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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

Note

Romanced companions (fo4) react to a distressed female soul telling them she found out she's turning into a ghoul (she's known it for a while but she's been too afraid to tell them, worrying about how they'd react)

Romanced! FO4 Companions React to F!Sole Turning into a Ghoul

Thank you so much for the ask anon! (and for your patience, I know you sent this one in forever ago 😅)

I always kind of wondered how the companions would react to this if it was a function of the game 🤔 So I'm glad I got to explore it a bit! I hope you enjoy!

Cait:

No. Not her. Not her Sole. Cait thought, unable to grasp the news Sole had just revealed to her. Her partner was too strong, she was too careful. She was from before the bombs, before the radiation! How could this have happened?

In her mind, it would have made a lot more sense for Cait to turn into a ghoul long before Sole. Her arse actually deserved the pain of watching her physical self peel away day by day, but not Sole. Her companion, her partner, the one damn person she actually loved... No, Sole was too good for this. But the two of them, they could beat it, they could reverse it somehow. One of those vaults could hold the answer, like it did for her, even after she had thought it was too late.

Cait didn't want to stop the change because she had anything against ghouls, really, because she doesn't. But she couldn't stand the sight of her luv's face when, at the light brush of her fingers through her once silky locks, she felt them fall to the ground in webbed clumps, Cait couldn't stand the pain in Sole's expression as her skin began to shrivel and peel off, she couldn’t witness one more instance of Sole glancing in a mirror with such immense sadness in her eyes. And Cait became very troubled when she realized that Sole would be here long after she was dead. Cait couldn't stand to face reality without her partner after all that she's done for her, and now Sole was staring that reality in the face. The poor lass had already outlived everyone she's known and loved once, and now she had to do it all over again, who knows how many times? It just wasn't fuckin' fair.

Well, once Cait had accepted Sole's change as permanent, she would do everything in her power to ensure the pair made the most of their years together, giving absolutely no fucks about Sole's new appearance. And should anyone else decide to look at her the wrong way, or, God forbid, say something to her about it, Cait's fist would be unholstered and swinging before the offensive words could even leave their worthless lips.

Curie:

She would feel sorry for Sole, and constantly be there for her as a source of support. When her love had told her what was happening, Curie had been shocked. Sure, she had noticed a few changes in her partner’s body, but she had hoped it wouldn’t be anything too serious. Still, this wasn't the worst that could happen, Curie would know, after all of the diseases and viruses she had worked with in the vault. Yet... the synth still found her chest throbbing at the thought of watching her love deteriorate before her eyes.

Throughout Sole’s change, Curie would do what she could to lessen the symptoms. There was no “cure” for being a ghoul, but Curie would feel awful if she didn’t at least try.

As Sole’s condition became more and more obvious, she would do everything in her power to make sure her partner knew that she still loved her. Curie had been a reprogrammed Miss Nanny when Sole had found her, she'd been nothing more than a metal machine when Sole had selflessly saved her, and yet, she had found a way to love her for who she was, despite what she was, and she had been there every step of the way as she made the change to her synth body. Curie would be happy to return the favor tenfold.

Also, throughout the process of Sole's change, if anyone was rude to her love, about anything, Curie would be at them with harsh words and a firm teacher’s voice as she gave the ill-mannered stranger a quick ghouls-101 education session.

Danse (Post BB):

Oh… Oh God. Not this. Not her, not his beautiful Sole. The ex-paladin’s stomach would drop as she quietly forced out her confession, refusing to meet his wide, despairing gaze.

He didn’t know what to do. Danse was horrified. Not for the first time in his life, he felt like his world was crashing down all around him. Everything good in his life seemed to revolve around the person in front of him, but all of his love, his devotion, all of the effort he put into protecting this one person he had left, that he valued above all else in his life, it was all in vain. Because now… she was turning into something that he had always feared. Something that he had been taught and trained to despise, to think of as vermin that needed to be extinguished. It was the way he felt about himself when he found out what he truly was. He never wanted to feel that way towards her, never thought he would have been able to, and even now… he found that he couldn’t.

It didn’t matter what she was turning into, what she’d become, she was still Sole. And he was committed to her, he was loyal to her. Godammit, he loved her for Christ's sake. He wasn’t about to let this calamitous development change any of that. She certainly hadn’t when it had been him in her place.

Danse would still often have trouble with his internalized prejudices left over from his time with the Brotherhood, but he would try his heart out for her. Every passing day brought more changes to the woman he loved, each one serving as a reminder to what the end result would be, and witnessing it would break his heart into pieces.

It was strange though, it wasn’t as devastating as he had thought it would be, in the beginning. Sole was still herself, even underneath all of the physical changes, she was still here beside him, and in the end, that’s all Danse really needed.

Deacon:

For once, Deacon remained silent. His brows furrowed low beneath his sunglasses and his hand came up to rub at his mouth, as though he were trying to physically pull out a response. He cleared his throat, and his hand went up to remove his glasses so he could look Sole in the eye. A rare sight, one that made her pulse quicken further as the apprehension of her confession really set in.

Deacon had already known, or… suspected, rather, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. It wouldn’t be the first time the Railroad agent's experienced this kind of dread. When he had found out his wife was a synth, he had felt this same crippling pressure in his chest. But he didn’t say that, Sole didn’t need to hear about his problems, no, not again. Now she needed him to help with hers.

So, the spy would nod at her, and ask her what she needed from him. He's a knowledgeable guy, everyone knows that, Sole most of all, so if she needed anything as far as information on what she was about to go through, he would be able to provide it. Better yet, he could bring her to quite a few folks he knew who had gone through the same sorta hell themselves.

Beyond that, not much else would change. Deacon isn't one to put much stock in a person's physicality, what kinda daft and inconsiderate hypocrite would he be if he did? Hell, he may even speak to a surgeon about altering his appearance to become more ghoul-like if that was something Sole cared about. But honestly? He just would want his partner to know that it didn't matter to him.

"Thought you could get rid of lil old me just by going ghoul? Heh, sorry, cuddle muffin, but it looks like you're still stuck with me."

Sole had been able to forgive him for everything he's done, she hadn't judged or ridiculed him for being a bigoted assface for the first half of his life, and she'd accepted him for the compulsive liar and emotion-dodging, sarcastic smart-ass that he was now; sooooooo, yeah. This whole ghoul thing? Not a problem. Just another glorious and compelling chapter in this wacky book called life.

Hancock:

Hancock becomes the literal epitome of empathy. He knows what this shit's like, he's gone through the motions. He remembers the nightmarish sight of his flesh falling from his body in shriveled tatters, he recalls his once silken voice dissolving to his current raspy timbre, he knows what it's like to see the bright vibrance of his irises vanish over the course of a couple weeks, slowly dissolving to the blackness that he now saw the world through.

But with Hancock, it had been his choice. Okay, so he didn't know for certain that he'd become a ghoul, but he had been ready for it, had known it was at least a possibility. With Sole though, she didn't sign up for this shit. She didn't deserve to go through the same kinda hell he did. He wanted to go through hell, felt like he deserved it. But his gorgeous sunshine? The light of his life, the kindest, most selfless person he'd ever met? Nah. She didn't deserve to watch herself develop the likeness of a certain sorta dehydrated fruit.

Hancock would be sure to tell her every day just how incredible she was, how brave, and strong, and how she was still beautiful beyond belief, no matter what. He would show her how he felt. Showering her in gifts and affection, taking her out to prove to her that he could never even think to be embarrassed by her in any capacity whatsoever. He loved this woman, he cherished her. Every irradiated bit of her.

And now… now the best part. Hancock would try not to seem too overexcited, knowing that this whole process was traumatic and painful for his love, but now he could spend the rest of their lives making her see just how much one person-- one ghoul-- could love another. He'd been terrified out of his mind when he thought he would outlive Sole, by who knows how long. But now… now they had an eternity to spend together, or, however long it is ghouls live for. Whatever, no matter how much time they had, Hancock would never be convinced it would be enough. He just supposes the rest of their long lives will simply have to do.

MacCready:

He'd try not to give away his heartbreak as he gazed back at her, his face draining of all it's color as those fateful words escaped her with a sob. This was a nightmare of MacCready's. He hadn't ever told Sole what he saw that night he had woken up screaming, he had told her he couldn't remember the dream, and she had said "maybe that was for the best." If only he'd been telling the truth. In reality, what he saw was the immensely frightening sight of Sole taking his late wife's place in that horrific memory that was forever burned into his brain. Her body engulfed by a throng of writhing ferals as she shrieked out his name. As with all of his dreams like this, MacCready was rooted to the place he stood, forever imprisoned as a bystander to the brutality taking place before him. The agony only ceased when the pack of feral ghouls dispersed, revealing Sole, now as one of them. She had raced towards him, hunger and madness glinting in the opaque depths of her dark, iris-less eyes. The mercenary couldn't get the image out of his head as he watched the color in Sole's eyes fade away over time, her skin losing its divine smoothness, her soft hair drifting to the ground in wisps of somber defeat.

The couple had cried a lot in those weeks of her change. The process was heart wrenching for the both of them to witness; but MacCready stuck by her side. He could be stronger than his nightmares, than his fears, when it came to Sole.

When the day finally did come when she was referred to as a ghoul by a perfect stranger, MacCready had almost been surprised. It had taken time for her to look this way, to sound this way, and he had hardly noticed the extent to which his partner changed until looking at old renderings and pictures of her from before the bombs. This was just who she was now.

She wasn't a monster, a ravenous zombie that he feared and despised. She was Sole. She still acted like his love, her voice still resembled that of his partner's, her eyes had lightened to a blue that outshone his own, which he was clearly not bitter about, and she still was just utterly his Sole. The same woman he had fallen for in the first place, the one he thought he'd never be lucky enough to be loved by in return. But now, even behind all the changes, he could still see her there, and he could certainly still love her.

The nightmares became much less common after her transformation, oddly enough. And when he finally introduced Sole to Duncan, he was terribly worried that the boy would hate her, that he would remember that traumatic night when the pair had lost a mother and a wife, and that he would be afraid of her. But his son hardly seemed to notice Sole's condition, as he shook her hand and introduced himself with enthusiastic giddiness. Later, Duncan might voice some questions to her about being a ghoul, but they were always out of genuine curiosity.

MacCready couldn't have been more proud of his child than he was then, or more touched than when Duncan expressed his relief at Sole having a skin condition like this, and yet, she was still able to be loved by someone as great as his dad. The boy himself remembered the way people would look at him before he had been cured of his blue boils, and he didn't wish that on anybody, he'd assured both Sole and MacCready of that one day.

No, MacCready couldn't have been more proud. Of his son, sometimes even of himself as he learned to outgrow his fears, how to muscle through his trauma and be the best father and partner he could possibly be; and certainly, he couldn't have been prouder of Sole.

Nick:

Nick would be remarkably sympathetic, taking Sole's hand in his good one comfortingly as she struggled to get out the confession, and having not even a glimpse of a negative reaction in response to her heart-wrenching words.

“Oh, doll… I’m so sorry.” His fingers would stroke over her hand in an effort to comfort her. He had been surprised by the news, but it wouldn’t change anything. He’d assure her of that. No matter what physical changes Sole underwent; the memories of a certain synth, all metal, and fiberglass, and plastic, and the damn near perfect woman who somehow fell for him would fill his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to keep from telling her just how much she meant to him every single day.

Life would go on, they would go out on cases together, and help the people of the commonwealth as they have nearly since the day they met, but if anyone decided to utter a comment as to Sole’s physical state, they would certainly be faced with a stern talking to from one sassy synth.

He tried to not mention it too early on, but Nick wouldn't be unable to keep the thought buried forever. One day, when Sole was feeling especially despondent about her current state, he’d remind her that he’d always be there for her. Always. Now he didn’t have to worry so much about that dreadful and inevitable fast-approaching day that he would have to bid Sole goodbye as she passed away from her old age, leaving him alone on this ruined earth. He’d just have to hope that she would be as comforted by the thought as he was.

Piper:

The news would be hard to grasp at first, and even after she understood what Sole was telling her, she wouldn't know what to do. How can you fix something like this? This was her Blue they were talking about! She could do anything, she'd survived the bombs, had found the Institute, she had found her son after so many years, had done all of that, just to now have to go through this too? Hasn't Sole been through enough?!

Piper would be angry, and she'd feel horrible watching Sole go through the changes, as she was forced to witness her love's physical form deteriorate before her in just a couple short months. Piper would try to tell Sole to keep her chin up, remind her who she was, of everything she's been through, how much she's overcome; and if anyone wanted to bug her partner about being a ghoul, Piper would tear them to shreds with her words, not caring if she made a scene as she made the stranger realize what horrible mistake they had made speaking to Sole like that. She'd rip ‘em a new one for sure, and spend a good portion of the day making sure her love was alright after the ordeal. The reporter knew how much words could hurt.

She would be utterly supportive, and even, if Sole was comfortable with it, might see if she’s interested in being a sort of poster child for a campaign to allow ghouls back into Diamond City (and God help anyone who tries to keep Sole out of the city before Piper has a chance to change the law officially.)

Preston:

Preston tried to swallow through the lump in his throat, but to no avail. The Minuteman didn’t cry often, or, he hadn’t since meeting Sole. But this… He couldn’t stop the tears from spilling as he drew her into his embrace. His voice surely would have failed him if he had tried to comfort her with his words, so his arms wrapped tightly around her, her head pressed firmly to his chest. That would have to do for the time being.

“Sole, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He managed to whisper to her as his hand came up to stroke gently at her soft hair, trying desperately not to imagine the way it would fall from her head soon enough. He took a deep breath.

“But… I want you to know something. Something really important.” Preston pulled away so he could look into her eyes, hands coming to rest on either of her tear-stained cheeks “This won’t change anything between us. No matter what, you’re still my General, and… and I love you so much. What’s happening to you won’t ever change the way I feel about you.” They’d both be sniveling messes through the night.

But each morning that passed in the coming days, each change Sole underwent, they would take as it came. Preston is a bit of a workaholic, he knows this, and so does Sole, but he’d take a day off if ever her symptoms became unbearable enough. The Minutemen were stronger now than they had been in years, because of her, and so he would try not to feel so guilty about stepping away from his duties to help her.

But he would keep his promise, and, through everything, Sole would remain the General of the Minutemen, with everyone still paying her the respect that the title was due. She would remain the love of his life, he would tell her every day the way that he admired her, tell her how gorgeous he found her, no matter how much her physicality changed, he would remind her of her boundless strength. He just hoped it’d be enough to make her happy, to save her back, in the way she had saved him.

X6-88:

When Sole hesitantly told him about what was happening to her, it had only been after he asked. It was clear to the synth that something was wrong with his partner, but waiting for her to explain on her own had him only becoming more impatient. When she did tell him, he was furious. Certainly not at her, and not necessarily at the Institute’s inability to prevent it from happening, but at the Commonwealth, at the world for doing this to the one he loved. X6 couldn't stand the thought of it, the pain she had to go through. A part of him blamed himself for it. He was meant to protect her, from anything that could possibly harm her, and he had failed. Her changing appearance would be a testament to that failure every day of his life.

In an effort to make it up to her, X6 offered everything he possibly could to his partner, walking her though each and every symptom that came with her change, and ensuring she was utilizing every resource the Institute had at its disposal. Treatments, and skin creams, and supplements, and enough radaway to douse the glowing sea were used in an effort to slow the process of ghoulification, or perhaps even to halt it.

When it inevitably didn’t work, X6 would feel useless, like he had failed in his mission to keep his beloved safe all over again. However, something strange happened to the courser when the one he loves began to physically fall apart in response to the radiation. He didn’t want to leave her. He could stand to look at her, to still love her in the way that he never thought he would be able to, even when she was human. Despite what she had become, she was still his Sole.

After he came to this realization, X6 would take it as a personal mission for himself to ensure that anyone who made Sole feel bad for the way she looked or the way she now spoke would pay dearly for the carelessness of their commentary. X6 would work endlessly to guard his love from insults and dangers alike, from outsiders as well as those within the Institute. That was what he could do for her, what he had to do, if he ever wanted to make it up to Sole. The way he had carelessly let this happen to her... He would never forgive himself, and wonder every day how Sole could, but he will make it up to her. Mark his words.

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commander-diomika · 3 years

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[Image ID: Screenshot of a tumblr reply from user @weareallfromearth saying “Holy shit I would V much like to know what you’d do with ZolfWilde.” End ID]

This was in response to me tag rambling that if Alex “I don’t Actually Have That Much Experience in Courtship” Newall and Ben “I just Realised I’m Too Straight For This” Meredith don’t know what to do with Zolf/Wilde, they should hand the ship over to me.

*rubs my gay little hands together.*

I initially characterized them offhandedly as Enemies-to-Lovers but that’s not quite it, is it? On reflection I would say it’s more of an Opposites Attract situation.

Oscar Wilde, as re-imagined in the RQG universe, is a homme fatale; a dangerous, attractive man, skilled in encouraging people to underestimate him, wearing different masks, never quite being able to trust or be trusted by anyone.

There is NO personal/professional line for Wilde. He lives his work, and his work is subterfuge and interpersonal manipulation. (whether or not he started this way in his field as a journalist, or was forced to become this way by the changes in his world, is another post.) He is a person who either cares very deeply what people think of him, or is has decided that manipulating what people think of him is the way to get what he wants, and from the outside it makes no difference.

Zolf Smith does not care what people think of him. He isn’t even skilled at being kind and empathetic to people he cares about; he has no time for emotional manipulation or genuine charm. He doesn’t even have a fantastic grasp on his OWN feelings, let alone other people’s. He’s grounded, disinterested in frippery or appearances. Which is why Zolf and Wilde started out so deeply at odds with one another.

Despite the differences in the interpersonal approaches, they have plenty of common ground.

They are both deeply dedicated to a cause. They care about their work to the exclusion of all else. They are both pragmatists who have their own internal moral code, and are willing to bend or break other people’s rules in order to get the job done. They are fundamentally good people. Despite their rocky beginnings, they can respect each other because of these things.

And they might have maintained their mutually disdainful, begrudgingly respectful working relationship and that could have been the sum total... Except then the world fell apart. The Meritocratic organisation was initially compromised, then disintegrated. The blue vein plague isolated everyone and made it even harder to trust supposed allies. The Cult of Hades was on everyone’s ass making their life difficult, the other PCs disappeared off the face of the planet. Zolf and Wilde ended up in a situation where they had no one else they could trust.

Familiarity breeds contempt, but maybe if the contempt is already there, it builds Something Else. Wilde was stripped of his magic in a way that made it much harder for him to keep people at a distance and (pardon the pun) project the illusion of the debonair playboy. Zolf would have had the chance to see through Wilde’s masks, and get a better understanding of what parts of Wilde were a calculated tactic, and what was his genuine self.

Whatever betrayal transpired that gave Wilde his scar and hardened him, Zolf was privy to. He was either there and saw it happen, or he was close enough in the aftermath to see Wilde properly vulnerable for the first time in their friendship. Hell, maybe Zolf was the one who rescued him and patched him up. That was a chance for Zolf to realise that this insufferable man is a friend who he cares about deeply. At this point, he’s cared for awhile, but has been too wrapped up with his own spiritual difficulties to have space to admit that to himself.

And Wilde, oh Wilde, he’s desperate to be seen and known and loved, but he’s never allowed himself. He’s never felt SAFE to. He doesn’t let people get close, treats every conversation as a battle to be won. His safety and his power lies in being admired, but never loved. So even as trust and fondness for Zolf blossoms within him, he won’t for a second allow himself to hope that the fondness is reciprocated

With all that out of the way, this is my version of events.

Wilde is a slut (affectionate), and Zolf is gray-ace, so if there’s any bridging of that gap in terms of physical intimacy, it has to be from Zolf’s side. Giving canon a tender massage into place, that first instance of Zolf grabbing Wilde by the collar changes. (This happens on the Vengeance after Zolf has taught Wilde to steer the ship). Zolf drags Wilde down to say “I’m glad to see you perked up.” That moment now involves a whiskery kiss on Wilde’s cheek, and the man would be absolutely FLOORED by it.

I’m talking slow-mo glittering lights as Zolf stomps off blushing, unsure what just came over him; Wilde touches his cheek in bewilderment for a stretched moment before realising he’s completely agog, and he let go of the wheel for a dangerous length of time. Every interaction, every moment they’ve spent together over the last two years is flashing before Wilde’s eyes and a new context is being applied rapid fire. I’m talking the italacised oh kind of moment.

(on top of Zolf being witness to The Betrayal, throw some other moments of almost-intimacy into said flashbacks. I’m talking late nights, Zolf doing his gruff-yet-kind caretaker thing, cooking for Wilde, maybe sharing quiet and rare downtime with Zolf reading a Campbell novel on a couch in Wilde’s office)

Wilde is realising, “Oh this is allowed, oh this is reciprocated, this is possible.”

And of course they don’t talk about it, because what’s a slowburn if they immediately go and TALK about their feelings? No, the kiss goes completely unremarked upon, and Wilde continues to needle and tease and get under Zolf’s skin, except now with an added warmth in his eyes because he finally gets it. He finally understands that Zolf cares, that Zolf loves him, he’s just not the kind of dwarf that knows how to express it.

And Zolf, frustrated by feelings he can’t express but is beginning to understand, can hear the undertone of “haha, you looooove me,” shining through Wilde’s deliberate antagonism. They continue their time on the Vengeance just a little easier and closer to one another.

And we continue on to the death/resurrection arc, and Wilde’s spirit pushes for Zolf to open up about his feelings, because if not when he’s literally past death’s door, then when? When Zolf finally manages his “I need you,” it’s like a dam has broken for both of them. The second collar-grab and “We’ll go on a holiday or somethin’,” is now followed by a full kiss on the lips, not particularly erotic but passionate, (it’s the epitome of kissing someone to shut them up) and Wilde makes a surprised and delighted squeak that he would be glad he can’t quite remember when he returns to land of the living.

Once returned, Wilde might not remember everything that his spirit said or did, but he remembers the kiss. The comfort and ease that the two of them share in 179 (Eat Drink and Be Merry) is there, only instead of the two characters still being in a place of questioning their feelings for one another, it’s been answered.

Whether or not this relationship is sexual in nature is kind of up to you and what kind of fan works you like to read/write. I think there are wonderful scenes to be written an explored in many directions.

Wilde allowing himself to enjoy sex for intimacy and closeness instead of using it as a tool/ Zolf not being one for sex but Wilde’s never slept more soundly than when he’s being held in Zolf’s arms/ Zolf realising that the unfamiliar feeling he’s been struggling to express is the desire to rail Wilde til he cries/ Wilde realising that if his partner doesn’t want it from him, he’s actually quite content without sex/ The two of them being mean, antagonistic bastards to each other while fucking but Make It Kink (of the trusting and RACK kind). There really isn’t a single bad interpretation.

So really, I’m not doing anything different with them other than reading between the lines, giving canon a little nudge, and sticking the landing. This isn’t to disparage the concept of queer platonic partners. (I’ve got one!) or to talk shit about Ben or Alex (I DO respect their craft).

It’s just to say I find these two characters , and everything they’ve been through, PAINFULLY romantic, tropey, and delightful. I’m looking forward both to how Ben and Alex play the QPP, the fanworks I’m gonna read and hopefully write, and the inevitable tragedy that you KNOW Alex is gearing up for.

#zoscar #zolfwilde #RQG #rusty quill gaming #zolf smith #RQG Oscar Wilde #hank talks #rqg podcast #rqg meta #feel free to reblog #and to talk to me about it

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sukiglycerin · 4 years

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birds (not) of a feather || keigo takami.

* pairing: hawks x fem pro-hero!reader

* genre: canonverse(???), terribly indulgent smut, pwp, enemies w benefits

* words: 3,111

* warnings: i just packed a shitload of kinks into this, dom!hawks, sub!reader, daddy kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex (a bathroom), quirk play aka feather play (not tickling), reader is kiNda a brat, fingering, orgasm denial, cum eating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pls.,., wrap it before you tap it irl), degradation, breeding kink, humiliation, dumbification, creampie, aftercare (duh), i’m so sorry for this i’ll finish my sfw angst thing now

* a/n: inspired by this text post... oh god, this is filthy. apologies for the slightly late update, but here it finally is!! @toishi is an absolute angel for proofreading this at like 1 in the morning. i hope you enjoy this! if you liked this, feel free to request anything you’d like to see from me <3

there was something about hawks that was infuriating. you couldn't tell exactly what was the breaking point; his messy hair, his plush smirk, or his eyes. his eyes, typically glazed over with a mixture of cockiness and devil-may-care hawtiness, were perhaps the most charming part to him, if you asked any fangirl. the markings around them only made him prettier, but infuriatingly so; and when you put together the entire package of 'hawks,' you got an extremely punchable person.

yet sometimes, during extremely rare instances - perhaps when the light hits him just right or when one of his feathers is placed just perfectly - the word 'punchable' is replaced with 'fuckable.' and when you say fuckable, you mean him fucking you. it only aggravates you more.

you can't recall exactly when you started hating him or exactly when you became fuckbuddies (well, more like fuckenemies), but what you can recall is that the closets at hawks' agency are unreasonably large. not that they can't be used to your advantage, on multiple occasions (especially when hawks ruts). you're sitting next to hawks as some entrepreneur attempts to sell his ideas to market heroes and gain more profit. none of the pro-heroes sitting in the room seem particularly engaged. you're practically falling asleep; hawks' doodles on your notepad keeping you awake. you can't exactly complain, though the doodles take up space on an otherwise blank page, it's entertaining. you're far past gone being alert, however; your eyelids droop one last time before you see an oddly phallic shaped doodle behind your eyelashes. goddamn hawks.

"really?" you hiss at him, pushing his hand away.

he shrugged, lazily smiling. "you like it."

"like what? lewd imagery in my work notepad?"

"no." his voice drops an octave, fatally gravelly, "my cock."

you flush at his obscene language. "don't-" you whisper, but you're cut off by hawks' muffled giggles as he points to another one of his doodles. a rooster. you purse your lips. ever-so immature, hawks.

"yeah, but i bet you like the first one a lot more, don'tcha, chickadee?" his pet name has your brain stuttering. "you like my cock so much, hm?"

"fuck you, hawks," you breathe.

"you can try, feather." his voice is dripping with cockiness. "i bet, even in professional times like these, you think about my cock. in business meetings, you look so professional, so serious, but little does everyone know - you're dreaming about my cock stretching your tight little cunt out, making you scream my goddamn name. i bet you salivate just thinking about my cock fucking you good, hm? isn't that right, chickadee?"

you huff, not meeting his eyes as you search for a witty comeback. your silence gives hawks' ego a boost; he smirks wider.

"you know it's true, huh?" he purrs. "you think of me wherever you go. in public, filing paperwork, when you touch yourself in bed... you just like it so much, you're my slut. who knew the nation's favorite pro-hero would drop to her knees to the sight of anyone's cock?"

"yeah, i touch myself whenever i think of you," you mutter saltily under your breath. you ignore the growing arousal in your panties at his provocative words. hawks goes quiet, eyes wide.

"more specifically, i rub my temples because i get a headache because you're so damn awful."

