#weird surreal and mostly positive moment that I wanted to share with you all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

touyasdoll · 3 years

Note

Heya Babe! Here’s another NSFW pwp smut gift that just popped into mind~! 😉😏😏

Particular warning for Adult!Shinsou being rather big down there. 😳😳

- IR

————— EXPLICIT CONTENT BELOW —————

It was weird, she thought hazily, watching as her naked boyfriend commanded her equally naked body to move a certain way. It felt like an out of body experience, just overseeing everything that went on, but she could also view everything that was right in front of her eyes.

Surreal, she amended, listening as a moan came from her own mouth and yet didn’t as she was fingered open by her boyfriend. Another moan, breath picking up as the sensation of spreading fingers could be felt from within her body and yet not. A soft, whine escaped with the next breath her body breathed, her boyfriend having withdrawn his fingers fully.

She cocked an eyebrow in her overseeing, out of body experience form, wondering what his plan was next… Oh. He began to finger her ass open slowly, a sensation of odd, different, slightly uncomfortable penetrated her mind, as at the very same moment he penetrated her, with his fingers and she continued to watch.

She felt like she was essentially the live studio audience to her own sex tape, somehow feeling all the sensations yet making none of the movements or personal adjustments.

His fingers spread her open and another hitched breath, another moan escaped her own mouth and yet didn’t. Her boyfriend smirked, opening his own mouth to ask her a question;

“Feel good, Kitten? Use your words.”

‘Kitten.’ You were Kitten. And you definitely felt good. You were back in the front seat of your body fully, though still under Toshi— Master’s control. Master had asked a question.

“Master makes Kitten feel good,” you almost purred, the sound of your voice coming out a bit oddly as you spoke, emotion showing through despite the control and haze.

“Just good?” Master asked, teasingly. He didn’t put the command to answer behind it, but you were still able to and took the chance to elaborate.

“Kitten feels so good, more than good, Master. There was slight pain when you began to finger my pussy open, but Kitten was so wet already it did not last long. Kitten felt different when you began to finger my ass. It could be categorized as odd, different and slightly uncomfortable, but Master is amazing and always makes Kitten feel wonderful no matter what. Kitten feels anticipatory for what happens next. It is different than when Kitten was outside her body, more and deeper sensations,” you slightly babbled your oral report, unable to see how your boyfriend, your Master’s eyebrows raised and then eyes widen as you gave your answer.

‘Out of body?’, his brain wanted to stay on that point, because he hadn’t had that response to using his Quirk before, but there was more to what you had said that caught his interest, too. ‘I hurt her… Logically, it was unavoidable, but dammit! This isn’t one of those times for us.’

He brooded a bit as he continued to make sure you were well opened, even going so far as to add more lube and make sure your walls were well coated with each hand, one in your pussy, one in your ass. He slowly got up and went to the bathroom, water running as he washed his hands.

Left panting softly in your position, you tried to take stock of everything. It was hard as with the feeling of being spread open so well was so recent in your mind that it tried to keep its place as your central focus. If you hadn’t been willingly under your Master’s control, you wouldn’t of been able to keep from fucking yourself on his fingers. Your body was still working despite being empty, dripping from both holes and clenching around nothing, nothing but the remembered feeling of his warm digits.

You wondered what he was going to do next. He had opened you and so there was logically a reason for doing such.

Somewhere between your hyperfocused thoughts, you absently realized you were bound by Master’s scarf in such a way it looked as if you were in stocks. It held you up as the rest of your body was bent over a well cushioned sawhorse. The one you had begged Master to get so you could be good for him in even more ways. This was to be one of those ways, you assumed.

You heard your Master’s foot steps and the sound of wheels, he was obviously toting something along, but you couldn’t see it as you were stuck facing forward and whatever it was went directly behind you. The ‘clink-snap’ of four wheels being locked in place one-by-one sounded out through the room and upped the anticipation you had spoken of earlier.

“You’re probably curious, Kitten, like usual, over what I’m making all this noise with, huh?” Master teased and within your mind you felt a bit of embarrassment. Your thirst for figuring things out, for knowing was a source of much amusement for Master, as well as other positive words connected with it, he still teased you about it. You replied to the question, still. The same as you had last time.

“Yes, Master. Kitten is very curious and anticipation levels are high. Kitten is also feeling slight embarrassment,” you informed him in your report giving tone, feeling your pussy clench again on nothing.

“Sorry, Kitten,” he chuckled, giving you a playful smirk, his eyes roving over your body in inspection. “But you’re gonna have to be curious a bit longer. You can do that for me, can’t you? You can be a good kitty?”

“Kitten is good for Master!”, more emotion leaked through as your words came out in a whine. You had thought you were already being good? Why would you ever change that?

“Oh? I suppose you are, my Pretty. Little. Pet. My mostly well behaved Kitten,” his words elicited a groan from you, one that turned louder as you felt a hand stroke down your spine and all the way to the tip of your tail. You loved to be praised, to be complimented and Master usually tried to hold those tight until you earned them. “Hmm. One more thing, Kitten, and then you can join me again fully.”

Master moved around you, giving you views of his body as he searched his things. Internally you were pouting. His dick was right there, dammit, and you were right here. You wanted it. Craved. To feel it, to have a taste. You wanted to make Master feel good and couldn’t! You didn’t care that it looked too big for you to swallow just yet. You. Craved.

You whimpered softly just as Master lets lose a “Got it!”

His eyes turned to look over your perfectly poised body again. What a good Kitten he had. He moved to in front of you, the height of your head, your mouth just perfectly equaled the height of his very blessed in size cock and heat flooded you as a small internal chant began. ‘Please, please, please…’

“Okay, Kitten.”, Master spoke up, his voice a little gentler, knowing you would probably feel a lot bit disappointed at the next part, but refusing to back down. “I know you want to get your hungry, slutty mouth on me and drink up whatever I give you into, putting it straight into that greedy little tummy of yours,but if I take you right now, Kitten…”

“Kitten, I’m gonna choke you or cause you to sprain something. Maybe even break. You haven’t had practice or been trained up to the level to take me, so I could really harm you. I don’t want that. So, you’re getting a new toy! Three of them. And a new accessory to use one. I know it’s not what you wanted, but baby, I promise you’ll enjoy this. You’ll enjoy it so much now and when you reach higher levels.”

If you could show your disappointment you would have, which is probably why he hadn’t released you from his Quirk. He may be your Master, but even he had a limit on how much “Kitten Eyes” he could withstand before giving in.

You didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you were tired of toys. You just wanted Master. So far all of your time with Master had been with him using toys on you, in you. He had let you lick up his cum from his fingers (usually mixed with your own juices), and shared many kisses of many types, he had even used his mouth all over you!, but you hadn’t gotten all of Master yet. You had’t got that D, but damn did you want it.

But if he said not yet, you knew he meant it. Especially when it came to your care. Despite his rougher moments and the times he had to discipline you, he made sure you weren’t harmed in a bad way.

Master crouched down in front of you with something blurry in his hand. “Open your mouth, Kitten. Wide as you can.”

You felt something latch onto a part of your mouth and another and another and another and so on as you were fitted with a Spider Gag, your mouth held open as wide as it could go and the device set firmly in place, attached to head properly. It was better than an O-Ring for holding you open and upsizing, but felt weird at first. You hoped that sensation went away soon.

So distracted with the gag that you didn’t hear another set of wheels roll forward and lock in place. You did notice when you head was held still as a very large dildo was placed at the opening of your mouth.

“Kitten,” Master’s voice sounded from behind you this time as you felt something else being placed at the entrance of each hole and a ‘squick’ sound that you recognized as lube being slathered on something. “At each of your gorgeous, slutty little holes is a sex machine. I’m going to turn them on and they’re going to take you. I’ll start off slow, watching you from over here on this chair, and then once you can take the whole thing they’ll start to speed up. Eventually they’ll be changed out for a bigger size until you can take one close to my size.”

He spoke clearly, voice deepening with lust and it hit you that all this training, all this playing and “leveling up” was probably just as hard on him as it was you. Your disappointment faded and frustration lowered to a bare simmer. You would be a good Kitten for Master now and eventually you would be the best Kitten later.

“Get ready,”he warned, falling back into his chair. He held a remote in one hand and the other was already on his dick. “You can cum as much as you want, Kitten, because these toys? They’re going to wreck you oh-so beautifully, baby.”

