#and it's one of the first signs of those implications being very. intentional. cause they are all too aware of themselves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fear-and-loathing-in-leeds · 1 year

Text

Dating Misadventure Story 01: XLL - 21.10.2022

Name: Xanthe Lily Lowrie

Age: 20

Instagram (for viewing only): xanthe.lily.lowrie

Date: 21.10.2022

Original Post Date: 24.10.2022

Location: Leeds/York

Purpose of Post:

This personal account is shared on several private forums: one focusing on the Yorkshire dating community (particularly Harrogate, Leeds and York) of potentially unpleasant individuals who use physical, psychological and administrative violence in the context of dating/relationships. Another forum provides general information on domestic abuse and violence inviting a huge number of people to share their stories: serving as an aid to notice and confront the early signs of a potential offender, and escaping/extricating from said offender. Owing to their success, I have decided to share my experience publicly with those who like a sensational read or find their own experiences have parallels with my own but did not have the luck I did, or to avoid being ensnared in psychological manipulations designed to undermine one’s mental welfare and personal volition under the guise of love/romance.

Understand this, toxic people are very predictable because their MO are self centric, depending on the level of intelligence their strategies will be short or long term, and they involve some need to be in control at the expense of their victim, either totally or in specific interpersonal situations usually with attachment, amorousness and the relationship dynamic being at the root. Don’t be overwhelmed by the degree of convolution – it is a smokescreen for this very basic intent despite how elaborate it tries to showcase itself dating sites, social media and in person.

First Date in a Near Year:

The following account is based on my first date in 11 months – a rather unpleasant experience but incredibly useful in ways beyond the scope of the initial experience, not only to myself but hopefully for others too who take the time to read these posts. I all of my 17 years of dating I have never quite had a date whose character and demeanor I found to be intensely offputting based on their superficial attempts to create situations that flatter her own self image and the persona they wished to deceive others with. It was a very strange thing to witness, this weaving of a deception whilst it was so obvious and awkward: if I could sum it up in two words they would be “mosiac" and "disjointed”.

Just for this reason alone, I would reconsider my pursuit of said person but there are many other reasons and causes for concern which I will elaborate on which the majority of you would regard as "red flags" whereas I concluded "hell to the nah" - not what I went on Bumble for.

Throughout, I explore my initial impression of her character and reactive behaviour to forecast their likely choices (as well what motivates them) and how I compare the types of situations that they would attempt to create combined with my basic axioms that constitute the situations I wish to maintain and the importance of protecting the sanctity of one's mental health.

Bumble Dating Experience with Xanthe Lily Lowrie (F20):

For clarity, I (GN33) do not normally write an account of my experiences but this was my first date in a near year furthermore the distaste it created and my personal intense dislike towards this person on a intuitive level was something I wanted to explore for personal insight: not one I am going to forget due to both its content and its implications – in hindsight I dodged a bullet for sure. I had hoped they were more emotional mature alas not the case. Personal standards are there for a reason and I am not here to play "daddy" or be a therapist to someone who has not even begun to accept that they embody a lot of delusions, issues and pain derivative of a harmful toxic parental style.

It has to be emphasised, the main threat for all (but in particular men) are subversive and psychological in nature: hard to identify unless you know what you're looking for and mostly rooted in shame/devaluation (repressed or denied aspects of self): by the time we protest our distress we have already reached our breaking point as a result of the accumulation of micro-aggressions and compromises imposed upon us by an abusive partner who created, with intention, for this blow out and probably has a counter measure, justification and gaslighting narrative prepared.

This is, by no means, gender/sex specific. It is very a common phenomena I have had to address with law-enforcement officers and the judiciary in the past. Especially when dealing with men who are domestic abuse offenders to tease apart the truth of the greater dynamic shared in their relationship (mediating circumstances). Not so much in my personal life, as I tend to instantaneously accurately identify those who are propositioned towards this modality: there have been near misses.

Based on my own academic training and practical experience, I have learned to rapidly assess people quickly on a number of attributes and traits in accordance with the situations I wish to create and also the likelihood of them being a diminishing or detracting factor in terms of personal industry, investments and long term goals. Furthermore, I have my own private journals which explore the sum total of my knowledge as I apply it to my act of self creation and the path I wish to forge in the future on my own terms: and any person who wishes to be included on that mutually shared journey is held under the same scrutiny. This means a lot of people are “seen through” and become, in a greater sense, irrelevant – but attention and time are precious irreversible commodities.

In this account, you will notice that my intuition detects “clues” that predict the nature of a potential relationship with Xanthe: I believe fundamentally she would try to attempt initiate a one-sided trauma bond with herself on the reigns of control masquerading it as some dysfunctional brand of romanticism: she would be the psychological tyrant whereas I would just want to have company and fun. In response to identifying these toxic behaviours I would attempt a dialogue which she would try to use a DARVO approach (Deny Responsibility, Attack, Reverse Roles of Victim and Offender) to gaslight myself into having the problem because dealing with her issues would mean sacrificing both personal control of the situation and the collapse of the person she is trying to convince herself and others that she is without doing the actual shadow work or integration of one's darker selfish nature. I know such a dynamic is a futile approach as she wants someone to affirm the delusions of herself and validate the haphazard nature of her strategy to convince herself through others.

At it's source, in hindsight - Xanthe has some profound identity dysphoria and it comes across as aggressive overly affirming posts on her social media in attempt to control the narrative of herself which she secretly feels the opposite about. With the behaviour predicted, I would try to appeal to the source of it but it would be a futile endeavour for myself as there are things I simply won’t submit or bow to in order to try to get other people to understand: self respect, sense of pride and integral absolutism nor will I violate/compromise my own being.

My time and energy are precious commodities, unless I am being paid to do so or the benefits/likelihood of results is high then I have no interest in investing them - it was way beyond what my initial casual date with Xanthe called for and as such it was a situation I would willingly invite: I have better more fruitful and meaningful things and people in my life to be getting on with. As I detail my account, note Xanthe's gaslighting of the date in the form of a de-evaluative dismissal. It affirmed my suspicions the level of emotional maturity and regard she had for others - it enabled me a glimpse of the hidden tyrant combined her desired self grandiosity.

I have 7 years experience which simultaneously focused on education, domestic abuse, autism, mental health and relationships (the list is not exhaustive) – I did not look for these traits: they appeared through the virtue of Xanthe’s behaviour and statements. My intention was to just relax and not think about my work as opposed to apply it. With the other date I had the following night (update - I am still seeing this person), there was no stress or worry – I had a great time and it served as a comparative reference with my experience with Xanthe from the preceding night.

What I detail are subjective matter of facts which I observed combined with how my subconscious responded to being around her: signs of incompatibility of values, manipulation of would be emotions, and a person’s general sense of authenticity. I prioritize my time, attention and effort as I have a lot of work and future preparation to be getting on with – the nature of my work calls upon a vast cerebral demand and its optimum state is very receptive in general so I do not want to be inviting unnecessary suffering or people who create situations of unnecessary conflict/pain disguised as love/romance like some digitally based Ouija board that presents itself as a dating app. Life is full of unexpected issues and problems without other people inventing them due to unresolved trauma, issues and undiagnosed mental health problems/diagnosis. A majority of people usually want easy answers and comfortable sugar laden half truths so they can resume their capitalist grind without any deep change) and to have their desired ego narrative relatively unchanged: such a person is not my type and be yeeted back into the digital abyss as though we never met. As you can tell, I am not seeking a partner wherein I fulfil the part time therapist role which will probably end up in failure and efforts futile regardless.

Pre-Emptive Safeguards:

I did not go into this date not protecting my identity, the organizations I work for and the people who I am affiliated with: past experience has revealed some people, in the face of rejection are very retaliative and will justify it. Nor did I pry into the background of Xanthe – I would form my judgments based on how I responded to her in moment to avoid preconceptions. I protected my identity by:

1. My first safeguard was a fake surname on my socials – owing to the socially sensitive nature of my work and the conditions of my contract combined with my past experiences of stalkers: it protects me, my employer and those I am affiliated with from any possible interference or sabotage.

2. An additional safeguard, my initial birth name is used for any professional or academic qualifications, jobs and profiles I have amassed over the years until 2022: doing a google search will yield no critical professional information.

3. I did not mention any specifics about what I do: that information was deftly avoided.

Pre-Date:

We spoke for over a week on Bumble and then Instagram, and my intention to meet was to have some drinks and a dance then disappear into the night (not unlike the Batman). Nothing heavy, nothing serious with no expectations except to relax from the few intense weeks of work I had. I had no long term interest or expectations nor wanted to regard the situation as anything more until I had ascertained the trustworthiness of the person concerned. She was young, but it could have been a wholesome night. Basically, no unwanted drama or some consequence later down the line: a nice clean wholesome fun.

It seemed Xanthe had other ideas.

The Date:

So there I was, chilling in my “safe space” bar – chosen because I have membership, I know the staff, the protocols and fellow punters: if I feel uncomfortable I can leave quickly. However I felt this would be a cool spot to share with her as she seems to exhibit some bisexuality and queerness although not overtly affirmed: at this point I was open to share some of my world with her to help her affirm and explore what she expressed an interest in the future. However, due to what has happened I will probably avoid the bar for a good six months until summer to reduce the instance of our paths crossing. Agreed to meet at nine, she arrives 20 minutes late after I told her that there was a lot of traffic and the city was heaving. This oversight made me wonder how much she valued my own time as a person, the thought flitted… she does not know Leeds so that might explain but her tardiness conveyed some lack of respect of my time.

Initial Encounter:

She texts her arrival and I promptly greet her. We meet at the front entrance – it is busy so I suggest getting some drinks and then moving outside. I buy the first round because she does not want to use her card as she thinks she has forgotten her pin, so why not use contactless? Close to her limit? Immediately, I called bullshit but dismissed it but it struck me as irresponsible. All drinks were out of my pocket for the evening – I did not mind however her reasons prickled the beginnings of my mistrust.

On appearance, I was slightly underwhelmed - she was not as attractive as she presented herself online (I felt I had been slightly catfished) and seemed far less confident in person: very awkward in her movements - bordering clumsy. Overall very average and unremarkable. At the same time, she tired to make an effort for the occasion but didn't rise to the standard expected. "Looks aren't everything let's see what she has to say for herself." I thought.

We move outside, sitting at a table with a toupee overhead to shield from the rain… 90 seconds pass in our conversation, I feel this weird cold tug in my chest and my intuition flares: my adrenal system has been activated. I dismiss it: "Maybe I am getting ill?" As we are talking, a vague memory with similar parallels flits in the back of my mind – a deeply unpleasant feeling. I evaluate this slight tightness in my chest as “hmmm… maybe I’m cold?” and I affix the re-routing of my blood to my limbs to that as my body prepares for fight/flight.

Recently, one of my ex’s from 14 years ago made some unsolicited contact after I told her three years ago to leave me alone, when rejected she will retaliate in some socially controlling fashion or try to interfere with my personal affairs (that is a story for another time). However, she is quite the threat as she was a contributing factor to some C-PTSD however I handle the major symptoms quite fine but it takes a longer time (a period of a few weeks) for the deeper neuro-physiological triggers to subside which also impacts how I perceive other people: it augments my hyper-vigilance.

I convey this fact to Xanthe that some of my ex’s have tried to communicate/stalk with me recently so I touch on the subject but she does not seem to handle the topic well and is dismissive. My intention was to forearm her against said resentful individuals, at this point not knowing that she would probably be another one of these individuals if I did date her. She does not seem to understand the potential harm she could be subject to. I can tell from her inexperience that she has not had anyone obsessively try to stalk or interfere with her life post-relationship – otherwise she would have known I was warning her to be careful (yet she herself is a potential offender). She asks, whether I should ask about her ex’s and I respond “If you wish to share that information then you can when you feel it is relevant”. I am not too fussed about her past as I was more preoccupied with seeing her in the present – I wanted to see what kind of person Xanthe was without her creating stories occupying different roles that flatter the persona she wished to create.

Vibe Check:

This was not a first date to me – it was more a mental handshake to determine whether I should even begin to acknowledge her as a potential suitor amongst others. It would be the second date that would be the first one in practice. All that mattered was my lasting impression towards the end of the date as to whether I would continue. Would my suspicions be quelled or would they remain unresolved? So far, I was not convinced – I suggest we go inside to warm up. We do.

Inside:

As we sit, we finish our drinks and I pay for the next round – determined to enjoy the company despite the gnawing dis-ease that was growing in my core. She protests that she will pay me back through a bank transfer or when we meet up again (assuming there would be a next time). The token gesture of her paying me back for around a measly £10 would be nice but I did not really care: t’was a drop in the ocean. Note her eagerness here to meet up again, and the assumption we would. My thoughts were that I was more than happy to pay for the next round but I did not desire repayment if there is some substance to the thoughts I had so fair regarding her nature.

I return to the bar thinking “Awfully bold to assume I would meet up with you again” – where does this audacious assumption come from? Has she never had a man say no to her? I think she has this idea that she was entitled to be the person who does the rejection and won't be able to handle it if she did get rejected. The statement, assuming there would be a next time… As though only her opinion and feelings mattered on situation. That one-sided conceited of her calling the shots – that subtle arrogance surfacing. She had assumed she was the dominant one and was in charge of the situation - yet she did not demonstrate any real power, intellect, charm or even virtue of character: it felt like I was dating a cardboard cut out of a person: maybe I would have had a more enjoyable time looking back if I had took out a sex doll?

I suspect I would have had better company for sure.

A way at the bar, it gave me a moment to think, without speaking to her. In response to how she was behaving and her overestimation of herself and the impression she was making, I decided to draw in any genuine interest and not be so engaging, charming or flattering – but just zen out when I returned with the second lot of drinks, to take a backseat and just vibe with the ambience of the bar. I intended to give the bare minimal level of personal engagement in our conversation as I looked over to the venue whilst I listened to her. Over the next hour, in front of the bars window, I focused on my dis-ease and what it was pointing it’s attention to: my intuition flaring up with every brazen, assuming and inconsistent thing she said.

For the sake of simplification, I’ve extracted the more significant things I observed:

•We briefly discussed her mother and her partner: what was of particular concern was her attitude towards her partner/step-dad about how her mother could do so much better than him and did not really seem to respect her step dad yet he sounded like the main provider for the whole family unit. There was some old fashioned toxic masculinity values she had expressed mainly about the man being the carrier of the family and passively implied what a man should be whilst conveying a general disrepect towards men: there was this entitlement that appeared as this subliminal misandry: the dark face of feminism. From this, I figured a lot of her regard and opinions around men were derivative from her mother's toxic relations and behaviours. Other things she said about her mother suggested some deeper personality and dysregulation issues which Xanthe herself could also embody - with later behavioural responses: this increased the likelihood of what I suspected.

•On the topic of men, Xanthe exhibited a strong distaste to her biological father and her step dad. There was no appreciation of her current step dad but largely a lot of her benefits and life probably were in part owed to 60% of her step father's contribution. With this disdain towards men, it made me consider to what extent this disdain would surface with respect to myself and I would find myself the subject of it after her initial love bombing phase was over (not that I bothered to find out - she was not an attractive enough person to find out).

• She did not take well to being corrected – I pointed out that mycelium was not a plant but a species of fungus. Her response was “yeah, well same thing.” No, they aren’t but onwards: I am not going to give you a biology lesson on how different those two kingdoms are. I do not argue with people who cannot take a factual correction, yet their ego makes them ignorant – the amount of effort to refute a statement of bullshit combined with an adamant ego is a magnitude far more than the effort it took to say initial bullshit. At this point, I just resigned myself to just not argue or point out mistakes. If anything was a RED FLAG for later conversations we could had if we dated long term. I asked myself “If she was being this adamant about an inconsequential fact what would she be like when there were actual things at stake?” It was not the only example but it was the one that was the most obvious.

• An important assessment tool to determine a person’s humility arises from the proof of virtue regarding “truth” is how they respond to uncomfortable realities and their response to being corrected. I ascertained that how she felt was more important than universal realities suggesting her emotional fitness and her appearance of being right was more important than actually being correct. In greater context, it also indicates that Xanthe was likely to be a person of dual standards and would use a half truth to criticize and shame others for the sake of her own sense of satisfaction. At this point, I had decided not to be so open and withdraw my efforts – an inkling of disappointment as I beginning to realize that I was wasting my time. I did not want to encourage any amorous sentiments or accidentally make someone infatuated with me by being jovial and inclusive: a lot of people mistake this as flirting but I just like people – an accidental extrovert.

• I noticed that every time I started talking about a subject in depth she would scattily change the subject. Was this conscious or unconscious? It seemed like she wanted to exhibit some superficial impression of being more informed/intelligent than what she was – but when questioned the subject was changed suggesting that she did not really have an in-depth grasp of what she said she identified with. This was demonstrated when she stated she was into “Paganism” and I was excited so I seized the moment of potential mutual interest thus started talking about magic and spirituality for the subject to be changed once more. It was not the only example, she said she was invited to some Yule thing – and I responded “yeah, the winter solstice.” Overall, it seemed like some bad superficial attempt of appearing more diverse and interested in things than what she genuinely was. It seemed very inauthentic – a person who does not like being corrected and yet tries to exude some sense of intellectualism: struck me as very pretentious and superficial whilst also conveying her vast underestimation of myself that I would not instantly notice it.

• About 5 times during this date I got called “very pretty” - it got old real quick. I had made little effort for our date. Smart casual: as though I was off to the University for a meeting with a colleague or doing some physical experimental therapy. I returned the compliment but I dismissed it as soon as I received it: I get told I am pretty all the time but I really don’t care for the evaluation: it has no real value to me. Want to flatter me - attempt to engage me on my deeper level.

• When she had her second drink, she is starting to get tipsy: her inhibitions and mask drop – her arrogance surfaces again. She proclaimed that she needed control of the relationship – my ears pricked up at that – my intuition and rational mind synchronized. With that, I listened carefully as she gleefully told me that she had to be the one in control and that in sex is the only time she is submissive. Her drink had made her intoxicated on the power of the possible romantic prospects she thought she had secured – blind to my discomfort and increasing disinterest.

It was at this moment, I understood that she had little trust of other people and very little self belief in who she was as a person despite saying “she was happy as the person she was”. It sounded so hollow. Again, I internally sigh. Slightly irritated with this phatic statement and the lack of substance underneath it. I rhetorically thought “if you were so happy with who you are you wouldn’t externalize control of others in a relationship to make yourself feel secure.” flitted into my mind’s eye.

So far, my impression was that she was misandrist who secretly was afraid of her own ordinary nature and lack of general talent whilst also semi aware but in denial of her own issues. I noticed that she tried very hard to be appear more charming and intelligent than she actually was: when tested she did not even demonstrate rudimentary levels of knowledge and skill.

I openly tell her that such a general need for control is based on a personality trait called “Social Dominance Index/Orientation” and that it links to ambition and linear fixed ways of regarding life and the self that have been internalized without much critical thought. I did not mention that those who have a high SDO combined with a lack of interpersonal awareness, empathy and consideration turn out to be people who gaslight. I was beginning to become vexed combined with the apprehension, disappointment and dislike. People with SDO who do not value or respect worldly and the personal truths of others will try to create situations and act in ways superficially that flatter their self image: they gain validation from the reception and affirmation of others which respects to their own self image and will not hesitate to act to get what they want but ultimately it is façade based on inauthenticity, externalization and profound inner insecurity. Their priority is to control events and narrative that their ego can accept, and if control is lost, they will lie or twist events to suit it then seek others to convince of this narrative (Hoovering - presentation of Narcissistic type behaviours). However, I did predict this after my rejection message.

If I was to choose to go beyond this initial meet up, then I would desire someone who does not seek control but rather equilibrium – an externalisation of control of others reveals poor internal emotional dysregulation and aridity within their own inner universe: a lack of firm solid foundation of self. The fact she had not picked up on my distaste was another example of her inability to read other people’s emotions and behaviours: I was masking but in the past some people have been able to pick up on it. She, on the otherhand, did not.

So she sways back from the toilet after going there a few times. After a few bouts of conversation and she went way to the toilet for the last time, I sighed. My general impression about this encounter was that I optimistically voted for a Green Party/Labour candidate and ended up debating with a Conservative/UKIP MP about situations and issues they have never directly seen or experienced themselves. They try to bluster through topics they knew very little about whilst having this unearned confidence that “they did really well.”. Instead of Caroline Lucas or Jeremy Corbyn I got the unpleasant frog neck of Nigel Farage or abhorrent real life Walter otherwise known as Jacob Reese-Mogg. Owing to my mounting dissatisfaction, I had organized to meet my friend shortly and I decided I was going to cut the date short.

When she returned, I chanced a glimpse of her phone and there was a snapchat suggesting that she would go to meet her friends. Phew, she is going to go soon. Based on her behaviour so far, the level of mistrust had reached an alarming level so in order to protect myself from future slander or liable. I recorded our conversation and when I left on my phone just in case. If she lied about what happened between us, I would simply share with her video of when I left with its metadata. Her pull away strategy (leaving early), was later revealed as a strategy to initiate control: short and sweet. She said, and I quote, “to keep you [me] wanting more.” – everything clicked when she said that – I realized what I was dealing with (aside from a spoilt white girl who’s never been told no or experienced rejection). I was eerily reminded of a drunk Arnold J Rimmer (from the cult TV show Red Dwarf) combining uncharismatic advances and fumbling lack of self-aware overconfidence with no read on their intended target’s increasing apprehension and dislike. In response, I decided to pull away and leave the venue but there was no signal to my friend which meant I had to wait a little while until I got one.

Swapping Gender Roles:

Now pause for a second. If she was the man and I was the woman – if I had a guy who was adamant and dismissive of being incorrect, spoke of leaving with the intention “to make me want more” and then lied for free drinks as a courtesy: I would be (and was) severely creeped/insulted out. It was the same as a man, this psychological subtext was there. As mentioned about the psychological violence being subversive and invisible: the dark side of feminism. Yet, Xanthe felt it was perfectly acceptable conduct to behave in this manner. As the self appointed champion of feminist energy and values I am pretty sure she would be out spoken and love to occupy the victim and judgement role of this situation if it was reversed. Naturally, she was a feminist only when it was convenient to her I suspected. The general lack of self awareness was also a massive turn off.

Foul Stench:

The strategy became apparent – it’s distaste fully realized and the gnawing in my gut was borderline physically uncomfortable. There was this impression she had deployed this before or vividly imagined some kind of script with someone else and was falsely sure it would succeed. However she did not know who or what I was at all nor could see into my inner universe: her arrogance was becoming more astoundingly obvious. After this statement, I decided to leave: put up a mask of neutral interest and engagement saying “I would like her to stay and so on” to be polite whilst biting back my tongue. I was hoping she would not invite me to where they were going, I did not want to summon up some feigned interest in a bunch of drunk 18 to 21 year old students at some cheap ass Wetherspoons bar and then have to lie: I had enough of feigning interest at this point to spare her feelings and simply wanted to leave at the earliest opportunity.

"Leaving you wanting more" :

Throughout, I had had been masking my ever increasing distaste until I could make sense of the person that was presented before me, as she was organizing an Uber, I received a text message from from my friend of her location. After her statement of “leaving you wanting more”, it was over for her – the realization of what I had encountered had occurred: it was a little freaky regardless of gender. Realizing she used romance as a subtext for her trying to tease and gain psychological control over their date (victim) - she drunkenly exposed this with her aforementioned statement – obviously not in tune with my distaste becoming more visible. When she thought she “had me”, she was like a shark who smelt blood in the water – the “leave me wanting more” remark was so funny, I laugh now in hindsight but at this point I was intent on removing myself away from her.