"well fuck, dove," he chuckles. he leans in close to your ear. "maybe i'll give you something to think about."

a shiver curls itself down your spine. "hawks-"

he hushes you, jotting something in your notepad. he excuses himself from the room, leaving a feather laying on his seat in place of him. you read the note. "women's bathroom, down the hall to the left. no one uses it."

a pump of adrenaline fills you; your heart skips a beat.

once you slip out, your heart plays a game of jump rope, the rhythm filling your ears. down the hall, to the left... you wonder what hawks has in store for you. your brain recreates images of past escapades you engaged in with the man; a quickie in his office, another in an alley, and once, him fucking you just before a meeting. your panties grow damper, unable to mask the anticipation you feel within yourself.

"hi, sweetpea," hawks cooes as soon as you enter the restroom. "fancy seeing you here."

"you invited-"

"hush, i didn't give you permission to speak, did i?" he snaps. "good girls who behave are rewarded."

a whimper slips out of you, and you nod.

"safeword, birdie?"

"sunflower."

"good girl." he hums. "so obedient, once disciplined... maybe i should do this more. i bet you'd like that... being such a slut when anyone could walk in." "hawks..." you start, but he doesn't have it.

the hero stalks toward you. if eyes could kill, you'd be murdered within seconds; his irises are dark, pupils blown, and a shadow has fallen over his face. he looks predatory like this - truly living up to his name. it's graceful, the self-control he assumes whence walking toward you.

said self-control is completely abandoned as soon as your bodies meet. you're completely enraptured in his shadow as the man loomed over you, his wings contributing greatly to the effect. he's the predator, and you're the prey.

his arm separates your neck from the wall, his hand clutching the back of your head. the free hand moves itself to caress your jaw in a strangely gentle manner, while his knee pushes its way in between your legs, making your upper thighs into a home. his hand nudges your head forward towards his, and then you're kissing him with such ferocity it's animalistic. tongues clash and you're no longer sure whose spit is whose; it dribbles down your chin the way blood drips from the thirsty lips of a vampire.

hawks growls - he actually growls - while he hastily unbuttons your top and slips his tongue into your mouth. you shamelessly grind down against his clothed pant leg, careless that your wetness will leave a stain.

he pulls away, a string of saliva snapping between you and leaving you two gasping for breath.

"fuck, fuck, baby bird," hawks wipes his mouth with his sleeve. his lips are swollen, their colour resembling a cherry lollipop with a sheen of gloss. damn, he's pretty. you never realized how good-looking a guy in a suit could be. his eyes are darker than a raven's, and it looks as though he'll devour you whole.

"come." hawks gestures for you, walking towards the sinks and large mirror above them. as soon as you near a foot from hawks, he grabs you, one hand on your waist and the other on your throat.

"look at you..." he tsks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. you're completely disheveled, hair a mess and eyes blown dark. your top is wrinkled slightly, your breasts peaking out through the unbuttoned gap and your skirt pushed up.

"so messy already..." the hand on your waist moves up and squeezes your breast, tweaking a nipple through your bra.

"you just fucking melt for me, like a good whore," he says.

oh, how you hate how easily hawks can win you over.

"fuck you," you scoff half-heartedly. "are you gonna fuck me, or not? we don't have all day."

"won't be a problem, lovebird," he says breezily. "judging by how much you fucking soaked my pant leg, i could have you coming undone without my cock even touching your dirty cunt.

you glance at his thigh, which has a blatant dark spot on it, and feel your heart race in humiliation. you can only stay silent, knowing he's right. the sensation in your core is painfully obvious to you, as if taunting you more.

"obeying now?" he teases, a wicked smile gracing his face. "bend over the counter, sweetpea."

you huff, obliging. hawks deftly moves his fingers, unbuttoning your shirt. you shiver, your hot skin colliding with the cold, unforgiving marble.

"spread your legs - good, good, like that..." his breath tickles your ear, "you like how the air touches your sopping pussy? how exposed you fucking feel, all spread out for me when anyone could walk in? me, the number 2 pro-hero..." god, he was so cocky it was infuriating.

"shut up," you grumble.

"what?" his voice is sharp, cutting clean through the air. "is that anyway to treat your daddy?"

you fucking hate the title. you hate how hawks harnesses it as his own, how he so personifies the word - how good it fits him, sounding like sugar off his lips.

two of his fingers meet your clothed folds. "answer me, birdie."

"n-no," you squeak out.

"no, who?" he spits.

"no, daddy."

you inch your head up to look in the mirror, and hawks is smiling.

"what to do with you, what to do with you..." he sounds gleeful, sadistic undertones tinting his words with a faded rose red. so pretty, yet so painful. your head goes back down onto the counter, your cheek pressed against it.

"naughty birds deserve punishment, don'tcha think?"

you can't find it in yourself to form a coherent word; instead, a clumsy moan falls from your lips. hawks' fingers press harder against your cunt; you're sure they've gotten at least a little damp.

compromised in such a position, your senses make you suddenly aware of your surroundings; the way the counter digs into your hips, how the coolness is starting to fade under your body. you're aware of your every breath, the fluttering in your stomach every time hawks presses your clit. you're aware of the inherent eroticism of your acts, and how you don't really hate hawks; no, no, no - how he just infuriates you.

he's the ideal hero, in your eyes - laidback, charming, and yet so skilled at his work. it amazes you. one can only strive to be so multifaceted, and it explains his status as number 2 hero. you work so hard, yet he can achieve all the things you dream in half a heartbeat.

"let's get these out of the way." hawks, hooking a digit into the band of your panties, forces them down in an instant. you instinctively clench at the air which meets your nether lips, your juices leaking out of them like a honeyed nectar.

"so messy," hawks comments. "can't even control yourself without your panties. you like being such a slut for daddy, huh?"

you grumble in protest.

"huh?" his index and ring finger plunge into your pussy, making a loud squelching sound.

"d-daddy," you blurt a moan out, falling apart on his fingers.

"that's more like it, feather." hawks sets a moderate pace on your pussy, curling to hit your sweet spot. the noises from your cunt and mouth fail to cease, and you throw a hand over the latter to muffle your whimpers.

you start to feel a burning sensation rise in your stomach; a toe-curling, warm feeling like sunlight shining in the morning.

"daddy, daddy, hngg- i'm so close."

you're so close to the sunlight, to being showered in the blissful heat. just one more stroke and-

you're suddenly empty, and the light starts to slowly recede.

"daddy!" you complain, shifting your legs and rubbing your thighs together. "bad birds get punishment," he shrugs. "though i must say... you like it when i bend you over the counter, huh? your little pussy is dripping all over it for me, and i've barely touched you... i bet you're getting off to this right now; when anyone could walk in, huh? filthy slut. you're already begging for more... hm, maybe i should make you lick up the mess you've made..."

"d-addy, no, i've taken my punishment, please let me cum..."

hawks sounded indifferent, as if he were merely studying his nails. "beg for it."

"wh-" you clench your hands in your skirt. you do not particularly enjoy begging - for anything or anyone. despite the pulsing in your cunt, and how hard it is not to give in, you don't want to give hawks the satisfaction of winning. "p-psh, didn't really need your cock anyway..." you grumble. you exhale quietly, calming the adrenaline pumping in your blood from the loss of your orgasm.

something in him changes, and a scarlet feather tickles your lips. you're confused; what does hawks want you to do?

"suck."

you exhale in confusion, blowing the feather away. "suck?"

you crane your neck up at the mirror to catch a glimpse of hawks. he looks deadly - there's no other way to put it. his eyes are sharply trained on you, his wings buff and towering over him. you think you see a bulge in his pants, straining for freedom.

"well?" the feather dusts your lips once again, teasing you to trap it in between your lips. your head drops, falling against the counter. you open your mouth, and the tip of the feather rests on your tongue. your lips close around it, and you hesitantly suck. you're not sure what you were expecting; it's a feather, soft and flimsy in your mouth.

you jolt at an indistinct tickling feeling against your clit. you look back, feather hanging out of your mouth, to see hawks leaning back on a stall. he's not within reach to touch you, so...

"hng!" the foreign object presses your clit. the pressure strengthens against your tight bundle of nerves, and you can feel your slick drip out of you even more. a feather; though hawks made the consistency a bit more solid. the feather pushes against your pussy like a seesaw, making you reach for your high. you shut your eyes tight, lost in the feeling and desperate for release. the feather drags up and down your cunt, eliciting lewd noises, while your lips are clamped shut around the feather in your mouth. saliva pools in your mouth the more the feather teases your wet sex, and the familiar build of tension starts in your stomach. you yearn for the heat returned in full, to be so fulfilled in pleasure, and you rut against the feather in an attempt to reach your climax faster. the stimulation is suddenly gone, leaving you crying out.

"look at this," hawks sneers. a single, wet feather, dripping in a substance far thicker than water hovers in front of you. "open your mouth."

the feather slips out, and is replaced with a salty tasting one.

the taste of your arousal fills your tongue, and before you're given time to dwell on it, you feel warmth pressing against the back of your thighs. there's a clanking of metal, a shuffle of fabric, and you feel the tip of hawks' cock pressing against you.

"look at you, baby, so desperate for a fuckin' feather," he rasps in your ear. "should i show you how much better my cock is? hmm?"

you nod dumbly, the feather bobbing with you.

"fuck," he groans, pushing himself into your depths. "so wet, so- slick- goddamn baby bird, you like it when i stuff you full of this cock?"

you hum a noise against the feather in your mouth, agreeing. he slipped into your pussy smoothly, lubricated by the abundance of your slick. once in, snuggled in deep, something in the man's composure snaps; he thrusts mercilessly, pounding deep in you. his fingers hold your hips, bruising them, you're sure - and the pain is sweet, a sick lolly against your tongue.

"fuck, fuck, daddy's gonna fuck his babies into you, betcha'd like that, huh?" you can't articulate your words properly with the feather in your mouth, but you attempt to agree. he doesn't care, continuing with his degradation.

"you're gonna give me my chicks, huh? be my bitch," he pants heavily. god, you can just imagine how he looks; hair falling onto his sweat-matted forehead, his eyes completely lascivious. a wanton moan spills from your mouth, and the feather falls, but hawks doesn't make notice of this. he continues to slam into you, pace unforgiving, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. squelching noises fill the bathroom, echoing off the walls.

you can only moan and clench around him unintelligently.

"look at you... all fuckin' stupid and obedient, all for daddy, hm? so willing to let daddy use you as a cumdump, daddy's personal- fucking- cumslut- but you like that, huh? your pretty pussy's clenching around me. you like being talked down to, don'tcha? such a dirty slut. look at that, you're drooling."

two of hawks' fingers shove themselves into your mouth, and you salivate around them. it's messy, you know, and spit trails down your chin.

"look at me, chickadee," he commands. you crane your neck to look at him, eyes wide. "fuck, so slutty," he grunts. "you really like this, don't you? fuck- exposing your fucking cunt to every guy, huh? being used as nothing but a filthy fucktoy?"

you shake your head rapidly in disagreement, cheeks heating up.

"no?" he chuckles darkly. "just my fucktoy, then?"

you reluctantly nod.

"my stupid lil baby... so pretty with daddy's fingers shoved in her mouth..." he coos, and a surprising, fuzzy feeling emerges from the praise.

his unoccupied hand reaches down in between your thighs to stimulate your clit, rubbing fast circles against the bud. warmth pools and ties a knot in your stomach. the sugared indulgence of release that you'd so craved comes into view; the knot tightening and tightening and you feel fit to burst.

"c-cum for me, baby bird, cum for me, y/n," he stutters, making a guttural sound in the back of his throat. the fingers in your mouth pull out, falling onto your hips. the tight knot bursts into violent fireworks of ecstasy; your cunt gushes around hawks' cock, convulsing madly. the pleasure shatters you, and everything becomes a haze. you go limp against the counter, thighs shaking. you're not sure how much time has passed - hawks had been fucking you through orgasm, and, at one point, came as well.

"hey, feather," he whispers gently to you. "you did so well for me..." he strokes your back, making a plethora of calming coos and humming sounds

"did so well," you mumble.

"don't worry about anything, dove, i've got it all handled."

your thoughts are all fog, and you allow yourself to lean into hawks. this is one of the rare times you're vulnerable completely to him; at his mercy, after a particularly hard session. rather, it's one of the rare moments that your true feelings are revealed; how your hatred is baseless, built on jealousy and attraction you deny.

not that you'll admit it.

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zosonils · 3 years

Note

surely post some autistic ferb things for us all,,,,,,

hell yeah anon!! here’s an absolute hell dump of Ferb Autism Indulgence Things because i have really been wanting to get my grubby little autistic hands all over him lately

his special interests are engineering and tetris [which is the game he’s internationally ranked in!]

he stims vocally by humming or repeating other vocalisations, but rarely with actual words

if he’s too nervous to vocalise/just not in the mood he goes for small hand movements to stim like clicking pens or tapping his fingers

he does flappy hands/arms when he has a lot of excitement to release! otherwise he prefers to stick to smaller/more subtle motions for a variety of reasons

he only repeats actual words as echolalia, almost always off of either phineas or perry! that thing they do where perry chatters and the boys mimic it and they all just loop off each other for a while is absolutely an echolalia loop for all of them [yes even the platypus]

a very epic headcanon i have is that owca agents are typically labelled as having therapy animal training to give them some more wiggle room with showing intelligence, so perry is officially a therapy platypus for the flynn-fletcher kids, especially the boys. ferb does the aforementioned echolalia chatter thing with perry and also just generally finds him extremely comforting to hold. of course perry’s figured out all of ferb and his siblings’ needs by observation and makes sure to subtly be as comforting as possible for his kids, especially if they’re having a meltdown and need to hold someone who won’t try to talk to them

ferb genuinely dislikes communicating verbally, due to a combination of general social anxiety, struggling to translate his thoughts into words, and finding it physically uncomfortable to talk. it’s not serious enough to prevent him from cracking a joke or vocalising his thoughts every once in a while, but he prefers to be nonverbal as much as possible and communicate through gestures and body language

throughout the series he only ever speaks on his own terms and as much as he’s comfortable with, so it comes out without issue, but if he’s forced to talk when he doesn’t want to or while he’s under stress he struggles to string sentences together and stutters really badly. fortunately he’s got nice friends and a great family so this issue rarely presents itself, although it comes up sometimes during the school year in battles with pissy neurotypical teachers over oral presentations

over time he starts to work past the discomfort [genuinely, it’s on his own terms as opposed to masking to get allistics off his back] so that by the time he’s an adult he can hold an entirely verbal conversation for a decent while before it drains him, but he still tends to avoid speaking if he can

phineas instinctively understands ferb’s silent emotional cues, a lot better than he understands most people’s [but that’s a whole other infodump lmao], and unless ferb actively indicates that he wants to talk for himself phineas usually speaks for both of them and translates any of ferb’s less neurotypically obvious signals

phineas and ferb made The Ultimate Fidget Cube as one of their daily projects [they were being mass produced for an hour or two and then something or other happened, there was a mobile phone and an avalanche of instant noodles, long story short only the handful they made for themselves and their friends are left now] and neither of them go anywhere without it

ferb doesn’t have any specific comfort/security objects but he feels significantly more at ease if he’s got some kind of tool in his hand or within reach [or, failing an actual building-stuff tool, anything he can hold and Do Something with, like a pen or his fidget cube or a video game controller], and is a lot more stimmy with his hands and generally anxious if he isn’t holding something

perry performs the task of comfort item better than any inanimate objects but platypi aren’t allowed to come to school even if they’re very polite :(

believe me the brothers have tested this numerous times

school is stressful for ferb because it fires up his sensory overload and is usually where he’s forced to do some neurotypical shit that upsets him, but his friends always have his back and linda and lawrence are definitely super involved in making sure their kids’ needs are met and respected by their teachers, so he manages pretty well unless something really bad happens to set him off

he’s susceptible to sensory overload, mostly with bright lights, sudden noises, and being touched. the light and sound involved in many of his and phineas’ projects is alright because he usually designed them and knows exactly when they’ll come on and what it’ll be like, but if he doesn’t have that prediction available he freaks out easily. being touched [especially without warning] is the absolute fucking worst and he almost invariably flips out if someone unfamiliar tries to touch him or he’s hit with an unexpected sensation he doesn’t like

he only rarely has meltdowns because he’s good at self-regulating when he needs to and his friends and family know what does and doesn’t fly with him, but when he does they’re often triggered by either sensory overload or being forced to talk

when ferb starts entering meltdown territory his verbal skills are the first thing to shut off, and if it gets worse he usually stops communicating altogether and enters a really bad dissociative state that he won’t come out of until he feels safe again and can be carefully brought back to his senses

standard procedure for ferb meltdowns is to get him a weighted blanket and some tea and a perry if you can find the slippery little bugger, let him snap back to reality at his own pace, and once he can communicate his needs again pay extra close attention to them until he calms down enough that he can properly self-regulate again

his favourite sensations are weight/pressure, the funky bumpy shit perry’s tail has going on, and anything soft!

most of his clothes [including his usual outfit in the show] are tight-fitting but made out of soft fabric for maximum comfy

the blanket on his bed is a weighted one, but if he’s too far from his room or it’s too hot to be comfortable under a blanket sometimes he’ll just find the tightest spot he can wedge himself into without getting hurt or stuck and squish himself in there to calm down a bit

his favourite food texture is crunchy stuff, and he samefoods with particular cereals and sandwich combos that rotate every few months when he finally gets tired of the exact same breakfast and lunch every day and wants slightly different identical meals

while he’s fine with variation from day to day, he’s very firmly attached to the summer/weekend formula of wake up > cereal > big idea > where’s perry > [building montage] > mom holy fuck > sandwich > [having fun montage] > our fuckoff massive contraption has vanished somehow > oh there you are perry > snacks > nondescript vibing > dinner > bed time, and if this schedule gets significantly thrown off it really bothers him

ferb shows his emotions more subtly than neurotypicals, which can make him seem hard to read, but his external emotional range is still extremely distinct - he just expresses it in atypical ways sometimes!

one of his most notable atypical emotional cues is that thing he does when he’s startled and he pulls his hands up - he does this in we call it maze when candace falls over on her skates in the beginning, split personality when busting candace scares him, lost in danville when he’s worried another capsule might fall on him or phineas, and the phineas and ferb effect during how do i do it when milo’s exercise bike crashes, just to name a few instances! this boy has Unique Emotional Cues and i love him for it so much

he’s better at reading emotions than phineas [as low as that bar is], but sometimes misses more subtle cues and doesn’t quite trust his ability to read anyone aside from phineas, candace, and his closest friends

he’s been aware that he’s neurodivergent ever since he was diagnosed as a little kid [he was first diagnosed with autism when he was extremely baby, not even three years old, and had it continually reconfirmed as he got older] and he’s been entirely happy with being autistic for as long as he’s known what that even means, with this only being reinforced as he found siblings and made friends with other autistic kids :)

good lord this is such an infodump i’m sorry i just love my son so very much and have been feeling particularly self indulgent today ;<;

#i've been on and off typing at this ask for like six hours help hsjnkdfnkj /lh #i love ferb so fucking much you guys have no idea #[diverges his neuro]#sonic forces me to answer questions #just fucking whatever #THIS post goes RIGHT in the infodump tag #long post #good lord i'm sorry lmao [except i'm not because talking about my comfort characters is awesome]#anon

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but-first--tea · 4 years

Text

LFRP: Omori Kaya

THE BASICS

Full name: Omori Kaya

Pronunciation: Oh-Moh-Ree Kay-Uh (Omori is her surname, Kaya is her given name)

Nicknames: n/a

Height: 5'6" (quite tall for a midlander hyur)

Age: “A lady never reveals her age.” (adult)

Nameday: 32nd Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon

Languages: Doman, Common

Occupation: Not getting caught.

Current Residence: "Traveling abroad.“ (Basically living a tourist’s life in Eorzea, hoping to never be called out as the fraud she is. She’ll spend time as someone’s guest here, staying in a hotel elsewhere the next month, etc…)

Relationship Status: While she has never actually been married, the identity of the woman she pretends to be is a young widow and heiress. (Single)

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Pale, silvery grey

Skin tone: Fair

Body type: Slender, athletic but not in an obvious way.

Scars: none

Accent: Doman

Posture

Poised, athletic– though she’s no master shinobi, she is her mother’s daughter. Her training began at the age of four, and it’s still evident in the way she moves, observes, and behaves. Others who have trained would likely notice it easily. She carries herself with quiet dignity, and moves (or refuses to) deliberately, as if she expects each action to be read for significance, and takes great care not to reveal too much unintentionally. Though, in the very rare instances when she lets down her guard, this facade can fade away, revealing that she’s still a girl who can be amused, and charmed, and is easily mesmerized by beautiful places and things.

Accessories

She’s almost never seen without jewelry, though all of it is merely decorative– the trappings of the life she’s stepped into. None of it is personal, or carries meaning beyond appearing as she’s expected to.

Apparel

Her taste ranges from the classically dramatic to the outright exotic- not out of a sense of vanity, but in an appreciation of what is more or less wearable art. She most frequently wears black and white, though she also favors blue and occasionally red. In keeping with her heritage, she tends toward modesty in her dress. Of course, most of these clothes once belonged to a woman whose identity she has stolen, and she’s begun to add Eorzean fashions to her wardrobe to stand out less. The more she blends in, the fewer questions about her past she needs to dodge...

CHILDHOOD

Place of Birth: Doma

Siblings: none she knows of

Parents: The samurai Masanari and an Imperial Shadow named Harue, though Kaya has never known her biological father, as she was still less than a year old when he disappeared.

Upbringing: Raised initially by her mother, and later trained by grandmother once her affinity for magic became apparent. (More details can be found in her character history.)

PERSONAL

Personality

Outwardly, she is polite and mysterious, with a demeanor ranging from businesslike toward strangers, to an unexpected sort of mischievous and rebellious streak around the rare soul she’s begun to feel comfortable around. She’s evasive and distant. She rarely connects with others easily, which leads to most people assuming she’s either very shy, or rather snobbish, at first impression. She doesn’t trust easily, isn’t prone to showing any emotion in public if she can avoid it, and is often the one who, from an outward appearance, seems to be just another quiet wallflower enjoying the view.

Beneath the surface, however, she feels everything perhaps far too much, watches everyone with the wariness of someone who knows all too well what people are capable of, and deeply craves the connections to others she doesn’t seem to be able to form easily. She’s always searching for the few who can see the world the way she does- as something equally beautiful as it is deadly, meant to be lived in, not just endured. She’s a powder keg of passions always kept under a tight lid, hidden away for safe keeping.

Still, she is difficult to anger, and it’s a cold anger when it happens. She knows that engaging in violence and revealing her training would likely break character entirely, and being discovered as a fraud wouldn’t end well for her. As a result, she’ll try to think her way out of any situation, instead.

Motivations/Goals

If asked what she wants more than anything else in the world, she’d probably say to be able to do what she wanted, not what she was told, or allowed, or expected to. She craves freedom in all its definitions, but nearly always denies it to herself out of fear or pragmatism. While playing the role of a young, noble heiress she feels the restraints of her gilded cage all too keenly. She must behave in the way one raised to the role would be expected to. As a result, she finds small ways to rebel that aren’t likely to be noticed. Her fierce and defiant nature, thus repressed, will see her doing seemingly pointless things like rearranging the furniture in hotel rooms, stealing small items she could easily afford, or finding ways to secretly get even with those who have behaved poorly.

Financial Status

Ostensibly wealthy, though not one gil of it was ever truly hers. Still, she feels no guilt in obtaining the Omori family’s accounts considering they would have otherwise been seized by the Garlean government following Lord Omori’s assassination.

She has been quietly seeking a way to invest ‘her’ money in a way that would divorce it from her stolen inheritance, make it more truly hers, and greatly reduce the risk of losing everything should her false identity be uncovered.

Weapons

While she was raised to the blade and bow for most of her childhood, she hides her training and doesn’t carry a weapon openly, if at all. If cornered and forced to defend herself, she’d mostly likely attempt to disarm an opponent and steal theirs, or improvise.

Vices

Seemingly none, as she has striven to present herself as a woman of proper graces. However, she is prone to self-indulgence and spending far too much gil merely because she can, which she considers a vice in herself and tries to resist.

Likes

People who are intelligent, interesting, vibrantly passionate and alive. Watching people do things that require specialized skill, especially combat training or constructing something.

Constructive debate and interesting challenge. Trying/learning new things.

Music, dancing. She’s often wished she could play an instrument, but has never learned to.

Nature, gardens, fireflies, birds, waterfalls, the ocean/seaside. Traveling to anywhere with a spectacular view or vibrant culture. Learning about said cultures.

Exotic spiced foods or just about anything she hasn’t tasted before that doesn’t look absolutely disgusting. Tea. Fruits, chocolate, and spiced cider or tea. Have I mentioned tea?

Unusual crystals and/or gemstones. While she’s generally unfazed by wealth or status, she appears to be positively mesmerized by sparklies.

Dislikes

Politics, rumor mongering, cattiness, insults, and general poor behavior.

People who think getting drunk is the best kind of fun to be had.

Addictive drugs, and those who sell them.

Being forced to do anything, feeling not in control over her own life.

Overly objectifying unwanted attention, awkward social situations/obligations/expectations.

Being cold, biting insects.

Hobbies

Reading, especially the arcane.

Learning the history of different places and cultures.

Collecting small, easily transportable items (generally clothing or jewelry) in local styles from each new place she visits.

Pets: None, currently. She once had a magpie as a pet when she was younger, and maintains a fondness for birds of all kinds.

RP HOOKS

She’s looking (quietly) for a way to launder, er... invest her money to gradually eliminate the need to rely on her stolen identity and foreign contacts for access to funds. Have an opportunity?

A trusted lady’s maid, retainer, or guard type to help her maintain appearances.

It’s possible that someone from her past in Doma might recognize her, or perhaps have known the real Omori Kaya.

The woman she is impersonating is an ill-fit for her. She is fierce, independent, and rebellious... the exact opposite of the demure and soft character her stolen identity demands. But, her mother risked everything to secure her new identity, and she won’t cast it off unless forced to. Still, she isn’t perfect. Someone could catch her in a mistake, and become curious...

The Lady Omori Kaya appears elegant, mysterious, ...and wealthy. Potential suitors aren’t unlikely. (Romance is an option, though she’ll be hard to pin down at first, for obvious reasons.)

She has a (stolen) soulstone in her possession, and has been working to unlock its secrets.

Open to brainstorming other connections, past associations, or jumping into -your- existing plot!

OOC

I make my own schedule. I can be available pretty much any time from 8 am to 9pm CST. Sadly, I can rarely do late nights because I need to do that sleeping thing.

OOC communication is a priority for me.

I have been RPing for 20+ years. I am comfortable with both in game or Discord RP, and anything from short, quick posts to multi para. I do this because I enjoy writing!

I am not interested in random ERP outside of a long-term character interaction. I do love writing ships as long as there's strong chemistry between the characters, and both the character and the writer of said character are mature adults. However,I will not consider ships with alt or AU characters, as this is my one and only RP character. (No multi-shipping.)

