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vidjausers-fable · 4 months

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Pen Pals(Veneer X OC)Chapter 1

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Oh my god, I fell in love with Veneer and Velvet the moment I heard their silly little quotes and songs. I also have fun drawing them!? Anyway, this story is completely for fun, though it’s been a while since I’ve last written a fanfiction. Nothing is beta read in this chapter, so be kind if pointing out mistakes. Below is something I drew specifically for this fiction (though obviously it was inspired by the Barbie and Ken meme)

Also located on Wattpad and AO3. Chapter 2 and 3 are already located there, but soon will be here as well.

Once they had been arrested, Veneer and Velvet were booked and thrown into prison immediately. Well, it was more of a correctional facility if anything. A place where they wanted to prepare young adults who had made stupid mistakes for the outside world. Velvet didn’t take the change well but Veneer made no complaints, believing that it was the right thing to do because of the crimes they had committed. All those Trolls they had hurt…It weighed on him more than it did his sister. Velvet received a harsher sentence compared to her brother. Veneer’s was smaller because his heartfelt confession helped save the Trolls from his sister and expose their scam right away.

However, the two shared a cell in the correctional facility due to a bit of a crowding issue. Their rooms were split in two, one side for Veneer and the other for Velvet. It wasn’t the ideal living situation, but Velvet was the only one complaining about it.

The siblings looked completely different than what they used to. With no access to makeup in the facility, their faces were blank and deprived of any makeup and creams, and both adored the orange jumpsuits that read “Mount Rageous Correctional Facility” on the back. Velvet complained about her looks and image on the daily, as if it had not already been diminished.

Veneer sat at his desk with one of the books checked out from the Library, trying to somehow read and drown out the voice of his sister whining in the background. It was hard to do both at the same time so he closed the book with a loud sigh, “What is it this time, Vel?” he asked and spun around in his chair to look at his sister.

Velvet was half laying on the bed, her knees hanging over the edge. She threw her hands up and around dramatically as she spoke, “This isn’t fair! They took away another hour of my rec time from me just because I wanted an extra five minutes to eat. Didn’t I tell them I’m a slow eater?” She kicked her feet around as if she were a child having a tantrum.

Veneer leaned against his palm, unimpressed. As always. “And how did you ask for this extra five minutes?”

His sister glared. Did he Really ask her that as if she had done something wrong? “I asked, like a normal person! DUH!” she retorted sarcastically, throwing her hands up.

Veneer rolled his eyes. He seriously doubted that, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. “Maybe…just maybe Vel, you should ask a bit nicer,” he suggested and added before she could interrupt, “Unfortunately, the people here don’t like to deal with our attitudes.”

“Me? An attitude! As if! This place is worse than a shoe store with no branding,” she groaned. “And a restaurant without lobster.”

Veneer gave up talking to his sister and turned back toward his desk. There was no use arguing with Velvet. She was an entitled brat. She always tried to get the last word in, and it was impossible to point out her mistakes, or her flaws. In her eyes, she was flawless and never did wrong, and only did right. He’d dealt with that entitled attitude his whole life, and that attitude was the reason that he was in the correctional facility right now. It was honestly pathetic, but there was nothing that he could do about it except not give in to her tantrums and ignore them when they arose. Of course, it was easier said than done. She practically threw a rich snobby princess tantrum every day. “Why don’t you back me up anymore, like you used to?” Velvet abruptly sneered. Veneer could already see her expression without turning back around.

“Veneer, don’t ignore me.”

Over time, Veneer had found ways to stand up for himself. It was easier when they weren’t next to each other, but also because he was over her and her dramatic antics.

“Because.” Veneer closed the book he was trying to read, “It’s your fault we got into this whole situation in the first place.” He had to resist the urge to turn around and throw the book directly at her head.

“You didn’t exactly stop me when I kidnapped the Troll.”

“Because I couldn’t Velvet!” He argued, finally turning to her, “You took the Troll without even telling me at first. You put him in a diamond perfume bottle without a word. I knew it was suspicious when I suddenly caught you singing one day, or remotely have any talent. I bet if I didn’t walk in on you in your room that day with the Troll, that you would have kept all of that stolen talent yourself and left me at home with our parents, which by the way, I CARE about the fact that they disowned us. They get death threats because we scammed everyone, and can’t practice their dentistry anymore. They sold their business to pay off our debts, and you think they hate us? I know you hated them, but do you honestly think that they deserved all of that?” The entire ramble left him in a single mouthful it felt, leaving his sister appalled. He had so much to say to her that his words tumbled out almost all at once.

Velvet gasped, her jaw wide open and a hand over her heart, as if he tried to strike it. “They deserved it, Veneer, for the way they treated us growing up! They were nobodies and didn’t give us anything.”

“How did they treat us, Vel?! They literally did nothing wrong our entire lives! We had everything we wanted! You got a car for your sixteenth birthday and you pawned it off to buy a stupid golden ring! You don’t even have it anymore, you threw it down the drain when we became total frauds and got more money, which you used to buy worthless junk. Our parents are saints compared to how you talk about them.”

“Are you saying this is all my fault?”

“It is, Vel. It’s your fault we’re in here because of you. And I won’t change my mind about that.” He turned his back to her once again. Ever since they had been arrested, it had been nothing but anger between the siblings, bubbling over the tea kettle. Veneer swore that his steam was running out fast around her.

“It’s your fault too! You used the Troll as much as I did!”

Veneer ignored her.

“Veneer, you can’t throw all the blame at me!”

Veneer ignored her again, at least until he heard her stand up and stomp toward him. Right as he flipped around, she grabbed the front of his orange jumpsuit and began to shake him. She bared her teeth in anger at him, shaking him until his neck popped, “You can’t throw all the blame on me, Veneer! That’s just not fair. You used the Trolls just as much as me, so you’re not a perfect saint. Neither were our parents. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?!”

Metal clanged on metal and the siblings turned around to face the door of the cell. One of the Correctional Guards stood at the door, his baton against the cell bars, clinging back and forth until he had their attention. He glared at the two, though mostly at Velvet—the universal trouble maker. “Behave yourself Velvet, and stop arguing. That or I can extend your banishment from the rec room to the whole week. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

Velvet, still holding onto her brother’s shirt, glared at the officer, debating in her head if this was still worth it. If fighting her brother was worth the only freedom that they got in that joint. The two shared a long eye contact battle before she gave in, letting her brother go after shoving him back into the chair, and returned to her bed. “Whatever,” she snapped before rolling onto her side with her back facing the two.

Veneer adjusted his shirt before looking at the guard, a bit frazzled and his heart racing. Even she got to him sometimes. “Whew…” Saved by the guard.

The guard watched Velvet and when he felt as though she was calm enough, looked to Veneer, the one he really wanted to talk to. He took out his keys from his side pocket and the clanging of the metal made the two perk up. “Veneer, your counselor wants to see you now.”

Velvet immediately interrupted, sitting up, “What about mine? Doesn’t she want to see me?”

“She would, if you would stop destroying her office at every appointment.” He stopped fiddling with the keys and glared at the sister, waiting for her to settle down again. He looked to Veneer and waited for him to approach the bars, as part of the protocol for entering and leaving the cells.

“What for?” Veneer asked, approaching the cell door. “It’s not time for my appointment, is it? I don’t think it would be…” He sounded panicked.

The guard opened the door. Veneer was required to step out and press his back to the wall with his arms out and palms faced down. Veneer was a low threat so only one guard was needed, though at some point Velvet needed four. He quickly locked the door because as expected, Velvet threw herself against the door and grabbed the bars in rage and growled. She even reached down to try and swipe the keys as they were shoved back into a secure pocket. The guard scoffed in her face and turned to Veneer, patting him down. The guard took his shoulder and pulled him in front of him, letting him walk where he could see him.

Patting Veneer’s shoulder, he chuckled, “We really need to get you your own cell, buddy boy. Your sister gives me an ulcer everytime I open her cage. She’s like a dog who’s had everything handed to him, but still darts out the damn door whenever it opens.”

Veneer chuckled nervously, “Yeah…Uh, do you know why my counselor wants to see me? I didn’t do anything bad, did I?” He tried not to panic or ruminate like he used to. Besides, nothing he did was as bad as his sister…Though he honestly still felt as though he was a kid again, being sent to the principal's office, just multiplied by ten and with more consequences.

“I dunno, they don’t tell me anything. She didn’t seem mad, if that makes you feel any better.”

“I think it does.”

Veneer fidgeted his hands on the walk to his counselor’s office, guided by the guard. The guard opened the door and only shut it once Veneer sat across from his counselor. His counselor was a middle-aged blonde Mount Rageous person. She was prim and proper, and despite her strict posture and formalities of speech, she was a caring woman with bright blonde hair and honey amber eyes. Her office space matched the same atmosphere of her person. Everything was neatly arranged. There was a funky splash of red paint on the wall, pictures of cute animals under cheesy motivational quotes. There were also nick nacks scattered across the room. One of them was one of those solar powered bobble heads dancing along to no beat, sitting across from Veneer with a playful catty smile.

Linda greeted him with a warm smile. Veneer was still getting used to having someone like Linda to talk to. She always listened and never interrupted him, like his sister did.

“Dr. Graham…Uh, why am I here?” he asked and the emotions immediately flooded in, trapped within from where he had been dealing with his sister all day. He sunk down into his chair, trying to hide, “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

Linda gasped and reached across the table. She knew that Veneer wasn’t a touchy-feely person, so she touched the desk right in front of him instead. “No, no, no, dear! Actually, I have something exciting to share with you.” She waited for Veneer to slide back up into his chair and sit properly.

“What…is it?” Veneer asked hesitantly. He expectedly leaned forward.

Linda bounced, her own excitement showing as she pulled out a folder from her file cabinet. Everything was so perfectly organized that it took no time for her to find anything. “Since our system runs on good behavior, and you’ve been on your best behavior—might I say even better than those who have been here for years—we decided to give you a huge reward. Now, we don’t just give these away to every patient here!” Her hand was on a document, which she pushed across the desk then flipped it so it faced him.

Before him was a blank tan file cabinet folder.

Veneer’s eyebrow raised. “What’s in that?”

“You won’t know until you open it. Go on!” She pulled her hands back and clapped as Veneer reached for the folder. He picked it up and opened it to the first page. He read it and frowned.

Before he could get words out, Linda cheered and clapped her hands some more, “It’s our Pen Pal Program! We like to give these out to our top most behaved patients here. We were quite surprised to see how well you turned out, and how quick and well mannered you were, so don’t take this reward lightly!” She said and took the document back, flipping through the pages, explaining every single one of them until Veneer’s eyes couldn’t keep up with his brain.

“Wait, wait…So I earned this?” he asked and put his hands on the papers, taking them when Linda let go of them. “What do I do with this? How does it work?”

“It’s easy!” Linda began to explain, “You fill out these forms and I scan and put it into the system. After a bit of Beep Booping on the keyboard, the system finds a pen pal that will be suitable for you! The system is surprisingly 95 percent accurate. When a Pen Pal is assigned to you, you receive their first letter and then write a response to them. After that, you basically send letters back and forth to each other. It’s very old school and the only part that technically plays a role is to keep your documents up to hand and sort out who your Pen Pal is!”

Veneer was distracted by the exaggerated hand gestures Linda made as she talked. He shrugged it off and began to flip through the papers, looking at them carefully to make a decision. Having someone new and different to talk to sounded…different.

“If you fill this out right now while I still have you in my office, I should get everything uploaded and submitted within a couple hours.” Her fingers clacked loudly against the keyboard. Then she looked to Veneer and gave him one of her trusting, and warm smiles. “Is that something you’re interested in, Veneer?”

After looking through the last of the papers, Veneer took a second to think it over in his head. It would be nice to have conversations with someone from the outside world, considering he no longer had his parents. For once, he wouldn’t have a conversation centered around how did you get here? How did you get busted? Best of all, he could have someone to communicate with that wasn’t his sister. That was the icing on the cake. That’s what stood out to him the most.

Placing the papers back down on the desk, he looked to Linda with a determined expression. He held out a hand to her, brows knitting together. “Pen, please.”

“That’s it! YAY!” Linda took out a pen from the pen box that was organized by type of pen, colors, and probably even ink levels. Veneer took the pen and began to read everything meticulously and filled out blanks while he glanced over the paper. Linda was quiet, but played calming and relaxing music that she knew Veneer liked to help him focus.

The paperwork didn’t take long, and he finished it in less than thirty minutes. “Can you look it over and make sure I didn’t forget anything?” he asked, sounding timid as he handed the papers over.

Linda took the papers and flicked through the pages at lightning speed. A smile crossed her lips. “It’s perfect, I’ll get everything ready for you and you should get your Pen Pal within a week or two.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Woo, look at the time. You have to get back to the cell for quiet time. Your favorite time!” She clasped her hands together. “Veneer, I’m so proud of the growth you’ve gone through these past months. You must have been eager for change before you walked through our doors.”

Veneer blushed at the compliments and rubbed the back of his neck. She wasn’t necessarily wrong. “I’m not used to all these compliments…I don’t think I deserve all this praise.”

Linda shook her head and placed her hand back on Veneer’s spot on the desk, giving him a soft and understanding smile. “Just because your sister made you fight for affections, and do terrible things, doesn’t mean you’re less deserving of love. Remember what we talked about, okay?” She leaned back in her chair. “Also, Veneer?”

“Yeah?”

“I received your report for transferring rooms and approved it,” she answered, watching as Veneer became brighter every second. “We just have to wait for a room to become available, alright? You’re next on the list, I promise.” She nodded her head.

Veneer was disappointed knowing that he had to wait a bit longer, but nonetheless was happy that there was at least one person fighting for him. He nodded his head, determined before standing. “Thank you, Dr. Graham. For everything.” He felt appreciative of the woman, who had gone out of his way to help him become a better person.

A different guard stood outside when Veneer came out of the room, and nodded to the male. Walking in front of him again, he walked all the way back to his room. He felt an anxious pit in his stomach, knowing his sister was there waiting for him and already heard her voice hounding him to tell her everything he discussed with Linda, as she always did. And he didn’t want to do that. Sure enough, his sister was waiting for him with her hands on the bars, and once again the guards had to fight simply to keep Velvet within her cell. It was the same thing everyday, and maybe this Pen Pal program would help change things.

Veneer was tired of this life.

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vaguely-concerned · 27 days

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A Stitch In Time First Read Reactions & Thoughts Monster Post Part 1

Basically exactly what it says on the tin! I kept making notes while I was reading and somehow it grew into this sprawling monstrosity that had to be split into three parts haha. In short: I loved this book, 10/10 incredibly gay and full of yearning Garak is there the whole time would recommend.

Quotes from the book in normal text, my reflections, reactions and self-indulgent bits in italics :) Please, please only click on that read-more if you're ready for some truly long-winded nonsense, I fear I have gone and been extremely myself about this and I can only beg your forbearance for it while I get it out of my system lol

Part 2, Part 3

- My dear Doctor:

Forgive my delay in responding to your kind communications. I wanted to give this modest chronicle I’ve enclosed a modicum of organization and update it before I sent it on to you. Thank you for your concern. I have thought of you often since our last meeting, and I am pleased to hear that your life on Deep Space 9 remains challenging and productive. Considering all the changes that have taken place I would have expected nothing less. And I’m certainly not surprised that your research proposals have been accepted. You’re a brilliant young scientist—even if you are genetically enhanced. As for my life here …

This is such a deceptively innocuous and normal-sounding beginning to what is about to be an extremely unnormal and unhinged thing to send a friend as a letter. He made it all of one paragraph of keeping it chill and I honestly think that’s pretty impressive all things considered. Thankfully Julian Bashir — who, let’s not forget, gave Jadzia his fucking diaries to read after much shorter acquaintanceship than what what we’re operating on here — is possibly the one person in the galaxy with the unhinged energy to take it.

(‘I have thought of you often’ he says. And how., as we shall see)

- Yes—I’m afraid you weren’t expecting this response to your kind inquiry; it goes a bit further than “Greetings from Cardassia—Wish you were here.”

Fhksjdfhasdkj well. In spirit that is exactly what you’re saying tho garak fhdskjaas. It’s just that you’re also pathologically incapable of shutting the hell up and for this I love and treasure you.

- So why Captain Sisko is so upset with me because I accomplished the goal (which he established!) of getting Romulus into the war against the Dominion baffles me. And it’s not because of the few lives that were sacrificed. Federation expansion has taken a toll in countless life-forms—about most of which they are blissfully unaware. The moment you step into a garden and begin to cultivate and prune, you become a killer. Perhaps the captain was upset because he had hesitated to do what was necessary to insure the integrity of his garden. Sentimentality is another trait that makes humans dangerous.

*Garak voice* Julian please tell me why your boss is so mad at me I literally solved all his problems for him. for which he’s wELCOME btw

Eyes open for recurring metaphors about gardeners, Tolan is haunting this narrative and it’s only polite to say hello whenever he shows up

- Indulge me, if you will; I need you as a witness.

Can I just say how fucking wild it is in terms of character development for Garak to openly admit he needs someone interpersonally. Incredibly fucked up that he writes both parts of this directly to Julian, though — both the part where he’s pretty sure he’s going to die trying to free Cardassia from the Dominion, and the ‘now’ timeline on post-war Cardassia where he seems to be dazedly coming to the realization that he might live, actually, and what that means to him.

- As a child I would go to the Tarlak Sector with Father, and while he supervised his crews I’d play by myself amid the black-and-white angularity of the monuments, imagining myself a great gul or legate giving the funeral oration for a fallen comrade.

Already we are starting to spot the thread, if you’ll excuse the expression, of why Garak might be Like That

I also came to admire Damar’s idealism, which led him to renounce his allegiance to the Dominion. If he had one weakness it was his propensity for long-winded speeches. But given the fact that none of us are perfect, the man would have made a fine leader.

As I stood at the memorial service, I thought about all the grand affairs I had witnessed here when I was a boy. None of our famed heroes and statesmen has ever had such a humble service—and none of them, from Tret Akleen on, deserved more than Corat Damar.

You are a species of long-winded speakers and Pythas Lok

- Dr. Parmak, the unit leader, worked furiously to stabilize the little girl, and when she was evacuated by the transport unit he broke down. He’s a very good man, this Dr. Parmak; he reminds me of an older version of you, Doctor.

Introducing Dr. Kelas Parmak, last seen in the then-noodle incident mentioned in The Die is Cast. Quite possibly the chillest person who has ever lived, considering he gets over the whole thing where Garak like tortured him pretty fast. (To be fair Garak DID say he was sorry. Between this case and Odo’s, that apparently goes a surprisingly long way lol)

- But Garak, you’ll say, there’s no excuse for killing a defenseless woman. And there isn’t… unless you’ve been brought up in our system.

I love that he keeps a little Julian around in his head to talk to at all times. That’s one of the most freakishly intimate things in this whole book of freakish intimacy. Garak has a little Tain on one shoulder and a little Julian on the other shoulder and they have heated debates as to the validity of murder as a solution to any given problem that’s put before him

- I also thought about this Cardassian sense of duty and how it is largely responsible for bringing those of us who are left to these current circumstances. I asked Dr. Parmak how an entire people can come under the sway of this duty and blindly give allegiance to a state that goes mad and murders its own children.

“Poisonous pedagogy, Elim,” he replied. “We believe what we are taught.”

Poison/Disease contagion is a metaphor that will wind through this whole thing,and different people mean different things by it. Parmak means it about The Facism, which is the right one. You’ll be unsurprised to hear that Dukat Sr. has a rather different spin on it, and that he’s wrong!

- But Tain at home was anything but mysterious. It was not unusual for Uncle Enabran to appear and take me away on some excursion that involved a long walk through a section of the city. During these walks he’d test my awareness, and challenge me to describe a house or a person we’d just passed. If I hadn’t been paying attention and couldn’t remember the details, the walk was over and we’d silently return home under the oppressive weight of his disapproval. He also seemed to know how I was performing at school, and if he wasn’t satisfied with my progress or behavior he’d punish me. I was a hard worker but I had a mischievous streak, and I enjoyed getting others involved in questionable activities and arranging it so they were found out and took the blame. On those rare occasions when I was caught, Tain would somehow find out and punish me—not for my misdeed, but for having been caught. And after he discovered my fear of small, dark spaces, his favorite punishment became keeping me in one until I had convinced him that I had analyzed and fully understood how my mischievous scheme had gone wrong. I found it odd that Mother and Father never had anything to say about these punishments.

. . .

At first I thought I was in trouble, and my face must have reflected this fear because Father attempted to reassure me with a forced smile. But the uncharacteristic falsity of his behavior and his barely concealed agitation only made the situation worse. I had never seen him like this. Mother’s face was a mask; it revealed nothing. She spoke as if I needed to clean off the day’s work before we ate.

Garak treats him and Bashir ‘drifting apart’ the same way he describes his young self being trained by Tain to go over his ‘mistakes’ — what did I do wrong? You also see it (almost most heartbreakingly to me) from Tolan when he gets sharper out of worry at the end of the scene where the agent comes to take Garak away to the Bamarren Institute:

I was stunned. I wanted to ask more, I wanted to ask about the dedication ceremony that afternoon, but I didn’t dare. Father had that look when one of the workers didn’t get it right the first time. But what had I done wrong?

Oh buddy. He’s so fucking confused. The only thing you’ve done wrong yet is having been born with some connection to Enabran Tain, Elim, I’m so sorry

- We were the “missing pieces”—and in order to find our place in the mosaic of civilized society, we had to be broken down and reconstructed from the bottom up.

Keep your eyes open for ‘broken down and reconstructed’ too, it will be on the final test lol

- The good captain gave me one of his bemused stares.

Sisko ILU. He’s not in this book a lot so I’ll take the chance to say it here, because I do.

- It was explained to us that until we became disciplined in our relations with the “complementary gender” we would make better progress this way. When I asked One Tarnal how we would learn this discipline without interaction between the sexes, he blinked and mumbled something about “distractions.” When I asked what that meant I was told that I had a loose mouth and given five days of hygiene-chamber maintenance as punishment.

“You don’t know enough to ask so many questions.”

Elim 'Genuinely & Guilelessly Too Deeply Pansexual To Be Able To Follow This Logic’ Garak

- Pythas/Eight descriptions because this is a bad mutual crush situation:

- Unfortunately, the only student left was quiet Eight Lubak, who kept completely to himself. He agreed to accompany me and quickly moved to the door. He was short and slender, and his dark eyes and long lashes made him look younger than the rest of us. He was almost too delicate for a Cardassian. I was not encouraged … but I had no choice.

‘Dark eyes and long lashes’ huh lol

I started to follow him, but he made it clear that I should stay where I was and wait. All during this, Eight was quiet and controlled—and as sure of himself as if he’d done this many times. How did he know where he was going?

. . .

His face was dark, intense with concentration; his brow ridges, which were unusually pronounced, cast shadows over his eyes. My heart began to pound when I realized what Eight was planning. These were certain to be older students, but he expressed no hesitation, no doubt.

. . .

I didn’t know then if I could ever call Eight a friend. Something about him was strange and impenetrable. But it didn’t matter. At least I knew there was one person in my section I could trust. How I had misjudged him. It was obvious that Eight had what Cardassians call a ferocious spirit—and that I could learn a great deal from him.

