped you were wrong, because you couldn't have made such a big mistake again. You couldn't have opened the doors of your mind to someone who was going to leave you because it was too much.

But as the hours passed you only confirmed that you weren't good enough for someone to stay by your side. You just weren't enough, you weren't worth the effort. Not even for someone like Bucky, who was one of the kindest and most condescending person you had ever met.

So you'd read it all wrong, and even though you were honest, you couldn't even come up with an answer.

But you preferred to get the doubt out of your mind at once, even if it threw you overboard.

Wanda Maximoff was in the control room when you arrived. No one else was there.

“Hey.”

She flipped over the chair and returned your greeting with a small smile.

“What brings you here?”

“Do you know how Bucky's mission is going?”

“Bucky's?”

Wanda frowned and promptly moved across the room to one of the computers where she typed rapidly. You shifted your legs in anticipation, shifting your weight trying to cope with your nerves.

“Bucky is… on an indefinite.”

“Indefinite?”

“Yes, it says so plainly. It was with Sam and Natasha. We don't have a date yet.”

Wanda watched you over her shoulder, and your expression had to have told her something because she quickly got up from her chair with a frown.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you replied automatically, regaining power over your emotions. You sent her a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Wanda.”

You barely and paced for a few seconds with bated breath when you heard her call out to you.

When your eyes met hers, you didn't like what you saw at all.

“You're leaving?”

“Stay out of my head.”

You turned around and ran to your room.

Of course you did. Of course you were going to leave. What the fuck did you expect from the talk with Bucky? That you could suddenly have a happy ending with a person who seemed to care about you? You should never have taken that job in the first place. You always knew it was a big risk, but Fury assured you that you could continue working on your own without getting too involved with others. The problem was when you thought you were past the feelings stage, that you could surround yourself with people without getting involved.

How fucking wrong you were.

You didn't take long to pack a suitcase. You didn't bother to write a letter of resignation either. Before you took the job, you told the Director that you were likely to one day just leave. That you would disappear. And he agreed to that. So you weren't going to bother with goodbyes, with absolutely nothing. You were going to carry that suitcase to a cab and leave without looking back. Because that was what you always did, for your sake, because it was the right thing to do, because you couldn't afford to take risks after so much suffering.

At that moment, as you packed the few things you had, you felt every memory of every abandonment and death come back to your head, filling you with fear and insecurity. Of sadness and anger. You didn't know how you had allowed yourself to go so far when you knew you shouldn't have, that this life was not for you, that these feelings were not meant for you to experience, that you didn't deserve to have a life like this. You allowed yourself to dream, but at the end of the day it was just that, a dream.

When you left the Complex, you took a cab directly to the airport. On the way, you were tempted too many times to ask the driver to turn back, thinking that maybe it was a hasty decision, that maybe you should wait for him to come back. But an indefinite mission could last weeks, even months, and you couldn't be on tenterhooks for so long only to get the same old answer at the end. You didn't want to risk it. The cost was too high.

It was better to root out those feelings while they were still fresh, and never allow them to grow again.

---

Bucky returned from his mission two weeks later and the first thing he did was run around looking for you in every corner of the Complex until he decided to go to your room. Seeing the empty closets made his heart sink.

“She's gone,” a female voice spoke behind him.

Wanda was leaning against the door frame.

“She thought you weren't coming back and left.”

“No…”

“I know it was wrong for me to snoop around in her head, but I had a feeling that would happen. I thought I could avoid it. But her thoughts were too ingrained. She was fighting uncontainable fear. Nothing I would have said would have convinced her to stay.”

Bucky turned to look at the empty closets, not a hint that you had ever been there. If it weren't for Wanda, the man would already be thinking you were just a figment of his imagination.

“Sorry, Bucky.”

“Fuck. Damn it!”

Sitting on what had been your bed, Bucky kept thinking that the worst thing he could have done was to take that mission in Steve's stead, thinking he'd get there soon, thinking that way he could get his head together before talking to you again. But things got complicated and what was a two-day mission turned into a three-week mission.

Maybe he should have sought you out before he left instead of letting his thoughts eat away at him. Maybe he should have insisted a little more, should have come a little closer...

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #avengers #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction

373 notes · View notes

luimagines · 1 year

Note

How do you think the chain would react to finding out the reader is very touch starved and they refuse to initiate any kind of contact unless necessary?

Masterlist

Sure can do! It'll be in headcanon form. I hope you don't mind.

Content under the cut!

Warrior

Warrior is going to probably be the one to mention to the others that they need to ask and respect it if they get rejected

Warrior is also tempted to put hand son shoulders and ruffle hair but he’s a lot better at repressing it than some of the other boys

It’s not something he’s going to question if he learns it

Reader just gets treated like a soldier from then on

Sure Warrior will still be calm and collected and not at all use his commander voice

But he’s going to keep his hands to himself

Perfectly cordial as he smothers down any brotherly instincts

Again- he’s not cold even if it’s easy to get that impression with how much he’s been keeping his distance

But he’s still 100% willing to throw hands with anyone who makes them upset

Or throw hands with anyone who tries to get into their personal space without their permission

Is he projecting his personal guard training?

Maybe?

Warrior is always going to ask first when he needs to touch them

Or maybe just tell them where he’s noticed something so they can handle it on their own

In reality he doesn’t know what to do r how to handle the situation but he’s going to try his best

Twilight

I think Twilight would be very torn about it

He’s not as big on touch as some of the other guys but he’s first instinct when he’s comforting a person it to touch them

It’s instinctual to him so he’s not always aware of it

At the same time he wants to have them feel comfortable around them

He’s not fully aware of what being touched starved is

As a concept he can understand it, but he’s grown up in a very warm and loving place where hugs and hand holding were common place

Even if it was just a pat on the back of a hand on the shoulder

So naturally Twilight copies that in his day to day interactions with the people he cares about

He may need to be reminded on more than one occasion if Reader wants him to back off

He’ll do his best to not take it to heart

But it’ll hurt him on the inside to think that anyone would not be deprived of it for so long but then also deny it until circumstances say otherwise

It’s not something he can fully comprehend

But he’s willing to work with Reader in that case

He’s aware that it’s not something someone would just talk about and everyone has different paths that they’ve taken in life

He’d struggle in the beginning and slowly work his way toward a middle ground for the two of them

But it’s going to make some work on Reader’s part as well

Legend

Legend is probably going to be the last person learns this

He’s also touch starved but he’s not going to go out of his way to touch people

He probably doesn’t realize it until it was one of those ride or die moments

That being said, I think he would notice that they would shy away from touch no matter who it came from