Internally, I conclusively thought "No thanks, I have had my fill of the very little you had to offer - I'll let someone else who deserves the bad karma partake of what it is you think you bring to the table." whilst putting on a mask of general polite proclivity to convince her that I was eager to hang out and "it was a shame that she was leaving early". I did not want to provoke a negative response as it was some drama I did not want to engage with.

I'd Rather Just Go

After this statement was made, I decided that I was not going to hang around much longer – it was too uncomfortable to mask my revile and distaste. I stood up and said “Thanks for the night, I might see you soon.”

Immediately she yelled, blurting out “Are we not going to do a round of tequila?”.

I sardonically scoffed “Nope, I rather just be off, thanks.” whilst grinning like a Cheshire cat – it could not be helped.

I had become tired of masking and tolerating her poor behaviour, dual standards and overcompensation of her own insecurity. I barely contained my sassiness - with every step I made towards the back door a grim glee surfaced as I committed to leave. As I excited, I knew I had made the right choice as relief shivered down my spine and the feeling of disease quickly evaporated: I couldn’t help but smile. It was her, the source of my ever increasing discomfort and dislike: the moment I had left the adrenal system stopped activating and there was not this invading pressure in my proximity.

I was confident that I would never see her again after that night, and I was intent in wrapping up any online communication alluding to as such. Throughout, I did not want to quickly judge or jump to conclusions but here was all the evidence I needed from the experience. A lot of my hesitation was that I did not want to judge someone so negatively but I cannot ignore what I know to be true.

Post Date:

From a subjective point of view, post date she behaved in a way I expected she would. Usually, after a date, it becomes clear in hindsight what your thoughts were or you learn, through reflection, what it meant and making sense of the patterns or specific nuances. After I see my friend, talking about the weird nature of what I experienced I thought of messaging her “that I had a nice night”. However, I felt that it was disingenuous for me to say such a thing so I deleted the message I sent. I walked home processing what I had experienced: there was some intrinsic sense of trust lost that went below the baseline I have for strangers – it was quite startling to see this within myself and I queried way as it could be useful in the future to understand this subconscious response that turned out to be eerily accurate. I go to sleep and I wake around 6 am. She has posted a new photo in the early hours of the morning on her Instagram and I noticed she had been looking at my stories – I decided to put her profile on restrict until I sent my departing message. I had a feeling she would try to get me to chase her or be the first to reply. I got on with my day, did some written work, then wrote this for my own journalist records for future reference and entertainment. I am of the opinion shared with one the greatest classic writer’s of all time:

“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.” (Oscar Wilde by the way).

I did not interact with the profile but my mid afternoon I noticed her attempt of trying to be sexy photo was deleted. Maybe she wanted the attention but since I did not interact or respond with her she took it down. I carried on with my Saturday as usual, went to York, came back. Napped and got ready for another date with someone else for the following night which was far more natural grace and flow: it was very useful to have this immediate contrast to draw a comparison between Xanthe on Friday and my other date on Saturday. Such is the life of a 30 something bachelor.

The Final Rejection Message:

Sunday comes, and I notice she has been orbiting my Instagram stories every few hours (nothing worth mentioning – just basic humour and cats) but not interacting. My Instagram meta data revealed she had been visiting my profile quite a few times as well so she was waiting for a response yet too adamant/stubborn to initiate a conversation. The whole “I am ignoring you ignoring me” type deal surfaced – silly game to play. I smiled to myself, thinking "Are we really behaving like a 13 year old? That afraid of rejection?"

From this, I anticipated that she won’t take rejection at all that well based on arrogance during the date and her mind game of ignorance. She will not take kindly to having her vulnerabilities or her self belief/assumptions questioned – I would say that she will deny that I rejected her and create a story to herself and to her friends: if she lies to her friends about her genuine thoughts and feelings combined with how events really played out then she has betrayed their trust for the sake of her own ego: this person has no integrity and is willing to throw a stranger under a bus for the sake of their own narrow world view and to avoid dealing with inevitable social and personal truths.

Why the Delay?

My initial lack of interaction was born from a lack of certainty of how to approach the situation up until the Sunday afternoon. Based on what I observed I do not think she would take to positive enquiry too well and that it would provoke an argument, her conceit would also make it difficult to address any pathologies that I thought could be there as well and I was not really willing to pretend to date her in order to play therapist or gain sexual access neither: the latter would lower oneself.

I concluded, in a more general sense, that me trying to help or prevent her was futile owing to the resistance at being proven wrong. I shared online my predictions with a handful of friends on Saturday evening to see what their opinions were and to gain insight to my experiences with my meeting with Xanthe: the vasty majority agreed with my insight and were later in awe to the degree of accuracy to which I predicted Xanthe's behaviour after the fact. What I intended to convey in my message were some conclusions I made about her, these are as follows:

• That I was masking my true thoughts and feelings during our meet-up – if Xanthe was benign or trust worthy I would not have intuitively chose this course of action.

• It was going to be an awkward conversation if I delved too much into it and not one she is emotionally/spiritually mature enough for.

• I anticipated her to be dishonest with me and herself, to treat me as an object in response to being rejected: there’s a reason for this relating to her desire to write romantic stories through her degree – to not see other people as people capable of free will and choices – some of these which she will not like: and she will retaliate if a person behaves outside of this limited sphere of what she wants of them just like characters in the story of the desires and egocentricity.

• I have a clear set of immediate life goals and personal academic objectives, I know precisely the types of situations that maintain and augment it: and I know what detracts from it: what Xanthe was offering was not in alignment and would be very disruptive. In order to entertain her I would have to diverge significantly and not be my authentic/ideal self to which my intellectual rigour would be reduced.

• Considering how she was it would be a futile waste of time trying to get her to reflect and turn inward: to actually begin the path of awakening instead of this persona of pseudo-spirituality.

• Xanthe knew there was something in her psychology that was amiss but has not done anything about it, it was alluded to a few times and she even admitted to not being “emotionally stable” after her second drink. I found this to be problematic, as she was involving other people into her problems without herself owning her own issues to which she suspected herself of.

• A message of farewell: to paid heed and caution: I do not prophetize good outcomes as the person she currently revealed herself to be.

• The last line was to warn her that she will re-create harm and suffering in her future relationships due to the aforementioned issues and more. My message to her conveyed the aforementioned as follows:

“Ahoj there, As you can tell, the date did not go that great for you. Sorry, but I don't really feel comfortable around you as a person - I picked up on a few things that weren't conducive to what I'm about and the kind of situation I would like to develop.

There were a few other things as well, but I considered and weighed my options and decided that not really expressing them and taking a position of inaction is best.

I hope you find what you're looking for on Bumble and other saying websites, and I hope you can integrate your obstacles and pathology in a way that doesn't harm too many people.

A lot of my friends suggested I ghost you but it is not my style.”

I did not really see too much of an issue with my message – it was blunt and to the point: but after what I observed and concluded I figured it was best to not invite further involvement.

Now, there was four options to this: the most likely I predicted with be deflection combined with demeaning which would confirm my evaluation and the type of person she was. The other three were, genuine concern (would have been astounded by this – as she was very self centric about her own needs and did not offer anything through the entire duration of our interaction), ignorance completely or an argument about “how she felt the same way too” or some outright attack on my person and character directly. In essence, it was a test of both empathy and maturity to which she failed.

She blocked after saying: “Lol you're wierd”

The misspelling of weird suggested there was some haste in that message but I did not think too much about it – the fact she blocked amused me though: did my rejection of her hurt her that much? I was going to say to her to have a natter from time to time because I foresaw her having a hard time due to her issues in future relationships to the point it will interfere with her life: primarily her studies. I believe the way she reacted had two purposes – to set the stage of the idea that if I pursue her that I was the one that would be interested and that she was the one in control in the way she dismissed: I had no interest in doing so - when I sent the message I had already accepted this was the likely outcome, if she responded more maturely we might have been decent acquaintances. I had other more interesting romantic candidates to focus on.

Her reaction conveyed her disappointment and hurt - she wanted to lower my vibration in the same way I did her: it was a last futile attempt at controlling the situation through an out of demeaning dismissal that was not hers to decide. Instead, of addressing my discomfort or the fact that our encounter might have caused suffering she chose her own ego over through genuine compassion. If there was anything that cemented the fact my decision was correct it was this choice she made which was exclusive to her alone, rather than querying her own behaviour as what made me feel so uncomfortable. I expected it – it closed down the possibility of me wanting to help her as I knew the choice she at that point was to lie and try to convince herself that she was in control: I do not think anyone has ever rejected her before judging by the behaviour. There was some hint to rejection sensitivity dysphoria from this response but also an intolerance to being bested or outsmarted in interpersonal domains: I knew the game she was going to try to play and executed the winning move "to not play" .

She had humiliated herself on her date and here on social media when she chose this as her method of (not) dealing with the situation authentically or truthfully. Again, I saw through it. I knew where I was coming from and certain in my assessment of who she was and who she chose to be in respect to oneself: I don’t have any problem as I had other people who I dated over the weekend and others who I would date in the future who had far more to say about themselves and their lives.

In her head, she has tried to cheat the situation by pretending that she just ghosted after her date but she was obsessively viewing my profile and Instagram stories periodically up until I sent my last message: her record of her being in control or being the rejected party has been destroyed up to this point. I had hoped to give her the option to have a “natter every now and again” to maybe mediate her experiences but she was too proud and hurt to entertain it: too bitter and resentful. The “If I can’t have you, then I will hurt you” mentality – subconsciously seeing me as a commodity that rebelled so trying to punish me in response: I have to humorously point out...

...that the date itself was the punishment.

I had a hard time masking my amusement at this point, on one hand I accurately saw someone who they truly are and my superficial assessment was on the money (thanks to the “tool” I designed) whilst on the other I found it funny yet pathetic at how audacious and inconsistent her attention seeking, orbiting and then deflect/denial dismiss response was. Her behaviour did not match up with her account nor the impression she tried to create. She did not have anything of substance to say in response so chose to try to call me “wierd”. Feeble!

Never been told "No" - Spoilt White Girl Complex:

It is almost like she has never met a man before that knows their own mind, standards and what they want to maintain/create in their lives. Given the “wierd” (weird) aforementioned account and experience I concluded that I should share my account for others – however I am not interested in a response to it. I know what I observed and what the implications of the behaviour – she would drag other people into her own toxic abuse patterns whilst gaslighting it as romantic thus furthering her own confusion to the point it will globally impact her life. She believes she is fine as the way she is, but usually people who think that tend to not develop themselves earnestly nor see the ramifications of their own behaviour until it stops them getting what they want – not because they developed empathy or some moral fibre. She does not honour truth from something as mere as single date – she does not honour nor seek truth in all areas of life preferring a comfortable lie and convince herself.

Imagine if I had dated her for a while (weeks to months) and developed some emotional bond with her – and discovered this? How harrowing an idea! She will be punished by her own lack of integrity as she becomes full circle to the same place without growth. This is the crux of her karma. Due to knowing myself, what I wished to maintain and achieve and contrasting it with the behaviours/situations she offered. She believed herself deserving of me but she was not worthy – she has not even begun to have the ideological collapse associated with having her world view changed and being held accountable to her own behaviour. I hope, one day, that she does – for her own sake but it will not come at my expense but at the expense of some other more deserving shmuck.

Closing Personal Thoughts:

Xanthe Lily Lowrie went into that situation mistaking my general sense of inclusion and curious nature as something far more than what it was and got her expectations up whilst also mistaking it as being invested in the idea of her. From a personal perspective, it is absurd to even begin to invest or regard someone in a romantic or infatuation until some sense of trust is established which can only be obtained through factual acts of respect, worthiness and honouring the place within each of us which lies in the other. With the abundance of opportunities and time I have created for myself there is no reason for me to tolerate someone who falls short of the standards I have established for myself and the criteria underpinning the future to which I create. If a person wishes to be a part of this story then they need to be worthy – and I am beholden to that statement as much as its enunciator.

I theorize that she saw me as a gateway to a number of opportunities with respect to her own writing prospects and would try to exercise some leverage to get what she wanted until she could be independent – as such I would summarise her as a person who facilitates opportunity and material resource based usury until she obtains what she selfishly wants. I do not see her being a person who gives much of herself nor has much to offer others but will demand or attempt to deceive her way to what she wants. Her superficial positive hippy vibe is based on an intolerance and dysregulation of her own emotions and she will only accept/entertain things that she deems as positive or make her feel good whether they are true or not.

Some of what I base my conjecture regarding Xanthe is actually derived from what she holds to do with her “Creative Writing Degree” at Leeds Arts University (initially she said Leeds University but lied) is that she wants to write Romance novels filled with secrets, betrayals and lies. In a weird way, this is quite a charming unique individual quirk but based on her interactions with me a couple of thoughts sprang into mind. Does she know the true extent of the emotions, turmoil and despair that comes with the territory of such hardships? Would she trivialize or even romanticize such relationship crises that result in the profound dilemmas of the self to point they can almost (and sometimes) take the very soul from oneself? She did not behave nor act in way that would suggest any direct experiences to such scenarios but then wishes to write about them? How out of touch is this person? I found it borderline offensive since I have worked with both domestic abuse offenders and victims – to have their experiences reduced to some novella from some out of touch 20 year old girl? Sounds like the female feminist wannabe equivalent of Jim Theis’ The Eye of Argon.

The Standard of Friendship serves as the Bare Minimum:

Any friends I have, are devoted to a level of personal and moral development – there is an honesty and general sense of humility that appears when one comes to term with failure, mistakes, loss and bereavement. From a personal point of view, it is inconceivable for me to lie or twist events to myself – accept the facts and change the future, that is all I ever do. As such, Xanthe demonstrated a lack of courage to face awkward situations and the courage to accept negative events: and as such has not gained my respect. Her approach is to twist events and facts with herself in controlling the narrative, such is her ego. I am constantly astounded at the degree people will deny and lie about what is actually happening even to themselves – such people I have little respect of and generally avoid having anything more than a superficial interaction with based on necessity.

"Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate." - C. G. Jung:

She behaves in away that will draw abuse and trauma to herself because she creates it in the dynamics of the situations she wants and how she forces them into being. A lot of the time, I think she will think "this is opportunity to make myself look good and like an aspirational leader." but really she is just a opportunity hog for shameless narcissistic self promotion so she can control the narrative about oneself. The fact she struggled with the rejection and tried to behave in way that hedged her bets was evidential and was not fooling anyone. She was ill-prepared for who I was and seemed to have completely underestimated me – the truth be told that she was only thinking of herself as she did not predict the nature of my reaction or response. And she will view any interaction I would try to have with her as stalking or so on as that is the only narrative she could accept when in fact: she would flip the situation and roles protect her fragile ego however such self deceit comes full circle. She will end up back where she started with worse far reaching consequences. Whether it is a good or bad thing, but I doubt she will meet another fellow like myself – with zero return and zero consequence. I got what I wanted, I went on a date – fucked around – found out what I wanted to know and made an informed decision to not continue dating said person. Life will continue as I directed whereas hers? Who knows.

Moving Forward:

My resulting thoughts on the situation were that this person needs to seek a diagnosis for their current state (due to the nature of it – they adamantly will not) and will blame or find fault with the intention to demean/invalidate the choices and views of other people for being rejected, their problems and interpersonal hardships. I think, due to how she is as a person (from my direct experience, social media and general conversations) that she will only be forced to reconcile her issues when it stops her from completing university tasks and it impacts both the quality of the men she is interested in combined with the poor quality, lack of sincerity and constant instability in her relationship dynamics. As her relationships fail, I imagine she will attempt more overt and promiscuous means to secure what she wants but it will only attract people who will end up exploiting her. Any man who tolerates these types of behaviours and disrespect will not have discovered self respect, have high self esteem, come from a place of self perceived scarcity and will not be who they say they are. The irony being that only a low value individual will tolerate it or a person who knows to how to exploit it with very little personal investment for sex or someother misleading end at her expense. I am sure she will do a form of hoovering (convince others of her story for reassurance), I suspect that she will go so far to deny my academic and professional accreditations/achievements, if she does this then her level of intolerance to what I did and said would be bordering on the pathological and point to a Borderline Personality Disorder with narcissistic presentations of self aggrandization through the denial of expertise/substance that I embodied in my decision making. Her goal here would be to reassure herself that my perspective, the facts and opinions I based my judgment on were invalid: it is more projection of what she wants to believe to be true as opposed to actually being true. Any message I could send her potentially will be interpreted as stalking (even though I said in my main message that was it for me) because she wishes that was the case that I desired her and she rejected me. This would be an allusion to rejection sensitivity dysphoria which is endemic to those with BPD, PTSD and ADHD but I am not making any statements regarding this: the issue is more complex than that. She would be too proud to ever admit that I hurt her and defied her expectations – she will demonize and pretend that I had no significance and what I do is weird/stalkerish: but she plays herself because she will recreate this situation with someone else and the core issues remain undiscovered until they have already damaged her efforts of what she wanted to create for herself.

Xanthe's Persona - Overestimation of Self:

Xanthe went into that situation mistaking my general sense of inclusion and my default curious nature as something far more than what it was and got her expectations up whilst also mistaking it as being invested in the idea of her. From a personal perspective, it is absurd to even begin to invest or regard someone in a romantic or infatuation until some sense of trust is established which can only be obtained through factual acts of respect, worthiness and honouring the place within each of us which lies in the other. Her intention was to establish a one-sided power dynamic as the status quo in the relationship, assuming her self as the dominant one already without really understanding or comprehending myself as being a dominant personality that operates in a more subtle and self assured way. The need to control the relationship comes from both a fear of rejection, some form of past abuse that took advantage of her attachment in the past and inability to emotionally regulate: based on this I suspect there is rejection sensitivity dysphoria especially after what occurred post date (see aforementioned). Just because she got a date and I was engaging with her she thought she it was secure but the fact this was the case revealed to me her naivety, conceit and foretold the kind of dynamics/situations she intended to create with me.

Throughout our interaction, every action she did lacked spontaneity and appeared to obey some framework. She did not respond well to spontaneity of actions or anything I did: a lot of her approach seemed pre-planned or scripted with a specific result. As a result, the whole thing seemed very controlled orientated from her especially towards the end and on my final impression of her on social media. This control of both others, the situation and the narrative seemed to be an attempt to externalize her emotions and expectations through the manipulation of others hence the lopsided need for control – but this was based on a lack of personal self emotional regulation and expectations so she tried to do as much as she could to “subtly” gain my interest which was also a tactic which she deployed online (overtly sexual photos but I told her that I was not that into that but I still found her pretty). It only really became apparent towards our actual date this was the case and she had a clear rigid agenda that would have come at my expense: I think she would throw me under a bus (metaphorically) if I did not do what she wanted and tried to control myself. I think this comes a lack of a concrete sense of being and self, being able to accept and be oneself and as such she attempted to control others to mediate her own desires and avoid sadness/disappointment. There was a fear of me in her actions that she communicated through this approach: rejection and freewill – when she thought she had my interest (due to drink) it was most apparent that she did not regard me as a freethinking person capable of acting out of her projected scenario. I was not really thinking so in depth about my behaviour or actions but rather just resuming my current life path uninterrupted and removing a distraction. You can’t manipulate or strategise people into liking you – you have to trust they see the beauty and value of who you are as person.

Inauthentic Love - the Violation of Personal Volition:

There is this culture amongst many young people and Xanthe demonstrates it in a very discrete way, that they think they can emotionally and strategically create situations within a relationship that attempt to psychologically string and ensnare the people they intend to date. What they fail to realize is that if a victim has been manipulated to like them or dote upon them, their emotions and the way they perceives things are not authentically or freely chosen: they don’t like you because they chose to but because they has been psychologically deceived and hijacked based on their own self esteem and insecurities (most men have them, deal with it). It is not real, and towards the end of relationship or after it – they realizes the deception and the regret stings. It is why there are so many tales of an attractive figures seduce people (excluding Gaunt) into situations of self compromise (Garden of Eden, Siren’s, Mermaids and even in Harry Potter regarding Tom Marvolo’s Mother Merope Gaunt) – the seduction and deception go hand in hand: the sorceress or enchantress intention haunts the more ambitious and controlling of women and the trait that connects these women is desperation and social dominance orientation wherein they imagine themselves in control of most if not all things in their lives. Without realizing it, such women do not realize that they have played their partner but more importantly that they played themselves (men do this too). Seduction, the most part, carries with it a degree of deception and the conceit of its enactor in how "attractive/crafty" they like to imagine themselves.

Love is a sacred emotion, whatever forms it takes. To abuse of it for personal gain or to remedy personal insecurities is really a coward’s game. In order to get what you want without it being freely given requires coercion and psychic violation. Considering the aforementioned, this is what I saw Xanthe attempting to do, to create trauma bonds, and my intuition instantly saw it for what it was having encountered it before. My self agency was not respected and she tried to violate it for her own selfish gain underneath the guise of romance: it was this which I base my prediction of my involvement with her as a negative diminishing person to my projective goals and objectives so she had to go. This is further supported in both how she tired to deflect my rejection message combined with her trying to find holes in who I was and attempted to professional discredit me in her own story to invalid the rejection and what I implied towards her. What I can conclude over this weekend was that Xanthe never saw me as a human being but rather an instrument to manipulate for her own finer feelings of amorousness, romance and validation but in her attempt to play me she ended up playing herself.

"Anyone who tries to play around with and disrespect love will be the one who ends up crying."

I despise anyone who tries to pervert love for their own selfish reasons and will thwart their attempts to do so. This motivation was overtly expressed with Xanthe who thought there was nothing wrong with the way she engaged and the one sided situation she wished to develop and it wasn’t my job to explain something so straight forward and simple: that should have been her mother or father’s role. I do not believe she will get in contact or show genuine remorse for her action nor her intentions. I have made it so that the idea of contacting me or reaching out will be discouraged severely. But she will be forced to develop accountability through the instrumentality of the relationships she creates in the future but with people who are far less self aware or will exploit her psychological weaknesses. In the end, it seems to be Xanthe who is the weird one – and secretly she knew it all along. I believe the only time she will get back in contact with me is if she selfishly wanted something, even "forgiveness" will be laden with an operand cost.

Summary:

I hate to coin a stereotype to summarise this but really I just dated a spoilt white girl drunk on her parents enabling lack of accountability who got too used to having her own way and not being held accountable to her own narrow world view of toxic positivity: a potential narcissist in the making.

My above account, although factual in many ways in what I observed, experienced and thought are just my perception and are not alluding to a professional diagnosis. They are not to be taken as such and not stated as absolute matters of fact. To paraphrase or forward an excerpt without the whole body of text to others (including her) is not my intention nor would it be in my or her best interests. I am grateful for the experience I had as it better prepared me to what I need to avoid and enabled me to better select worthier candidates more efficiently.

I wish Xanthe what she both deserves and needs in order to become a whole integrated self realized woman and identify the toxic enablement and deceit of her own mother's pathology and how it has been implanted in her - harming her future relationships with people generally and stunted her development of a stable identity that is not dependent on those around her but comes from an intrinsic and authentic self belief.

2 notes · View notes

firelxdykatara · 4 years

Note

ppl love to forget that katara: 1. has her own taste, 2. developed around aang, he needed her for his development and vice versa, 3. ZUTARA IS SHIP BETWEEN AN OPPRESOR X OPPRESSED!!! Ignoring all of the development they had with their respective partners and the trauma Zuko caused Katara!!

In the infamous words of one Luke Skywalker: amazing. every word of what you just said was wrong.