. . .

Eight also came from a “service” family background, and it was soon clear to everyone that he should have been designated One Lubak, a fact not lost on the actual holder of that designation who, judging from his behavior and speech, came from the highest echelons of our society.

. . .

Five was an athlete who also did well in class. I could see that he was attracted to Eight. As indeed I was.

Big round of applause for Andrew Robinson managing to sneak the skywritten subtext into the text like this, it’s an exceedingly rare gift to get to have from the media of this time

. . .

But by then the group had passed. What murk? Me? Have all the others been captured? Surely not Eight. I couldn’t believe that was possible.

. . .

The only member of my group who performed as well in all areas was the taciturn Eight.

. . .

The truth, of course, was that I didn’t know how to forge those kinds of bonds. I wanted to be closer to Eight, and to a lesser degree Five, who besides being one of the great Pit strategists Bamarren ever had was fair in all his dealings.

. . .

Eight remained for a few more minutes. I had the feeling that he wanted to say something more to me. Suddenly he turned and disappeared behind a barrier. The air was filled with whatever went unsaid. He was as shy as anyone I had ever known.

The boys are being useless lesbians at each other omg……… what must this whole mess look like from Pythas’ POV tho. He’s been keeping an eye on his friend/crush so he doesn’t get himself killed by running his mouth off too much to the wrong person and before he knows it the guy is embroiled in an inadvisable bisexual sandwich of betrayal and savage intrigue. I wonder if anything would have been different if Garak and Pythas had managed to actually talk to each other here.

- Eight was the only person who deserved number One as much as I did—maybe more. My solitary behavior was not always in service to the group. Eight and I exchanged encouraging looks. The support of my one constant friend was all I wanted. I sat there and shut out everything else.

*Garak whenever someone prefers Pythas over him* understandable honestly I’d do the same thing he’s the best have a nice day

End Pythas/Eight teen crush corner

- My mind wandered. I was sure that I heard sounds of the women students gusting with the winds. Suddenly mother materialized … she looked like she was apologizing. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her, but her image dissolved and … Father took her place. I knew he was telling me something very important, but I was growing dizzy and afraid that I’d join Six on the ground … his words were carried away by the winds.

Suffering and agony

Some assorted 'Just assure me that I'm not going mad, Doctor'/Garak's ever-tenuous grip on his mental health moments:

-I don’t know why I wasn’t surprised that he knew. Instead, I was grateful; it told me I wasn’t going mad.

A recurring worry for him I’m sure it means nothing! I feel the same fellowship with him as I do with Harrow in The Locked Tomb series, which I’m sure says even less, don’t worry about it.

And how do we even begin to rebuild a world that doesn’t exist anymore? A world that exists in my mind with the same arid bitterness as the dust in my mouth. I have never lived with despair, Doctor, the way I live with it now. It’s almost like a phantom companion that shadows me and casts doubt on whatever I do.

“Why save him?” it asks, as we remove a young boy from the rubble of a school. “You’re only keeping him alive for a future of privation and chaos. Wouldn’t it be more satisfying to join the burial unit?”

I want to scream at this phantom, to shut it up. Once I turned around suddenly and raised my hand to strike it. When I realized it wasn’t there, it was too late. Everyone in the unit was looking at me; I’m sure I must have looked like a madman. Dr. Parmak tried to send me home, but I refused—alone it’s even worse.

I’m just imagining Julian arriving on Cardassia like ‘hey yeah I got your letter and we should fuck about it right now but first of all have you told Parmak you’ve been having vivid hallucinations again because that’s very relevant medical information Garak!!!’

- But it was in the Pit and my work with Calyx that I suffered the most. My dreaming made me “an air man.”

“You have no grip, no focus. How can you find your strength if you can’t hold your place? Living in your dreams is like living in exile.”

*whisper* pls don't...

- As I tried to put faces on the shadowy children, they began to approach me. They became more distinct as they moved through the rain and haze. Can you believe it, Doctor? They weren’t my schoolmates; they were the Cardassian orphans from the Resettlement Center on Bajor we once visited. The orphans left after the Cardassian occupation forces withdrew. The same young girl was their leader and her lips formed the same question.

Have you come to take us home?

I jumped up. I felt the shed closing in, threatening to swallow me. I ran out into the rain and gloom.

“There is no home anymore! Can’t you see that? Look around you! It’s gone!” I screamed at them and fell to my knees in the sodden waste. They continued to stare back with that same look of fragile trust that I would somehow relieve them of their fear and bring them home. I couldn’t look at them anymore and dropped down into the muck. My despair was no longer just a voice; it was this monstrous world the evil had created, and it surrounded and overwhelmed me.

I don’t know how long I remained curled up in the mud. I felt myself being lifted and half carried, half dragged back into my shed. It was Dr. Parmak. He cleaned and changed me as best he could. He prepared a cup of Tarkalean tea, which made me think of you, Doctor. How ironic, another doctor pulls old Elim out of the muck of his despair, but this time he’s a Cardassian.

The fact that in the episode itself, Garak (in a haze of endorphins and practiced dissociation) is barely like ‘yes yes I’m sure we’re ALL very upset about the orphans. Or whatever. Well what do you want me to do about it Doctor it’s just the way of the world’ and then it just haunts him horrifically for the rest of his life forever and ever the end! Very on brand.

Garak does seem to genuinely like and care for children in general, which makes my heart all weird and sad

Also Parmak making Tarkalean tea and Garak being like ‘oh. Like Julian :’(‘ about it my HEART. The fact that he’s a serial befriender of very patient kindhearted doctors willing to put up with his nonsense is probably the only reason he’s still alive lol. Thank u Parmak

- A difficult move under pressure against strong physical resistance from an opponent … and something would snap. A painful blow might set it off, a whispered insult, perhaps just a thought or a feeling of hopelessness, and I would suddenly lose control and lash out like a madman. I became suffused with a raging, crimson anger that poured out from some black hole somewhere deep inside me.

I feel like we see the outlines of this still in him by the time of the show — more tucked away and harnessed, but definitely still there. He’s got an instinctive Fight response a mile wide, it’s just that these days he mostly expresses it by becoming incredibly fucking MEAN when he feels threatened rather than outright physical attack.

- And there was a soothing quality as it spoke of dry legal definitions. It acted as a balm for my bruises and bitterness. I began to feel such longings. It was like hearing music that you love when you least expect it. How I missed Mother, and working with Father in the flower beds. How I longed for home. I dropped my guard and surrendered to the voice. The tears I was determined never to shed accompanied choking waves of shame and relief, sadness and joy. I finally was able to admit to myself how unhappy I was.

*me with my magnifying glass studying the Palandine/Bashir parallels* listening to Bashir talk about Federation nonsense things presumably fills much the same niche in Garak’s psyche as this haha

- “I assure you, I am not in the habit of attacking people I don’t know in public places. We got our feet tangled in the crush, and he went down—just as, moments before, I nearly wiped out the scent display when he ignored the fact that I was standing in his path. I trust he’s not hurt.”

“I expect more from you, Garak,” Odo lectured. “We’re all under a great deal of strain.”

“As am I, Constable. Please, sit down at least. I feel like a schoolboy being disciplined by the docent.”

Odo sighed and awkwardly perched on the barstool next to mine.

Their dynamic is. Everything to me. Also we learn later that the guy Garak picks a fight with here because he’s upset Julian is hanging out with Miles (lmao oh… buddy) isn’t just anyone or on impulse, but is one of the most hostile-to-Garaks Bajorans on the entire station with a small gang behind him, and Garak knows exactly who he is. Which lends it a certain… something. Almost an edge of very roundabout self-harm.

“I can’t stay long. I have to finish dealing with this …”

“ … situation,” I finished. “You’re very fortunate, Odo.”

“How so?” he asked.

“These people have come to trust you. They rely upon you. You’ve made a real connection here.”

Odo merely grunted. I was careful not to mention Major Kira, knowing how reserved he was on the subject.

“Do you still want to go home?” I asked.

The question startled Odo, and for a moment the mask of official reserve dropped from his face. This was the first time I had brought up the subject since his admission to me during the “interrogation” in the Romulan warbird and Tain’s ill-fated attempt to destroy the Founders’ homeworld.

“ I … can’t say,” he replied ambiguously.

“Well, I can. There’s certainly nothing here to keep me.”

“I never told you how sorry I was about Ziyal’s death.” Odo could be quite sensitive in such matters.

“You did, actually,” I nodded. “But thank you.”

“Still, you and Dr. Bashir have created a strong bond.”

“Not really,” I answered quickly. “I’m afraid that what I have to offer has run its course. It’s certainly no match for darts.” I heard the bitterness of my tone, and so did Odo. We sat in silence for a moment.

“I understand you’ll be involved in the invasion. You must be pleased.” Odo steered us away from the heaviness that had descended.

. . .

“When do you want to schedule your consultation?” I asked. Odo—no doubt influenced by his budding relationship with the Major—was about to branch out sartorially. But it occurred to me that Quark was the last person he wanted to know about it.

“We’ll talk,” he replied, nodding to Quark as he briskly marched back to the Promenade.

AHdorable all around. Hilarious that Odo picked up on trouble in human/lizard paradise and, with the vigor of a person who has freshly had love work out for them for the first time, going ‘not on my fucking watch you’ll talk to each other if it’s the last thing I do’. Also the sheer readiness with which he expects Julian to be Garak’s safe place. What on earth does this relationship look like to outside observers. Especially to Odo, practiced observer of humanoid folly, who completely nails Garak’s whole deal in Improbable Cause to the point that Garak lashes out defensively over it.

- My solitary confinement was agony. The only way I got through it was to rethink all my attitudes about the Pit and the Wilderness and to focus on how I could make my stratagems more effective. Just as I had learned to do when Uncle Enabran locked me in that suffocating closet. Was this the universal torture for failure, I wondered?

Going through the whole book it is so stunningly awful that this IS the logic his inner world is shaped around for the vast majority of his life, right up until the ‘present’ part of the storyline where it’s being slowly deconstructed and reassembled.

- I apologized to the others for disrupting their family; I explained that I had great need of this creature. Not only was Mila (as I eventually called him) the answer to my current problem, he was as important as any of the docents at Bamarren, with the possible exception of Calyx.

;_______________________________________________________________; there’s no part of this that isn’t crushing

Unlike the last time, I had preparation and an ally.

Tain really had to work at deadening Garak’s ability to form loyalty to anything else but him, because left to his own devices and natural instinct Garak will clearly packbond with ANYTHING. He’s so desperate to belong to someone and be loyal to them.

- As the sun came up, the otherworldly beauty of the Wilderness was gradually revealed by each succeeding gradation of light. I was deeply moved by the presence of so much color in what had initially looked like a dead world to me. Beginning with a cold pale gray, the dawn flowed through a range of blues and into the softest rose and pink and then to a hot red that soon gave way to the merciless bleached bone-white of midday. I was able to see how much territory I had covered the previous night.

Can I just say how unspeakably tender it is that he takes the time to write this out in this. It serves literally no purpose in this narrative but sentiment — to be beautiful. He saw something beautiful once that moved him and he wants to share it with someone. What the fuck.

- I became increasingly concerned; the sun was getting higher, and the overhanging ledge was now my last source of shade. At one point I took Mila out of his wrapping to check on his condition. At least that’s what I told myself. I was afraid that if I was honest and admitted that the real reason was to solicit help from a regnar, the slide into total insanity would be swift and sure. I was getting desperate.

The funniest and saddest thing I’ve ever read fhdskjfas emotional support regnar that he names after his fucking MUM hours. There are things going on with Garak no psychologist could ever hope to get to the bottom of

- Three more members of the Furtan group were on the other side of the rock formation, but Mila had found a hidden depression that required some quiet digging to get into, and we avoided detection. We settled in and resealed the opening with sand and loose rocks. After an indeterminate period, the Furtan hunters left. As we waited for nightfall I fell into a deep sleep.

BB!Elim and regnar Mila like ‘OUR secret hiding spot’. (Seeing how much garak both craves and thrives on getting to have that sense of ‘we’ and fellowship tho. And knowing that’s going to be not only deliberately kept from him but made psychologically impossible for him for a very long time. We should bring Tain back to life so we can kill him again and more painfully actually. Mercymorn acid jail for a thousand years time.)

- While I understood that I would have to watch my step with One Charaban, I also acknowledged that I had never been in a manlier or more attractive presence. It was like encountering an ideal that I’d only dreamed about. As I walked back to my section and accepted the congratulations of my mates, I was baffled not so much by the appearance of this new and commanding person in my life as by my recognition of his strong connection to me. But what connection?

Baby pansexual disaster at his finest

- The other day, the Doctor, Odo, and I were at the Replimat having lunch, an event that Odo, after our conversation, had taken it upon himself to organize.

. . .

“But what about you, Doctor?” I asked, returning to the business at hand. “It seems there’s a movement afoot to have you replace Captain Sisko.” The doctor winced.

“Is this true?” Odo asked. We both looked to the doctor for confirmation. He sighed.

“There’s a group of … genetically enhanced people who feel that one of their own should be guiding the station during this emergency, and they’ve petitioned the Federation Council, but it’s Jack and his group, and no one takes them…” Exasperated, he broke off. “Garak, how did you hear about this?”

“My clientele talk and I listen.” This was also true: an idiot savant who wears his presumed genetic superiority like a badge of privilege walked into my shop and never stopped talking. Of course I encouraged him, and by the time he left I had heard all about some organized attempt to elevate Dr. Bashir to the leadership position. I could see that the doctor was upset that I’d divulged this information. Clearly this genetic business was not his favorite topic of conversation.

“Is this something we should keep an eye on?” Odo asked, studying us carefully.

“No, not at all,” the Doctor assured him. “It’s just Jack’s people. This was nearly a year ago, and I’m afraid they have too much time on their hands—like some other people I know.” He pointedly looked away from me as Odo continued to study us, trying to decode the undercurrent of this last exchange between us. No wonder he was such a capable security operative. Odo registered every change in tone and temperature and tracked the change down to its cause.

“Tell me something, Garak.” It was clear that he had found an opening for one of those deferred questions he kept on a prioritized list somewhere in his changeling head. He was still a basically shy and tactful person, especially when it came to other people’s business, but lately he’d become more openly inquisitive. I wondered if it was Major Kira’s influence.

Matchmaker/self-appointed and woefully under-equipped marriage counselor Odo……….you are Everything to me you dumb beige bitch. Garak goes a bit aggro in return when he tries to get too close to something tender but honestly odo buddy gooey friend of my heart maybe you shouldn’t barge into this particular glassware shop like a rampaging elephant huh someone’s going to get cut. Also Garak could have refrained from pressing on Julian’s bruises for attention here and we may not have had the rest of the scene, but alas.

This must be the lunch where we deal with uncomfortable subjects.

“But if Cardassia is liberated from Dominion control …” Odo went on.

“When Cardassia is liberated,” I interrupted.

“Would you return?”

“Would you return to the Great Link?” Odo reacted with sharp annoyance to the question.It wasn’t a fair one, because although we were both exiles, we were in very different circumstances. With the humanoid shape he was still learning to live with, and his deepening relationship with Major Kira, Odo was discovering a new mode of existence, a new link. He had an alternative, however difficult the choice. I didn’t.

“Yes, I know. You can’t say.” I was sorry I had asked again. It was a question he was obviously struggling with.

The feeling Garak seems to have towards Odo in this period where like… you know when you have a friend who has a lot of the same mental health issues as you do and you see them get better and start to flourish and you are genuinely so happy for them but also feel just how deep in the muck you yourself still are with no prospect of getting out. And the way Garak consistently wistfully includes Odo’s romantic relationship to Kira when he observes how he’s coming out of his shell and why he has reasons to stay.

“Would you return to the same Cardassia?” the doctor asked.

“What do you mean ‘same’?” But I knew perfectly well what he meant.

“To a Cardassia containing the political and social elements that made the current situation possible.”

“My dear Doctor, that’s also the Cardassia that made me possible.” I half-hoped my joke would end this conversation … but I knew better.

Julian baby please read the room and take this up some other time somewhere private maybe (and yet I understand how you wouldn’t think of that until later once Garak’s had a rare public freakout)

Absolutely heartbreaking in every way that garak seems so convinced he must have done something wrong or simply doesn’t have anything more of interest to offer julian and that’s why they’re drifting apart, when a just as likely reading from what’s actually on the page here is that julian feels he keeps getting it wrong and hesitates in case he makes the damage worse. Garak have you considered who this man is before you decided you must have fucked up and resigned yourself to the dark closet of self-isolation tain put in your head. I’m in shambles.

Also Julian is saying a lot of very true things about Cardassia in this scene that Garak needs to hear and that he’s clearly processing all through the rest of his time on DS9 and beyond, as angry as it makes him, and the good doctor means so well but he IS being incredibly condescending, and he keeps pushing even as Garak is signaling he’d rather not go in depth on this, especially in such an exposed public setting. (This is a conversation they SHOULD be having in private, both for emotional reasons and b/c Garak’s position on this station is a lot more vulnerable than I think Julian realizes, as the hostile comments he immediately starts getting during this convo show.) I mean I guess it’s not this man’s fault he is fundamentally British and autistic what can a bitch do fdjslkfhasj (I say this with all the love in my fellow autistic heart, please do not misunderstand me here). But it’s a very Julian well-meaning but flawed thing to do — he’s focusing on the principle and intellectual side of it, but he’s not taking into account that just maybe having to deconstruct the entirety of your worldview and belief system and then feel responsible for implementing them to create a better world afterwards could be an emotionally fraught process that requires not only reasoned political debate but personal, emotional support from a friend. He isn’t getting that Garak isn’t so much categorically resistant to the basic ideas he’s setting forth — it’s that he wants to be convinced on a practical level that it could even work, because otherwise it’s just a useless pretty picture.

(Which is a big part of their dynamic on many levels, I’ve always felt. All those times he challenges Julian’s more hopeful and idealistic world view — ultimately he doesn’t do that because he wants to break Julian’s faith down until he agrees with him, he does it because somewhere deep down Garak wants to be convinced. He wants there to be hope somewhere in the world, even if he won’t buy the quick and glorified ‘it’s easy to be a saint in paradise’ Federation version of it. And Julian’s version isn’t that, in the end; it gets tested again and again and he really, genuinely means it, even when it’s hard. Which is one of the most healing things about his presence in Garak’s life overall.)

Ironically I also think Julian believes so much in Garak and his capabilities that it simply doesn’t occur to him that Garak as a private person might just be like. Too scared and overwhelmed to even contemplate this, at least until Garak is upset enough that he can’t gracefully hide it. (“With your background and experience, Garak, I’m certain that you could serve as a liaison between a new Cardassian government and the Federation.” The Doctor paused and waited for a response. None was forthcoming. “I once suggested that you visit Earth as a member of the Cardassian government-in-exile….” oh so no biggie then Julian that sounds easy and painless and I’m surprised no one has thought to do this yet, this Obsidian Order wilted leftover sandwich of a guy is surely going to be welcomed with open arms wherever he goes among his people fhsdakjfas!)

I feel like this is one of Julian’s less sympathetic traits that he would probably feel such intense self-loathing about once he realized it’s one he shares with his father — this instinct to try to shape someone into a ‘better’ version of themselves. I think Julian’s version of this primarily comes from a much, MUCH kinder place than in his father; he has the will and ability to see the best in the world and in people, and he can’t help but want them to live up to that once he’s seen it. He fundamentally believes people can be better, can be good, when given the help and tools they need, and that’s such a beautiful part of him. BUT along with that there is also a danger of that tipping over into becoming paternalistic and controlling, of overly privileging the ideal you see over the person who is actually there right now, and trying to forcibly change the one into the other ‘for them’.

Considering Garak’s past experiences of being shaped and controlled by someone else’s idea of what he should be, I’m if anything surprised he doesn’t react worse to this, honestly! I think it speaks to the basic trust and goodness that exists between them that he doesn’t. Julian is clumsy but not malicious, and even here Garak does recognize that on some deep level.

(Probably because he’s also been touched by Julian at his best, in The Wire — where his support and acceptance is absolute and unconditional, free of the instinct to control anything.)

My voice had risen to an uncharacteristic pitch. It was still ringing in my ears as the Doctor stared at me as if he were studying a baffling microbe. I, too, was baffled. I had no idea where this outburst came from. I know that a distance has widened between us during the past year or so and I know that the holosuite program incident and the revelations of his genetic enhancement are the symptoms of this distance rather than the cause. It’s only natural—we’re very different people. I also know that he had only the best intentions in suggesting that I use the Federation model in order to influence the future of Cardassia. Misguided, yes, and somewhat patronizing and arrogant, but hardly sufficient to elicit this embarrassing and public loss of control.

I mumbled some sad excuse which the good Doctor and Odo were kind enough not to challenge and left the Replimat to return to my shop. As I passed Quark’s I caught his eye and we nodded. Why I included him in my outburst also puzzled me; I rather admire his industry and resourcefulness. I especially admire the way he consistently bends Federation rules so that they work for him.

That’s such a fair evaluation of Bashir’s intentions and personality honestly. Even this upset and feeling that distance between them, Garak still has complete trust in the Doctor’s basic good intentions and nature. (Are you really such very different people at the end of the day, though, Elim. Should the genetic enhancement arc maybe be telling you something here.)

Also such a hilarious element of the Garak-Quark relationship.’Sorry to get you caught up in the crossfire bro I’ve never thought of you as anything but an avaricious opportunist (complimentary)’

What is important is that I feel that I am necessary, that I function with all my faculties in the service of a greater cause. And while I wait for this invasion, is making Odo more attractive to Major Kira a greater cause?

It is in fact nothing but the greatest cause Garak. Getting Kira happily lovingly laid is priority one at all times.

- I had no real friends to speak of, and told myself that loneliness was the price I had to pay for success. I considered the games and behavior of my mates to be childish, and that any unnecessary interaction would only distract me from my work. The truth, of course, was that I didn’t know how to forge those kinds of bonds. I wanted to be closer to Eight, and to a lesser degree Five, who besides being one of the great Pit strategists Bamarren ever had was fair in all his dealings.

(I feel like this whole part is going to hit Julian in some kind of way lmao)

Literally just. Put me in a little box on the bottom of the ocean and leave me there forever I can’t go on. Also he’s SUCH a clever-but-socially-inept teenager in this part around the people in his group he doesn’t like fhdkjsa. Ugh they’re all so annoying and fake just leave me alone *eyeroll emoji* I didn’t want to be included in their idiotic conversation bb elim… I would die for your lightly insufferable but entertainingly snarky teenage butt in a way that actually makes me feel more kindly towards my own inner idiot 16 year old.

Also it’s no wonder he’s so out to sea when it comes to interacting with his peers — by all accounts he didn’t play much with other kids as a child and then he’s dropped straight into a social Lord of the Flies piranha tank shot through with Class Shit.

Inspired by my guide Mila, I would experiment at withdrawing my presence when I had to remain in the same room with people I didn’t like.