Which is no biggie

It doesn’t faze him- just “alright, cool, no touchy, got it”

And then he just never asks questions

So he doesn’t know why for a really long time

Legend isn’t going to judge or bat an eye about it and even then when he learns about it eventually he’ll shrug it off

“Alright dude, good to know, let me know if I cross any lines”

End of discussion

He will, however, also be their greatest defender

Somebody standing too close? He pushes them away

Somebody reaches out? He blocks them

If anyone so much as looks like they’re going to try something Legend is going to put himself in the middle of it

I can guarantee it

Time

Another one in the don’t touch me club

Don’t get me wrong he’s still ok with physical touch

But he’s very selective in who gets to touch him and who he can touch on a casual basis

Family is typical- and he’s adopted all the boys so that’s fine

Strangers? Nope

Friends? Hard maybe. It would depend on the situation

Granted, he’s doesn’t really let people know that he doesn’t want to be touched

He’s so done with everything and anything life can throw at him that he’s going to take it in stride and ignore it the best that he can

When he notices Reader is in a similar boat to him he’s going to single them out when they’re alone

It’s nothing bad, don’t worry

But he’s going to ask what’s up just so he has a better idea of what’s going on

No one likes to hear from someone who’s got the wrong idea

He’ll be tactful with it and try to gauge information without going into anything too personal

Then he’ll gives tips and some pointer to let others know to keep their distance without making a scene or hurting their feelings

Basically it’s a “Welcome to the club. Here’s your badge and here’s how to let people know you have with without showing it to them.”

That kind of fatherly pep talk moment

Effectiveness depends on Reader on at point

Wild

The worst of them hands down

His hands are on every one so much and he doesn’t even know it

He is the dude to koala people in his sleep

Wild is very clingy by nature and there’s very little that can stop him once the ball is rolling

That being said- he will stop cold turkey once mentioned

But he’s going to be curious

Did he do something wrong?

Was it something he said?

Was he in trouble?

Oh, it’s nothing personal? Then rock on my guy. That’s fair. My bad.

Hands to himself now

Mostly

He’s trying really hard to be cool with it and not make Reader uncomfortable

But I’m going to lie and say that he’s on top of it 100% of the time and that he nails every interaction

As much as he would like that to be the case- it isn’t

Please be patient with him. He wants to learn to be better

Four

Alright. Cool with him

Won’t engage in contact

Will keep a wide berth to pop the personal space bubble

Does not question it

He’d probably think about it though- even if he smothers those thought down

It’s none of his business anyway

Besides he’s not shy of cutting people off from getting into stuff they don’t need to know- how can he just assume it doesn’t apply to him?

New flash- it does and he lives by it

A huge advocate of taking accountability for your own actions

So if he sees someone not being called out for bad behavior or unwanted advances, then he’ll gladly do it instead

Some boys are quiet protectors and will watch from behind Reader to see how they handle the situation

Four is not

It’s admittedly his greatest strength and his biggest weakness

He’s quick to jump to conclusions unfortunately so Reader might (read: will) talk to him about it

He means well on all sides

But it’s not something he’s accustomed to handle on his own

It either goes well or badly- there is no in between

Hyrule

HO BOY DOES HE STRUGGLE

One of his main love languages is physical touch and it doesn’t take long for anyone to figure that out

His hands are on someone almost at all times and is going to extend to Reader more often than not

He’s not the worst of the group but he’s right on his heels

Because it’s so natural to him he might not notice a flinch or pulling away

It honestly depends non what has his attention and how violent it might have been

That being said- he seems the kind of guy to ask to work with it

Work towards desensitizing so that there won’t be a problem in the future

Because he would like to hug them or just have a hand on Reader’s shoulder without being rejected time and time again

At this point it’s going to be up to Reader to decide where they go with it

They can meet Hyrule halfway and so on and so forth

Or they can keep refusing him in the end (But this option is the Break Hyrule’s Heart Option- so do with that what you will)

If Reader is adamant to keep Hyrule at an arm’s length then he’ll have to accept it but he might also pull away emotionally as well

It’s harder to connect to a person you’re forcing yourself to stay away from

If Reader agrees with slowly being ok with touch, Hyrule is going to have to work on dialing it way back

He’s willing to do that, but that’s still a decent amount of work on his part

Sky

Another guy who’s very casual with touching so he may need to be reminded more than once

However he’s very perceptive in this regard

One flinch or a subtle pull away and he pulls back like nothing ever happened

It’ll so natural no one would think that he saw anything

He won’t ask questions, he won’t pry, he won’t even think too much about it

He just takes a mental note of it and moves on with his day

He’ll find other way to show that he cares about Reader that doesn’t include touching

If there’s a moment where he’s going to touch Reader, he’d want to announce it to them first and give them ample tie to react the way they want to

Instead of letting initial reactions put anyone off

It’s in the air if Reader notices that Sky has put two and two together

A lot of people think that Sky is a bit oblivious that’s not true and it couldn’t be farther from the truth

His mind can be like a steel trap if he focuses and considers it serious enough

His personality throws people off sometimes because of it

Sky is going to watch how Reader interacts with the other guys and with people outside of their group

He puts together that it’s nothing personal very quickly because of this

That being said, he’s may not be as forward in blocking unwanted attention like some of the other boys, but he’s on the look out regardless

Wind

Has no idea what that means

Will ask all sorts of questions

Handles it very maturely

Better than half the group if I have to be honest

It’s almost like actually talking to someone and having decent communication can lead to better results in the long run

Always asking if something is ok to do

Will ask if Reader is ok with being around a lot of people and will warn them if need be

You know, like going into cramped market places and such- where bumping shoulders is almost unavoidable

He offers to act as a buffer if Reader would want him to be or to even stay behind if Reader would rather avoid it entirely

It doesn’t always work out that way but Wind knows lots of ways to distract people from the worst of it

If anything he’s great at being live bait- even if it’s for the things unseen

Has the tendency to be a bit too excited though- he can’t help it being a 13-year- old boy

So if he grabs Reader without warning or taps them without thinking about it, Reader might have to reel him back again

He’ll apologize but he’s definitely better than a few boys in the group

Won’t bother is looking out Reader otherwise though

Jury’s out if it’s just because he thinks that Reader can handle themself or if it’s because it’s just on entirely on his radar yet

But both is a probability as well

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #did i understand the assignment?#maybe?#admittedly I don't much #and I didn't ask #so my apologies if this is entirely the *wrong* way to go about it #but frankly- I don't want to post these guys being 100% all the time

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conanssummerchild · 6 months

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stranger things characters as taylor swift albums

i saw someone make a post abt this and i decided to make my own lol. ngl it was really hard to decide and im not even sure i agree with myself, if u think smth else feel free to tell me!