I prefer a RP style that works with what is plausible within the scope of the lore. I'm open to creativity, as long as it makes sense. I prefer to stay away from void-heavy, AU, inserts from other universes, and anything involving cross-breeding with non-playable races/beings. (These are only my personal preferences, and everyone else is free to do whatever they like!)

Absolutely no: rape, harm to children, or graphic torture.

I do enjoy game content as well, and prefer company over doing so alone! I am currently sitting in my own personal FC house, but would consider joining a real FC if it makes sense for my character.

Confession: I probably spend way too much time decorating virtual houses.

#ffxiv rp #updated character sheet #Omori Kaya #hyur midlander #Doman

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obaby-me · 4 years

Text

Please Stay

Author’s Note: This is raffle prize fic for @socially-awkward-lvl-over9000! Romance and angst, just as requested. Hope your heart breaks, but in the best way. (This is a continuation of the Anxiety headcanon found here: https://obaby-me.tumblr.com/post/617140937244786688/an-mc-that-has-really-bad-anxiety-but-likes, and https://obaby-me.tumblr.com/post/617232394679894016/anxiety-anon-here-i-love-your-headcanons-they)

When you first came to the Devildom, Levi wasn’t exactly thrilled to have you, to be quite honest. Another normie in his house! Just what he needed, more people to judge him.

And then, Lucifer assigned you to his room! His room! Lucifer didn’t give him any choice in the matter. Not unless he wanted to be hung upside down from the chandeliers for the entirety of your stay. And you’d still be in his room.

In the beginning, you spent your time curled up in his room by the tank, just watching him. Sometimes you’d open your mouth like you wanted to say something, and then immediately you’d clam it shut. It was unnerving to have you stare, but the silence was worse. Especially when he realized it was because you were too frightened to talk.

In his own awkward way, he tried to make conversation with you. And in your own awkward way, you reciprocated. It was a slow going pace, but that was okay. He needed that as much as you, as you two slowly adjusted and became more comfortable together. There was no pressure to impress, no judgement on your part for how nervous he could be—you were in the same boat!

Slowly your conversations began to pick to pick up speed, as commonalities between you emerged. You had a love of the deep blue, that was why you were in his room after all. You took a liking to Henry, and for your respect for his fish, he in turn respected your narwhal, Sparkle. You weren’t quite an otaku, but you certainly weren’t a normie either. You loved anime and you loved karaoke, and you loved singing anime openings and endings in karaoke!

You were a good listener, and never minded when he’d go on and on about his passions. And in the rare instances that you’d get enthused to share yours, he didn’t mind giving you his utmost attention. He rather liked it. You were as in love with things you cared about as he was about his—you understood him in a way his brothers never could.

As you grew closer as friends, the closer you seemed to sit. As days passed, you inched your way closer from across the room to cuddled up beside him as he raided. And he was surprised to find that he was quite comfortable with that. He preferred it.

And then, you started sleeping in his room! It started with naps, and then it became accidental sleepovers where you’d pass out during late night marathons, and then, you just sort stayed and he never asked you to leave. Soon, it just became the new normal. And Levi liked that. He liked you—really liked you, more and more each day.

But he found that it wasn’t just him you were becoming more comfortable with. You were slowly opening up to all his brothers as well, and soon his room because a lounge. Even Lucifer was showing up. Coming by to constantly check in to ask if you’re doing well, and if you’ve eaten, and if you need help with school work. Menial chatter. All the time.

Mammon was an absolute nightmare, barging in at all times without a knock, without a text for warning. Obnoxiously loud, constantly startling him, but worst of all you.

Each and every time he’d have to hold you while you shook and came down from the shock, as he hissed at Mammon to shut the hell up. Bickering in hushed voices until Mammon would huff and get in beside you to chat with you about the scummy scams he pulled. Levi would never understand why you put up with him. He wasn’t worth your time.

But he’d bring you little things, with narwhals or little sea creatures on it and you’d smile and laugh. Levi hated when he did.

Asmo was a frequent visitor, but he never stayed long. He’d come in practically singing to show you catalogues of items to decorate your room. He was so eager to get out of here. And every time you gave him just a little more to add, the more Levi’s heart seemed to drop. Did you really want to get out of here that bad?

Beel and Belphie were definitely a pair he was becoming to despise. The way they draped over you when they’d come to visit! While they were the quietest of the brothers, Levi thought they were worst. To have them come in here and put their hands on you! It made Levi’s blood boil. Belphie curled up into your side as if he were a cat, and Beel sitting on your other side as he munched on treats. And you never fought them on it. You just quietly accepted it, carrying on as if this was becoming your new normal.

But even Beel and Belphie didn’t compare to Satan. Levi was beginning to hate him most of all.

He stops by pretty rarely unlike the rest of his brothers, and when he did, it was always for just an hour or so drink a little tea and eat some biscuits and some light studying—sometimes just to lend a book with you with eared pages and sections he wanted you to read.

Of his brothers, the fact that he was hardly tracking into his room should have been something Levi would be thankful to him for.

But the problem wasn’t him coming into his room. It was taking you out.

Out of Levi’s room, out into the Devildom to libraries, restaurants, shopping centers. Levi offers to take you instead, and he was able to take you out bustling otaku dream strip of anime themed cafes and stores specializing in manga, and figurines, and the arcades—it was the absolute best of the best of the Devildom for any otaku!

But the crowds, and the chatter of so many seemed to overwhelm you. He hadn’t quite planned well enough for this, and so he took a teary you home, feeling rather guilty.

Instead, you now took trips with Satan, strolling through Devildom on perfect itineraries with few crowds, sharing parfaits and cakes. Levi seethed every time the two of you went out.

As the weeks passed, he began to notice more and more that you visited less and less. You still came by, but he found himself feeling somehow lonelier than he’d ever been before meeting you.

He asked you once, when your phone rang off, and you stood to leave, “where are you going?”

“To see Satan! He’s teaching me magic.”

You smiled so brightly, the nervous smiles he knew when you’d first come, just blooming. And not for him, not with him. You were off and out the door.

What broke his heart, the final straw, was the morning he saw you coming out of Satan’s room. Rubbing your eyes tiredly as you traversed the hall to your own to get ready for class. “W-what was she doing in your room!” He wailed.

Satan only smirked. “Nothing at all. She just happened to fall asleep while studying is all.”

He wished he could say he was angry. Angry enough to punch that smug grin of his little brother’s face.

But instead all he felt was an overwhelming weight on his chest—crushing his lungs.

Satan must have been expecting a fight out of him, and he could see his brother’s brows furrow when the brawl never came. “Hey, Levi—” Satan began, reaching out a hand.

Levi was quick to smack it away, and trudge back to his only haven, and lock himself away. He skipped school, much to Lucifer’s disappointment. He ignored texts, and then calls, and his door remained locked, even to you.

But it hurt being in his room. It hurt to think of you. And to think of how much he’d liked you. Of all things he wanted to say and then didn’t. And then of how you abandoned him for his brother—and he couldn’t really blame you. When weighed against Satan, who in their right mind would choose the gross otaku?

Somehow he was more alone in the one occupant room than he had ever been before.

At dinner, when he did not appear, Lucifer came to speak with him. Levi ignored his knocking and requests to open the door, until the prideful avatar was threatening to break it down. Complying, Levi opened the door but a crack, but it was enough for Lucifer to see red, puffy eyes and cheeks stained with trails. Any anger Lucifer had died in his throat.

“Just leave me alone,” Levi whispered. “Please.”

“Levi, why did you skip school today?” Lucifer looked as stern as ever, but his voice was laced with concern.

“I—I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was a pause as Lucifer considered his answer. “How long do you intend to be absent?”

“Until it stops hurting.”

Worry flashed in his eldest brother’s eyes. “Are you injured?”

“No.” Levi said with a finality that Lucifer did not question.

“I will check with you again tomorrow.”

It was three days before anyone other than Lucifer saw or heard from Levi again. He’d been in his room living on the snacks he had stashed in his room.

“Oh! L-Levi!” You called to his as he was raiding the fridge.

He froze, blood running cold.

“You’ve finally emerged,” you tentatively teased as you approached.

“Yeah.” He muttered, avoiding your gaze as he filled his arms with anything not tagged with Beelzebub.

“So, are you uhm, playing a newly released game? Maybe, watching a marathon?” You asked, your voice coming closer.

Quickly he moved away, go the long way around the island counter and towards the door. “Y-yeah, something like that.” He mumbled as he strode past.

“Oh,” you whispered sounding disappointed. “D-do you think maybe I could join you?” Your voice wavered, and he knew, he just knew you were staring into his back with those large doe eyes, and if Sparkle was with you, probably fidgeting with its little horn.

He couldn’t say no to you. It was easier with a door closed, or through a phone. But not like this, out in the open.

Not when you latched on to his arm, and forced him to look down at you.

Damnit.

You watched him play newly download DLC, commenting every so often, cracking jokes, like you used to.

And he let you.

You fed him chips so he didn’t have to let go of his controllers, just like you used to.

And he let you.

You pulled a blanket around you both, and you cuddled into his side, just like you used to.

And he let you.

But it didn’t feel the same. His heart still maintained that flustered flutter that you pulled from him with your every action, but every beat stung.

As the night wound down and he watched the credits roll, you gently ran your hand up and down his arm, a gesture meant to soothe him as you asked a painful question.

“Levi, can you tell me what happened? I mean, it’s okay i-if you don’t want to.”

He couldn’t find a way to answer and fully express himself.

He thought he was special to you. Just like he thought you were special to him.

He thought that you liked him and his room, and his bed.

He left you in silence, during which you fidgeted. “I—I’m sorry,” you whispered, and he felt you detach from him, shifting as if to stand.

His hand was quick to catch yours, faster than his brain had thought it through. You stared at him rather wide-eyed.

“Don’t go.” He pleaded. “Stay here.”

“O-okay,” you promised with a nod and a small smile. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

“H-how long is a little?” Levi shyly asked.

“Well, I have a magic lesson with Satan—”

His arms were suddenly around you and he yanked you into him, his face buried into your shoulder. “Stay here.” He asked again, his voice wavering. “Don’t go to him. Stay with me.”

“L-Levi?” You questioned, nervously, your hand gently rubbing his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want you to go.” He choked. “I don’t want to have you leave me and go to Satan’s and stay in his room. I don’t want you to choose him over me. I don’t want you to love him. I want you to love me.”

He could feel you warm beneath him. “L-love?” Your voice shook, and your hands stilled.

His heart was sinking slowly into his gut with dread, but his arms refused to loosen, as he tucked his head further into your neck. “Please,” was all he could think to say. “Please stay. Stay with me.”

#obey me #obey me leviathan #leviathan x reader #fic #i'm so sorry it took so long #i re-wrote this like three times #i couldn't decide how i wanted levi to act #finally decided sulky #was the way to go

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beyondthetemples-ooc · 3 years

Note

Word prompt: look

I think this is for the "post a sentence of your WIP with this word in it" prompt? I don't think I've reblogged anything else for word prompts lately, so... If it's meant to be something else, please let me know!

But for that one, oh my stars. Another good guess. I already know this is going to be a Long List. I like using "look" because it's a good way to Denote Attention Shifting, or someone paying attention to another's expression or details in the environment (thus presenting these details to the reader), and "looked" is Really Unobtrusive rhythmically and connotationally compared to "gazed", "observed", "appeared", etc.

I was going to make a list for ever instance of every form of the word, including “looks”, “looking”, and “looked”, but after just ONE STORY that list grew WAY too long! So I’m doing what I did with the last one and stuck to The Exact Word.

And now for the (ridiculously long) complete list. Gotta give myself kudos for taking this little 4-letter word in so many directions over the course of my writings, though! (There are actually more, but several instances are in stories I don’t really want to share yet, and frankly after ctrl+F’ing and fighting Tumblr’s weird formatting for two hours, I’m losing my attention span!)

Safe to say you probably win this one, though. Because it occurs a LOT.

Dove’s Memories:

"It is your own teachings that have sent me away," Magena told the council members, her voice soft, steady, as she took one last, longing look around the land she had always called home.

She strode through the halls with confidence, not allowing herself to look back.

Only Azar seemed to know, but a dark and distant look came into her eyes whenever asked, and so the others left the subject alone.

Dove watched the bird walk around the bed and look at her new surroundings for nearly an hour before Alerina came in and told Dove, ”I’m sorry that took so long… Are you alright?"

Dove watched the dove as she walked to the edge of the bed, stopped, and turned to look at her.

“He took one look at her and knew,” Alerina said with wonder.

“You look a little like Raven…”

“You look scared.”

He closed his eyes lightly with a look of blissful concentration and chanted a few more syllables before the glow began to outline Sieara as well.

Sieara looked up at him – and both could have sworn to see a look of confusion in her eyes.

Alerina pulled back, so she could look into her eyes, and smiled.

Alerina could only look on helplessly until she was done.

“But it didn't look like Azarath..."

(shorthand note) Sits and tries to look casual, but does her best to meditate, calm the fears, keep her powers under control...

Kary’s backstory:

(shorthand note) Girls look -- then group around her and hide her.

“What does it LOOK like?"

"Well, look who was telling the truth for once."

"You just look like you really need it."

“Look at her, she's pale as Salvany's sheets."

Soul Sickness:

(shorthand note) Dove drops her gaze... thinking, and doesn't look back up... but gives him a small nod.

She glanced to them, and shook her head to look him dead in the eye.

“I mean… Look at you!“

Dove’s Dark Discovery:

He didn't have to look very hard to see what she really wanted: Raven needed someone to steady herself against.

“How afraid she was to even look at us.“

She tried to look into Dove's eyes, but she refused to meet her gaze.

“Look into yourself.”

“But you didn't look into their eyes, and laugh at their pain, and fear, and use your powers to torture them to death.“

The Final Journey:

Then, look for an alternative exit.

Dove still doesn't look up; that didn’t mean anything but that she'd be even more liable to lose control, without the strength to fight her powers back.

(shorthand note) Raven’s dark and suspicious look kills her, she promises she’s okay

She sighed, shaking her head at the number of books she had to look through.

“You look tired."

She knew Raven only wanted to look out for her.

(shorthand note) Meaningful look at Dove.

Kary the Wanderer:

Showing fear would only make her look easier to–

“I know, I plan to look for food now.”

"Mind if I take a look myself?"

Spellbound pt. II:

A dreamy look came over Dove’s face.

Dove blinks, trying to figure out how she could tell him without telling him exactly what had happened in Raven’s memories, she did let her look into her mind in confidence…

A wistful look suddenly came into his eyes.

Having to yell to be heard over the flapping of the enormous wings, the wizard called, “Dove, open your eyes and look!“

Even though he tried to make it look painless, tolerable, so as to not worry them, there wasn’t much he could do against their empathy.

Fire and Flight: The Key to Igniting a Pacifist Heart:

And right now, he didn't look like very much at all.

When she wasn't too afraid to look into them.

After a few moments of staring in absolute wonder at the glistening gems inside, he finally managed to look up at Dove.

Dove made a movement to look away, but held his gaze.

She winced as his eyes widened tremendously, and she forced herself to look away.

(shorthand note) Next day, after dinner it’s dark outside, Srentha keeps noticing Dove glancing at the window – and once he saw the look of anxiety slip on her face, he asks her what’s wrong?

But that look in her eyes, the distant, nervous look, kept him from asking any more questions.

“You look really pale.“

“I mean, I’ve always thought you two look kind of similar, but you look nothing like–”

He felt like he was being pulled into them and didn’t want to look away.

(shorthand note) When she turns to look up at Raven there are traces of worry and confusion but no tears…

“But I didn't want to hurt YOU, either, and--look what happened…”

She lifts her head and a dreamy look came into her eyes, lifted towards the ceiling and complemented by a tiny, shy smile.

“And you saw my magic like something special to me, not some weird corkscrewy obligation to destiny, or bitter irony because, hah, look what I can do, and good luck figuring out what to do with it because we're all going to die before I could have a place on the council!”

He broke the eye-contact to look down and gather his thoughts, breaths chopped off as he rapidly began and ended words that his smiling mouth couldn't capture, and Dove's mind fizzled like a soda in the wake of his mind's absence.

"Dove, you look better than anyone in the room!" Srentha replied.

He walked from the couch to where she stood, a slightly curious and confused look on her face; what could be missing from a costume she didn’t even wear?

Tells her he sees that lovestruck look on her face.

He looked at her, wanting to call out to her, look so deeply into her eyes that there was no way she could think he wasn’t speaking from the bottom of his heart.

Eventually he exhausts himself - throws himself on the ground to rest and rolls onto his back, so that he was right next to Dove and could look up at her with such dedicated affection, Dove couldn't help smiling back with every fondness and romantic tendency she never let show before shining through her eyes.

The Next Step:

And with every word it was becoming harder to look her sister in the eye.

But Dove glanced up, and recognized that receptive and willing [and so COMFORTING] look in her eyes that made her such a good listener, even if she was wholly unfamiliar with the subject matter.

Dove could only look at her in concern, not understanding.

Alerina readied the memories, and let Dove look into her mind...

“I... I’m sorry, Dove, I cannot look at those times anymore...”

Srentha's eyes open and hands slip down to hers, clasp, step back to see – look at each other’s desire burning in their eyes.

She couldn’t look away, fear held her captive but love made the imprisonment willing.

(shorthand note) They’ll look into it, special meditations to seek it.

That look broke his heart cleanly (in two?).

"You don't look okay to me."

“Dove, with the way you look now, they’d think you have a deadly disease and only two days to live.”

(shorthand note) They say she doesn’t look so good.

Growing Up Demon:

“She's passing often enough - look at how many diapers we've used already!”

“Dove, look at you!“

“Azar, you've seen the look she gets when you're not feeling well."

"She has that look all the time lately."

From down here, it didn't look nearly as terrifying as it was up there, suspended hundreds of feet in the air, with only a thin metal track and the cooperation of physics keeping its passengers from death...

She turned to look up at her mother.

"Don't look at him, okay?"

Kary with Eric:

(shorthand note) Eric's coming to look for her...

Dove gives him a worried look and hands him Leyla, and with her powers raring to go, they rush to the lobby.

She whispers (harshly), “Look me in the eye and tell me you've never abused your privilege to check on someone you care about."

“He's just worried about you, look at those eyes.”

[Untitled story re: Brother Blood]

Raven turned at the concern in his voice - she immediately recognized the look of shocked terror on Dove’s face and rushed to her side.

He chuckled at the fleeting look of realization in her eyes.

Something Special About Srentha:

And what seemed strangest to Dove was when he would walk down the hall looking determined, then he’d look dazed or weak, and he’d suddenly turn to go back to his room looking confused, and later on even worried, mumbling “What was I doing…?”

And Srentha sighed, seeing that knowing look in her eyes.

"You look so pale.”

(shorthand note) It's supposed to look like it's made from raven feathers or something.... and his hair is really scraggly.

Dove opened her eyes, to look up at him-- couldn't suppress the miserable whimper voicing the agony in her skull.

Only then did Srentha lift his head to look at her-- and she was surprised to see tears glistening in his eyes.

“You look disturbed."

"Teron, look at her power.”

He gave Dove a (conspiring?) look that sent a freezing chill down her spine.

“Look at each piece of the picture as its own existence within the whole, not in relationship to the other pieces of the image.”

"You look ill."

"Look into the eyes of your reflection.”

"Do I look like I can attempt escape?"

"Does it look like I want a history lesson?"

Maybe he wanted to see what her power could really look like.

“Their rituals don't look like that.“

It would look like he was studying the maps, if Nightwing didn't notice his closed eyes.

Something Strange About Srentha:

(shorthand note) Except she knows he’s lying, because there’s a look in his eyes she didn’t understand.

She pulled away to look him in the eye.

“Dove, look at me.”

(shorthand note) No appetite at all but she didn’t want to look weak…

“To show you where I had to look to find you.“

“ But, you didn't see him struggling so hard just to look around.”

Welcome to the Real World:

Dove could only look at him with her suffocatingly concerned eyes and tight-lipped worry.

And so he explained it to her, watching the old comfort revive the at-ease look in her eyes; she had always liked it when he could explain his workings, and thus distract her from things she couldn't really help...

“Like, you look at one and you get hives.”

(shorthand note) Tries to look okay.

Another pause to shove down the suffocating regret and bite back tears at the absolutely horrified, disbelieving, terrified look in her daughter's eyes - SHE was crying!

"Sathera," Dove begged, and Leyla obliged - they came together in an embrace, Dove holding her daughter close and comforting, cradling her head and rocking her body as she breathed with unnatural control over her sobs, forcing them back so she could look so much stronger for her child than she felt.

[Untitled one about Leyla’s 14th birthday]:

"Mmmm, she didn't look AWFUL.“

"We'll look after her," Srentha promised gently.

He blinked, stealing one last look and hoping to catch her eye... but Leyla kept them locked closed (still looking unsteady, her breaths were shaking, and she still looked really, really pale)...

Apparently Leyla couldn't speak yet, because she just blinked her still-watering eyes open, and tilted her head (just a very, very little bit) to look at her.

And when he got to her side, close enough to look at her face: his brow furrowed deeply and his heart knotted itself in his chest.

Dove lifted her head, to look up at him... and he cupped her face, gave her a kiss on her forehead, and pulled her into a close, gentle, reassuring embrace.

[Untitled story]:

Dove couldn't look her daughter in the eye. Couldn't even look AT her.

A Work of Magic: (I used “look” a lot in this one, probably because Mistress especially isn’t very talkative and thus I needed to describe her expressions to characterize her?)

Mismagius opened her mouth in protest just before the ball opened and Jess snapped it shut and held it closed against the ceaseless rattling for a few moments, needing to use both arms as it continued to blink, before letting it open again, and Mismagius materialized with a heated look of disdain.

Jess noticed but it didn’t register, and then a loud thunder clap made her look up.

Jess brings her up a bit so she could look outside – “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Says they should look for her, she’s been gone for too long now…

Jess glanced at Mistress – she had that usual look of resentment on her face.

Paul returns Weavile with a look of disgust and takes out Honchkrow.

“No wonder you look so relaxed,” Jess told the Mismagius.

There was always something about this forest that captured her heart every time she hovered among the dark trees… the way the thick trees off the path formed a natural maze had always brought a sense of safety and security, and even the path had a worn, natural look that didn’t disturb the forest’s magic.

His body had a more bluish tone than Missie’s, and the tips at the end of his head were so bright that they were almost florescent; the moon’s rays made them look phosphorescent, glowing, and his eyes were so vivid.

There was that look in her eyes… the same exact expression that she had been wearing so many times lately.

The Mismagius looked up into the trainer’s eyes, and the soft, comforting look in them made her feel even more unsure of the situation than ever before.

But her mother looked into her eyes, carefully… and then she glared, proclaiming that her daughter never had that look in her eyes.

Jess took the moment of silence as a chance to take a closer look at this girl: her hair was short, spiky, and colored blonde and blue; her eyes were a deep amethyst color, more black towards the center and a brighter shade of purple on the edges; and her outfit {{rewrite}}

“Well, I’ve read about it, {{ visited Mt. Silver via teleportation? Is that Kanto or Johto?), but I didn’t look very hard at the inter-region map.”

The Mismagius hovered and nudged Missie gently, causing her to look up, and then the larger ghost smiled reassuringly.

“I mean... Look at Mistress!"

“Look at her,” Jess said, and Mistress lifted her head slightly, just enough to show her blushing.

(shorthand note) Jess sighed with a look of slight disappointment and tells her that she shouldn’t go messing with people like that.

(shorthand note) (as they walk, Missie plays with Mistress and ends up cheering her up a bit, Trick leans onto her and rubs his head against her affectionately and spun upside down to look up at her.

“Not that they should be punished, they can’t help it, but if people are going to look down on you just because your chants mean bad luck, then that’s the equivalent of punishing a Pichu for not being able to store its electricity!”

“Hey, Jess look what I found!”

One final loud crack, and the glow suddenly brightened, Sonia stared deeply into the bright [purple] light for some odd reason, Jess quirked an eyebrow at her - then covered her eyes, Missie and Trick winced but refused to look away – still Mistress held her unmoving gaze, then the top pieces flared off and with a final flash of blinding light that made even Mistress flinch, the shell broke apart.

“It’s to help Mistress and Missie look great out there!“

(shorthand note) He has a bond with Mistress, and when she suddenly floats off with this annoyed look on her face and Dusk's right next to her, he KNOWS something's going on.

(shorthand note) Murky leads Jess to the spot and Jess walks in on them as Absol gains the lead, then she gasps and gets Sonia, says Mistress and Dusk are battling an Absol, and it doesn't look good!

“Hey, Sonia, look at this.”

(shorthand note) J looking up tips for contests on the internet/writing things down (Mistress hovering over her shoulder), and Jess narrates to her: charisma, show off best qualities, work with the things that make individual special, it helps if you pick your favorite or closest and think about what makes them so close to you, make them look good by bringing out their best characteristics, be creative and use attacks in unusual ways, make sure you work in harmony, remember that contest battles are all about making them look unique and not strong, the PKMN sometimes needs to be as creative and as able to improvise as the trainer, focus on bringing out the Pokémon’s best qualities...

(shorthand note) Jess sees a book on the shelf and asks if she could look through it, she just read something on the internet that she wanted to check out

“Besides simply being ghosts and thus able to defy the laws of physics, these amazing creatures have the ability to look far beyond our petty concerns and deeply into our souls, even deeper than most of us would allow our closest of friends to venture.”

(shorthand note) Get to know each other and look forward to our next meeting

But every time she tried to look closer, they vanished.

Until she saw Mistress pause, just in time to see the ghost look towards the source of the voices.

There was compassion in her, and Jess took one more look to the boys... and decided that, yes, they could use a good scare.

"I didn't know, they all look the same to me!"

Even after everything that happened, a part of her ached to see her very first trainer look so sad.

"And look how that turned out," Jess sighed.