Honing his future customer service worker smile

Here follow some Bamarren and beyond observations I’ve elected to call ‘Sex Stuff’:

- Oh ok so garak gets some sexual Thing out of being beaten to a pulp after mouthing off through the same mechanism that made spanking known as the ‘English Vice’ across Europe when that was the go-to punishment in British boarding schools. I see. Many things are revealed to me

I looked from the pale, frozen face of Three to the others. They all looked like statues commemorating fear. And I was pleased. I realized at that moment that they were in my control, and that I would no longer have any trouble with them. Especially Three. I felt the power like a drug surging through my system.

And then, of course, the other side of the masochism/sadism scale smoothly coming in, he contains those multitudes. In Garak’s defense idk if you could go through a psychosexual development that wasn’t deeply, deeply weird in this sort of environment

“What do you want me to do?” I was trembling as if my body were chilled.

Well, I mean. You know fhkdsjha. And he’s rewarded with the first non-aggressive physical contact he’s had here, you say. (For reference he’s talking to Barkan, of the aforementioned ‘manliest presence’.) I’m sure this didn’t awaken anything in him or anything.

“Elim, why do you think we have these ridges?” She stroked the scalloped cords of cartilege and bone that ran along her neck and down her shoulders with a delicacy that stopped my breath. The energy had turned into molten liquid that was now flowing into my groin. The rest of the world was swallowed by complete darkness and I was back inside the tunnel.

“Because … we do,” I replied stupidly.

Fhdjskfhsdjkfhadskjfhas he’s so easy fdsjkfhas. And what a one-two punch of sexual confusion he got there. That one afternoon did irreparable damage to the libidinous development of this poor man and now he has to live like this.

For the second time tonight I was spellbound by another’s passion. In very different ways, Charaban and Palandine held me in their orbit, like powerful suns.

I was learning something new about myself—an emerging desire for power, but a power that had less to do with mastery over others than it did with connecting to them. The way I felt the connection to Charaban … and especially to Palandine.

And, I’m so sorry to have to break it to you like this, your biodad. I’m sorry Elim you’ve got something truly unfortunately Freudian going on here. It’s not your fault.

“I love the Blind Moon,” Charaban said softly.

“Why is it called that?” I asked, deeply relieved by the mysterious change that had come over us.

“It’s the time for lovers’ assignations,” Palandine answered. “The moon will give them enough light to meet, but not so much for them to be discovered.”

“So if you and Elim were true lovers I wouldn’t have been able to find you,” Charaban teased.

“That’s right, Barkan,” she said with a direct look. I shifted position in the ensuing silence and tried to hide my disappointment with Palandine’s reply, but at the same time, the pleasure I felt in the company of these two people kept growing.

“See?” Palandine suddenly addressed me. “You can do it.”

“What?” I was startled by her delighted burst.

“Smile. Look at that, Barkan. Wouldn’t you tell someone with that smile everything he wanted to know?” she demanded.

“The first time I met him—well, the second…” he corrected himself, “he had a smile that I wanted to wipe off his face.” He was referring to that early morning in front of the Central Gate.

“But it wasn’t that smile,” Palandine insisted.

“No,” he conceded. “Definitely not that one.” And the truth was that I could feel this smile throughout my entire body.

Noooo this is about to go so wrong…it’s all fun and games and bisexual poetry recitation under the blind moon until someone gets stabbed in the back like the Caesar (well caesar notably got stabbed from many many directions but you see what I’m trying to get at here)

- [The Klingon] looked up, and I immediately knew two things about him: he was inebriated beyond reason and he was one of their shock troopers, a callused veteran of hand-to-hand combat. I took a deep breath; as dolts go he was quite impressive. My spirits were suddenly and immeasurably lifted.

“You spoonhead!” he growled at me. I hated that word.

“And you … a great warrior who brings down dabo girls with a single blow,” He looked at me trying to decide if I had insulted or complimented him.

“P’tak!” I shouted, “I mean that you’re the biggest coward in the Klingon Empire,” He released the dabo girl, and as he moved to the narrow stairway I thought that he was also the biggest Klingon in the Empire.

I looked for my advantage. This was not an equal match, and my gigantic friend was in the full flush of a berserker blood lust. I sighed. I’m too old for this, I thought.

. . .

“Get security, Chief, and tell them to prepare the biggest cell they have … or a smaller coffin for me,” I said as I moved into the alcove and squeezed through the opening where the panel had been.

Listen I would apologize for including this here but he’s clearly getting off on this and I couldn’t do anything about it if I wanted to.

I cannot convey just how much my already intense enjoyment of canon is enriched by the knowledge that Garak is up to these kinds of hijinks constantly in the background when the camera isn’t on him. In his defense he was left unsupervised. O’Brien’s fond mildly exasperated help is just the cherry on top. ‘Well I GUESS Julian would be upset if I let you get beaten to death by a drunk Klingon so fine I’ve got your back’

(I made for the upper Promenade—and wondered if Calyx might be enjoying this spectacle from wherever he was. ;______; I like how much of an impact Calyx has on his development, considering how briefly he was actually in his life. Plus: Calyx; the Aiglamene of Bamarren? Locked Tomb/DS9 fandom overlap people, Let’s Discuss.)

“Help me,” he croaked. I was touched by the giant’s childlike surrender. I knew the feeling well.

“I will,” I replied and immediately wondered why I had agreed. I’m getting soft, I thought.

The greatest joy to me of a lot of this is, like… idk if these are all exactly the things that happened at every turn. In fact I’d say they very likely aren’t, Garak’s entire character taken into consideration. But they are certainly the things he wants someone — someone he trusts as far as he knows how, someone he earnestly wants to be closer to than anyone else, and also wants to see all of him — to know about him, to share in. This could just have easily been a story he told Julian in person over lunch to make him laugh. It’s silly and frivolous and fun, and as much at his own expense as a ludicrous person as to show off. To a true lying liar who lies connoisseur, unreliable narration tells more than it obscures etc. lol

- (About Barkan) It was the appearance of warmth that made his charm so attractive. A part of me wanted to tell him everything, to challenge the duplicity of his negative evaluation, but the clarity I found in the Lower Prefect’s office was still with me. Looking at him, I was reminded how Palandine had taught me to smile when I asked questions.

Apart from Pythas, who gets his own little twink corner, most of the people Garak is attracted to throughout this are his height or taller and slender but athletic. I’m just saying that when he spotted Julian in the Replimat for the first time he really saw a young man with the face of an angel who is exactly his type fhdjskah maybe he should have seen this coming for himself. Too high on endorphins and hubris to think this would awaken anything in him irrevocably and now he’s stuck with the consequences.

Why? I asked myself. Why?! For the life of me I could not understand why it was important to her that I respond. Why should she—so beautiful, so alive—be disappointed if I didn’t return her … what? What did she want from me? Friendship? Why me?

I was in turmoil. Her grace and manner, the way she tilted her head and half smiled when she listened, as if everything amused her … it was like a forbidden dream of the unattainable. The attraction was painful because I instinctively knew that while my life would be simpler and more controllable without her, it would also be as drab as my Bamarren uniform.

. . .

“Are you making fun of me?” It was at that moment, when I asked the question, that I realized just how afraid I was of being the object of her ridicule. She stopped laughing and for the first time she was speechless.

Losing my entire fucking MIND about how Garak is basically taking Palandine’s place when he approaches Julian at first. Odo and Garak ‘I love you so much I want to become you because it’s the only way I can imagine really being close to you’ handshake meme

Sex stuff end. For now.

I was about to leave when Odo asked about the designs for his “new” sartorial look. I could see that he was masking his concern, so I assured him that the sketches were some of my finest creations, and would be ready within the week. He grunted his thanks and I stepped out onto the Promenade. Love does make fools of us all.

I’m clawing at my face with emotion. Odo… And Garak did finish those sketches even after his moment of existential ennui over them before.

- Please for the love of god stop putting Six out in the merciless sun T_____T how many times must a poor lil nerd boy pass out before he can rest in the sand etc.

- “It’s not every evening we find Barkan Lokar strolling with a murk through the Grounds.”

“Lokar? My father buried the Legate, Turat Lokar,” I said without thinking.

“Did your father kill him?” Palandine joked. But I didn’t laugh. The Lokars were a legendary family, and the old man’s funeral was the largest I had ever seen.

Why is this so funny. Garak you are so fucking weird. ‘Oh yeah I know that guy my dad did the flower arrangements for his funeral’

- A spirited dabo game involving several Klingons and a serious-looking dabo girl I hadn’t seen before caught my attention. If Quark had been present he’d be giving her one of his congeniality lectures. I truly sympathize with the young woman; if I had to spend all day with these drunken dolts….

Literally so hilarious that’s his first thought. First impulse: ‘surrounded by idiots’ solidarity. Garak what were you doing day drinking at the devil’s sacrament/quarks at midday girl…

- Rom soon appeared with a small container of kanar. He was wearing an outfit I had made for him.

“H-here you are, Garak. I hope you enjoy it.” Ever the gracious host.

“Thank you, Rom. And please, try not to let your collar lie there like a dead targ.” I adjusted the offending fabric, and Rom sweetly tolerated my fussing.

I’m fucking crying what the HELL. Surprise wholesome dynamic that keeps going through the whole narrative. Garak just uncomplicatedly likes and appreciates Rom, with no particular ulterior motive. Plus: fussing is also how we see Mila express affection, like mother like son.

- I realized as I took a sip of my drink that I was in a dangerous mood. Drinking in the middle of the day. The Doctor would be quite disappointed with me. When I’m unable to immerse myself in work my mind becomes occupied by an invading army of thoughts intent upon conquering all equilibrium and peace. Kanar is a valuable if unreliable weapon I employ against this army. The pills the Doctor gives me are a poor substitute.

Julian, severely unimpressed: uh-huh

‘Would Julian want me to do this to myself? No. However he’s too busy playing soldiers with O’Brien to tell me so, apparently, so that can’t stop me.’ You petty lil bitch garak (affectionate)

The fact that he’s doing the The Little Julian Who Lives In My Head thing already here, where the real Julian is actually around but not engaged with him. I’m so sad. He’s managed to discover shrimp colour spectrums of loneliness and pining.

- Ever since the Romulan business and Captain Sisko’s near breakdown (outside of the Doctor, whom I told shortly after the incident, no one knows about this, but one recognizes the symptoms), I’ve been obsessed with memories of Bamarren.

The fact that he tells Julian about that. Presumably partly in a practical way to make sure Sisko doesn’t fall to pieces completely but he doesn’t seem to have any shame about it or expect Bashir to react too badly over it either. The trust…

- I must admit that I was quite taken aback. Evidently there is honor among dolts.

I’m genuinely impressed by how enjoyable it is in this book to be party to Garak’s inner voice. It’s so fun in here, among all the horrors.

- Nine approached me as I sat alone in our quarters reading the first part of Cylon Pareg’s Eternal Stranger, a saga spanning several generations of a Cardassian family during the early and middle Union.

*whisper of agonized affection* between this and his happy place being studying wormhole theory… he’s such a little nerd.

Nine swallowed again, an even more bitter taste, and marched off to a life of diminishing returns.

LMAO burn. And, as we shall see, not necessarily inaccurate.

- As I walked away I heard the custodian ask Tarnal what it was I had done to deserve this punishment.

“Nobody told me. But I know he’s got a mouth on him,” Tarnal replied.

The more things change I guess fdhsakja. Known across the school for being a) a sneaky lil bastard and b) never ever shutting the fuck up when he really really should

- “And you have to use that wonderful smile of yours more often, Elim.”

“What’s that got to do with listening?” That was the subject, and Palandine had typically made a jump in logic I couldn’t follow. She also forgot that I was a Cardassian male and smiling was not one of our strong features.

“If they feel comfortable with you, people will tell you stories about themselves that will reveal their deepest secrets.”

“But what if the stories aren’t true?” I challenged. “I could smile till my cheeks hurt, and you could tell me any kind of story you wanted—and what would I know about you except what you invented?”

“You would know, if you were truly listening, the kind of story I use to define myself,” she asserted.

“But it’s not the truth!” I maintained.

“Why not? Because it’s not what you believe? Or it doesn’t fit a definition of the truth that someone taught you? Look at people, Elim.” Palandine gestured as if the enclosure were filled with people. “Observe them. The way they walk and talk, the way they hold themselves and eat their meals. That’s what they believe about themselves. Is it the ‘truth’? Are they really that way? I don’t know. Perhaps it is a lie. But what people lie about the most are themselves, and these lies become the stories they believe and want to tell you.”

“As long as I’m smiling,” I mumbled.

. . .

“Truth, as we’ve learned to define it, is not only overrated,” she went on with a controlled passion, “it’s designed to keep people in the dark.”

This last statement stopped me.

“You mean the way we’ve been taught?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“What about our government?”

“They tell us the stories that we need to know in order to be good citizens,” she replied carefully.

“They don’t tell us the truth, is what you’re saying,” I concluded.

“There you go again. They tell us their truth, Elim, and we are here to learn how to listen.”

. . .

“Let the ones without power scowl and make fierce faces.You smile. It’s an invitation to connect with another person. And once the invitation is accepted, relax and listen … you’ll come to know as much as you’ll ever need to about that person,” she said with a smile that I greedily accepted.

“You would know, if you were truly listening, the kind of story I use to define myself,” she asserted.

“But it’s not the truth!” I maintained.

“Why not?”

SO when I was saying he’s taking Palandine’s place in this dynamic with Julian early on I was not kidding and I was not wrong hahaha. And it’s also what this entire book is, in the end. Trusting Julian to ‘truly listen’ to the story under the stories is maybe the biggest show of trust and vulnerability Garak could ever extend to anyone. Extremely The Wire-core once more.

The idea that tiny Garak was too outwardly glum and serious is. Amazing and brainbreaking. People feeling uncomfortable under his gaze b/c he’ll just like scowl distrustfully at them. Palandine I don’t know if you fixed him or made him worse but you certainly did something fundamental to him and committed him to the bit and for that I cannot thank you enough

- I no longer had Palandine to myself—but surprisingly, I didn’t mind, in fact I was pleased that Charaban was here. His stillness, like everything else about him, had grace and strength. I sneaked another look in his direction and marveled that this was the same person I had first encountered in the storeroom. He returned my look, and in the next few moments a bond grew between us that I had never thought possible.

You know if Barkan was really smart or had the capacity for extended self-control he would have just kept stringing Garak along as the third in his disastrous marriage. Garak is used to subsisting on the merest scraps of affection and consideration, you’d barely even have to feed him. (Ala Daisuke Jigen with many an evil ex, for the Lupinheads out there lol) A threesome here and there and maybe gently stroking his hair afterwards and you’d have him for life, probably. Alas or perhaps thankfully Barkan is ultimately just an asshole and not that smart.

- A Bolian client came down the steps outside the door and was about to enter the shop, but for some reason he stopped at the threshold. He looked at us, turned, and went back the way he came.

LMAO that guy was like ‘something really fraught and homosexual is going on here and that is frankly none of my business, as you were gentlemen don’t mind me.’ A real ally and a bro.

“I’m keeping you from your business.” Bashir stood up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“I’m pleased you stopped by.” I was about to escort him to the door.

“No, you’re not,” he said quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“Garak, I come from a culture that has perfected the ‘stiff upper lip,’” he explained with the same faint smile.

“What does that mean?” It was a genuine question; there was a change in his attitude.

“It means that we never complain, never admit to our feelings, never ask for help. It’s just not done,” Bashir explained. “And those people who lack character’ and insist on airing their needs—especially in public—are subject to ridicule… and worse. Does this sound familiar?”

“Perhaps,” I replied softly.

“But I’m also a doctor, Garak. And I know which group of people suffers the most. I really won’t take up any more of your time.” He extended his hand, which he rarely did, and I took it. “Thank you for the tea.” He turned and went out the door.

I stood there for a long moment, deeply upset. I felt trapped within myself, knowing what I had to do to get out but unable even to begin. Yes, Doctor, it does sound familiar. But as to the question of which group suffers the most…

. . .

After Charaban’s betrayal I became as withdrawn and solitary as I had been when I first came to the Institute. I tried to spend time with Palandine, but it never quite worked out; between her regular duties and the recruitment and planning for the female Competition, she had little time for anything else. But there was something else, a distance that had crept between us that I didn’t understand. I felt ashamed, that somehow I had failed and it was my fault, but I found it difficult to discuss. This was probably the loneliest I had ever been.

1) Going NUTS over the fact that these are separated by ONE paragraph. Andy Robinson staring directly into the camera making parallels between the main love interests in this book like ‘Am I making myself clear here. Do you get it yet’. Also really interesting to make this relationship pattern a, well, pattern in Garak’s life, and not a unique element of his and Bashir’s thing (which Doylistically was basically a byproduct of cowardly 90s standards for tv writing more than anything else lol)

2) But there was something else, a distance that had crept between us that I didn’t understand. I felt ashamed, that somehow I had failed and it was my fault, but I found it difficult to discuss. This was probably the loneliest I had ever been.

The Palandine/Bashir parallel train barrels on, scoring a deep trail of heartache into my soul. Also in that case it’s so sad because he really hasn’t done anything wrong or anything to be ashamed of, Barkan and Palandine are the ones who fucked him over :’(

3) I stood there for a long moment, deeply upset. I felt trapped within myself, knowing what I had to do to get out but unable even to begin. + Tolan’s grief at seeing Garak after Bamorren: “He’s hard, Mila,” Father said. . . . “But to the point where he’s unreachable?” Father asked. “Where nothing penetrates? How can he express even his basic needs if he’s trapped inside a shell?” + Just as I had learned to do when Uncle Enabran locked me in that suffocating closet. Was this the universal torture for failure, I wondered?...........................................................................

4) More proof to my eyes that Julian’s side of this whole thing seems to be more about thinking Garak doesn’t actually want him to be there. He doesn’t think he’s welcome here or that he’ll be able to help more than he hurts with whatever’s going on for him. ‘I really won’t take up any more of your time’ AUGH

Garak buddy… every time he tries to get closer to you or extend some care, you bristle like a hedgehog even though you’re trying to do it in as polite and decent a way as possible — what is the poor guy supposed to think beyond a certain point lmao. (Though on the hopeful/beautiful side… what is this entire book but Garak actually taking the advice/suggestion Bashir gives in this scene to reexperience his past and put it in context — not in the holosuites, but in his own way by writing it all out in a way that makes sense to his Cardassian brain and then sharing that with Julian directly. Like. The last line of the book is ‘You’re always welcome, Doctor’. Elim ‘I will become emotionally healthy enough to ask Julian to come visit with an open heart if it fucking kills me’ Garak)

I’m so soft for how careful they both are with each other in this scene, though. Even in this difficult place where there’s stuff they don’t understand about each other and they are having difficulty connecting for… several reasons, they are trying so so hard to be good to each other. Which is why I think they have every chance of working out brilliantly long-term; once you’ve got a mutual respect, willingness to keep working to understand and communicate with each other even when it’s difficult, and that fundamental ‘I don’t want to hurt you’ good faith in a relationship you’re a good chunk of the way there, from what I have observed.

Julian cares that Garak was upset, much more than he cares about being right, and this time he shows it in a more private setting where Garak can take it in. They’re trying!

5) The implication in But as to the question of which group suffers the most… that Garak also realizes how much he’s hurting Julian by not being able to let him in…

Most of all the fact that Bashir in this scene is like ‘Listen Garak I get emotional repression. I’m literally British.’ is one of the funniest things that happen in the whole book. To me. (I’m Norwegian, culturally this has. Some overlap with my experience, let’s say lol)

- Six had long since gone home. He wanted to succeed so badly, but his body couldn’t withstand the constant assault of the training. I’m sure he found an academic situation.

Oh thank GOD. Genuinely so relieved to hear this. This is how many times a nerd boy must pass out before he rests in the sand and gets to go to normal university instead of murderschool, the question is finally answered.

- Tain has shown up again and I want to throw rocks at him until he goes away. And I know he won’t.

- My shed has become somewhat more bearable, but the clutter and confinement of the interior space requires that I leave the door open. To keep myself busy when I’m not working with the med unit, Doctor, I am engaged in a project I must tell you about. It baffles me. Perhaps you can tell me if I’m losing my mind altogether.

. . .

[Parmak] turned to me with the strangest expression on his face—and looked me directly in the eyes for the first time.

AUGH. (Plus, the fact that Parmak consistently calls him ‘Elim’.)

But what baffles me, Doctor, is that I attach no meaning to what I’m doing here. I’m just doing it because I need to. And to be truthful, I don’t see this as a memorial at all. On the contrary—if I could, I’d singlehandedly rebuild this city myself, piece by piece. I stood here watching Parmak’s blood dry on this pile of rubble, engulfed by a feeling of loss and utter mystification as to what these piles mean.

Just assure me that I’m not going mad, Doctor.

This whole section is the biggest mood and I’ve rarely felt closer to a fictional character haha. His quietly dissociated tired bemusement both with himself and what he’s doing and Parmak’s reaction is… yeah that��s exactly what that feels like. And ‘Just assure me that I’m not going mad, Doctor’ has done irreparable damage to my psyche, I’m going to be thinking about this forever

- Palandine gestured that she would deal with me and sent the mate on her way.

“So what did you use me for?” I asked.

“What do we ever use each other for?” she replied without hesitation.

“Answering a question with a question is an old trick, Palandine.”

“No trick. I needed a friend.”

“And you don’t need a friend now” I hated the tone that was creeping into my voice.

“It’s complicated, Elim.”

I was afraid to ask why.

“What did you use me for?” she asked.

The question truly baffled me. I only wanted her love. Was that using her? I would gladly have given mine in return.

Still gnawing on concrete over Garak partially reenacting Palandine’s way of approaching him with Bashir in the beginning. At that point he also needed a friend (and he needed someone to run to Sisko like ‘THE SPY TALKED TO ME :D’ to deliver intel through so he was also using him lol.) The way Garak picks up traits from the people he loves like he’s doing the soul version of Odo’s shapeshifting-as-closeness thing because it’s the only way he knows.

- “So it’s Eight,” he said, dismissing me from his world.

“I don’t think you understand, Barkan….” Palandine began to say.

“It’s not necessary that he understand,” I dismissed him from my world.

Barkan… you did not understand what you were doing, getting into an emotionally and sexually charged petty-off with this man. RIP your stupid ass I guess lmao

“I wanted to tell you. But when I realized … I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said with a gentleness that rankled me.

“I’m not hurt. Neither one of you can hurt me. I wish you a successful… partnership.”

Palandine is so interesting!!!! And like here’s one of the things that I think make a big difference in Garak’s relationship with Palandine vs. his relationship with Julian — who tells him exactly the same thing in ‘The Wire’, after all! (I don’t want to hurt you) Because Palandine doesn’t really mean it, does she? She doesn’t mean ‘I don’t want you to be hurting, I want to protect you from being harmed’, she means ‘I didn’t want to be the thing that hurt you; I didn’t want to be faced with your hurt’, while she is doing things that will inevitably hurt him. I think there is genuine affection and care on her side, but they’re in such a fucked up, brutal world and they’re so young.

‘I’m not hurt. Who’s hurt’ says teen crying quiet tears of blood as his world falls to pieces

“I love him, Elim. And I’m also ambitious. I want what he wants. You’ll understand this when you find someone to share your….”