Dustin Henderson as Debut

To me Debut is about youth and first loves and messing up and the lessons you learn, its about feeling like an outsider but also about being with the people you love, those who you dont feel whole without. I think that that matches well with Dustin's character, he's energetic and excited to learn and experience things, he cares for his friends deeply but can feel left out sometimes.

El Hopper as Fearless

I think Fearless is about new beginnings and second chances, about being young and in love, wishing for your fairytale ending and being dissapointed when real life isn't like a movie. It's about highschool and being brave, it's about family, found and otherwise. It's about being fifteen. El is such a pure character, she's brave and willing to stand up when she has to, but wanting to be more than that, trying to be a teenager, making the best of something bad.

Will Byers as Speak Now

Speak Now is an album about growing up but never wanting to, it's about trying to hold onto your childhood, about whimsical fantasies, about foolishness and the broken hearts that come with it, about loving and fighting and making up and hoping those special moments in your life are long lived. Speak Now is about innocence and the loss of it. Will isn't ready to move on and grow up the way his friends seem to be, he wishes that things could be how they used to because it was so much better back then, he loves bravely and says what's on his mind, but keeps some things quietly locked away, afraid.

Robin Buckley as Red

Red is kind of a lonely album, that of a people person who never has her own people in the end. It's a coming of age album about the realities of growing up and being forgotten, it's full of heartbreak and fear of rejection, it's a catchy melody with sad lyrics, but it is filled to the brim with burning red love and passion too. From the moment Robin was introduced she was clever and snarky, passionate and confident and lovable. Behind that she was a deep character, a brave one, she is undeniably, iconically her.

I KNOW this song isnt originally from red but i like it :(

Steve Harrington as 1989

If you asked me I'd say that 1989 is about partying and being young and having fun and being in love. It's about petty grudges and and love that feels all-encompassing, but is really just suffocating, it's about what people say about you and who you really are. It's about moving on and being clean and starting anew despite the strangers talking about what's not theirs to talk about. Steve is a character that has constantly bettered himself, constantly having to prove that he isn't the same person he was. He's fallen in love and had to fall out of it time and time again.

Nancy Wheeler as reputation

reputation is about revenge and also karma, it's about killing the old you but not forgetting her, it's about new loves and not letting yourself get pushed around, it's about how delicate life and love can be. It pushes the boundries of cold and seeming like you dont care. But you do. Nancy is an interesting character to say the least, she's brave and strong and she struggles with showing her emotions and care, sometimes hurting people because of it, but she tries.

Lucas Sinclair as Lover

Lover is warm and comforting like the sun coming out after a dark day. It's about doing your best to overcome hardships, it's about who you are because of them, not despite them. It's about letting go, letting yourself forget instead of holding on tight to the hurt, turning a fresh page instead of trying to change an already used up one. It's about love. Lucas is so kind and caring, he wants the best for everyone he loves and he loves so purely, he's a character who has been hurt repeatedly but has stayed strong. He's a lover, both romantically and platonically.

Mike Wheeler as folklore

folklore is a cold winter that seems to go on forever with no relief. It's sitting in a vast field of snow without a jacket by your own choice, it's about constantly trying and failing and everyone around you chastising you for not being better. It's about pulling up to the lookout and screaming into the emptiness to give you a reason for your pain. It's about failing in love and messing up with the one. Other people's pain seems to seep into you and you keep the burden of it. folklore is suffocating despair and the love you can only wish for but never have. Mike is the only one who I knew what album I was going to asign him from the start, he's a sad, lonely character who tries to help everyone but himself. His pain is invisible to those around him because he keeps it close and hidden, he lashes out and digs himself further into a hole he cannot get out of on his own.

Max Mayfield as evermore

evermore is the coldest autumn, the trees obscure your view but you've long since stopped trying to reach for the fading sun. The rain falls but you can only sometimes feel it, you try to pretend it's fine this way, yet you keep venturing deeper into the thick forest. The truth is you are stuck, and as much as you pretend you're not it won't stop the mud from sticking to your soles and trying to pull you in as you reject the branches reaching for you. evermore is what happens when love can't overcome all. Max is sarcastic and fun, but there's always that overlying fear and anger that she eventually falls into, she's hurt and she can't move on from the things that have happened to her.

Jonathan Byers as Midnights

Midnights is an album of staying awake at night, all alone in the haze you thought fit two. The things you've seen and done haunt you, they make you lose sleep, all you've lost and gained, all you never had to begin with and never will. It's simple really, you're on your own. Jonathan is a loner, he's lost so much and matured too much for his age. He never had relief from his responsibilities, always needing to be present. It's a tiring life to live.

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vampirepunks · 1 month

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Sam Porter Bridges' MBTI + Enneagram Typology (pt. 1)

MBTI: ISTP (Ti-Se-Ni-Fe)

Enneagram: 9w8

Instinctual Variant: sp/sx

Tritype: 963

(Higgs analysis)

MBTI Analysis

Like Higgs, Sam's MBTI is pretty easy to identify right off. Words I frequently hear to describe ISTPs: quiet, gruff, grumpy, grouchy, closed-off, etc. There are tons of these guys in fiction. Arthur Morgan, Daryl Dixon, Jim Hopper, John Wick, etc etc that should give you a sense of the archetype at hand. That good old, salt-of-the-earth, jack-of-all-trades, reliable tough guy who's a real softie deep down behind a facade of aloof moodiness and outward dissatisfaction.

ISTP describes Sam very well. He's resourceful, observant, direct, authentic, independent, steadfast, spontaneous, unapologetic, insensitive at times, private/reserved, and skeptical. For the most part, ISTPs are straightforward and easy to get a read on. True to type, Sam is usually grounded in his present reality, doesn't tend to leap to assumptions or go along with them when others do, relies on his own experience and resolve, and he approaches life with a level head. Behind that initial impression, ISTPs are one of the most difficult personalities to get to know deeply... or at all. They march to the beat of their own drum, keep their emotions locked down tight most of the time, and are very slow to trust. Prying and prodding doesn't work with these folks, unless you're looking to provoke an aggressive reaction, in which case you'll likely get it. Given his aphenphosmphobia, this goes triple for Sam for the broad majority of Death Stranding's runtime; we see a few examples of other characters pushing him to the point that he bites back, i.e. telling Deadman off when he brought up his wife and child.