#ask prompts #rhs stories #rhs fanfics #rhs personal writing

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antagonistchan · 3 years

Text

so, i have an

extremely strange relationship with food

it’s a sensory neurotypical thing, my relationship with the sensation of taste just makes me extremely unadventurous with food

i’ve heard some people with similar experiences say they have the palate of a five-year-old white kid, and i kinda relate to that, but my tastes have definitely changed quite a bit as i’ve grown up. like, it wasn’t until i was a teenager that i really learned to appreciate sour, you know? and now sour candy is my favorite kind.

but another way i can describe my tastes in food? talking about the ethnicities of foods i generally like.

mainly, there are three kinds of food i generally find myself eating: american food, americanized italian food, and mexican food

but even those have caveats?

not so much the italian food- i just like americanized italian food, plain and simple. i’ve got SOME oddities, like “i actually prefer my pasta without any sauce whatsoever besides butter” and “i like to put peas in instant mac and cheese sometimes” and “sometimes i’ll order a pepperoni pizza and peel off the pepperoni to eat separately”, but i’ll also gladly eat more typical stuff. honestly, americanized italian is probably weird in its own way for just being the only kind of food i’m normal about- i’m actually regularly willing to try new things if it’s americanized italian, unlike anything else.

but the other two?

well, “american food” can generally be split into two really big categories imo. American Barbecue and Miscellaneous (burgers, cereal, etc.). Miscellaneous American food, i absolutely adore. American Barbecue, on the other hand? i detest it above almost anything else, fuck barbecue (except barbecue chips, those are alright). and then there are a bunch of other categories like soul food and creole and stuff that make up the final third of the “american food” trifecta and i’ve got no real opinion on; either i just kinda like it, or i dislike it but only as much as i dislike 80% of all food anyways. Barbecue’s just something i’ve got a special hatred for. and as for Miscellaneous, again, i love it, but i’m far more picky with it than other things. like, for my entire life, i’ve only ever liked one kind of burger: a burger that’s just patty, bun, and ketchup. i have never in my life put anything else on a burger. patty, bun, and ketchup, just those three, that is it.

and then the mexican food is just as weird but far easier to explain: i’m just a vegetarian when it comes to mexican food. i don’t ever eat meat in mexican food. my big focus lately has been quesadillas, and i’ve only ever eaten just plain cheese quesadillas. just butter, flour tortillas, and cheese.

and then of course that whole pattern has caveats.

for instance: americanized chinese food! i love americanized chinese food, everyone loves americanized chinese food it’s like one of the most broadly appealing kinds of food out there. but i only get chinese, like, a handful of times a year. getting chinese always feels like a Big Deal. so i definitely wouldn’t count it as one of the staples of my diet the way i do american, americanized italian, and mexican. eeeexxxcceeeept there’s a micro-caveat here: rice. rice isn’t exclusive to americanized chinese or anything, it’s also in normal chinese and plenty of other countries, but it’s in americanized chinese and not in american, americanized italian, or mexican (well, it’s kinda in mexican, but i never eat it prepared in a mexican kinda way, so i’m still counting this as a chinese thing). i’ll eat rice all the damn time. rice is good and simple.

and also: americanized greek! i haven’t had much americanized greek, in fact my americanized greek experience is extremely limited, but my absolute favorite restaurant, a local chain called Olga’s Kitchen, is an americanized greek restaurant. i dunno if i’d generally be that into americanized greek, but i do know that i fucking love Olga’s so much.

now, there are two really big tragedies associated with my relationship with food.

1: my relationship with it growing up. as a kid, my family always treated my relationship with food as a flaw that i needed to fix, and i was kinda pressured into seeing it that way too. it wasn’t until i was, like, 19 that i really started to realize “this is a sensory neurodivergence thing that i should just accept and try to work around rather than try to ‘fix’”, and it still didn’t REALLY hit until i was almost 21. and while i’m okay with strangers on the internet and my friends ribbing me about my relationship with food, i’m real tired of my family doing it. also some part of me prickles when people talk about white people having shit taste in food because for me it’s a neurodivergent thing rather than a white thing, but that’s just me being oversensitive and that is something i should try to fix

2: i just like, extremely can’t participate in Food Discourse. like, i can talk about my relationship with food at length in a post like this, but like, this post isn’t really about food, it’s about my neurodivergencies. when people start seriously talking about food and it’s actually about food, i can’t really participate because that’s just a world i’m not part of. i experience food so much differently from the vast majority of people. they’ll start describing this food that’s supposedly really good and everyone else’ll be like “GOD that sounds so fucking delicious” and i’m just sitting there like “i don’t really get the big deal”. and even on the rare occasions where i do get it, i still feel like i’m somehow appreciating it on a different level than everyone else and i still feel a little isolated. or someone will start making fun of someone else’s taste in food and they’ll defend themselves and they’ll both turn to me and i’ll just be like “i’ve got nothing to say about their taste in food because my taste in food is so abnormal and i’ve just accepted that”.

#antagonist originals

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celestialholz · 4 years

Note

Inspired by your recently posted Continuum story and if you still do the event: It ended with Q thinking, he will find out about the others secrets. So what if, in a positive turn of events, he does find them out and can blackmail himself to the top of the proverbial food chain of the Qs. Now he can do whatever he wants without any stupid council telling him no. Picard is torn between feeling glad for Q or unsure about one of the most morally gray beings he knows gaining absolute power.

Oh, excellent. Love a good follow-up! ^_^ Allow me to reward this wonderful ask with something rather different and a little longer than usual, though it may have to avoid our positivity tag just this once…

(Related to this, for context: https://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/615422269797384192/the-continuum-is-not-entirely-sure-what-to-think)

Got any fun, fluffy or just Soft™ headcanons you’d like as fics for our positivity event, friends, despite this delightfully dark diversion? My inbox is open!

Seven o’clock creeps up on Jean-Luc Picard as though through treacle, slow, heavy and plodding; the problem with deep space, he’s been musing since morning, is that everything is so desperately far away, and inevitably, there are days where little of merit can be accomplished until they’re where they ought to be. With a sigh of something suspiciously like relief, he heads from the ready room and his sixth tea of the day to meet his First, deeply glad to leave the trail of electronic paperwork behind.

“Long day, sir?” Riker asks conversationally, though the question is rather rhetorical; he imagines the weariness will be etched into his features, plain for all to witness. Inactivity has never really suited him for any length of time, and this is their second day in a row of simply ‘boldly going’.

“At least we’re only several hours away from Deep Space Eleven,” he replies simply, expression quirking into reassurance. “Can’t imagine you’re faring any better.”

Riker’s lips twist into a warm grin. “Well, at least holodeck two’s been mostly free. You’re relieved, Captain.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” comes the dry riposte, the grateful smile. “Safe travels, Number One.”

“Is that an order, sir? I could really go for a battle fleet right about now.”

Amusement creeps into a smirk, head shaking.

“Yes,” he answers wryly as the turbolift doors slide shut. “Deck nine, officer’s quarters.”

Safe from prying eyes, Picard lets out a lengthy sigh; he’d always been more tolerant of steadiness before Q’s continued presence in his personal life, acknowledging it as something to merely accept as a drawback to the job he adored, but forty-nine entire hours of tedium had left him almost wishing he could snap them to their destination himself.

Well, at least he could finally sink his teeth into some delightful diplomacy tomorrow - and in the meantime, perhaps the god could whisk them off somewhere wondrous, full of exploration and academic curiosities to sate… though he’d seemed uncharacteristically distracted recently, and unusually unwilling to discuss the reasons.

An ancient city, perchance, he ponders quietly as he makes his way down hallways. Interesting enough to avoid eye contact, quiet enough to speak your mind.

He smiles, keying in his code on autopilot, and as the door opens to simple, vividly white nothingness, all hope of solving the enigma easily fades into the ether of his quarters. It’s uncomfortably familiar, and he’d rather thought they’d moved past such things…

“Q?” He questions softly, stepping in with a series of rapid blinks, beginning to simply wander for lack of a clear path. “Q, why on earth are we back here?”

“Earth, dear? Oh, hardly.”

His brow creases as he finds him, and the prickles race higher up his spine; it’s almost identical, down to his lover’s white robes, the metaphorical distance between them painfully obvious.

To hell with this, he thinks furiously, wasting no time in closing the symbolic gap; there aren’t realms between them now, simply things not yet disclosed, and his hand claims his lover’s in silent acknowledgement.

“What is this, Q?” He urges, grey gaze earnest. “Are you alright?”

Grasped fingers tremble then tighten, free hand flung out to the void.

“You see this, Jean-Luc? It’s mine.”

Something distinctly unpleasant splinters through the captain’s very being. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t -” Picard swallows, almost dreading the response. “What does that mean, mon dieu?”

“Oh, whatever I feel like, really,” Q answers cryptically, unnervingly blank for a being usually so theatrical. “What do you think it should mean, mon capitaine - this, perhaps?”

He clicks sharply, and the void shifts instantly to space, pure black and twinkling.

“Or even this.”

Another snap sends them into chaos, swirls of brightly coloured gas spiralling madly around them, and every inch the commanding officer, Picard abandons his astonishment, frantically clasping his other hand in a pointless effort to cease his whims.

“Q!” He states firmly. “That’s enough!”

Disturbingly neutral eyes blaze with the scope of the universe; fire and stoicism, the ultimate parallel. “I don’t need to click, Jean-Luc.”

I know you don’t, but what else am I supposed to - he silences his inner desperation, focuses down.

“Tell me what’s wrong, dear,” he demands gently. “Please.”

Kindness is all it takes to strip down shields, both clasped hands squeezed almost to the point of pain as a shadow steals over omniscient vision.

“They threatened you.” His voice trembles. “Just before Utirion, they were keeping something secret…”

They’re back to the starkness of white in a blink, though the captain barely notices, too locked to those wondrous eyes, the unfolding, pained narrative.

“I found out, Jean-Luc. Oh, they can misdirect all they like, of course, but the right application of blackmail works wonders.” The faintest of smiles half-raises a lip. “And my son can’t lie to save his own omnipotence. It was written all over his vaguely ionised being.”

“Threatened me?” Picard repeats, desperate for full clarity, and the darkness only seeps further into an anguished deity.

“Oh, only for a moment.” He sets, rigid, livid. “More than long enough.”

An understanding shivers between them for a protracted moment.

“So, you -”

“Made sure it wouldn’t happen again.”

Picard curses himself for the shudder that braces across his shoulders; there was nothing to fear from this entity, he’d long since known that intimately, but that phrasing -

“How?”

A frown etches into an ancient expression for a second, distressed at the clear horror in his beloved human. “I didn’t kill them, I assure you. Oh, I was almost angry enough, but - well, I’ve learned from the best. Billions of years of acquaintance rather familiarises one with weak spots.”

Picard’s mind whirs as he slots together pieces of a bankrupt jigsaw, eyes widening.

“So this, the void, space, is truly - mon dieu -”

“Capital D,” Q expresses, brow quirking. “King of the proverbial hill, Jean-Luc. Captain of the starship Continuum.”

He glances pointedly down at his robes, and Picard balks, spontaneously letting go of hands.

“You are not God!”

His lover’s features flicker in recognition, almost entertained. “I wasn’t, then.”

Picard reels, stepping away, struggling to process the magnitude of what such a concept could mean; he’d always accepted the wealth of power that stood insurmountably between them, but one thing needles at him above all others, a nasty, clawing anguish he can barely describe before the words burst forth.

“… And you did all this for me? To keep me safe?”

Confusion claims the all-powerful entity, stare shining. “And I’ll do it over and over again, if I have to. Didn’t you know that, darling?”

A soft, strangled cry tears itself from Picard, dashing back solely to tightly embrace him.

“You can’t do that!” He protests furiously against a robed chest, even as arms encircle him fiercely. “This isn’t healthy -”

“Less of your human morality, thank you,” Q scolds quietly, eyes falling closed as he drops a kiss to his captain’s skull with a gentle shiver. “I’m reliably informed that homelessness is desperately bad for the soul, Jean-Luc.”

Tearful eyes meet his, divided almost perfectly by outrage and despair. “I’m not worth this, you fool.”

A head shakes in pure exasperation, expression almost unfathomably tender.

“Au contraire, mon capitaine,” he whispers, and they hover in an extended breath, fractured and ironically whole in perfect harmony.

“Now what?” Rises a deceptively simple question from his beloved, and the ashes of bitterness sweep across Q’s lips, crease into his face as he stares into eyes that believe he’s ultimately capable of using his absolute power for kindness.

It’s enough, he acknowledges silently. It’s always been enough, that belief; it doesn’t require further proof over time.

“Oh, now?” A finger runs up a cheek, smile warm. No regrets, Q. “An ancient city, perhaps… well, at least after you wake up.”

Picard’s gone in an instant after a tender touch to his temple, and God swallows fire.

Jean-Luc Picard has more than enough to deal with. He doesn’t need the burden of knowing the lengths a homeless, frightened entity will go for him, however many times he must.

————–

“Can’t say I’m not mildly offended. Infinite scope of time presented permanently to me, mon capitaine; I run ten minutes late in an exceedingly rare instance of miscalculation, and you fall asleep on me.”

A familiar voice permeates his consciousness, rouses him from a deliciously restful slumber; he blinks, briefly confused, and meets an amused gaze.

“I…” Since when had he ever come back to his quarters and instantly drifted off? “I was asleep?”

“The light was well and truly out, my dear,” Q assures him, eyebrow hitching. “Dull day at the office, I take it?”

He thinks of their seemingly endless trek to Deep Space Eleven and wrinkles his nose just slightly. “Rather, yes. Ought to have asked you for a lift.”

“Indeed,” Q murmurs, gaze piercing. “I’d have done it, too. I’d do anything for you, dear - do hope you know that. Capital of Tenhaglion, then? Rather delightful four millennia ago.”

He offers him a hand, and something in Picard pauses for a long moment as he meets the rich bronze of eternity, the absolute tenderness that resides there, that flashes with the most heated warmth and desperate trust.

… There’s something decidedly different about him today, he acknowledges to himself as he accepts the help, gifts him a bright smile. He’ll have to ask him about it later.

#qcard #jean-luc picard #q #writing #prompts #hello darkness my old friend <3

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theshinobiway · 5 years

Note

can i get a Neji imagine with him being jealous of the reader being so close to Sauske (as friends) btw love your blog💗💗

Good Golly Gee this took longer than I expected. First I had difficulty coming up with a setting and the plot for this scenario, so I ended up throwing darts at a board (metaphorically) and decided to roll with it. Thus, The setting is post-war Konoha around the time of “The Last.” Sasuke is back in Konoha (and had a decent redemption!) and Neji is alive, though he was heavily injured.

This is one of my rare times where I wrote it with a female reader simply because (most of my readers tend to be female or fempronoun-identifying) and the prose flowed much better with a specific pronoun. “They/Them” is sometimes difficult to portray as an intimately personal address. Can English just get a Gender-Neutral pronoun already? I’m open to creating other versions of this story with different pronouns if requested, just send me an ask!

That also being said, I have the mappings for a Part II to this scenario that I would be open to writing at a later date (I need a break from this one, lol.) If there’s interest, let me know!

Thanks as always for contributing to the blog! :)💚💚

Neji Hyuga — Untouchable Stars

“He just doesn’t get it!”

You slammed your drink down, the telltale blush of your night’s exploits covering your face as your best friend barely restrained a groan from his seat.

“He may not, but for the hundredth time the Hyuga’s too much of a coward to make the first move. You need to be more direct. Just ask him out, already.”

Sasuke shot you the side-eye from his seat as he coolly sipped his own drink, watching you down your third.

“And what if you’re wrong and he doesn’t like me?!”

“What’s not to like?” Your longtime friend gave you a small smirk.

Were it not for his current—secret—relationship with a certain pink-haired friend of yours, it might almost have been flirtatious. But, both she and you knew where his eyes were, and both of you could read him well enough to know loud and clear what every gesture of his really meant.

If only you could read the Hyuga just as easily.

“Oh? Go on…” You intentionally drew out your words, less from drunken slur and more from your disbelief that this was headed anywhere that didn’t end in an insult.

“Well, you’re great at a lot of things.” Sasuke shrugged his comment off, but it did much to lighten your mood.

“Really? Like what?!” You threw your glass down, now more than halfway convinced he was being serious.

Sasuke gave you his characteristic smirk for reassurance—the closest you could ever get to a real smile—and you were elated.

Until he opened his tactless Uchiha flapper.

He held up his hand to count. “For instance, confessing your sorrows to everyone in the vicinity, drowning in self-pity, drinking away your feelings…and making sure everyone in this bar and the few surrounding know that you have the biggest crush on N-“

Sasuke liked to think himself one of the most accomplished shinobi in the village.

But Sasuke was not more accomplished than a drunk, flustered you that currently had an arm wrapped around his neck before he could speak.

He tapped out within seconds, wheezing.

“What in the world—ugh—are we still children?!” He sputtered, rubbing his throat and reaching for his drink before deciding better. The burn of the alcohol wouldn’t help right now.

“Oh, sure! In that case, should I go around spouting off about your secret relationship?!” You fired back, punctuating your answer with an aggressive slurp of your drink and a boorish stare.

Sasuke hadn’t been public in the slightest about his relationship with his pink-haired teammate, though being his closest friend, you were privy to much that others weren’t. Sakura herself had respected his wishes to keep most of their relationship private. Naruto on the other hand…well, if there was anyone it would come from…

“You wouldn’t have the gall.” He grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Because I’m a good friend!” You sneered, downing the rest and raising your glass. “Another!”

“Seriously, are you going for a Mountain Round tonight?”

It was a common drinking game in Konoha. One shot for every Hokage, and every Hokage had an accompanying drinking song. Most tried to get through all of them on their twentieth birthday to celebrate their coming of age. If you didn’t stop soon, you’d be making cheers to your fifth—and passing out in the street like the fifth.

“I’m going for a number of shots that make me forget his name tonight!” You swung down your drink, letting the burn roll over your tongue. No matter how bitter it was, it couldn’t match you yet. “Let me know when I’ve stopped talking about him.”

“Done, and you’re done.” Sasuke took the finished glass out of your hand and set it on the bar, sweeping you away from the counter.

“Hey! I’m still walking!” You tugged at his arm, but you were out the door of the bar before you could make a scene. “I’m not sloppy—"

“That’s not the goal of a nightly outing, now time to get you home.” Sasuke grumbled, cursing the very man that put you in this state.

The situation had been the same since you were kids—you were head over heels, a certain someone was none the wiser, and Sasuke was left hearing all about it—but the only difference was that the complaining could now be, ahem, augmented by alcohol.

But Sasuke, being the great friend he was, managed to get you out of the bar and on the steady path to home and a restful sleep despite your struggling. On a separate note, you vaguely recalled that you were meeting someone else tonight, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember who it was while you were being dragged from the bar whilst on the receiving end of a lengthy lecture from your Uchiha friend about your ‘limits.’

Sasuke liked to think himself the wisest of the two of you.

In any case, you weren’t exactly a fan of being manhandled—drunk or sober—so you decided to concoct the best plan you could to get out of his deathgrip on your arm.”

“Hey! What’s that?!”

”What?”

Sasuke was not more clever than a drunk, troublesome you.

No sooner had he fallen for the childish trick (which he would say later was the result of his own inebriation and not because you were actually clever,) you shot out of his reach and made a dash…straight down the steps of the bar.

“Ack—!”

And then, right when it seemed you would meet the ground first, a sudden familiar shout of your name brought you back.

“(Y/N!)”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just then, seconds before you bit the dust, and the whirlwind of movement brought your latent nausea to a not-so scenic ending, you were whipped back up to your feet and the merry-go-round of lights were kept steady enough for you to send an insult hurling back at—

“N-Neji?!”

“You’re…drunk?”

There was nothing more sobering than the realization that you might have made a fool of yourself in front of him.

‘Of all the times for him to find me—now, really?!’

You were held up by two strong arms and the last remaining shred of your dignity, but the look on the aghast Hyuga’s face told you he was waiting on an answer. In your best hazy stupor, you put your best foot forward and managed a perfectly elegant, coherent:

“I don’t know.”

Neji tilted his head, thoroughly taken aback—first by your sudden appearance in his arms, and now an answer that he had expected just as much. Realizing he might have been staring, he suddenly averted his gaze until Neji’s eyes flickered to Sasuke, who stood close behind. They narrowed immediately.

Neji’s arms held you in a firm grip, letting you a chance fully regain composure. Or what you could, with your arms interlocked with his and a small voice screaming in the back of your head.

Whatever chance you had of dignity was shot all to hell the minute you realized he was close enough that you could catch the characteristic scent of the Hyuga compound—aged wood. Without realizing it, you were unconsciously leaning forward into it. Luckily, Neji hadn’t noticed, too intent on staring down your would-be caretaker.

You couldn’t see Sasuke’s expression—you were far too absorbed in Neji, who hadn’t released his grip of you though had regained your balance—but with your extensive knowledge of the Uchiha, whatever he likely did was taunt the Hyuga with a look. Sasuke had a wonderful talent for ticking people off, and Neji was no exception—in fact, he took absolute pleasure in it sever since their first meeting.

Neji spoke first, clearing his throat and putting his practiced composure forward.

“Need I ask why (y/n) is currently in this state?”

Why was he always so irresistible when he looked so stern? You were practically drooling over him—but for some reason, the normally observant Hyuga kept his gaze ahead.

“Huh. Because she…can’t hold her liquor?” Sasuke scoffed back at the Hyuga. “I didn’t realize I was her keeper.”

Holding an inebriated you upright and staring into the face of a man that didn’t seem to take it seriously, Neji was less than amused at the snarky reply.

“And you let her get like this, or did you intend for this happen?”

“She can make her own decisions, as any other adult, Father.” Sasuke curled his lip back at him.

Neji took the bait. Sasuke’s cheeky grin was perfectly misconstrued—as Sasuke surely expected, and Neji’s grip on you unconsciously tightened as his eyes narrowed to slits.

“And just where are you going this late in the evening?” Neji snapped back.

Sasuke had always suspected another side to your ‘unrequited’ love for a while, but it wasn’t always clear. This, however, was an ample opportunity to test his theory.

The results spoke for themselves.

And while he was tactful enough to save your face in front of the object of your affections, playing coy to rile up a potential suitor was all part of his assessment of the Hyuga. Neji might have been a little too commanding in response for Sasuke’s taste, but Sasuke was also too much of a smart aleck to make things simple—no, if Neji was even remotely responsive to his insinuations, Sasuke was going to be just as curt and press him on.

All with the same smirk plastered on his face.

It was difficult to keep track of the conversation when you were in Neji’s arms. All the flush in your face couldn’t have been caused by alcohol—not at this point. In your daze, you caught a brief wind of Sasuke’s snide reply.

“I thought we settled this when we were kids, Hyuga…” Sasuke leaned forward, truth of the situation be damned if it meant he could have a chance to get under the Hyuga’s skin.

”I don’t answer to you.”

Sasuke knew of your affections and clearly could tell he has projected an image of the situation onto the Byakugan-user that was not so accurate—but at this point, perhaps this is what the Hyuga needed to make a move.

“Your arrogance becomes you, Uchiha.” Neji then shot back a taunting look of his own. “The only reliable quality about you, as it were.”

Relinquishing his grip, Neji managed to put you fully upright, facing Sasuke head-on. “A wonder you’re still friends with this one.”

“Neji, He’s just—" you were cut off almost immediately.

“Really? We’re still very close though, we’ve been friends for…how many years now, (y/n)?”

You stumbled over a reply, turning your head just enough to shoot Sasuke a look that screamed murder if he continued.

“A wonderful display of your friendship, tossing friends from balconies. You care to express your friendship elsewhere, perhaps with your pink-haired admirer? Perhaps if she heard of your recklessness, you might find yourself airborne instead.”

Neji clearly had no idea they were dating. Not that he really spent extended time around either of them to tell.

“Oh, and what would you know of her competence? Were you looking for an introduction?” Sasuke tilted his head, jeering at the man barely holding himself back. “Unfortunately, she’s—”

“Sasuke-kun!”

The heavens bequeathed a blessing to this gradually deteriorating situation in the form of Sakura, who was now hurrying her way up the street.

You forgot she had been invited to join you after her shift at the clinic.

“Sakura.” Sasuke smiled, a rarity from him. You were still startled by it now and then, which is why it caught your attention.

And Neji saw where yours went.

“Sorry I’m late, the patient needed extra bloodwork done—Oh!” Sakura noticed you and Neji, standing close together, and evidence of the Hyuga’s agitation was still clearing. It took all of a few seconds for Sakura to surmise what might have transpired moments before.

Perhaps in the future, Sakura’s social finesse could rub off on Sasuke.

“I’ll be taking him out of your way before he causes more trouble.” She nodded towards Neji, who looked ever so slightly more agitated than normal. You put your hands up defensively, trying to remember how words were formed as you battled the fog clouding your mind.

“Oh don’t worry about it, he’s been—”

“Oh, your face is so flushed!” She placed a small hand on your cheek and gave you a wink, grabbing Sasuke’s hand with her other, then glancing back at the Hyuga. “Neji, get her home safe, would you?”

Before the Uchiha could protest about her grip, he resolved already to let himself be carried off, letting you helplessly watch as they left. Sasuke gave one lest telltale shrug as they got further away, communicating all you needed to know.

‘Hey, I tried to help. Good luck.’

You flickered your gaze at Neji’s figure before looking away once again.

‘What the hell am I supposed to do right now?!’

Drunk you didn’t sign up for this. Sober you wasn’t too far behind.

And yet, the only answer you got was the accelerated beat that drummed through your ribcage as Neji stood close.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

‘Not only did he have the audacity to let her stumble around in this state, but it’s almost as if he was toying with the idea of bringing her home. Was the full attention of one of the more renowned kunoichi in the leaf not enough?’

He knew why the Uchiha might find interest in her. What he didn’t understand in all of his genius was the hold that Sasuke seemed to have over other women, even given his reputation.

‘The way that she gazed at him when he smiled at Sakura…’

He felt a familiar, painful curl in his chest when he saw it. That wasn’t where he wanted to see that kind of look directed. When he clearly saw the situation unfold with the Uchiha and the medic-nin in front of her, he felt the deepest empathy.

‘Unrequited.’

He clenched his fist. ‘She doesn’t deserve someone like that. She deserves far better than you.’

Sakura caressed her face, apologetically. ‘At least she can be courteous about it,’ he grumbled in his thoughts, knowing that all the kindness in the world couldn’t help.

When Sasuke gave an uncaring shrug in her direction, he was ready to snap the other arm off.

‘You have everything in front of you, and this is how you act?’ Neji watched your helpless expression as they walked off, and another pang of ache went through his chest until he gave one last glance to the offender’s retreating form.

‘How dare you.’

The sheer frustration of it all was enough for him to feel his blood pressure rise.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The last of your efforts went into staying as sober as possible, hoping his wouldn’t be a night to remember for all the wrong reasons.

“Are you well enough, like this?” Neji’s voice cut you out of your trance.

“O-Oh, yes, I’m fine.” You shook your head frivolously to be more convincing.

Bad idea, because it only made you dizzier.

“I’m sure you aren’t unfamiliar with this condition.” Neji hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, but the line between straightforward and blunt was not so easily tread.

“H-Hey I’m not that kind of person! I just lost track of how many I had is all, but I don’t make a habit of it!”

Neji gave you a disinterested blink before he sighed, hands placed firmly on his hips.

“Relax, (Y/N). I’m well aware that you aren’t the kind to overindulge. I’m sure it was an accident. Regardless of how it happened, though, you ought to be escorted home.”

Neji paused, as though he thought better of the situation than before.

“Should I find you another…friend for that?” He gestured to the surrounding streets. It wasn’t necessarily dismissive, but it still had a bite to it.

That bite wasn’t meant for you, but himself.

You furiously shook your head. Drunk confidence egged you on, hoping you could somehow finesse the situation. You were determined to salvage as much of your reputation as the alcohol would allow.

“I can get home, y’know, if it’s alright with you…”

“Not a wise choice.”

You sounded confident in the moment, but Neji wasn’t convinced. And surely after walking a few blocks in one direction, future you would be agreeing with him. Which is why his immediate dismissal of the idea wasn’t surprising.

It couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Well wisdom could say you’re the…best choice, then?” You ended tentatively, but Neji’s brows lifted and the corner of his mouth twitched.

What had sounded vaguely like drunken rambling to you had actually…charmed him?

“Flattering.” He replied, flatly, though some amusement drifted across his face.