You suddenly felt his hold on you snap, ending and everything hit you at once. The sensations that were once distant were right up in your face, your emotions bold and there, a light returned to your eyes that you couldn’t see, but your Master could and it made something within him heat up. Your mouth watered around the gag, as you stared the machine head on. The dildos looked massive and you subconsciously gulped. But you were a good Kitten. You would take them in all of your slutty, wet and ready little holes until Master thought you ready. Because you were going to have that dick.

Breathing deeply, you let your tongue slip forward a little, ready to have your mouth fucked and be on shown for your Master.

“Hope your ready, Kitten, because these double as fleshlights and collect your partner’s cum to use at just the right moments.”

Your eyes quickly peered to the side in surprise, unable to move your head to do so. He was smirking devilishly. The one that made you feel weak in the knees and get wet instantly. Oh, Master was very good to you.

“3, 2, take them well and I’ll let you clean me up with that pretty little mouth of yours, 1!”

Very, very good to you.

— End.

Yeah? Idk either. I cut several pages if unnecessary bits but. Yeaaah. Not my best. IwI and they pronoun me in inner. I need a nap 💤😅

Ahhh I meant to post this ages ago when I got it, I'm sorry it took so long! But oh my goodness did this do something to me 😩

#invisible ribbitch #ir thirst #shinsou thirst #minors dni

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honey-hippie-harper · 3 years

Text

Successful Parenting

MY DEAREST @the-wee-woo-rita I HEARD IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY TODAY AFGSHAGASHA

I’m coming back from the death just to give you this, because you asked for it some time ago, and agshjaghsj I’m sorry I couldn’t give you something better, I’m super busy finishing HCTTR :’) But yeah, here is it!<3 I translated it from the start because the original translation was awful and you deserved something better than that x’d Still, I really hope you like it.

Rita, you’re super important to me :’) You have no idea on how much your comments make me happy, and I love you dearly even if I’m mostly dead because school’s been driving me crazy afsghjafgsh but yeah, you’re very kind, and sweet, and I hope you know your existence makes me very happy afghjaysu so, I wish you the best of birthdays! <3

Take care :’) <3

Successful Parenting.

Two days after the event, they start calling it The Day of Triumph. It’s only in that moment that Nova experiences that annoying itch people refer to as “resignation”, and she lays in her side of the bed she shares with Honey, with her arms at her side, limp, staring at the mold that grows in the ceiling of a house Nova can’t identify, which is the same one she was taken to while her eyes were folded. They knew she wouldn’t dare to do it, but they still feared she would try to find her way back to Gatlon to go look for Uncle Ace.

The many –and long- hours she spends laying, she feels nothing. She’s so invested in her own pain, that she doesn’t even notice the moment when Honey doesn’t lay next to her, nor does she curl up in a ball and spends the rest of the night bawling.

Even when Ingrid comes into the room and violently takes her out of bed, wrapping her up in a blanket, Nova has no idea of what’s happening.

Her heart is racing aggressively, but she can’t move, not even when the blanket falls into the floor and Ingrid almost stumbles the moment she steps on it. She doesn’t fall, but she does bark a couple of words Nova is sure she’s not allowed to repeat.

And then, among the bumpy ride, she sees them there.

The air smells weird, and these people are screaming, like they always do.

Nova spots Honey down on her knees, hugging herself and shouting up to the sky. Leroy Flinn is standing in front of her, and next to them both, there’s his yellow car.

Winston, nonchalant and chewing on gum, is removing the tube that peeks from the car’s gas tank.

And Honey is just there, repeating the phrase “Make it stop” like a mantra, shaking her head and screaming as if one of her knees was being amputated. Nova stares at her from Ingrid’s arms, still not knowing what’s happening, until she puts her down with such violence she ends up hiccupping.

“LET ME GO! I DON’T WANNA BE HERE ANYMORE!”

“Look. That’s fine by me. You can go if you want to. But don’t drag us into it. Some of us want to stay here. You understand?”

“Leroy, where should I put this?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, WINSTON!” Scream Honey and Leroy at the same time. For a second, it almost seems like Honey is lucid.

“Geez.”

That’s when Ingrid intervenes too.

“You are such a useless prick. Go on, Winston! Bring that thing over here!”

Nova jumps, because her voice sounds louder out of a sudden, and then she starts walking towards Winston, stomping her feet like she is marching, until she’s close enough to take the tube from his hands and start taking it to the trapdoor by the side of the house, which, Nova supposes, leads to the basement.

For Nova, it’s a scene that’s as surreal as it is bizarre, with Honey knelt down on the ground that way, and all the windows and doors wide open. Then, everyone acting as if that tube thing peeking out of the car and getting into the house was such a big deal.

After trying to connect the dots for a while, Nova decides she doesn’t understand.

It’s only then that she hears a very familiar “Bang!” that deafens her for a couple of seconds.

Frowning and taking her hands to her ears, Nova looks ahead.

In her hands, Honey holds the gun Leroy always has in his belt, and Nova doesn’t need to be any more clever to know who was she aiming at; it wasn’t Leroy, or Winston, or her, Nova.

Honey was aiming at herself.

Leroy throws himself at her, to grab her, while Winston tries to snatch the gun from her hands, and she fights back so much it reminds Nova of a whirlwind. She’s screaming again, and she’s crying a lot, to the point the long lines of mascara are starting to reach her neck.

She looks so sad and ready to die, that Nova knows she should be feeling some type of sympathy for her.

Yet, she doesn’t.

She doesn’t, because bullets were the ones to take everything she had away from her, and the mere idea of somebody thinking about ending their life that way repulses her.

So Nova stares at her with teary eyes while she wishes something would fall on top of her and kill her for real this time, because if she’s dead she will stop crying.

She says something intelligible yet again (probably a very dumb thing) the moment Winston manages to take the gun out of her hands and, for instance, out of her reach.

Now that she’s defenseless, Nova gets closer to her. Honey seems reluctant to calm down at first, but when she stares at Nova she recognizes the features papà got from Uncle Ace, and that at the same time Nova got from papà. Then, she goes still.

Just like that, she becomes quiet, though still breathing like an angry bull and with the tears rolling down her face.

She looks at Nova like she’s an odd being who just came through a portal from another dimension, and Nova feels her entire body catching fire.

There’s so, so many ways to release her power on people...

And yet, she chooses the bad way, and she slaps Honey so hard that by the time she collapses into Leroy’s arms, the palm of her hand is itching.

-.-

The ladder trembles, and Nova holds on to it, even when she feels that, on the floor, Leroy has tightened his grip.

Once settled down, Nova gulps and continues going up.

“That’s it, sweetie! That internet won’t connect itself!” Screams Honey Harper, in a melodic voice.

Stars. Nova hoped it would connect itself.

It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve moved down to the tunnels, and their condition could be better. However, Nova considers they’ve been managing perfectly well with almost everything, except this...electricity issue.

And, apparently, these people are very dependent from their electronic devices.

It would’ve been easier if they had money but, evidently, they don’t have any; and it could’ve been easier, too, if they had access to any of the public services, but it seems to be they don’t have such thing either. Nova doesn’t know much about that, but she remembers her father explaining some of it to her.

There’s no water or electricity down in the tunnels, nor gas or those type of things. It reminds her of everything she’s been told, about how, before Uncle Ace, Prodigies were treated this way.

The Renegades are gross.

For that reason, and that reason only, Nova agrees to climb up the ladder to steal some power and internet from the fuse box from a restaurant that happens to be close to the tunnels.

It’s not like she had another option whatsoever. Even if she had said no, they would’ve forced her to anyway. She was starting to get used to that.

Feeling her legs shaking from the effort to keep her balance, she continues going up until she’s face to face with the fuse box.

“Okay, Nightmare. Can you see anything?” Asks Leroy.

Nova narrows her eyes and, after analyzing the issue, she concludes:

“Just a little.”

Immediately, Honey enhances the flashlight’s illumination and rises it up to the fuse box, to which Nova nods.

“That’s better.”

“Great. Now, you should plug in the wire you have in your right hand to the ports at the bottom of the box.”

It doesn’t take much searching for her to find them. There’s a couple of available ports, and the fact she can’t stay here longer, to analyze how do they work, makes her really sad.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t make her sadder than what comes next. Apparently, they didn’t took the time to research about the restaurant’s owner before sending her up here, but the very moment a wire separates from the box, in a physically impossible way, and whips her face, Nova suspects that must be an electric prodigy work, who was able to alter the fuse box to turn it into a security system that...does this.