Not me wondering how much of this has echoes to Mila’s relationship to Tain and how that’s part of what Garak reacts to — that survival mechanism of ‘I want what he wants’, subsuming and submitting yourself completely. Which of course is what a Cardassian is supposed to do to the state, and that Garak also does with Tain for the vast majority of both of their lives. The worst part is that Palandine really had some reason to hope for more — she and Barkan start out in a more equal position than it’s implied Mila and Tain ever did, that’s always framed as an inter-class thing, and while Palandine’s family situation is not as grand as Barkan’s it doesn’t seem like it crosses the service class/ruling class barrier. But the structure of the state imposed on every level of society right down to the most intimate and personal areas of life is going to crush the life out of that hope real fast. I’m sorry girl. Wanting to have a fighting chance in this world isn’t the worst sin anyone’s committed and tbf you are like a teen by all accounts

- “My name is Elim Garak. I don’t know where I’m being sent, but I hope you’ll remember me as your friend.”

“When I was told today that I was One Lubak, I was honored… and afraid that I’d lose you as a friend. Thank you. My name is Pythas Lok.”

Neither one of us ever took our eyes off Mila, who was still trying to blend into his surroundings.

Crying gently into my cereal

Garak ‘I wasn’t sure I could ever call him a friend’ vs. Pythas ‘Afraid that I’d lose you as a friend’

Something powerful was stirring deep inside me, and I began to shake. Mila snapped his head to the side, the way he does when he senses light or heat change. Convulsive waves pushed up from my center and tears filled my eyes, blinding me. I had absolutely no control over what was happening to me. By the time the convulsions subsided and my eyes cleared, Mila had disappeared into the rock-and-sand home he came from.

Absolutely sobbing my eyes out into my cereal

Spoiler warning: Garak having to go somewhere to be alone after something calamitous happens in his life because that’s the only way he can cry is a theme that will reemerge later and do unspeakable emotional damage to me personally haha

As I hiked back to the Institute, I had the thought that maybe somebody was doing the same thing for me and bringing me back home.

No baby you see someone is doing the exact opposite of this to you right now because you have a basic goodness and capacity for real honest love that Tain doesn’t and he’ll never in a million years set you free just because he loves you and it’s the right thing for you

- And Jadzia is gone. The station is a sadder and grayer place without her. I’m surprised at how keenly I feel her absence. Even though I know that her symbiont has been “joined” with another person … well, it’s not the same, is it? Indeed, knowing that Jadzia’s personality is somehow contained along with several others within this other person, I wonder how I would react if we were ever to meet.

The doctor has reminded me that these are personal choices, and it’s not for us to judge how one chooses to mourn. Quite so. Who can even begin to understand another’s grief? “Do you judge people by the clothes they ask you to make?” the doctor asked once. I bit back my response, but the point was well taken.

:’) little soul-healing brush of Julian kindness time

- “What does Tir Remara want with you?” Colonel Kira demanded, ignoring my offer of tea. Immediately an entire picture formed in my head of the scenario her abrupt question suggested: Tir Remara—a spy, perhaps even a changeling, preying upon a lonely Cardassian who was working for the Federation and engaged in top-secret work.

“She wants to have my children,” I replied with a serious look.

“You can’t be serious,” she managed.

“I’m not. Now do you want this tea or not?”

Kira should just have strangled you all those times she wanted to you snarky asshole fhdskja

#a stitch in time #asit #garashir #star trek #star trek ds9 #ds9 #elim garak #The great ASIT first read adventure #<- making that the tag for the rest of the posts!#ds9 meta #well nominally I do SOME analysis between all the keysmashing and nonsense haha #forgive me if I've gotten something wrong in this I've been uh. overexcited! I'm sure I'll be able to think clearly again soon (lying)#julian bashir #I'm not going to tag every char I talk about in this because I do love myself a bit but the good doctor hangs over everything in this book #so he gets his own tag #maybe I'll come back and get them all for book keeping purposes eventually but nOT tonight

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boyinthevoide · 1 year

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CW: Rape mention, homophobia mention, references to child abuse.

One of my favorite things about Heathers the Musical (haven't seen the film) is how a lot of the characters actions, while objectively very bad, make sense.

And example: Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney seem like just two teenage dickheads, pushing people around because they can. Makes you think "why are they like this?"

And then, in the scene directly before Big Fun (Act One, Scene 5), we as the audience meet Paul Kelly and Bill Sweeney- Kurt and Ram's respective dads.

And immediately from the way they talk and the way they treat their sons, you can instantly tell "oh. That's why."

The full dialogue is this (referencing the West End version due to me being more familiar with that version):

RAM'S DAD. Okay, Ram. Have fun tonight, but I expect you to act your age. The Hendersons have the phone number for the cabin. If they call to complain, I'm gonna drive back here and knock the sand out of your diapers.

RAM. Dude! What am I, five?

RAM'S DAD. I'm your dad, not your dude.

KURT'S DAD. That goes double for you, Kurt. You're a guest in Bill's house and you will treat it with respect.

KURT. Sure thing. Dude.

(RAM cracks up laughing. KURT'S DAD takes the challenge in stride, smiling. Then, to RAM'S DAD:)

KURT'S DAD. Hold his arms.

(RAM'S DAD grabs KURT's arms. KURT'S DAD puts his son in a headlock, laughing.)

KURT'S DAD. Who's a great big sissy? Who's going to prom in a bright pink dress (OP's note: If Kurt had made it to prom he should have worn a dress, he'd rock a dress.)? Who's a sissy?

KURT. Ow! Okay, me! I'm a sissy, I'm a big fat sissy.

(The DADS release KURT.)

KURT'S DAD. Darn right. Enjoy your party, son.

RAM'S DAD. Punch it in.

(The DADS punch it in and exit.)

Just from this one interaction, it becomes immediately obvious why Kurt and Ram act the way they do- because their examples of how they should be are their dads, who they mimic in so many ways, most obvious in the "punch it in!" that both so commonly do. While this doesn't excuse anything Kurt and Ram do- they're still homophobic rapists- it makes it make sense. It lets you look and go "oh. That's why they act like this. Because their examples of 'manly men' act like this."

And, of course, the other, more subtle example of this is J.D. There's little hints about his dad sprinkled throughout just his first proper conversation with Veronica in a 711 (Act One, Scene 4). Lines like "The old man seems to love tearing things down.", "[That's your dad?] In all his toxic glory.", "When mom was alive/We lived halfway normal/Now it's just me and my dad/We're less formal/I learned to cook pasta/I learned to pay rent/learned the world doesn't owe you a cent." paint a not-pretty picture of J.D.'s home life. And then when we meet Big Bud Dean, J.D's father, he seems to live up to J.D's description, telling his son to "get rid of" his girlfriend, describing to said girlfriend (Veronica) how he'd blow up a suburban house before darkly asking where she lives. He immediately has very bad vibes. Then later, right before I Say No, in Act Two, Scene 4, we see Big Bud Dean again. J.D. starts off the scene arguing with Veronica after she shouts about murdering three classmates, how they could have gone to prison if they'd believed her. As soon as Veronica gets him to calm down a little, Big Bud Dean appears, telling J.D. to get in the car and ignoring whatever might have been happening a second ago. When J.D. says he's busy, Big Bud Dean leans in and says, and I quote,

"Lotta pretty women out there, sport. I can make another son any time I want."

Not to mention every implied moment of past abuse throughout the show.

So while having a shitty dad doesn't excuse J.D.'s actions, it does give them an amount of sense. Since his mother died, he's only ever been shown cruelty from a clearly quite violent (and possibly murderous) father. Of course he seems to think people can't change, that he and the only person he trusts, Veronica, are judge, jury and executioner for the less pure people of the world.

However, one of the many messages I think Heathers puts out is "Just because you have been hurt does not give you the right to hurt others."

Just because Kurt and Ram and J.D. have been hurt by people who shouldn't be doing such things to them does not mean they have a pass to hurt others.

This has been a lecture from someone who relates to J.D. but understands he's still wrong.

#heathers the musical #jason dean #kurt kelly #ram sweeney #character analysis #rape mention #homophobia mention #references to child abuse #just adding those in because i dont want to upset people.

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presleyhearted · 1 year

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Yours Truly | Journal entry no. 1

・❥・Pairing: Elvis Presley x original female character

・❥・Genre: slow burn, mystery, angst, fluff.

・❥・Word Count: 491

・❥・Summary: In which a 21-year-old girl suddenly finds herself having consecutive dreams of a particular rock ‘n’ roll star whom she has never met and who died 45 years ago.

・❥・ Ratings & Warnings: SFW.

・❥・ Author's Notes: So this is a peek into what Nova is thinking at this point. This is a supplemental material to the on-going series 'Yours Truly' therefore, DO NOT read this unless you have read the between chapters 1-6.

|chapter index |prev|next

AN ENTRY FROM NOVA'S JOURNAL

November 22 , 2022

Dear Journal,

I know that despite buying this journal a while ago, I have never really written an entry in it. I've written quotes that I found from books and maybe my favorite songs. But I've never written a proper entry. I like to think that people write in their journals when something interesting happens in their life, and honestly-speaking, my life is not very interesting.

But something happened. Suddenly. And I guess this is the point where I think it's only right for me to make this my first journal entry.

On my 21st birthday, I made a promise to myself that I will try to take more chances. Which I know it a big statement for me. But I will try to do this. Luke and Charlotte helped me make a list. So in some way there is still order amongst the point of being spontaneous.

I've been having dreams recently. Not normal ones I believe. I've been having consecutive dreams for the past week now. In my dreams, this man appears. He first appeared in my dreams on the night of my 21st. It gets crazier. I know that people dream about celebrities all the time, even more-so when people have a crush on a celebrity. But this is when it gets strange.

Elvis Presley appeared in my dream. And people can say that dreams don't make any sense anyways. But I never really thought about Elvis Presley. I mean, sure I watched the biopic of him when it was released during the summer and that was the first time I really learned about him. But for him to suddenly appear in my dreams? Consecutively?

It gets crazier.

Each time I wake up from these dreams, I remember everything. Every detail. Every conversation that I have with him in the dream. I am usually a person that looks for logic and scans a situation to know what's going on, but this makes me dumbfounded.

Our conversations - they sound normal. like a normal conversation you would have in real life. But there is something more, something that I don't know. It's strange because Elvis, the way he acts, it's like he knows me. Certain details about myself and the way he is around me - it is like he has known me for so long. And I know that can easily be explained by how there is a part of the human brain that subconsciously generates personal dreams.

But I just have this doubt inside of me. Something is going on, and it frustrates me to no end that I don't know what that something is.

He says that he'll help me experience the things on my list, the goal of living life to the fullest. To try new things. So I'll try and focus on that instead.

After all, dreams are just dreams. . . right?

Till next time journal.

Nova.

#elvis x oc #elvis fanfic #elvis presley #elvis x original female character #original female character #fantasy #slow burn #angst #fluff #mystery #elvis fic #yours truly #astralheart21

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niragixpsych · 1 year

Note

🍩🍟🌙🍧🍁🌹🙈🙉🌱🌏📖📸🎁👑✏️👖🎀🖍️📎

𝐎𝐂 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒!

🍩 DONUT - favourite sweet treat?

He loves mochi and strangely enough KitKat.

🍟 FRIES - do they order food often? or they prefer to cook their own food?

In the normal world he tends to order more often if he has lots of work to do. He isn't that fond of cooking despite being a decent cook.

🌙 MOON - what is your oc’s greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

He wants to have someone to truly connect with, someone that will be by his side no matter what. He doesn't want to be alone.

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

He has some childhood photos still, but nothing else from his past. His childhood was a rather lonely one with both parents working all the time. The photos are more for him to see where he came from, but he wouldn’t get upset if they should get lost. Sometimes he kind of wishes though he still had his dog plush from back then.

🍁 MAPLE LEAF - what is their favourite season? why?

He actually enjoys summer because he can go outside and just sit somewhere and let the sun warm his skin. It allows him to just be and not think.

🌹 ROSE - do they like valentines day? have they been confessed to before? have they confessed to anyone before?

He dislikes Valentines Day and thinks it's a stupid holiday. And yes he received a few confessions after he turned 18 and the bullying stopped but he didn't care about it. And no he didn't confess on Valentine's Day. But if he has someone he is invested in he might do something, but only if his partner is into it.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don’t want to show other people?

His weaker, scared or more some and vulnerable side.

🙉 HEAR-NO-EVIL - what is the worse thing your oc could hear from someone?

He heard it all by now so nothing can shock him anymore.

🌱 SEEDLING - what is their most vivid memory from childhood?

Coming home from school one day to find a note on the kitchen table. His parents would be gone for 14 days on business trips. They left him some money for food and that was it.

🌏 EARTH - will they give up the world for someone they love? is this decision easy for them?

Yes, he would do that despite some people maybe thinking that he is too selfish for that. And he will make that decision within a heartbeat without any hesitation.

📖 OPEN BOOK - do they like reading? what’s their favourite genre?

Sometimes he does like it, but he hasn't a favorite genre.

📸 CAMERA - do they enjoy having their picture taken? what’s their go-to pose? do they like taking photos? what do they take photos of?

He doesn't mind it because he is aware he is good looking. But he has no signature pose. And he likes taking photos of things that can be used as an inspiration or to capture a memory.

🎁 PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving?

Any gift would do if he could sense the person thought of him while choosing it. And he is good at giving gifts if he wants to be.

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

"Hated, despised, further hated, living a life to be further despised."

✏️ PENCIL - is there a particular quote / lyric that you associate with them?

Far too many to put them here. But I will put one example here: "I'll continue living, despised by others. I will continue to incur hate, and hold my head up high as I go to Hell!!"

👖 JEANS - what is their go-to outfit?

Anything with dark colors.

🎀 RIBBON - how would they fit into other worlds / aus? what aus would you like to try out? what fictional world would they fit / not fit into?

I have all aus with him that I need I think. But I'm open to suggestions.

🖍️ CRAYON - what advice would you give to them?

That he should allow himself to heal and grow from his past.

📎 PAPERCLIP - a random fact.

He actually cares about how he looks.

#ask mun #answer #your sweet cookie #about niragi #headcanon #out of curiosity

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therealvinelle · 3 years

Note

If Edward turned Bella after forcibly aborting Renesmee, how would canon go?

... that was the point of forcibly aborting Renesmée, though. The demon baby was killing hamburger, Edward's whole reason for wanting that abortion was to save Bella. Specifically, to keep her human.

He has this whole scene with Jacob where... screw it, I'll quote it, so you don't have to take my word for it:

“Just back up a second. She won’t let you.” The sarcasm was acid on [Jacob's] tongue. “Did you ever notice that she’s exactly as strong as a normal hundred-and-ten-pound human girl? How stupid are you vamps? Hold her down and knock her out with drugs.”

“I wanted to,” [Edward] whispered. “Carlisle would have. . . .”

What, too noble were they?

“No. Not noble. Her bodyguard complicated things.”

Oh. His story hadn’t made much sense before, but it fit together now. So that’s what Blondie was up to. What was in it for her, though? Did the beauty queen want Bella to die so bad?

“Maybe,” he said. “Rosalie doesn’t look at it quite that way.”

“So take the blonde out first. Your kind can be put back together, right? Turn her into a jigsaw and take care of Bella.”

“Emmett and Esme are backing her up. Emmett would never let us… and Carlisle won’t help me with Esme against it. . . .” He trailed off, his voice disappearing. (Breaking Dawn, page 115)

(Note: this later turns out to be a lie. Carlisle explicitly states that he won't perform an abortion on Bella against her will. Edward has his back against the wall, and is losing his mind.)

“I don’t care about anything but keeping her alive,” he said, suddenly focused now. “If it’s a child she wants, she can have it. She can have half a dozen babies. Anything she wants.” He paused for one beat. “She can have puppies, if that’s what it takes.”

He met my stare for a moment and his face was frenzied under the thin layer of control. My hard scowl crumbled as I processed his words, and I felt my mouth pop open in shock.

“But not this way!” he hissed before I could recover. “Not this thing that’s sucking the life from her while I stand there helpless! Watching her sicken and waste away. Seeing it hurting her.” He sucked in a fast breath like someone had punched him in the gut. “You have to make her see reason, Jacob. She won’t listen to me anymore. Rosalie’s always there, feeding her insanity—encouraging her. Protecting her. No, protecting it. Bella’s life means nothing to her.”

The noise coming from my throat sounded like I was choking.

What was he saying? That Bella should, what? Have a baby? With me? What? How? Was he giving her up? Or did he think she wouldn’t mind being shared?

“Whichever. Whatever keeps her alive.”

“That’s the craziest thing you’ve said yet,” I mumbled. (Breaking Dawn, pages 116-117)

Edward wasn't allowed to be alone with Bella because they knew he'd try this. Even Bella knew, it's why she asked Rosalie for help.

Say, though, that Edward is able to get Bella alone... somehow. He overhears Bella's phone call at the airport, and that's where things get scary because it means Bella can't go to Forks anymore. Wouldn't want Rosalie to get her claws into you, would we, Bella?

Edward contacts Carlisle with an update about the situation, and tells him to fly in with the medical equipment they'll need and make sure Rosalie can't interfere.

Unfortunately for Edward, Carlisle is not understanding about this. He'll do anything and everything he can to help Bella, yes, but he won't abort the baby against her will.

Again, just so no one is taking my word for it (I'm in a quotin' mood today):

“Yes. Bella is already a daughter to me. A beloved daughter.”

“But you’re going to let her die.”

[Carlisle] was quiet long enough that I looked up. His face was very, very tired. I knew how he felt.

“I can imagine what you think of me for that,” he finally said. “But I can’t ignore her will. It wouldn’t be right to make such a choice for her, to force her.” (Breaking Dawn, page 154)

So now Edward has Carlisle on the phone telling him to bring Bella to Forks damnit, they have all the equipment there, and failing that the family is coming down to Rio - but not to abort the baby. And off the phone is Bella, begging Edward to understand that their baby is a miracle.

Edward ends up performing the abortion himself.

Considering what the hybrid pregnancy did to Bella's body, including but not extended to turning her uterus to stone, she was likely doomed from the moment of conception. A simple suction or scrape isn't going to do. Oh, I'm sure he'd try, but Renesmée probably crushes whatever he tries to put in the uterus with her tiny, somehow-already-developed fists.

Edward would have had to perform a hysterectomy.

So we have a vampire with no surgical experience whatsoever performing a hysterectomy and abortion on his wife (And yes, hysterectomies are invasive procedures, you need to know what you're doing) and one can only hope he minded his anestesiology well enough not to kill her that way. To say nothing of the fact that Bella had been turned into a hybrid incubator, this isn't going to be like the textbooks Edward read in the 1950's. (For that matter, people's innards aren't identical to the textbooks. This organ can be bigger than expected and that artery might take a slightly different path than expected. We're genetically varied both on the inside and the outside, so Edward really can't rely on what he learned in school.)

Bella's not getting off that operating table alive.

In canon Edward did bite her in the end, once she was truly beyond saving, but she also did very much give birth Alien style. She wasn't going to survive, and Edward had even had some time to get used to that thought, however much he railed against it. He was desperate enough that in that fateful moment he chose to keep her.

This time, he abducted, drugged, and forcibly aborted her, all of it so she'd live on. If he bites her, that will all have been for naughty.

But if he doesn't, then his world will be a starless night again.

Could be he bites her, could be he doesn't. I can't predict Edward Cullen.

If he does, then Bella wakes up a vampire to find that her husband murdered both her and her child, and now wants her to forgive him. She never does, and Carlisle and Rosalie can't either. Even Esme would struggle with this one. The covens falls apart spectacularly, but at least Bella now has a Tragic Backstory™ to match the others.

If he doesn't, then Alice watches powerlessly this vision of Edward killing his wife, and all the Cullens can do is come in many hours later, when it's too late anyway, and bury Bella. The coven falls apart in this timeline too.

#bella swan #edward cullen #carlisle cullen #jacob black #twilight #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #twilight headcanons #book quotes #never too late to make that a tag

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youbloodymadgenius · 3 years

Text

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 3

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello's masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 3497 (oops 🙈)

Additional note: what you’re going to read is not realistic.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

With his stomach in knots and a frown on his face, Ivar watches closely his godfather, who enters the living-room, wheeling a large trolley case behind him.

"Hello, Ivar." Floki looks around, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "Lagertha isn't here?", before flopping down on the corner sofa.

"No," Ivar shakes his head, wheeling up next to him, "She's out on a date with this English guy... Hammond, Halmund or whatever his name is."

Scratching his ear, Floki tilts his head, "but she knows you're going, right?" He pulls the trolley case closer and then snorts, mumbling under his breath, "don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes!"

"What do you think? Of course, she knows. She said, and I quote," Ivar raises his hands to make air quotes, his voice tinged with obvious annoyance, "'Of course you can go, sweetie, you know I don't want to be the one holding you back. Call me if anything goes wrong. And don't forget to take your meds.'"

"She cares, Ivar." Floki's tone is soft as he places a hand on his godson's shoulder.

Ivar lowers his gaze. "You should have taken me in." His words are barely audible and suddenly he feels like he's eleven again and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"You do know that back then I wasn't in a good place." Floki's sad sigh almost gets Ivar in tears as memories of his parents and Helga flood his mind. The pain in his heart becomes nearly unbearable but he fights it off with all his might. He never wants to feel broken and lost again.

Ivar lifts his head up and Floki can see the stubbornness in his eyes. "I could live with you now."

"No, you could not, and you know it!" Floki smiles and taps Ivar on the cheek. "Ivar, I live between two flights, today in Norway, yesterday in Iceland and after-tomorrow in Canada. What kind of life would this be for you, huh? And besides, living with Lagertha is not that bad."

But living with Sigurd is! Ivar wants to shout. He keeps quiet, though, shrugging before eventually mumbling. "Guess not..."

"So," Floki starts, eager to change the subject, "where are your brothers, by the way?"

"Where do you think they are, huh, you knock-kneed fool? They're already there." Ivar glances at his watch, furrowing his brow. "Harald's party started twenty minutes ago."

"We better hurry up, then!" Crouching down, Floki slowly opens the suitcase under Ivar's scrutinizing gaze.

"Quick!" Ivar commands, barely able to contain his impatience, his nervous fingers tapping his push rims. "What do you have for me, old man, huh?" He even contemplates climbing out of his chair to open it himself, but the fear of breaking a bone at the worst possible time is stronger than his eagerness.

"You're going to calm down, young Padawan." Floki quips, slowly moving his hand in front of Ivar with eyes full of mischief. Ivar immediately slaps his godfather's hand away, mumbling under his breath, "I'd rather be a Sith Lord." That earns him a loud, hysterical laugh from his godfather.

Ivar grunts, ready to protest, but all thoughts leave his mind as soon as he's able to see what is in the trolley case. The scowl on his face obvious, he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment as he utters, "you made me braces?"

He hates braces with a passion. Along with underarm crutches, he had some, as a child. They were bulky, stiff, painful and walking with them was tedious, agonizingly slow, and exhausting. Ragnar had been adamant that he wanted his youngest to walk, no matter the struggles, no matter the nearly unbearable pain. Ivar had settled his ass in a wheelchair the day of his father's funeral, getting rid of his braces shortly after, a decision he had never regretted. So no, such torture devices were not at all what he was hoping for.