It’s actually kind of ironic that you bring up Katara’s taste, since, throughout the show, we have examples of the guys she likes, to greater or lesser extents in canon--Jet (explicit romantic feelings on her part, word of god that jet was her first kiss--a kiss that would have been consensual, incidentally, something you should keep in mind for later) and Haru (she denies the crush, but that could just as easily have been because of the abomination he’d been growing on his lip rather than denying those feelings ever existed), both of whom have much more in common (in terms of both emotional and physical maturity, and physical appearance) with Zuko than either of them has with Aang.

Zuko’s book 3 hairstyle is almost exactly reminiscent of Jet’s, even, if not quite as floofy.

(This is probably in part because of Jet’s function as a foil of Zuko within the narrative, particularly given their book 2 encounters, which I think just further solidifies my point that, were it not for extenuating circumstances [like the fact that Zuko was introduced as an enemy and they had significant obstacles to hurdle before they could be friends], Zuko would have been exactly Katara’s type. Had they met under different circumstances, she could have been the girl he went on a date with in Ba Sing Se. Just something to think about.)

So, yes, we’ve established that Katara has her own taste. Her tastes seem to be boys with great hair who are taller than her, the same age or older, and of a similar maturity level.

Aang falls short (heh, short) on all counts. So it isn’t Katara’s taste in boys that led her to be interested in him. Hm!

Next, you claim that Katara ‘developed around Aang’--that she was necessary for his development, and that he was necessary for hers.

Let’s take a moment to examine that, shall we?

I will absolutely grant you that Katara was necessary for Aang’s development--only to a point, of course, but we’ll get to that later--but was he really necessary for Katara‘s growth? I suppose I could grant you this on a generous technicality--he did, after all, provide her with the means to finally leave the South Pole and find a waterbending master to teach her (although she wound up largely self-taught anyway). But that had nothing to do with his relationship to Katara and everything to do with the structure of the plot--Katara and Sokka find Aang (and he never would have gotten out of that iceberg without Katara’s own righteous anger, so even that leads back to her own power), and then they go on a quest to find teachers for the Chosen One and save the world.

The story could not have begun without first finding Aang and then providing means for the other main characters to travel with him (or, in Zuko’s case, chase him), but this has nothing at all to do with Aang’s relationship to Katara. Aang was not a mover in Katara’s developmental arc--if anything, he acted as an obstacle more often than not, his actions ranging from innocent but obnoxious (playing and flirting with girls rather than helping with chores like picking up vital supplies, leaving Katara to do all of the quite literal heavy lifting and keeping her stuck in the role of caretaker that she’d been thrust into following the death of her mother), to deliberate and harmful (hiding the map to Katara and Sokka’s father, a truly selfish action, regardless of his lack of malicious intent, and one for which he never actually apologized), to somewhere in between (”she didn’t really mean that” he says to the man refusing to train Katara because she’s a girl, when yes, she very much did mean that, and Aang was no help in finally getting the old codger to eat his words--Katara had to shove them down his throat her own damn self).

While Katara’s overall arc wasn’t exactly big and dynamic (like Zuko’s redemption arc), or in-your-face (like Sokka getting force-fed Respect Women Juice and his eventual growth into a tactician and leader), it was very much present and woven into her character--and Aang had almost no part in it. He provided her with the means to get to the North Pole, but left Katara alone to fight the patriarchy herself. He messed around while Katara took it on herself to do the chores and keep the Gaang alive, but he did almost nothing to decrease that burden so she could grow out of the caretaker role. (Contrary to popular shipper claims, Aang didn’t actually teach Katara to have fun. She already knew how to have fun. But she couldn’t indulge, because she had a responsibility to her family and her tribe, and later to her brother and Aang and Toph, and Aang goofing off and trying to get her to do the same only added to her burdens rather than subtracting from them.) He provided Katara with the necessary motive to learn to heal herself, but he certainly didn’t seem to learn from the experience of accidentally burning her, preferring instead to claim he was never going to firebend again, despite already knowing, at that point, that he was going to need to master fire along with the other elements to become a fully realized Avatar and defeat the Firelord.

He didn’t help Katara keep them alive during The Desert. (In fact, he ran off, leaving her to desperately try to keep Sokka and Toph from succumbing to the heat while worrying for his safety.) In The Painted Lady, Katara makes the decision to stall the Gaang and do what she can to help the Fire Nation villagers on her own--Aang agrees to help her when he finds out, but he wasn’t actually instrumental in her making that choice. The Puppetmaster was, again, Katara finding a master of her own, and having to deal with the fallout from that. And in The Southern Raiders, Aang was--perhaps unknowingly, if I’m being generous, because he is a child and could not reasonably be expected to fully understand the implications of what he was asking her to do or why it was impossible--actively impeding Katara’s development! She desperately needed closure, something he could not understand and actively belittled and dismissed. The only reason he relented in the end (but not without a condescending ‘I forgive you! Does that give you any ideas???’ parting shot lmao) was because Katara was planning to take Appa anyway, and letting her go (and hoping she’d just magically wind up doing things his way) was easier than trying to fight her on it.

While Aang’s existence was necessary for Katara to start down her own path, she needed neither his guidance nor his approval to follow it--and absolutely nothing would change about Katara’s arc if you removed their romantic relationship entirely.

Possibly because the only changes needed to do so would be to remove the two times Aang kissed Katara without her consent (which, hopefully, no one would actually miss), and the epilogue kiss (which was awkward and unnecessary to begin with, since ending the entire show on a romantic kiss as the final shot kind of missed the point of the story to begin with, but that’s another discussion). None of these kisses (which are the only moments in which Katara’s feelings for Aang are so much as addressed; do note that addressing them, or hinting that they needed to be, is not the same as saying she exhibited any sign of reciprocating them) altered anything about Katara’s behavior, her personal arc, or (and perhaps most critically) her relationship with Aang.

It’s that last point that is really damning, as far as ‘Katara obviously had feelings for Aang, she kissed him in the finale!’ goes. Because she didn’t ‘obviously’ have feelings for him. And the fact that he kissed her before the invasion and then she forgot about it (she literally had no idea what he was talking about during the play’s intermission until he reminded her that he’d kissed her) is pretty clear evidence that she didn’t actually have feelings for him. Not the kind he had for her.

I’ve been a teenage girl. I know what it’s like to be surprise!kissed by your crush. And I absolutely for a full fact know that I had not completely forgotten about that kiss three months later and had, in fact, spent most of my waking hours thinking about it and remembering it and trying to talk to him about it. Now, granted, I was not in the middle of a war, but even if I had been, I doubt I would have needed reminding about the fact that the boy I’ve supposedly been developing feelings for had kissed me and showed clearly that he had those feelings for me too.

At the very least, if Katara was harboring feelings that she was worried about approaching until after the war, her relationship dynamic with Aang should have shifted. But it didn’t. She acted the exact same way with him after the Day of Black Sun as she did before it--that is, as a mother figure and a caretaker, responsible for his wellbeing. (And it’s clear she never took him down off the pedestal she needed him to occupy, either--let it not be said that the unhealthy aspects of their relationship only went one way.)

And book 3 is, incidentally, where Katara went from being vital to Aang’s development to being detrimental to it--or, rather, Aang’s refusal to let go of his attachment to her (despite ostensibly having done as much at the end of book 2) was. Because despite having been told by, perhaps, the greatest authority left in the world on Air Nomad culture (even more than Aang, who had left his temple with a child’s understanding of his culture that was never able to mature because he got stuck in the ice berg while his people were wiped out) that he had to let go of his possessive attachment to this girl who never even expressed the possibility that she might harbor romantic feelings for him to begin with, after Azula killed him and Katara brought him back, he went right back into the mindset of Katara is mine, it’s just a matter of time.

And the narrative validated him for it.

Notice how, during Ember Island Players, Aang says the following (emphasis mine):

“We kissed at the invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together. But we’re not.”

First of all, if you go back and watch the scene, it’s clear it wasn’t a mutual kiss. Aang sprang a surprise kiss on Katara, which left her shocked and unhappy after he flew off. (The decision to have her looking away and frowning was a deliberate one on the part of Bryke, who wanted Katara’s feelings kept ambiguous. Heaven forbid you allow the animators to make it clear that this fourteen-year-old girl who was just kissed without her consent by someone she’d never once demonstrated romantic feelings toward might actually have some. Heaven forbid she have a little agency in her own romantic narrative. But whatever.)

Second, he says he thought they were gonna be together.

He thought.

He never once even asked Katara what she thought--or even how she felt. He just assumes. He assumes that if he kisses her, she’ll kiss him back and they’ll get together. He assumes that she must have feelings for him, even though her body language is closed off and she told him with her words that she did not want to talk or think about this right now, and kisses her regardless of those signals, upsetting her and leading her to storm off.

And the narrative rewards him, because despite the fact that they don’t have a single significant scene together after that second disastrous kiss, Katara just decides off-screen that she Does Love Him Really and walks onto the balcony to make out with him.

The upshot of all this being that, while Katara was indeed instrumental to a lot of Aang’s early growth and development, Aang was not necessary for her own arc, and their romantic relationship (such as it was) actively hampered Aang’s development in book 3, while removing it would change absolutely nothing for Katara (except saving her from some painfully embarrassing memories).

As far as your third point, I’m simply not going to get baited into explaining how reducing Zutara to an ‘oppressor/oppressed’ relationship is not only insulting to interracial couples irl (not to mention any other couple with a potentially unbalanced dynamic of societal power, since there are many more axis of oppression than just racial), but demeaning to Zuko and Katara, their personal arcs as well as their relationship development together.

However, I will point out that Zuko was not responsible for any of Katara’s trauma. She did not find violence and fighting in bending battles to be traumatic--in fact, she reveled in it. She enjoyed fighting against Zuko at multiple points (especially noticeable in their battle at the end of book 1), because she wanted to fight--she always had--and once she had the ability, she was ready to throw down with anyone who gave her the slightest reason. (Including, by the way, her own potential waterbending master.) Aang’s death at the end of book 2 was Azula’s doing, and while I think that contributed to Katara’s extreme reaction to Zuko joining the gaang, it was not something for which she actively blamed him, and it wasn’t something she believed would be repeated--she let him go off alone on a journey to find the original firebending masters with Aang well before she chose to forgive him. So she already trusted Zuko’s intentions and that Aang would be safe with him.

Finally, because this has gotten long enough already, I hope you now understand that Zuko and Katara getting together would not require ignoring any of their development with their canonical romantic partners. We’ve already established that Katara’s arc wouldn’t change in the slightest if all of Aang’s romantic advances were removed, and I haven’t even gotten into how Mai meant nothing in the grand scheme of Zuko’s development because I’m pretty sure that’s just self-evident. I mean, the video compilation put together by Nick showcasing Zuko’s journey throughout the series doesn’t include a single scene with Mai, though it does include several with Katara, and even Jin makes an appearance--because Katara, and even Jin, played key roles in Zuko’s personal journey, while his relationship with Mai happened entirely off-screen and her only real function was to showcase just how unhealthy trying to force himself back into the role of the Crown Prince was for him.

What development, exactly, is there between them to even ignore?

At any rate, I’ve gone on long enough--I hope you enjoy the fact that you activated my wordvomit trap card right when i was about to go to bed, anon, because I just spent two hours writing this instead. In case you’re interested in the TL;DR: at the end of the day, there was no meaningful, mutual development in Kataang’s romantic relationship, and those romantic feelings that did exist were largely one-sided and ultimately detrimental to Aang’s development in the final third of his overall arc. Meanwhile, Mai meant nothing to Zuko’s journey--rather like Aang’s romantic overtures, she could be removed from the show completely and nothing about his story would change--while Zuko and Katara were both vital to each other’s overall storylines, arcs and development. This, coupled with the fact that Zuko never actually traumatized Katara and, in fact, helped her achieve closure from the biggest source of her own trauma, means that Zuko and Katara have better and more believable build up that could potentially lead to a romantic relationship than either of them have with their canon romantic partners.

So no, anon, I didn’t forget anything--I think you may have, though. Perhaps a rewatch is in order? Make sure not to close your eyes for the back half of book 3 this time.

#atla #zutara #zuko #katara #aang salt #kataang salt #maiko salt #salt for ts #just trying to cover my bases #asked #Anonymous

1K notes · View notes

moomingitz · 3 years

Text

It’s... interesting looking back at the Jak and Daxter series, because when the second and third games first came out during my edgy teen years my mindset for them was mostly, “OMG Jak is now a buff and rugged edgy boi, he’s saying curse words, and has a literal edgy dark side to him. And Daxter is a big playboi who doesn’t hide his love for bewbs. Jak and Daxter is no longer for babies but for mature big kids like me!”

But looking at the series now; Holy shit, Jak has had it rough. Where do I even begin? This is going to be long, so get comfortable:

First, Jak was ripped away from his father at a very young age due to an insurrection. Then he was kidnapped by one of the people who was responsible for it, with the intention of being used to awaken some ancient Precursor technology, but luckily he somehow escaped and then was taken in by a rebellion group.

Then he was sent back into the past to be raised by Samos, the Sage of Green Eco. While that was a good thing for Jak, since he was able to grow up in a loving and supportive environment, what happened to him before that is something that would still be traumatic to a little kid especially in the form of something like Separation Anxiety. While this goes into headcanon territory, I can’t help but wonder if that had a lot to do with why Jak was the mostly silent type before the events of the second game. But thankfully he was lucky to grow up with two best friends like Daxter and Keira.

Surely you think that would be the end of misfortune Jak would have to go through. Wrong!

Fast forward to where he’s now 15 years old and everything seems all good and exciting after he and Daxter saved the world from Dee Snider and his twisted sister. Sure they didn’t accomplish what they set out for by turning Daxter back into his old humanoid self, by Daxter is content staying as a furry anyway. At least they saved the world and found some ancient Precursor technology. But hold up! Turns out it was some kind of rift gate and the moment they activated it some giant bug monster pops out and they’re all separated and thrown into some new place they’ve never seen.

Literal seconds later, before Jak or Daxter have any time to react or process what exactly just happened and where they ended up, Jak is immediately arrested and knocked unconscious, despite doing nothing wrong. He’s then tortured and experimented on for the next two years, in hopes of turning him into a living weapon by pumping Dark Eco into him. Keep in mind Jak was only 15-16 years old during those nightmarish two years of his life. But his BFF Daxter never gave up looking for him and eventually rescued Jak.

Upon busting out Jak has no damn idea where exactly he is, and when he does it turns out him and Daxter are now in a totalitarian, police state of a hellhole where never ending propaganda is blared everywhere you go, and where Jak’s only crime is just existing. Oh, and there’s currently an ongoing war between this police state regime ruling the city and some species called Metal Heads, so the territory outside the city is near inhospitable. So just simply leaving Haven City isn’t really an option. It’s either deal with the Krimson Gaurd who will get on you for just sneezing in the wrong direction, or claw your way for survival outside the city walls.

Until finding Samos and Kiera much later, Daxter is the only familiar and welcoming face Jak still had until then(the only exception being Sig in the “welcoming face” department).

Oh, and it turns out those Dark Eco experiments gave JAk some dark Hulk like form that he has trouble controlling(at least that’s what the game tells us). Oh, and they eventually learn that this shithole place they found themselves in is actually their home 500 years into the future. Oh, and it turns that this little kid they’ve been having to protect from both the Krimson Guard and the Metal Head army is actually Jak’s younger self.

Despite all that, the rebellion group and many of the criminals they had to work with eventually warm up and even become their friends, the authoritarian regime eventually crumbles, and they kill the Metal Head leader. Even though Jak doesn’t go back to his childhood home in the past, Keira, Samos, and Daxter choose to stay with him in the future, so he’s definitely not alone in the end. Happy ending earned, and that should be the end of all the bad stuff to happen in Jak’s life, right?...

Of course that wouldn’t be the end of bad traumatic shit to happen to Jak!

Right after the events of the second game, Jak is not only blamed for the fallout of the Praxis regime falling and the Metal Head army’s demise, but he’s outright banished to the Wasteland, no thanks to some weasely council member, Veger.

But ya boi Daxter snuck out to join Jak in his exile, so at least Jak still has his best friend with him. Jak now has to survive in a Mad Max esque land after proving himself worthy to Damas, the leader of some refuge village. But it’s kind of good because he slowly gets on this guy’s good graces.

Oh, but later on it turns out this Damas guy is actually the very father Jak was forcibly separated from during his very early childhood. But, Jak only figured that out just as Damas was dying, and he didn’t have a chance to tell Damas that he was his son that’s he’s been wanting to find for years.

It also turns out this Veger douchebag was one of the people aside from Baron Praxis who was responsible for Jak being separated from Dadmas, and was the guy who kidnapped him in an attempt use him to obtain that ancient Precursor technology.

Of course everything works out in the end. But yeah... You see what I mean? Jak was put through the wringer during the events of this whole trilogy! He's done nothing wrong! Yet starting from a very young age he’s either been targeted or dragged into other’s messes for just existing, or for something he had no choice to do in order to survive. The only real thing he did wrong was dragging Daxter over to Misty Island, which led to him being accidentally transformed into an ottsel in the first place. But the events of the first games was all a lighthearted adventure anyway. Aside from that it’s been one unfortunate or traumatic event after another for Jak.

When letting everything Jak went through really sink in, there’s guaranteed trauma and the resulting PTSD this poor guy is going to have to address or else it will inevitably manifest itself in some way later on. Acting gruff and blase' will only work for so long. I know some people get tired with pieces of fiction being compared to Steven Universe, but Steven’s eventual mental breakdown seriously came to mind. And some people will say, “It’s just a vidya game, stop thinking too much into it.”, but there was a conscious decision to take this series into a more dark and mature direction after the first game. So, it’s a bit hard not to think about more possible unpleasant implications based on what happened in the sequels, especially when looking at the events of the games through the lenses of today.

Taking all of this into consideration is also why I think Daxter is seriously the “MVP” of the series.

Daxter grew up being Jak’s best friend, which I’m sure helped Jak a lot after being separated from his father and taken to a literal place in time completely different and unfamiliar to him. I’m very sure his time growing up in Sandover Village and hanging out with Daxter was the best period of Jak’s life. Even after Jak dragged him to Misty Island, accidentally causing him to be transformed into an ottsel, and sacrificing his chance to be turned back to normal in order to save the world, Daxter showed no hard feelings towards Jak and he even learns to like being an ottsel.

He spent two years trying to find out where Jak was being held prisoner in Haven City, and infiltrated the place once he did and helped Jak escape.

And despite not having any fingers pointed towards him for the fallout after the events of the second game, Daxter still chooses to join Jak in exile in the Wasteland.

Daxter has never shown any ill will towards Jak despite him being the one responsible for being turned into an ottsel, and he’s never really abandoned him even when he is given many chances to or a way to get himself out of really bad situations. Despite everything, Daxter is still the same quippy, upbeat dork of a friend Jak has grown up with.

I really believe Daxter helped a lot with keeping Jak’s sanity intact during all of the hell he was put through and beyond. If there was a guaranteed way for someone to sign their own death warrant with Jak, I think harming or outright killing Daxter would be it.

#Jak and Daxter #Jak II #Jak 3 #Daxter #Damas

103 notes · View notes

whythehellnaut · 3 years

Text

The secret brilliance behind Nickelodeon All Star Brawl‘s marketing

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the Nickelodeon fighting game after it was announced, progressing from mild interest to ironic excitement to unironic excitement for it. So many jokes and memes have been made about it that they’re almost impossible to avoid. But when I thought about it, I realized that that’s exactly what the marketing team for this game wanted. The idea of the game is so absurd that no one would expect it to exist, but they figured out a way to make absolutely sure that it would create just the right buzz to get people like me to take serious interest in it.

Watching the trailer again, I figured out that every character they picked to showcase in that minute and a half trailer were carefully and strategically chosen to cater to as many people as they could. Even the order of their appearance had deliberation behind it. Here are my thoughts:

Michelangelo comes first, establishing that the game is combat focused. After all, who better to show off first for a fighting game than a character that has already appeared as a playable character in at least two of them? Plus, the Ninja Turtles are the oldest characters in Nickelodeon’s library when you consider that they first aired in the 80′s, before Nickelodeon even started making cartoons. This is a character that everyone recognizes, parents included.

Lincoln Loud comes next, a more modern character that adults might not know but kids will. This is to quickly lure the kids, who have less patience than adults, into watching the rest of the trailer, assuring them that it won’t just be older characters like the turtles that show up.

Powdered Toast Man comes next to snatch up the other side of the equation, the adults/90′s kids who remember him from the original Ren and Stimpy show from 1991. I’m not sure if it’s still airing as reruns on Nick today, but considering I hear very little about the show online, I’m guessing not. This is a bit of a surprise to the adults who thought it’d be a kids’ game, so it lures those folks into staying for the rest of the trailer as well.

Sandy is important to show off early for a number of reasons. Spongebob is popular among kids and Millenials, and is arguably the only property here as well known as Ninja Turtles, so they’re luring in more fans. It also serves to imply that other Spongebob characters will join, as, even though Sandy’s passion for karate makes total sense for her to appear in a fighting game, you still can’t leave out Spongebob himself. Showing her first implies more possibilities of characters to come, proving it won’t just be a festival of protagonists like Jump Force was. It also shows off their female representation to keep women interested.

Patrick is just a fan favorite to get out of the way before the sponge shows up, so he’s only here to confirm that the game is going to be full of characters that people actually want to see.

Oblina was personally a shocker to me, as I barely remember Ahh Real Monsters from my own childhood, but I remember enough to know that she wasn’t the protagonist, necessarily. I also know it’s relatively obscure in comparison to Spongebob or Ren and Stimpy, so they proved that they are willing to take characters from more obscure shows that the young kids won’t remember. This solidified my interest as I could tell that they are doing more to cater to the 90s generation than just confirming Powdered Toast Man.

Nigel Thornberry is arguably their most important addition at the halfway point. Outside of Spongebob characters and maybe Stu Pickles, I would say Nigel is the internet’s favorite Nickelodeon character to use for memes. The marketing team had to have known this. After getting some of the core audiences hooked, they now have the memer crowd invested, ready to spread the word about the insanity of this game’s premise across the internet. This is exactly what happened, and why the trailer has 2 million views on Youtube right now.

Lucy Loud is shown off quickly to remind the younger crowd to keep watching, and to add a little bit more female representation.

Spongebob is shown off a little bit late, but since we were expecting him to show up, it’s just to make sure the casual fans who only know the big names stay watching.

Helga is an older character, but I recently saw a young kid wearing a Hey Arnold tee shirt at the supermarket, so I’m positive it’s being shown as reruns on Nick today, so most Nick fans of all ages will be excited about her. Moreover, since she came immediately after Spongebob, who is a protagonist that was introduced after Sandy, a side character from his show, it gives an implication that Arnold will also appear. Although he is not introduced in this trailer, it allows the fans to speculate that he will soon be showcased, perhaps in the next trailer. Also, she’s the fourth female character shown, confirming that the game is being fair and inclusive to both sexes and not simply catering to male gamers, like say, Jump Force or Dragonball Fighter Z.

Reptar is another shocker, because although Rugrats is very popular and well known throughout the generations, he is a very, very minor character in the show. He is literally a fictional character within a separate fictional universe. The marketing team threw him in to show off that just about any character from any Nick property, no matter how minor or obscure, has a chance of making it into this game. Again, this forces the fans to speculate about future announcements with even more creative thinking, as we now know that it won’t just be major characters joining the fray.