The burning sensation in her face comes immediately, and Nova screeches so loudly she can’t even believe that terrifying sound is coming from her (Because she knows she’s way better than this).

By instinct, she lets go of the wires and even from the ladder, but before a disaster can happen, Leroy intervenes.

“Don’t let go of the ladder, just come down here! Quick, Nighmare! Get down here!”

Hiccuping and feeling ridiculous, she obeys, and when she’s –more or less- five steps away from the ground, she feels someone grabbing her by the waist and putting her down. At first, she thinks is Honey, for the smooth way their hands feel, but once the person tightens their hold, their arms brush against hers, and she can’t help but remember how Honey rips every hair that grows in every part of her body except her head.

Even if she didn’t do that, Nova highly doubted her body hair would be this curly.

So, carefully, Winston places her on the ground, on a sitting position, and Nova presses her hands against her face, still screaming...though, not much time has to go by before somebody else tries to pull them away, grabbing her by the wrists.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

“LEROY, ACE IS GOING TO ANNIHILATE US!”

“Hey, little flea, let us see your face.”

“IT BURNS! IT BURNS REALLY BAD!”

“WOW, THAT’S SUCH A TRAGEDY! WHERE DID THIS GIRL COMES FROM!? WAS SHE RAISED BY THE RICH?!”

“INGRID, THERE’S NO TIME FOR THAT!”

“JUST...JUST BRING HER WATER! SHE CAN’T CRY AND DRINK WATER AT THE SAME TIME!”

“OF COURSE SHE CAN! AREN’T YOU SEEING HER?!”

“YEAH, BUT SHE WOULD CHOKE!”

“EXACTLY! SHE’S CHOKING ON HER OWN SALIVA! SHE’S DRINKING SOMETHING, CRYING, AND CHOKING BECAUSE SHE’S CRYING WHILE SHE’S DRINKING SOMETHING!”

“NIGHTMARE, LET US SEE YOUR FACE!”

And amongst the chaos, they get her to do it. Nova stares at them with one single eye, for she’s not able to see with the other one.

They remain in silence, just looking, and Winston runs his finger throught the upper part of her forehead, on a spot she can’t identify. She just knows it hurts a little.

“We just need to disinfect it. It’s not too bad.”

“Eugh.” Honey frowns in disgust. “Will that big ass browless chunk grow again?”

Winston tilts his head to the side, and touches Nova’s brow again, carefully. His hands are so cold she even finds them conforting.

“Yep.” He saids, very casual. “It should grow again in no time. No biggie.”

But it doesn’t.

Nova’s eyebrow gets scarred.

And that one specific chunk never grows hair.

-.-

“Don’t expect other people to respect you just because you’re young. That’s not how the world works.”

Nova gulps and tries to dry her face with her hand, putting on her better brave face while Leroy graps her ankle (that’s starting to turn purple) in some bandages that Lord-knows-where they came from.

“So if you want to learn how to take care of yourself, you’ll have to obey Ingrid. And she won’t have pity on you either, because nobody had pity on her when she was your age. Bear with her.”

That is such an awful advice. It’s so awful, that Nova feels her eyes becoming blurry with tears again, but she manages to make them go away.

“I don’t have to bear with her. In fact, she could break my other ankle and that would be completely fine by me because it didn’t hurt when she broke the first one.” She said, in the most broken voice she had ever heard coming from herself in her entire life. “If she breaks my two ankles, I’ll still have two arms.”

“Mmhm.”

“And two balls.”

“Nova, you don’t have balls. You have ovaries, and you can’t walk with them. Are the bandages too tight on your foot?”

“Can I kick Ingrid on the ovaries?”

Leroy doesn’t respond. At least, not for a couple of seconds.

“Nova, are the bandages too tight on your foot?”

“...It didn’t hurt, Leroy.”

Leroy shoots a glance at her again, mockingly.

“Good. That means you can still train today. Do you want to run a marathon through...?”

“NO!”

“Go to sleep, then.” Says Leroy.

And it’s not funny.

It’s not funny at all.

-.-

It’s a ridiculous backpack. It’s too shiny, too colorful, too…too much. That’s the word.

At least it doesn’t have any of the member of the Council’s faces on it. Though, undoubtedly, she has to give them some credit for their merch-making choices, because the only colorful things they sell are the billion photoshoots Captain Chromium and Dread Warden do during Pride Month, every single year (Ingrid uses the magazine covers to throw darts at them).

Nova respects every fool whose personal taste combines with these types of backpacks, but she’s not one of those fools.

It has a unicorn with mobile eyes, and every time she moves, the little bells make too much noise. As if that weren’t enough, the unicorn’s tail is made out of threads that hang from the backpack.

It’s disgusting, and though the only thing she wants at the moment is to throw it at the trash can, she limits herself to place it next to her, carelessly, and then she sits in the worst humanly possible position one can think of, sitting on her right leg, and putting the left one over her right thigh.

The pigtails are resting over her shoulders, but since the scrunchies aren’t helping at all, she feels as if her hair were dong. Besides, these clothes are itchy on her. What can one expect from an outfit that has been put together to fit with the backpack?

Mad at life, she sighs, and instead of staring at the road, she looks at the opposite way.

Right across the imports market, which is where she’s sitting, there’s a small park. From here, she can see a small group of children playing, while their parents watch over them from the benches. One of the couples has a baby carriage.

It’s not the best park to take your children to, and it occurs to her that it’s so ugly there’s no way this would’ve been anyone’s first option. Maybe she went there with her parents, but, if she did, she doesn’t have any memory of that day.

By the time she hears the commotion, she’s looking at how one of the kids helps his little sister move on the swings. She immediately knows that’s her cue, to which Nova glares.

Here comes Winston, dressed in full black, using a facemask to hide the most eye-catching elements of his makeup, wearing sunglasses, and with his hair looking like an orange broccoli, because it’s tied on a ponytail.

He’s crossing the street like he is the reincarnated Messiah. At the same time, there are at least five cars honking at him, to which he responds standing in the middle for a couple of seconds, before walking like he’s carrying the Prophecy again.

Once he arrives, he removes his sunglasses and glares at Nova so bad she almost believes it’s her fault. Nevertheless, all his chances of winning reduce to dust when he says:

“For fuck’s sake. You know I have a shit memory. If you see I’m walking away without you, you have to scream.”

Nova frowns until she feels that her forehead is catching flames, and throws the hideous backpack at him.

“Here’s your crap.” She tells him. “I hope your blood sugar levels go all the way up to 400 and you get all comatose.”

She doesn’t have the guts to wish the Hi-Chew candies he asked her to steal for him are expired, because it took a lot of sacrifice from her part to put the candy in the backpack. And, after all, she already had to dress like an idiot not to seem suspicious.

-.-

Honey’s relapse into depression is so severe she can’t take care of herself. She can’t bathe on her own, she forgets about basic things, like drinking water or eating, and she’s not even in the mood to play around with her bees.

They’re both staring at her. Nova is sitting on the floor, while Ingrid is by the edge of the old bathtub (which Winston and Leroy stole back when they moved here), running a sponge through Honey’s back. In the end, she stares back at Nova, who does her best to smile at her…or, at least, to put on something similar to a smile.

Honey has her legs up to her chest. She looks spaced out, but Nova wouldn’t say she’s uncomfortable. Thanks to that position, it’s easy for her to see the exact moment when she sighs, because her whole body goes up, and then down again.

“I can sense my time has finally come.” She says. “I’m finally gonna die.”

Ingrid clicks her tongue, and presses the sponge tighter against Honey’ back to get rid of the water excess.

“Quit it with the bullshit.” She tells her. “We need honey. That’s one of the few things stopping us from starving to death.”

“Can you believe that, for a second, I actually thought you were referring to me in third person because you cared about my well-being?”

Nova rolls her eyes, deciding she has had enough of this conversation, and then she goes back to her ball of wool and her knitting needles, taking the last to detach herself from the situation. Life can become boring when you don’t sleep at all, so Nova tries to keep herself busy when she isn’t training or stealing things, following the commands of these adults that are supposed to be taking care of her.

She just wishes she had inherited her mother’s patience. She still remembers the story about how, when she met her dad, she made a very long blanket, saying that would be her wedding blanket, and one day she left the tent for a couple of hours, somebody stole it from her and then, in her words, she wasn’t the same after that.

For a moment, Honey follows Nova’s fingers with her eyes; how they manipulate the needles and the wool, awkward at times. She stares in an absent way until, from one moment to another, she asks:

“What are you knitting, Little Nightmare?”