"Have a little faith in me," Floki rolls his eyes. "These," he looks lovingly at the strange contraptions in his hands, "are not braces, Ivar. Have you and your crippled ass ever heard of exoskeleton?"

Ivar's eyes widen. "It's that thing used in rehab that allows paraplegics to walk, right?" As Floki nods, Ivar gives him a puzzled glance. "But, erm, you do know I don't have a spinal cord injury, don't you? Or are you suffering from memory loss? Maybe it's your age?"

Dismissing the remark with an exasperated wave of his hand, Floki hisses, "I'm well aware that you don't, godson dearest," before narrowing his eyes, his voice now serious, "you may have full sensation in both legs, yet they can't exactly support your weight and your lack of motor function can't be denied. Not really different from some paraplegic dudes, what do you think?"

Feeling a heavy lump in his throat, Ivar frowns, not pleased with the idea of him being like a paraplegic. Almost without thinking, he contracts his quads as best he can, as if he wants to make sure he's still able to do it.

Floki doesn't miss the barely-there movements in his thighs, though, and his voice softens. "Look Ivar, you're not a paraplegic, okay? But I used the exoskeleton technology. And since you're not paralyzed, I was able to make a smaller device that you can wear underneath your clothes, and you're going to walk. I mean, really walk, not just like those guys in rehab, between parallels bars and with a PT right behind them."

Ivar, his eyes bright, stares at his godfather, slack-jawed with amazement. "I'm..." He begins to sputter, voice filled with emotion, "I'm really going to walk?" Feeling like his heart is pounding out of his chest, he fails to contain his excitement, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his lap. He'd tap his feet if only he could.

"You are." Floki nods before taking out of the trolley case a pair of dress shoes. "I put dozens of sensors in the insole of these shoes, which will enable the exoskeleton to correct your stance practically every second. Therefore, you won't need crutches, although I would say it's safer for you to use this." Reaching down, he grabs a black derby-style cane, simple and sleek in design. "You know," he shrugs, "just for extra support. Better safe than sorry, hmh?"

Ivar, who doesn't even flinch when he sees the walking stick, just reaches out, his hand grazing the carbon fiber exoskeleton. "Is it really for me?" His eyes filled with wonder, his voice trembling, his lips stretch across his face as his godfather nods. "And you made this in what?... four, five days?"

Letting out his signature giggle, Floki waggles his fingers in front of his face. "Even I couldn't make this in such a short time. No, the truth is, I've been working on it for a while. Let's say your phone call just sped things up. Though I must say, this marvel of technology is not flawless... It has a really low battery life, like four hours of autonomy at best. If I had more time, I certainly could have done better, but for now, it is what it is and you'll have to make do with what you've got." Pursing his lips, he glances at his watch, "So, just so you know, if you put this on now, you'll have to come back around midnight if you don't want to have to crawl around. And if you hear a beep, you'd better hurry, okay?"

As Ivar just nods, his beaming smile never fading, Floki adds, tilting his head, "and now, go get ready, young Padawan, you have a party to attend!"

***

Sitting on a bench at the seaside, Ivar watches the party from afar, a feeling of uneasiness tightening his chest. It was a mistake. Attending to this party was a mistake. Despite the exoskeleton, despite the fact that he walks almost normally, it was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't be here. Anxiety surges like the swell of a wave, and he struggles to breathe. Sigurd was right: he doesn't belong here, doesn't belong to this life.

A part of him wants to leave. It would be better to run away, to go hide in his room. But he won't. He can't. Because just a moment ago he saw you. Because he's not ready to give up on you now that he is here, eventually close to you.

He recognized you the moment his eyes fell on you. Looking radiant in a polka dot dress, you're as pretty as he remembers. Pretty? Who's he kidding? The girl you were six years ago was pretty. You're a woman now, and one of the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Glowing, smiling at everyone, you didn't even see him. In his head, of course, he makes plans to approach you, even if deep down, he knows all too well he'll never muster enough courage to talk to you. You probably wouldn't want him to anyway. After all, he may be standing tall today, yet he's still a freak, a fucking cripple. He's still cursed with his bony, twisted, useless legs. He's still a burden.

Yet, there's this little voice inside of him, barely audible, whispering that you're not like this, that you never were in the first place; and that's partly why the ten-year-old boy he was when he first met you felt drawn to you almost instantly.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing and decides to take a little trip down memory lane, bringing him back to that sunny, summer day of his first – and only – encounter with you. His memory so vivid it's like it happened only yesterday.

He can't hear the chirping of birds as his brothers are loudly playing and bickering in the pool. His beloved mother is nowhere to be seen and he's willing to bet she's taking a nap, but not without first making sure he has everything he could possibly need. Lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, a glass of lemonade within reach and a thick book on his lap, he hardly notices his father coming into the backyard, Harald Hårfager following close behind.

Since Ivar knows Harald is here to talk business with his father, he pays no attention to the two men, who take their seats at the patio dining table.

He nearly falls off the sunbed when a tiny voice startles him. "Hello!"

Stunned, he turns his head towards the voice and comes face to face with a smiling girl he doesn't know. You. He'd say you're about his age.

"I'm Y/N," you tell him, waving your hand shyly. "I'm at my uncle's for the weekend," you keep going, pointing your finger at Harald, "and I was wondering... May I join you?" You finally ask, dragging a second sunbed closer to his.

His first instinct is to look around, because you can't possibly be talking to him. Why would you? Surely you can't have failed to spot his leg braces, nor his hideous orthopedic shoes. You can't have missed that he's a cripple.

Frowning as he sees that no one is around, he snorts, his nostrils flaring. He can tell you're wearing a swimsuit under your pink dress. What do you want, then? Are you here to mock and ridicule him or what?

"You better get in the pool with my brothers." He knows he sounds rude, not answering nor greeting you, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be made fun of and doesn't intend to give you the chance to do it.

Seemingly undeterred, you speak with a soft voice. "No, I'd rather not." Your smile is so genuine he can't help but think you mean no harm. "Actually," you shrug, sitting next to him, "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind. What are you reading?"

Gobsmacked, he just looks at you – and gods, how pretty you are! – for a long time, unable to utter a single word. Are you truly interested in what he's reading? Interested in him? He swallows hard, his heart racing. A small smile dancing on your lips, your kind eyes never leave his as you wait, full of hope, for him to finally talk to you.

And that's what he ends up doing, almost in spite of himself. For the next two hours, he shows you his astronomy book, a gift from his godfather for his tenth birthday, and tells you about the stars, the constellations and the nights he spends watching the sky, when his mother allows him to. And for two hours you listen to him, asking a question here or there and always smiling. He's pretty sure you're not faking being interested in what he's saying.

All too soon, your uncle tells you it's time to go and you stand up with a scowl, letting out a sigh of regret. The next moment, you flash Ivar a grin. "I had a really great time with you, thanks! I'm going back to my mom's tomorrow but I hope we can spend time together again sometime, maybe next summer. I'd love to stargaze with you, you know?" With that, you lean forward and as your lips touch his cheek, Ivar's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Ivar inhales deeply. That kiss... That's when he fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. If he concentrates enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips against his skin, still smell your sweet, flowery scent.

That day, he had watched you leave with a smile on your face, already dreaming of the day he would see you again. You had said "next summer" and even though it was a long time away, he was willing to wait. In the meantime, he would have plenty of memories to recall - your joyful voice, your sparkling eyes, your lovely smile... Sure, he could wait.

And he had waited, hopeful and happier than he had been in a long time.

Not long after, however, his life had been turned upside down, his father being murdered and his mother dying in a car crash. Lost, angry, broken, and infinitely sad, he had gone through the following months as if anesthetized - barely living, hardly functioning, sometimes feeling as if the memory of you was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Yet, and he doesn't know why – or perhaps simply because Ragnar being dead, Harald had no reason to visit anymore – he had never seen you again.

"Hello!"

His whole body freezes and he stops breathing. This voice... Your voice... He'd know it anywhere. Yet, it can't be, right? Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? Is one of his brothers tricking him? Why would you talk to the cripple?

"My name is Y/N." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I was wondering... May I join you?"

Summoning the courage he's not sure he has, Ivar looks tentatively toward you.

Gods! You're even more beautiful up close. Fuck. Now that you're here, right next to him, he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Panic seizes his hammering heart as a lump rises in his throat. He attempts to swallow around it to speak, to say something, anything, but the words won't come out and he finally just nods, his hand gesturing to the bench for you to sit on.

"Thanks," you give him a broad smile before taking your seat.

Ivar cannot believe his eyes. What are you doing? Did you recognize him? Why are you here, with him?

"Woul–", he sputters, struggling to find his voice, "Wouldn't you rather be there?" Pointing his index finger at the crowd gathered in front of the makeshift stage just a few meters away. He frowns, tilting his head, "the party is in full swing."

"No, I'd rather not." You shrug and as you turn your head toward him, he breathes in your sweet scent, suddenly feeling dizzy. "The guys are already drunk and really have one thing on their minds. And those who are not are boring." You lower your gaze, as if embarrassed, and it's so adorable Ivar feels like his heart is melting. "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind."

Oh, he doesn't. He doesn't mind at all. The truth is, there's a fucking firework inside of him, and he barely contains the screams of happiness that threaten to escape his lips. "That's okay, you can stay," he says instead, his fidgeting fingers dancing on his lap.

Over the next hour or so, the conversation flows easily as you speak about Karasjok, the small town where you live, telling him about your mother's people, the Sami, their culture and customs.

Ivar shares with you bits and pieces of his life too, speaking about his passion for the Viking culture and about his belief in the ancient gods. The night, his night, is full of your laughs, full of your smiles, full of you. He wants it to never end.

He's still trying to figure out if you know who he is, if you remember meeting him once when you rise to your feet, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "Walk with me, will you?"

He's about to break the truth about his inability to walk when he remembers that actually, thanks to Floki, he can. His eyes never leave yours as he grabs his cane with a little bit of self-consciousness, wincing as he stands up, but he can't see disgust, contempt, or disappointment on your face and your smile doesn't falter as you delicately slip your hand under his free arm, curling your fingers back over it. Shaken by your sudden proximity, Ivar feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

"It's such a lovely night and I'm so happy spending it with you."

Your words leave him speechless as you lead him close to the water. A bunch of guys can be seen in the distance and Ivar is pretty sure his brothers are among them. He can feel their heavy stares on him and doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying. "Who's this dude? Do we know him?" Standing tall, with his braided hair and a blue suit, he knows he doesn't look like himself. Yet, as he locks eyes with Hvitserk for a second, he'd sworn he sees a hint of recognition crossing his brother's face. And as the latter gives him a thumbs up, he knows his mind is not playing tricks with him.

"Oh, I love this song!" You clap your hands twice before shrugging shyly. "Let's dance, please!"

Ivar's heart breaks. Scared out of his wits, he swallows hard, his breathing uneven. "I... I can't." It's a painful admission, and he wishes the ground would just swallow him up.

He realizes you pay no mind to his defeated tone, though, as you grab his cane, leaning it against a nearby tree. "We'll go slow, I promise."

Almost in spite of himself, he places his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Gently – cautiously – swaying to the music, Ivar leans in close and, inhaling deeply your delightful scent, he feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Your head resting on his chest, he's sure you can hear his frantic, pounding heartbeat. But he can't bring himself to care, not when you're finally exactly where he wants you to be. In his arms.

That's why he doesn't hear the first beep, or if he does, he doesn't pay any attention, entranced by your beauty, your kindness and the mesmerizing color of your eyes.

But when you stop dancing, your eyebrows raised, "What's that beeping noise? It doesn't stop," he hears it too, cold sweats washing over him as panic courses through his body.

"I... I must... I must go," he stammers, and honestly he's about to throw up. He can't think, can't speak. All he knows is that he doesn't want you seeing him crawling around. He won't allow it. He can't.

Fuck.

That's why he leaves. He just strolls off. He doesn't see the appalled look you're giving him, doesn’t' realize he's leaving his black cane behind, doesn't hear the despair in your tone as you shout, "wait, please! I don't even know your name!"

He has only taken a few steps when crocodile tears run down his cheeks, blurring his sight. It hurts so much he could scream, and he can barely breathe as the realization starts to sink in. Who was he trying to fool? Sigurd had been right all along. No matter the exoskeleton, no matter the genius of his godfather, he's still a freak. A monster. An abnormality.

He doesn't belong. He's not worthy.

Fuck.

His heart shatters in a thousand pieces.

Fuck.

Y/N.

Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

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oneoftheprettynerds · 3 years

Text

Just My Type: Dark!Steve x Reader (Mob AU)

Chapter 2 in the Lipstick and Crayons Series.

Chapter 1: Welcome to the Darkside

Main Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is 2K words more than the last chapter and I’ve second guessed every single line in this one. This story is getting a lot of traction guys and I’m equal parts happy and scared. Thank you for the nice comments, they do encourage me. Also I’m just ranting feel free to skip this note haha. Your support in any form: like, comment or reblog is appreciated greatly. Also you can dm if you want to be friends, God knows I need those. Hopefully, this chap was worth the wait. Also, I made a poster for this on the main masterlist so check that out, it might be foreshadowing dome plot.

Warning: Eventual Non-Con, Sickening Threats, Mob Themes, Violence, Death, Manipulation, a mild mental breakdown, Cheap Tricks later.

Genres + Characters: Mob AU, Single Parents AU, Steve Rogers x Reader.

Summary: Steve can't ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can't get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob.

Chapter 2: Just My Type

It had almost been a week since the incident and you had barely gotten a wink of sleep. When you drove back to your house that night, Steve surprisingly didn’t argue as you had expected. After that friend of his whispered something in his ears, you only assumed he was needed elsewhere and you couldn’t be more thankful for that. They escorted you to your car and Steve thanked you with a strained smile, words genuine but eyes calculating. You didn’t even wonder what went inside his head. You were thankful for the peace and quiet of your own car, content to just get out of the area and into your humble abode.

After you put the already asleep Grace to bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of her room. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, hand intertwined with hers as you rested your head beside her tummy on the mattress.

Your adrenaline wore off and your limbs ached as your thoughts finally settled into place, the gravity of the catastrophe a few hours prior hitting you. Tears made their way down your cheeks as you realized that you both could have very well died tonight.

One bullet could have sealed each of your lives and you were basically defenseless had Steve not saved you against the creeping assaulter. You couldn’t commend yourself for even defending yourself against one attacker, the guilt of killing someone harboring in your tired head. Your quiet whimpers eventually wore you out, while Grace’s shallow breaths lulled you to sleep.

You didn’t manage to sleep for long though, every time your eyes closed, horrific images flashed in your mind. A blood curdling scream here, heaps of dead bodies there, with distant exploding sounds all around. You could see men clad in black holding guns to Grace’s head and whensoever you woke up, you just wondered how much more creative your mind could get, making these visuals so realistic.

When 8 AM rolled in, you didn’t wake Grace up even though it was Monday and you had work. You got up, changed into a long tee after a shower and called your office and then her daycare. You knew you would have a hard time going back to your normal life, to become trusting enough to leave her alone.

Your assumption about yourself was right. You took almost the entire week off, which your boss generously allowed you to after hearing your traumatic experience, which soon made the city news headlines. All your colleagues checked on you, almost once in the five day break you took, and sweetly enough offered to bring you anything you needed.

It was kind of them, but none of them could bring you what your heart genuinely craved: peace and assurance that you and Grace would be safe.

Even though Saturdays were off, you did go to work to see what you missed and where to start on again. You went in because you knew that the random spurt of resolution you got in the bathroom to collect your life, wouldn’t last.

To ease back into your normal life, you gathered your guts, called a babysitter and left home. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Grace at the daycare just yet. One of your good friends offered to come in to the office and help you, even on the weekend and you were quite grateful to him.

When you both decided to take lunch in the nearby dining place, you both got to talking, the conversation obviously originating from ‘How have you been?’ and ‘Is Grace okay?’. You reminisced about how you used a photobooth to hide, grotesquely and uncomfortably chuckling when you remembered Sarah calling you her mom and how her dad saved you all.

You deliberately left the part where you killed someone and Steve shot someone too. You hadn’t come to terms with it yet and you stiffly restricted your mind whenever it tried to go down that lane.

He sensed how the conversation was becoming tense and distressing for you and briskly redirected the topic.

“I hope the dad was hot though?” He wiggled his eyes creepily and you snorted at his vulgarity, light for the first time in days.

“He was easy on the eyes; I will admit that.” You played along, recalling your girlfriends and how you used to ogle people.

“Don’t be a homewrecker though, I don’t support cheating.” He said nonchalantly, checking his phone as a notification bell rang off.

“He’s a widower.”

His eyes snapped up and met yours as his head tilted in confusion. “That’s a strange fact to know about someone you met for a few minutes.”

Steve’s even stranger comment about his dead wife popped in your mind and before you could stop yourself, you blurted that out as well.

“He even said and I quote, ‘She deserved what she got.’” He put his phone down, weirdly amused.

“Ooh Creepy! Do you think he is one of those husbands who kill their wives and bury them in the backyard? The podcasts always say that the psychopaths are visually handsome and charming. And his statement was quite vague and spooky.” He continued munching, and you felt that now Aiden was really paying attention unlike before.

“Steve did have a gun while searching for Sarah, come to think of it.” You drank your tea and awaited his response. What you did not expect was his eyes to widen and worry to cloud his features.

“Um Widower Steve with a toddler Sarah? At the place where The Vices attacked?” He mumbled, grabbing his phone and doing God knows what on it. Your eyebrows furrowed and before you could ask him what was up with his antics, he resumed.

“This is a long shot but I really hope your Steve didn’t look like this.” He positioned the phone in your vision, and you could already tell it was Steve by the sapphire blue of his eyes piercing through the screen into your soul. The picture was a month or two old, his hair was much longer when you met him than in the photo.

“This is him.” Your eyes met Aiden’s and worry visibly took over his features as his forehead creased and jaw tense.

He looked around the restaurant, finding it empty in the afternoon. He leaned and whispered, “This Steve of yours is dangerous.”

You interrupted Aiden, even though you already knew Steve was, the sight of his armed men still fresh in your head, and inquired, “Why do you say so?”

“It’s just like the fictional stories we hear from our parents, except here, in this city of ours, every myth holds true. There are really powerful men, untouchable by law, who reign the city silently and live luxuriously. Every shady, under the table deal you’ve heard of, transpires. Illegal trades, fraud schemes and bounty hunters are not fictional, they exist here. These men kill whatever hinders them and trust me, you don’t want to be the deer caught in their Jaguar’s headlights.”

Ice froze in your veins again, resembling the fear you felt that night but now because of your deemed ‘savior’. You convinced yourself that you had not wronged him in any way, instead had saved his daughter’s life.

“Are you in contact with him? If you are, distance yourself cleverly, don't block him immediately.”

“No, we just parted ways near my car, he thanked me for Sarah and was called away. It’s almost been a week and he hasn’t reached out if that’s what you mean. We didn’t exchange contacts and I don’t think I even told him my full name.” You explained yourself as if you were on the witness stand in court, trying to convince yourself more than Aiden.

“Pray that he doesn’t remember you more than that, if at all. I’m being totally honest here in telling you this, I’m genuinely worried for you and Grace. You are smart but he is powerful. He has unimaginable resources and if you become more than a speck of dust on his windshield, you are screwed. There is no exaggeration here.” You took his words to your heart and swore to be careful, if not for yourself then for Grace.

The rest of the day went by and you found yourself dwelling on and worrying about Aiden’s words. At least he put it out there as it was. Heeding his advice, you did google Steve on your phone, finally finding him in the topmost news headline when you added ‘Buck’ in the search bar as well.

‘With 38 lawsuits pending against businessman Steve Rogers, the filers have lost all hope in prosecuting him. All cases are being drawn out for indefinite periods of time by the Chief Justice Bruce……’

Aiden was right.

Businessmen was code for illegal mob heads. Cases being stretched on meant he was, in fact, invincible, at least to the common man’s fists.

You flickered through several titles, each one more surprising than the last. He was believed to be involved in the carnival attack, alleged for three hit and run cases that he didn’t lose but the witnesses swore they saw him driving and was also rumored to have brought in quintals of drugs just last week, but the packets just evaporated into thin air and there was no proof of their existence in the first place even on incessant searching.

Every crime of his made you shudder and you mentally thanked Aiden for pulling you out of your oblivion. Your mind raced and heart palpated and you cursed yourself for being so drastically unaware even after living here for almost four years. Technically speaking, Steve and you were even, him saving your life and you saving his daughter’s. No logical reason came to your mind for him contacting you ever.

You wished as Aiden said and assured yourself that your paths would never cross again, Steve not having reached out in a week, so hopefully never again.

That thought went out the window when you reached home to find a box awaiting you. Hannah, the babysitter you had called, informed you it came around 5 in the evening and was exclusively to be opened by you today.

Your mind raced as you paid the babysitter, your hands sweaty as you tried not to think about the gift and its sender. There was an apparently clear answer to who mailed it but you refused to accept that, courtesy of Aiden.

The box was of the height of Grace, it was black with red hearts painted across it; some red roses also sparingly adorned it. You opened the lid and found tons of red tissues and a multi-flower bouquet adorned with mostly red roses and a few purple and pink flowers.

Because of your frequent gardening in your backyard, you knew all the flowers’ meanings. To sum it all up, red flowers, especially roses were used for courting someone. Pink meant admiration, purple for beauty and you knew the ‘violet’ flowers were for loyalty.

As your nerves increased tenfold, you willed yourself to get it over with and empty out the box first, ignoring the little card in your bouquet, saving the ‘best’ for last. You find a mini bouquet inside but unlike yours, it had chocolates of every kind. You did read its card and cringed when it was for Grace, bothered not by the deed but by the doer.

Further inside were some animal plushies, face masks, perfumes, scented body lotions and shampoos. Your head hurt thinking about the ‘single mother care package’ delivered to you by someone you refused to acknowledge.

As Grace sat in her playpen occupied, you dared to pick your card and read its message, your heart beating unrealistically fast for someone who refused to accept the cruciality of her situation.

I can’t thank you enough in this lifetime for saving my little princess. The gift of your help is more than anything money could ever buy for me. Please accept this invitation of mine for dinner tomorrow night, 7PM at La Bonne Nuit, as a symbol of my sincere gratitude for everything you’ve done. I’ll gets the kids covered and pick you up, you just be ready and look as amazing you always do. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

You stilled as you read it over and over again.

An invitation, your ass. Even in writing his authority portrayed, there was no question and hope for you coming, he just stated that you’d come. Looking pretty as always? You just met him once, in the middle of a calamity, covered in dirt and blood.

All the red roses and gifts screamed his romantic interest but you illusioned yourself into thinking they meant gratitude. You wouldn’t be able to digest it all otherwise.

Knowing what you knew now about Steve, you understood there was no denying the dinner tomorrow. You had to get out of his clutches and distance yourself, but as Aiden had so rightfully said, cleverly.

That night you laid in bed mulling over your next course of actions. You had called the gift shop to return the unwarranted presents you received but they said it was non refundable and anonymous to trace. You bitterly snorted in their face, they put a card with Steve’s name on it for heaven’s sake!