Zim is a well thought out choice because he caters to a specific crowd that I’d describe as the alternative niche. That is to say, there are people who are fans of Invader Zim who don’t watch other Nick shows, so they are luring in the folks you’d expect to see at Hot Topic and the like. It was an edgy show with a feel and fanbase unlike other shows of its era, so it’s important to use him to diversify the roster. They also showed off Gir as his assist, and although that may deconfirm him as playable, it still pleases the fans, who often prefer Gir over Zim.

Danny Phantom is the only character that comes strictly from the 2000s era, so they are making sure to maintain the attention of the teenagers who watched that show as kids.

Leonardo seems like an odd choice to end on, maybe even anticlimactic, since they started with Michelangelo, but it makes sense when you think about it. They couldn’t show just 1 turtle, or else it might imply that the game’s roster was small. But if they showed all 4 turtles, they would have needed to leave two other characters out of the trailer to make room for them, and they didn’t want to make it look like a Turtles fighting game with guest characters. So having exactly 2 turtles allows them to show off enough characters from other properties, while also confirming unofficially that the other turtles would appear later, since you can’t just have 2 of the 4 turtles in the game. By leaving it open like that, they’re giving an implication that the roster is going to be huge. So big that the turtles were just a small portion of it. They end the trailer this way to leave the crowd speculating again: how many characters will appear in total?

The only characters that curiously don’t show up in the trailer are the cast of the Avatar franchise, who are quite popular. However, one of the stages shown is clearly the Air Temple with Aang’s glider in plain sight, implying that Avatar characters will be announced later. Another smart move to instill hope in the fans.

Finally, the Rollback Netcode announcement that came afterward solidified a very important group- the serious/competitive gamers. For those who don’t know, rollback netcode is relatively new technology that speeds up online gameplay to cut down on input lag, which is super important for fighting games in particular, as they rely on strict timing more than other game genres. It’s so new, however, that not all competitive fighting games use it. Popular tournament fighters like Super Smash Bros, Tekken, and Dragonball Fighter Z have not implemented rollback netcode for their games yet, so of all games, Nickelodeon All Star Brawl beating them to the punch is causing a stir. This is a sign that the devs are putting serious effort into making the game enjoyable online, which could potentially help its chances to be taken seriously in competitive settings. Only time will tell if that truly happens, but it’s a sign of quality, nonetheless.

So ultimately, this short trailer and announcement manage to cater to dang near every crowd that may want to play it: Kids, teenagers, young adults in their 20s and 30s, parents in their 40s, men, women, memers, casual fans, alternative fans, and serious gamers, and opens up a ton of potential for speculation regarding new announcements. That’s a fantastic way to start off and explains why this game, which for all intents and purposes should have been nothing more than a thought experiment that people joke about in the car with friends, has been trending so much for the past two weeks. Congrats to the marketing team for what they put together.

#Nickelodeon #nickelodeon all star brawl #fighting games #fgc

38 notes · View notes

grimmradiance · 3 years

Text

Close to Me: How the Hollow Knight's Fighting Style Reflects Their Trauma (and the Radiance's as well)

So I've been trying to actually beat the Radiance, which means I've been fighting the Hollow Knight. A lot, as a matter of fact, since I'm beans at this game sometimes. I've also been thinking about @lost-kinn's meta about how fighting styles are how Vessels, especially the Little Knight, communicate.

In trying to apply this to the Hollow Knight, I've been coming to some very interesting conclusions, especially taken in context of...Everything Else in the lore, and Everything Else implicated in this by the psychology of it.

There's a lot to cover here, and it tracks through a LOT of different places, including trauma psychology, the relationship between chronic stress and lifespan health, and shape symbolism. Two warnings first:

One: this essay is gonna get heavy. It includes fine-grained discussion of the Hollow Knight's trauma, including discussions of the real-life machanics of psychological abuse, as well as the Extremely Concerning Implications of them harming themself during their boss fight. please read with caution and when you're in a safe emotional place to do so.

Two: This post is not a place for justifying the Pale King. If you read this essay in its entirety and still want to do that, please make your own post; my relationship to the Hollow Knight themself is deeply rooted in my own experiences, so in the context of this discussion I can't promise I won't take it personally.

With that out of the way, let's talk trauma and fighting styles:

We know that the Hollow Knight is trained to be a paragon of fighting skill, through the Pure Vessel fight, and this gives us a fantastic way to compare what they were like before they were made Government Assigned Radiance Jail, and after. Or, in other words, we're given the perfect opportunity to see what the Radiance is doing (i.e. context effects), and what Hollow is (i.e. what we can conclude is reliably consistent as a part of them). Listed here, for reference:

Hollow's attacks:

Three slashes

A dash slash

A Radiant Shade Soul, which launches a volley of Infection blobs in arcs

A Radiant Desolate Dive, which produces pillars of entwined Void and Light at random intervals

The Infection bursting out of them in random arcs, covering a significant amount of the aerial space of the arena

The Radiance ragdolling their body around trying to hit the Knight

Contact damage from them stabbing themself and falling over atop you

The Pure Vessel's attacks:

Three slashes

A dash slash

A Pure Shade Soul, which launches a volley of nails in straight lines

A Pure Desolate Dive, which produces nails at specific intervals

A Pure Focus, which causes circular explosions across most of the aerial space in the arena

Lashing out with a Void Arm (word choice intentional)

I've highlighted attacks from each battle that are different, since those are our points of interest here. In addition, both the Pure Vessel and Hollow are exceedingly fond of teleport-spamming in a way that is usually reserved for a specific group of bosses.

Another very important distinction between these two fights: the Pure Vessel doesn't scream. Well, they certainly try to, but no sound comes out. No voice to cry suffering, after all. All of these points have a lot to go into, so let's address them one at a time.

All That Remains: Theoretical Background On The Significance Of Constants

Making comparisons across time is important specifically because humans (and human-like bugs) change. Most personality traits aren't set in stone--they exist as an interaction of someone's internal tendencies, their experiences, and their environment. Speaking of those last two points, not all experiences and environments are created equally. Adverse childhood experiences (ACEs for short) are known to have lifelong implications for a child's health, both physically and mentally. These are events that are so stressful or stressful for so long that they exceed a child's ability to cope and become toxic stress (yes, that's the term in the literature, because it actively damages your organs). They compound, as well--the stress of one ACE makes it harder for a child to cope with another, especially if they overlap.

Some examples of ACEs? Being exposed to physical danger or the threat of physical danger, deprivation of normal social relationships with peers of a similar age, being forcibly seperated from family members, witnessing a loved one being hurt or killed, chronic illness in oneself or a family member, neglect of a child's emotional needs....

Poor fucking Holly. It's a miracle they didn't disintegrate under the pressure. The only other option is that they bent and adapted under that much stress--in other words, most of their personality has been forcibly reshaped by what they've gone through. Anyone who has up-close experience with parentification or complex child abuse already knows: this was by design. I'm not saying the intent was to traumatize the Pure Vessel past several points of no return, but the intent definitely was to reshape their personality for the purpose of being The Vessel. We only see them (the Pure Vessel) in battle after this process is mostly or entirely complete, but we do see them a few times beforehand. I'd like to draw attention to the Path of Pain cutscene right now.

I've seen people talking about the look the Vessel and the King share as a sign that TPK really does love his child. That might be true, but it's definitely not relevant when it comes to how abuse works. This is, in fact, exactly how the cycle of abuse uses affection as a tool. Long periods of abuse or neglect, smoothed over by small periods of affection that placate the survivor? That's textbook love bombing, the kind that forms stubborn trauma bonds and facilitates unhealthy dependency. Forgive me for not giving the Higher Being of knowledge and prescience the benefit of the doubt on that one. (/s)

Team Cherry knows about the importance of parallels and dissonance. There's a reason the music in the second phase of the Hollow Knight fight plays in the Path of Pain. There's a reason it cuts out the moment the battle with the Kingsmoulds is over, instead of at the room transition. There's a reason it doesn't cut out in the Black Egg. Actually, there's two potential reasons, which could also coexist: either little Hollow trusts the Pale King to keep them safe, even after the borderline torture that they were just subjected to, or big Hollow is so hypervigilant that they're in full functioning-through-trauma mode even while they're at death's door.

If you don't see how much the Pale King scarred his child at this point, I'm not sure we were playing the same game.

Walking the Straight Line: How the Pale King's Teachings Show In the Pure Vessel

The Pale King loves order and control. Everything about the White Palace and every decision we see him make implies this. Everything is spotless white walls and well-maintained gardens; the only signs of disorder are hidden away, either in his workshop or in The Pit™. This also reflects in the Pure Vessel's title--pure as in holy, but also pure as in without flaw. Considering the Nailsmith's emotional state after completing the Pure Nail, TPK's fate with his Perfect Controlled Kingdom, and the Godmaster ending as a whole, attaining perfection is not a good thing in any sense.

We know the Hollow Knight isn't perfect--that's the whole catalyst for the plot. But considering their upbringing and their fighting style as the Pure Vessel, their imperfections absolutely kill them emotionally. I'll spare the lecture on how perfectionism affects neurodivergent kids even more severely than neurotypical kids, if only to keep this post to a reasonable length (look up "twice-exceptional children" if you'd like to know the theory I'm glossing over in more depth). But, in essence, the deck is doubly stacked against them--they have a higher goal to reach, and far more obsctacles in their path, including their own emotional scars.

I've already discussed how Hollow isn't meant for this kind of stress in a physical sense in other posts. They're not prepared for it emotionally, either--the Pale King wants perfection, and they can't even stand up straight (every spoonie in the audience already knows how exhausting people's obsession with Standing Up Straight is). There's another page on their stack of emotional baggage, even BEFORE you consider that the Pure Vessel knows their perfection is what bought them a ticket out of the Abyss.

Bringing Teleportation To A Sword Fight: Where The Pure Vessel Reveals Their Fears

How else are they going to cope with that need for perfection, that need to prove themselves worthy of the reason their life was spared, by being flawless in any way they can? Being a mechanical, flawless fighter puts so much pressure on them, both literally (repetitive strain injuries fucking HURT) and figuratively--if you're predictable, the only sure way to win is to mop the floor with your opponents before they figure you out. Hell, that's the way most people play their first run of Hollow Knight, by throwing themselves at the bosses over and over until they figure out the patterns. That strategy is inherently going to fail against an opponent that's, say, an immortal higher being.

There's no way that the Vessel didn't figure this out, and yet none of their TPV specific attacks are positioned randomly--the nails are always evenly spaced, and the Focus explosions are always in a specific height region of the screen. That's clinging to survival strategies even when they become maladaptive in its purest form.

Another dip into psychological theory: let's talk about disorganized attachment. Attachment styles describe how someone's relationships to their main caregiver(s) influence their understanding on relationships in general. Disorganized attachment is a result of an upbringing of inherently unstable parent-child relationships, where there's no way of a child predicting whether an adult is going to be delighted to see them, ambivalent, upset, or otherwise. If my parent woke up some days saying "all right my child, time for the Infinite Buzzsaws Obstacle Course," I'd be the same way. In adulthood this manifests as an inability to form a stable sense of self-concept as well as concepts of others. Mission accomplished, TPK, there's no will to break if you broke it yourself.

This is where the fighting styles as communication comes in--Hollow needs to keep Ghost at a distance to fight, but also wants to be closer to their sibling (the only being who has a chance of understanding what they've been through), BUT also has a trauma-rooted fear of attaching to people, as their experiences with attachment are inherently unpredictable and dangerous. Hence, both the teleportation that doesn't seem to match their fighting style any more reliably than "aim at the thing attacking you" and the second attack unique to the Pure Vessel--they're quite literally lashing out in pain to push people away. There's a reason that attack is so reminiscent of the Thorns of Agony.

Of note is that Holly does seem to teleport like the bugs of the Soul Sanctum do (favoring the edges of a screen, rather than going wherever like Dream Warriors do), which makes sense--they're the most obvious answer to the question "how did they learn how to teleport, anyways?" However, Sanctum bugs have abilities designed to capitalize on this, like homing spells and slashes from above. I can only assume this means that someone saw Holly's proficiency with the nail and assumed it translated to other forms of combat, and didn't feel the need to give them at least a bit of a primer on how to make the best use of it. There's another tally for the Hollow Knight as an autism metaphor.

Trauma Bonds: How the Radiance Speaks Through Hollow

Now, we're back to the Black Egg, and two people stuck in the same sinking ship. The thing that makes this hurt so badly is that Holly and the Radiance are at complete cross purposes here, and yet they both want the same thing:

They both want out, no matter the cost. For the Radiance, this means forsaking the pacifistic nature of the moths and nuking Ghost personally.

For Hollow, this means forsaking the way they were raised and everything that was bludgeoned into their personality: the only way out is to fail, give up control, and trust that Ghost will do what needs to be done.

Imagine how much pain they're in to actually go for it. Going against a literal lifetime of conditioning is something that takes the average person years to even consider, let alone go through with. It's a form of learned helplessness--if you try to break free and fall, again and again, it actively discourages further attempts. Breaking through learned helplessness is an interesting process, because it generally involves re-establishing a sense of control by recalling previous events where the person was able to change their situation.

Which, as far as we know of, are nothing but traumatic memories for Hollow. It's very unlikely that they'd break through it on their own, but we know they have by the time we see the second phase of their fight. This is them at their most desperate: the same music as the Path of Pain, the way they let, or can't stop, the Radiance throw their body around, the way they actively try to let the Radiance out by stabbing themself.

You'd think that giving up and learned helplessness are inherently compatible, but when giving up both goes against your core personality, and involves your active participation, they're in direct opposition. So either Holly was able to process all their trauma by themself (which I doubt, judging by how much effort the player has to go through to even see Ghost's and Hollow's traumatic memories), or someone gave them a nudge or three in that direction.

Considering that there's been someone living in Holly's head who has a vested interest in them Not Doing Their Duty, I think we know who. And the thing is, I think we watch Hollow have this breakthrough during their battle. Imagine for the first time in decades, at least, you can move. You're in pain from being in the same position, probably hallucinating from sensory deprivation, with an infection sucking at what strength your body has left. And there's this little creature who looks ready to fight you, who seems to have let you go for that exact purpose.

And you look down, and both you and the Radiance recognize them from a place rooted deeper than consciousness, in the murky depths of trauma. You see the other Vessel who just as easily could have been you, and who looks so much stronger for not being you, for being an imperfect, willful creature. And the Radiance sees history threatening to repeat itself, another one of the Wyrm's cursed children seeking to lock her away once more.

What else do you do when you're triggered? You scream, and you go on instinct, and you retreat into your head. Those first blows, with the epic music? That's the Vessel the Pale King forged, the fighting machine that will endure unimaginable stress because it knows no other way. What snaps you back out of dissociation? Usually, either the passage of the triggering stimulus, or an even more relevant stimulus (severe pain from getting beaten up by a nail, for example).

The tragedy is this: we know this isn't a triumph. I think most of us went into that fight the first time, knowing we'd be putting the Hollow Knight out of their misery. The music turns tragic, Hollow screams, and then we see the Radiance and Hollow themself break through: the Radiance trying to fight Ghost directly with the resources she has, and Hollow trying to help her along.

For what it's worth, Hollow even had the right idea, when it came to letting themself rest while helping Ghost stop the madness their father started--they were just digging for the Radiance in the wrong place. The dynamic between the Radiance and the Hollow Knight is something I could write on for pages and pages, but this has gone on for long enough. Tune in next time, where I'll presumably talk about this same topic but in reverse with regards to the Radiance.

#hollow knight #hk #the pure vessel #the pale king #the radiance #my meta #the higher being speaks #i hate fact-checking my abuse infodumps because the ableism against personality disorders is EVERYWHERE #but here this monster of an essay is #anyways the hollow knight as a character sniped my trauma on sight #so i may be a tiny bit biased here But Also I'm Right #abuse //#child abuse //#emotional abuse //#i legit do not know what tags to throw on this #also the overarching title is a reference to the song of the same name from just shapes and beats because. yeah

316 notes · View notes

chocolate-parfait · 3 years

Note

can I suggest a headcanon for arthur, theo and comte ( or dazai ) reacting to their selectively mute s/o speaking for the first time? ( maybe even singing? ) you can decide if you want a scenario for one of them and what mc sounds like, wether shes soft spoken or has a mature voice~ whatever you feel comfortable with >:0 👌 — have a nice day ! ♡

I made some research to write this but tell me if anything's inaccurate or wrong! I'll fix it right away

Selectively mute MC - ikevamp headcanons (Arthur, Theo & Comte)

Arthur

Arthur's a bit suspicious when he sees how uncomfortable you seem to be on your first night. No normal person would feel completely at ease, that's for sure, and yet the way your gaze flickers around the room, the way you fidget with your own hands, the look of pure anxiety on your pretty features, they're all blatant red flags for him, though he decides to let you be. It's your first night, after all, for all he knows you could just be terribly shy, right?

He started piecing the signs together after a couple days when your voice was yet to be heard. The only thing they knew was your name, which you wrote on a piece of paper after Vincent's many soft encouragements.

The English writer had tried flirting with you a couple times, but after being met with the same indicators of discomfort as night one, he decided to step back and watch from the sidelines, occasionally helping others translate whatever you were trying to tell them with your body language.

Selective mutism had been diagnosed around 1870 for the first time, and although it was still a relatively new medical condition, he still was a couple decades more experienced when it came to medicine. After realizing that was your case, he moved to inform everyone in the mansion so that they could adjust their behaviors and avoid causing you too much distress.

Eventually Arthur becomes the person you spend most time with in the whole house; you can feel he genuinely cares and, despite the voices you had heard about his incorrigible attitudes and questionable habits, you start appreciating all the efforts he puts into making sure you're always comfortable and understood (his efforts were very much succeeding, by the way).

On one particular night, you decided to bring some coffee to his room, a silent gesture of support in his regards, but once you entered the bedroom, he turned to look you in the eyes and you saw his beautiful blue orbs, usually alight with mischief, now dark and wavering, surrounded by puffy, red skin. He had been crying. Despite all his best efforts to hide it, everyone knew the writer had his own ghosts from the past haunting him, but seeing him so wretched and broken made your heart squeeze in sympathy and pity.

Seeing your worried expression Arthur immediately turned the other way, letting out a self deprecating laugh as he thought this was probably not helping with your case at all. "Ah- D-don't worry about me! I just got some dust in my eyes. Clumsy old me-!" You set down the tray on his desk and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"A-arthur, you can tell me. I'm here for you."

His heart almost flew out of his chest as his wide eyes stared at you in disbelief. He abruptly stood up and had to stop himself from hugging you and twirling you around, grabbing your shoulders instead. "MC, you just spoke right now, didn't you?!". He was so shocked he completely forgot about his troubles and spent minutes fawning over you. He didn't realize he was coming off as too strong until he noticed your voice getting quieter and quieter. He then apologized and took a moment to cool himself off.

From then on, your relationship goes through revolutionary changes as he finally gets to learn more about your past, tastes and personality. Each little detail makes him more and more interested in what had been a complete mystery to everyone for days. As the writer of Sherlock Holmes he certainly couldn't let this one chance fly out of the window now, could he?

If his brain malfunctioned when he heard your voice for the first time, it is pretty accurate to say that he almost passed away for the second time when he heard your laugh! It's the best and most effective antidepressant he's tried in a long time, and the more open you become, the more the look in your eyes starts to brighten up, a worthy rival to the breathtaking smile that graces your lips every now and then.

Your voice is sweet, calm and soft, and Arthur feels as if he's floating on a cloud whenever he hears it. It isn't loud, either, making everything you say seem like the most intimate secret one could whisper to a close friend. On the other hand, your laugh is like the clear and light tinkling of a bell. Each time you let out even the smallest of chuckles his cheeks flush with a rosy blush, earning him stares and teasing remarks from the closest fellow vampire in the room.

Slowly, he starts to see his reactions for what they are: sprouts of a new love. As time passes by, he realizes he wants to hear more and more of your voice. He wants to hear you whimper his name lost in overwhelming pleasure, he wants to hear all the sweet nothings and declarations of love you can offer him, comforting words, even gibberish and dark secrets. Everything that comes out of your mouth is like molten gold to him, and he wants it all to himself.

He starts bragging to others, though it does not take long before you're comfortable enough to grace them with the sound of what Arthur has come to love so much. On one side he's jealous because you've denied him the privilege of being the only one to hear your voice, but at the same time he's also extremely proud of you! You're finally happy and there's no more traces of anxiety and worry in your eyes whenever you're surrounded by the other vampires, and that's one of the most important milestones he's honored have witnessed by your side.

Theo

Let's just say that you and theo start off on the wrong foot. To say that you're frightened of him at first is an understatement, and you very much avoid him for as much as you can. He feels guilt strangling his throat whenever he sees your quivering form running away from him, and after noting that you behaved similarly with everyone and still hadn't uttered a word in days made him worry even more.

Arthur's the one who comes up with a diagnosis, and with that everyone changes their manners and speech to make you feel more at ease. Theo, just like his blue haired friend, is actually pretty good at reading body language so he has no particular struggles when it comes to your needs. Unfortunately, he's not so smooth in regulating his tone and words, which often come out a little to harsh. Vincent often reprimands him for it, and he can't help but feel even worse when he realizes he's probably ruining your whole stay.

He starts distancing himself, and you gradually start sticking by the local angel's side, never leaving him for even a second; his vibes are so pure and soothing that they help you out with your anxiety and symptoms. Needless to say, he's also very understanding and is not at all bothered to speak in your stead. This leads to Vincent being the first one to hear your voice, and he's without doubt elated, but he also wishes for you to be able to socialize with the others, too. Theo in particular.

After days and days of the artist's endless rants on how good his little brother actually is, your image of the gruff man has been replaced by that of a soft hearted puppy. Too bad that this soft puppy looks like a hungry hunt dog more than a small, soft cloud of love.

Ironically enough, what brings you and Theo to a new stage of your basically nonexistent relationship is King. In the dog's presence he lets his guards down and turns into a loving owner of a very good and friendly golden nugget, subsequently becoming more approachable. Besides, everyone knows how helpful animals are in fighting anxiety and social disorders! And on the advice of Arthur, he invites you to his daily walk with his dog, hoping your fear will melt away with time.

He's a stubborn man, and even when such delicate issues come his way, he has no intention of giving up. No matter how much time it'll take him, he believes he's going to convince you he's not that bad as you first thought. Why is he trying so hard though? Well, not only it's something that stems from Vincent's care for you, but it's also something for your own good. If you were to avoid him for a whole month, you'd get nothing out of it, and a constant lingering sense of panic would follow you pretty much anywhere; but living for a whole month in those conditions is a no-no for Theo. He has no intention of uselessly make you suffer like that, and as he reminds himself of that, his willpower strengthens his determination to search for a common ground between you two.

Albeit slowly, you start getting less tense around him, and the fright fades away bit by bit with each walk in the woods with the Dutch art dealer and the excited bundle of golden hair. It's a lengthy process that takes many days, but Theo finally knows his efforts aren't vain when he hears you coo at the golden retriever. "King... you're such a good boy.." You say with with the warmest smile he had ever seen painted on someone's face as you patted his canine friend's head lovingly. In that moment he wished he could frame the scene and hang it up in his room next to his brother's paintings.

He didn't know whether it was the emotion of hearing your voice for the first time or the implications that told him you weren't that scared of him anymore, but he became hyper aware that his wasn't a normal heartbeat. Unsteady and crazy like that of a lovestruck fool. Was this all it took him to fall head over heels for someone? Or was this a process that had started way before?

It still takes you some time to be fully able to speak complete sentences in his presence, but once you do, he's overcome with one of the greatest feelings of satisfaction he had ever felt in his two lives, and he can definitely agree that everything was worth the wait and the labour.