Most of my character analysis leans on Sam's internal monologue from the Death Stranding novelization, as it's a very detailed peek inside his head, into his mind's inner workings and his overall emotional tendencies. Keep that in mind going forward.

ISTPs are one of the most introverted personality types, alongside INTJs, and are often social hermits, lone wolves with little regard for social norms and accepted rules. They're easily frustrated by a world built on social conventions that are based in emotional values, so they move through it at their own pace and keep their heads down. ISTPs are staunch pragmatists, quietly navigating life through material sensibilities and their own unique creativity; they're driven by instinct. Like ENTP (see: Higgs) they're attracted to novelty and freedom. And, believe it or not, ISTP is just as rebellious as ENTP, they're merely quieter about it, preferring to keep it to themselves unless pushed otherwise. The best concise example of this shared rejection of societal values that I can think of is Sam saying "covering the world in cable didn't bring an end to war and suffering, don't be surprised if it all comes apart when you try to do it again" vs. Ludens (essentially Higgs' perspective of the game in song form) saying, "a world covered in cables was never wired to last, so don't act so surprised when the program starts to crash." Looking closely, Sam and Higgs actually have strikingly similar worldviews, and Sam spends much of the novel wondering if Higgs has a good point beneath his madness, admitting only to himself that he understands the position Higgs is coming from. In spite of himself, a big part of Sam agrees with Higgs and empathizes with him. ISTPs are often dismissed as morally bankrupt, when in fact they always have their own moral code formed by their dominant logic and deeply-buried sensitivities. They're liable to snap if they're backed into a corner and have their personal liberty or privacy infringed upon. Autonomy is king to this type, so it's unsurprising that many ISTPs end up anarchists and libertarians.

Function Stack Breakdown

Ti (introverted thinking): Don't mind me, gonna copy a little bit of this from Higgs' post... shhhhh... Personalities ruled by Ti act based on logic over emotion, processing the world through what makes sense and where their curiosity takes them. They love puzzles, problems in need of solutions, and detail-oriented issues. However, in the ISTP, a major roadblock to the satisfaction of a good day's work is the involvement of other people. They prefer to work alone, or in small groups/with a close partner, as they're quickly exhausted by interpersonal politics. You point an ISTP to a practical job, they'll grumble about it and then gladly do it, by themselves, thank you. This is self-evident in Sam; as a solo porter, he's a rarity of self-reliance, which in the Death Stranding universe would be suicidal if he wasn't a repatriate, and it's still risky af. After all, the primary reason most porters have partners is to maintain their sanity, keep an eye out for chiral contamination and MULE syndrome, etc. It's stated multiple times that portering alone is ill-advised and only possible for those with a very strong force of will, which Sam of course has in spades. Sam's primary function of Ti manifests as independence of thought, as mentioned above. In describing Higgs as a truth-seeker, Sam acknowledged a value the two of them share, as Sam has a sharp eye for lies and a significant urge to uncover deeper truths about the world, other people, and himself. He's highly critical, filtering his observations through a cool and collected lens of rationality, not bending to the speculations and blind optimism shown by his colleagues, investigating matters on his own with careful footing, waiting for evidence before drawing conclusions. I.e., he thought it incredibly naive of Bridges to place such high hopes in the hematic weapons they created using his blood, based on the fact that they seemingly counted on them working as intended without testing them first. Unlike ENTP Higgs, Sam's Ti doesn't take second place to any idealism or restless imagination. Instead, his logic leads him, giving him the stick-to-itiveness to finish what he starts; he isn't intimidated by the minute details of a task, he just does what he has to do and gets the job done. Because Ti is constantly questioning everything at all times, genuine, earned trust is invaluable to ISTPs. Having a person they can be completely themselves with, entirely open with, someone who gets it, is a breath of fresh air to the ISTP, and is a precious rarity to them. Once you lose that trust, you'll likely never get it back. See: Sam and Bridget Strand.

Se (extroverted sensing): You can think of the latter three functions in a cognitive stack as "serving" the dominant function, which is especially true in the case of Ti-Se. Se's role as a function is observing and being present in one's external world, taking note of outward details and external sensory information, which is then fed through Ti to analyze and draw conclusions from. Secondary Se produces keen senses and a high degree of awareness. Thanks to the Se function, ISTPs remain in tune with their environments, notice details others might miss, and react quickly to threats and other stimulus. Unlike personalities that lead with intuition, ISTPs process the world in concrete terms, with few applied metaphors, projected meaning, or comforting illusions, taking the world as it is, not how it could or should be. This gets interesting when the tertiary function is properly developed.

Ni (introverted intuition): Ah, Ni, my oldest and closest friend, being an INTJ myself and thus Ni-dominant. I'm well-equipped to explain this one. Ni is more or less the opposite of Se (just as Ti and Fe are opposing forces in many ways), painting a layer of personal meaning and subjectivity over everything encountered in the world, highly concerned with personal insights and metaphorical/artistic value. Ni is extremely sentimental, clinging to the past with a fierce nostalgia, trusting one's own viewpoint and experience. Interestingly, even when it works unconsciously, Ni influences the ISTP personality further towards independent thought and the instills the innate desire to color outside the established lines in life. Ni seeks personal truth above all else. As mentioned in the Higgs post, the tertiary function is a point of conflict for all personality types, and it doesn't usually develop until middle age unless significant trauma work or self-awareness development occurs earlier in life. (Yeah, I copied that from the prev post, sorry not sorry). And... just like Higgs, Sam has both. Thus, his tertiary Ni is reasonably well-developed, though he does't share much of it with others... at all. He exhibits a well-tuned sense of what certain symbols and ideas mean to him, e.g. from novel: finding a worn-down bone on the Beach, getting incredibly sentimental about how nothing and no one gets the privilege of decaying anymore, feelings sad that life instead is erased from the world in such a brutal manner as necrosis/cremation/voidouts/etc. ("They weren’t returned to this world.") He gives into the urge to lick it on impulse (Sam do also be licking things!!), I presume in an effort to feel connected to the past, as well as curiosity. (Ugh, I love him.) Ne and Ni are extremely detached by nature, despite being defined by their creation of a desire to feel like part of the world, a craving for a sense of rightness and belonging. In the ISTP, Ni shapes the closely-guarded inner world. Hopes, dreams, self-esteem, the deepest of emotions: things ISTPs are extremely private about and protective of, only ever sharing with a select and trusted few, if at all. Ni operates in a going-between manner, using past experiences and insights to predict future outcomes and look forward with a sense of uniquely personal wisdom, which Sam employs quite often with his views on death, connection, humanity, so forth. There's a hushed sort of reverence and respect to his private inner world, buried beneath a layer of messianic guilt, shown in his attachment to history and relics of the pre-Stranding world. There's something so sadly ironic about a man who is the so-called "bridge to the future" holding deep sentiment for the past. Moving on... *sniff.* something in my eye... One more key function of Ni in the ISTP: deduction. Above all, Ni seeks patterns. It draws lines between things like facts, events, and symbols, interpreting their meaning. In a well-developed ISTP, the Ti-Ni axis works from a healthy basis of belief founded on logic, attaching significance to details to form a bigger picture. Example: Sam telling Bridges to study the blood on his broken boots, based on the fact that the BTs reacted to it "more than once." Ni plays a support character to a scientific approach here. Pattern -> deduction -> idea. The Se-Ni axis plays a similar role, as Ni contrasts established insights and sentiments with sensory information, connecting dots between things that might otherwise seem unrelated. Observe, then scrutinize; Ni helps Se to see the forest beyond the trees.