Nova stares back at her, and lifts the wool square so she can look at it.

“It’s a blanket.” She responds. “I think.”

“Pff.” Ingrid scoffs. “Why does it have that many types of wool? Uh?”

“Pardon me for not stopping to carefully choose what type of wool I’m stealing.”

“Perhaps you should.” Honey says in a hoarse voice. “Because that thing is hideous.”

“…Thank you.”

That’s why, two weeks after that, on Mother’s Day, Nova gifts it to her out of spite.

-.-

During her eleventh birthday, she doesn’t ask for anything besides ice-cream that doesn’t taste like garbage, so, reluctantly, they cramp themselves up in Leroy’s car.

Honey is on the passenger’s seat, wrapped up in the ugly blanket Nova gave her two weeks ago, like it is a cocoon, annoyed to death thanks to Winston, who is behind her in an almost fetal position, with both his legs up to the passenger’s seat backrest. Very, very close to his face, there’s the Nintendo DS with a case that says Evander; Ingrid is staring out the window, and Nova is in the middle, like a very uncomfortable ham.

Nova doesn’t know where they’re planning to get her ice-cream but, at this point, she just wishes they don’t kill each other before they get there.

After a while, she stops trying to guess where they’re taking her, and limits herself to sit still. If they want to take her to cross the gates from Hell, then she will just let it be that way.

At some point, Honey asks Winston, in a very rude way, to get his legs off the backrest, but she’s not obeyed, so they begin having the type of discussion kindergarten children would have in the playground, going all like “Leroy, do something! It’s your car! It’s YOUR car, just kick him out of here!”.

Half an hour later, they finally stop, and Nova recognizes the humid smell, not from the sea, but, more likely from a river or a canal. Then, Winston finally sits properly and proceed to damage his image once again, by opening the door with his foot.

“You’re an animal.” Honey spits.

“Eat dirt.”

Honey manages to escape her blanket burrito in less than a second, and tries to slap Winston or at least poke one his eyes out with her nails but, first: Her seatbelt starts suffocating her as soon as she stretches back and, second: Winston is already out of her reach. At least, until he comes back, saying:

“That is, if we don’t have to cover you in dirt first, you old mess.”

Honey goes berserk. She whimpers and screeches so much Nova feels a migraine growing at the back of her head, and Ingrid starts massaging her temples and threatening Honey, telling her that, if she doesn’t shut her ass she will make that wrinkled face of her explode (which, of course, doesn’t help at all).

With all that chaos going on around her, Nova is barely able to witness the true tragedy. Nevertheless, she’s “fortunate” enough to look back, the very moment Winston and Leroy take the black garbage bag that seems to contain a body out of the trunk, and then they throw it directly onto the water.

The weird sounds she had been hearing at the back of the car throughout the whole ride suddenly come back to her and, suddenly, she doesn’t feel like eating ice-cream anymore.

In fact, Nova doesn’t feel like eating anything in weeks.

-.-

She sees the whole scene from the roof, like a stray cat, attired in the costume they gifted her barely a couple of hours ago. Nightmare’s official costume. Because, of course, there’s no better gift for a child during Christmas.

It is cloaked as a normal, polite conversation, but truth to be told, if it weren’t against the peace treaty, there would be heads rolling. Simon Westwood –The Dread Warden- and Hugh Everhart –Captain Chromium- are right there, at plain sight, talking to Honey and Leroy, who have their arms crossed across their chests, and frowning deeply. The rest of the Council members are inspecting the wagons, allowing, at the same time, Ingrid and Winston to supervise them (Lord-only-knows where Phobia is).

Upon confirming everything’s under control, Nova manages to jump through the structure and stops where she can see Evander and Winston, inside the wagon of the last one.

“You’re not gonna find it, egghead.” Says Winston, in an almost singing voice. Nova can spot Evander on the floor, looking for something under the few pieces of furniture he owns.

He’s not going to find it, indeed. Nova can see the Nintendo DS in his back pocket, inside a Pop Tarts wrapping.

“But if I find something else, you’ll be fucked.”

“And your mom too.”

“If you keep talking to me that way, I’m gonna fuck your mom.”

Nova rolls her eyes, and decides this isn’t worth her time, so she chooses to place on a spot where she has a clear view of Ingrid’s wagon, looking at Tamaya Rae –Thunderbird- and Kasumi Hasegawa –Tsunami- going through her stuff.

“If you think what you’re seeing here is interesting, just wait until you see Queen Bee’s wagon, she—“

“What is this, Detonator?”

“That’s the device I use to pull drugs through my eyes. I can get you one if you want to, Angel Fish.”

“Ugh.” Nova groans under her breathe and adjusts her hoodie, before coming back where she started, to focus on Leroy and Honey.

“I don’t know how much damage was caused by this shooting/explosion you’re talking about, but we’ve been here all night.” Says Leroy with a monotonous, yet calm and almost soothing voice, in a volume that was nor too high or too low.

“Even the Detonator?” Asks Hugh. “How sure are you about that?”

“Very. If Ingrid’s not here by this hour, she doesn’t come back until the next day. So, it’s safe to say we’re very sure.” Honey answers. “Go on and “investigate” other people. It’s Christmas, there are many drunk people out there. And alcohol does weird things to your brain, like making you think starting a shooting it’s a fun thing to do.”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Leroy asks. “Taking care of that zygote you adopted, for example?”

“Let’s calm down, Cyanide.” Simon warns. “We don’t intend to cause conflict.”

“I see. Well, if you weren’t intending to cause conflict, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place, my little honeydew.” Says Honey. “We’d normally appreciate the company, but it’s getting late. You better leave.”

“We’re not leaving until the inspection concludes.” Says Hugh. “You think you’re very clever, don’t you, Queen Bee?”

Honey laughs graciously, taking her hand up to her chest.

“We find our own flaws in the people who don’t have them, Captain.”

“Captain, just…don’t. Bring the breathalyzer.”

“Stay there.” Leroy said, talking to Hugh. “You’re not bringing anything.”

“And why is that, exactly?” Hugh challenged him.

“Because you don’t have our permission, and you’re in our territory.”

Simon Westwood sighed.

“Mr. Flinn, this isn’t personal. You have to understand this is just part of the protocol, established by—“

“Shove your protocol up your…”

But just as he was about to finish his insult, his gaze finds Nova’s shadow, who stares back at him from the darkness, immutable. Honey follows his stare, trying to go unnoticed, but when she sees Nova, her face expression becomes somber. Nevertheless, Nova can’t think of another thing besides all the insults she has heard coming from them, and tries to think about the most creative one.

Then, it hits her.

And it’s perfect.

“Shove it up where Hugh shoves it.” She says, out loud, and then she jumps out of the scene, just as Leroy and Honey smile at her with so much pride, that Nova feels they could’ve hugged her. Hugh, from his part, turns around like a bull.

“Who said that?! Was it the Puppeteer?!”

“Alright, guys. Who said that?” Simon asks, way more calm than Hugh, even if the insult has been directed at him.

“Shut up, you fucking bottom.” Honey smiles.

Nova has to choke back a laugh upon noticing the way Simon’s face becomes wrinkled, not it a pout, but in an expression of pure rage.

“My husband is not a fucking bottom.”

Oh?” Leroy smiles too, showing all his missing teeth. “So you’re the bottom then?”

“OF COURSE NOT!”

Leroy and Honey stare at Hugh, and their grins almost look like an evil cat’s. From her part, Nova stares at Simon.

And in the moment Hugh stares at him too, she knows that he knows what he did wrong.

“Wow.” Simon takes his hands up his hips. “Wow.”

Hugh rubs his nose.

“Honey…”

“Ow!” Honey screeches. “You’re using my name as his bottom nickname! That’s lovely!”

“Miss Harper, you stay out of this!” Hugh screams.

“That’s what you always tell Simon, don’t you?” Leroy mocks.

And that’s enough.

Simon bumps his foot against the ground and spins around his own toes, already leaving.

“SIMON, PLEASE, DON’T BE LIKE THAT!”

“HUGH! CAN YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING TO ME?! I’M MAD AT YOU AND IF YOU KEEP DOING THAT I’M GONNA START CRYING!”

Naturally, Leroy and Honey laugh a lot.

-.-

It’s a really bad day for Winston to be home. Or, at least, for him to get out of his wagon.