Just like Arthur, your laugh almost makes him fly through the roof, but what turns him into a formless puddle of mushy feelings and amazement is your singing voice. The first time he hears you intone a medley to him he turns to stone and just stays there, unmoving. He has an eye for finding hidden talents, but oh God was your singing unexpected. His feeling may be out of place here, but he's so, so glad to have your singing all to himself. He finds the act extremely intimate, and for how much he may believe he doesn't deserve it, he cannot deny the positive effects it has on him

Sometimes, when you're talking to him, you can see him turn his face away and smile to himself like an idiot. In those times, he's thinking about how far you two came, and how glad he is to have persisted as much as he did.

Comte

Comte emanates a slightly threatening and imposing aura but it can also be calm and placid, like his voice. First and foremost he's a gentleman, but he sometimes comes off as very intimidating to those who are not used being around such strong presences like his. Luckily, he's a very patient man, and you can feel no judgement nor malice coming from him. He's lived a long, long life, and he knows better than overstepping people's boundaries and making fun of their insecurities.

When with him, you can do things at your own pace! If you don't feel like talking then he's totally okay with it; take your time to find your own way and pace of doing things, he'll gladly help if you ever ask him (with gestures or, once you're closer, with words).

The panic you feel in his presence dissolves gradually; there are no particular events that cause a turning point in your relationship, it just happens. Despite living in such a big mansion, avoiding all life forms is pretty much impossible, so you happen to share some interactions every now and then. Sometimes it's an afternoon tea, others it's just him making small talk as you clean his room (he's either talking to himself or asks answers you can nod to if you feel more comfortable). He immediately makes it clear that he doesn't expect nor want to pressure you in delivering any answer, and if you ever happen to feel too overwhelmed he excuses himself and leaves the room.

One day as you were dusting the shelves in his office, he casually says:"The weather's really nice today." But your head doesn't move in assent, instead he receives a shocking reply despite the ordinariness of the topic. "It really is... T-there's not a cloud in the sky, either." A shocked expression momentarily appears on his features, soon replaced by a wide smile as he hums back in agreement.

He doesn't let it show but he's utterly in love with your voice. It's an addiction but he still wants to give you enough space and time to get comfortable with the idea of speaking around him, so he tries to keep himself in check all the time.

It's when he hears you singing that he can't help but feel greedy, and the rare sight of Comte's blushing cheeks greets you for the first time ever. It's his weak point, use it as you may deem ;)

(okay but jokes aside WHY would you ever want to use it against him, he'd build a pyramid with a butter knife while doing a backflip if you asked him to tbh,, the man is Whipped.)

Everything you do has a meaning and a significance, so he's always taking in even the smallest piece of information you may subconsciously slip his way. Seeing how you trust him enough to lower your guards about him makes him all the more appreciative of the bond you two share. For this reason, if you ever want to try and get over your anxiety, he'll be there to walk with you from the first to the last step of your journey.

His favorite thing is when he's holding you in his arms, nuzzled against his chest while he dozes off to your heavenly humming. It makes him feel like a prince living his happy ever after in a fairytale and he couldn't be more grateful.

#my writing #ikemen vampire #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp imagines #ikevamp comte #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #arthur conan doyle #theodorus van gogh #comte de saint germain #answered

254 notes · View notes

neko-rogers · 3 years

Text

72 Hours

You only have 72 hours to detain Steve Rogers. He’s the only opportunity you can get to find out what happened and why half of the population mysteriously disappeared.

word count: 3,168

tags: eventual dark!steve rogers and non-con; however, none much in this chapter but plot and interaction

Things escalated so quickly.

Ever since half of the world population had suddenly disappeared, which left fewer people walking around the streets of Manhattan, your job had become stressful yet so useless. The rest of the investigative crew are close to giving up and adapting to what has been left.

Meanwhile, here you were. Neither convinced nor ready to accept the fact that most of your friends and family have vanished.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. By now, the withdrawal is coming close to a year and a half. Yet the clues you have gathered merely comprises for a month of effort.

“You should be giving up on this already.” Two of your colleagues walk behind you, either of them comforting your bothered state by rubbing your back as a gesture to cheer up. The hint of hopelessness in their tone bothers you more than their initial intention.

“I doubt you will be solving one of the biggest mysteries of the world yet,” they state with an implication of humor before pulling back. From the corner of your vision, you could see their jackets folded neatly and hung on top of their arms. Just as their uniforms remained pressed, it conveys that they were already prepared to check out of their shift.

“But hey, if you do solve it, let us know. We’ll be more than supportive and grateful for your efforts, Agent.”

“Thanks. I hope so,” your voice was soft, resisting to show any sign of weakness or vulnerability despite on the verge of breaking down on the inside.

Within a few minutes, the office was left noiseless. Most of the officers who had day shifts proceeded to depart by the hour until you and two others have remained.

For you, it did not matter whether you got paid for overtime from your original schedule. Since you did not have anyone to look forward to when coming home, you preferred to spend most of your hours at work, searching for a way to somehow bring them back.

The chances were so odd and slim. The fact that all your families and friends near your location were wiped out. You could not do anything since you did not know who caused all this disaster, let alone the reasons behind the disappearances.

As your elbows were resting on top of your desk, your head fell onto both your palms. A big sigh was released from your lips countless times already. This wasn’t just getting lonely anymore, you were obsessing over something that was far from your reach.

The plain screensaver of the bureau’s logo was dancing over your desktop. Along with several pictures, specifically one or more for each member of the well-known extra-terrestrial fighting group of Avengers. Their superhero names were scribbled with red ink and pinned onto a small corkboard.

Tony Stark.

The name haunted you to your dreams. The billionaire who brought good and bad things into New York City.

You are not entirely sure why your guts were forcing you to focus on this man amongst the rest of his alliance. But you were just desperate to cling onto any evidence blindly hanging in front of you.

For the entirety of the event, you haven’t had a single report about him. Assuming that he’s been trying to hide from this mess, you tried contacting other bureaus from across the world in search of the man. For months of being very pushy, you have only been getting the same phrases like a broken record.

‘I’m sorry, Agent.’

‘No. We haven’t had any reports about Tony Stark.’

‘My crew has been trying their best, but there aren’t any traces of him.’

‘We assure you we’ll find him sooner or later, Agent.’

‘Please be patient, we don’t have much manpower here anymore.’

For months, you have been at the edge of your seat. Eager to answer the phone at the first ring. If it’s not considered patient then soon enough it’s going to run out. You did not know what backup plan you have once that does happen though.

Maybe going crazy would ironically be the sanest thing to happen.

Nevertheless, you will eventually cross that bridge when you get there. For now, the only option you have is to overwork yourself to the edge of insanity.

“A long day you got there, Agent?” A subordinate of yours passes by with two cups of coffee in her hand. She sets down the other right beside your computer screen and glances at the pictures splayed across your work area.

You groan, a frown still evident as you sat up straight before replying, “Oh tell me about it, I’ve had the longest year.”

She gave you a warm smile, like always around this time of evening. Though only being hired recently after a month of the mysterious disappearing arc, she continued to attend to her shift and adapt as the others would. And despite almost a year of greeting, and often bringing you a cup of coffee, you never really gave any of your attention to her.

This time though, you looked back just as she was about to leave. You were quick enough to get a glance of her name plastered on her identification card connected to a lanyard that draped around her collar.

Agent Maria Hill.

“Agent Hill,” you addressed her. She turned around with a smile, looking neatly as ever with her hair combed and pinned in a neat bun.

“Yes?”

"Thanks for the coffee, like every night." Your gratitude combines with a warming smile that reaches out for her. Though appearing exhausted from staring at a screen and documents for hours, you tried to look your best when facing her.

"It's no big deal." Her reply trails down to murmur a few indistinctive words that you merely brushed off, assuming that it was nothing but a nice gesture.

Before her figure could entirely exit the vicinity of your workplace, you swiftly chirped, "And thanks for being so nice to me!" A chuckle was heard from her, leaving off with a smile as she walked away without responding anything in return.

Immediately, your mood shifted again returning to your usual distressed state of mind.

The coffee you drank earlier was wearing off from your system. You could drink the cup your colleague had offered, but you figured it could not do much now that your body could only harbor caffeine to such an extent. A twelve-hour shift with merely half an hour of lunch break would not leave you, or anyone, at best. By sooner, your eyelids were getting heavy, risking to doze off at work.

Your fingers reached to move your mouse, dragging the cursor along with the useless mail your inbox has been receiving. Each of them took that least bit of hope of finding Stark, making you feel caged and haunted every day as there is not any progress in a year.

Again, you groan, louder this time. Other agents around could have heard you yet shrugged your frustration casually since they have witnessed it for months. You ball your fists and slam it against your desk, rough enough to make a sound echo throughout the room, but not enough to break it into two.

“Fuck, I need the rest,” you admit to yourself.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

24 hours

Days have passed. Like usual – nothing.

As always, your routine started just as you were walking to the agency. However, amidst peacefully walking at the pavement, trying to get even a hint of peace of mind, the phone tucked inside the pocket of your jacket started ringing.

The name of your agency was the first thing you have noticed as you faced the small screen. Moreover, you did not hesitate to slide the green phone button to answer.

“Hel–”

Just as you were about to offhandedly greet the person at the other line, they made their way to cut the conversation fearfully.

“They found him! They found him, Agent!” The fearful yet impressed tone was evident, and eventually, you realized that the familiar voice belonged to Agent Hill.

Nonetheless, your mind started wandering to different scenarios, jumping to conclusions like a kid. Despite barely hearing anything other than they caught someone, you were sure looking as joyful as ever. It was as if every bit of hope you lost each week have been restored.

For a short while of daydreaming, you have recovered quickly. Moreover, inquire about the context of what she’s trying to refer to. “What do you mean you’ve found him, Hill?”

Your heart raced quickly. The tension behind finding out who it was was far from the reality of it being a pause for mere seconds.

Please say you have found Stark. Your mind could only pray harder for those words to be repeated from the other end of the call.

“The team found one of the members of the Avengers,” she answers.

“Which one of them?”

“It’s Steve Rogers.”

Your world partly crumbled after hearing a different name compared to what you were expecting. Nevertheless, happy enough that you were progressing on the vision you have laid out.

“Hold on, I’ll be at the station in a few minutes.” You assert, turning around the corner of a street you were approaching. From here, there was a fair five-minute jog until your office. Considering that it was early morning, you did not hesitate to start speeding your pace.

Right now, as if things escalated so quickly

Once you arrived, you passed vacant offices until reaching the interrogation room. The other officers were gathered outside it, facing the two-way mirror that displayed the known Captain America.

Maria Hill was standing closest to the mirror. Getting the best view of the super-soldier sitting peacefully inside the room. You approached her with a confused look upon your face.

“How did you even find him?”

“It’s a long story, there were two of them though we could only catch up with Mr. Rogers,” she explains.

“Alright.” You motioned for your other colleagues to return to their original tasks. Both you and Agent Hill were left, given privacy to talk about what should be done.

“Give me a moment with him, I’ll try to see what information we can get.” Agent Hill nods at you and hands over a folder. She gestures for you to take a step inside the room and reassures that she will be outside to act as a witness.

As you enter the room, it felt colder in addition to the resentful stare coming from Captain America himself. His gaze does not leave you, following your trail up until you reach the metal chair and take a seat in front of him.

Your back begins to sweat even after barely interacting with him. You did not know what could happen. For all you know, he could rip his handcuffs and beat your face over the table.

Nonetheless, you tried to look as assertive as possible. Adjusting your posture to feel comfier in your seat and clasped both palms of your hands over each other. You look in front, seeing the man still staring at you.

You took a deep breath to prepare yourself “Nice to see you in Manhattan again, Mr. Rogers.” Your voice was close to breaking, but you disregarded it. This is your nearest encounter with a superhero, so it would be normal for anyone to feel pressured.

The soldier raises one eyebrow at your greeting. He pulls back and slumps on his chair, acting as if he’s the one probing the detainee. “Been keeping track of me, ma’am?”

The tone of his voice instantly became cocky. Even so, smirking while his gaze shifts from the floor and back at you.

“I have been keeping track of the Avengers for these past months,” you affirm. To prevent a boost of ego in his system, you also added, “But I wasn’t specifically keeping my eye on you, Captain.”

He imitates an offended look, placing one of his cuffed hands over his left chest. “Ouch. Was expecting a pretty woman like you tracking down America’s Golden Boy.”

“Nonetheless, do tell me which one of us were you looking for. Is it Stark?” You tried to ignore his mood swings. The sudden change of being quiet, then proceeding to act hurt, and now seeming provoked even if you had not given any answers yet.

You figured it was best to ignore his question.

“Mr. Rogers, may I know what you were doing here in Manhattan and who you were with–”

“I asked you a question first,” he reminds.

“Look, sir, I don’t think it will help if I’m the one answering questions here,” you sigh. “So if you could please cooperate with us.”

“Cooperate? Why would I?” He scoffs. “You can only detain me here for seventy-two hours at most. Considering that you have no evidence against me, you can only hope to pray for a miracle.”

His attitude was not at all welcoming. Your blood started to boil at the man seated in front of you, acting as if he is completely innocent about all this.

“Is it true that you aren’t withholding any information about the disappearance of half of the world population?” You argue with a brow raised at him.

“I know nothing,” the man answers.

“And if you do know something, that’s obstruction of justice. You know that right, Captain?”

He smiles faintly. This time he breaks his stare, looking at the floor while answering, “Yes I do, ma’am. Very well.”

His expressions were starting to drive you crazy. You were used to this kind of scenario back when things were normal. Though after the events transpired, it has been a year without you interrogating someone who was held inside this room. You’ve gotten subpar upon looking like an intimidating officer.

“Okay then.” You nod, “Can you explain to me why you and your accomplice tried to run away from the cops.”

“We didn’t,” he said, ever so boldly. “Your friend, over there, spotted us and tried to cuff us immediately. Which one of you thought that was a good idea?”

Your gaze follows onto the large mirror placed near the door of the room. You could only see both you and Steve Rogers, but you knew Agent Hill was at the other side listening to your conversation.

“Look, half of the population mysteriously disappeared,” you sigh in between, “it’s not something a normal person would be able to perform. Can you blame us for following up on the Avengers?”

“I guess not then, ma’am.” He nods, accepting your statement. “Still won’t change the fact that I have no idea about all these disappearances, yeah?”

“Right, then tell me who were you with before Agent Hill decided to detain you here.” You lean back while crossing both your arms against your chest. Your teeth lightly bit the insides of your cheeks as you tried to hold out a frustrated sigh.

“Well, I was with Nat,”

“Nat? Natasha Romanoff?” You raise your chin, intrigued to find out more. “Five-foot five, Russian assassin, shoulder-length vermillion hair, Natasha Romanoff?”

“That’s impressively accurate.” Steve Rogers chuckles in front of you again before adding, “Except that she’s blonde now.”

You tried to take in a few minutes to grasp the information. The silence prods through your thoughts as you analyze the possibilities, perceiving that maybe, just maybe, you’re a few steps closer to Tony Stark.

But the man disrupted your thoughts, “Still don’t know why you’re holding us custody despite all this. You won’t get anything, might as well cut to the chase.”

“You’re quite a smart-mouth there, Captain.”

“And you’re quite eager to find about Stark, Agent,” he mocks. You throw your head back in defeat. This was going nowhere and both of you knew it.

Instead, you push against the table so you could finally stand up. You rest both your palms flat against the cold metal table, arms stretched wide to balance your weight out. “I think that’s enough for today.” You grab the untouched folder before turning to your side to walk towards the door. “Thank you for trying to cooperate with us, Mr. Rogers.”

As you head out, you noticed that Agent Hill was already out of sight. She most likely headed to do her job rather than to stand and watch you and Steve exchange nonsense.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

As you get home, you dressed into casual home clothes and headed to bed.

You could not entirely fall asleep. The super-soldier was stuck in your mind, frustrating you into the depths of it.

You tried to ponder, grabbing the folder of compiled documents that Agent Hill handed you over earlier. As you opened it, the first layer of it was pictures of Steve Roger’s face throughout the week. You guessed that they were not just trailing him today, but also studied his moves for the past week.

Furthermore, you flipped through pictures of him and his crew, but they looked like they were not in taken in New York. It was dark and the faces of Steve, Natasha, two other persons in the background could be seen fairly.

“Huh.” You furrowed your eyebrows realizing that there were more details about them that you expected. For a while also wondering why Hill did not updated you about these at least.

But eventually you acknowledged that you were so busy figuring out information about Tony Stark, that you forgot that the other superheroes he has worked with were just as significant.

Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff. Sam Wilson. Location: Edinburgh, Scottland 21:32. April 2018

Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanoff. Location: Manhattan, New York 13:05. October 2019

His beard remained almost the same despite the year difference. His golden hair was brushed backed sleekly. His appearance was still alike a year ago which meant that he was trying to maintain that kind of appearance

Compared to his clean, shaved aura back in 2012, you can admit that he looks way more intimidating now. You did not know whether he was trying to look different to prevent the bureau from recognizing him or if it was because he wanted to look like some creepy degenerate.

Nonetheless, there were a lot of questions running around your mind. It was only tonight when you finally got to grasp on who and what you’re dealing with.

However, your comprehensive scanning was interrupted after hearing a tap on your window. It did not sound as terrifying as it would, but it was loud enough to interrupt your thoughts from getting further.

In the end, you set the files on top of your nightstand and switched on your lamp. You lay in your bed, eyes sealed shut yet your mind still wanders off, trying to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.

When drifting to sleep, the most evident question strayed:

Why was Steve Rogers, and his team, staying in Manhattan, despite hiding completely undisturbed in Edinburgh?

#dark!steve #dark!steve smut #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers imagine #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark steve rogers imagine #dark steve #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans smut #dark!fic

197 notes · View notes

lynenspray · 3 years

Text

joygi 04

prompt: seulgi should know better than to come unprepared, especially when it involves her girlfriend's reputation at work.

---

hold me up (tie me down)

(joygi gp!seulgi frottage overstimulation car sex)

seulgi’s reflection followed as she tilted her head, brow furrowing at how the white collar of her dress shirt didn’t quite shape itself around her neck the way she wanted it to.

with a sigh, she tugged at the front of her top and tucked it into her slacks haphazardly. the collar gave until the first closed button was right in the middle of her chest, but the action left unsightly creases around her shoulders. goddammit.

she shook her head in mild annoyance. should’ve gotten a new dress shirt for this occasion. she didn’t want to disappoint joy, after all--the younger woman was the one who had bought the sleek black suit seulgi was to wear for the night, demanding that the older woman don it in order for them to match.

so she did. and now here she was, looking like a child playing grown-up, glaring at the troublesome cotton that was currently the bane of her existence.

you really ought to stop dressing like a teenager, joy had told her once, bemused at the photographer’s choice of wearing a bucket hat on one of their dinners out. didn’t you say you came from work? the creative field really is something else...

seulgi mistook it as a joke, because joy and her had similarly bold fashion tastes in somewhat opposite directions. her own style was more baggy and fit for walking the streets, while the younger woman was fond of suits and blazers even on her casual days. seulgi was pretty sure joy would be the type to wear an oversized, tailored coat just to walk her dog around the block.

but apparently the comment was not to be taken as a good-humoured quip, and now seulgi was going to seem like an absolute fool at one of the most important fundraisers her girlfriend coordinated herself for the company that she was a division head for. fuck.

“maybe if i just…” she started, trying not to deflate when she discovered that buttoning her shirt up all the way just made her look worse. if that was even possible.

ding!

seulgi blinked and picked up her phone, biting her lip when she saw her girlfriend’s message, impatience in its tone. probably from the traffic and the fact that seulgi got caught up with the photoshoot she had today, only having enough time for a shower and light make-up before joy fetched her. they were cutting it a bit too close to being exactly on time for the party instead of fifteen minutes early.

jwoyie ♡

i'll be there in ten. be at the driveway when i arrive

[7:21pm]

one of the elevators in her building had been under maintenance since yesterday, leaving only the other available. the wait and ride down would take anywhere between five to twenty minutes, and joy abhorred it when she was late. shit.

her head whipped around as she stared at her reflection once more; the state of her hair and overall demeanour appeared as frazzled as she felt. was there anything else she could do?

deciding that no she didn’t own any other dress shirts that had any chance of being appropriate for the formal occasion and no she couldn’t possibly back out now and upset joy while she was at it, seulgi heaved a long suffering breath and wore the jacket to complete her outfit.

she took one last look at her closet and rummaged through the drawers, figuring that she may as well bring a tie if there was any chance joy could salvage her attire.

"seriously…"

the only ties she had were long printed scarf-like silks in different colours. great.

she tucked one into her suit jacket anyway and hoped for the best, quickly making her way down to the lobby of her apartment building lest she be late.

joy's mercedes-benz pulled up on the dot, and seulgi was both unsurprised and terrified to see her girlfriend's blank expression as soon as she slipped into the passenger seat in all her disheveled glory.

all seulgi could do was sit there in quiet shame as she fiddled with the cloth in her hands.

"you’re gorgeous," seulgi whispered as she settled in. joy was going to turn every head at the fundraiser with the side ruffle black dress she wore; simple but eye-catching. oh god. seulgi was going to embarrass her girlfriend at the very event she worked so hard for.

"thank you." joy’s reply was simple and quick, smooth as her steering them out of the driveway and onto the main road. the younger woman's hand trailed down seulgi's arm, twining their fingers together as their matching couple rings met. no praises were given about seulgi's own outfit. rightfully so, because she looked pitiful in comparison.

seulgi sank further into her seat.

joy didn’t look at seulgi when she spoke next. "are you upset? was it with your photoshoot today?"

"no," seulgi answered, tightening her grip on joy's hand as she gazed out her window. "i just… know that i don't look good. i'm sorry i didn't just buy an actual dress shirt, or text you asking if i could borrow one."

joy let a few minutes pass by without a single word, the evening traffic’s lights bouncing off her face and making her glow. the few minutes had first turned into several, before several more, and soon enough time had stretched on until almost an hour of silence had passed and the events place underground parking lot was all seulgi could spy outside.

when the taller woman finally spoke, it was an inquiry rather than a response. "what are you doing with that tie?" joy’s tone lacked any accusation, but the steely gaze she flicked towards seulgi as she turned the engine off spoke volumes.

"i…" seulgi swallowed. "thought… maybe i could wear it tonight," she reasoned, every word that slipped out of her mouth softer than the last. though the car was warm, the temperature didn't call for the cold sweat that she felt trickle down the back of her neck. that was caused by something else.

seulgi held her breath as she watched joy's fingers clench around the steering wheel, her stomach dropping at the sound of leather being stretched.

"haven't we been over this before?"

"the…" party? seulgi couldn't recall any such thing.

joy's hand was almost as quick as her hiss. "this," she indicated, holding seulgi's hand and the tie up between them. "making decisions without me. it's my event."

and you're my girl went unsaid, but seulgi could hear the implication of it with joy's piercing stare.

seulgi dipped her gaze impulsively, trying to appease the younger woman. she knew far better than to push joy, especially when she was in business-mode and concerned about her reputation at work. “i know… i’m sorry.”