You didn’t flinch even when you realized you never gave Steve your address, neither for mailing stuff nor for picking you up. There was no number given to call him and thank or to call him and deny. The bastard had planned it all out, and you felt like you were driving in a one way lane, going deeper into the tunnel. Somewhere among your all-relentless fretting, you managed to finally sleep.

When the doorbell rang, your eyebrows furrowed. It was just 6 PM and you weren’t expecting anybody else except for Steve. You had already begun getting ready, having developed a habit of keeping an extra margin of time now having a toddler. You still had to assemble Grace’s essential backpack, fill it with her meds and bottles.

While still putting on your diamond earring, you made your way to the door, unlocking it to find a redhead grinning at you. Before you could interact with her, a small body clung to your legs and you looked down to find the azure eyed kid that put you in this mess, Sarah, smiling up at you.

“Mama! You look pwetty!” She looked up in awe and now aware that she didn’t have a mother, you were even more so coerced into accepting this title rather than telling the kid that 'you are semi orphaned'.

“I’m Wanda, Sarah’s nanny. Mr. Rogers told me to pick her friend, Grace, up for the night?” So, this was what Steve meant. Bringing Sarah was proof enough of her legitimacy, but behind her you saw ‘Buck’ salute you from the driver’s seat of the black car. One of these days, you needed to learn his real name.

You invited Wanda inside and Sarah ran to Grace immediately, grabbing and whining while asking Grace to give her some popcorn she was munching on, her fist generously full.

In your open plan kitchen, you grabbed two plastic bowls, filled them with each with the tub of popcorn that sat in the microwave and handed each toddler one, fortunately quietening Sarah. Sarah obeyed Grace, in first thanking you, their ‘mama’ and then following her to her open playpen.

You faced Wanda again who sat on a barstool and kept on beaming. If your annoyance at her amusement showed, she sure didn’t let it falter the smile.

“Mr. Rogers told me you’d worry about your daughter, but I assure you she’d be in more than capable hands.” All you could focus on was how self-reassured she was. “I’ve served him for almost two years, the last family I served, I was there for 8 years and before them, I was employed for 3. I know the general bedtime and snacks, all I need from you is information about her allergies.”

You nodded and told her about Grace, her meds and what all you packed. When you got to know that her family owned the daycare Grace went to, you were finally somewhat convinced. After seeing them off, it was about fifteen minutes later, that the devil disguised in Prada showed up at your door.

You grabbed your purse and your keys. Wiping your sweaty palms on your dress, you opened the door. Steve stood there, a smirk lodging on his handsome face. His blue, three-piece suit perfectly paired with his cerulean eyes was impressive to say the least.

He was dressed to kill, and it appeared as if you were his first victim.

As your eyes took him in from top to bottom, his did the same lazily, taking their time, resting at certain places for longer period than others.

“You look stunning.”

You knew you did. You wore one of your more expensive dresses when you found out La Bonne Nuit to be one of the few seven-star hotels in the country. In hindsight, if you’d have dressed worse, maybe he’d have left you alone.

“Thank you.”

“Shall we?” He offered you his hand and you obliged with your palm in his. Your other hand pulled the doorknob while you stepped out, all alarms already set-in place. He waited while you locked and put the keys in and when you were done, with a soft kiss along your knuckles, he pulled you along.

The act surprised you, your stomach turning and your gut wrenching and you wondered if you’d be able to process the food after all, with your upset digestive system.

Like a proper gentleman, he opened the door for you and when you settled, he took his position at the driver’s seat. The silence was painful for you, your overthinking finally filling ideas in your head that you avoided contemplating about all day, focusing on Grace.

He was relaxed though; his humming was proof enough.

Mid way through, your thoughts were rudely interrupted when a hand housed itself on your knee. You glanced to find Steve’s palm slightly rubbing your knee. If it was meant to be assuring, you certainly didn’t feel like it.

You frowned and looked up to Steve who still had the arrogant smirk on his face, eyes straight ahead on the road, giving no indication of his inappropriate touching.

You wanted to swat his hand away but a brainwave dashed through your head and a disturbing thought made you halt, that whether he carried guns to restaurants as well, since carnivals were no big deal.

You ignored his hand and continued looking outside, pretending to ignore it as well as he did. Your scowl was a huge giveaway though.

You didn’t know that, but when your eyes found their way out, his finally rested on your face, the smirk growing even more.

Thankfully, apart from the incongruous touching, the dinner went okay-ish. The food and wine were impeccable, perfect even, the restaurant on the hotel’s top floors was so picturesque. You tried to savor your one-time experience there, knowing you’d no way be able to come back there.

Well, you tried to relish as much as you could while your mind still sat there, wary of the human in front of you. If you’d ignore your journey here, Steve was nothing short of a true gentleman, often making you wonder if you had imagined his hand on you.

This ‘friendly’ date you were having was probably one of the best you have had, he had left no expenses. He appeared to be interested in your work, about your childhood and about Grace’s but you swiftly avoided his questions about her father. He was growing a tad bit too comfortable for your liking and you still refused to entertain the idea that this was a ‘date’ date.

When you were finally onto dessert, the last course of your meal, your table was shadowed by the broad frame of a brunette and his date. He clapped Steve’s shoulder and Steve rose to hug him, you awkwardly smiled.

“It’s been far too long since you’ve been here, Cap. Why don’t you and your gorgeous date stop by my penthouse for a bit? We could finally go over the papers you sent me, in person?” He winked, they discussed something more and then went away, his date bowing and trailing after him as well.

Steve claimed his seat again, and finally told you about the interrupter. “That was my good friend, Tony Stark, always in a hurry. I’ll introduce you to him when we meet him later.”

“I think I’ll be heading home; you need not worry about my introduction, I hardly think we’ll ever run into each other again.” His eyes narrowed and you clarified, “Me and Mr. Stark, I meant.”

That’s good, don’t associate yourself with more of his kind.

“He was so kind in inviting you though, it would be rude to refuse.”

“It’s already late, Steve. And I’ve never left Grace alone for a night yet. What if she’s antsy? What if she is bothered? What if she feels unsafe? She's only used to very few people, and after last week, I-” You had started the sentence hoping to use Grace as an excuse but every word of yours succeeded in making you more apprehensive.

The carnival night flashed in your mind, along with the nightmares and you started panicking even more. Your hands clammy, your dessert spoon fell in your lap as sought your phone in your purse, hoping to call Wanda for an update. You felt like a terrible mother, who left her child with a stranger, only a week after she suffered trauma, just to go on a date with a mobster.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed your fidgety hands and as you wriggled to get your hands free, he softly called your name. Voice stern but vocals gentle. Your blurry eyes snapped to meet his while he guided you to breathe deeply, in and out.

His firm hold convinced you to listen to him, you’d never free yourself of them otherwise.

When you had calmed a bit, he withdrew his hands and fetched his phone. Your thoughts slowed down, and you wondered if anyone here was judging you. Your little scene, mercifully, went unnoticed by the other affluent people dining here.

Steve handed you his phone where four colored frames rested, the screen showing you Grace and Sarah cuddled in a frilly, pink four poster where Wanda sat too, her lips moving.

The feed was live and the screen muted, both the toddlers’ eyes fluttering close slowly, on the bridge of sleep.

You handed the phone back to Steve and drank your water while he rubbed circles on the back of one of your hands. You never freaked out like you did right now, always collected and never giving into anxiety. What had happened to you?

Well, In your defense, you had never experienced a disaster either.

“The kids are safe; I’m never putting either of them in harm’s way ever again.”

Your mind did catch the plural in his statement but you promised yourself you would not let it get that far and continued drinking your water, emptying the entire glass.

“The HD image you just saw was by cameras Tony recently developed. His technology is amazing, I’ll take you to his lab sometime.” You appreciated his attempt to redirect the topic but you also focused on how tech-savvy his friends were as well.

You hummed and agreed, trying to be ambiguous with your answer.

When you finished your dessert, you hoped he’d forget about his ‘friend’ Tony but to no avail.

“His penthouse is two floors above. He owns this hotel as well in case you didn’t notice.” He led you to the elevator as you recalled the Starks Group logo you saw earlier sometime.

Some AI named Jarvis opened the elevator doors for you in the living room of Tony’s penthouse. It was even more magnificent than the restaurant earlier, the place illuminated by several hues of different colours. Steve chuckled and strung you along, introducing you to a ginger-head named Pepper, who was Tony’s date earlier and went to search for his acquaintance.

She offered you wine but you politely declined, opting for water instead. She brought your glass to you from the extravagant kitchen and you both sat on the barstool there instead of the living room. Too anxious to say the wrong thing, you stayed quiet until her voice filled the deafening silence.

“So, Steve almost never brings dates around. You two serious?” She questioned, leaning towards you, waiting for some gossip, no doubt.

“Oh no! We aren’t dating. He just invited me for a friendly dinner. We merely met the other week.” You deliberately left out the part where there was bombing by crime families and attack on the common man.

“Honey, in the mob life, you don’t just introduce random people to the fam.”

Oh, she wasn’t being shy about the whole mob ordeal. It seemed weird to hear it from her, since you and Steve hadn’t used the word yet. Maybe he figured you already knew considering the circumstances you met in or how famous he was.

“We really aren’t romantically involved. This dinner was just a gesture of gratitude if I’m being truthful.”

She chuckled, as if you were a kid making stories and quizzed, “Gratitude for what?”

You trapped yourself into that one. You didn’t know how to answer her and your brain downright blanked. Surprisingly,, Steve came to your rescue and two voices interposed your conversation.

Steve called your name and as you turned to the men, he continued, “She’s the one who saved Sarah the other night. You know the story, Wilson probably got it printed.”

“Impressive, really. Hey, I’m Tony and I see you’ve already met Pepper, my fiancée.” He shook your hand and kissed your knuckles, much like Steve did earlier in the day. You bowed, smiled and mumbled a ‘nice to meet you as well’. They escorted you to the elevator and Tony continued.

“Well, it’s not everyday Steve brings brave and extraordinarily attractive women around. Welcome to the family, sweetie. She’s a keeper, Cap.” He winked while saying the last sentence and before you could correct him, Steve ushered you inside the elevator, bro-hugging him. As the doors closed, Pepper winked at you from behind Tony and a shudder ran through you.

Okay you had to make it clear, get on the same page.

As the elevator music filled the silence, you started, “Steve, look we aren’t-”, “I served in the army, that’s why Tony calls me Cap, short for captain.” And crudely got interrupted.

“I never wanted to get into the army, I thought people were fools to sacrifice the one life they got. But I went to make my mother’s dream a reality, I really loved her, you know? Sarah is named after her, my mother.”

His voice broke at the end and as much as you wanted to redirect onto your former topic, you couldn’t. This amiability of yours would be the death of you.

“She died alone in her bed; I was dispatched too far away to even make it back for her funeral.” He mumbled but you heard him clear as a sunny day, and he leaned back onto the wall for support while you awkwardly rubbed his shoulder to return the support he provided earlier during your mental breakdown.

He closed his eyes and gathered himself, taking deep breaths. As the elevator dinged, his eyes opened and he gave you a strained smile.

The car ride to his mansion was painfully silent, his mind too sidetracked to focus on harassing you again. With all that you went through today, you almost forgot about that.

His mansion was enormous, twenty guards stood outside and even more patrolled the lawn. He took you inside his house, the interior even more detailed and scenic than Tony’s temporary residence.

You just concentrated on swiftly getting Grace and Uber-ing back. As Steve showed you earlier, Grace and Sarah hugged and slept and it was a meticulous task to untangle their limbs without waking either of them up andnd get Grace with her back-pack. You thanked Wanda on the way out, hoping to avoid Steve but somehow he stood outside before you, leaning on his sleek black car. He opened the door for you before you could refuse the ride. You settled with Grace in the backseat itself, trying to be smart.

He just summoned one of his guards to drive and sat alongside you in the back. You didn’t let the annoyance at his clinginess show though. You just focused on Grace who drooled over your shoulder.

Hopefully, there won’t be any point of exposure to him ever again, your circles didn’t match, both social and professional. Your Venn diagrams didn’t overlap anywhere. This should be reason enough to avoid meeting ever again.

He didn’t try anything even this ride around. You doubted it was hardly because of the toddler or because of the driver. He did as he pleased, if he wanted to he could very well grope you. Luckily, he wasn't in the mood.

When you reached your dwelling, you stepped out hastily, thanking him in a whisper. You fumbled to get your keys out, but since everything you held slowed you down, he caught up with you without even trying.

He took and held Grace’s bag while you drew the keys out, Grace still on your hip. He handed you the bag back, “So this is it, I guess?”

“Yeah, tonight was a total delight. Thanks for the dinner and everything, really.” You put up your best façade, hoping to convince him.

“It was, thanks to you. The company matters the most.”

You awkwardly chuckled and you sensed him leaning in, his eyes flickering shut. Your eyes closed as you turned your head to avoid him, so that his lips would peck your cheek.

They never came.

Your eyes opened to find his and he chuckled, leaning in once again swiftly, catching you off guard this time. He didn’t meet your lips though, he kissed the corner of your mouth, lips overlapping for a fraction of skin.

“In due time, baby.” He stepped back and strolled to his car leisurely, content in his own world.

You opened your door and slammed it shut, the peck feeling wrong on so many levels. It felt more sensual than a lover’s kiss, leaving room for intimacy and longing.

Your thoughts ran a hundred kilometers an hour, the most absurd but nauseatingly true being, this was a date and it was not your last encounter.

Steve smirked outside in his car, the dinner an absolute success in his opinion. Tonight just made him feel that you both were more than compatible for each other. You needing him during your mental breakdown, him relaxing under your shy touch, Tony’s approval, not that important though, and your anxiety for Grace was the best part, because he, more often than he’d like to admit, fussed about Sarah the same way, agonizing and fretting her well being.

A text lit up his black screen and his grin widened even more if possible.

‘The Stark cameras are up and working, Sir.’

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sweetsbfreex · 3 years

Text

lethologica

when you can’t think of the word for something...like this fic </3

Summary: Harry’s family navigating his impending fame, and the activity of reader and harry making their first belly cast

Warnings: fluff, slight angst?

Pairing: Husband, Dad!Harry x reader

“Hey! We’re back!” you yelled out, Harry following closely behind you as he shut the door, carefully slipping off your sneakers. It was pretty late at least for the two of you now. The sun was away, you and H coming back from your well deserved date night.

At the familiar sound of the slamming door came the different steps of your kids. Shuffling down the steps from your view you could see the face of your oldest ahead of the covey, bolting towards the two of you. The various sounds of ‘mom’,’mummy’, and ‘dad’ spoken out.

“You guys took forever” Sydnie; seventeen, was the first to say, exasperated as she latched onto you. But was quickly shuffled away by the twins. “Bloo” the seven year old was born a Penelope, but after watching her favorite show Winx Club when she was three. Demanded she be called after her favorite character Bloom, but couldn’t pronounce the name all the way through. If you had called her by official name she wouldn’t respond, going on about her day as if no one was there. And it had stuck since then, forever the stubborn one only to grow into a sweet, shy little girl.

And Alec, fraternal twins who had just turned seven.

“Careful babies the baby, remember” Harry lightly reminded. With that reminder he had loosened his secure hold.

“Well sorry” you teased, kissing all their forehead quickly “But we bought you guys some food too” you reported, holding up the labeled bag.

They responded with excited statements, as Sydnie took the bag from your hold, running to the kitchen with her siblings.

“My hugs!” Harry yelled out, hands cupping his mouth then putting his brawny arms out like a plane awaiting their bodies to clash into his. “ought to take away your allowance for that one” Harry teases, fingers stretching out to tickle anywhere they could.

As a result he got a lively mix of groans, laughs, and pleas.

“Joking” Harry says abruptly, kissing each of their cheeks before conducting all of you to the kitchen, assisting the twins into their own seatings at the kitchen. The light above all of you illuminating the room.

Embarrassingly enough it had been when you were pulling the plastic containers from the brown bag that you realized you were missing a kid.

“Where’s your brother?” you asked, opening Bloo’s Spaghetti and spreading it on the white plate.

“Talking to his girlfriend” Sydnie air quoted, rolling her father-like eyes.

“Why do you say it like that?” Harry asked, wonderingly his back turned, reaching for the Placemats, setting them in front of each child. Placing one in front of an empty stool for Chase.

“Daddy, he’s delusional! I’ve told him a million times. She found out his last name, connected the dots, and now she’s interested. I would know it’s happened to me hundreds of times since middle school” she said indignantly.

Finishing the last plate up, from the side of your eyes you could see and sense his deflation at the statement. Always overthinking about their last names and what it would entail as they grow up with Harry Styles as their father. His top five worry ever since the first time you were pregnant. His breaking point, however, had been when Sydnie came home, furious. From a day from school finding out that some girl in her class had tried getting closer to her with ill intentions.

He could also sense the worry that washed over you, catching your eye to let you know he was fine.

“He’s old enough to know better. He’ll be fine Syd,” you let her know, reaching your hand to fix the hoodie that overshadowed her precious face.

“I wasn’t, it sucks and he’s not taking me seriously”

“Cause you’re full of it” shifting your eyes to the doorway, the sixteen-year-old walked in towards you. His arm over your shoulders before placing a kiss to your cheek. Then making his way to his dad, who had pulled him in setting a kiss to his temple.

“You say that but just you wait!” she walked over to him quickly, flicking his the back of his head, shifting her way over to the fridge before he could retaliate. Pulling out a drink and some cups for everyone else, almost bustling into you, as you made your way to the microwave.

“Don’t wish that on your brother” Harry persisted.

“I’m not, but he better not come crying to me”

"Whatever” he paid her no mind, shifting the conversation to his parents. “How was your date?” he asked, setting himself at the island.

“‘Was fine we went to the arcade, I beat mum’s butt––”

“He’s lying, I beat him at air hockey”

“Just air hockey mum?” Bloo asked, a slight lisp from her missing front teeth. Her attention strayed away while Sydnie placed her cup in front of her, filling it with juice.

“Sadly” you mimicked a pout, Harry smiling with a smug grin.

“Then went to dinner. Guess what” he exclaimed, directing his energy towards Alec”

“Mummy looked so pretty tonight, some chum couldn’t stop eyeing her. So I had to give him a knuckle” he told the story, raising his fist and mirthfully brought it to Alec’s stomach. Eliciting giggles from his which bounced off to Bloo. The rest of you with gratified smiles at the meaningful interaction.

“Why are you such a fibber tonight” you urged Harry, smacking his shoulder.

“I’m not lying” he said, walking to you till he was hovering over your back, trying to annoy you with his insistent cheek kisses.

“Go away” you whined, faking your displeasure, shrugging your shoulders. The kids could note your slight smile except for him.

“Go away” he mocked.

“We all know you wouldn’t hurt a fly” Chase pointed out correctly. Thanking you as you set his plate of food in front of him.

Harry stood across the herd,resting back against the quartz countertop, arms crossed. Until you cuddled yourself into his side. His arm reaching down so his thumb could rub against the side of your belly. Your arms encircled around his waist, head on his chest.

“Not true” he replied.

“It’s okay, it’s why I married you” you sweetly said with a smile adoring your face. He could only look down at you with a close lipped smile reflecting yours, his dimple digging deep. Leaning down to kiss you, filling you up with his love for you.

Both of you had pulled away abruptly from the range of disgusted protests and a slam of an utensil. All except for sweet, shy Bloo. Who had watched with a smile on her face idolizing the love of her parents, swearing it was like the Disney movies. Like her favorite Princess and the Frog.

“We’re trying to eat!” Chase had said dramatically, pasta in his mouth. Sydnie covers her eyes with both hands, while Alec stuck out his tongue finger to his mouth.

“None of you would be here, if it wasn’t for this” you emphasized, your finger waving between you and H.

“No duh, you both won’t stop having children” Sydnie overstated, shuddering stagy.

It was late now, all of you stayed downstairs, more overdue than intended. The twins went down an hour early before the other two. Chase and Sydnie finished their meals for the night and instead of leaving, stayed up talking to their parents.

In your sleep shorts and a light weight tank top, your hands were in Harry’s who was massaging them softly.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked feebly, peeking up at the overly focused man.

“We’ve had this conversation a handful of times, don’t see why we need to have it again” he replied, glancing at you quickly.

“I know, but it might make you feel a little better” you tried again not wanting to push him too far.

“I–It’s just” he had to stop for a minute, his throat closing up too much to even speak clearly. You propped yourself up against the headboard, your lower back aching a little bit, adjusting Harry so his red tainted face was laid on your shoulder.

You could only coo at him, kissing his forehead, while your hand ran laxly on the side of his face. Your fingers brushing against the slight scruff against his cheek. Before moving your arm so your hand could massage his scalp at the back of his neck. Letting your fingers run through his lengthy hair at the same time. Your other arm reaches over to pluck a piece of tissue from the box, wiping under his nose softly.

“Just want them to have a normal life like you and me, it isn’t fair to them that they’ve got to deal with shit like this constantly because of me”

“Baby don’t say that, regardless of it all they’d still have to go through life meeting awful people”

“It isn’t the same y/n, with people like them they know the reason is because of their stupid last name.”

“H” you start sternly, rocking the both of you slowly “Don’t say stuff like that, you think if they had to choose you wouldn’t be their dad? They cherish you so much. I know it sucks I do, but you’re an amazing dad, there’s no one better for them. They would never hold something like that against you, they love you too much to”

“You’re a brilliant mum too. I’m sorry”

“You don’t need to apologize baby” You stopped rocking the two of you slowly, smiling down at him only to see: glossy somber eyes, a subtle simper, and a hiccuping chest.

“Stomachs getting bigger” he stated, his hand rubbing against your stomach absentmindedly.

“Thank you baby, just what every girl wants to hear”

“No! Not like that beautiful. Just meant now people can see your pregnant again”

“I’m teasing H, I promise the hormones haven’t kicked in yet.”

“Finally get to sleep with ur boobs in front of me every night” He said smugly, naturally looking at you for his favourable reaction.

“You’re such a child” you return, pinching his arm lightly “You wouldn’t want to put it in the nursery?” you ask.

“Wherever you want angel”

That radiant morning led you to now, an impromptu family trip to Target, the kids getting whatever their hearts desired–– to an extent–– while you and Harry stood here astonished by the arrays of different casting kits.

You raise your conjoined hands to point your finger at a baby blue box.

“That one? Genie told me that’s the one she bought” you queried.

He inspected it, twisting the box practically reading every word, before turning to look at the ingredients.

“H you probably don’t know what half of those things are”

He shrugged his shoulder in response, looking at the box one last time. “Sure it was this one?”

“Positive”

You were both meant to go find the kids until they had bustled around the corner, Chase pushing the loaded cart while everyone walked ahead. At the view of his parents. Alec had run ahead towards the two of you a motor car in his hand.

“Mummy! Daddy! May I get this please?” he asked, raising the toy above his head.

“Can I get this too please?” Bloo asked quietly, a lego set sat up in her palms.

“You guys were meant to keep them away from the toys” Harry told the older two. Knowing this would just add to their continual influx of toys. “Yes you guys can, go ahead and put it in the cart”

Alec had done his little dance, skipping his way back to the cart while Bloo walked herself carefully. Placing her set down as low as she could without causing any noise or crushing anything else.

“You both get everything you need?” you asked, following after the twins along with Harry, placing the kit into the cart.