It wasn’t a clear acceptance, so you were ready to retreat until he turned his body and waved for you to follow.

“I haven’t forgotten the way, luckily for you. Let’s get going.”

You didn’t hesitate then.

A few moments of walking in silence passed before he looked over his shoulder to catch you timidly following, bunched up and holding your arms, last bastion of humanity devoted to keeping your body mobile.

“Are you.. cold…?” One of Neji’s hands drew to the string of his Haori without a second thought.

“Oh, I’m just still a little…” Embarrassment filtered from every hand gesture to the way you avoided his gaze. You started the night intending to forget about him. And now, here he was, walking you home.

Couldn’t he have found you three drinks sooner?

A sudden warmth around your shoulders snatched your attention from your pouting. Neji’s haori hung over you, still warm from his wear. Your face would have flushed further if the alcohol weren’t already occupying your face. The self-conscious posture tipped him off to your internal self-lecture.

“I already gave you my thoughts.” He reassured you for the third time that night, then, satisfied that you were warm, he took a moment to glance at how the fabric, meant to hang loose even on him, swallowed your frame.

The corners of his eyes crinkled for a moment before he turned to continue on.

“Still, the last thing I want is for you to think badly of me…” Were you whining? A bit, but more than anyone, Neji understood the importance of a good image. Therefore, he had no issue with a bit of sympathy slipping into his tone.

“One accident is hardly a threat to your reputation.”

“It wasn’t really an accident, though.” You twirled the hair at the base of your neck, wobbling to the side and out of the busy street.

Neji arched a defined brow in response and paused in long silence.

“Then what called for the occasion?”

You weren’t sure if the question was meant to fill the emptiness of the silent street, or to perhaps silence the overflowing thoughts of a quiet mind.

“Oh well, you know…” You blinked bashfully, looking away as a light dusting of pink—that didn’t originate from your inebriated state—decided to make its way to your face. “…just…thinking about the chances I don’t have with someone I really admire.”

There was something to be said for drunk honesty.

Unfortunately for Neji, not everything was said. Which meant there was always room for interpretation.

Or in his case, a severe misinterpretation.

“I see.” He clicked his tongue, averting his eyes forward as he let go of your shoulder. “Unfortunate.”

“You have no idea.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you wondered if he could read the subtext.

Gods, he can read everything from a faint twirl of the hair to the way you blink, can’t he just read your mind?

‘On second thought,’ —the realization struck when his gaze suddenly grew cold—‘perhaps it was best he couldn’t.’ One thought of that glare revealing itself unto you when you confessed was enough to make you retreat from your advances—even drunk you wasn’t that foolish.

Rather, drunk you was just sensitive enough to think better of a drunken confession that may have ended in a sobering heartbreak.

“I’m not so sure…” Neji didn’t mean to respond outloud, but all the better that you hadn’t heard him, too focused on the now beating heart that was going wild in your chest at the thought of him walking you home.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Walking on the street was enough to set his heart alight. And, when the adrenaline was coursing through his veins and he was consciously aware that you might be more honest than normal, he couldn’t help but ask a more pressing question.

“Perhaps you would have preferred the Uchiha to walk you home?” He didn’t mean to be so curt, but the events from earlier put him his own self-depreciating mood. And he also feared a certain response.

“What? Absolutely not!” He half-heartedly glanced at your sudden outburst. Of course, you wouldn’t be brazenly open about your crush, but—

‘Hold on—where are the signs of denial?’

You weren’t kidding when you seemed to imply you were glad to be rid of him.

“I get enough time with him as it is—” Neji’s eye twitched.

‘I’d rather not be reminded of that.’

“—And I’d rather him spend his time with Sakura than worry about me.” There was a tinge of melancholy to your voice. To you, you were envious of how close they had become, wishing that for yourself.

To Neji, he heard that you wanted that closeness with him for yourself and let a pitiful smile, his split-second question subsided.

“How selfless of you.” He sighed. ‘I couldn’t even entertain a thought such as that, unfortunately.’

“Not really, I was lucky enough to spend time with you instead. It’s been so long…” You wobbled without meaning to, catching yourself on his arm as one step was simply too much for your body to keep up.

While you took a second to register, Neji’s attention was all on you at once and his arm stiffened of its own volition. Then, his face bled concern. Without meaning to, his hand covered yours, making sure you kept your grip.

“Sorry, I—Oh! They’re open early this year!” There were few things that could get you as excited as one certain treat. The colorful sign of the food stall flickered in the distance over the crowd, just barely legible in your blurry vision. He followed your attention in a second.

Neji let a small groan of frustration, knowing all too well your addiction to a certain stand’s seasonal delights.

“Home, (Y/N)—”

“Come on!” Neji’s insistence was futile the minute you snagged his hand. How could he protest an opportunity like this? He didn’t expect tipsy-you’s strength, either, judging by how easy it was to pull—ahem, drag him with you.

Could a heartbeat be felt in fingertips? With the way it resounded in his chest when you grabbed his hand, Neji might have thought so.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“There, are you quite ready to go home now?”

“How are you so-ooo grumpy when you have the best thing in the world in your hand?!” You munched happily, letting the taste cover your parched mouth, washing away the lingering staleness of the alcohol from earlier.

“I had that earlier.” He grumbled, just out of earshot. He hadn’t intended to, but it was clear when he was agitated. You vaguely registered his speech, but you had other occupations—like the snack in front of you.

“Oh, what?”

“I said at least the food might sober you up.” Neji shook his head to snap out of his own thoughts and bit into his serving, rather unimpressed with the fare. But given that he was able to share it with you, he found ways to enjoy it.

The alcoholic haze that blurred your vision before gave the world a surreal, almost painted expression. Scenes that would not have fascinated you before were prime entertainment for the intoxicated. Lights danced around the street, peeking out from the silhouettes of the passers-by as they went about their ways, unconcerned for the magical visions that surrounded them. And Kami, and the smell of the food stands was enough to make you hungry for seconds.

When you found your way along the scene to the image of Neji beside you, serenely enjoying the evening bustle through the streets, you couldn’t help but reflexively swallow.

Was the taste always this sweet?

“Did I get some on my face?” In the moment it had taken you to consider why your snack was more delightful than usual, Neji had caught your rather obvious stare.

And you had been staring for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Cue a drunken panic.

‘Quick, something clever, something bold that you can maybe play off as a casual—’

“Ah, yeah, the uh…the cute! It’s all over your face!” You intended to wave your hand over your cheek for emphasis, but drunken limbs don’t like to listen—

They like to make you forcefully smack yourself in the face instead. Hard.

Nailed it.

Neji gave you a dead silent stare. Bewildered.

“I…what?”

Neji had just seen you stutter out an odd mix between a pickup line and a sincere answer, then whack yourself in the face. He was honestly doing his best to process the scene. His head tilted.

A stroke? Were you having a stroke?

“Oh, boy! Time for me to get home!” You shot up, tossing the remaining part of your container in the bin and were perfectly fine to hurry off to cover up your reddened face.

Your home wasn’t far from where you were, but Neji made sure to keep close eye on you—especially after that display. Somewhere in your racing thoughts you lambasted yourself for walking so fast, giving up precious moments that you never got with the object of your affections.

“It’s a bit darker down this way than I remember.” Neji called from close behind as your rounded into your secluded neighborhood. It was one of the few that managed to not be fully developed, and houses still stood a decent bit apart.

“There aren’t many lamps around here, so most of the light used to come from the sky…” You mused. It was an older part of the city, for sure, and you brushed your hand knowingly over where the railing to your steps would be.

But the tragedy was that the light pollution took away another relic of a bygone time.

“I always remember the stars being, well, brighter!” You sighed, turning back from the porch to ponder in thought as Neji made his way next to you, sure to catch you if you stumbled over the steps. “It’s hard to see some of them now, though, with how big the town’s grown. Even on the Hokage mountain now, the lights of the city tend to block out the sky…” Leaning back over the porch railing, you shot him a half-hearted glance. “Do you remember the time we watched the stars as kids?”

“Mmm…There were a few times, as I recall.” He sounded vaguely bemused but gestured at you to come away from the railing. Not a bad idea in your state.

You perked up immediately. So, it wasn’t just you that remembered.

“And how it all kinda began just…by chance?” Your legs moved automatically for you, responding to his beckon while the last remaining braincell attempted a coherent conversation.

The nights spent with Neji, legs thrown over the side of the mountain as you spoke about life, dreams, and all that stood between were the perfect picture of your teenage years. You had taken a walk that summer evening after your teammates had gone home and found yourself in the northern grounds above the Hokage mountain.

There wasn’t much development on Hokage mountain back then, save for the arena that the final rounds of the Chunin exams were always held in, along with some miscellaneous work buildings. Past the arena, the mountaintop still remained wild as ever. It wasn’t a prime spot for foot traffic, despite the view.

Of all the places for Neji to find you, the cliffside overlooking the village was a peculiar spot in the nighttime. Not the place one would expect a familiar face, but then it happened, and so it was. You thought the only reason it ever happened was by sheer possibility.

“Until it wasn’t.”

You glanced curiously at him, wondering what he meant. As kids, there were a few occasions he had asked if you would be making your way there that night, and if his presence would be welcome to join.

It fell off in routine soon after he was promoted in rank and his duties more than doubled. Then you assumed it was just meant to be the past, that he had other things to occupy his time. You may have grown apart some in those years, but you always wondered what he remembered about those nights.

“I mean…our conversations were…productive.” Neji cleared his throat into his fist. “It was a nice change of routine.”

‘Productive? Routine? Who else would describe childhood memories like that but him?’ You nudged his side with a small grin dancing on your face, startling him. Of course, he drew himself back into his stoic shell when he realized you were teasing him.

“You could just say you liked spending time with me then.” Leaning over, you shifted once more to place you both back within the same distance.

Neji’s straight face refused to betray him, though by what might have been a trick of the light, you thought you saw his face flash a bit of color.

“I wouldn’t be that blunt.”

“Then say it pretty.” You knew you were obviously giving him eyes right now, but a flustered Neji was too much to pass up on. He saw it, but doesn’t mean that he believed it was too serious.

“You need to get rest if you’re speaking like this.” Neji ushered you back inside with a grunt, waving you inside before you could embarrass him further.

“Say it…!” You pressed on, perhaps being a little too cute for your own good.

Neji knew he wasn’t about to get out of this one. He swallowed, looking for every conceivable method of escape before resigning himself.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to another visit sometime…for old time’s sake.” If you weren’t drunk, you might have picked up on the tinge of hesitation in his otherwise self-assured and carefully worded response. Hesitation—not reluctance.

Your eyes lit up immediately at the invitation.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

You intended to give him an impulsive hug, but your inebriated body’s translation of the thought was closer to a full body slam.

Thus, Neji forgot how to breathe—and your grip wasn’t very tight.

“Oh, ow—is it really that…exciting?” He managed to free the arm that had been wedged between you and the porch and placed both of his hands prudently upon on your shoulders.

He wasn’t sure if he was meant to ask a question in that moment, because it brought your face up close to his.

Much closer than it had ever been.

For the second time that night, you found your way into his arms, pressed against his chest in your inebriated haze. He was so warm against the cool night air, and you got lost, looking on his expression for every hint of his thoughts right then. There was too much to be said, but you didn’t want to come back, lost so far in the moment as you were.

Dreams weren’t ever as good as this.

Long, dark strands of hair fell around his face, tickling yours as he held onto you, making you forget he had even asked a question. Because right now all you could think about was that…

“You’ve always had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen..” You couldn’t help the smile that you meant for him.

Those beautiful eyes in question widened in shock at your words, and his world silenced when you did.

Save for the heartbeat—was it his or yours?—that reached his ears.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The deafening pulse of blood in his ears was all Neji could hear. With his eyes locked on your lips, the uncomfortable realization that his body was not within his control for some strange reason took over his rational thought.

Then again, he also wouldn’t admit to himself that it was due at least in part to his proximity of the source of those honeyed words, either.

The playful glint dwelled still in your gaze, then in the corners of your smile until it dropped, as quick as a light could be put out with a flip of a switch. One he struck down with his pesky self-denying habits before he remembered how foolish it was to wander in the dark.

“You’re intoxicated.” He swallowed and finally spoke bluntly, setting you upright.

When your hands didn’t displace themselves from their grip on his shirt, he grimly reached for them. He couldn’t allow himself to hope for what he knew was truly not meant for him.

But in that moment, the first murmur of doubt crossed his mind.

It whispered in his ear when his hands reached yours—they were so small compared to his—and passed over in the soft light in your eyes. One that didn’t come from the street lamps, the mirroring of the shop windows, or even from the moonlight.

It was his reflection, and he never thought he could be so bright—until he saw himself through your eyes.

Dreams really weren’t as good as this.

Neji’s voice lowered to a whisper, somewhere between talking to himself and to you.

“What are you thinking right now?”

It was pretty simple, actually. It was the same thought, every time you saw him cast against the night sky the times you met then, and even now. You let the years finally come and speak their due.

“I always thought you alone were brighter than any of the stars.”

It wasn’t often Neji was without retort—and even if he happened to not respond, it was on his terms. Those offending lips rendered him speechless, and he lowered his head as if closer inspection would reveal just how.

And when they rose to the occasion, he fidgeted once, twice, wondering if this really wasn’t a dream, if those few centimeters were really all that were left between you, and if he really was leaning down to close that distance.

In a dream could he feel the warmth, the weight of you in his arms, or the way in which you drew to him? Could he see everything he wanted so clearly in this one glance, as though the stars had dropped from the very heavens to light the eyes that gazed at him with this adoration? If in a moment, the night air wouldn’t disappear at once with the smell of the dried grass, the fallen leaves, and the smell of sake—

Sake.

“You’re drunk.” Neji whispered hoarsely, drawing back at once and shifting so that your head was closer to his shoulder. He hadn’t wanted you to see the expression on his face right then.

You panicked, heart racing at the tide of events that shifted within seconds.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You buried your face in his shoulder, too embarrassed that what was nearly a romantic moment had ended this way. It wasn’t clear how he had meant what he said, after you had clearly—in your mind, clearly—been trying to kiss him.

‘You’re drunk, and you’re acting foolish’? That seemed far more like him than any alternative.

“Sorry…” You murmured, barely audible with your face in his chest.

Still, he held you for few precious moments, perhaps letting this embrace be his only selfish action for the night.

“You need rest.” Still, he didn’t move quite yet. You didn’t, either.

“I know…” Reluctantly, you drew away from him, avoiding his gaze. Neji shifted his weight, politely opening the door to your home for you and ushering you inside.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What?” You blinked, your head still spinning from earlier.

“The…stars…?” Oh. Obviously! Still, Neji looked genuinely concerned. You immediately moved to compensate for your memory.

“O-oh, I thought you meant earlier as in…” You waved off furiously, trying to remember how to speak. Neji thought he had missed some unspoken courtesy and just as hurriedly racked his brain to figure out where he had faltered in his propriety.

“I could check on you in the morning, if it be necessary?”

He wouldn’t tell you that any hour could be yours, if you only just asked.

But you would have been too modest, anyway.

“If you aren’t too busy, I think…well, you’ll probably be busy, you have so many important things and—” You rambled on, not sure where the aim of it was, fidgeting with your hands. “—I don’t want to ask you to—“

You stilled only when Neji caught your hand, bringing it to his face.

He pressed his lips to your knuckles, turning his eyes to meet yours. You flushed, feeling his breath still ghosting on your hand. He might have said every word you ever wanted to hear just then in the way he looked at you.

“Tomorrow. Goodnight, (y/n).”

And when he left, you sank down to your bed, hand on your chest, your heart playing those words, unspoken, but felt in your chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

#naruto scenarios #naruto headcanons #neji hyuga #neji #scenarios #theshinobiway #the shinobi way #jealousy #jealous #character x reader #IT'S FINALLY DONE #THANK GOD

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pro-bee · 4 years

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Ziva David Week Day 2: Favourite episode

I’m gonna cheat here and pick 2, because they go together: Hiatus Part 1 & 2.

(Once again, all screencaps courtesy of NCIS Source. Part 1 and Part 2)

I love Ziva in these two episodes, because we get insight into her feelings in a way we haven’t really so far in the series at this point, and I think it sets up so much of what comes later on, arguably even into the present day.

Yes, the story focuses mainly on Gibbs’ and his amnesia, and Ziva doesn’t have as large a role in these episodes as she would later on, but her scenes pack a punch, and her presence is what ultimately brings the Gibbs they all know and love back.

We get to see Ziva run the whole gamut of emotions, from lighthearted to devastated to snarky to angry to compassionate, and each moment is allowed its own time to shine. It’s quite surprised watching this with the benefit of hindsight to see how integral her role is to the story, especially towards Gibbs, given that at this point she is the newest team member. As we come to learn, though, she also has the most unique connection of any of them to their fearless leader.

I love how the episode opens up with the Three Musketeers on what they think is just another stakeout, teasing each other about movies and generally being idiots.

I mean, how adorable is Ziva when Tony makes the “Sound of Music” reference and she lights up, because she loves that movie? It’s a shame Tony shushed her when she was about to belt out the theme, because as we now know, Ziva’s got some pipes on her. (If only you knew, Tony.)

Ziva was allowed to be jokey and funny and even girly at times in the early episodes, and it’s moments like this where you can actually see how young Ziva is, despite her demeanour. She is competent and professional, but she is also only what, 23 at this point? Most young women her age are still hanging out with their friends at bars on weekends between studying for finals or working their entry-level jobs, whereas she’s trying to save the world from bad guys. She’s so serious so much of the time that it tickles me when we get to see this playful side to her, and not in the “flirty with Tony until he starts sweating” kind of way, but in an almost childlike, joyful manner.

Of course, it’s short-lived in this episode, because Gibbs gets himself blown up right in front of them and all hell breaks loose.

After that, we see Ziva go right into professional mode, and we bump into the first of many conflicts about the outside world’s assumptions about her.

Ducky is the first (of many) to question her ability to feel affection and compassion, when he is astounded that she didn’t ask the paramedics which hospital they took Gibbs to. Ziva rightfully answers that she had a job to do, that once she made sure Gibbs was being taken care of by medical professionals, she then moved onto her job, which was to immediately secure the crime scene -- which is exactly what Gibbs would have done. She knew he was in good hands so she worked on what she was good at, because she had a mission to accomplish.

(lol sidebar, I had my first aid recert the other week and the trainer was emphasizing how your job as first on the scene is to administer cpr until the medical professionals arrive, but when they do take over, your job is done, you can’t carry that with you because you don’t have the training they do, you do your best and that’s enough -- and I feel like that’s exactly the mindset Ziva has.)

Of course, once Ziva pointedly tells him she was a little busy dealing with a fucking explosion to remember to ask which hospital Gibbs was at, Ducky absentmindedly says that Tony or McGee will know, and that stings, because it’s the first of many implications that she doesn’t care enough, and they do. Which we all know is false, but this is a running theme in the show (as we talked about yesterday with Damon’s episode) about how the Ziva the world seems to see isn’t who she really is inside, and she struggles to show herself in ways people understand, because she isn’t outwardly demonstrative in the manner that, say, Abby is.

“Ziva I’m not implying you don’t care. I know you care.”

It’s too late though, because the words have already sunk in. You don’t care. We all know that’s not true, and Ziva knows it’s not true, but that is all people see of her, and it rattles her.

Never mind that a year ago, before she moved to the US, that would probably be seen as an asset to her father, an indication that she can detach to get the job done. But as we now know, she never really could detach -- she just repressed. That no one would have questioned whether she cared enough to remember which hospital her coworker was at -- but that’s also because no one probably cared enough about her as a person to question her own motives.

But now she has something to hold onto. She cares about these people, and she cares what they think, which is why it’s so frustrating when she doesn’t seem to be living up to their expectations.

I feel so much for her here, because we know that she is just doing her job. The best thing she can do right now is to investigate, like she’s been trained to do for the last year, because that is what they need to do to help Gibbs. But her cooler head prevailing kind of exposes the downside of how close their unit is, because when her doing her job is seen as suspicious, it exposes them to greater troubles in times of crisis like these.

Meanwhile, what impresses me so much is precisely how quickly Ziva jumps into action. She is really fucking good at her job. This job that she chose, for the first time in her life, and one she loves. She gets shit done, fast. She is the one who secures the crime scene, directs technicians to their posts, surveys what equipment they need and where, all before Ducky gets there. She has absolutely flourished under Gibbs’ wing, and even just this short time later, she is already demonstrating leadership qualities.

Case in point: when they’re back on the ship, Ziva is the one who is able to survey the scene of the explosion and identify its similarities to a suicide bomber, both because of her own experience growing up in Israel and being a part of Mossad, I’m sure, but also because she has been observing and studying over this past year. While McGee is sick at the sight of blood, unable to really do his job to its fullest here, it’s Ziva who kind of takes charge, and plays second to Tony’s Agent in Charge. (No slight on McGee -- it’s just further evidence of how Ziva has taken to this, and that her background is an unfortunate asset to her in this kind of work.) I think that Tony recognizes that, too.

Yet, a quiet moment that is oddly beautiful is when they are at the crime scene, and Ziva notices that it’s raining.

It’s such a tonal shift from the rest of the scene, but it’s like the rain is so soothing to her, especially in that moment. I’m not quite sure why this stands out so much, why they made a point of her being comforted by that. Is it because she would welcome the rain on the rare times it happened when she was a kid? Is it because it’s going to wash away the wreck of the day? Does it offer her a clean slate? Who knows! She just seems transfixed in a way that is un-Ziva-like.

So it goes for both of the episodes: It is Ziva’s professionalism that actually helps them, and we really see her investigative skills shine. I imagine that is because the work gives her something to focus on when everything and everyone else seem to be falling apart. But the great thing is that this is the whole reason she came to NCIS, whether she intended for it to be or not: she is making choices for herself and thinking for herself. She gets to take charge on leads and check into things that don’t feel right. She has gained an independence of body and mind in DC that she never really knew she needed when she was still working for her father.

She’s on a roll, here. She’s fired up about the case, not only because it directly involves Gibbs, but because she’s looking at the puzzle and knows something isn’t right. “What is wrong with this picture?” she asks, because she realizes the track they’re on doesn’t make sense, regardless of whatever issues are going in within the team. And when she points all that out, I love that Tony has her back: “Damn good summation.” Because he can tease her as much as he’d like, but he had no problem admitting when she is right, and that’s what he needs.

And another thing I love about this, because I am Tiva trash (although this isn’t a Tiva episode) is that it quickly becomes evident how bonded Tony and Ziva are, too. Not just in a romantic sense, but professionally-speaking as well. For instance, from the outset, Abby is quick to remind Tony that he is not Gibbs, even though as senior agent he is in charge. There’s an air of petulance to it, knocking him down for being too haughty, but the thing is, he is doing his job. (In retrospect, these are... really not good episodes for Abs.) So other people joke about Tony impersonating Gibbs, but Ziva is the only one who backs him up, and not in a dramatic, show-y fashion, but through her actions. She doesn’t doubt him, she follows his lead, she does as she’s told not because she’s a doormat, but because she knows what they have to all do to move the investigation along, and she knows that Tony knows and that is why he is ordering them. (That may be the impetus for a fanfic I wrote years ago lol.)

In turn, it also becomes obvious how much Tony has come to rely on Ziva, too. Throughout the episode, she becomes the one he bounces ideas off of, confides in over his suspicions that they’re missing something. He knows that Ziva is the only one who doesn’t resent him, doesn’t make fun of him for throwing ideas out there, actually treats him like he is their boss, albeit in the interim. It’s not just because they like to flirt or get into each other’s pants, it’s because they’re both professionals and recognize that in each other, especially in this time of crisis.

But, they are indeed in a time of crisis, and all this emotional upheaval does eventually get to our baby agent.

First, we had the accusation by Ducky, and then later on, after an ill-advised attempt at black humour to Abby to defuse the tension, she is once again painted as an uncaring robot. (Like I said... this is not Abby’s finest hour.) It all leads to her mini-breakdown in the bathroom, when everything comes to a head. I’m struck now by how soft the scene is, how positively young and vulnerable Ziva is -- splashing her face with water, eyes full of tears, trying to get a hold of herself. How despite her no-nonsense demeanour, she is barely an adult herself, not that far removed from her girlhood dreams and traumas. And the very thing she does to be helpful -- sticking to the task at hand -- is what is isolating her from everyone around her.

She is hurt.

Hurt that she is misunderstood. Hurt that people she’s come to consider friends don’t seem to trust her. Hurt that she has no one to confide in.

We rarely see Ziva cry on this show, and this might be the softest moment she ever gets to experience. The memories she replays as she stares at her reflection -- Ducky insisting Tony and McGee would know when she wouldn’t, Abby’s anger at her -- are what she worries she reflects to the world. It is so heartbreaking to watch.

What it demonstrates, though, is how lost Ziva is without Gibbs there. How they all are. But what this arc does is show that Gibbs is the only one at this point who truly gets her. He did from day one, the second she pulled the trigger on Ari. He saw who she really was, the depths of her convictions, and he’s offered her a safe port in the storm of her life. And now on her own, without him to steady her course, she’s adrift. Because I think what these episodes show is that yes, Ziva has grown immensely and been allowed to blossom at NCIS, but she’s done so because Gibbs’ guidance to their whole team has given her the safe space and confidence to be who she is. Without him there to give her a safety net, she’s back to being just another soldier.

I don’t mean that in the sense that she does everything for him despite what the show will imply years later. What I mean is that like anyone else lucky enough to have a supportive parent, Gibbs’ presence in her life has given her the reassurance to be who she is, not who the world thinks she should be. Without him there, she is weighed down by others’ perceptions of her, and she starts internalizing them. (Which, holy shit, ends up coming back in season 17. Is this our first glimpse of anxiety-ridden Ziva?)

She is desperate to get him back, because that is the only way to get herself back

“What can I do?” “Remember!”

Which is why she is the one who later confronts Amnesiac!Gibbs in his hospital room, because she is so desperate to get him back, to get herself back. It is so significant to the show’s canon that Ziva is the one to finally jog his memory, and again it is not a slight against the other characters, or an indication that she is better than them all (although personally I do think so because she is my favourite after all).

It’s not that he doesn’t love the others as much, or that his longer and deeper history with them isn’t as important. It’s that he and Ziva shared a profound experience together unlike any of the others, and that forged a deep connection. The second Ziva pulled the trigger on Ari, she sealed their fate. (Again which is why I hate the season 7 retcon of her actions, but ultimately the end result is that she shot him to save Gibbs, so it still mostly tracks.)

That leads to her even-bigger breakdown, because everything she’s been holding in for the last few days -- and ultimately for the last year -- comes to a head. Yes, she’s hurt over Gibbs’ accident and everyone’s dismissal of her, but really, she’s hurt over what happened with Ari which she’s never been allowed to process. She can’t deal with it at home in Israel because Ari was a loose cannon, a traitor who needed to be terminated. She can’t deal with it in DC, because there he was a villain who took the life of one of their own.