"you want to use this?"

she crumpled into herself, not knowing the answer joy wanted to hear.

the older woman let out a squeak of surprise when joy's other hand moved to grab her chin, forcing her to lock their gazes. "backseat," joy commanded.

seulgi blinked, bewildered for only a moment before gathering her wits and scrambling to do joy's bidding. she squeezed herself between the front seats, waddled her way over the console, and caught her breath as she settled into a sitting position.

joy only looked at her with an expression of amusement, lips tilted mockingly. the older girl watched wide-eyed as her lover reached out to open the glove compartment and pulled out what looked like sleek black cloth.

before seulgi could make sense of what was going on, the taller swiftly exited and reentered the vehicle through the back with a smirk, pushing her against the opposite door as soon as she got in.

seulgi gulped when joy languidly approached, maneuvering the former's legs until she could fit snugly between them. the position was awkward, but seulgi wasn’t thinking about that right now. the rough manipulation of her limbs had her trembling, and if she looked down now, she was sure the tent in her pants would be more than obvious.

joy’s smirk only widened as she brushed fingers against seulgi’s trousers, right where her slowly hardening dick was. “sit tight, big girl,” she whispered. seulgi gulped as joy leaned forward, lips right by her ear and causing goosebumps to spring forth on her skin. “using this was your idea, after all. i wouldn’t want to disappoint you now.”

the older woman did nothing but watch and let her lover leave kisses on her wrists before wrapping the tie around them, tugging them up, up, above seulgi until they were level with the car handle over her head.

a gasp escaped her lips when joy tethered her arms to the handle, leaving no room for her to resist or move from her place.

she wanted to ask her lover what was going on, but just as she was about to, the black fabric was folded into a ball and stuffed in her mouth.

the only thing she could muster was a confused grunt, her tongue pinned as joy placed another cloth between her teeth and tied the ends behind her head, pulling at the edges of her lips and preventing her from closing them.

seulgi tugged on her bonds questioningly, letting the squeak of satin against leather ask everything she couldn’t manage to voice out.

“you want to look good for me, right?”

she nodded, hips unconsciously bucking against the hand that ground down against it.

“i know just the thing to help, then.”

joy’s smirk turned vicious, from what seulgi could see in the dim light. she felt more than saw her lover’s hands trail their way up her shirt, swiftly unbuttoning the white cotton. then those long fingers brushed against her ribs, coming between her breasts to unclasp her bra, letting her tan skin meet the still air of the car they were in.

seulgi suppressed a weak whimper as joy's breath ghosted over her body, lips poised to kiss along her collarbone and doing so slowly, reverently.

joy's kisses would normally range from deep and sensual to light and playful, but seulgi noticed her pecks now had intention behind them; firm and final, no sign of her tongue peeking out as she grazed against the older woman's peaks.

"hnmf," seulgi groaned through the cloth as the ends of joy's hair tickled her waist, bucking her hips up to show her want, her need. if joy wanted to have her, she was all hers for the taking; would always be. she just needed to touch her.

instead of following through with her lover's obvious request, however, joy ignored her restless hips in favour of grabbing her lipstick from her bag and reapplying some as she stared down at her unnie with a smirk.

joy's hand found its way to seulgi's thigh, pressing her fingers harshly against the muscle and smirking wider at seulgi's whine in reaction.

"you know when you look best, baby?" she questioned, rubbing along the underside of seulgi's leg and pushing it up to have seulgi blossom open for her, slacks pulling tight against her crotch, hugging her bulge. "when you're mine."

seulgi's head rolled back as joy started leaving firm kisses all over her torso once more, steady and insistent. she was so distracted by the sensation that she hadn't noticed when joy started writing on her chest; only blinked back to reality once the lipstick was recapped and joy sat back to gaze at her with a pleased expression.

"if only you could see yourself," joy said, chin tilted upwards as she directed a lazy smile at seulgi. her grin was quickly replaced by a sneer. "but the view isn't for you anyway, is it?"

seulgi shook her head with a squeak, knowing that was what joy wanted. she closed her eyes when joy still paid her swollen cock no mind, frustration building.

"look at me."

please. seulgi planted her ankles on top of the car seats so she could inch herself closer and grind on joy's knee. please just touch me.

a muffled yelp escaped her as joy abruptly pressed her thighs back against her own chest, holding her so firmly she could feel the shape of the car door digging into her spine.

seulgi's eyes shot open. something in joy’s expression told her it was best if she stopped struggling; that if she knew what was good for her, she would sit still, listen carefully, and–

"look at me."

look at her.

the older woman would bite her lip if she could. she spied the shadow of muscles moving as joy let out a breath and clenched her jaw. the sight had seulgi trembling; she couldn't tell what was about to happen.

she'd been disobedient before, pushed joy to the limit, tested her patience repeatedly to the point that she'd had no choice but to teach seulgi a lesson about her manners.

but it had never happened in the cramped space of a car, right as they had to show up at an event.

would joy drag her out of the vehicle, disheveled and so obviously wrecked, and leash her to her person as they got to the party? would she then push her into a cubicle in the restroom, make her cum all over herself, and watch as seulgi would try to hide the evidence? would they leave early, with joy stripping her naked and tied in the backseat as she drove the long way home?

seulgi let out a shaky breath at the thought, gaze locked on joy and her barely withheld annoyance. she could do those things. joy would do all of those things if she felt like treating seulgi that way tonight.

"good girl," joy practically purred. her hands were back on seulgi's legs, rubbing the material of her own slacks against her. "see? it's not that hard to do what i say."

the older woman let out a whimper as joy loomed over her.

"isn't that right?"

seulgi nodded before joy could even finish, breathing heavily as she felt her dick leak, aroused at the sight. she groaned when joy's hands travelled to cup her groin, massaging her bulge and causing her to jerk up in response.

she tugged on her bindings and lifted her hips, rolling against joy's palms as the younger woman curiously left seulgi clothed. no movements towards unbuckling her pants were made. what…?

joy answered her unspoken question. "you're keeping them on." she cupped the head of seulgi's dick through the fabric and rubbed against the junction between the crown and the rest of her shaft.

seulgi moaned at the harsh touch, titillated beyond comprehension. joy's always did this to her, sent her reeling, desperate and yearning for more of what she would be given.

and it was obvious that it turned joy on too. the younger growled as she buried her face into seulgi's neck, ignoring the sweat and licking her skin. "bought them for you, y'know." she nipped and sucked almost feverishly, marking seulgi with love bites. "wanna see you in them. cum in them."

the older woman squirmed, the thought of being jerked off while clothed sending tingles down her spine. on her new clothes, too.

"mmffh," seulgi groaned, eyes rolling back as joy continued fondling her, mercilessly pressing on her most sensitive buttons.

fuck fuck fuck– it was a sick sort of satisfaction to finally receive all the touch she had been craving for, tenfold. the line between pleasure and pain was one seulgi was familiar with as joy's shadow formed over and on her.

her lover knew all the spots to get her aching; she ground a thumb against seulgi's crown and cupped around the outline of her swollen cock with one hand, while the other massaged her tightening balls.

an eye pinched closed as seulgi gasped, feeling the telltale sign of her reaching the edge. her gut clenched, hips stirring as she felt her muscles constrict in the moments leading up to ecstasy.

oh god oh god ohgod–i'm going to–

seulgi whimpered through the cloth between her teeth, tugged on the ties around her wrists, and unceremoniously creamed in her slacks and underwear.

"just like that, baby. had a lot pent up in you, hm?"

she grunted as joy cooed, caressing her through her orgasm. each spurt slowly emptied her gut but also filled her panties up, making for a sweaty, almost oppressive feeling right where her crotch was.

the older woman shivered as she gushed the last drops of her cum, the sticky, full feeling in her underwear making her blush crimson. it was really hot–both temperature-wise and just the act of her cumming in her pants. she felt so dirty.

seulgi let out a squeak when joy's hands continued, spreading the accumulated seed in her pants all over her slowly softening cock, cruel smirk in place.

"give me some more," joy purred, pressing harder when the older woman jerked back. "be a good girl."

seulgi whimpered when she could no longer move further, backside practically molding into the door's interior.

what was touch that expertly balanced itself on the tightrope between pleasure and pain terrifyingly morphed into torture; joy's hands were unyielding, fluttering over seulgi's flaccid shaft and grating the material of her clothes onto her sensitive skin.

"more?"

seulgi shook her head frantically, legs trembling but curiously remaining wide open at the mercy of her lover.

"i see," joy hummed, ministrations abating. seulgi let out a sound between disappointment and relief.

joy was a good lover and an even better listener; it was just that sometimes seulgi wasn't sure of her own wants and desires. she knew it hurt, a little bit, to be fervently stimulated seconds after cumming, but–she still wanted it somehow.

seulgi whined through the cloth, gyrating her hips once again. she wanted–she didn't know. hopefully joy could figure it out for her.

"shhh, i know, sweetheart."

joy continued to coo as she quickly unbuckled seulgi's pants and pulled her soiled underwear down. seulgi saw her bite her lip before readjusting herself, comfortably fitting in the rest of the backseat that seulgi wasn't occupying.

then she curled forward, mouth hovering seulgi's cock. "gonna clean you up 'til you're good as new, baby."

the first lick sent seulgi reeling, knocking the back of her head against the window behind her. her lower body was past the point of quivering, now shaking to the core as joy lapped her up dutifully, slurping down her seed.

the texture of her tongue didn't change, but somehow the press of it felt rough, chafing against her oversensitive skin. there was no more room for seulgi to shy away from joy's mouth. the long minutes it took for her to be clean from all her spunk allowed her dick to stir back to life in joy's loving hands, aching once again, as if the pleasure she’d received until that point was negligible.

when joy started pumping her again, slowly, all seulgi could do was take what she was being given. her sense of self melted away under joy's expertise, forgetting all about the overstimulation, her ruined clothes, and even the fundraiser. instead, the world was made of only her and joy; her lover's mouth, her warmth, the sound of their breathing.

it felt like time both moved at a glacial and erratic pace for seulgi, as joy gently unbound her arms and released the hold of the cloth on her jaw. instead of retreating from the overbearing touch, however, seulgi let her limbs melt around joy's body and lazily pulled her closer.

now that seulgi's mouth and arms were free, she sang praises into joy's ear and slithered her own hand up the woman's dress.

"so wet," seulgi managed to hum, rubbing circles onto the taller woman's swollen nub, mixing both of their groans and gasps.

she dipped her fingers in her lover, causing a long moan to be yanked out of joy that seulgi answered with a deep, sensual kiss.

"joy," seulgi sobbed, rutting against the pace the taller woman set as she pumped her slick cock, twisting each time she reached her mushroomed head. her member was aching, craving for joy's familiar velvet heat. "joy."

"c-come closer, baby. i can help," joy gasped as seulgi's fingers slipped out of her, stripping off her own panties and pulling her skirt up. she widened her legs so seulgi's narrow hips could slot between them, and when she aligned the woman's shaft at her entrance, steadily inching down to swallow seulgi's dick–

"oh christ, seul, seul you're so fucking good to me–"

"–joy, haah, joy pleaseplease–"

the older woman cried out with a throaty scream the moment joy's ass met her pelvis, her girlfriend's pussy made just for her. she jerked up into the taller woman, setting an unforgiving and brutal tempo that her lover took in stride, understanding her desperation. she asked for this, after all.

seulgi felt the churning in her gut make its presence known once more, liquid heat pooling in her balls. "i'm–hgck, ffffuck, joy!"

her lover only ground her hips down harder, stoking the fire that was burning in the smaller woman. "g-give it to me, seul, give m-me everything," joy hissed out, bouncing atop her as she trembled and showed signs of reaching her own peak.

only the sound of flesh slapping against flesh cut through their rhythmic cries. it took three more harsh thrusts until seulgi came again–an even bigger load this time, painting the walls of joy's fluttering, clenching pussy with her hot seed.

the lovers rode their highs for several long seconds together, mixing their body heat fluids as they came back down to reality.

seulgi blinked out of her post coital stupor only to get lost in thought again, because holy fuck. that was amazing–and so much better than how seulgi thought her dedicated stress relief session would go.

when she said she wanted to be dominated both mentally and physically by her lover, seulgi thought joy would resort to power play involving names and other verbally demeaning acts triggered by her fake wardrobe malfunction in the event of the made-up important fundraiser. she was not expecting all of this.

usually, their sessions would go with both taking charge–unless it was explicitly stated beforehand that one would dominate. this time, seulgi requested for joy to be in control. she wanted the chance to loosen her figuratively coiled body and mindset that were caused by the high-stress, fast-paced work environment she was constantly exposed to.

… and if this was how it was going to go, leaving her a sloppy mess at the mercy of her partner looming above her–well. she should really ask for joy to dom more often. maybe even beg outside the bedroom.

seulgi's mind was so clouded by bliss, she could barely tell when joy finished cleaning them both up. she only realised so when she heard the zipper of her slacks close.

"you feeling better?" joy asked, expression of cruelty replaced by one of fondness as she caressed seulgi's sweaty hair from her face.

"mhm." seulgi's voice was raw with adoration. the form and presence of her lover were large and reassuring; seulgi felt like she was so small in comparison. "take me home?"

"whatever my girl wants."

the trip back to their apartment passed by in a blur. seulgi tucked her hands in her lap and directed her gaze from the road to the roadside to what she could make out as joy's silhouette from her backseat view.

only when they arrived at their own car park did seulgi realise that they were previously at friend's apartment complex, making use of her dedicated tenant parking slot.

trust in joy to plan so thoroughly. public sex wasn't exactly a crime either of them wanted to go to jail for, after all. she probably bribed irene for it.

joy carefully guided seulgi every step of the way as they returned home, pulling her out of the car and holding her in her arms during the lift ride.

seulgi sighed as joy closed the bathroom door behind her, dazedly watching her lover strip her in the mirror. she smiled when she saw what joy wrote on her chest.

"easy, now." joy's voice cut through seulgi's floating thoughts. the older woman blinked as her lover sat her down in the warm bath, eventually sighing as the chill of the night air was chased away. "i've got you," joy assured her, her own naked form slipping in between seulgi's back and the end of the tub.

the older woman could only lean back against joy and hum, quietly observing and feeling the way the other woman's hands ran over her flesh.

she watched the lipstick wash away from her chest. the word 'mine' that had been written melted away, replaced by joy's strong fingers massaging her muscles and joy's plump lips pressing against the junction between her neck and shoulder, whispering sweet nothings. yours.

#joygi #gp!seulgi #LS commission

55 notes · View notes

thosewickedlovelies · 3 years

Text

we could be Dreamers - Prologue

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x GN!Reader

Rating: T

Summary: How this world came to be

Word count: 1,671

A/N: Hiii friends 🤗 soo there’s not really a lot of plot or Marcus Moreno :( here, but consider this a prologue/worldbuilding for a Marcus Moreno x reader fic I may eventually write lol. I’m really interested in how this universe got from The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl to We Can Be Heroes, because like. Sharkboy and Lavagirl were literally just some kid’s imaginary friends that somehow magically became real, so what does that mean for the other Heroics? Where did they come from?? So I kinda wanted to write something that would make you Think :) and explore the ramifications of such a transformed universe.

Consider my previous Marcus Moreno fic a prelude to this prologue 💗

It was a little unnerving sometimes, being in a room with so much power. No matter that this particular training arena at Heroics Headquarters was at least the size of an American football field- when all of the Heroics are gathered in the same confined space, focused on a single purpose, you can feel it. Like their power prances tauntingly in the corner of your eye, slipping away when you try to look directly at it. Like it winds through the air, worming its way into your veins, so your very blood breathes at you to run, run, run.

Not all of the individual Heroics gave off such uncanny vibes; some were simply ordinary people with extraordinary abilities. Techo-No, for instance, and his gift for creating fantastical gadgets. The implications of his works relevant to the world at large could be worrying, but he had limits. He was just a man. Determined, and creative (even more so with his son throwing ideas at him), but ultimately human.

Not like those with powers who’d been Dreamed.

Take Sharkboy. The temper for which he’d been infamous in his youth had cooled, but when he snapped, he did so literally- blade-sharp teeth an audible clash when he bared them in a ringing snarl. Any water in the room would roil and froth- but the most hair-raising sight was his eyes, tinged with the unreadable, abyssal blackness of his namesake. Focused with a predator’s calculation on the object of his fury. (It made you think that, ironically, his temper had cooled too much- concentrated into something as icy and merciless as the depths of the sea. Just as well his wife was a lava goddess).

It was well-documented that Sharkboy could influence his oceanic kin, seeing as he was half-shark himself. Some marine biologists postulated- in low voices- that fluctuation in his emotions could unknowingly influence shark activity no matter how far from the sea he was. But nobody at Heroics Headquarters had ever dared suggest attempting a study.

That you knew of, anyway. You wouldn’t be surprised if there was a classified government branch somewhere which dealt solely with more insidious studies of the Heroics. Their weaknesses. Ways to defeat them.

Just in case.

Sharkboy and his emotions had stabilized as his Dreamer matured, but not all Dreamers were so invested in the well-being of their creations, or of the world they inhabited and could inadvertently affect. It was suspected that not all Dreamers knew that they had Dreamed at all, that they unintentionally brought Dreams into being far from where they were located and simply never became aware. This resulted in some Dreamed individuals being...unstable. Incomplete, really. Brought forth from a child’s mind, a young person who didn’t yet fully grasp the complexities of existing in this world, or indeed, the intricacies of what made one human at all.

Dreamers were children, more often than not. Their imaginative abilities generally far outstripped those of adults, worn down as they were with the grind of building a real life. The younger the person, the more time and creativity they maintained. The fewer methods they possessed to process their struggles which were grounded in reality, and not their imaginations.

Despite the years that have passed, nobody quite knows what happened to lead up to the Incident. How a single young boy had imagined so powerfully that it had warped reality; how his imaginings had given him the ability to design the universe at will.

The Daydreamer.

Max, as he later insisted on being called. An almost disturbingly innocuous name for a boy who had changed the world. Who had all but envisioned himself into having terrific powers- and enabled others to do the same.

In the years following the Incident, Sharkboy and Lavagirl continued to visit him in secret (Later, scientists realized that this why they recorded occasional, inexplicable disturbances in seismic and marine activity). But it wasn’t long before a larger threat to the entire Earth appeared- and so did they. To defend the place which they declared to be their new home. Though they had been willed into existence to protect Planet Drool, as Max determined to relinquish his daydreaming abilities and by extension, his dreamworld, so did the planet and its life diminish. Their presence there was no longer required, they’d explained. But earth could still benefit from their protection- especially after the reality of the threat came to light.

Someone else had Dreamed.

It wasn’t clear who, or how, or what their intentions had been. But once it had been said, everyone was forced to acknowledge the truth of it- or at least, admit that there was no other explanation. The villain’s origins were not terrestrial in any previously established sense.

Anyone who had ever met a child could have a predicted it. Too many young people ended up feeling outcast, overlooked, by both their peers and adults in their lives. It should have been obvious from the way they whispered his name. Not Max- a moniker far too average and relatable- but what they reverently regarded as his true title. The Daydreamer. A near-holy figure who had changed the game for youths everywhere. Now they had a way to combat those who plagued them. A way to create or become the superheroes who previously only existed in comic books and TV shows.

Or some did, anyway. Individuals with the strength of will and heart to Dream weren’t rare, but they weren’t quite common, either.

The only truly neutral positive of the Dreamer evolution was that governments everywhere suddenly accepted the need for increased mental health resources. Designed to increase healthy socialization for all ages and give young people ways to process and communicate their emotional needs, such programs were approved seemingly overnight in schools from elementary to university aged. “Small town life” flourished, and many city quarters and apartment buildings took to implementing “community builders” or, less charmingly, “social facilitators”- positions designed to create cohesive areas of living and minimize the kind of isolation and negative feelings that could leave someone to Dream of improving their life.

Nowadays, not all super-powered individuals were Dreamed. The second generation of Heroics was a testament to that. As if the universe itself had reckoned with the self-inception of the Dreamers, and seen fit to provide reality-warping countermeasures of its own.

Less than a year after the Incident, babies with...unique qualities began to be born. Few and far between, it seemed at first. Whispered reports swept from far corners of the globe, a phone tree branching from frantic parents to anyone who could provide even the slightest bit of reassurance. It seemed like doctors everywhere were swapping glances, no one willing to admit what was happening- until a second Villain appeared.

Every incident report said the same thing: a baby started crying, and then the hostages were saved by a power outage. A wash of sparks that darkened half the city.

Webbed with red lightning.

You sneak a look at the fully grown Heroic now, the long braids of her ponytail slipping over the shoulder of her characteristic red training outfit. Red Lightning Fury flexes her fingers as she listens to the head trainer explain today’s exercise- the usual sort of ‘heroes versus villains’ battles, with you and your fellow specialists assisting as villains- but judging by the lack of the smell of ozone, she isn’t yet using her powers. Blinding Fast, on the other hand, appears to fritz in place every few seconds, and you guess he’s running invisible laps to pass the time. It’s hard to tell if that’s what’s causing Lavagirl’s hair to tendril like neon pink smoke even though she’s standing still; usually the hypnotic heat shimmer of her lava flow causes the effect naturally.

You stretch in place while team arrangements are announced. As the majority of the Heroics filter into the stands to wait for their match, the buzzing, writhing presence of their power fades, and you can breathe more easily.

A figure flickers into being beside you, and you jump. “Jeez, Visi! How many times have I told you not to do that?”

Having anticipated your reaction from the countless previous times she’s snuck up on you anyway, Invisigirl laughs. “You think you’d be used to it by now.” Your closest Heroic friend grins at you, all pearly teeth against smooth brown skin.

And she’s right, which is why you were so disgruntled. Having been caught unawares too many times by the invisible hero’s silent movements, you had once asked her to give you lessons. Her instruction had improved your own stealth immensely, and now that you knew what kind of signs to listen for, her attempts at startling you didn’t work nearly as often as they had. But- “It’s hard to focus on anything with all of your powers clogging up the air,” you grumble. The birthed heroes understood what you meant- they felt it too, the nagging hiss of something other in the Dreamed heroes’ energy.

Across the arena, it looks like Miracle Guy and Marcus Moreno are waiting to be your opponents. Interesting. Miracle Guy, with his Dreamed up Superman-like abilities, was the only one who had a way of seeing Invisigirl. What it was precisely, you couldn’t recall. You make a mental note to ask Visi later.

Marcus, however, telekinesis aside, is clearly meant to be the counter to your strengths. The two men are discussing intently, but as if feeling your assessing stare, Marcus glances over. He lifts his eyebrows at you in playful challenge, a hint of a smile quirking his shapely lips before he’s pursing them at his duel-mate again.

Suppressing the pleased flutter down your spine, you turn your attention to the task ahead as Invisigirl dips her head toward you. Planning something clever, you realize, intrigued by the glint in her eye. “Let’s talk strategy.”

When the starting bell rings, your partner vanishes, and your smile curves as sharp and gleaming as the blade in your hand.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno fic #wcbh fic #wcbh #we can be heroes fic #we can be heroes #pedro pascal characters #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #let me know what you think!!!#🙈🙈🙈#and if anyone wants to help me dream up a plot for this...i have Some Thoughts

26 notes · View notes

neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 5 - A Question of Trust

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Summary: First day in New York brings new challenges and fears. But one thing is certain, your relationship with Neil is changing.

Warnings: Minor cursing.

Author’s Notes: So this is sort of an unplanned early update because I loved what I wrote and had to share it with you. Hope you enjoy this quieter chapter before things kick off very soon...

Also this has been severely inspired by ‘A Question of Lust’ by Depeche Mode so I’ll post the link in another post!

Despite being severely jet-lagged, the next two days, you did not get much rest. You and Neil were thoroughly briefed by the TP on Saturday, and the plan seemed simple: arrive in New York; check into the hotel; research the target (a weapons dealer named Steiner); set up a meeting with Mr. Steiner; rehearse the cover; get intel; leave New York unscathed but with valuable information.