The tea is getting cold in front of her, intact, while she just looks at it. Ingrid’s is intact too, Honey’s cup is half empty and Winston doesn’t even have one because, at the moment, he’s not welcome here.

The way they have chosen to let him know, is by ignoring him, but Nova still directs her best death stare at him, which go unnoticed because Winston is too busy trying to access his brand new stolen computer.

“So, Little Nightmare.” Honey clicks her tongue. “What is it, that you wanted to tell us?”

Nova opens her mouth, but then closes it again. She shoots a glance at Winston, and then comes back to them.

Then, she finds herself going back to Winston.

“Winston.” Nova says, in a flat tone. Upon hearing his name, Winston responds with a mild head movement, letting her know she’s been heard. “Would you mind?”

“No, not at all. Go ahead.”

Nova has to bite her tongue to avoid telling him he’s not understanding anything, but Ingrid intervenes before she can.

“Nova, just...ignore this clown and hurry up. We have things to do.” She says, rolling her eyes all the way to the back of her head.

Maybe she’s right.

Like, she can’t think of a way in which people that literally live in tunnels like sewer rats could be busy. But, after all, Ingrid is the one who leaves the tunnels the most. Sometimes she brings food. Sometimes she brings clothes…things like that.

Besides, she’s not in the mood to dance around the issue for long. For that reason, she just lets it out.

“I think I’m menstruating.”

And after a couple of seconds of silence, the phrases arrive at the same time.

“ARE YOU?!”

“Lucky are the ones who bleed.”

“Holy shit. Monstruation.”

Nova stares at all three of them in disgust, but they’re too busy minding their own businesses. Honey’s smile falls immediately, and she turns to Ingrid, who at the same time is looking at Winston, who’s looking at Nova.

Knowing they’re about to start making it about themselves, she interrupts. Not today. The one having the crisis is her.

“So? What we going to do about it? Are you gonna help me with it or do I have to go and steal my stuff alone?”

Ingrid finally gets the courage to face Honey, who blinks one single time.

“Who’s not bleeding?”

“I don’t know.” Ingrid responded, no hesitation. “Are you still?”

“No. No. No. No. This isn’t about me, you little shit.”

It’s not, indeed.

“…So don’t you go a try to pull that card.”

“You were the one who asked.”

“Why aren’t you bleeding, Ingrid?”

They all wait for the answer, but the answer never comes. And, she has to admit, she’s as surprised as they are, but that doesn’t change the fact this is not about Ingrid. It shouldn’t be about Ingrid, at least.

“Guys.”

But they don’t mind her.

There are more important things to pay attention to, apparently.

For example, the way Honey gets up and crosses her arms over her chest.

Then, after groaning, she turns around and presses her palms over her eyes, and exhales loudly, before spinning on her toes again.

“I need my pills.” She whispers under breath, but not enough for them not to hear her. “Get your fucking coat.”

“Uh?”

“GET YOUR COAT, AND PUT YOUR SHOES ON!”

It escalates so fast, that Ingrid has no choice but to obey. But, even as she’s walking away, Nova can’t help but think she’s relieved. She looks relieved.

Good for her.

At least someone is getting what she needs.

-.-

Nova is trembling on her “bed” by the time Winston comes into her wagon. She tries to ignore him, and he doesn’t talk to her either, but he does place the black bag he’s carrying in his hand next to her. A big black bag.

Then, he sits on the floor, and starts playing with a rubik cube. That’s, in fact, the first time he talks to her.

“I don’t know what’s that thing about wings, and some of them might be adult diapers because all the models on the boxes were girls. I also brought those ghost thingies because they’re funny, and I’ve brought them a couple of times for Ingrid.” Says Winston.

A couple of seconds later, he adds:

“I tried.”

She blinks and gulps, before answering.

“I know. Thanks.”

-.-

As the hours go by, the pain gets worse, and worse, and worse, until she’s shaking even more, and she’s basically curled up in a ball.

Once the sun goes down, Nova hears Ingrid and Honey outside, but she doesn’t mind them. For a short while, she hears them talking to Leroy and Winston under their breath, to then go on with their lives. It’s in that very moment, that Nova hates everything.

She hates the way in which Ingrid has to make everything about herself. She hates the way in which, once again, she’s not coming first. She hates that it hurts…

And she hates that, when Honey comes into her wagon, she stares at her, and Nova can’t help but to stare back.

Then, she comes into the mattress, holding a white plastic bag, where Nova can see she’s carrying some pills. Honey is already in her pajamas, and her face is free of makeup.

As the mattress shrinks beneath her weight, Nova tries to pull away from her but, for some reason, she’s scared she’ll make a mess because of her…situation. Honey remains right where she is, and, a couple of seconds later, Nova feels her hand over her back. She’s very cold.

Very cold.

But she doesn’t mind. It’s relieving.

It’s relieving until Nova remembers she’s mad at her.

“Do you need a painkiller, honeybun?”

And Nova takes it irrationally personal.

“Oh, so…now you care.” She snaps. “Now you care about me. Weren’t you too busy with Ingrid? Why don’t you ask her if she needs a painkiller?!”

With that being said, Honey goes silent, until she just…finishes laying down, and she feels her hand over her again. This time, on her shoulder.

For a second, Nova feels lucid, but all that lucidity is blinded by the overwhelming pain at the bottom of her stomach, and how everything is horrible and sad and everything hurts.

And when there is nothing left, she still finds Honey. When the first tears start flowing from her eyes, Nova turns around, and allows her body to interlock between Honey’s, and accepts her hug. Honey stroked her hair and hummed in her ear.

Nova doesn’t fall asleep, of course. But Honey does.

And even then, they don’t move.

For the longest time, they don’t move.

Two blocks later, Ingrid’s limp gets worse.

And worse.

And worse, until Nova’s own ankle starts hurting just by thinking about in how much pain she must be in; so she tries wrapping her arm around her waist so Ingrid can use her as a human crutch, but in the moment she feels Nova’s touch, Ingrid snaps.

“Let go. You’re short. If I try to hold on to you, you’ll break my spine too.”

Nova rolls her eyes.

“Fuck you, then.”

As expected, it takes them forever to get to the tunnels, and they finally arrive, Leroy’s waiting for them awake, and it takes Winston and Honey less than ten minutes to wake up too, when they hear all the movement coming from Ingrid’s wagon.

Once they’ve arrived there, Leroy dismisses himself from the duty of taking care of Ingrid’s swollen ankle, and throws the ball to Honey instead, who doesn’t complain, but she doesn’t treat Ingrid more tenderly than Leroy either.

Nova watches the scene as she bites her nails. Ingrid’s ankle has gotten so big she can’t help but compare it to a frog, and as Honey pokes it (instead of massaging it) to try to find out what’s wrong with it, the bruises on her skin become more evident.

“I don’t think it’s broken.” Honey concludes. “It’s more likely…”

“Sprained.” Leroy nods.

“Yes. Sprained. Little Nightmare, would you please hand me some bandages?”

She skips the part where she asks Honey to not call her that (Little Nightmare) and obeys without hesitation. After all, she knows where Ingrid keeps that type of stuff. She’s been here bleeding or with injured limbs many times before.

“What the hell happened to you?” Winston laughs. “Are you still this dumb? Really?”

Nova holds her breath as she takes the bandages.

“Actually, no. Like, you’re not gonna believe what happened.”

“Please, if any of the Renegades’ little brainless patrolling units did this to you, just…skip the story, because I’ll get really mad.”

“Nova tackled the shit out of me during training.”

She hugs the bandages really tightly against her chest, waiting for someone, anyone, to say something. It feels like a small piece of glass trapped in her skin and she wants it out as fast as possible. She wants the lecture to be over before it has even started. She wants…

“She did?”

“She did. And it was awesome.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the

“OH MY GOSH! NOVA!” Ingrid screams in pain as Honey violently lets go of her ankle and runs towards Nova, who turns around and accepts her effusive hug just because it’s too late to reject it. The bandages fall to the ground as she pats Honey’s back, confused.

“Really, you should’ve seen her!” Ingrid screeches, already recovered. “She was great! HECK, WAS I IMPRESSED.”

“Ingrid, what the fu—“

“SHE TACKLED ME! TO THE GROUND! THERE’S NO WAY SHE COULD’VE DONE THAT LAST MONTH! SHE WAS AMAZING!”

“Sounds like she was.” Leroy smiles. It’s not a wide smile, but still a smile. “Congratulations, Nova.”

Honey, who has stopped hugging her and now has her arms around her shoulders, laughs.