Fe (extroverted feeling): You can think of Fe in terms of group morality, the "us" contained in a person's principles. Because of Fe's role as a Ti-dom's inferior function, ISTPs can come across rather Fi-adjacent, being the rugged individualists they are. True, both IxTPs and personalities with strong Fi move against the grain in society and with their own principles, but in the ISTP, nitpicky, critical, skeptical, distrusting, reliable Ti dictates the approach. Thus, Fe is an awkward bedfellow, its nature highly empathetic, people-pleasing, and to an ISTP, inconveniently warm and fuzzy about things like community and partnership. As the inferior function, and therefore the point of insecurity, discomfort, and stress, ISTP's Fe makes them rather connection-averse; they're capable of great empathy, fellow feeling, and can get caught up in the idea of group harmony (more on that when discussing Sam being enneagram 9), but it's likely to leave said individual feeling drained and moody. Push an ISTP too far, too quickly in this area, and they're liable to leave and never come back... Oh look, that's exactly what Sam did the second time he left Bridges at the end of DS. Still, like any personality type, ISTPs grow and become happier people when they confront their inferior function and learn to occupy it in a healthy way, rather than solely relying on it as a rescue function in times of stress. Sam benefits from forming connections and nurturing this side of himself. Being the bridge, the rope, the strand. Doing so, and forming a strong connection with Lou, enables him to cope with his aphenphosmphobia again. (I say "cope," not "cure," it came back once, it can come back again, speaking as an agoraphobe whose issues come and go with variable severity. Lots of factors at play with phobias.) As an ISTP, Sam needs a balance between personal space/freedom and connection/community to be his best self. This is doubly true in light of him being enneagram 9.

Final thoughts before moving on

ISTP and ENTP share a lot of similarities in their emotional needs, as well as their general attitude about life, but they differ in taking a passive vs. active role in society, so it's no wonder Sam and Higgs have a natural sort of sun/moon dynamic... But let's focus on just Sam. Firstly, he's a classic example of the "grumpy but soft" trope, which is undeniably lovable. ISTPs don't form a large array of deep personal attachments, so the ones they do have are extremely valuable and lifelong if trust is maintained. This is a personality that would jump in front of a moving train without hesitation to protect a loved one. Lucky for Sam (and us), he'll survive! Heh. Seriously, though, ISTPs are loyal and devoted as fuck once they're committed. If you've played Red Dead Redemption 2, take a long look at Arthur Morgan (also enneagram 9!) and you'll see what I mean. While they aren't the best communicators, still waters run deep, and ISTPs are a wellspring of insights, an individualistic set of principles, and strong emotions with love and fierce passion to give. They’re unfortunately prone to getting bogged down in others’ expectations, doing what’s expected of them when they’re unhealthy enough to cave under pressure and slip into people-pleasing habits, doing as they’re told/asked, which fundamentally goes against their rebellious nature. Sam throwing himself headlong into the role Bridges expected of him (twice!) despite not believing in their ideals or methods is a key example. In such circumstances, ISTPs retreat into themselves and trudge along miserably, spite growing all the while. Hence Sam being crabby but subdued for most of the game, only to lash out fiercely at Higgs when provoked and then verbally unload all of his personal resentments—none of it having to do with Higgs!—while hitting him in the final fight.

ISTPs often have a thrill-seeking side (see: Sam laughing and cheering on the ziplines) because they love to cut loose, forget their problems, and have fun. Room to play, both intellectually and physically, is a core need. In these moments, ISTPs radiate joy and crave adventure. They love to joke around and laugh, for once, when they finally have an opportunity to do so. They’re not above playing devil’s advocate and indulging in a good debate if they have the spare energy for it. As an ISTP, Sam is headstrong, creative, and far more vulnerable than he lets on.

(part two: enneagram deep dive)

Tag list: @goldenbridgessss @pylonium

#mbti #enneagram #personality typology #sam porter bridges #character study #death stranding #logan.txt

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moveslikebucky · 9 months

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Oh no it’s time for me to post my season 2 thoughts that nobody asked for!

Under the cut because obviously spoilers. Not a very long post tho I’m not going into extreme detail here.

OK SO first off let me preface, as someone who mainly writes book omens content, I think it will be shocking when I say I genuinely loved everything about this season.

It took me a couple of days to digest and figure out my thoughts aside from that absolute GUT WRENCHING ending Jesus Christ but here’s the thing a lot of others have said too but in my goofy way of saying it.

This is 1980. We all just watched Han Solo get frozen in carbonite, watched Luke get his hand chopped off and find out the man he’s sworn to destroy to save the galaxy is his father, watched everyone be at their absolute lowest and then the credits roll and the familiar and beloved theme song plays and we’re sitting in the theater going ??????????

And we don’t get Return of the Jedi til 1983.

And we’ll all be fine and so will they, the triumph happens in the end, wouldn’t be a good story otherwise.

I have many nebulous thoughts but the main thing is I have been seeing a lot of people saying that our boys are completely OOC or somewhat OOC for the entire season or at least for that last 15 minutes or so.

And here is where I say something shocking again!

I don’t think they are at all, whether you’re looking at TV characterizations OR the original book ones.

Hear me out don’t get your pitchforks on me just yet.