But to her, he was her brother. The brother she loved and who she thought loved her, the one she grew up idolizing and shadowed professionally, the one she fought tooth and nail to save until she realized there was no choice. And she is never, ever allowed to grieve that. For fuck’s sake, we later learn that their own father ordered his execution. I would guess there probably wouldn’t be much thought to, you know, trauma counselling for his family, including Ziva, for what he put them through, or dealing with having to be the one to stop him. I imagine Eli’s advice was to forget about it and move on, which is part of why Ziva had to get the fuck out of Tel Aviv.

(Sidebar: in my head canon, in the later years at some point post-Tiva, they’d be sitting around talking about things and the subject of Ari would come up, and Ziva would kind of clam up about it, and when Tony would ask her about it, she’d be like, “I know you guys don’t want to ever hear about him, because he was the monster who killed Kate, but... he was also my brother. He was the guy who taught me how to ride a bike and took me for car rides just to listen to music for hours and hours when things got bad between my mother and father and I can’t separate that from who he became. And I can’t ever say any of that out loud because what he did was awful but... he was my brother.”)

“What are you talking about?” “Ari! Ari killed Kate. And I... I killed Ari.” “... Your brother.” “Yes.” “You killed your brother to save me.”

This is just such a huge moment for them.

Because for Ziva, that is probably the first time she’s said those words out loud since it happened. And it’s probably the first time she’s let that grief spill out of her.

Probably the first time someone has comforted her for her loss.

And it is so, so important for her that someone recognizes that. That someone acknowledges the magnitude of what happened, of how it broke her. Of how she’s still broken.

That is the only moment of warmth anyone has shown her all episode, and frankly all series to date.

This isn’t Ziva with no feelings. This is Ziva with feelings so deep she can’t handle them, and they come bursting out in a giant fit of anguish. It’s such a monumental moment for her character, because it reflects all of what has happened in the season leading up to this point. Ziva hasn’t talked about Ari at all since she joined NCIS, since that moment in the elevator where Gibbs recognized what she did for him, and why she needed to break free and start over in DC, far away from her father.

Because I imagine that to her father and Mossad, what she did was treated as professional. That she did her job.

But this wasn’t a job.

She killed her own brother to save another man.

A man who was a total stranger to her, but one who she knew to be good, and more importantly, the confirmation that her brother was not good, that he was not the man she thought he was, and that if she didn’t stop him, he was going to ruin other people’s lives.

(No wonder Ziva is still consumed with anxiety almost 15 years later.)

Ultimately, the reason Ziva’s breakdown triggers Gibbs’ memory again is because she gives him something to come back for. Gibbs was lost without Shannon and Kelly when he was in his first coma in 1991, and all these years later, his doctors have said that there’s no good reason for him to still be stuck in the past in his brain, because his injuries were not severe enough to warrant it. But he stays there because he can’t live without Shannon and Kelly. But here is Ziva, the woman who saved his life, chose his over that of her own family, and she is laying her emotions bare in front of him. And she needs him. That protection he offered her that night in his basement gave her a reason to live, and him as well.

Reminding him of Ari was reminding herself of what she did, how she was in pain just like he was, and she needed a light to guide her way back. And it turns out he needed that too.

(Can you tell this is one of my favourite scenes ever?)

Ziva have him a reason to come back.

Which he does, thanks to her, and eventually they do solve their case, even if it ends in disaster, which in turn prompts him to leave the job behind.

(OT: I have always loved how much trust Gibbs puts in Tony in his absence, how he entrusts Tony with the team when he decides to “retire”. TONY IS A GOOD TEAM LEADER AND THAT IS THE TEA. He did not deserve the crap he got from Abby and McGee about it. Again, Ziva is the only one who recognizes it.)

“I owe you, Ziva.” “I’ll collect, Jethro.”

This is just so soft. Again, Ziva is still in a raw state, and she’s teary-eyed as she watches him give his goodbyes, then eventually to her. (Also, thank goodness this is the only time she calls him “Jethro” because it just sounds weird coming from any of the agents.) It is the most sincere and the most loaded of the goodbyes, because they have just shared another monumental experience together, alone, and it cuts deeply.

Which is why today, in the year of our lord two-thousand-and-nineteen, we are still dealing with the aftermath of this.

How their relationship is still this charged and steeped in personal trauma but also in this wartime-like spirit of saving your comrade in arms.

How it’s natural that Ziva feels so hurt at Gibbs “abandoning” her (whether you agree with her or not), because once upon a time he was the person who saved her soul and help her heal, and gave her the opportunity to follow her own heart and her own path, and she ended up feeling lost without that. (Again, it’s up to you to believe if that is truly the case, but I think the point the show has made is that Ziva believes it, which this episode cemented.)

How Ziva is still riddled with guilt and self-doubt, who still believes she is a lost cause when people accuse her of being unfeeling.

How Ziva’s heart is actually so huge, and it’s a miracle she found her place in NCIS so that she could start letting the world know it.

It’s just... I have so many feelings about these scenes, and I could still talk about it for hours, but Day 2 is almost Day 3 and I gotta get this posted.

But I had to get this off my chest, because these episodes are SO IMPORTANT for her character. We learn a little bit about her and a lot about her heart, and she takes the lead as the emotional centre of the story for the arc. Because she remembers.

----

Also more unrelated thoughts about why I love these episodes:

Ziva was allowed to be funny and lighthearted early on and I miss it.

“What if those were Gibbs’ guts smushed all over that room?” The colour would be more coffee brown than red.” ZIVA! ZIVA IS SO FUNNY! Ah, gallows humour. I understand Abby was upset but THAT WAS A DAMN FUNNY JOKE. Again, Ziva was allowed to be so much funnier in first few seasons and it’s a shame the show wrote that out of her and replaced it with more trauma.

(Also the slap-fest was such a token male fantasy and it was gross. Stop it, Show.)

(But Abby deserved it a little because she was hysterical.)

“Never doubt an Israeli about diamonds” I don’t even know if that is an actual thing or just a Ziva-ism they made up, but, lol, Ziva sure does know a lot about diamonds for a girl who lives in cammo half the time. I know her dad taught her a lot about them bla bla bla secret slush funds I don’t care, Ziva is girly sometimes. Someone better put a ring on it.

We get to see Ziva use her considerable language skills in this episode!

Including French!

Ziva can and will fuck your shit up:

#zivadavidweek2019 #ziva david #hiatus part 1 #hiatus part 2 #3x23 #3x24 #i love me some ziva feels #baby ziva needs a hug #long post #very long post #like the episodes as a whole aren't ziva centric #but they are #because she's the emotional centre #and i love me an episode that dives into that

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bluetostone · 4 years

Text

Touch the Light (I Want To)

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader | 2.9k

Rating: PG/PG-13

Genre: Romance, Slice of Life

Warning: None; It’s purely plot-less, domestic fluff with like a sprinkling of angst. Maybe some language.

Cross posted to ao3. Enjoy!

In hindsight, you’d both felt a change coming.

There wasn’t a single instance, nor any regularity. It was just there, wriggling under the surface; a feeling that something was going to change.

You couldn’t place when it had started. Perhaps enough small changes had begun happening in your and Seokjin’s personal and professional lives that it put you on edge. Perhaps it was nothing more than paranoia. You weren’t conscious of this feeling all the time. It would hit you when your mind wasn’t occupied; during your morning commute or while between clients at work, suddenly you would be wistfully overcome by thoughts of change. Of course, you never shared these feelings with your husband because they were silly. Unverifiable. Definitely paranoia.

Until one day. Morning showers were the worst, but the one this morning had been strangely cathartic. Soothing. The combination of scents, warm water, and your favorite indie playlist put you in a reflective mood. Your thoughts ran wild, and before you knew it you felt the familiar weight settle in your chest. It wasn’t that your thoughts of change were always melancholic, in fact, they rarely were. But change was scary, whether it was good or bad. It often meant losing something, even if something was also gained. But as you dried your hair and brushed your teeth, you realize that marriage had been a monumental change. It had changed just about everything, but now you had Seokjin and he had you. If a change were on the horizon, whether it was bitter or sweet, you felt better knowing that neither of you would go through it alone. You felt your mind relax as you finished up your routine.

Seokjin was already in the kitchen when you finished dressing for work, scooping generous helpings of rice into your bowls. He’d already set the table, the usual spread of banchan and breakfast soup in place. You asked if he wanted coffee, getting down two cups just in case. He hummed his approval and you retrieved two packets of instant coffee, filling each cup with hot water from the fancy hot water maker you got as a wedding gift.

It wasn’t every day that you ate breakfast together. Some mornings you left without eating at all while others Seokjin prepared something for the both of you to eat at your respected offices. But the best mornings were the ones when you both ate together, even if it required both of you to wake up earlier than you liked. On his days off, Seokjin could easily sleep ten hours. You weren’t far behind. Usually, you ate in easy silence and this morning was no different. Seokjin ate heartily but you picked at your food, oddly nauseous at the taste of seaweed soup. Instead, you drank your coffee and scrolled through Twitter, catching up on stories you’d missed from the night before.

When it came time for you to head out to work, you remembered your shower thoughts. For the first time, your lingering thoughts on change felt accessible, more real in a way, and you felt okay to share them. Paranoia be damned. Before you could stop yourself, you broke the silence by getting your husband's attention.

Seokjin looked up at you while he finished chewing. His brows quirked.

There was no reason to be nervous, but you hesitated. You hadn’t shared these thoughts yet for a reason, as dumb as that reason might be outside of your head. Ah. Whatever. It isn’t like Seokjin and you don’t take turns exasperating each other with some pretty stupid thoughts periodically. When had he ever judged you for anything you’d said? Never. Stupid, serious or otherwise. “I feel like…like some big change is coming for us. I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately. Does that make sense?”

Seokjin swallowed and chuckled, looking away to add a clump of seasoned bean sprouts to his rice. “Hmm. Honestly, I’ve been feeling like that too. Work’s been harder to deal with than usual, but it’s not just that, you know.”

You perk up. “Right? I can’t put my finger on it either, but it’s a strange sense of- not dread or apprehension but…”

Seokjin chuckles around another mouthful. “I’m sure if you name enough synonyms, you’ll land on the right one.”

“Shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You get what I’m trying to say.”

“I do, jagiya. I’m with you.”

With the conversation more or less at its end, you feel satisfied at having gotten it off your chest. He was feeling it too, so there was no need to think of it anymore. You tried to eat more of your breakfast, but your appetite just wasn’t there. Rather than continue picking at it, you dump out your soup and make a rice ball with some banchan and stick it in your lunch bag. Maybe you’ll want it later.

“You sure you’re okay taking the bus today?” You ask, running your fingers through your husband’s short brown hair. He sighs and leans into your touch, humming in affirmation.

“You need it more today, so it’s decided. I’ll be stuck at my desk all day regardless.”

“Okay,” you coo, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“You okay? You didn’t eat much.”

You smile into your kiss. “Don’t worry, about me. I’m gonna head out then. I love you, baby. See you tonight.”

Turned his chair around, he wrapped an arm around you middle and pulled you to his side. He smiled up at you and closed his eyes, pursing his lips expectantly. You rolled your eyes again before relenting, meeting his mouth halfway. Your husband was a ham. A handsome, handsome ham of a man.

You were lucky not to work a corporate job that required your absolute devotion for ten plus hours a day. Everyone in your office consistently left work at 6pm unless there was an outing. Because of that you always arrived home at least two hours before Seokjin every night. It used to drive you crazy, but over time, through trial and error, you found a rhythm that worked. It wasn’t perfect. But it worked for you for the most part.

On your way back, you stopped at both of your favorite chicken place and ordered one spicy bone-in meal and one sweet boneless meal to appease both of your tastes. You were thankful you’d taken the car this morning. Your appetite hadn’t returned until way after lunchtime and while you waited at the restaurant for your order, surrounded by the smell of frying chicken, you were ravenous. In the safety of the car, you had the privacy to pick at the chicken wings without attracting attention. Seokjin surely wouldn’t miss one of his sweet chicken bites. Not when his selfless wife had so generously brought it home for him.

Your light feelings quickly became unease, however, when you noticed Seokjin’s shoes by the front door when you got home. You weren’t much later than usual. How could he already be home?

And, where was he? You expected him to be in your living room or kitchen, but he wasn’t in either. You set the chicken down on the counter and heading through the hall to check the bathroom. When you rounded the corner, you noticed the bedroom door open. The lights were off, but the curtains hadn’t been drawn. The lights from the city illuminating the room enough for you to notice the large lump in the bedding.

“Seokjin?”

The lump shifted, turning over to the other side until you caught a glimpse of your husbands’ face, his eyes glistening in the low light. He’d been crying. Your breath hitched at the sight. You felt your throat close up as you eased into the room, apprehension and fear increasing the beat of your heart. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

A pained look crossed Seokjin’s face. He cleared his throat and pulled the comforter down to his chest, crossing his arms. His face looked pale and even though he wasn’t crying you could see the dried paths marking his cheeks. Your heart clinched as you sat down beside him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.

He sighed wetly. “I was fired today.” He sounded resigned. Matter of fact.

But his words took a second to reach you. And when they did it was like a bombshell. Fired? An anxious unease settled into your stomach.

“Shit.”

He laughs without humor. “I know. They…they didn’t even do it privately either. One moment I’m sitting at my desk working on a project…which, oh shit, I realize I won’t see finished, fuck. And… and the next moment, my supervisor and his supervisor are at my desk. They want me to explain why xyz wasn’t done yet. Like that was my responsibility. Then I’m being chewed out and cursed at for being the reason my team’s performance was so low.” Seokjin’s tone takes an angry turn. “They accused me of insubordination, laziness, fuck, I don’t remember what else, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What the whole damn office was hearing.”

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. You continued stroking his shoulder, giving him time to continue if there was more. There was. He had a lot to get off his chest. You’d heard much of it before, but some details and the exact words of his bosses were new. New and infuriating.

“Assholes,” you bite out. “You’re better off without them.”

He groans. “I know, I know, but what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“You’ll find another job, Seokjin. Besides, we’re fine. We’ll be fine for a while.”

He grew quiet again. Not looking at you, his brow puckered like he was deep in thought. He looked troubled and if you were honest, you were kind of freaking out as well. He’d never liked his job, but it paid well. You really enjoyed your job, but the pay alone would never be enough to afford your current lifestyle. And neither of you lived by any definition of extravagant. You bit your lip as your thoughts began to spiral to a place of uncertainty and dread. You couldn’t show any of that right now though, as easily as it would have been to join in on his tears, now wasn’t the time. He needed you to be the rock.

When he continued to be silent, you made to lay down on top of the comforter, and he shifted a bit to make space. You were still in your work clothes, but Seokjin didn’t seem to mind the scratchy material of your blazer, laying his head on your shoulder and throwing an arm around your waist, pulling you close. He let out a weighted sigh and you mirrored it.

“It’s a lot right now,” you whisper after a moment. “But I think you’ll be happier in the long run.”

He let out a noise between a scoff and a laugh. “I’m sure you’re right, but I feel like the last few years of my life have been a waste. And those bastards weren’t totally wrong. I’ve been unhappy there for a while and I let it affect my work.”

“All the better that you no longer work there,” you assure him. “And don’t beat yourself up, jagi. They were still wrong for behaving the way they did.”

He hummed, moving his hand up your side to play with strands of your hair that curled over your shoulder. “I just wish,” he said quietly. “that I had some clue what was next. And I wish I had some idea what I wanted. I never expected to be so unhappy there and I hate the thought that I could run into the same problems somewhere else.”

“Just know you're not alone.”

“Do you know anyone else in their thirties who has no idea where their life is taking them?” he asked, incredulous.

You sighed. “I think everyone feels like that at least once, especially people our age. Not everyone is good at saying it. Not everyone is brave enough to say it.”

He hums in response and you wish there was more you could say. But you kept quiet, giving him space to think and process. You two hadn’t met until after college. You’d told him the story of how you’d changed college majors three times, only to get a job in a totally different industry (he’d also heard your parents’ version of the story, nuanced by their mounting exasperation). But hearing the story years after the fact was very different from living those chaotic few years. You also happened to know people who didn’t find their niche in life until they were in their fifties or sixties and they were perfectly happy. Life had no time limit.

“You’ll figure it out, Seokjin. You definitely will.”

He turns his face up to see you better, his smile soft, without any of the bitterness from before.

“What jobs are those? Hmm? There aren’t exactly a ton of jobs seeking eager, extremely handsome applicants with stunning credentials and a perfectly symmetrical face.”

“I don’t know,” you chuckle, running your fingers through his hair. “You listed at least one attribute our appearance-obsessed society uses when considering employees. Twice. I’d say an applicant with those specifications has a pretty good shot.”

“Am I too old to model?” He deadpans suddenly, ignoring your comment.

“Seokjin!” you wheeze.

“What! Answer me, am I?”

“Absolutely, you’re at least ten years too late!”

“Oh damn. You wound me, woman. I was scouted by SM entertainment, you know.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve only heard the story fifty thousand times.”

“I thought they were playing me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I still wonder,” he says, wistful. “If my life would’ve been different. Maybe I can still be an Instagram model?”

You chuckled at the idea. “I think we’re a little behind on the times.”

He laughed brightly into your neck, but his tone was stubborn when he shot back, “You might be, ajumma, but I think of myself as one with youth culture. My best friend is in his early twenties, ya know.” You smacked his shoulder as he dissolved into infectious laugher, soon joining him as the moment dragged on. Between giggles, you both share humorous pictures of a future where Seokjin is a social media influencer. Each one more ridiculous than the last. Finally, as you both began to calm down, Seokjin moved from your chest, laying back on his pillow and turning on his side.

“I still hate not knowing. I like providing for you. I like the idea that I’m building towards something better in the future. It kept me from quitting more than once.” He sighed in frustration. “I just feel like now is a terrible time to get laid off.”

“Is there ever a good time to get laid off?”

He pursed his lips. “Of course not, but I feel like now was a terrible time for me to get laid off.”

“Maybe not. Remember this morning? We’ve both had the weird feeling that change was coming. Maybe this is it.”

“I can’t speak for you, but I for one had been hoping that this change would’ve come with a pay raise or a surprise vacation. Maybe a pet. Not losing my job.”

You rolled over onto your stomach, bracing yourself on your forearms. You took in Seokjin’s tired appearance; his eyes puffy and a little pink but livelier than earlier. He looked up at you in confusion.

“That would’ve been nice,” you finally said, stroking his jaw with your thumb. “But you don’t know. This temporary setback might be just the beginning of something better. They say a door has to close before another opens.”

“Who? Who says that?”

“I just did, so it must be true. Okay, let’s get up. I just remembered I bought dinner on my way home and it’s probably cold and gross now.”

“It’s alright if it’s cold. We’re a single income household at the moment, of course we’re gonna eat it,” Seokjin winks.

“I’ll go preheat the toaster oven then. Do we have any beer?”

Before you can get up, Seokjin cups your face with his hands and pulls you down for a quick kiss. His lips are dry and a little chapped, but you smile into the kiss and kiss him back.

“Thank you, jagiya,” he says, pulling back. “I’m glad I have you.”

You smile, leaning in for a second kiss. “As you should.”

But not as glad as I am to have you.

Seokjin insists on washing his face before dinner, something about his face feeling itchy, so while he does that you preheat the toaster oven. It takes a while to heat up all of your chicken, having to do it in batches because of how freaking small your oven is (but there was no way your foodie of a husband would’ve accepted microwaved fried chicken and you were with him. Fried chicken had to be crispy, dammit!).

After approximately five minutes of waiting, Seokjin wordlessly walks to your fridge, grabs an armful of banchan and leftover rice, and throws together bibimbap to tide you both over until the chicken is done. Bless him, really. It’s delicious like always and you make an off-handed comment about him starting a cooking channel on YouTube.

When he doesn’t respond, you look up and notice him in thought, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Maybe I will.”

#bts #bts fanfction #fluff #btsfanfic #kim seokjin #seokjin #bangtan #kpop #reader insert #domestic fluff

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 5 years

Text

Family Secret or, more accurately, Secret FROM the Family

Diego Hargreeves x reader

Summary: So I’ve fiddled with things because I wanted to write this fic. Short version, Luther is back from the moon because someone broke into the Academy and kinda ransacked the place. Like that bit in the show, he blames Diego and goes to snoop around Diego’s place. Unlike the show, Diego has a girlfriend (reader) that the family doesn’t know about.

Word Count: 1609

They worked nights; it’s part of the reason they worked so well together. Well, more like she worked nights and he periodically worked during the day and spent some night patrolling the streets like an alley cat. Semantics aside, they slept for their eight hours day-side, and spent whatever time was left over together whenever possible. That being said, sometimes he didn’t come home fast enough for her to see him before she went to bed. In those instances, being raised the way he was actually had a perk: he could usually sneak into bed with her without her waking up.

Making this instance all the more suspicious.

Y/N jerked awake when she heard the door to their little backroom jerk open with absolutely none of the care her boyfriend usually had. Blearily, she used her ability to wrap the shadows around her, keeping her concealed from whoever had decided to break into their home. It was a handy little ability that no one but her boyfriend knew about.

The children of the Umbrella may have been the most famous of the 43 that were born with no warning, but there were still 36 others out and about in the world. Many of which had abilities. The remaining without likely just never discovered what theirs was. All that being explained, Y/N was one of the ones that’d figured out what hers was and mastered it: controlling other people’s fears. For example, many people were afraid of the dark, so she could manipulate the shadows. How many people within a radius around her--the one aspect of her power that she’d never tested extensively was exactly what that radius was--determined how strong that particular fear could be manifested.

In this case, she used that control of shadows to completely mask her presence in the already dark room--it was lit only by a lamp not far from the door--from the large man that’d just entered her home. If all went right and she stayed quiet, he wouldn’t notice her until Diego got home. Combat was rarely her thing if she could avoid it, and it was likely that he’d be home from prowling soon. After all, not many people truly feared things that she could use proactively in a fight.

Sure enough, Diego returned about twenty minutes later from what Y/N could judge based on what the clock on the nightstand read. This allowed the strange man time to investigate the tiny apartment.

Little did Y/N know, but the intruder was none other than Diego’s brother, Luther. During his little investigation, he noticed a poster from his brother’s latest fight resting on the desk. Upon reading the date printed, he sighed to himself and made himself at home in the lone chair the apartment had to offer. That poster was all the proof he needed to prove Diego’s innocence, so he felt no further need to investigate the apartment. It was just a waiting game until his brother came home so they could talk.

Diego announced his presence by cracking the door open ever-so-slightly and tossing a knife into the room so that it landed embedded into the wooden post next to Luther’s head.

“What the--” the giant man cut himself off as Diego stepped into view. “You could have killed me!”

Number Two scoffed. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.” Hs harness thumped against the wall as he hung it up. “Besides, if my girlfriend wanted you dead, you would’ve had a heart attack long before I even got home.

“Girl--” Again, he abruptly stopped talking, this time because he suddenly became aware of the woman lying on the bed that was across the room. “What?”

“Didn’t even notice her, huh?” Diego chuckled. “Getting rusty, Number One.”

“Who are you?”

“None of your business, big boy,” Y/N taunted. “You broke into our place. Why the fuck are you here?” If she started pressing an aura of generalized fear on the large man, that was her own business. She was pretty sur Diego knew that she was doing it, too, based off the smirk he tossed her way.

Luther fidgeted, though he was unsure why he was suddenly feeling a creeping feeling of dread twinging at the back of his mind. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a fight that night?” he questioned, leaving the matter of the mysterious woman alone for the moment.

“That’s what this is about?” Diego’s voice carried only pure indignance. “I don’t have to prove my innocence to you.”

Y/N didn’t bother to hide the look of confusion that crossed her face as she looked over at Diego.

Thankfully, he caught the hint and explained. “Number One, here, is convinced that I’m the one that broke into the Academy and vandalized the old man’s office.”

“If you would have just told me--”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

Y/N could see the way Diego clenched his jaw, an indication that he was so upset that his stutter was trying to make an appearance. Her response was to increase the pressure of the aura on Luther. “Get out,” she ordered.

Luther could have sworn that the strange woman’s voice had more than one pitch to it as she gave that command. “Come by the house tomorrow. Mom is making a family dinner.” He ducked his head like a dog that’d just been put in its place as he started to head for the door. “I’ll tell her to set an extra place for your friend.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him with a surprising amount of care.

As soon as he was gone, Diego jogged up the small flight of steps to flick the lock closed. He then smacked the door with the side of his fist in irritation as he sagged forward to rest his head against its wooden surface. The tightness etched into the line of his shoulders prompted her to slink out of bed and approach him. Carefully, she rested her cheek on his back while her arms wrapped around his middle.

One of his hands came up to rest on hers. “Are you okay?” he muttered.

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” she replied in a casual attempt at humor.

He turned around in her grip so he could look at her face. “A gorilla pretending to be a human just broke into the house while you were trying to sleep. Pretend all you want that you’re okay, but I’ve seen enough women in that situation to know better than to think you’re okay.”

“But I’m not like all those women,” she pointed out. “I knew you were going to be home soon. I’ve got my own personal superhero.”

That managed to pry a chuckle out of him. “You are your own superhero.”

“That too. Seriously,” her hand came up to rest on his cheek, “you okay?”

“Just another example of the Hargreeves Parenting Style in action. It can never be ‘just a crime.’ My money’s on it was just a crazy stalker that knew no one was home. It’s a fucking mansion, of course it was gonna get broken into at some point.”

“So the usual problems, got it.”

He hummed his confirmation, resting his chin on her head for a second. “I’m fucking tired.” The ‘of being the punching bag for my dumbass family’ went unsaid, but Y/N knew him well enough to know that it was an underlying thought.

“Then get changed, big guy,” Y/N laughed as she pulled away, trying to keep the mood lighter than his host of family problems were trying to allow. “It might be our day off tomorrow, but I still want to sleep so I can enjoy it.”

Within a matter of minutes, Diego had stripped down to his boxers and was cuddled up with Y/N under the covers. Of course, there were a few minutes before either of them could fall asleep when they could just enjoy being with the other person.

“Are we going to that dinner?” Y/N asked, tracing the bird diego had tattooed on his ribs.

“Mom wants all of us to be there, so I’ll probably go. You don’t have to, but I doubt Luther will keep his mouth shut about you being here tonight.”

“Mmm, is Vanya going?”

“Probably? She’ll go because of Mom, too, if she does.”

“Then I’ll be there,” Y/N decided.

She and Vanya were vague acquaintances from times they’d randomly met at Griddy’s. Late nights in an otherwise empty diner would do that to people: create unusual friendships. Y/N tended to take her lunches as coffee breaks at the donut shop, and Vanya just suffered from insomnia. Of course Y/N knew her from her book--Diego had been pissed when it came out, after all--, but Vanya didn’t know that they were connected outside of their late-night talks. That secrecy was all part of Diego wanting to keep Y/N away from the drama that was his family. All that being said, it’d be good to know someone else there, even if the violinist had no idea beforehand.

“Might as well get everything out in the before your brother starts spreading rumors about the hooker you had stashed away in the backroom of a gym,” she announced.

She expected an indignant ‘I’d never let him talk about you like that’, but a little snore above her alerted her to the fact that he’d nodded off while she was sleeping.

“Night, D,” she chuckled to herself, kissing his chest sweetly before she too nodded off.

A/N: This is all I’ve got for this for now, but I might write that dinner scene in the future when I get back into the Umbrella Academy mood.