You looked down at everything noticing some groceries, a few skincare items, a book, something for their rooms, and other things you couldn’t find that laid underneath everything else.

“Yep, ready to leave when you are” Sydnie had responded.

“Okay let’s head out, Styles” Harry exclaimed, as low as he could, to not disrupt anyone else, Clapping his ringed hands together once.

“Dude, you’re such a dad” Chase quipped.

“Almost like I’ve been raising kids for seventeen years huh?” He jested back, eyes opening wide in faux disbelief, traveling to bother Chase some more.

Giggling at the two, you looked down when you felt a body pressing into your leg. Familiar arms around your thigh. A distraught Bloo, looking up at you, her chin resting against your thigh.

“What is it, baby?” you asked, softly, tuning out the rest of your family.

“There’s a lady over there. She keeps looking at us” she informed you, pointing her dainty finger discreetly as she could to the woman at the end of the aisle.

Being only seven the twins had a mutual understanding on why their dad had to leave at times, but that decreased once more when you had fallen pregnant again. They understood all the rules.

a) if anyone was ever following, acting suspiciously always let mum or dad know–– if dad was there, definitely dad. b) never talk back to the idiots with the bulky cameras. c) Be careful who you talk to and what you say, some people aren’t always what they may seem.

“H” you called him over.

He walked over to the two of you, eyebrows elevated in question. His hand instinctively brushing over bloo’s hair.

“Uhm maybe we should send the kids to checkout” you tilted your head backward at the not so prudent woman with the shocked face. Her phone pointing towards the two of you.

You undoubtedly saw the happiness of his face shift to one of vexation and frustration as he glanced quickly, shrewdly at the woman. He extended his hand out to rub your elbow soothingly, nodding wearily.

He turned to the kids, masking his face as best as he could. “You guys go ahead and save a spot for us, me and your mum are gonna grab one last thing”

They didn’t care much, just wanting to get home as quickly as they could, Sydnie grabbing both of the twins’ hands.

Harry had kindly walked up to the woman, a displayed smile on his face, asking her to delete whatever she had managed to collect. You watched the encounter from the side, rubbing your belly softly, filled with mild angst.

She had apologized profusely (the embarrassment seeping in her voice), the kindness in Harry letting her know it was fine as long as he could watch her delete everything.

From her camera roll, Harry could see a video still of before the kids came, when you and him were looking for a casting kit. And some other videos of the family loitering in the target section.

He bid her a tight-lipped goodbye, after he kindly asked her again, though it was starting to run low, to go to her recently deleted–– he wasn’t the most tech savvy but he also wasn’t an idiot. Once that was ultimately done, he locked your hand into his.

“Are you okay?” you asked, securing your other arm up to wind around his.

“Just tired of the bullshit...” he sighed. He was just happy that he was able to protect his family this time.

You halt him swiftly; he looks back at you in confusion, until you lug him down for as much of a hug as you could. Feeling his shoulders sag in relaxation and his arms winding around your waist.

You stood next to Harry, in front of one of the sinks, reading the instructions.

“So we start with the lubricant first, use these...” holding up a roll of the plaster tape “dip them into warm water, and just putting them on” you informed Harry of your summary.

He nodded, his lip between his fingers as his eyes roamed over the paper once again. “I’ll go get you a chair, pee before we start” He yelled over his shoulder.

He walked back in, a wooden chair between his hands. Setting it to the floor gently, smiling at you to take a seat. Walking back to the sink,resting his hip against the packet of lubricant in his hand.

You smiled back at him as you took your seat. Deeming it be fit to wear running shorts and a tank top. Harry only in a pair of his joggers. Surprisingly after four kids, this was your first time trying a belly cast and you were a bit nervous wanting it to look just as perfect as it could–– adding your husband being a precisionist into the mix there was no guessing how this would turn out.

“Take off your top” Harry said smugly, bringing the white packet to his teeth– side eying you–– while he ripped it off. Turning to start the camera propped up on the counter. You insisted this had to be recorded as a little keepsake for the two of you.

You could only roll your eyes, trying hard not to feed into his ego. But the heat rising from your neck reported him otherwise. Tucking your arms back in the arm holes and raising the shirt off your body. Your body is bare except for the shorts adorning your legs.

Ogling at you like a caveman playfully at the sight of your boobs out and about, eliciting quick giggles from you. He walked up to you clasping your face between his palms, pressing your aglow cheeks together lightly–– the white, cold packet sitting against your left cheek lightly. Giving you three earnest kisses to your lips and leaning down in front of you, giving a peck to your belly button.

He squeezed some of the lubricant onto his fingers, deciding to start under your belly. You hissed at the sudden coldness hitting your skin.

“Okay?” he asked, eyes a bit wide and mouth slightly open.

“A little cold, but you can continue” you let him know.

He got at it quickly, once he finished that area he stood up a bit getting the sides of your stomach coated. Once he had finished, you stood up looking in the mirror at the shine of your stomach.

“Now for the fun part” clapping your palms together sitting back down, wistfully watching Harry wash his hands of the substance. He got the scissors cutting the strips of various sizes. Walking to you at times to make sure it fits properly.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier if I was next to you’ you asked.

Only to be replied with ‘No reason to have you on your feet, if I can walk to you.’ He unquestionably is just a bag of sunshine and everything good in the world.

Filling the sink with warmish water and placing on gloves. Snapping it on dramatically as if he was a doctor in a drama series.

“Dork”

He walked over with the first strip in his hand, water dripping behind him as he stepped closer to you. You pulled out your phone quickly wanting to capture a cute picture of this. Right as he placed the first strip you snapped the image. The only thing being seen was your protruded belly and below, his hands placing the plaster tape to your stomach, and a small tuft of his hair from the top of the picture.

He pulled away proudly, smiling down at his work, with his hands on his hips. “Look at that, looks perfect huh?”

“You’re doing good so far H” you confirmed.

It was only fifteen minutes later, half of your stomach–– and that wasn’t saying much.

“Baby it’s fine we’ll just sand it down” you tried to convince H for the last time, but he was stubborn as ever.

His mouth open in excessive concentration, puzzled brows pulled together as he removed the plaster for the fifth time. And from your point of view, you swore, he placed it back on the exact same spot.

“Just wait” he sighed, it wasn’t where he wanted it to be.

“Harry, we’re gonna be forever” you sighed, swaying your feet softly until one of them accidentally knocked into Harry’s leg. He looked down at you, eyes telling you to quit it.

“See there, you big baby” he grumbled.

“You’ve set it back into the same spot!” you exclaimed.

“No I haven’t, you’re just impatient...sounded a little brit there” he hummed, turning his back to you as he grabbed another slip.

“Shut up!”

Then there was, naturally, the sudden interruption.

Bloo had stumbled into the bathroom, expressing out about something one of her brothers did when she stopped taking into account, trying to figure out what was wrong with her mum.

She gasped, eyes wide at the greying stuff. “What’s wrong with mummy?” she asked, looking between the two of you.

“Turning mummy into a mummy!” He screeched, holding up a plaster strip.

She brought her hands up to her mouth eyes growing only wider, her lip already starting to tremble.

“You and your stupid dad jokes” you pulled Bloo closer to you, turning her back to Harry flipping him off behind her head.

“We’re just doing a cast, don’t worry baby. Remember that episode of Jessie when Ravi got that mask stuck on Luke’s face and ripped his eyebrows off” you explained, She laughed at the connection of the episode.

“Kind of like that, but without the eyebrows and we’re just using my belly” bringing your thumb to brush her brows up and the corner of her mouth clean. God what were they doing down there.

“Ohh okay that makes more sense.” you smiled back at her.

And Harry who had a bit too much fun when it came to the upper portion of the cast. Acting like Alec does when Paw patrol was on or when Sydnie when her dad allowed her his card to shop. Finding any reason to smooth down the cast with his wet hands. Or taking his time to cover your nipple, using his thumb to level it out. A haughty expression on his face growing the higher he got from your belly button.

“You’re acting as if we don’t have sex or take showers together” you tell him, popping another goldfish into your mouth (But not the good ones, the disgusting wheat ones Harry urged you and everyone else in the house to eat instead.)

“As if you don’t act like this when I take off my shirt”

He got you there, looking up at you to see you were not going to give him the eye contact he wanted. Your lips closed tight.

He delicately planted the last strip over the top of one of your breasts.

“Wait, it doesn’t look right”

“Harry!”

“Just joking y/n, now we wait five minutes and we can pop this off, sand it, and decorate it however you want” he told you, smiling at the finished product, leaning down to kiss your forehead then your lips.

“Wanna do it like this” you twisted your phone around to show him the image on Pinterest. A light blue belly cast, but you wanted it a pretty purple color, that was held against a frame, with butterflies of surveying sizes going across/diagonally the cast.

“However you want lovie” he told you again, pulling your head to his stomach, leaning down to kiss your head. Your arms winding across his waist.

“Thank you” you hummed in satisfaction.

– – – – –

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

thank you to the anon who requested this!

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles oneshot #dad! harry styles #harry styles fluff #dad harry styles x reader #husband! harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles drabble #dad!harry

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soranihimawari · 2 years

Text

Steady as he Goes

Based loosely on this quote: here

Transferring schools is tough, you think, balancing a pen in your upper lip. Especially if the transfer student slowly comes around to taking a liking to you…

Word count: 4.5-5K

Rating: 17+ for suggestive language/ neighborhood ruffians

Kyoutani.K x reader//classmates>>lovers<<

How yn always looks from his perspective astounds me

There is an urban myth surrounding the tumultuous relationship between you and one of your fellow classmates. The problem first made itself known the second he walks in with a rebellious stare, a scowl on his cut lip, as your science teacher takes on the tedious task of introducing him to the rest of the class. You’re not a bully nor are you here to make lasting relations, though the latter half of that statement turns the world upside down when this legend progresses. Regardless, you raise your hand when you are called as the class makes way for the rebel with no cause; he sits in front of you, albeit a bit disgruntled or embarrassed (?) by all this. He assimilates into the role of ostracized new student rather than defend the insults around mid morning break. Nonetheless, you are perplexed by his domineering sense of self…

“Y’know,” you say in a low tone. “You don’t strike me as the type to let other people put labels on you.”

He turns around rather sharp, and you wonder if he hurt his neck or was an owl in a past life. The snaps you hear when the carbon dioxide in between his vertebrae crackle and pop, causing you to casually glance down then up at his school embroidered kanji.

“Kyotani,” you sound out his family name with a smirk. You extend your hand to introduce yourself.

“LN,” you make a fist and bump knuckles with him. A sign to show him you mean no ill will nor are you going to openly say he has such soft hands for such a haggard appearance. Upclose, you try to keep it together as you squirm in your seat from the way his eyes let the sunshine in. He finds it easy to not scowl as much around you.

A few weeks go by, during which your seatmate comes and goes as he pleases; you find out he is a member of the boy’s volleyball team, and when he is comfortable around you during times for academic studying, you make sure he leaves you his email and phone number. You find out he is an avid reader; he loves the western classics versus you who sticks to the roots of epic poems; you prefer the life sciences like biology and chemistry, but he lives for the applied maths in physics. You often find little doodles here and there in your copy of your notes for the times he’s missed classes due to practice and target counseling groups due to his “anger” issues. For a while now, things go to a new normal for both you and Kyotani.

Once, during lunch break, he accompanies you to the vending machine where the flavor of the canned coffee were changed for the season:

“Want one Kyo-kun?” You held up the ‘bonus’ can because of a malfunction in the machine.

You could hear a pin drop with the way he seemed to have sporadically started to blush. You ask him if he’s feeling ok because you haven’t seen the expression he wears now since the first day he transferred in. Sure, you figured he had made some friends on the team, but if you were too pay attention, you’ve come to find out outside of those upperclassman, like Iwazumi or Makki-san, he didn’t really talk to anyone else.

“Why are you so shy now? It’s just a can of coffee Kyotani,” you said hiss name again as a test. He turns his head to the side to play off cracking his neck like he does when he’s a bit stressed. Then you see them, the small beauty marks he tries to cover up when he’s been in the sun for too long, or when his captain leads the diving drills. You bite back a chuckle when you called him out for hiding such things from you.

“Just because I’ve seen them doesn’t mean I’m going to tell the world it’s because I made this blonde, how tall are you again?, seatmate blush,” you extend the can of coffee to which he presses against his cheek. He’s so childish, you have half a mind to squish his cheeks. “Kyo-kun, it’ll be our secret, ok?”

He opens the can and takes a swig as soon as he is able to. Your unintentional cute nickname for him is the only thing he can hyperfixate on for the rest of the day. And just like that, Kyotani Kentaro begins to stand at the starting line for learning how to handle a crush.

Several weeks later, the official volleyball season begins. You were asked to help a few of the other players in the same year study for the content exams they had missed. It was agreed upon early on for the study groups to study one subject at a house they would delegate that week. You start with yours for chemistry, then Kindaichi’s for foreign language, then Kunimi’s for history, until it was Kyotani’s turn for classical literature. So, why are the boys and you back at the cafe where the group originally started? And where’s Kyotani? He’s never late, at least you don’t think so, but you hear from his teammates something odd:

“I know mad-dog likes to run late especially if Iwazumi’s running at this hour,” Kindaichi tries to reason.

“Really? I had no idea,” you lie. Your books are all opened to the next part of the worksheet analogies.

“Maybe we should start without him? He’ll be here when he can,” Kunimi nods.

“If you say so. Alright, why don’t you start then since you suggested it first?”

You bark a laugh when Kunimi gives you a sourpuss face. The three of you order snacks during a self-dedicated break an hour and a half into your session; then the last hour and a half was dedicated to reviewing. You made a highlighted bulleted list of topics that were covered and as you pack up, you mention to the others (who adopted you into their friendship/relationship with the team) you’d work with Kyotani later once he gets back to the series of texts you left him.

The walk from the cafe to your neighborhood isn’t too far from campus: just another twenty or so minutes north. Imagine your surprise when you see the fourth member of your study group loitering outside the steps of your own patio with an ice pack over his left wrist.

“Kyotani?!”

You heard about people, ok, more like adolescents who were terrorizing the neighborhood lately. There was an increase of ‘jumping’ and or ‘hit and run’ offenses, so much so the watch was put together again to try to notify the police when the assailants been caught. However, you heard of these rumors, sure to walk home with Kyotani or any other member of the team walking in the same general direction, but to see it confirmed by the rip in his favorite ‘off the clock’ shirt and hands, it makes your blood boil.

“Who.”

He stands with your help, quieter than he’s ever been, his eyes are a bit shut when he inhales sharply. You instruct him to lean on you. When he does, he mumbles the answer.

“Don’t know.”

The ice pack, now mostly water, slips onto the ground and pops. Luckily your parents are out of the house running errands to the bank and grocery shopping since they thought your study group would last a bit longer. The screen door is pulled back as you fish your key ring out of the jersey dress (pocket), his buzz cut pricks and tickles your skin beneath the fabric. You called him a bee once, behind closed doors on the school roof right before the change of season. He has yet to call you anything explicitly with the intention of making you blush-hard-so, he clicks his tongue and calls you “bunny.”

You don’t know why that memory sticks out to you now, yet the moment you’re inside the threshold of the house, you escort him to the guest bathroom on the first level. Your parents bought a two-story sensible house when the market was good. You moved to this side of Miyagi since your mother wanted to be closer to work while your father was already on an early administrative leave since his position could be handled either on location or at home (contractor work). Regardless, your priorities realign themselves to carefully bandage your friend who seemed to have been the latest victim of the ‘jumpers.’ Your mother had set aside some laundry in your room after cleaning was done. Your plan was to take the boxes to the theater club to donate it to their costume department for the fall production of “WEST SIDE STORY.” You wonder if Kyotani has ever seen it; you knock on the slightly ajar door as a courtesy to be greeted with a half-dressed classmate from the waist up.

“Fuck,” you mumble more to yourself than he. That’s the thing with people like your classmate: he wears clothes that appropriately fit him, like his school blazer, but for all that is holy, why is just wearing this thin as hell muscle tank top and black sweatpants combo today? Does he not understand he’s in your empty house and though he says nothing, he mentally screenshots the way you try to hide your adorably flustered self behind the ‘boxing’ robe you were going to get rid of. Well, not boxing, but it was an old gi your father’s best friend handed down to you whenever you were visiting the sisters and brother monks in the temples around Miyagi. That’s besides the point because when your eyes meet for what seemed like a couple seconds dragging across the top of your heads.

“I-I’m going to leave these here for you. I think,” you point to the medicine cabinet by the sink. He raises an eyebrow at you. “The first aid kit is there…If you need my help, I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave,” your back is halfway turned when you feel this blazing glare behind you. Well, not blazing, just curious.

“Kyo, you’re staring,” your mouth is suddenly dry when you notice he holds his ribs with his right, his left hand has remnants of dried blood on his cut-up knuckles.

“I’m not,” he’s much closer now. His forehead nearly bumps yours when you raise it to see if he speaks the truth. You gasp when his lips pause for a moment close to where yours are, and you’d be damned if under his intensity he would kiss you then and there. Stealing your resolve, you put your foot down when you push him back gently, mentioning he can continue where you both left off after you help him bandage his bruises.

“Whatever you say bunny,” he removes the hand he has on his ribs coyly smirking at you.

For what it’s worth, Kyotani is a good listener. You place the first aid kit complete with liquid bandage glue on the left side of the sink; you hop on the right side. The faux blonde with racing stripes highlights stands in front of you, wedging himself between your legs. He cages you in while your eyes scan for any other visible scars. The ointment and gauze for the bruise when he lifts his shirt (with a little of your help), is fistlike. A sucker punch no less, yet when you see the pattern, you notice how symmetrical they look.

“Did they use brass knuckles?” You frown when he winces, gently pressing the cooling pad on there. The medical tape you place afterwards keeps the squarely rectangular piece in shape.

“My dad owes them money,” Kyotani casually says this when you pull the shirt he wears down by the seam. “In case you were wondering…”

“Mm,” your hands are quickly working with the squeezing the first aid ointment for cuts along the iodine wash post cleaning the minor scrapes. You take the alcohol bottle, give it a few shakes, moistening the dry bits of cotton.

“I know this isn’t any of my business, Kyotani, and you can tell me all this later…I just don’t like seeing you get hurt because of an adult’s mistake, but,” you shake your head to get some hair out of your eyes. “This is going to sting. You can hold my hand with your right if you want.”

He does. His nails, though short and trimmed neatly, dig into the top side of your palms.

“Shh, it’s alright,” you coax. “I’m almost done, ok?”

Curses fall out of his downturned mouth before you blow on all of them, his forehead bumps into your shoulder when he leans down in defeat. He is shy and domineering, yet around you he is sweet like sugar to a honeybee. Maybe that’s why he sees this as such a simple act, yet the pain subsides when the healing salve is placed on the cuts.

“You’re safe here,” you whisper to him when he straightens back up. The bandages are neatly taped, still kept in place by another strip or two of the medical tape from earlier. Your old gi is still on the left side of the sink, but it is no longer required. Not when his thanks traces over your lips with his own. The scar heals nicely, you think before pulling him forward by his forearms and giving him a piece of your mind.

Aggressively kissing your classmate in your house’s guest bathroom is not one of the things you thought you’d be doing when turned fifteen, yet here Kyotani and you both are lost in a sea of bandages and pragmatic love. His good hand flirtatiously hovers underneath the fabric of your shirt, careful not to go any higher than where your left is tracing his exposed skin. If he’s not injured, he would have had a very different goal in mind.

For now, you too are fine with this development when you break the kiss only to hear your partner groan when you playfully bite the space where his shoulder and neck meet. You work your way up as he does little to nothing to stop your ministrations since his bandaged hand supports your head when he holds you close. You’re able to strengthen his resolve when he resigns in the evening out of his breathing. No one wants to be coddled, but sometimes even now, all a person wants is to be held. You snatch his attention away from the worried kink in his brow when you press a kiss on his cheek. He smirks at you with one eye open. The wink he does is an unintentional response to your kind of sugar. Kiss drunk though he is, you know you have to put a pin on this behavior for later.

“Kyo,” one of his calloused fingers from his bandaged hand presses against your lips to silence you.

“Kentaro,” he gruffly surrenders to the comfort you provide.

“Ken,” you press your lips on his fingertips.

“Ta.”

Once more on his opposite cheek..

“Ro.”

His lips feel like they are meant to slide against yours effortlessly seamless; he leads you to open your mouth to him a little wider. Enough to trace your teeth to taste the sour tart you had without him; to reminisce about his past, you taste the alkaline in his blood when his cut lip was closed to reopening after today’s incident; and once more you both are reconnected to understand.

“Angel,” he warns, teasing glints from the fluorescent lightbulb above your head.

“Hmm?” You lean back a little bit, his hand still flirts with the small of your back to steady you.

“Come down from there,” his voice is like gravel. He’s seriously debating about having the rest of the afternoon off from studying; clearly he wants to stay. Whatever that entails, you can discuss this over dinner, for now, you bat your eyelashes at him, reminding him to take a half step back. Kyotani listens as you slide forward to land on your feet. The gi that still is folded by the sink is now draped over his shoulders in case your parents were to come home. Feigning modesty while you and him take a crack at the worksheets, you pour him some lemonade while you have water to quench your thirst. You almost took a spit take when he whispers a, “fuckin’ hot,” under his breath. You hand him a pencil and get back to work.

Another hour and a half goes by before your parents actually come home. You’re washing a few of the dishes you and Kyotani used for a snack break while he takes a much needed nap over the course materials. The jazz station for now plays a bunch of loFi hip-hop covers at the moment. You turn around after drying your hands as your father walks in with a few paper bags from the farmer’s market. You whisper to him you had a friend over and that your mom should have received a text detailing why a delinquent looking classmate is taking a nap.

“Love, you should really have offered the guest bed to ‘im if he were tired,” your mom tries to make a teachable lesson out of this.

“Ok,” you reply as your father brings in the last bit of the groceries. Regardless, with the noise and shuffling about, Kyotani stirs, mumbling an incoherent, “don’t leave me too obaa-san?”

You shrug your shoulders when your parents realize perhaps leaving him to enjoy a few more seconds before you successfully wake him. He rubs his eye drowsy asking if it’s time for him to go home. You pull him up, saying, “it's not time yet sleepyhead.”

His right hand is in your left as he trails behind you, simultaneously having you lead him to the room your mom was talking about; it is the other side of the adjoining bathroom from earlier.

“Up you go,” you say. You figure he must still be exhausted especially when he lays down on his injured side and he winces. He adjusts his hand to hold yours a little closer. You sit down with him wondering where on earth did he come from and was his granny the only one who truly cared for him? If so, what a lonely life he has had. You close the door when he’s finally all the way asleep to find your parents discussing what to do now. Clearing your throat, you make your presence known.

“Kyotani’s asleep again,” you mention, twirling your thumbs.

“That’s good to know dear,” your mother glances at your father as if to ask you the more pressing question. So you fill in the silence with what he told you verbatim.

“He was attacked and he couldn’t go home?” Your father reiterates the reasons why your classmate, whom they have met once or twice in passing, was home with you.

“Would you refuse to care for someone who had just been jumped?” You shoot back. “You’re in the contracting business, so you know the risks.”