In the novel, their character arcs are completed because it was always meant to be a fully stand alone novel. At the end of the book there is a full acceptance between the two of them and they actually talk to each other in a meaningful way but CRUCIALLY, a thing that was missing from the tv season, I think is where specifically they diverge.

In the book, when Aziraphale possesses the televangelist, and goes off the rails completely - that is showing in unequivocal terms that Aziraphale is rejecting Heavens dogma. He’s on the same page as Crowley now, and they stay on the same page through the end of the novel.

Neil knew, because it was what Terry wanted, that he was going to have to do the sequel they never did. The sequel that didn’t exist when they wrote the first novel.

Speaking as a writer, even knowing that Patton Oswalt was originally on board to play the televangelist, I feel like leaving that scene out was a very specific way to set up for what we have now.

Aziraphale ends season 1 ambiguously. If you had read the book you can take it as “hell yea they’re on the same page now!” And it’s a perfectly valid reading.

But…

You don’t have to. It’s not implicit. They’re still not really talking about things, just around them. Aziraphale is still shocked when Crowley thinks everyone will come after Earth, still has panic in his eyes until Crowley distracts him. Crucially, Crowley does not tell him what happened in heaven. He only listens to Aziraphale dither on about towels and rubber ducks.

Aziraphale had not broken fully free from his cult.

They’re leaving him alone but his bookshop is still and embassy. He’s still with them, in some small way.

I don’t think the metatron brainwashed him with a miracle (or that he’s been kicking about in reality). He didn’t need to do that when simple manipulation is all that it takes.

Show up and make the people who are mean to him look stupid, compliment Crowley and Muriel who he likes, extract him from his support system, make it seem urgent make it seem just this side of too good to be true of an offer.

The metatron has heard first hand just how much Aziraphale wants to change things, how he wants to do what’s right instead of what is Right™️.

He gives Aziraphale everything he thinks he wants right on a silver platter, including a way to protect Crowley.

Aziraphale accepting that offer is completely in character because, crucially, he is not at the same place in his character arc as he was in the book.

But the thing is, Crowley isn’t either.

Crowley is withholding EXTREMELY vital information from Aziraphale still for his “protection”.

Information that would’ve bolstered Aziraphale to not take that offer, really. Because these boys don’t talk.

I don’t have as much to say about Crowley here, his arc is also not at the same place as in the end of the book, but I see more people mad about Aziraphale’s so that’s what I wanted to address.

Anyway I loved it, and if u have read this far, thank you! Plz don’t leave a bunch of negativity in the replies here, feel free to disagree, but this is a thing I consume for fun and I don’t want to discourse about it I’m just posting my opinion.

#text #good omens s2 spoilers #maybe if I don’t tag the main tag this will stay small hmm

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sylvanedadeer · 28 days

Note

If I remember correctly, you have mentioned that you are a big fan of literary tropes. Can you tell us what are some of your favorite tropes, least favorite tropes and what tropes you'd like to see more?

This one might be fairly long:

Anyone who knows me fairly well knows I'm literate largely because of comics. It's what my dad had around, so naturally, I'm a bit superhero/fantasy/fiction brained, but my dad is also a latin teacher, so I've been reading Homer, Livy, Herodotus, and Plato for probably longer than I should be. So, genre-wise, I tend to stick to writing/consuming fiction, usually fairly grounded in reality, with superhero stuff tending towards the top of the list.

Some of my favourite literary tropes are "The Self-Chosen One", "The Power of Friendship," and "The Sacrificial Lion".

"Self-Chosen Ones" are kinda self-explanatory, but have some chunky nuance to them. The archetypical "self-chosen one" is Sir Gawain, who chooses to take a challenge that would've otherwise fallen to his king, which ends up roping him... into a bisexual throuple? His isn't as chunky as like, Luz Noceda, who chose to take responsibility for her mistakes and for the people she empowered, or Moana, who rejects her destiny on the basis of destiny and chooses herself to prove TO herself that she can.

Marco, from Adastra, is an interesting instance of this, because the specifics of his "being chosen" were structured in such a way that he super WASN'T necessary. With Luz and Moana, there was... a remarkable lack of people hanging around to solve the plot, so by the Rules Of Stories, they kinda had to take things upon themselves, because otherwise... there's no story. Of course, Marco also had to go forward because PLOT, but 1. Not without grappling with the decision 2. At the detriment to his own health (his near-decapitation) and 3. They clearly outline why he made the choice he did, and also kinda... leave it tenuous on purpose. Very good way of using the trope for a tragedy.

"The Power of Friendship" is less of a trope and more just a reflection of the truth, that humans work well on their own, but will always work better, be happier, and thrive best with other people around them, helping and supporting them. The more direct invocations of this, like in MLP or Yugioh are kinda one of those guilty pleasures, even though I'd argue against the guilty part.

But less overt instances of it, like in Castlevania, when Alucard goes Fucking Nuts because Trevor and Sypha leave. The Avatar Gang and their whole "do you ever wonder if friendships can transcend lifetimes?". There are several instances of "you hurt my friend, time to die" in Invincible that honestly do a lot to keep me going despite the horrific nature of some of the fight scenes.

The most notable one that really got me was the "Loner realizes he has friends and allies" arc in TOTK, because I've clocked. About as many hours on BOTW as I have breathing, and it really does FEEL LONELY AND EMPTY, and that never FELT that way until TOTK came along and my nephew (Tulin) gave me the whole "We're stronger together" bit. I cried.

"Sacrificial Lions" are a little less obvious as to what they are, but the general gist is "a character who exists in the narrative as a heroic bastion of hope, who will be killed or die to further the narrative". Rose Quartz, Pyrrha Nikos, and most versions of Leomon I know about fit this category, as well as, like. Jesus lol.

I've... always liked heroic sacrifices it seems like the best way to really end a heroic character's life, and while I've reexamined that SPECIFIC point, I'm still a lover of the idea. Altruism is a very worthy thing, but I also like how these characters can haunt the narrative, almost always, to the point of making the cast Really Change. Rose is, of course, the inciting incident to an entire show, as her death lines up all of the pins that Steven has to kick over now.

Idk, I'm a fan. I also love it when narrative foils kiss.