“We knew you were better than that. You were just playing dumb, weren’t you?”

“I…”

“So…she…sprained your ankle when she tackled you to the floor?” Winston asks.

“NO, NO, NO! BECAUSE AFTER SHE TACKLED ME, SHE MANAGED TO THROW ME OFF A FUCKING FENCE! I MEAN, HOW COOL IS THAT?!”

Winston blinks. And for a moment, she sees something weird in his expression. Something…different.

But maybe she’s just paranoid.

“…Yeah. Pretty cool.”

Nova blinks too.

And the only thing she knows right now is that…

Well.

Perhaps she doesn’t know anything.

“Heck. I’m proud of you.”

And Ingrid smiles. At her.

And Nova feels the corner of her lips shaking as they correspond that smile. Next thing she realizes is that that’s how it feels to get it right for the first time.

“You’re finally getting stronger. Next time…”

“Next time I’ll wreck you.” Nova says, her smile widening. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow at her, jokingly.

“Promises, promises, Nightmare. I hope you can keep them.”

Oh, she will.

-.-

At sixteen years old, a few months prior the parade where they plan to assassinate Hugh Everhart, Nova comprehend they’re doing the best they can.

But she doesn’t tell them that.

#renegades trilogy #dawnie writes #marissa meyer #Nova Artino #Nightmare #Winston Pratt #The Puppeteer #Leroy Flinn #Cyanide #Honey Harper #Queen Bee #Ingrid Thompson #The Detonator #Hugh Everhart #Captain Chromium #Simon Westwood #The Dread Warden

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merryfortune · 3 years

Text

You give me flowers of love

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #39 - Pink

Ship: Nodoka/Hinata

Fandom: Healin’ Good PreCure

Word Count: 3,757

Rating: M

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

AN: title comes from Bloodflowers by The Cure and is recommended listening for this fic.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Hanahaki, Horror, Gore, Emetophobia/Emetophilia, Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Past/Referenced Eriko/Hinata, Minor Blood

Hinata was not the type of girl who could handle horror stories, urban legends, or anything spookier than a rom-com set against the background of a popular coffee shop. However, there was something about this creepypasta that caught her attention. Maybe she read it to prove that she wasn’t a scaredy-cat or maybe she read it because something about it was almost too real.

It came across her Curestagram feed, screenshots reposted from another site with long form text functions rather than the optimized for photos aesthetic of Curestagram. It wasn’t late at night, quite the opposite, Hinata had just been scrolling as she was half nibbling on a banana muffin for morning tea. So she was kind of bored and not already unsettled by a vague anxiety sort of mindset so she stopped her scroll to read this totally true story from a friend of a friend that had happened upon her timeline.

The story involved a sickness. A lovesickness, hooking Hinata immediately since she was a hopeless romantic and leaving her vulnerable to what was hiding down below a few paragraphs after and Hinata realised she was reading a surreal medical horror story.

Supposedly, some girl from a high school in the next town over had been hospitalized due to damage to her stomach and esophagus but ultimately culminated in her passing away from brain damage due to suffocation. The suffocation that was the outcome of the damage she had taken to her stomach and esophagus had, supposedly, been caused by the growing of flowers inside of her. Doctors couldn’t explain it. They were baffled by the impossibility of it. Yet where they failed to posit theories at all, their patient had her own she desperately desired to reveal.

The nameless girl, as weak as she was in her final moments of speech and cognition, was certain with the most crystal clear clarity that she could muster said that reason for the flowers growing inside of her was due to a crush that she had been fostering for quite some time. A crush that was so powerful and deep that it had manifested as literal and impossible distress in the form of tiger lily flowers. Though her claims were dismissed as nonsense, despite the very given evidence that she had been vomiting exotic flowers, except by the narrator who was sharing her story online on her behalf.

Hinata got to the bottom line of the final screenshot and she dropped her phone on the table. She shivered and flinched as her phone clattered. Nyatoran looked up, alarmed, from the milk that he had been sipping.

“Heh? Are you okay Hinata?” he asked.

“Y-Yeah, I just lost my grip.” Hinata replied. It wasn’t a lie.

“Really? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Nyatoran pointed out.

Hinata made an expression that was both guilty and embarrassed, “Er, sort of… I read a ghost story online and I haven’t the stomach for them.”

“Oh, well, no worries then. I’ll keep ya safe from all the ghoulies then.” Nyatoran boasted.

Hinata laughed, “Thanks, Nyatoran.” she replied.

And that was more or less enough to keep her mind off what she had read for the rest of the day as she did her Sunday homework and such. At least until well after lights out.

Hinata cursed herself. She knew endless walls of text in screenshots never bore good news but it was under her skin now. It wasn’t even that scary, she tried to convince herself. It just so happened to play off something she had been thinking about in ways that cut deep and yes, even scary.

Hinata had a crush of her own. One she didn’t think she ought to act on. Or didn’t know how to act on.

Hinata had a crush on Nodoka. She was sweet and gentle yet so motivated. Hinata felt like she learned something new about either herself or Nodoka after every time they hung out. Things never felt old between them despite how natural their companionship was between them.

Catching feelings for Nodoka was inevitable, Hinata felt regarding their dynamic as close friends and their friendship was relatively intense due to their bond as comrades being Pretty Cures but that made Hinata sick to her stomach with fear. This wasn’t her first crush that she had on another girl.

In the not so recent past, Hinata had been wrong reading other girls’ opinions and feelings regarding her before. She and Eriko had been so close, childhood friends with a pact that seemed fit to stand the test of time when they had made it, and Hinata didn’t think it was a coincidence that already scarce contact between them after Eriko moved was when Hinata had confessed her feelings to Eriko.

The rejection had been crushing and Hinata had never told a soul about it. The wound was older now but it still hurt so, as lovely as Nodoka was, Hinata didn’t want to gamble their friendship due to that prior rejection. Yet her feelings crackled like electricity near a lightning rod whenever she was around Nodoka anyway. She could only hope that Nodoka was oblivious since she was so inexperienced socially due to her childhood spent mostly in the hospital.

(And that Chiyu never brought up the blatantly obvious which she would hopefully never do since she knew there was a place and a time and it wasn’t her place).

Thus, for all these different and entangling reasons, that horror story Hinata had read this morning really resonated. The thought of her unrequited feelings becoming literal, even in the form of pretty and seemingly harmless flowers, and suffocating. It was a very real fear to Hinata despite that fantastical execution that it was captured inside.

All because she was a magical girl infused with the power of light and thunder. She fought villains who caused infections in nature and created monsters. To her, it didn’t seem too far outside of her sphere of tried and true reality that such a floral disease of the body could exist. Heck, maybe it did exist and was tied to the war that she and her friends were fighting in secret on behalf of the Healing Animals. It was entirely possible this flower vomit disease was another agent or power of the Byougens.

Hinata groaned and the more she scolded herself for thinking about these horrible possibilities, the more she thought about them. She tossed and turned all night, in the dark and under the covers of her doona. She knew Nyatoran would live up to his boasting over morning tea if she asked but he was totally conked out in his little room. Hinata couldn’t bring herself to wake him, to unnecessarily burden him, so she just hid from her fears as best as she could in her blankets.

The following morning, Hinata was a wreck. She had bags under her eyes and was generally a drag. She hasn’t slept a wink last night but just like she was hiding from the horror story in her head, she decided to hide from the aftermath too. She touched up her eyes with concealer and finished off her make-up with a nice little kiss of lip balm, too. She chose a nice tropical flavour: pineapple with vanilla undertones and wore nude in practice. With that, she was ready for what was no doubt going to be a long, long day of school.

A prediction that she was very right in having. Just making it to lunch felt like an eternity and a half on low energy. Worst still, despite the precautions that Hinata had taken, both Chiyu and Nodoka had noticed that she wasn’t exactly her bouncy self today. Even with her favourite lunch box in her lap with fried chicken and a fruit drink, too.

“Are you okay, Hinata?” Nodoka asked and she batted her long eyelashes in concern.

Hinata knew she couldn’t lie or deflect around Nodoka, at least for the most part, and deflated, “No…” she moaned. “I slept awfully last night.”

“I expect that it wasn’t due to over studying?” Chiyu asked, sniping.

“No, I just. Couldn’t sleep.” Hinata shrugged.

“Well, be sure to put yourself early to bed tonight then. There’s nothing worse than being tired.” Nodoka said.

“Will do.” Hinata sighed.

“Also?” Nodoka prompted her.