You have received a Glock (just in case), a burner phone with emergency contacts, and a dossier filled with the information about your cover. As far as you have managed to learn so far, you and Neil were supposed to pose as ‘partners in crime’ hoping to get your hands on the mysterious nuclear material. It did seem easy. But that did not help the stress you felt the closer you got to the departure.

Monday morning, you stepped onto the Amtrak train to New York Penn Station and followed Neil to the First-Class compartment. You had two seats with a large table and a window in a relatively quiet carriage. This time, sadly, you have not taken your notes with you and have been desperately looking for a distraction. Neither of you has mentioned the moment on the terrace, and you felt like it was a cause of mild tension. But instead of addressing it in any way, you decided to stare out of the window. After going through the same onboard magazine for the third time, you heard Neil clear his voice deliberately. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow:

“I’m bored” he shrugged and grinned at your eye roll “Want to talk?”

You searched his face for any signs of wicked intents. But he seemed genuinely interested.

“As long as you won’t make me drink again and embarrass myself” you turned towards him with a pointed look.

“I promise” he smiled and leaned onto the table separating your seats

“However I must correct you and say that you haven’t embarrassed yourself on the plane” when you glared at him with disbelief, he added “At all”

“If you say so”

His piercing blue eyes were fixed on you with fondness that made you want to turn away. But you held his gaze until he grinned and asked:

“Excited to go on your first mission?”

“If by excited you mean scared then yeah” he laughed, and you beamed back “Though I suppose if my first outing is with you I should consider myself lucky”

“Oh you’re certainly lucky in that regard” he winked, grinning smugly “I’ll keep you entertained”

The smirk and look in his eyes were far from innocent and you felt your face heat up at the sight. But you did not want to let him win easily.

“I’ve no doubts about that” you stared back defiantly.

Your staring contest finished when he smiled and reached out for your hands that were folded on the table. He squeezed them.

“We’ll manage just fine together, I’m sure. It’s a simple mission” he reassured you softly.

“Can’t say I’m convinced” you looked back sceptically and frowned “I’m a bit surprised you’re willing to go into the field with a rookie”

“TP said it has to be us” he shrugged and leaned back into his seat.

Your hands felt cold without his touch.

“You do trust him enough to do anything he says?” you asked with curiosity.

All that you have learned during the meeting with the Protagonist was still fresh on your mind. You struggled to understand how on earth you could be important to the story. But it was made quite clear that you would have to wait for any answers.

“Yes” Neil’s tone was quite serious “I’ve learnt from past mistakes that he really does know how things will go”

You haven’t missed the distant look of sadness in his eyes. You made a mental note to one day learn the story. He must have noticed your scrutiny as he schooled his features and added:

“And it’s better to listen to him. No matter how difficult it might be” he looked at you with a faint smile.

You did wonder if he thought about the moment on the terrace in that instant. But before you could dare ask, he closed the subject with a definite statement:

“I know for a fact that you’ll be much better than a random rookie” he grinned, and despite feeling conflicted, you smiled back.

Then he quickly changed the topic to New York itself, and you rather enjoyed talking to him about your travels and experiences with other cities. While you were still stressed, when you arrived at Penn Station, you were much less tense. The conversation has distracted you enough to forget about the worries. You wondered if that was why Neil wanted to talk in the first place.

*** You took a taxi to the hotel, which was situated far off from the main city centre. It was a comfortable and stylish four-star establishment with a booking system that did not mind fake identities. Your rooms were on the sixth floor and were joined by a set of locked doors, as you were informed by the receptionist (with a wink). You were not sure what to do with this information but, as usual, Neil’s charm saved you.

“Thank you, miss” he smiled at the clerk and snatched your keys from the counter “It’s good to know” he smirked and walked away.

You followed him to the lift, where you could finally ask:

“What was that about?”

“I suppose she thought that we’re not here for…” he took a moment to think about the right word “Strictly business reasons” he enunciated every syllable “But rather for fun while keeping up the appearances”

Your eyes widened at the implication.

“Right” you didn’t dare think why she got that impression.

Neil chuckled as he led you to the rooms, pausing to hand you the key. Only once you saw him open the door to his room you sobered up:

“Wait, what do we do now?”

“Come to my room once you’re ready. I won’t lock the door” he winked and disappeared into his room.

You stared at the closing door before shaking your head and entering your own room.

He can be impossible sometimes, you thought with fondness and disbelief.

The room was quite big, with a queen-sized bed, a sofa with a coffee table, and a large bathroom. The view came out onto the maze of skyscrapers that you associated with New York. The barely visible sky was grey and threatening with rain. You decided to quickly shower, change into more comfortable clothes, and fix your make-up. All that took twenty minutes and you were quite proud of yourself. You opened the door leading to Neil’s room and hesitated at the second set. Trying the handle you found it unlocked and tentatively came in.

“Finally” he gave out a theatrical sigh from his place on the sofa.

He changed into yet another shirt and dress trousers. You did sometimes wonder how many sets of those he had.

The next thing you noticed was that while you were getting ready Neil has ordered quite a big selection of food from the room service. It has taken the whole space on the coffee table, along with water and teapot.

“Wow” you grinned at the sight, feeling your stomach rumble.

“Thought we might need it” he shrugged and motioned for you to join him on the sofa.

“I know I did” you quickly dove for the toasties before he could snatch them.

He laughed at your enthusiasm for food, but you could not care less at the moment. You felt his fond gaze for a little longer before he too started the feast. After you ate, Neil cleared the table and spread out the dossier along with any files you received.

“So…” you both looked down at the mess of papers and photos “Today we need to get to that bar” you squinted at the name “Benny’s and set up a meeting with Steiner?” you looked up at Neil for clarification.

“Yeah, that’s it” he nodded and picked up one of the documents “We’re a pair of weapon dealers who want to know a bit more about that mysterious piece of plutonium” he explained.

“That’s a manageable cover” you mused while trying to memorise your new identity.

“Well, I was hoping they’d make us fake married or something” Neil retorted innocently, and you glared at him sharply.

“What? Wouldn’t you want to be married to me?” the wounded look on his face made you laugh.

“Sounds horrible” you swatted his arm playfully and reached for another document.

But before you got that far, he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You met his soft gaze and smiled back, admiring the sparks in his blue eyes. After a beat, he let go of your hand.

“I think we’d be a perfect match” he sent you one last smug smile and got up “We should get going if we want to catch Raul and establish contact” he added.

A perfect match? You observed as Neil put on the tie and suit jacket and considered his words with curiosity. You did like him, there was no denying that. And you felt like he enjoyed your company too. But before you could dwell on it too long, you felt his intense gaze. Caught in the act of staring, you felt yourself blush. But he only grinned and offered you a hand to get up from the sofa.

“C’mon, we need to get going” he ushered you towards your room.

Right, first mission. You took a deep breath and started to get ready. The time has come.

*** The first part of the plan went without any major fuck-ups. You and Neil met Raul at the bar, and he gave you all the information you could need about Steiner. It was clear that you both had to learn your roles perfectly as he tended to be suspicious. After that Neil went away to set up the meeting with the weapons dealer for tomorrow’s evening. All you could do was entertain Raul with random stories from your training which proved rather easy.

Once Neil came back, you both decided to go back to the hotel to get much-needed rest and prepare. The fact that so far everything seemed to go along the plan, made you feel a tiny bit more confident. But nerves were still there, and you could barely contain them when you made it back to the hotel. You lied to Neil that you were tired and shut the door before you could even look at him again.

But after showering, changing into sleeping clothes, and having a cup of herbal tea, nothing got better. You tried lying down in the darkened room only to quickly get up with a pain in your chest and shallow breath. After sitting in the dark and trying to calm down your racing thoughts for close to an hour, you gave up. You put on a cardigan and looked at the door leading to Neil’s room. It was past 1 AM but you had the feeling he was not sleeping. You knew there was no way you were able to rest now. Oh, why the hell…

You tried the handle of the connecting doors and found it unlocked. Of course.

Neil’s room was covered in darkness, save for a bedside table lamp casting a warm glow. You were struck by how neat everything looked, with his suitcase in one corner and clothes folded on the chair. Only the bed was in disarray with papers thrown on it and Neil himself sat in the middle. He glanced up as you came in, surprised:

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I tried but…” you shrugged helplessly “Just couldn’t get my brain to shut up”

The worry in his gaze made you freeze. He was sat on the bed with ruffled hair and a wrinkled shirt. He was probably very tired. And you were weak and overreacting again. Suddenly you realised what a mistake it was to come here:

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… I’ll go now” you blurted and started to turn away.

You heard the rush of papers falling onto the floor and then Neil’s voice.

“No, stay” he sounded concerned.

Slowly you turned around to face him again, trying to put on a brave face. It was pointless though because he saw right through you. He got up from the bed, scattering all the documents onto the floor. Seeing you hesitate, he crossed the distance and took your hand in his, guiding you towards the bed. That only increased your panic.

“What are you doing?” you tried not to step on all the papers “Don’t we need those?”

He looked down at the pile with a surprised look, almost as though he forgot about them. Then he quickly made up his mind and looked up at you with determination.

“We do. But more so I need you to calm down so get in” he gestured towards the bed.

Your mind was blank. There was so much that could go wrong. But he noticed your uncertainty and unceremoniously pushed you onto the bed. You stared in shock before recovering enough to retort:

“You know I’m pretty sure there are better ways to make a lady sleep with you” You heard him laugh as he collected the pages.

“Certainly” finally he got up and dumped the pile onto the coffee table “But it worked” he shrugged.

Neil watched as you clumsily shifted to sit up with your back against the headboard and then joined you. After a few minutes of awkward silence, you asked:

“Sure you don’t want me to leave so you can go back to work?”

You felt extremely self-conscious in your sleeping clothes, with uncombed hair and tear-streaked cheeks. Neil’s intense gaze did not help it either but before you could even think about getting up, he replied:

“Perfectly sure” he smiled at you softly “Now tell me what’s wrong”

You sighed and let yourself relax slightly, leaning on the pillows. Staring straight ahead at the wall, you explained:

“I felt very anxious and hoped that maybe the shower and tea will help. Nothing changed so I tried to go to sleep but… my chest started aching and I couldn’t breathe” you finished while feeling the tears well up at the recollection.

You felt the bed shift as Neil moved closer and took one of your hands. You watched with curiosity as he traced the lines of your veins to the pulse point on the wrist and held his pointer finger there, checking your heart rate. You felt a nervous flutter at the gentle way he cradled your hand. You were pretty positive he will detect a pulse of 100bmp. After thirty seconds of intense focus, Neil released his hold on your hand and smiled:

“Apart from a very fast heart rate, you’ll be fine” he winked, and you looked down flustered.

But you were not allowed to get lost in shame for too long as he scooted even closer, leaving no space between you, and gingerly placed his arm around your shoulders.

“Is this okay?” he asked, looking at you with genuine concern.

Your breath hitched at the closeness of him, but you quickly suppressed the feeling and nodded. After a few more tense breaths, you relaxed into the embrace, feeling him trace circles on your shoulder.

“What made you so scared?” his voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Think it’s just the idea of the first mission” you admitted “And ever since you and TP told me about the plan and the algorithm, I felt this tension rise and I guess it just hit the fan” sighing helplessly, you let your head rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I probably would have been more concerned if you took all this without questions”

“I guess I reacted that way because I never expected to be important… Definitely not in something of that scale” once you started talking the honesty did not seem to stop “I’ve spent so much time looking for my place in the world and now when I think I’ve found it, I’m not sure I’m good enough”

After your admission, you felt Neil’s embrace tighten. You propped your head on his shoulder, so it was resting in the crook of his neck again, enjoying the warmth and safety.

“You are more than good enough” when he finally spoke you were almost surprised “And I’m not only saying that because I believe in what TP says”

You looked up at Neil and met his earnest gaze.

“Since the day we met and I showed you how inversion works, I knew that you will be amazing at it” he smiled at you softly.

“Even though I nearly passed out in the training zone?”

“Yeah” he grinned at the memory fondly “I just had the feeling that you’re supposed to work with us, with me”

You would swear that his eyes briefly glanced at your lips. But as quickly as the thought entered your mind, he reached out to brush away a stray hair from your forehead and you lost the ability to think entirely. He tucked the strand with care and brushed your jawline with his thumb.

“TP was right, you know” he was looking at you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“About?”

“Me taking care of you” he smiled and admired your dazed expression. You could only stare, too overwhelmed with feelings to say anything. And you probably would have kept on staring if it was not for the extreme tiredness that begun to catch up. Before you could say anything, a wide yawn made you cover your face with your hands. The spell was broken.

“Think you’re tiny bit tired” Neil grinned at your sheepish expression.

“No shit” you mumbled and moved to get up, but he kept his grip steady.

“You can stay here” he answered your surprised glance.

You quickly considered the options, admitting that it was tempting. You felt safe with Neil and his presence definitely made you calmer. But it did feel like crossing some lines.

He was still looking at you with that hopeful eyes and that sealed the deal.

“Thanks… for everything” you smiled at him, hoping to convey even a quarter of what you felt through it.

“Always” he grinned back.

You both quietly shifted so that you were lying down with a small gap between you, both staring at the ceiling. After a few quiet moments, he turned off the bedside lamp and turned to face you.

“Good night” you heard him whisper and turned to look at him too.

“Sweet dreams, Neil” you replied while trying to make out his features in the darkness of the room.

“Oh I know they will be sweet” you could picture the sly grin.

And with that, he turned onto the other side. No longer than five minutes later you heard his breath level off and make way for quiet snores. You could not help but smile at the adorable sound. Maybe this night wasn’t so bad in the end.

*** You have not slept so soundly in days. When you woke up, the first thought that came to your mind was that you were being cuddled. An arm was thrown over your waist and you felt warm breath near your ear. Then as the morning fog slowly ascended, you remembered it all clearly. Neil. As though he was reading your mind, a second later you felt him stir and mumble:

“Morning sunshine” he sounded cheery.

Before you could react you felt him brush his lips over your temple. You froze, feeling the flutters in your stomach return with tripled force. Taking a deep breath to calm down you slowly squeezed the hand that was draped over your waist and sat up.

“Hi” you glanced at him only to be astounded by how unkempt and yet adorable he looked.

His hair was completely ruffled, with strands sticking out in every direction. And the shirt and trousers were crumpled to the point of needing starch treatment to ever be wearable again. And yet he still looked good. Especially with that boyish smile and sparkling eyes. One could suppose that you were not immune to him. At all.

“Do you always sleep in that?” you gestured towards his outfit, trying to divert your thoughts.

“No, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you last night” it was that shit-eating grin again “Did you sleep well?” he sat up now too but kept his distance.

“Very well” you admitted with a blush “But it’s late and we should probably prepare” you used the most sensible excuse to get up.

Before you could do that, Neil reached out and took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers.

“Just don’t you dare feel sorry for this” you knew he was serious from the look in his eyes.

“I’ll try” you smiled slightly and used this chance to leave his room in haste.

While you did indeed try not to feel embarrassed about what happened, it was difficult. You were not used to people seeing you as vulnerable as you were last night. But at the same time, he did not seem to mind and that took you by surprise. His kindness and thoughtfulness were certainly not helping in trying to be more objective about him.

You managed to get changed and prepare yourself for the day relatively fast, considering what a mess your thoughts were. Once you were done you grabbed the needed documents from the coffee table and made beeline for Neil’s room without thinking too much. As usual, the door was unlocked.

The moment you stepped into his room you knew you have fucked up. He was there, just in front of where you entered, in a new pair of trousers and no shirt. Your eyes widened when you registered that last detail.

“Shit, sorry! I shouldn’t just come in…”

“No worries, darling” Neil drawled out the nickname expressively.

He looked at you with a grin, clearly enjoying it more than you were. It seemed as though he slowed down the process of putting on a new shirt just to tease you. It worked. You stared at his rather fit body and felt your cheeks grow warmer. He caught your wandering gaze with a wink and held it with an expression that was far from innocent. The knowing smirk told you that he was aware of what he was doing. But still, you held your ground, letting yourself openly look at his toned arms and chest. If he didn’t mind then there was no harm in looking, right?

Finally, he finished the process of buttoning up the shirt, while still keeping his gaze fixed on you. He assessed your expression with one last look and grinned:

“Let’s get to work, sunshine”

You wanted to punch him in that perfect jaw.

#tenet #Neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

160 notes · View notes

comrade-meow · 3 years

Link

Bad data generates bad research; bad research generates bad treatments; bad treatments generate bad outcomes. The physiological differences between males and females are vast, and stamp their mark on every organ of the human body, not just the genitals and gonads. Ignoring these differences will muddle our data, blur our understanding of physiology, and hinder the discovery of new treatments for diseases. Females are much more likely than males to have autoimmune disorders. Males are more likely than females to develop Parkinson’s disease. Males and females may present with different symptoms preceding a heart attack. Males and females metabolize drugs differently. Blatantly ignoring sex as a variable hobbles the process of scientific inquiry and limits the types of questions that researchers will ask, thereby limiting the answers they get.

About this story: last November I came across some anonymous tweets from a person claiming to be a medical student at an American university where professors were teaching that sex is a social construct. I decided to try to find out if these claims were real, and I contacted the Twitter user, striking up a conversation with “C”. We agreed to meet on a Zoom call, and that C would show me C’s student ID, with their name and the name of the school covered, and that we would then do a written interview. C’s desire for strict anonymity is well founded in my eyes, due to the damage that could be inflicted on C’s career prospects if they were caught speaking to a publication about the ideological lies being peddled and the culture of fear at their institution.

On our thirty minute Zoom call, I met a highly intelligent, critical-minded, and determined young person who was expressing deep concern over the ways that gender identity ideology is distorting the teaching of medicine and the repercussions this may lead to in our next generation of doctors.

C held up their ID so I could see their picture on what was clearly a medical school ID. C told me their school can be categorized as “top tier.”

The irony of using “they/them” pronouns for a single person is not lost on me. I find it interesting that due to the tyranny of gender ideology, I must adhere to one of their tenets and accept the use of the plural pronoun for a single person whose sex I know. But the fact that I have to do this is because any information about C could potentially be enough to raise suspicion (just read their words to understand the climate of intimidation they witness in class everyday), and the knowledge of an individual’s sex is still a crucial identifying feature, no matter what the gender ideologues want us to believe.

C and I agreed that I would offer people on Twitter an opportunity to pose their questions directly and that C would respond in written form. Out of the many responses, the medical student chose what they considered some of the most representative and important of the questions. These are their answers below, beginning with a short message they wanted me to share.

-Sasha White

Thank you, Sasha, for having offered me this valuable opportunity to answer these questions. Before we start, I would like to clarify my stance on basic issues regarding sex and gender identity, so that people can keep these in mind while reading.

Biological sex is not a social construct – male and female are distinct material realities which have significant implications for medical and surgical treatment of many different conditions. These physiological differences are relevant on the levels of clinical practice, research, and policy, and absolutely must be acknowledged in order for physicians to best treat their patients. All patients should be treated with compassion, respect, and high-quality medical care, regardless of their professed gender identity. I remain agnostic as to what it truly means to have a “gender identity”, but will respect the wishes of my future patients in regards to their social presentation and pronouns. I believe that dysphoric adults should be able to pursue transition. Physicians should be aware of relevant aspects of trans healthcare, including hormone therapy and surgery, so that they can better advise trans patients on how medical treatments may impact their gender-related care, or vice versa. It is possible and desirable for us to have a healthcare system which is inclusive and respectful of transgender patients, in a way which does not pretend that biology is arbitrary or merely a social construct. Despite my liberal beliefs, the loudest voices at my institution would falsely accuse me of blowing transphobic dog-whistles, hence my anonymity. This hostile climate is corrosive to an inquiry mindset and critical thinking, and will ultimately be a disservice to the scientific community and to future patients, trans and otherwise.

IDD64 @IDD64 asks: “What happened to “nobody’s saying sex isn’t real”?”

This is actually what compelled me to speak out about this practice in the first place. Well-intentioned non-medical people often assume that medical schools are teaching something like, “Gender identity can be fluid and varied, but biological sex is real, binary, and relevant in medical contexts.” This idea is around five years out of date in the most progressive of institutions. I have been told multiple times in several classes that biological sex is a social construct – not just gender. Granted, I can speak only for my institution, but this change has been frustrating and disturbing to witness.

Robert Woolley @RandomlyBob asks: “Do any of the required textbooks also avoid using those words? If not, might you ask those professors if they think the books are either inaccurate or offensive?”

Our curriculum is constantly subject to revision. Around two-thirds of our written materials have been updated with this new language. For the one-third that has remained out-of-date, our class has received multiple apologetic, itemized emails from course instructors in which they provide corrections, beg for forgiveness and patience, and avow to “do better”. In class, we have been given multiple histories in which the patient’s sex has been deleted, even for cases involving disorders which can manifest differently between the sexes. The words “female” and “male” are being erased and replaced.

Born a space baby @ggynoid asks: “What’s the dynamic like for class participation? Do people start with pronouns? Do people tend to agree, disagree? What’s the female-male ratio in the class typically on these sort[s] of classes?”

When school first began, we were heavily encouraged to include pronouns in our Zoom names and email signatures; around 70-80% of the class did so. Most students and professors would start off verbal introductions with their name and pronouns, though that has subsided since we all have grown to know each other.

A vocal minority of students are loudly in favor of the most extreme aspects of gender ideology, while the majority seem to be vaguely supportive in a nonspecific way. I think that this comes from a mixture of naive goodwill and fear – they are trying to be good allies, and this is the only way they know how. Additionally, it is heavily implied that to ask critical questions, even in a way which is ultimately patient-centered and supportive, is perpetuating bigotry, so they just nod along. A silent minority seems to be secretly skeptical. I have met four or five students who have disclosed to me in private conversation that they disagree with one or more aspects of this dogma but they are hesitant to come forward in group settings. I am sure that more exist, but they are hard to find. None of these people have been transphobic.

The female-male ratio is approximately equal, with slightly more females than males in my class.

David Poole @MrDPoole asks: “Do you think the people telling you these things actually believe it or are they being forced to do it?”

I think that a very small minority of our professors actually believe that male and female bodies are interchangeable with the exception of genitalia and gonads. There are definitely more woke students than woke professors, and the most radical of students are far more radical than the wokest professor. Most of these professors are very fearful of saying the wrong thing, so they delicately couch their language by referring to “XX and XY people” or other such euphemisms, even though that can lead to inaccuracies.

The social consequences for misspeaking are highly magnified, especially when most classes are delivered online (due to the pandemic). Our class has been quietly accused of having a mean streak in regards to social justice. We have had petitions circulated (drafted by few, signed by many) to name, shame, and “hold accountable” various lecturers who used the “wrong” language, to the point of humiliation. One professor broke down crying after a genetics lecture which relied heavily on the use of “male” and “female” by necessity. (Though the lecture also made ample space to talk about transgender and non-binary individuals, this was not enough to appease the critics.) Another professor referred to “pregnant women” rather than “pregnant people” and spent a very uncomfortable few minutes after class abjectly apologizing for having caused offense “by implying that only women can get pregnant”. It was incredibly disturbing to see, for multiple reasons. One, this is based on bad science and zealotry that has the potential to harm patients. Two, the magnitude of the “crime” pales in comparison to the magnitude of the outcry. Three, it is a total inversion of the expected social order to see these physicians —some of whom are literally leading scholars in their field— be reduced to fearful puddles if a student so much as looks at them askance. Keep in mind that these professors are extremely liberal, compassionate, and well-meaning, yet they are turned upon with such venom and verve by the people who they are trying to please.