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ilynpilled · 1 year

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One of the key aspects of Jaime’s fixation on that delusional all over the place ‘targ fantasy’ with Cersei is no longer having to “hide” the relationship. Which is something that is important for Jaime as a character because he is generally getting very sick of “lies” & “facades.” And then we see that he ends up on Bran with it. A big reason this irrationality of his is huge imo is that i think he fears ever being in that kind of position again, and is trying to make it so he has it all. He does “loathe” that part, “‘the things i do for love’, he said with loathing”, the repeated immorality for sustaining love (and then in feast it is touched on more once he confesses to Ilyn after the Lancel convo that he was willing to do child murder when Cersei asked, his own soul is dark, and being with Cersei as a whole is incompatible with the desire to change that really, and that all this actions he justified himself for doing for love was all for nothing because she apparently never loved him like that if she deceived him like this in his mind, and he was just one of many other men she “used”). But here he is still at a stage where he desperately wants to make everything compromise: he still has Cersei, that light in the darkness “the only light in the world”, they are potentially out of the game in his mind “let father sit the throne, all i want is you”, he can send Brienne to save Sansa and keeps his vow, he never has to hide the affair and commit an act like that again etc etc. He wants this so bad that he does block out rationality, not just the obvious, but also everything else. So many of these desires are just inherently incompatible with each other (so many vows…), but he looks away from the information that so clearly shows otherwise. Cersei for instance wants to get him to kill Tyrion for her right now, a thought that “turns his stomach”, and what he refuses to do, so ofc the whole thing is delusional on his part. Feast arc is key in bringing it all on the surface (thank u tyrion confession catalyst)

The white dress scene is about this to me as well, other than mirroring the inn when he was 15: in Jaime’s mind he gave up everything for Cersei, and she will not do the same for him. It is the continuation of “leave me”. He notes the white and he compares it to the curtains and sheets in the room, he connects her to the white tower/kg which is tied to certain things in his mind. It symbolically places her into that new identity that he wants to have rn. It suddenly fits her neatly into his goal, this idea that he can still be “better”, this blank white slate and unsoiled cloak that he desperately wants to be and with her still in his life (which is the idea that he marries her and they leave everything behind and they would never have to hide it again, especially through things he is ashamed of like the murder of children, nor would it be a sin bc they are like targs) Cersei is not wearing green, crimson, gold etc. They can be the knight and the maiden. He can even rationalize certain rituals of violence by protecting the “purity and innocence” that she would embody (hence “i should have killed robert, not her”), they are one whole after all. All this is why he takes off the white cloak and hangs it to go and discuss, which implies that he may be ready to abandon it because he found an alternative path. It is up in the air, if they can compromise here, in his mind he could reach that delusional ‘have it all’. The “white” blank slate and Cersei both. BUT it once again crumbles, because of deep rooted differing desires and the falsehood and performance of the whole thing (on the part of both), like in the joanna dream, you cannot cover up an “ugly reality” with gold, and at the need to “hide it”, which we know he connects to Bran. It ends with him rejecting her and donning the cloak again instead, with Cersei doing the same with her hairnet, and telling him that she had lied to him a thousand times. It is also interesting to me that when Jaime rejects Cersei twice, his reasoning are: first it was the whole “not here, not infront of my dead kingsguard senpai >:(”, which ofc is extremely ironic in a lot of ways considering the relationship itself is actively disregarding his vows, and that Jaime never appeared to particularly care about location before (sept lmao). Then, the rejection in Feast is also interesting bc he pins it on “not here. not in front of the gods and father”, which is eyebrow raising considering Jaime is not very opposed to blasphemous actions (he isn’t opposed to it after this moment either), and is a generally atheistic character. I think he has a lot of other complex reasonings for rejecting the drug that is Cersei that he is not ready to face yet (not even the cheating, considering the first rejection happens before that reveal, and with the second he is not yet at a point where he is that darkly obsessed with it, nor did he confront it as something truly credible yet).

#he can be possessive but there is a lot more going on here #so so interesting that the opposite choice is made in the show #and they just continue things here lol #pushing away the white book to fuck her lol ok #jaime lannister

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denimbex1986 · 2 months

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"A generation of queer people mourns the childhood they never had." All of Us Strangers director Andrew Haigh spoke to The Guardian and Alex Needham about the year's saddest film .

Today, having left the cinema with red eyes, I know that what we didn't say will hurt. Because this film is not only about loneliness or loneliness, it is about parental love and the child's need for visibility, it is about tenderness, loss and the common end of all – stardust.

When Andrew Haigh was filming his new movie, All of Us Strangers, at his parents' old house in Croydon, something strange started happening. "I started having eczema again, which I haven't had since I was a kid," says the 50-year-old director. “I feel like there's a reason your body remembers the trauma. In a way things almost become embedded in our DNA and find ways to resurface," he adds.

In All of Us Strangers, the protagonist played with unflinching commitment and incredible empathy by Andrew Scott, Adam is a 46-year-old gay man who finds himself caught between what happened and what he never said.

Blocked and lonely, Adam is a screenwriter whose parents died in a car accident when he was 12 years old. Now an adult, he lives in a mysteriously empty block of flats in London. One night after a fire alarm, a younger man, Harry played by the reasonably up-and-coming Paul Mescal, comes drunk to his door and asks for his company. Adam rejects him. "Am I scaring you?" Harry asks him. "We don't have to do anything if you don't like me, but I have vampires at my door."

For Andrew Haigh this is also the most important scene in the film. Although I don't want to go into spoilers, after the screening, yes, this is the scene that defines the beginning, duration and end of a film that will leave a mark in time as a razor.

The film – which won best film and best director at the British Independent Film Awards in December – is a statue of the fragile, the kind that modern filmmaking tends to shy away from.

It's a love story, a ghost story, and a coming-of-age narrative that breaks space-time into small, sharp, pieces. In the process, her Adam suddenly finds himself in a universe where his parents are alive. This is also the missed opportunity to tell them who he is, what he is, to claim an acquaintance and reconciliation that had never happened.

Masterful exploration of loneliness and sadness, the relationship between children and their parents and a testament to the fact that time, in addition to healing, can magnify the wounds that grow stronger with us. The heart never forgets to hurt and this is reminded - the only condition of course is that you have a heart, which makes the work a risk in itself because empathy is ignored today.

A tender, aching portrayal of the insatiable human need for love and connection, Haigh's film is about people yearning to be understood for who they are, often in vain.

A knot in the stomach of a lost generation

Based on the Japanese novel Strangers by Taichi Yamada (who died a few months ago at the age of 89), Strangers Among Us, written by Haigh himself, was written during the pandemic, when we were all locked in cages, faced with what has happened and what could have been otherwise.