“Yeah?” Hinata glanced at Nodoka was she tried a spoonful of rice from her side dishes.

“Your lip balm has a very strong smell today, I can smell it from here.” Nodoka laughed.

“Oh, joy…” Hinata hung her head in misery. She didn’t think it was so pungent in the tube.

“I didn’t mean that in a mean way.” Nodoka panicked whilst Chiyu had a discrete giggle at Hinata’s misfortune. “I really like it. I think it smells nice. Like cherries. I love the smell of cherries best.”

“Huh?” Hinata mumbled and she stared straight at Nodoka in confusion.

Nodoka stared back. Also in confusion. “Is something the matter?”

“Er, no,” Hinata awkwardly began and she forced herself to laugh and she flapped a hand about too to disguise her weirdness, “I must have been so tired this morning that I though I used one lip balm and instead used another.”

“That is a little odd…” Chiyu murmured.

But Nodoka seemed to buy it, she gasped, “Fwow, you must have been really tired this morning to make such a mistake. Promise me to get a good night’s rest tonight then.” Nodoka fussed for her.

“I promise, I promise.” Hinata replied.

Just as Hinata spoke, the end of lunch bell rang. She moaned with the utmost misery as she hadn’t finished her lunch even slightly and roused much sympathy from both Nodoka and Chiyu. So, Hinata crammed what she could into her mouth and swallowed before returning with her friends indoors to their classroom.

She plopped down in her chair and desk, her stomach growling almost immediately. Were it not for the teacher at the front of the classroom, Hinata would have flopped down and keeled over right there and then. She would have killed for a nap. Not even a luxurious nanna nap at this point, she would take a horrid power nap. Anything would have been better than nothing. Instead, the best she could muster was some daydreaming whilst scribbling in her work book so she could at least pretend to be paying attention.

Her mind strayed to Nodoka. She couldn’t help it. A silly little pining schoolgirl was exactly what she was after all. She doodled Nodoka’s name in her margins, surrounded with love-hearts, paw prints, and even flowers. It was a little bit childish but Hinata was a lot childish so she didn’t mind, she was more or less on cloud nine since Nodoka had shown her care for her over lunch, fussing for her like that.

It was such a small act but it was more than enough to launch Hinata’s heart in a million miles an hour race. So much so, she began to taste something at the back of her throat. It was a sweet taste accompanied by a fizzy sensation. Hinata liked it and it seemed to get stronger the more she daydreamed about Nodoka. Even though it was the middle of class, Hinata was letting her mind completely run away from the contents of what the teacher was attempting to educate on them.

Finally, after what felt like a day of self torment because of reading some stupid horror story about puking flowers, Hinata felt free of that gnawing anxiety. But just as she revelled in this, her stomach wretched. She dry gagged with the searing taste of bile at the back of her throat and her hand automatically clamped over her mouth, pen and all. The prior anxiety might have dissipated but a new one had spiked in its place.

Hinata frowned. Was it because she hadn’t eaten all her lunch that she suddenly felt nauseous? Or was it something else? She begged that it wasn’t her period, she was still quite irregular so this felt off or early to her.

Then she gagged again. She swallowed it back down. Hard. Whatever she swallowed was thick and sweet. It wasn’t vomit, Hinata had the startling realisation. She tried hard to keep it down but she failed. She vomited into her hand, or at least something similar. The motions were awful, worse than anything else she had ever had to eject from her body orally before.

Hinata felt sick to the very bottom of her stomach. Her hands shook as she slowly removed the one over her mouth and… and she couldn’t believe her eyes. They widened in shock as she saw the head of a flower in the palm of her hand. It was a cherry blossom, she realised. The pale pink petals were frayed at the edges, burnt by stomach acid and wet with her saliva; the anthers of its centre drooped and dragged, splayed across the petals. Her skin crawled as she marveled at the insane gravity of the situation. She quickly paled.

And the teacher noticed, “Hiramitsu, are you okay?” he asked from in front of the chalkboard, looking up concerned from the book he was reciting from.

“I-I, um, I need to go. To the nurse.” Hinata eked out her words with strained difficulty.

Her stomach flipped and she could feel another one coming up. It slithered up her throat and she hated the slow, dreadful sensation of it, the way it made her mouth taste of bile and cherries in horrible combination. Hinata bolted to her feet, afraid, alarming the whole class. She hid her mouth behind her hand again, holding tight that first flower that she had vomited.

“I need to go.” Hinata mumbled and she fled.

The feeling of her classmates' eyes on her felt like broken glass digging. She knew, deep down, they didn’t mean harm but their gazes only served to amplify the terror she felt as she fled. She was fast at first, escaping from the classroom but her stomach lurched and she vomited another flower and then again but two at once this time.

Hinata stopped in the hallway, she had to rest her shoulder against the wall just to stand as she looked down into the palm of her hand. The flowers were accumulating against her skin, wet and heavy, and accelerating in pace of production. Already she felt another lurch and this one was dire, Hinata didn’t think she would be so lucky to only vomit one or two this next time.

She had to get to the sick bay. She wasn’t sure what she would do there but anything had to be better than nothing, so she hobbled on in immense pain. By nothing less than a miracle, Hinata managed to get to the nurse’s suite without collapsing. Or with leaving too many flowers in her meagre wake.

The school nurse panicked almost immediately when she saw Hinata in this state. Hinata sputtered out a thank you whilst she was put to bed. Hinata curled up under the sheets, her stomach lurching and mangled petals dripped out of her mouth. She had to hide her ailment from the nurse. She just had to. She didn’t know how to explain it or anything else pertaining to it but fortunately, the nurse bought her some time by going to use administration’s phone to let her father know that Hinata was in immediate medical distress.

Hinata held her scrawny belly with one hand and her mouth the other. No matter how hard she tried, these flowers kept dredging up from inside of her and it was worsening. There was distention building inside of her, it was as if she could feel the bushels of cherry blossom flowers forming inside of her and something else too. It was raw and firm and poking up through her like a stick. Hinata moaned in utter agony as she tasted not just sweetness and bile in her mouth, but the cutting, metallic taste of blood too.

She whimpered as she tried to swallow it down. Attempting so, just made the nicks and cuts to her throat worsen and the petals to clog. Her lungs ached sharply as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes squeezed tight and she begged every deity she could think of for a saviour.

The door to the sick bay opened again. Hinata murmured to herself and the curtain was pulled aside, “Hinata?” a sweet voice greeted her.

“Huh?” Hinata slurred.

She rolled over, still holding herself but even a simple and slow motion like that was enough to rouse her illness violently. Her grimace was deep on her face as she tried to look at Nodoka, even feebly.

“A-Are you okay, Hinata?” she asked. “I couldn’t sit by and worry when I saw you ill you were, what’s wrong?”

Hinata opened her mouth. Mostly to reply, but that’s not what happened. She threw up in front of Nodoka and Nodoka couldn’t believe her eyes. Hinata was throwing up bushels upon bushels of flowers. Cherry blossoms. Nodoka blinked. She couldn’t believe the sights - or the smell. The smell was disconcerting with how almost pleasantly fragrant it was, heightening Nodoka’s realisation that this wasn’t Hinata pulling pranks.

“H-How on Earth did this happen…?” Nodoka asked.

She was horrified yet found herself unable to resist the impulse. She picked a blossom out of the pile that Hinata had vomited up. It was soft in her hand, even if it was grotesquely wet.

“I - I don’t-” Hinata tried to speak but she cut herself off when she felt something jut out of her mouth. An entire branch of cherry blossoms began to spike out of her mouth.

Her eyes began to roll back on themselves as Nodoka watched, in abject and frozen horror, as Hinata contended with this stick inside of her. It emerged slowly from the depths of her throat and made her chest convulse. Her fingers spasmed as she choked around it, flowers blooming along the thin and coarse branch.

“H-Help me.” Hinata sputtered out.

Nodoka nodded. She was scared, her heart was pounding, but she was first and foremost a helper of most empathetic ends. She had been on the receiving end of a strange and bizarre illness that had rendered most her childhood for naught. She couldn’t just let Hinata struggle. Suffocate.

So, she got onto the bed with Hinata. She straddled her so she could best approach the foreign object inside of Hinata. She focused her eyes and was as ready as she could ever be for an amateur operation quite like this one. Nodoka reached out and pinched the end of the branch delicately. It was entirely unsafe, Nodoka knew that, but she began to pull. She peered into Hinata’s pink mouth was clogged with twigs and petals, and tried her best to dislodge what she could.