“Honey, your father is just a bit concerned, that’s all,” your mother chimes in. “You did the right thing by letting him stay here until he calmed down enough to get some studying done…You’re not at fault for anything today, ok?”

“Yes ma’am,” your singsong voice still sounded guilty.

“Now go take care of our guest,” she smiles. “We’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

You nod eager to get out of the kitchen, but when your father teases your mother about how they were like that around this point in their lives too, you luckily caught a break.

When you enter the room again, Kyotani lays on his back before tossing himself over to the other, angrily grumbling about someone or something. You take a step forward prior to taking a seat next to where he landed.

“Hey,” you try to shake his shoulder gently like last time.

“Get away,” he says clearly in his dreams.

“Kyotani, it’s me,” you remove your hand as far as you can because he seems like he’s fighting in his sleep, so the next time he raises an arm in defense, you grip his wrists with both hands and pull him up to where you were seated, wrapping them around you in a forced hug.

“Kentaro!” You raise your voice, not enough to cause alarm, but enough to snap him out of slumberland.

His eyes shot open, wide with rage and fear; breathing is labored like he was running a marathon and his brow is damp with recognition. His knuckles are white when they tug on your shirt. You wonder what he dreamt about, but the second you ask him if he’s good, he becomes eerily quiet. Your hands run through his hair comfortingly so as you tell him it will be alright.

“No one’s going to get you here,” you hear him breathe a bit more evenly. “Not ever.”

You offer a smile when he lets you cradle his face in your hands. His eyes are bloodshot and glazed over with a forlorn expression. The silence is scary, even for you, who finds it like an old friend. Evidentially, with him under the covers sitting with you atop of them, you run a thumb over his palm. Scars from the various fights he’s been in leads you to believe that he was always defending (more often than not in the offense’s side), so it explains why he respects Iwazumi and Mattsukawa from time to time. You’ve sat in on practice lately when coach allows since your club wasn’t official—“too violent” and “judo” is better suited apparently.

Your cheek is squished atop his head when he leans against your shoulder to try to sty relaxed. The demons that plague his mind are enigmas even to himself, but you are willing to listen to his stories about being made fun of for having a single parent since his mother walked out on his father a few weeks after he was born. His sister is much older in age and is practically not living there anymore; his father works odd jobs and is gone at the docks on most days…

“You called out to your ‘obaa-san,’” you tilt his face up to see his scowl.

“She hated me most,” he says the truth in such an innocent way it’s insane. He goes on to talk about the way the gaslighting led his father to distrust his in-laws at the house; the nice one was the couple who ran a restaurant not too far from school. The couple let him work there last summer to keep him out of trouble and with the practices being more demanding, he hasn’t stopped by as frequently as he would have liked.

“Listen, I’m not the best with wo—mft!” You shut him up when you had enough talk for one day.

“Kyotani,” you bring his hand to your face. “I’m in your corner, ok? Remember that.”

He has half a mind to roll his eyes, though he does so just so he can pull you into a hug worthy of your own. Sure it ends in a soft, tender moment between you both, but it’s not like you to care any less. Your parents decide, during dinner with them, for now Kyotani can stay over next time. You wink at him and he nods along with the way your parents lay down some instinctively reasonable rules, all of which you and Kyotani would break that impending fall break.

You walk Kyotani to the porch steps where you are to part ways for a couple hours until school begins again on Monday. He returns the gi back to you, cheekily saying it’s a reason to come back sooner than expected.

“So, what does this mean now?” He shoves his hand in his pocket. The street lamps highlight every angle on his face and in your vision, he seems very…normal. Sure he has issues dealing with his anger toward the environment he lived in, but with you nearby, he lets you see how it has shaped him into being uniquely himself.

“It means,” you make the hand sign to come closer. You kiss his forehead, above his left brow. “You should get home and start thinking of ways to break rule number six from dinner.”

Kyotani Kentaro smiles wickedly at your suggestion.

“What a naughty bunny I have.”

“And what a clever dream you are,” you turn him around by the shoulders and gently push him on his way.

You watch as he waves behind his blonde hair with his bandaged hand; the other traces over both his lips, then his brow.

. . .

The following days at campus were a bit daunting for everyone; content exams sling with both morning and afternoon practices were a bit intense. To ease everyone in your study group, you make a suggestion to have each of the guys give you their notes. The intention there was to scan everything at home and email them a copy. If they had questions about certain things in the lessons, they could wait for the weekend. Now granted, barring any games or tournament qualifiers, no one else thus far has figured you keep appearances with Kyotani on a more personal level. Suffice to say you’re dating in secret since the day after he showed up albeit a bit late at your porch; he doesn’t call out your name in the school halls nor do you do anything above what a friend would do. Everything is as normal as it can be until he’s caught leaving a confession letter in your shoes. By the grace of every sacred being on this side of the hemisphere, hearing his captain squeal high enough to confuse bats, Kyotani shushes him with a glare.

“Oh, h-hey Kyo-kun,” you greet. “Thought you had practice today?”

Kyotani’s glare begs for Oikawa’s big mouth to shut up or at least pray for a fangirl or nine to show up.

“I’m just here to pick him up,” Oikawa lies. Gleeful smug bastard, who notices the locker you stop in front of.

“Ah, I see,” you bow to him. “Have a good one! Matane!”

You feel your feet carry you around the corner and you’re not too far from there when you hear Kyotani growl a, “not a word,” amusing you to no end. You keep up the charade for a day or two since and the team unexpectedly is blind to the fact their precious ‘mad dog’ is not giving up any secrets about who his crush is on. Kunimi and Kindaichi are the most oblivious because the subtle flirting between you four is just camaraderie between classmates, right?…Right.

That second afternoon, somehow the conversation flowed naturally until Oikawa mentions he has a date to get to. It quickly evolves to that kind of conversation. Over the course of a few minutes, most of the lads had the same conclusion when it came to describing their ideal type. Oikawa and Kyotani exchange a look because the second year opposite hitter in training was predominantly quiet. You arrived much earlier than anticipated and had decided to hang out outside the entrance way of the gym. No one could blame you for trying to listen in, curious to see what your classmate would respond with, half hoping it was someone like you or not. It doesn't matter, you figure. However, you went home ahead of practice being done, so when you come back to campus in dress down attire, you might have been stopped by campus security. You showed them a student ID card and they let you on your way after you explain to them you were waiting for friends from the volleyball team to walk back home with you. ‘Strength in numbers,’ the guard agrees.

That was ten minutes ago. Outside of the locker rooms, you lean against the concrete walls of the gym where another student has a bunch of cards and cookies in a basket. Undoubtedly all from the fan club. They ask if you’re also here for the team. You contemplate whether or not to tell the truth. You shake your head making a mention you’re here to walk with a close friend back home.

The guys begin filing out and when Kyotani exits in between Iwazumi and Yahaba, he reaches for your hand.

“Ready to go?” he asks, not even bothered by your flustered expression.

“Woah. When did this happen?” one of the third years asked. They wore the managers’ emblem on their coat’s lapels.

“Probably after I saw mad dog slip a note in their locker?” Oikawa shrugs.

“At least I know he’s being genuine!” you back talk to the captain.

Iwazumi chuckles. “I like ‘er. Welcome aboard yn-chan.”

The ace taps your shoulder as he gave his protégé his seal of approval. Oikawa trails behind you lot with the basket from the fan club, whining about being late for his date. Kyotani rolls his eyes when you remind him to be kind, so when he kisses you wholly in front of the team who witnesses this side of the ‘mad dog’ are hollering in the back (or front) of where you stand. He winks at you with a mischievous smirk on his features. You take a moment to collect yourself, thank Iwazumi for his compliment, before you tug on your partner’s sleeve.

Kyotani pauses with a questionable light behind his eyes, you know this tell, you really have it down to a science so you stand on your toes as you lean into him again whispering an audible, “behave babe.”

Iwazumi almost trips while Mattsukawa chokes back a laugh.

“Alright! You two,” Mattsukawa’s blocking partner with the strawberry streaks in his hair, pulls himself together after you detach yourself from Kyotani’s parted lips. “Lovebirds, run along before you make us all feel incredibly single…again.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you sheepishly grin, refastening your hold on Kyotani’s hand. “See ya!”

You lead the way with him running behind you.

Hours after you arrive home, behind the closed doors where you first bandaged Kyotani’s hand, he has you in his hold. You’re breathing harder than before, allowing yourself to get lost in his touch, asking where this was coming from. Was he jealous? Wait, that couldn’t be because of…?

“Oh, my god!” You grin wickedly when you allow him to tilt your head to one side when his lips leave open mouth kisses down your neck.

“What?” his breath fans over the wet stripe his tongue pressed to your skin is highlighted in the bruises his lips left. His hand rests against the small of your back, the other supports the opposite side of your head in a dangerously suggestive pose.

“You’re aggressively cute when you’re jealous,” you spit out. He shoots you an incredibly pointed stare, mumbling a “and so what?”

“I’m here with you, right now,” you cup his face, pecking his nose. “And there is nowhere else I’d rather be, Kentaro.”

You squeak when his arm by your head easily snakes it’s way behind your thighs to lift you with ease.

“C’mon,” his lips tease you. “The weather is fine here.”

Your arms readjust as you bite back a laugh, with your lips caught in your teeth when your legs hang around Kyotani’s hips.

“So it seems,” you toss your head back, your hair cascading over your shoulder. Your back is supported by both him and the wall. In the rare instance, you hear him laugh before adjusting his grip to the place where your knees bend. The sandpaper texture of his callouses across your skin makes you sigh.

“I could get used to this,” you lean down far enough to kiss him steadily without wreakless abandon. Your forced your way into his side, earning every bit of praise from him… maybe that is why they call it a crush: a soft love with the strength to either make or break you no matter your age. You confide in him you will always pick up the reins when he feels he’s not enough—he knows he can fight, you don’t ask him to prove it, rather, you ask him if the fight was fair. Kyotani learns to trust you more when he starts to answer you’re smart ass questions with small tokens of affection. Even now, in the heat of this moment , you find he tastes of apple cider from your stash in the fridge, humming against your lips with sultry hands; he has half a mind to move this mini victory elsewhere so when he asks you if you accept his confession, you grip his hand inviting him to keep an eye on you.

#🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #haikyuu x reader #sora after hours #🌻. dash #haikyuu fluff #kyotani imagine

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dutchdread · 3 years

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Bruh, we don't want to hear about your negative views about cleriths. Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her. He thought of Aerith a lot in OG , On the Way to A Smile, and AC. He went to live in her church. Why tf would he go live in her church if it wasn't for Aerith? There are millions of places he could've gone but he chose the church. You don't have to believe our way of thinking if you don't want to, but don't tag clerith in your posts.

Thanks for your question. I think it's important to have these conversations so we can clear up these misunderstandings. Clouds motivations have been well documented so it's unfortunate that large swaths of the fandom seemingly are still in the dark about something that has been known for quite a long time, and I blame lack of communication. Before I answer your question though I'd like to address the style of it, since I find it amusing that in response to my article concerning productive conversation styles you not only used one of the styles I described, but even the same exact argument. This is a nice confirmation for me that I am right on the money. In my article, I said that the "dishonest inquiry" is the Clerith conversation style of choice. The example I gave was as follows:

The dishonest inquiry: “Why don’t you admit that Clouds actions in AC show that he doesn’t love Tifa?”

You mirrored this approach by saying "Why tf would he go live in her church if it wasn't for Aerith?". The defining characteristic of the dishonest inquiry is that the question isn't asked with the goal of seeking clarification, but as an offensive tactic meant to attack the others position, you're not trying to evaluate your position, you're trying to get others to re-evaluate their position under the guise of a question. If we look at the rest of your post we can see the indicators I described for someone who has reached the last stage of the debate style. "Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her". As I noted in my article:

If assertions are backed up, they are backed up with other assertions designed to dissuade rebuttals, rather than investigating veracity.

This "argument" had no actual arguments, it was a meaningless assertion. Stating that you are correct in an attempt to avoid having to actual show that you're correct. "Cloud loves Aerith and he always has. He lives in her church because he loves her": This is what you're trying to prove, you can't state what you're trying to prove as your starting premise.

If you're honestly interested in learning more about FFVII then leave out the baseless assertions, they literally just waste peoples time and makes them less willing to engage with you.

If I had to rephrase your question in a way that's more inviting for a productive discussion it would be something like this:

"Why do you believe Cloud chose Aeriths Church as his hiding place in AC? He thinks about Aerith a lot, what do you think the reason is for that if it's not love?".

The answer to this is pretty simple of course, it's been restated several times, this is not something that is some grand mystery, it's not even an aspect of FFVII that's particularly ambiguous. The reason he stays in Aeriths church is the same reason he's seen lingering at Zacks "grave", it's guilt. As stated in the 10th anniversary ultimania, and several other times:

when Cloud contracts Geostigma he disappears. Behind these actions lies feelings of guilt towards his past failure to protect people who were important to him

While this is an element of the story that has been explicitly confirmed through ultimanias and quotes, this is not an element of the story that was ever in any way unclear, its a direct continuation of Clouds character arc in FFVII. Infact, Clouds mental health issues are the central part of the fake persona storyarc, and is arguably the core of the story. The rough order of events shown in FFVII, on the way to a smile, and Advent children (and also CC) concerning Clouds mental health is as follows. 1: Cloud as a boy want to protect Tifa. 2: Cloud fails to protect Tifa. 3: Cloud and townspeople blame Cloud for Tifas injuries. 4: Cloud internalizes this and beats himself up over his failure to protect Tifa. He develops a fear of failure. 5: Cloud starts acting up, starts wanting to prove himself, and decides to join Soldier to impress Tifa. 6: Cloud fails to get into Soldier, develops an inferiority complex. 7: Cloud is too ashamed of his failure to face Tifa. 8: Cloud fails to save his mother. 9: Cloud fails to save Nibleheim. 10: Cloud fails to save Tifa, again. 11: Cloud fails to save Zack. 12: Cloud develops a soldier alter ego that is everything that he isn't, as a defense mechanism. He hides from his own weakness. 13: Even as a soldier, Cloud fails to save Aerith. 14: Cloud regains his memories in the lifestream, and discovers he did fulfill his promise to come save Tifa. Here we basically end FFVII, and go into on the way to a smile. At this point Cloud has overcome the alien parasite messing with his mind by establishing a stronger sense of who he is. However, now that he's lost his fake soldier defense mechanism he's forced to deal with the past. His past failures haven't been fixed, he doesn't suddenly think he's a great person now, he simply can no longer use his fake persona to hide from his own weakness, and is forced to confront it. 15: Cloud still blames his own weakness for the deaths of Aerith and Zack, he thinks that he needs to atone for his sins, and thinks that the only way to do this is through living* 16: Cloud starts living with Tifa and experiences happiness and peace for the first time in his adult life.** 17: Cloud develops cherophobia and survivors guilt. He feels ashamed for being alive and happy while Aerith and Zack are dead because of him.*** 18: Clouds mental health deteriorates because of these feelings.**** 19: Cloud finds Denzel and sees him as a way to atone, having found a pathway to redemption, Clouds situation improves.***** 20: Cloud is unable to save Denzel from geostigma, and contracts it himself. 21: Clouds mental health worsens again, he failed again, he is unable to save Denzel, he is even unable to save himself, he won't be able to atone for his sins through living. He potentially brought an infectious disease into the house and as a result of his actions Tifa and Marlene will now lose him. 22: Depressed and ashamed, Cloud runs away. He thinks Tifa and Marlene are better off without him, he doesn't want them to see him waste away and die, he feels like he doesn't deserve to be happy and should instead die alone, Etc. Classic depression. (Some quotes concerning the *** are at the bottom of the article)

As for why he thinks about Aerith and Zack a lot, and hangs around the places that are connected with them, what else do you expect? Of course he's thinking about them, they're the people he failed, they're DEAD because of him. Cloud is a caring man, he beats himself up over it, of course he'd be thinking about them. And where else would a man wallowing in guilt and self-pity go than to those places? But the important thing to remember is that none of this is supposed to be seen as romantic. It's supposed to be viewed as sad and negative. Every internal character arc has something to overcome and this is what Cloud has to overcome in Advent children.****** Tifa to Cloud: "have we lost to our memories?" Cloud to Sephiroth: "Stay where you belong, in my memories" A well written story has internal and external obstacles to overcome, and ties the two together. In the case of advent children, the return of Sephiroth is the physical representation of Clouds internal character arc, which is that he should stop living in the past, and should move on. The past here isn't a positive thing he wants to get back to, Clouds past has always been a thing he's ran away from, but then is forced to accept. The past in Clouds case is a bad thing, his failures, and is something he should stop dwelling on. If you've ever seen the lion king, this resembles the scene where Rafiki hits Simba with a stick. "What does it matter, it's in the past", "yeah but it still hurts", "Oh Yes, the past can hurt, but the way I see it you can either run from it, or learn from it".

When Cloud returned to his normal self, he stopped running from the past, but as a result, he started dwelling in it. That's what he's doing in Aeriths church; dwelling in misery.

If we juxtapose Aeriths church with the 7th heaven, we can start to see where peoples misunderstandings are taking place. When some people look at the events of ACC they think that 7th heaven is a place of sadness, which Cloud leaves to be happy at Aeriths church, the place of happiness. The "have we lost to our memories" is then seen as a confirmation of this and that the memory, which they think corresponds to Aerith, is better than life with Tifa. This character arc then concludes with Cloud being happy by finally leaving Tifa behind, and riding off in the sun-set in search of Aerith at the end of the movie. But this interpretation falls apart as soon as you apply context to it, both narratively, and factually, it doesn't fit with with developer quotes, as well as the fundamental story themes of FFVII. 1: If 7th Heaven/Tifa is a place of sadness, then why has Cloud been consistently quoted to experience happiness there? 2: If 7th Heaven/Tifa is a place of sadness, and Cloud leaves at the end of the movie, then why has it been stated to be his promised land, aka, his land of supreme happiness (the reason it's literally called 7th heaven), and why is he stated to return there? ******* 3: If Clouds "memories" are positive, why is the plotarc resolved by Cloud telling the villain to "stay there"? 4: If Cloud is happy at the church, why is he living in self-deprecating squalor? 5: If Cloud loved Aerith and thought Denzel was sent to him by her, why did he abandon him? 6: Do you really think SE would write a story about a "hero" whose main emotional hurdle concerning the past comes down to. "I am sick of the girl I am with, I prefer the one that is dead, so I will get over the past by letting go of the girl I am with, as well as my adoptive children, to go chase the dead girl"? 7: Don't you think this would do Tifas character a tremendous disservice and do you think SE would be that preferential in their treatment? I could go on, but I think the point is clear. While the "Aeriths church is a happy place" interpretation is semi-coherent when looked at in isolation, it becomes exceedingly bizarre as soon as you place it in context. As I am fond of saying, this is not a matter of personal interpretation, it's a matter of lying to yourself vs not lying to yourself. I also suspect that this is the reason why SE changed the ending to advent Children, because people were misinterpreting it in this bizarre way, so they made it more in your face. In context, the following interpretation is much more fitting. Aeriths church is a place of sadness that Cloud runs to because of his guilt and depression. The "memories" line refers to Cloud dwelling on his past mistakes, as evidenced by his constant quotes about needing forgiveness. The character arc of moving on from the past is then resolved when he forgives himself, and as a result, defeats sephiroth, the metaphorical demon of his past. This allows him to return to his place of joy, his promised land, the 7th heaven, with a more positive outlook on the past. Instead of tarnishing Aerith and Zacks memories by wallowing in the past he instead moves on from it, thereby allowing it to become beautiful, which is represented by him planting Aeriths flowers on Zacks grave, and placing Zacks sword in the church. Instead of Zacks grave being the place where Zack died, it is now the place where a hero was born. Cloud has moved on, he has let his mistakes go, and has learned to come to terms with himself. I think it's hard to argue that this version of events is much less shallow, and much more meaningful than the story of a lovesick guy who abandons his partner and adoptive kids to go chase after a dead girl, but that's just me, what's more important is that it's the only version of events that's corroborated by the evidence. Thanks for the question. __________________________________________________

Corroborating quotes (not comprehensive)

* from case of Tifa: "“I’m going to live. I think that’s the only way I can be forgiven. All sorts of things…"

** Nojima in AC prologue: "“Cloud never had a candid personality to begin with, and although he started living with Tifa and even started working, he obtained a peaceful livinghe’s never experienced before, and this conversely made him anxious. And in the midst of this he contracts Geostigma himself, and rather than being able to protect the people dear to him, he instead was forced to face his own death, and so ran away.” (among other quotes)

*** 10th anniversary ultimania: "when Cloud contracts Geostigma he disappears. Behind these actions lies feelings of guilt towards his past failure to protect people who were important to him"

Aeriths 10th anniversary profile : Aerith still lives on in the hearts of her friends who saved the planet. And in particular to Cloud, as a symbol of his failure to having being unable protect those dear to him, she was a major factor in causing him to close himself off. -Aerith’s 10th anniversay profile.

And more, really this is reiterated constantly.

**** From case of Tifa: "During that time, it was Marlene who noticed a change in Cloud. She told Tifa how Cloud would sometimes space out and not listen to her.

Transporting mail around the world meant he was traveling around his past too. She knew that Cloud was in great pain because he couldn’t protect Aerith. Cloud was trying to overcome that and live on. But, going back to the place where he parted from Aerith might mean that his sorrow and regret was going to tear his heart again.

It was night, and they had closed the bar. Cloud was drinking alcohol even though he rarely did. He drained his glass. Tifa thought about it before going over and filling his glass.

***** From case of Tifa: "Tifa wondered if they became a real family after Denzel appeared. Cloud was clearly taking less jobs. At night, he would always make sure he had time to spend with the children. The silly little conversations he had with Tifa were also back."

****** Reunion files, page 58: "As long as Cloud blames himself for Aerith’s death, he won’t be able to move on with his life. One of the first ideas we had for Advent Children was to have Cloud overcome and resolve that immense feeling of guilt. For Cloud, no one other than Aerith can solve that problem for him."

- Takahiro Sakurai pg. 15 reunion files: After Cloud was told, “Which is it? A memory or us?: by Tifa, he tells Sephiroth, “Stay where you belong. In my memories,” just before he defeats him. I think Cloud finally becomes free at this moment. Deep down, Cloud knew that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself, but at the same time he couldn’t let go of those feelings of guilt for what happened to Aerith and Zack, or the thought that he could never forgive himself for it. But then his companions made him feel better by telling him to let go. ******* "The place where he awakens—- That is Cloud’s Promised Land As he sleeps, Cloud hears two voices. The voices of two people very dear to him, who are no longer with him. Playfully and kindly, they give him a message: he doesn’t belong here yet. When he awakes, there was his friends. There were the children, freed from their fatal illness. Tifa and Marlene, and Denzel asking for Cloud to heal his Geostigma— his family were waiting. Engulfed in celebration, he realizes where he is meant to live."

"Aerith lends her power to the people suffering from Geostigma in Edge, and personally provides for Cloud’s recovery. Geostigma is cured. Cloud returns to Tifa and the children."

- FFVII 10th Anniversary Ultimania Complete Timeline

#Cloti #FFVII #ffvii remake #cloud strife #advent children

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