Haigh – whose previous films include The Weekend and 45 Years, and TV series Looking and The North Water are regarded as tender examples of good television that doesn't drown in clichés by pandering to the world – wanted to make the film as personal as possible. He made it. Adam's home is the director and screenwriter's home, the one he left when he was 'nine or 10' – following his own parents' painful divorce.

The reality he conveys on the screen is his own. The middle-aged gay man who was a young teenager in the late 80s when the AIDS crisis unleashed a wave of ferocious homophobia. "I wanted it to be very specific to a certain generation of gay people, my generation," says Haigh. "It was not an easy task. Growing up, I felt that if I was going to be gay I would have no future and the only other alternative was not to be gay – which of course couldn't happen. So I wanted to tell this story," he tells the Guardian.

All of Us Strangers is hard for many reasons. The hero constantly struggles with the lingering ghosts of a childhood that was never normal as he was torn apart not only by grief, but also by prejudice and hatred.

"There's a generation of queer people mourning the childhood they never had," says Haigh. “I think there's a sense of nostalgia for something we never had because we were tortured so much. It's something like grief. A feeling that dissipates, but is always there in many different ways. It's like a knot in your stomach," he adds.

Much of the emotional power of All Us Strangers comes from the brutally repressed Adam trying to dissolve his feelings of shame and isolation in order to be seen and loved for who he really is. To this end, he takes advantage of the opportunity, denied him by their deaths, to come out to his mom and dad, separately. His mum is shocked – "Isn't it a very lonely life?" – and worried about AIDS. His dad, not unkindly, says: "We always knew you were a bit of a tutti-frutti."

"It is very difficult to move forward in life if you feel that you are not understood. And if they don't understand you, you feel like you're alone," says the director.

"It doesn't matter, as long as you find love"

In one scene in the film Adam asks his father why he never came to his room to comfort him when he heard him crying after being bullied at school. Haigh had been a victim of bullying in his school days, common memories for many.

"I was about nine and the kids around me knew something was different about me - before I even realized it myself," he says. “If you're queer and a kid, you don't want to tell your parents that you're being bullied because they're going to worry, and that's the last thing you want. Being queer in a family is sometimes the hardest thing because you're not like the others, you have a secret," he says.

Haigh told his own parents when he was 20 years old. His father now suffers from dementia and entered a nursing home during the filming of All of Us Strangers. Visiting one weekend, the director discovered that his father no longer remembered that his son was gay.

"He asked me if I was married and if I had a wife. Before this happened my father knew everything about me, he had accepted it beautifully. I suddenly found myself having the same fear I had when I was in my 20s, of having to re-introduce myself up front, and I realized I couldn't because I didn't want to upset him. But in the end, after a little silence, he said to me: 'Well, it doesn't matter, as long as you find love.' I felt so good about my father and his words. He just understood what the important thing was, and in many ways it spoke to exactly what the film was about."

The film is also based on Haigh's relationship with his own children, who are 10 and 12 years old. "They don't live with me but when I'm with them and I'm their parent, I'm always worried. Am I doing the right thing? Am I saying the right thing? I help them; As I got older, I realized that you don't necessarily need a parent to give you advice. You don't need them to find solutions for things that you can sometimes solve on your own."

Beyond meeting a child's needs, there's something about being a queer parent that makes you wonder how you and your children will fit into the larger society, Haigh points out. “Do we have a new code? Do we have a different way of being a family because we don't have a certain pattern? I know a lot of queer people who have kids and they all have the same question. Are we trying to be what our parents were to us or are we trying to be something else?'

Pop gave hope and momentum

Powered by 80s music production, All of Us Strangers uses iconic hits from the decade such as Frankie Goes to Hollywood's The Power of Love, Fine Young Cannibals' Johnny Come Home and Housemartins' Build, tracks heard by Adam when he travels back to his childhood. The musical pieces also become an integral part of the supernatural world that the hero visits to make peace with the loss of his parents and all that he never got to share with them.

"Paul Heaton (Housemartins) and Roland Gift (Fine Young Cannibals) are not queer artists, but they spoke to me as such," says Haigh. "I'm sure my political views were shaped by the times I listened to the Housemartins" – who were self-confessed socialists during the Thatcher government. “Pop music was so important – it gave me hope as a kid. I used to sing The Power of Love to myself in my bedroom, not understanding anything about myself at the time, but knowing that I longed for something and believed that something could be done. When I put that song in the film, I was thinking that my childhood self would be really amazed at what I'm doing now."

For Haigh, being LGBT does not necessarily mean alienation. “I know many young gay people who do not feel alone and alienated. But I also know people close to me, younger than me, who have found it very difficult to integrate into a society that sees them as different," he says.

“So I don't want to pretend that everything is great. But it's important to me to make it clear that these two heroes aren't alone because they're gay – they're alone because the world has made them feel different. There are many reasons that can gently slide you into loneliness and if you can't find something to get you out of it, you might stop caring about yourself, like Harry," she adds.

What ghost is really haunting you?

"I saw the film as a spiral and I let myself into it," says Haigh.

In one scene Adam starts to have a fever, which you don't explain further in the film. But what you're explaining is that Adam is running a fever after his mother brings up AIDS and her fears about this disease which in the 80s was an LGBTQ-only affair - or at least that's the narrative they wanted to sell the systemic media and their neoliberal leaders see Thatse and Reagan.

"I think all of us gay men of that generation know that every time we sweated a little more after casual sex with other people, we were suddenly terrified that we might have HIV," says Haigh. “A swollen gland wasn't just a swollen gland. I wanted to talk about it. To show that AIDS is another fear that Adam has buried. I'm telling a ghost story – what is it that haunts him?'

The end of the film is painfully bittersweet. For some it is romantic and hopeful, for others it is a finale of crushing sadness. "More than anything else, I want you to walk out of the theater and carry this film with you," Haigh says of All Of Us Strangers, which the LA Times (and countless other media and institutions, but not the British BAFTAs they snubbed the movie shockingly much) named it the best movie of 2023.

“We are all children, many of us are parents, many of us are in relationships or not finding love. Look, I want 15-year-olds to see this movie, not just people our age. If I had seen this movie when I was a teenager, it probably would have changed me," says Haigh.

Strangers Among Us has one more piece of advice for everyone. When vampires are at the door, a hug and a caress exorcises them, remember that.'

#All of Us Strangers #Andrew Haigh #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Strangers #Taichi Yamada #The Housemartins #Frankie Goes to Hollywood #BAFTAs #British Independent Film Awards #The North Water #Weekend #45 Years #Fine Young Cannibals #Johnny Come Home #The Power of Love #Looking #Build

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