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #reader insert #umbrella academy imagine

192 notes · View notes

seitjun · 5 years

Text

take the chance, take the turn

braggvin (mattvin) // 7600+ words // racing au

Description: Running shitty people off is something Matt can claim responsibility for, but it's not Matt's fault that he keeps getting said shitty people to work with. Despite the argument, Geoff isn't having it, and soon, Matt only has one more chance to make it work. In comes someone named Gavin Free.

Extra notes: i am an absolute sucker for this rarepair, please talk to me about it!! also, i highly recommend reading this on AO3 because the notes there explain important terms.

This is posted on AO3 here ! Fic also below the cut.

(one.)

“You can’t keep going off at the team just because they said something you didn’t like, y’know. You’re starting to get a real bad rep, Matthew.”

Geoff’s arms are crossed across his chest and paired with the frown lingering on his lips, he’s not at all happy with Matt’s performance. In a rare instance, Geoff looks more like the owner of a prestigious NASCAR team that he is and less like his usual, sleepy self. On his tongue disappointment is a weapon, sharpened and poised at Matt’s throat.

They’re sat at a local bar in Florida, the location of the first race of the season, and they converse in a corner booth away from everyone else. The pit crew and other close friends had left already after a socially acceptable amount of congratulations on Matt’s win; their excuses all danced around the same reasoning of busy schedules, but no one could ignore the weight of the mounting tension between the two heads. One by one they had left, until it left just Matt and Geoff sitting across each other on opposing sides.

“It’s not cheap to run a team, ‘specially if I gotta run interference on your ass 90% of the time,” says Geoff. And if it wouldn’t land his ass in even hotter water, Matt would’ve fucked off by now – this is Geoff’s usual speech, his opening line. Matt knows the whole spiel by now, but he likes his job enough to keep silent. Even kind Geoff could be pushed past his limits. “That’s the fifth crew chief you’ve ran out in two seasons. Two! I can’t just pick any hire up from the street to be in this position.”

Matt stifles the huff that threatens to escape him, already feeling tired of the conversation. He knows that Geoff is only looking out for him – has been, ever since he was recruited by luck in that empty raceway he called home. There’s only so much a driver with a celebrity status can do before people start to turn heads and watch every action with scrutinizing eyes. Matt can’t act how he wants, and sometimes it takes a stern reminder from Geoff.

“You know I’m not trying to get a bad rep on purpose, Geoff,” Matt mumbles. He hunches over to hide, and his arms wrap around himself; he can’t find it in him to make eye contact with Geoff, not when he knows that Geoff is still always right about this topic. “You should’ve heard the guy anyway. He sounded so fuckin’ condescending!” Matt’s eyes set into a glare at the thought of the crew chief earlier, staring off into nothing. “What was he expecting? For me to listen to him when I know he’s wrong and an asshole?”

He doesn’t manage to bite back the scathing words in time, overwhelmed with the irritation and annoyance from the crew chief he made resign. By the time that Geoff has a hand at his head, thumb pressing to his temple, Matt is too late to realize that he’s stepped out of line already.

There’s a brief moment of silence that reigns between them. Cold and exhausted and foreboding – neither of them want to deal with this.

“You’re a good driver, Matthew, I’ll give you that. You won the opening race today,” Geoff finally says clippedly. He pauses as finishes the dregs of his soda, before the metal can clatters as he slams it down on the table between them, every emotion of his hiding behind the force. “But you’re acting like a brat. This wasn’t the Matthew I hired all those years ago.”

Geoff pauses there. His eyes fall shut, and Matt can see the way Geoff’s shoulders tremble as he tries to calm down – deep breath in, deep breath out. It repeats over and over again. Geoff has never wanted to be an angry man, and Matt feels guilt twist inside him for pushing Geoff so far.

It’s minutes later when Geoff opens his eyes again, looking like his usual, sleepy self again. The NASCAR team owner is a tiring personality to play, Matt knows, after being Geoff’s driver for years now. He also knows that Geoff isn’t as angry about the issue now, just more concerned, and it bleeds through in the way his brows furrow and his lips frown.

The years in this business haven’t always been kind to Geoff, and Matt can feel the beginnings of an apology on his lips.

“Get your act together. I called in an old friend of mine, Gavin Free, to act as your crew chief for the next race. You’re lucky he doesn’t know about your reputation,” Geoff informs him. Quiet, subdued. Unsettling. “Do me a favor, Matt, and try not run this one off. He’s a good friend, a better crew chief. He’ll lead you well through the rest of the season if you’d let him.”

Matt just stays silent, sobered up by the conversation. The name Gavin Free runs through his head.

(two.)

"Testing, testing. 1, 2, 3. Can you hear me, Matt?"

Matt shifts in his seat, adjusting the headset as he does so and clicks the 'Connect' button on his end, makes sure that voice is enabled at all times. He doesn’t want to put in the extra effort of clicking a button to speak each time "I hear you loud and clear. You hearing me alright?"

"Perfect!" Gavin giggles from his end, and a small sound of shuffling papers follow him. "We only have a little bit until we have to line up. Thank god you have an easy number to remember for pole position, but it does give us less time to talk really. You ready for this race?"

Matt tugs on his racing gloves and fixes up his driving suit with a soft scoff, his hands fiddling with the wrinkled spots. Less of a necessity and more of a self-comforting gesture, it's habit by now as a way to calm himself down before he gets hit with too much nervous adrenaline. "I've raced this circuit plenty of times. I'm more than ready, and I already know how to maneuver this track well. It's one of my favorites.”

There’s no clear reply to his message, just this small hum of acknowledgement, and something about it is already setting his short fuse on fire. Maybe it’s from learning to expect the worst from crew chiefs or the presence of a new person leading him, but suddenly, it feels like a slight against him. It plays a flashback to all those other crew chiefs he hated, but at least previous ones acknowledged him. What if this is a way to put him down by ignoring him?

He can’t bite his tongue. Can’t help but let the words escape: "Y'know, if you have something to say, you can say it. I'll be pissed if it's condescending, but I can't reach you until the end of the race at least."

To Matt's surprise and indignation, that manages to pull a short bark of laughter from Gavin just as squeaky as his normal voice. "Appreciate the honesty, mate. But genuinely, I don't really have much to say in response, and I was mulling what you said over anyway. As much as I appreciate Geoff for trusting in my ability to lead you, he's...forgotten that I haven't been to this track in a while," Gavin confesses. "It's good you know your way around here. I'll try my best to improve on your own tricks, just keep me in the loop if you do something more reckless, yeah?"

And Matt - he feels a funny twist of an ache in his chest at how easy Gavin's taken his words in stride. Meant to be challenging as a way to pull out the crew chief's hidden agenda towards him, piss him off while at it, Matt's unsure on what to do with a crew chief who's willing to work with him. His brain fizzles to a halt long enough that he misses the announcement for the cars to get into their lineups. It takes a knock on his window from one of his pit crew members to get his head on straight again.

"Oh, fuck, shit," he curses under his breath. That earns another laugh from Gavin's end, but it's not...condescending. Just genuninely amused. It's enough to leave Matt even more flustered and confused about this new crew chief of his that he wants to hate but can't seem to do so as easily like the others. He tries to play his bluster off, just grumbling, "This better not be a sign of how the race is gonna go. Not after I got pole position in the the Florida race..."

// // //

"Christ, I forget how exhausting watching cars race 85 laps is. People pay to watch this entire thing, and I'm still baffled by it, honestly."

Matt rolls his eyes from his seat, glad that Gavin would never know about the action. As much as it’s nice to not be constantly demeaned or ordered by a crew chief, Gavin as a crew chief means a different sort of talking -- the sort that involves inane hypotheticals and fluff filling in space where silence would be. He can't deny that he's more appreciative of this type of crew chief, but it’s grating on his nerves. All Matt wants right now is to focus.

He grunts as he turns down Gavin's volume. Not all the way or else Geoff will have his ass for being disrespectful towards the crew chief again , but just enough that he can process his own thoughts again. It's amazing how much easier it is to function when he can focus on his driving and not the mindless chatter of a charmingly idiotic man.

Taking a deep breath, he peers at the rest of his competition in front of him. His starting position hadn't been all for naught, but a sense of failure is starting to bubble up inside him; he's led about a quarter of the race laps already, but it means nothing when he's been pushed back to third position for the last ten or so. He knows that the two drivers in front of him can catch up quickly to his amount of leading laps, and if he wants to qualify into the final race, he has to be the first to cross the line.

The rumbling of his car is the loudest thing he can hear, and Matt barely manages to hear the announcers' voice from the watchtower as he crosses the line for another time: "5 laps remaining! Looks like Risinger is still in first and Gibson in second. They may be heading the rest of this race, but Bragg looks to be still hot on their tail! Can he overcome them and keep his pole position?"

Matt scowls, and his foot pushes harder on his pedal. It's becomes more dangerous as he nears the end, knows that if he doesn't up his game now, then he's only going to lose. His eyes dart around as he turns around the bend, trying to find any way to squeeze past Gibson, maybe Risinger if he’s lucky enough to catch them in a bad maneuver – even just one or two more leading laps might be enough to score him more points than them.

He’s tunnel visioning, but it's when he turns around the next curve of the race – sees the familiar indicator of a new lap on the other side of their current position – that his radio crackles to even more life. Distracts him completely so from reaching his zone.

"Matt! Matt! Can you hear me? Hellooo?"

With a huff, he turns up the volume again with some regret. "'Course I can! But I'm currently busy right now, trying to get ahead of these two, and I can't answer any bullshit questions!"

"It's not bullshit questions, first off, they’re curious situations. And second, I’m gonna tell you how to take over second position, you smegpot!" There's a shuffling sound of papers following after Gavin's exclamation. "Okay, second position? Fast driver but always way too cautious! People always fight for the inner track during turns, but Gibson doesn't always. He might play it safe next turn, so try to speed up there."

Matt raises a brow - Gavin noticed that? Even for a crew chief, things like that were difficult to spot; applying it was even more so, when racing was never stagnant. It's a dangerous suggestion, bordering on an assumption with less-than-ideal proof. Any other driver would be adverse to it, rather take the third position as a safety option and choose to hedge their bets on racing better during the next qualifying race.

“You know that’s always dangerous, speeding too fast during a turn?” Matt says, as if danger isn’t his hobby and his muse. “Might spin out of control if I’m not careful.”

“What? You don’t wanna do it? Thought that was your thing, toeing the line being competent and being a madman.”

Matt scoffs. His foot is already set to push down on the foot pedal when the turn comes. “You’d be surprised how blurred the line is between them.”

And that’s answer enough for Gavin, the way his amused hum sounds out over the radio. They both know that Matt's never been one of those other drivers; what else could the data of resigned crew chiefs dictate? “Better prove it to me then!"

Gavin’s words only brings a wild grin to his lips, and suddenly, Matt’s car is shooting forward towards second position as fast as his adrenaline is rising. Any sign of nervousness is imperceptible behind the excitement of such a plan, and then he's honing, honing, honing in-

His car's tire screeches against the road, high and shrill as he takes that turn too fast, too messily. He's usually more graceful than this, but he can't find it in himself to care, this little bit of recklessness, when there's only one car in front of him instead of two; a quick glance at the rearview mirror and an ear trained towards the audience only confirms his success.

“And would you look at that? Ramsey’s driver is proving himself once again, to be one of biggest threats of the competition. That was one hell of a maneuver there,” the announcers chuckle.

"Woohoo, Matt! That was both the world's shittiest and best turn ever!" Gavin exclaims, and the radio crackles with the volume. “Not too shabby, honestly.”

"Shut the fuck up, Gavin," Matt says, but he's grinning too much to feel any real bitterness. His heart is still beating fast from the rush, and the surprise from the crowd only fuels it. Second position is miles better than third, but he's still gunning for first. "Look, you got any more of that shit for first position? Any way to pass him by?"

"Why, Matthew, I thought you'd never ask." Matt can practically hear the cheshire grin that must be playing on Gavin's lips. "You sure your car can handle the last laps without that original pit stop? Because I'm going to need you to go as fast as you can."

And well, what else can Matt do but go full speed? After all, it's what the crew chief requested of him to do.

(three.)

"Your time's getting well fast! Faster by .046 seconds, and pushing about .28 miles per hour faster," Gavin informs Matt after jogging up to the driver’s window with statistics about his most recent practice lap. “Still awful using US conversions, but I suppose it’s meant to help you and not me, innit?”

“ Well fast ,” Matt mocks. He rolls his eyes at the other as he puts the brakes on, but he doesn’t say anything else against the comment; not because he refuses to agree with Gavin, not at all, but because it’s off topic. Definitely. “And random opening line, but alright. That’s not a bad improvement at all though.”

“Definitely not! We’ll just have to see though if you can keep it up in the actual race. Consistency is key here,” Gavin says with an excited, little grin. He looks over his notepad where he’s been keeping track of Matt’s statistics before he nods with a hum, circling the most recent time and speed. He looks at the rows of numbers with something almost akin to pride unknowingly, and Matt has to look away at the sight.

Ever since the second race of the season, when Geoff had first introduced Gavin with barely more than his name and Gavin had won him first place in that qualifying race, Matt’s been getting used to the guy. ‘Like’ is still far too strong of a word, but...tolerate is acceptable. That's what Matt’s been doing, and it’s easier than he had thought.

Gavin’s talkative, excessively so if you let him ramble on for more than necessary, but Matt can concede that Gavin’s also interesting . Makes the constant, random conversations less of a drag and entertains Matt enough on most races, if Gavin being clumsy or easily confused hasn’t already. It helps that their humor meshes well, and it makes Matt feel a little less lonely in the driver’s seat.

(It’s also nice to have a partner in crime to bicker with Geoff together. Every day they spend together, Matt swears he can see Geoff’s eyes slowly turn more regretful at introducing them to each other.)

Much more important though, and the only thing Matt would voice out willingly: Gavin understands him as a driver. And that’s not something that Matt say about the past crew chiefs he’s had to work with, remembering how they refused to work with him first. Expecting Matt to bend to their whims, to not retaliate, is like expecting a cat not to claw you after bothering it.

The crew chief has sway over the driver, but it’s in the driver’s hands to make all the choices. Skilled or famed, a crew chief isn’t worth shit if their driver doesn’t want to work with them. Matt’s already had his fair share of them, and he can’t deny that getting Gavin was lucky.

How Gavin knows that, for the most part, Matt is independent; he’s a person who hates forceful orders, likes to do things the way he does whether it’s because of familiarity or adrenaline. Gavin knows the types of maneuvers that Matt prefers, his limit on his skill and execution, his pit stop habits, and even the right words to say when a race is getting tougher than either of them expected. He’s not like any of those stuffy chiefs either, intent on winning for their own reputation and nothing else.

“Right, that’s enough laps for now, yes?”

Matt lets out a distracted noise as he’s pulled out of his thoughts, and he tries to ignore the slight burning of his cheeks. Spending that much thought on Gavin, of all people, feels like a crime. “Wh-What? Already?”

Gavin cocks a brow, and he must be wondering what’s gone wrong with Matt. Matt’s thinking the same, if he’s being honest; he doesn’t know why Gavin is making him feel so much more flustered than usual – why he’s putting in more thought about the man.

“I think it really is time for a break then. It’s almost lunch, Matthew!” Gavin clicks his tongue, and an expression akin to concern is brewing in his eyes. It twists something inside Matt’s chest, deep behind his ribs. “You’re usually sighing at me and cheering on ‘bout how it was finally time. Is there a problem bothering you or summat?”

Matt doesn’t answer immediately, looking up at Gavin with furrowed brows. His chest is feeling funny with how his heart is racing, faster than even his own car out on the track, and he can’t find the words to explain what’s wrong. Something has to be wrong, since he’s feeling all of these weird things. They’re new experiences, and the unknown of it is unsettling. Absolutely mortifying.

But he doesn’t think he can explain it to Gavin – not right now, at least, or maybe even never – so he doesn’t. “Nah, just got distracted there for a moment,” Matt responds. He’s aiming for casual as he gives a lazy shrug and smile, even when he feels the farthest thing from it. “I was busy wondering about how lucky I am to not get that nose of yours.”

“Huh?! H-Hey, that’s a low blow, Matthew, and you know it!”

And Matt just barely listens as he steps out of his car. This odd, little background noise of his crew chief grumbling and slinging half-assed insults, he tries not to think again about the real reason why he’s so lucky.

(Gavin doesn’t need the ego boost, if he’s being frank.)

(four.)

It’s after hours, the bustling crowd that comes with a race already having fizzled out hours ago. With it went the noisy cheers and announcements to leave behind an unsettling quiet. There’s a single, dingy light operating in the garage, and dust particles move in a flurry as Matt gestures wildly.

“Look, I don’t understand why you’re so fucking mad at me.” Matt sighs as he rubs at his temple, a small headache already throbbing at his forehead. “Did I do something wrong somehow? I won the race, I worked with you, and hell, even Geoff seemed happy! Why are you pissed?”

Gavin throws his hands up with an annoyed noise, as if retaliation for Matt’s current ire. He looks tired, even more so than Matt, and maybe if they hadn’t been locked in this stupid argument, Matt would care more. Certainly not now, though. A fight is a fight, especially a sudden one like this.

“I’m not mad, I’m just trying to get you to understand my perspective,” says Gavin, a tightness to his voice that usually isn’t present. He sounds like he’s struggling to keep himself civil and calm, and despite Matt’s irritation, a sliver of dread creeps up on him – no one’s ever really seen Gavin genuinely mad.

Matt tries his best to match Gavin’s own struggle. Whether it’s for the sake of his own composure or the bubbling fear at the thought of a truly angry Gavin, he doesn’t know. He just replies, in a clipped tone in an awful attempt at calm, “You’re not really explaining it to me, Gav. What is it? Why’d you get mad at me?”

He watches how Gavin seems to splutter at that, flustered and frustrated because that's the thing – Matt knows Gavin can’t explain his side well. Words have never been Gavin’s forte, and it only gets worse when he’s emotional. Combine it with confrontation, and it’s a recipe for a complete and utter disaster.

Gavin’s lips purse together, his arms coming together to cross in front of his chest. Defensive, secretive. Unsure . Eventually, something clicks in his brain enough for Gavin to explain with, “You were a prat today. A complete, cocking idiot.”

And okay . That’s one way to explain things, albeit useless as all hell. Something might have clicked, but not enough to actually move the conversation forward. It rests on Matt to figure out the rest, he supposes.

“I...Okay, so I’m an idiot, meaning I probably did something stupid?” Matt looks questioningly at Gavin; he gets a nod back, meaning he’s right on that front and also slightly offended. But whatever he did anyway, it must have been on the track during the race. “Was it a driving maneuver I did?” Another question, another nod.

Matt sighs, scrubbing the front of his face with his hands — there’s no counting how many kinds of maneuvers he’s made in today’s race, how is he supposed to know which one pissed Gavin off? It’s starting to get to him, this conversation. He just wants to be back in their hotel room to sleep off the day’s weariness, before they’d have to be running around for work again.

“Look, can you just tell me which one? Describe it just a little, for fuck’s sake, and I’ll figure out the rest!” Matt is exhausted. Gavin must be too. It sucks like all hell for the both of them. “You probably want this talk to be finished as much as I do.”

That earns him a glare from Gavin, but Matt can’t find it in himself to care about that. He just stands there, slightly looming over Gavin in a slow countdown of his waning patience – waiting, waiting, waiting for an answer.

(And he does, even when he feels like the last thread of his patience is gone, because this is Gavin . Gavin, who he can’t lose as a crew chief after the previous failures and definitely not because he inexplicably has a soft spot for him. It’s all Geoff’s fault, putting him in this situation.)

“It was during the last lap,” Gavin says with a huff. “You were stressed, because you were in fifth position, and you were right by third and fourth. You didn’t know if you’d qualify for the next race if you got fifth.”

Matt’s brows furrow. “Okay, yeah, that’s about right? It turned out I did qualify, even in fifth, but wh—”

“You did a shite manuever! One that I told you not to do, and you didn’t listen!” Gavin interrupts, hands flying into the air. “I usually don’t care if you ignore me, because I trust you to do the right moves, but that? That was real dumb of you, Matthew!”

“You’re still not fucking explaining it to me! What made that one move shitty compared to all the other things I did, huh?!”

“Because you could’ve been hurt!”

Matt doesn’t reply. He’s busy giving a confused look, brows furrowed before oh – and now looking wide-eyed, like a doe trapped in headlights at the sudden declaration from Gavin’s side. He’s caught up in the twisted frown on Gavin’s lips and the watery, concerned expression of his eyes.

He can’t find the right words to say, if there are any to begin with.

Gavin seems to take the silence as a cue to keep talking, his fingers fiddling with a loose stray on his sleeve. “It’s just...you were panicking. And you were desperate to move up a place, so you tried to take over fourth, but you were too close. I tried to tell you that there wasn’t enough distance even if you matched its speed, that you wouldn’t have a chance at all to get a higher place, not unless you wanted to...y’know. Cause an accident. It was too reckless, and you only got out safely, because the others knew what you were doing and distanced themselves. I–”

He finally pauses, realizes his entire jumble of words, and he seems to deflate. His shoulders sag with his head looking down and anger dissipating like steam. Gavin looks small like this.

And Matt – he can’t help but do the same, a heated feeling of shame boiling inside him. All along, Gavin was irritated, because Matt was being reckless. The worst type of idiot that he could have been on the racetrack. “Fuck, goddamit, Gavin,” Matt starts, already intent on berating himself.

He hates admitting defeat as much as anyone else does, especially to Gavin of all people, but this isn’t like their usual arguments; they were all bicker and banter, the easiest way for them to communicate with each other. This is Gavin, rarely rattled and always unbothered, confessing a fear that only luck and others’ competency managed to impede on.

“Gav–”

Gavin interrupts him near instantly. “Look, I know you like to choose what moves to do and when, and I support it. But only when I know that you can get out of it safely, if it’s compromised,” Gavin explains. Matt does his best to listen completely. “What you did was reckless and selfish back there, and that's saying a lot coming from me, Matthew. I’m your crew chief, and I’m a well lenient one, but...what’s the point if you won’t listen when I need you to?”

He sighs, tired. “I know how these things go. I wouldn’t be a crew chief if I didn’t know all this shite about racing.”

Matt understands now, or at least he thinks he does. He remembers Geoff’s words a long time ago in that local bar and all of the crew chiefs he’s run off without giving it a second thought. How he didn’t listen to either of them once, and only to Geoff when it was serious enough to warrant Geoff to use his authority card. How his own attitude didn’t help the crew chiefs, even if he did think they deserved it.

Watching Gavin stand in front of him now, defeatist nature in plain view with his shrunken stature, Matt feels the searing heat of mortification behind his cheeks. He really has been an idiot, hasn’t he?

Before he can stop himself or subject himself to another of Gavin’s interruptions, Matt reaches out for Gavin – tucks him in close in a tight hug. Chest to chest, his arms fully looping around, and his face pressing against the top of Gavin’s head. He hopes it’s enough for Gavin to see how much Matt, touch averse and always playfully mean towards him, means his next words.

“Sorry for being a prat today,” Matt mumbles into the mess labeled Gavin’s hair. He tries not to think too much about how quickly Gavin had clung onto him, how Gavin is holding onto him so tightly as if letting go meant Matt would disappear. Tries not to focus on the swell of guilt that rises and lodges itself in the back of his throat. “I...should’ve been more careful.”

A brief silence travels between them, and for a moment, Matt thinks that Gavin is about to scold him again. Except he soon feels the way hesitant arms wrap around him, slow and unsure, and the warmth that surrounds him; then the feeling of a nose poking at his collarbone from a face in hiding, and Matt can’t resist it.

“Is offering me your nose a sign we’re good now? I mean, I still wouldn’t want to carry that nose around, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“Matt, you prick! We were having a moment!”

“Not sorry, Gav,” Matt laughs, his heart feeling lighter when he hears British insults and a tentative smile cross Gavin’s lips. He lets himself have this, not hiding how every system is alive at this shared moment between them.

Something more than a just a simple moment, something less than what it could be.

(five.)

“Last few races, we’ve been getting a little unlucky, but I think it’s going to change this time.” Gavin’s confident statement makes Matt cock an eyebrow, looking at the other with an expression of ‘Okay, and where is this going?’ He barely budges when Gavin slugs a weak punch towards his shoulder. “Look, I’m just saying! I feel like you’ll win this one, cross my heart.”

“That’s a lot of pressure on me, dude,” Matt says. He rummages through his personal locker in the garage, grumbling while he does so, to look for his race suit today. “Also, I dunno. Tom’s racing with me today, and he got pole position, like he always fuckin’ does. Asshole.” And oh, like a magic word, insulting Tom leads to Matt finally finding his race suit.

Gavin giggles from his seat on the bench next to where Matt is standing by his locker, casually swinging his legs. “It’s the rivalry of a lifetime, innit? Tom’s always so nice though, it’s a shame. At least it’ll feel good when you crush him into a pulp after this race!”

“Jesus Christ, Gav…”

Matt’s concern over his crew chief’s joy at inflicting such damage on Tom doesn’t abate, but it is put on hold momentarily. Pushes it to the backburner in his brain to focus on suiting up this troublesome outfit. This troublesome position, rival. This terrifying race. He feels jittery.

It takes more time than it should with how stiff and plasticy-seeming the suit is, thanks to the fireproof nature for the sake of safety. He bites his lower lip in concentration as he slips it up his legs and pushes his arms through, trying to find the zipper in the mass of fabric. But he can’t seem to hold onto it, grip clammy with building sweat, and his thoughts are spiralling. He’s distracted.

“Matt, love, you alright?”

Gavin’s voice is quiet and low, a stark difference from his usual tone. Matt can’t find it in himself to say much, just lifts his head for his gaze to meet Gavin’s worried own. He opens his mouth and shuts it, open-close, open-close, until he just shakes his head. His hands are trembling.

“Oh, love, you’re really nervous for this race, aren’t you?” Gavin’s hands are soft as it sneaks its way into Matt’s own, their fingers twining with each other’s. He gives a gentle squeeze, and Matt swears that he’s stopped breathing. His eyes are wide, heart racing fast, and he’s feeling off-kilter for a completely different reason now. “C’mon, talk to me, Matthew.”

Matt tries, being left speechless for a moment, as his gaze unwavers from Gavin’s; he wonders if his cheeks are lighting up pink. “I, uh, it’s...just the race, yeah,” he barely stammers out. It takes him longer than it should to get his brain in working order, to try and push past how warm and perfect-fitting Gavin’s hands are. Definitely just the race making him nervous. “Tom’s been my rival forever, and he won the last two championships. I wanna knock him off his pedestal, but...I’m kinda fucking that up right now.”

“What? What are you on about? You haven’t done anything to cock anything up! Just ‘cos you’re not in first and he is doesn’t mean you’ve lost already.”

And yes, that’s true, but overthinking doesn't believe in that – brain, meet the awful, invasive thoughts. “I’ve made it pretty damn hard to win though! And I always find some way to fuck something up, and I’m just gonna watch Tom win again, because–!”