Chopper @RodeoChopper asks: How are cases presented? Normally the first line is “This is a such and such year old (male/female) with a past medical history significant for…”

Here are some examples of formats I have seen in our coursework:

“This is a 43-year-old woman with ovaries, presenting with …”

“A 3-year-old child, assigned male at birth, not assigned gender as of yet by parents, presenting with …”

“This patient is a 7-year-old child, gendered as a boy by his parents, who …”

“57-year-old woman with testes, here with …”

“A 16-year-old patient (gender non-binary, pronouns they/them) …”

“A 32-year-old woman (she/her/hers) …”

“A 16-year-old patient presents with complaints of …”

Of the myriad problems with this structure, the most concerning is that most of these cases do not accurately identify the sex of the patient, which is crucial in being able to weigh the likelihood of potential diagnoses and treatments. A person’s pronouns are not relevant when deciding to prescribe a particular antibiotic, and at which dose. Additionally, I find it somewhat irritating to be expected to state the obvious for things that are the default of the human experience. We do not say, “This is a 42-year-old woman with both her arms and legs”, although there are certainly women in this world who are missing one or more of their limbs.

MaryWrath @WrathMary asks: “So how are reproductively different bodies described then? How are cardiac arrest and stroke symptoms described, explained and taught as we know now they present differently across the two sexes? There are clearly two bodies in our species so how are the professors acknowledging?”

Organs are referred to by their actual names – penis, testes, vagina, ovaries, breasts. However, referring to patients as male or female is strictly taboo. If there are relevant but subtle sex-specific differences, then they will often be downplayed or ignored altogether. As an example, we were told that the higher risk of heart attacks in men was due only to the presence of testosterone, and not for any other reason, which is patently false. When the differences are utterly impossible to ignore, “male” and “female” will simply be rebranded as “people with testes/ovaries”, “AMAB/AFAB”, or “people with/without Y chromosomes”. My personal favorite is “persons with [testosterone/estrogen] as their primary sex hormone.” Oddly, “man” and “woman” are still used, often with redundant qualifiers (“56-year-old man with testes”).

thames pilgrim @thames_pilgrim asks: “What are the most dangerous medical implications for turning a blind eye to someone’s sex due to a belief that talking about “male” and “female” might offend?”

This is a very important question which should be addressed at the following interrelated levels: clinical practice, research, and public policy.

Clinical practice: Transgender patients who do not disclose their birth sex might be at risk for improper medical treatment. (I have seen a natal female person who identified as a nonbinary man, be suspected of having testicular torsion; this person did not disclose their sex to the physician, which resulted in a delay in their care). Out of fear of being branded transphobic, physicians may not accurately and completely inform trans patients about their sex-specific risk for certain medical conditions. And for all patients, if a poorly-educated doctor is unaware as to how disorders manifest differently between the sexes, then patients can be harmed through the failure to rapidly and accurately diagnose and treat their medical conditions.

Research: Bad data generates bad research; bad research generates bad treatments; bad treatments generate bad outcomes. The physiological differences between males and females are vast, and stamp their mark on every organ of the human body, not just the genitals and gonads. Ignoring these differences will muddle our data, blur our understanding of physiology, and hinder the discovery of new treatments for diseases. Females are much more likely than males to have autoimmune disorders. Males are more likely than females to develop Parkinson’s disease. Males and females may present with different symptoms preceding a heart attack. Males and females metabolize drugs differently. Blatantly ignoring sex as a variable hobbles the process of scientific inquiry and limits the types of questions that researchers will ask, thereby limiting the answers they get.

Policy: Patients who are not transgender may be misled by “inclusive” educational materials and miss out on crucial preventative care. This is especially impactful in women’s health; whether due to language barrier, subpar sex education, or cultural taboo, not every woman will even know that she has a cervix, but she will know that she is female. Additionally, recommendations made by professional medical associations are widely used in clinical practice; if these guidelines are generated based on faulty data, this could negatively impact patients on a wider scale.

However, the most pernicious of possible harms is not the denial of sex; rather, the denial of sex is just one manifestation of a greater problem, which is the corrosion of critical thinking itself. Whatever you call it – this postmodern poison, the triumph of dogma over data – it is fundamentally incompatible with critical thinking, the most powerful all-purpose tool a physician has at his or her disposal. Starting with a conclusion and working backwards, all while twisting the data to fit a narrative, strikes me as more religious than scientific.

Marjorie Hutchins @leakylike asks: “Part of being a doctor is taking on ethical & safeguarding responsibilities[.] Why aren’t medical students challenging something which [could] have health implications for patients?”

Our positions as students are precarious, especially if one is labeled as being on the wrong side of history. Consequences for speaking out can include shunning, being anonymously reported to the school for “remediation”, being informally blacklisted from research and leadership opportunities, and potentially expulsion. Until I have earned my degree and have completed residency, I need to remain anonymous. To do otherwise would be to kill my career before it has even begun, which would also limit my ability to help many more patients in the future.

Although I am very biased, I think it should be on the onus of administration and our tenured professors to stand up against this madness, rather than on lone students to publicly put themselves at risk of debt and ruin. For now, I resist in the small ways that I can; I wish to do so more publicly when I am more secure.

#Anglo.txt

8 notes · View notes

virgil-writes · 3 years

Photo

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 14 - prince

SFW, around 4.7K words. Heisenberg is a man of absolutely no feelings I guarantee you

Heisenberg has never done this before, not in almost a hundred years of existence, this tangling of limbs and shirking of duties. He has never once given in to such base urges without careful thought and consideration, instead preferring his encounters planned, short and sweet, in and out before anyone could get attached. He racks his brains looking for things to say once she is awake, for ways to tell her that this means nothing and that they will go back to being flirty acquaintances who spoke to each other in riddles. He digs deep into his thoughts to bury his feelings, refuses to acknowledge their existence long before they can rear their ugly heads. He breathes in, eyes closed, to gather his confidence, to build his persona like he did with the dawn of each new day. Whoever Karl Heisenberg truly was, truly wanted to be, he died every morning and was replaced by a driven, heartless monster.

She was a smart woman, she would get the hint. He will unwrap her arms from his torso, put his clothes back on and make some stupid comment about how she had a pair of tits to die for, but he had already been far too generous by gracing her with his presence this long. Then he will smirk and exit stage left, hold the mask until he is out of sight and has entered the forest, and will finally be done with the theatrics. Perfect plan, until his breath catches in his throat when she first stirs, fingers sleepily caressing his chest like she did the night before. He curses her for never making things easy on him.

She seems confused as she pulls away from him, her lazy stretch reminding him of a cat after a long nap. Her face has softened some, the usual furrow of her brow relaxed, deviant smile replaced with one of pure serenity, like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. “Good morning, my lord,” she greets as she rubs sleep away from her eyes, and he is glad to notice her tone has changed, away from the throes of their passion and back to the casual nonchalance they had become used to treating each other with. “Did you sleep well?” He has no intentions of answering and she does not expect it, either, slides off the couch to gather their clothing scattered about. She hands him his without looking at him, dresses in silence as he does the same. The silence is tense but not awkward, like they were both content to ignore the existence of the other and of everything that had happened between them just hours prior. “Are you staying for breakfast?” The implication that she did not expect him to is crystal clear. If there was any hope of staying longer in his mind, she had quelled it quickly with that question, like she was done with him for the day, perhaps enough to last her a lifetime. It stings, but he is glad for it.

Heisenberg busies himself with putting his clothes back on - whoever’s clothes those were in the first place -, oblivious to her pacing around the house. He believes he is out of the woods and her reserves of kindness have run dry, only to lift his head and find her holding a basket with a loaf of bread in one hand and his trench coat in the other. From afar he can see it looks ten times better than it did when he walked in wearing it, cleaner, for one, holes stitched back together. He doesn’t stay and she sees him off with the same joy she has always shown him, watching him as he grabs the trench coat and food, then his hat from a hook next to the door, waving him away like she has done every time. They sign an unspoken contract that dictates they never speak of it again, though the fine print reads that it is not off the table and might once again come to pass if the opportunity ever presents itself. His journey back to the factory is quiet and uneventful in more ways than one, the forest sleeps away the early hours of the morning and his mind is void of thoughts and worries. He cannot help but notice that the world feels different, brighter, more vibrant even, the wind not hostile and instead a gentle breeze.

Heisenberg seems enveloped in a mist of cheer and placidness for the days that follow, all he has set in motion moving along like clockwork. Sturm awakens unbidden one night, for good this time, both a blessing and a curse upon him. He manages to study its performance and sketch improvements, however finds that he has forgotten to install an off switch on the damn creature. The freak hums and whirs night and day like it is singing him the song of its people, sometimes joyfully, sometimes in mourning, and that he is able to identify when the fucking thing is happy or sad is a clear indication that he has been listening to it for far too long. A stab of guilt hits him every time he yells down towards the bowels of the factory to tell the monster to shut it, he needs to work and the noise is maddening, but he is always reminded that he is the reason for it all, he has bestowed them all with a new lease of life and now has to deal with the consequences. This is all for a good cause, he reassures himself, and once the rebellion is over he will see to it personally that those who remain are given a humane dismantling and burial.

Every now and again he visits his little witch in the woods, when his days could have been better and he needs a pick-me-up. They never speak of the stormy night and the things they had done, not unlike he had planned, but speak of everything else, and they slowly climb the steps to an awkward friendship that is never truly allowed to blossom. It felt as if every time they would give each other a key, an intricately designed, golden key that would open the lock in their hearts. And every time one would try to open it, they would find yet another, stronger lock, closer to the end but not quite, mystery maintained. It was infuriating and addicting all at once, and he had grown quite fond of the back and forth that had become the most exciting part of his life.

Happiness is a drug that he should not indulge on, he decides. Amidst his work he plans something other than rebellion, other than murder. Sketches something other than machines, looks out the window on the top floor of the factory to daydream about the cabin that stood long abandoned at the edge of his land. It was large for a home in this ass-end of the world, two floors and an attic, a cellar that was used for coal storage and doubled as secret entrance to a tunnel connecting the house and the factory. A fenced garden in the backyard, a shed for tools and firewood. The outhouse was awkwardly placed, too close to the edge, but he had always thought it gave it some extra charm. Answer nature’s call while being dangerously close to it, as it were. The masonry oven outside had not been used for at least half a century, and the well had probably dried up by now. It had been his home for many years, before Miranda took away everything that was theirs and his life with it, before he began dedicating his life to rebellion and dreams of freedom. His room was the one at the end of the corridor upstairs, with a view of the river and the forest extending beyond the confines of the village. It was cramped and cold, a single floorboard always rattled during the night when the wind hit it, the window never fully closed and his father never bothered to fix it. Still, it was home, or it had been, and he sometimes found himself thinking of the good memories he’d had before it all went to shit.

Could it be home again, he wondered? It would be one hell of a spring project, between clearing the debris, dusting and fixing everything up. Nails and the corrugated metal roof would not be a problem, naturally, and the stonework of the first floor was still intact. But he hadn’t fixed a fence in many years, hadn’t sawed nor sanded a plank of wood in longer still. He had never been very good at cleaning anything except weapons and machines, and interior decorating was simply something that had never gone through his mind. It could be a home again, he mused as he brought the blowtorch close to his face to light his cigar, and maybe it would do him good to step away from the damp vapors of the factory every once in a while. But then again, would it be worth the effort and upkeep? He doubted the haulers would make good housekeepers, and he was content enough with his independent, bare, unkempt bachelor lifestyle. But those had never been his intentions, had they? A home but not for him, a home for her, right where he could see her, where he could walk a few minutes and knock on her door whenever.

All strictly professional, of course. She would be effectively isolated from the village and the outside world. Effectively isolated from everyone but him, and he could keep tabs on her and call upon her services when necessary. It was a proposal she would be dumb to refuse: a home easily three times bigger than the one she owned, a larger plot of land for her animals and garden, peace and quiet, access to the Duke for supplies, and even some fun every now and again if she played her cards right. There was also the matter that she would be… Safer, living so close to him, but that was of little importance. Naturally. It had only just occurred to him. He had not begun at that, no. He will give it some more thought over the next few weeks - neither of them would be going anywhere, now would they?

Mother calls him later that day to inform of a family meeting two weeks and a half away, to discuss usual business. They will gather at Donna’s this time around, and it should give them all an opportunity to parade themselves to the public. This is important, you see, she begins like she always does, for their worshipers grow restless with their absence. Heisenberg often feels like she has trained the villagers as one would a dog: starve them for long enough and give them a meager treat to keep them going, teach them that their devotion is rewarded with small miracles brought by hellfire and the tearing of flesh by lycans. He has spent far too long away from the public eye and it is always good practice to remind the villagers of his splendor, she continues. He agrees to strut down main street, bless every crafter that he comes across, and kiss the top of the head of every snotty child pushed in his direction by their parents. He even agrees to wear his Sunday best: the same thing he wore every single day, but with a shiny pin in the shape of his house’s crest.

He conceives his greatest idea yet in the meantime, a soldier that combines the combat capabilities of Eins and Zwei with the mobility of an aircraft. He has Sturm to thank for it, the incessant spinning of the blades having given him the spark to try and create a flying machine. No propeller blades, he decides as the very first thing when he begins drawing the schematics. He has had enough of the noise to last him a good couple of decades. Unsurprisingly, he is caught in a trance of working and passing out and waking up to work some more in the weeks that follow, entire days spent combing through the scrap heaps to find the right materials. He is reminded that the goddamn bed had done wonders for his back every time he deadlifts another engine to pick apart, but still refuses to say goodbye to his uncomfortable armchair and the wonderful massage of its loose springs.

He figures the name for it will strike him at the right moment, and for now focuses on adjusting the thrust speed, ensuring the soldier will land adequately and not simply crash while airborne, as funny as that would look. While Sturm required a sturdy specimen, this will need someone lighter, lankier, and he finds the perfect specimen in Miranda’s latest failed experiment, a young boy of some twenty years who had been orphaned long ago and had turned to the Black God for guidance. In truth, he was nothing more than an errand boy for Mother, bringing messages to and fro, collecting tithe and offerings for her. Heisenberg is curious to know what horrible sin has led him to where he is now, dead and open on his operating table, a wound bigger than his fist where the top of his spine should be. Cadou had begun to take hold when he passed, tendrils shooting out of the infection, and he saved the recently dead nematode for further study later.

Removing the organs is always the messiest part, and he drops armfuls of guts into a nearby bucket to discard later. The boy has broken ribs and is missing his heart, a sign that he had greatly felt Mother’s wrath. Heisenberg almost pities him, alone in the world with nothing but his faith to keep him going, but sooner or later he would have to learn that was the way of the world. It had worked just fine for him, painful but invaluable. He had played the cards he had been dealt and come out on top. Perhaps in another life he would have reached out to give the kid a hand, take him in and give him a job, so long as he stayed out of his way and kept his mouth shut. But then again, perhaps in another life circumstances would not have turned him to a ruthless bastard only out for himself.

Setting up the tubing always takes the longest, delicate work that requires his full attention and steady hands. It feels like fighting an octopus at the best of times, and it is a fight he does not always win. He blows away a hair strand that insists on obscuring his vision, but all he succeeds in is having more of it fall onto his face, beads of sweat also finding their way down his forehead to pool on his brow and slide onto his eyelashes. He wishes he had an assistant every time he does this, every time he pulls a corpse open and finds that his body seems to get in the way every time more than the dead one does. He wishes he had an assistant, remembers the offer he never made her, and regrets it an instant later.

Suddenly his mind has wandered away from his subject on the operating table and has wandered off into a fantasy world, where his little witch gently pulls his hair back to tie it securely away from his face, where she dabs away the sweat on his face with a cloth that smells of wildflowers. She stands patiently next to him, takes notes and follows orders, brings him refreshments and even gives his shoulders a good rub when she feels he has been working too hard. A world where she awaits him every night after a long day, where she greets him with the comfort of home and a hearty meal. His focus is lost from that moment onward, for he is taken with the need to see her, to spend time sitting quietly beside her near the fireplace. To hold her and watch her fall asleep in his arms, to hear her laughter and exchange glib lines with her after dinner.

Goddamn witch.

The poor boy suffers the brunt of his annoyance when Heisenberg punches the side of his ribs, the body resists but does not complain and helps none with doing away with his wishes. What was he thinking, losing sight of his goals because he wants his cock sucked? This is why it was always so much better to stay indoors, to kill such annoying roaches on sight. His carefully constructed mental balance has tumbled, his nirvana disturbed. He was doing just fine before she decided to kill some random lycan and forgot to hide the fucking body. Bored, but just fine. Lonely, but fine. Incredibly depressed, but f-i-n-e. He tries in vain to return to his work once, twice, and gives up on the third time, finally accepting that it would be impossible.

Perhaps it is best if he gets it over with, no? This was but a momentary stumble. He had all but forgotten about her for the better part of a fortnight, having instead turned inward towards his work and growing his intel network by skulking around and reading through papers Miranda had ‘lost’ in transport. Just as quickly as he had latched onto her, he had let her go, back to the hum-drum day to day of developing his metal army.

Or so he thought, faced now with a burning need to walk, almost run towards the forest to catch a glimpse of her again.

He looks down at himself, for the first time conscious of how presentable he was, and decides that it is probably best if he wears something that is not covered in rotting chunks of flesh. Somehow he does not think she will mind it; she strikes him as the kind of woman who would think it adds to his charm. He changes into cleaner clothes regardless, the same moss-colored shirt she had given him the day he showed up at her cabin. An idea shines upon him as he tightens his shoelaces, and he is soon giving orders over the comm system to all haulers: clean the damn place up. Throw the garbage up and over the railings onto the scrapheap, hide it under a carpet, it doesn’t matter. He wants the place presentable enough for him to bring his little witch over - he will tell her a little bit of what he intends, he will show her some of his plans, and he will ask her to work for him. The cabin would take a while but she could always drop by for a visit. All that he has decided in the span of less than a minute, and he hopes there will be enough time for everything to be set up when he makes his way back, holding her hand tightly as he shows her all of the wonders he has created. He also hopes he can keep up the momentum and not soil the plan by chickening out a while later, though something in his mind tells him that might be best.

Heisenberg stops in front of a mirror-like metal plate to check out his hair and wipe the blood of his face, at last satisfied with his appearance and ready to make his next move. He almost skips through the factory on his way up and out of the garage. He is getting laid tonight, goddamn it.

He is surprised to find the Duke’s carriage standing just outside. It must be a Tuesday, though he feels like he last saw the man yesterday; the merchant always completed his regular schedule around the village by making a last stop near - and in - his humble abode. He had much to discuss with the Duke, things of both professional and personal nature, but now was not the time, and he walked by briskly and greeted the man with a tip of his hat, intent on simply passing by.

He knows something has gone terribly wrong when the Duke cackles, and he spots the familiar tail wag of a furry hoofed animal beside the carriage. Heisenberg stops dead on his tracks then, a cold tingle running up his spine, his mouth dry. He stares at the man, mouth agape, trying to form his question but failing miserably. Had something happened? Had the Duke known about her all along? Had he done something to her? The Duke is the first to speak, his usual jolly self, oblivious or uncaring for the situation that has begun to unfold in front of him. “Ah, Lord Heisenberg! How’s the day find you?” There is a pregnant pause as Heisenberg looks at the merchant and back at the tiny goat that bleats at him incessantly, and the Duke roars in laughter, his massive frame shaking the entire carriage. “Oh, it seems the little one likes you! Two hundred lei and it is all yours, my lord. Should be quite the tasty dinner.”

Prince seems to understand its predicament, and cries ever louder, until it is all they both can hear and the sound almost drives him insane. “Where the fuck did you get it?” Is all he manages to say, his tone vicious, but the Duke does not seem to mind it. He looks around for any other signs of her, the dog, or the horse, a chicken, anything.

“My friend in the woods has sold it to me, of course. She no longer has any use for it where she is going, and thought it best to rehome it.” The merchant’s hand reaches out to pet the goat on the head and the whole carriage almost topples over with the weight.

“You know her.” It is not a question, and though there is much he needs to ask there is little he is able to process.

“Indeed. We have been friends for many years, her and I. Since she was a malnourished little girl living under Lady Heisenberg’s protection. Since long before you were born, my lord.” The man takes a long drag from his cigar as if to give Heisenberg enough time to go through his words, and he is glad for it, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. A hundred and something years, the mention of his grandmother’s name. “She has always been quite the ravaging beauty, however. Although I’m sure that has not escaped your notice.” He can hardly contain his exasperation, not at all used to the feeling that currently boils within him. If that man had ever touched her- “She is quite a talented healer, you see. For many years now she has supplied me with the most wonderful of concoctions.” As if to prove it, he lifts up a bottle of the antiseptic he has become so famous for, gives it a little shake and flashes Heisenberg a bright smile.

“She’s gone.” Again he doesn’t ask, simply repeats the information he has been given, and wishes he had his hammer close by to crush that smirk off the Duke’s face.

“Why yes, she has left, of course. It would not be the first time,” the merchant says with a shrug. “A free spirit she is, always has been. Off to find herself some excitement and adventure, I’m sure. I have told her many a time that the village life does not suit her,” he puts the bottle down and interlaces his fingers in front of him, resting on his enormous stomach. “Yet she has come back every time. Sweet, idealistic Morganna, always so kind for her own good.” In his confusion, Heisenberg realizes he has forgotten to breathe, and inhales sharply, blow after blow though he tries to recover, and the Duke is relentless. “Ah, that reminds me, she has left something for you.” He is no longer listening after the Duke’s mouth closes, far too stunned to process what is happening. The blond man hands him a small wooden box that smells like her, and Heisenberg does not care that he can see how much his hands are shaking as he pushes off the lid. He does his best to swallow the rage and the tears that well up in his eyes, the bittersweet thought that she had remembered him before she parted. The woolen slippers lay perfectly arranged inside the box. “If you wish to find her, I am sure she has not made it very far.” Heisenberg continues to stare down incredulously, and the Duke continues to yap like nothing has happened. He has tuned out completely by the time he closes the box again and raises his head to face the merchant. He might as well have been a shadow, disoriented as Heisenberg was, his face a misshaped blob in his eyes. There is no space for thoughts and he lets himself go instead, anger bubbling so close to the surface underneath his skin.

He grabs the goat before the Duke can protest, tucks it safely under his arm, box secured in the other as he marches back inside the barn and closes everything behind him. Gone? The way down is hazy and red, one foot after the other, instinct taking him through the halls and down elevators. Gone. He feels the haulers’ gazes upon him, and hopes they won’t dare showing vestiges of humanity now, or he will kill every last one and set fire to the corpses. The door to his quarters is kicked with entirely too much force and flies off its hinges, he places Prince gently on the floor in the last showing of kindness he would ever allow himself. Gone! The box is thrown across the room and shatters against the wall, tears in his eyes, a strangled cry coming out of him before he can stop himself.

“She’s gone.” He repeats and the words feel like sand in his mouth. He knows them to be true and it only serves to hurt him further. Behind his eyelids, she takes him by the hand and skips down the stairs ever onward towards the darkness, and he knows he is far too weak to stop it now. He has no tools to explain any of it, the crying and yelling and the way his body has slid against the wall and onto the floor like a puddle of muddy, gooey, revolting water. One last bit of control tells him that he should not care, that she is not important, that this is good, that he is free from her grasp. But its screeches are drowned in the uproar within him, and all he can think of is that she is gone and he misses her.

He is once again alone in the world and, for the first time, he knows what heartbreak feels like.

#Karl Heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #resident evil village #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes #sad day sad chapter #though i really should catch up on posting on tumblr

6 notes · View notes