“Because nothing, Matthew!” Gavin pulls his hand away to cup Matt’s cheek, to make him look directly at Gavin and the intensity in his eyes. “You’re a bloody amazing driver, and you’re going to do good in the race. You can’t count yourself out already!”

Matt lets out a low, pained noise. His insecurity is rearing its head, and for the first time in a long while, he feels unconfident in his driving. And as much as he loves Tom as a friend, having Tom as a rival feels like a nightmare at times. “You literally can’t guarantee that, Gavin.”

Gavin huffs, squishing Matt’s cheek. “Okay, fine, you’re right. But I can guarantee that you’ll do your best,” he reassures, “plus, I might have someway to motivate you. Did you know that I actually came out of my mini retirement on Geoff’s behalf to lead you?”

“Hold on, retirement? From what? Geoff never fuckin’ told me!” Matt’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth falling open. That’s complete news to him, and the shock diverts his attention from his useless feelings. “And what does that have to do with motivation?”

That earns Matt a quick roll of the eyes and a soft flick to his forehead. “That’s ‘cos I don’t let Geoff tell people. I retired after a nasty incident on the raceway– hey, don’t look so shocked! Most crew chiefs were former drivers, y’know!” Gavin pouts when he sees a starstruck look enter Matt’s expression, and he tries to hide his pinkening face. “Anyway...a few races ago, Tom and I had a lil’ chat. Turns out he knew my past, and he, uh, tried to hire me for next season.”

Matt blinks. Processes the words, because oh , that’s even more news to him; when had Tom find the time to talk to Gavin in private? And who does Tom think he is that he can waltz in, trying to snap up Gavin for himself? That’s abso-fucking-lute bullshit, in Matt’s eyes. His eyes narrow in a glare, a canine slightly bared as ‘pissed off’ overtakes the ‘nervous’ setting.

“Woah, woah, woah! Calm down, love,” Gavin soothes. He brushes his thumb over Matt’s cheek, these slow and soft motions, and Matt huffs as he calms down.. “I turned him down anyway. I’m your crew chief, first and foremost. Not anyone else’s.”

Gavin brings Matt close to rest their foreheads against each other’s, and Matt can’t deny how nice it feels. That, and the knowledge that Gavin is loyal to him – calls himself his crew chief, like an unintentional claim for Matt. It barely settles down the bristling feeling inside him.

Matt brings his hands up to rest on Gavin’s hips, pressing fingertips into the shirt. “Still doesn’t change that Tom tried to steal you. Fuck my previous words, I am going to crush Tom in this race,” Matt glowers. He can’t help but turn his head towards the garage opposite his where said rival is preparing in, only slightly trying to burn Tom with his glare. “He has his own fuckin’ crew chief, greedy bastard!”

Gavin rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, this wild and fiery thing at the sight of Matt’s soul searing again. “That’s the spirit! Fight for me, Matthew!” He pumps his fist in the air, and he does a little dance to go alongside it; bright and peppy, it makes Matt’s heart soar at how adorable the sight is.

Now, he’s given two reasons to fight harder. To force those insecurities down and drive like there’s no tomorrow in today’s race. Damn right he’s going to do exactly that.

“Chin up, Matthew,” Gavin says. He moves to zip up the rest of Matt’s racesuit, presses together the velcro collar, and smoothes out the wrinkles that formed. His hands don’t move from Matt’s shoulder, and his eyes are brimming with belief for a win today. “I really can feel our luck turning around this race. Trust me on that, yeah? I’m your crew chief, after all.”

And Matt listens.

(six.)

Trust goes far. Extremely so.

If anyone asks Matt about the last few laps of the race, he’ll give an honest answer – he can’t remember much but bits and pieces. The important parts of the race, in his eyes, at least.

Like the fears that lingered for most of the last few laps. The fear of being so close but still so far, of being not enough despite his attempts; he’d been racing for so long, yet with nothing official to show for it yet while Tom had done so twice. Then there’s failing Gavin when he said he’d fight for his crew chief, said with so much conviction, it’d be a shame to fall short. And that’s only the biggest ones. There had been a lot of things on his mind besides driving as he approached the last lap. Maybe not the best time for it, but what could he do now?

The last lap is the messiest memory of them all; there’s the tauntingly familiar back of Tom’s car, decals of every sponsor (far more than Matt’s) littering it and mocking Matt for another loss. It flits in and out of his vision as their struggle for dominance teeters between them evenly. There’s the hard press of a lead foot and the revving of an engine being worked to death, maybe even a few sputters from the force.

It’s the thought of ‘just a little faster, just a little more’ repeating itself constantly that’s the clearest bit. There had been a sharp voice – clear and demanding, usually so distracting now a blessing – telling him “pass him, pass him now! on his left, he took a wide turn, it’s open!” that shook him. Had him tilting his steering wheel left without thinking, lead foot even heavier, and then –

“Matthew, Matthew, Matt! You won!”

Gavin’s voice is crackling the radio with its volume. It echoes loudly in the car as Matt finally eases his foot off the gas and slams down on the brake. He’s fucking shaking in his seat at the news, his eyes watery with about-to-fall tears and cheeks turning red from the emotions welling up in him. Adrenaline is still heady as it pumps through his veins, and he finds his brain still shut down from the intensity of the last lap to reply back. He falls back against his seat, slouches down, and he rests his head in his hands.

He won. Oh, Christ, he won.

The laughter that bubbles out of him is only slightly maniacal, because he won! His entire upper half is shuddering with his laughter and glee, and he doesn’t notice how the other side of the radio is radio silent. Not when he does notice the loud rumble of a crowd’s footsteps getting louder, getting closer to him.

He’s teary as he looks up and sees the proud expression on Geoff’s face. He can’t muster the will to push Geoff away when the man opens up the door to pull Matt out and up into a hug; close and meaningful, Geoff is overjoyed as he swings Matt around in the hug. Geoff is so, so proud.

“You absolute, fucking maniac! I can’t believe you pulled a victory like that outta your ass!” Geoff wheezes when he finally sets Matt down, but he doesn’t ease up on the contact. Keeps his arm slung around and gives the kindest noogie that a person could ever give. “Everyone was shocked! You snatched victory right outta Fawkes’ hand!”

“Jesus, I,” Matt finally manages to croak out. His voice feels shot despite barely using it. “I couldn’t believe it either. But...it was Gav, it was all him. Was yelling so loudly about the maneuver, and I just listened, and...he did it. He won it for us.”

Geoff snorts. He sniffles quietly as he gives a small smile – always been a sappy, teary kind of person – and his head turns away to look at someplace in the mass of people that formed. “Gav did, huh? He’s always been a lucky kid, pulling miracles out of thin air like it’s nothing. And speaking of him, there he is!”

Matt rubs at his watery eyes, looking at where Geoff is pointing at as the weight on his shoulders recedes. And suddenly, the crowd parting like the Red Sea, Gavin is dashing out towards Matt with his arms flailing widely; his grin is blinding as he leaps up without thinking–

“Gavin!”

Matt’s cry is too late. A familiar body is already ramming against the front of his own, and Matt can barely wrap his arms around Gavin before they go down together. His knees collide with the ground loudly, Gavin’s weight landing all by Matt’s side with a soft ‘oof!’ from both of them. They’re pressed up close, and Gavin’s green eyes look wide but jovial as it peers up at Matt.

“Matt! Matt, love, you did it, and you looked like an absolute madman when you crossed the line!” His voice is wobbly, just as fucked up as Matt’s own. He’s coming down from his own adrenaline rush.

“I finally win, and that’s your first words to me?!”

“I’m just being honest, and it looked cool, at least!” Gavin giggles with his nose poking at Matt’s cheek. And as if it was naturally meant to be there, lithe arms wrap around Matt’s neck, brings them even closer. It doesn’t matter that Matt’s racesuit is ruined with the sweat of the race and the dirt from the ground. Matt just returns the act, holds Gavin tightly.

“You won, Matt,” Gavin whispers so happily with his grin blinding like the sun. There’s nothing but pure happiness injected into that, and Matt can feel its infectious nature with his own shaky smile. He can barely keep it together with Gavin in his arms. “You won the championship.”

Something in Gavin’s words rattles him for good. Matt finally lets the tears fall, a single one at first and then a monsoon. He darts in to close the remaining gap between them, and he sinks into another sort of victory at the feel of soft lips pressing against his; dies the greatest death when Gavjn pushes back, salt of tears and sweetness of affection playing between them, and Matt doesn’t know how he’s held back for so long.

He’s an idiot for playing this off, as if it hadn’t been in the making over months and state lines. As if all that time with Gavin, feeling an odd type of way, wasn’t going to end up like this – with so much fucking adoration in his heart. He’s an absolute fool, but one who’s caught Gavin’s eye.

His hand is cradling Gavin’s head while the other keeps him locked in a tight hug, by the time Matt pulls away. Cheeks are red for a different reason, but no less better – even the annoying flashes from photographers, the crowd of reports trying to zone in, and the cheers and eyes of every pit crew on them can’t ruin this mood. They’re far too focused on each other.

“I fought for you, I fought so fuckin’ hard,” Matt laughs breathlessly. “Tom better keep his dirty paws to himself now, I swear.”

It’s a weird thing to mention now, but Matt doesn’t care. Not when Gavin’s eyes look at him with so much amused affection, the same kind that must be playing in Matt’s own, before he’s brought in for another kiss – and yeah, he can say that he really did win.

#ragehappy #braggvin #mattvin #rtah #seiju writes

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miss-musings · 5 years

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“THE BLACKLIST” & WHY PEOPLE HATE LIZ SO MUCH

I’ve discussed on here several times how much I’ve been annoyed with the way TPTB have written Liz’s character over the course of the show. But, I tried to keep my frustration and annoyance directed more so at the writers/showrunners and less on the character herself or the actress Megan Boone.

However, after watching 6x10 “The Cryptobanker,” I think I may have finally hit the point where I really started to hate Liz in and of herself. So, I started writing this post, which I’ve added to and edited over the past few weeks, but I still stand by my original point.

Now, I follow the Blacklist on Facebook, and almost every single time there’s a new post, the top-voted comments are always praising Spader/Red and hating on Liz. I’ve seen people say she’s annoying, that they didn’t like this S6 plotline with her and her sister, that they hoped the show kills her off for real soon, etc.

I always thought that most of the comments were somewhat valid but maybe a little overblown (especially the ones about wanting her off the show). But, it really made me wonder why so many people hate -- and I mean HATE -- Liz so much.

While I admit that her character is starting to really get on my nerves, I’m going to try to put my personal feelings aside and tackle this objectively. I want to really look at what reasons within the show, its writing, its format, etc., Liz receives so much more hate -- vastly more than any other character on this show. As I said, Red/Spader is always highly praised along with Dembe, and I rarely if ever see comments complaining about Samar, Aram, Cooper and Ressler. I would guestimate that 95 percent of complaints about any one character are directed at Liz.

A THEORETICAL POSSIBILITY

Now, I will theorize -- and keep in mind that this is only a theory -- that part of the reason for this hatred toward Liz has to do with some male fans being misogynistic/sexist and some female fans’ annoyance at what a crappy avatar Liz makes for. (I’m talking about straight viewers, FYI.)

With regard to male fans, I think they look at Liz -- who at times has been terse, mean-spirited and vindictive -- and see her as a giant bitch. After all, that was the whole idea that Liz herself sets up in the pilot. She is not who her male colleagues expect her to be. She doesn’t play into the traditional feminine role of simpering, smiling and content to sit on the sidelines and let the men sort things out. (And, I’m really generalizing here.) So, I think it’s a fair assumption that some male fans have the same sentiments about Liz that her colleagues canonically have too.

As for the female fans, I think Liz might come off as a poor avatar. When you’re plunged into a fictional universe, usually there’s a character who’s plunged into the story along with you, and you learn as they do, to the point where you start to project yourself onto them. Think Neo in “The Matrix” or Harry Potter or Luke Skywalker. It’s every person’s fantasy to discover some great power within, harness it to defeat the bad guy and win the heart of the beautiful woman/handsome man in the process.

Liz was clearly meant to be our avatar into this universe. We were brought into the world along with her, saw her learn about Red, begin the Task Force, and plunge into this world of the FBI and the Blacklist.

Now, I imagine that for older women, especially, the fantasy is to be the kind of gal that a guy like James Spader would absolutely devote himself to. And that’s exactly how Red treats Liz -- like a woman he would do anything for. However, unlike many viewers, Liz is ungrateful for Red’s devotion and continual sacrifices for her benefit. Instead of seeing him as a savior and white knight, she often sees him as a nuisance and a terror in her life. I personally think she’s often justified in that, but I’d guess that 80 percent of the current audience is watching it simply for Spader’s performance alone. So, when the favorite actor’s character is not appreciated and is continually hated on by his co-lead character, it makes for uncompelling television from a “I want to project myself onto this character” kind of way.

But, with the theoretical discussion out of the way, let’s examine some more concrete reasons as to why people hate Liz.

LIZ IS OFTEN WISHY-WASHY (ie, has little conviction) WHEN IT COMES TO HER FEELINGS AND DESIRES.

This is what I’ve often described as the “Liz loves Red, Liz hates Red, Liz forgives Red” song-and-dance routine. But, there’s much more to it than simply Liz’s relationship with Red.

Liz was first introduced to us as a woman who wanted to start a family, and yet she thought about giving up her baby for adoption and then later gave Agnes away to her mother-in-law so she could spend more time on her revenge plans. The entire pilot goes out of its way to show Liz struggling with the demands of being an FBI agent and a prospective parent, and drives home the whole “Mommy Liz” vibe with the admiral’s daughter.

Yet, when she finds out she’s pregnant, she hesitates and thinks about giving it up for adoption. Then, when she has Agnes, she agrees to Kaplan’s plan to fake her death so she and Tom and Agnes can be happy and safe away from his world. And, later when Agnes gets kidnapped, she frets and worries about her constantly.

But, the minute she wakes up after being in a coma, she’s totally cool with pawning Agnes off to someone she’s never really met. Cool.

I realize there are mitigating circumstances, but this is a woman who made all her loved ones -- Red, Cooper, Ressler, Samar, Aram, any family members she had left (except Tom) -- believe she was dead so she could live with her daughter in a safe location!!!

The idea that Liz wouldn’t just drop everything and give up the Task Force indefinitely to heal and spend time with her daughter after losing 10 months of time with her is absurd, IMO.

But, no, revenge is far more important.

It’s also really annoying that after finding out Tom had betrayed her, she was able to give him a second chance and continued to love him despite all sorts of stuff in Seasons 2-5, but the minute Red does anything, she wants to drop him like heavy airline luggage.

So, in case you forgot: in S1, she found out that Tom had been lying to her, manipulating her, and abusing her. So, after shooting him in the S1 finale, she chains him up on a boat for several months in an effort to make him useful to the Task Force. However, the minute that she hits the “hates Red” part of her “love Red, hate Red, forgive Red” cycle, she runs right back to Tom and very quickly forgives him. And, while her positive feelings for Tom continue from late S2b until his death in 5x08, her feelings about Red are all over the place, as mentioned.

Now, in her defense, her feelings about him seem to waver whenever a crucial piece of information about his involvement in her life is discovered. When Tom’s fake passports were traced back to Red in 1x06, she blamed him and said she didn’t want to work with him anymore. But, then the very next episode, when he offers to leave the Task Force completely, she doesn’t tell him to do so.

And, when Red admitted to killing Sam toward the end of S1, she was again ready to let him leave. But then at the end of the episode, she stops him.

In S2, when Liz believes that Red was only interested in her for the Fulcrum, and never really cared about her, she gives him the cold shoulder. And then when he admits that he did hire Tom to be in her life, her coldness toward him again grows.

While they’re on the run together in S3, their relationship is at its best, arguably. Until she finds out she’s pregnant and he tells her that the fight is not over, and she doesn’t want her child to be in Red’s world. (Which is understandable)

And on and on it goes through S4 and S5 and now S6. The minute Liz realizes that he stole her father’s identity, she’s ready to burn him to the ground. But then only a few episodes later, she’s teary-eyed and regretting that she turned him into the authorities.

AS OPPOSED TO RED’S ...

But, what really makes this all so annoying is the fact that while Liz’s feelings toward Red are cyclical, his feelings for her are constant, enduring, and never wavering. I mean, he’s basically Garth Brooks’ “Shameless” in human form. He is completely devoted to her, would give his life for hers without hesitation, and has loved her (in some form or another) far longer and far deeper than she has seemingly ever loved him.

If both of them liked each other, or if both of them disliked each other initially but then grew closer over time, the show would be much better. For instance, ABC’s Castle -- while it definitely has its flaws -- started off with the two leads liking each other from the start. Yeah, maybe they’re trying to get used to each because he’s a goofball and she’s kind of a hard ass, but it seems like by the end of the pilot, they both generally like each other as acquaintances.

Or NBC’s “The Enemy Within” -- which is eerily similar to TBL and I’ll have to do a whole post on their similarities some other time -- which starts off with the two leads being tenuous with each other. He hates her, and she is kind of neutral toward him, but the two of them need to cooperate to accomplish a shared goal.

This was never the case with Liz and Red on TBL. In the pilot, Liz is very wary of Red, as she should be. However, he -- according to Zamani -- is obsessed with her, and it’s clear that he cares about her far more than he should. To our knowledge, Red has never met adult Liz. He’s seen her from afar and kept tabs on her, of course, but this was the first time he’d met her (presumably) since The Night of the Fire. And from that meeting, his love has only grown, while hers -- as discussed -- has been all over the place.

THE TWO ARE NOT EQUAL

As I’ve said in previous posts, while the show wants Red and Liz to be partners, they are really so unequal on multiple levels. The same could be said of the two leads on “The Enemy Within, but their inadequacies tend balance each other out. She has all the know-how, but he has the freedom and jurisdiction to do things, and he is the one who ultimately makes the decision on what his team should tackle and how. She has some of the power in their dynamic, and he has some as well. Thus, their advantages tend to cancel each other out.

This is not the case with Red and Liz. All this time, Red has withheld crucial pieces of information from her, which he gives to her in piecemeal and only when she demands them. I won’t judge whether that’s the right or wrong thing to do, but it puts her at a disadvantage as far as their dynamic goes. And while Liz should be given some advantage of her own, she really doesn’t have one. Red has an immunity agreement and gets to do pretty much whatever he wants, unlike on “The Enemy Within” where the male FBI agent has some say over what privileges the female CI has because she’s still in custody.

I guess the one advantage that Liz has over Red is that he’s told her he will never lie to her. And she has confronted him and asked him direct questions before because she knows he *has* to tell her to truth if she does. But, that doesn’t stop him from stalling, changing the subject, or trying to do a verbal workaround.

And then, when the show was promoting S6, they made it seem like the power was finally in Liz’s hands -- she knows he’s an impostor and he doesn’t know that she knows.

But, while the show tried to give Liz a bit of an edge over Red, it ultimately fizzled out. She knows he’s an impostor, but she no longer has an interest in pursuing it. Which goes back to my previous point about her not having conviction. She wanted to destroy Red, and betrayed him to ensure that he wouldn’t get in the way of her and Jennifer’s quest to find out his true identity. But then, she drops it.

Again, I realize there was a lot going on -- Jennifer was kidnapped; Red was almost executed. And while I think the fact that, right now, she’s fine with not having all the answers is a sign a maturity, it’s also incredibly frustrating to see how she went from 0 to 100 in such a short span of time.

Anyway... moving on to my next major point:

LIZ DOESN’T FEEL LIKE A REAL PERSON

Relative to the screentime she’s received, Liz does not feel like a real person, but merely a plot device or a vehicle for Red’s schemes and/or the Task Force’s missions.

Very rarely do we get to see her on her own, doing her own things, outside of Red/the Task Force -- going to the store, doing chores at home, hanging out with her kid, etc. The only times we do are when it’s relevant to the overall plot. Like when she gets beat up in the parking lot in 3x11 or when she brings that Lady Ambrosia kid over to her house, tries to cook him something, and then the fire alarm goes off.

She seems solely to exist within Red’s/the Task Force’s orbit.

I feel like the fact that Liz doesn’t have any friends or family outside of the Task Force, Red and Tom (when he was alive), really speaks to how she seems to exist more as a character, not as a person within a fictional universe.

She doesn’t seem to have any hobbies, and outside of her mentioning the Wizard of Oz and a few other things, she doesn’t really seem to have any interests in anything.

By comparison, we have lots of scenes with Red and Dembe, doing puzzles, playing cards and board games. We know Red enjoys art and food/alcohol and traveling, and he has a penchant for some types of drugs -- his favorite being sex.

And even Aram enjoys Doctor Who, biking and cooking.

I’m not saying that Liz needs to start chatting with Ressler about Monday Night Football or playing pool at some local dive bar, but something! Just a line about how she Skyped with Agnes last night, or her talking to Samar or Aram about her trying to decide whether she should download Tinder and try to get back into the dating scene, or a scene of her running around a park but she’s disturbed by memories from her past. Just something. Something to make her feel like a real person, who does things outside of the Task Force.

Again, I always hate the fact that Liz was supposed to have all these friends in S1 (the house party at the end of 1x03 and the vow renewal later in S1), and yet, they seemed to have vanished. I hate the fact that Liz doesn’t have any support system outside of Red and the Task Force. The girl needs friends! Hobbies! Interests! Something!!!

LIZ TRIES TOO HARD TO PROVE HERSELF, GETS IN TROUBLE, AND OFTEN NEEDS TO BE RESCUED BY RED AND/OR THE TASK FORCE AS A RESULT

This gets into a personal pet peeve of mine where Liz reassures people that she can do things. In the most recent case, she told her sister that she was definitely capable of deceiving Red and keeping him from finding out that she knows.

But then within the episode or two, Red definitely knows that Liz is up to something because she has been acting weird around him. And, before she begs Dembe not to tell Red that she was the one who betrayed him, Red was pretty certain that she was the one who did. I would suggest that the minute he was arrested, he had a good suspicion it was her. Hence why he said that what he would do to his betrayer would depend on who they were. He was hedging his bets, in case it was Liz.

Liz and Jennifer kept going back and forth on trying to convince the other that they could pull off this “Find Red’s true identity” side-plot, but ultimately, Jennifer got kidnapped, Liz killed a dude, and ended up having to recruit Ressler and Red to help her find Jennifer and confront the people who took her.

This type of situation happens A LOT on the show. Liz will try to do her own thing (finding Red’s true identity, etc.) and it ultimately gets her into trouble. It seemed to happen more often in S1-3. One example I can think of was when she didn’t kill Tom, but instead captured and imprisoned him, and then he killed the Harbormaster and forced Liz to face charges for murder. Red and the Task Force and even Tom had to come to her rescue to make sure she didn’t face the consequences of her choices. Yes, Tom did kill the Harbormaster, but Liz was the one who had decided to chain him up on the boat in the first place. The murder is on him, but the imprisoning is on her.

Liz also killed the Attorney General, and Red and the Task Force (and Tom, once again) were ultimately responsible for saving her from the Director’s plot while she was trapped in The Box, bringing the Cabal’s actions to light, using the Director as the scapegoat for Hitchen and then getting Liz out of the murder charges by bringing in Karakurt. And then, later, Red was responsible for leveraging the President into pardoning her so that she could become an agent again.

Now, there have been a few occasions where Liz was kidnapped simply because she was an FBI agent, not because of her connection to Red or anything else. For instance, in 1x04 “The Stewmaker,” she’s kidnapped and almost killed because she had her own personal history with that Lorca guy.

But, again, too many times Liz is put in the “damsel in distress” position where either she’s in trouble or her life is threatened and others have to be the ones to save her, either by saving her life or by saving her from legal repercussions, etc.

In a way, this whole S6a has been the consequence of Liz’s actions, which she regretted and then was looking for any and all help to make sure Red wasn’t executed after she’d turned him in. Yes, Red was the one who insisted on the death penalty, but he never would’ve been in that situation if she hadn’t betrayed him. And ultimately, it was Cooper who came through and pressured the President into staying Red’s execution.

Going back to the “Red and Liz aren’t equals” thing, very rarely is Red the one who needs saving. And, even when he is, it isn’t always Liz who’s rescuing him. Again, Cooper was the one who saved Red from execution. Liz has saved him a few times that I can recall -- she stopped that guy from shooting him in 2x14 and she leveraged the Director into calling off the hit in 2x19.

But, again, Liz seems to be in trouble far more often than Red is, and she very rarely is able to save herself (with the solo-Liz episode being one of the few times she does). Meanwhile, Red is able to get out of jams on his own much more often, such as when he escapes Anslo in 1x10. And, he and the Task Force save her far more often than Liz and the Task Force save him. And, even then, sometimes Red saves her single-handedly (like in the S2 Super Bowl episode) while she usually has to work with others to save him.

Once again, I realize there are a lot of mitigating circumstances. Red has a vast criminal empire and more knowledge and resources than Liz does, most of the time. But, I do wish that 1) Liz wouldn’t be kidnapped or have her life/livelihood threatened so often and 2) that Red’s would be a tiny bit more frequently, so that *she* can save *him.*

It also doesn’t help that she was sidelined in S3b partly because she was a felon who was no longer able to be an agent on the Task Force and because both Liz the character and Megan Boone the actress were pregnant. And then she was sidelined again in S4a because of the whole felon thing / trying to get Agnes back.

TL;DR

I believe the reasons why people hate Liz are similar to why people hate Sakura from the “Naruto” Universe (as YouTube channel SwagKage describes in this video):

Liz doesn’t get the character development she should relative to her screentime; and any development she does get seems to be cyclical and inconsistent. (ie, she acts however the writers need her to for the given arc/episode)

Liz often tries to do her own thing, despite warnings not to; and while she’s by no means useless to Red or the Task Force, she often has to be rescued (either directly or indirectly) far more than she does the rescuing.

Liz often acts demanding, ungrateful, and selfish -- or at least relative to how the audience might want her to act, especially with regard to Red. And, jumping off the second point, also has a bit of an ego and can be proud and willful, which as I theorized, might be a turn-off for some male viewers.

Also, the Lizzington shipper in me could point out the parallels between Sakura liking Sasuke (who was a giant dick to her) and hating Naruto (who was constantly helping her out) and Liz’s dynamics with Tom and Red, respectively, but I’ll leave you all to watch the video for yourself.

Overall, I think some of the reasons for hating Liz are valid, but as I said, I *try* not to direct my annoyance toward the character of Liz herself or Megan Boone, the actress, but rather the writers, who I feel need to take responsibility for what they’ve done and continue to do with this character.

Don’t take this to say that I hate the writers, but rather that I want them to do better. I want to see this show succeed and I want to see Megan have some amazing material to work with the same way that James seems to with Red.

I’ll say it again: I don’t hate this show; I merely want to offer up my criticisms and objective-ish insights into why I think people hate Liz so much. In that way, we fans can have a discussion and perhaps maybe the writers will take some of our points to heart.

For my next major TBL post, I’ll try to tackle the similarities between TBL and The Enemy Within. :D

#lizzington #reddington #raymond reddington #liz keen #elizabeth keen #the blacklist #nbc the blacklist #nbc blacklist #blacklist #james spader #megan boone #harold cooper #donald ressler #samar navabi #aram mojtabai #red reddington #masha rostova

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