Hinata gagged. Tears in her eyes and she plead, silently and afraid, that Nodoka could handle this. Nodoka’s hands shook but she did, in fact, manage. She tried her hardest and she did succeed even if it felt pyrrhic as Hinata screamed out as the last, and thickest, part of the cherry blossom branch was removed.

Nodoka flinched hearing the scream, dropping the cherry blossom branch between them. Hinata spat out blood and petals but the cherry blossom branch had been removed. She caressed her neck and it was raw with what it had been through. Her touches did little to soothe or quell her pain, she looked up at Nodoka with pathetic, red rimmed eyes.

“What was that?” Nodoka asked, her heart quaking. “How could any of this be possibly real?”

“I - I don’t know.” Hinata mumbled but that was a lie. She choked on her words all the same as she had choked on those cherry blossoms. Her hands squeezed tight. “No. I’m sorry. I do know.”

“Pardon?” Nodoka quietly exclaimed.

“There’s a very rare disease,” Hinata began, hasty, “that causes flowers to grow inside of someone suffering with a crush that they just can’t handle.”

“That’s horrible…” Nodoka murmured.

It was now or never, Hinata realised. Or she was going to end up exactly like the girl from the story that she had read yesterday. She knew it. She just knew it.

“Nodoka, it’s you.” Hinata confessed, half a sob in her voice. “I’m crushing on you.”

Nodoka was stunned by Hinata’s admission.

Hinata panted, her face was going bright red whilst her heart pounded like a hammer at her rib cage. She couldn’t believe it. She had done it. But it felt like a weight off, she had to admit, she didn’t realise her crush had been such a burden until right now. She felt herself lighten with the confession, from the very pit of her stomach, upwards and outwards.

Nodoka averted her gaze and Hinata was reminded once more why a crush was called a crush. That borderline feel good feeling from before popped. Burst. Nodoka played with her hair, fidgeting, and then managed to speak in a very calm and very quiet voice.

“I have a crush on you, too, Hinata.” Nodoka replied. “I admire so much how you sparkle and shine. It’s very refreshing to be around. I like you too. A lot.”

Nodoka reached out to Hinata’s hand and held it. She was so warm and she was still trembling but Nodoka’s caress of it did soothe her. Hinata hazarded a smile, like she couldn’t believe her ears, through her scarlet expression. Nodoka leaned in and kissed Hinata.

Hinata was unable to kiss back, afraid of her own breath but Nodoka didn’t mind. It was pungent with cherry blossoms and wet but she found the kiss sufficiently sweet, kissing Hinata’s soft, balmy lips. They were tinged with pineapple and vanilla beneath that overwhelming sensation of cherry blossoms.

“Thank you, Nodoka…” Hinata murmured and somehow, she didn’t know or understand how but she wasn’t going to complain, she was cured, prettily, of her affliction.

The cherry blossom flowers on the bed or in her gut, disappeared. All with seemingly little aplomb. Even the branch that had to have been removed from her throat, all with a soft, fizzling noise that Hinata could hardly hear over the sound of her pounding heart. She still had the cuts and scrapes, but she was no longer growing flowers inside of her stomach. Hinata was cured and Nodoka was her blessed, angelic cure.

#100ships challenge #femslash #nodohina #healin good precure #healin good #precure #nodoka hanadera #hanadera nodoka #cure grace #cure sparkle #hiramitsu hinata #hinata hiramitsu #writing tag #i really like this fic so i hope you guys enjoy

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sunshinehighway · 5 years

Note

“I can’t sleep, can I stay here?” ballum + fluffy pls !!!

(hello anon!!! this is a little angsty but also fluffy! i’ve taken some upcoming spoilers and played around with them - this is mostly just self indulgent and what i want but by no means what is going to happen. anyway, i hope u like

warning: heavily implied death / grief

The service passes by in a blur of tears and strangled breathing, and before Callum can catch his breath, they’re being signalled to rise. It’s surreal, unimaginable, that inside that coffin is the body of the man so young, so brave, so wonderful.

He tries not to think about it too much, because it hurts. It just hurts so much.

There’s the feeling of time moving too slow and too fast simultaneously, dragging by sluggishly while everything feels as though it happens so fast that he doesn’t have time to comprehend anything.

He needs to get out of here.

——

The night is quiet, a submarine world made of darkness and cobalt blue. The only sounds being the distant noise of traffic and Callum’s tight fist knocking on the Beale’s front door.

“I can’t sleep,” Callum starts as the door swings open, a sleepy Ben appearing on the other side, “can I—uh—can I stay here tonight?”

It’s clear from the look of shock that settles on Ben’s face that it’s not the opening he’s expecting. (And Callum can’t blame him really, it is the middle of the night, after all).

“Why?” Ben question.

“Please Ben, just—please,” Callum asks. He’s a little scared of how calm and articulate he sounds, considering there’s this spike of pain pricking down his spine, relentless.

“Yeah course, sorry—come in.,” Ben says eventually, voice soft, as if approaching a scared animal.

He can feel Ben’s gaze following him as shuffles awkwardly on his doorstep, his eyes burning something fierce, something Callum now recognised as concern.

Instantly he feels swallowed by it, but then Ben steps aside to let Callum in, the door closing behind him. He leans against it and ducks his head, pushes his thumb and forefinger into his eyes to stop the tears threatening to spill. He allows himself one ragged, broken breath, before he knocks his head back against the door and looks at the dull ceiling, the weight in his chest tugging everything down until it feels like he’s sinking through the floor.

It’s just as well Ben there’s to catch him.

“I’m sorry,” Callum announces once he’s composed himself again, words muffled where he’s slumped against Ben’s chest.

Ben shakes his head a little. “Why? You have nothing to be sorry for, alright?”

“I’m sorry for just turnin’ up - being a burden like this.”

Ben’s answers are fast and quick, like a slingshot. Not letting Callum doubt himself for one second. “You ain’t a burden, Callum. You never could be.”

“Ain’t your problem though, am I?”

“Maybe not. Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be though,” Ben says, more honest than ever.

Callum doesn’t want to crumple, but he feels his face caving at Ben’s words, and he has to look away again. He feels caught out and hopeless, embarrassed that he fell into Ben like that just before, hurting because his brain is screaming at him to do it again, to press his face somewhere close and just breathe, to try and forget. Tears blur his eyes and his stomach twists and it hurts because now that he’s let himself just have that little slice of warmth, he craves it like nothing else, craves the intimacy he can only find in dreams and memories, unreachable.

Ben’s hand leave his shoulder suddenly and Callum almost reaches for his wrists like a reflex, but he needs to put some distance between them before he goes and does something stupid like kiss Ben.

Instead, he uses his words to distract his mind. “Thought I weren’t worth the hassle.” And yeah, that’s been playing on Callum’s mind for weeks now.

“Yeah well - maybe I was being a tad dramatic with that one,” Ben says, voice thick with sudden emotion. “Seems I can’t stop thinking about you, actually.”

An awful kind of silence descends upon them, then, like a thick fog. It’s eerie, with only the sounds of Callum’s hitched breaths and stray tears but it’s still too loud, too much. It still makes Callum wish he’d never come.

Until: “Cal? What’s up? Talk to me, please.”

Tears spring into his eyes before he can stop them, he’s so frustrated and embarrassed and his mouth tastes vile, throat like sandpaper. For a moment, an anger in him rages so fierce that it almost shocks him, and he wants to lash out. He wants to scream at Ben, wants to make him understand but he can’t even bring himself to say the words.

When he speaks again, his voice sounds foreign even to his own ears, and Callum notices how Ben straightens himself up against it. “I’ve been to a funeral,” he sees as a means of explanation.

“Oh,” Ben says, obviously not expecting the short answer Callum gave. “You alright?” Ben says eventually, quiet, with an air of generality that Callum both appreciates and loathes, because he can’t even begin answering that question.

“Yeah,” he says, after a bout of silence, picking at the skin of his thumb, gaze lowered.

Ben just nods and takes a strained sip of his can. Callum can feel him staring, and eventually he has to look up because his cheeks are hot. When he does, his throat tightens. Even in this dreary, dark light Ben’s eyes are sharp and bright, pale in comparison to the night sky. Callum settles on staring at a spot by Ben’s shoulder, because his eyes keep watering the cut on his lip, or the bruise

“How was it? I mean… under the circumstances?” Ben asks, and Callum watches he watches as the bow of Ben’s lashes sweep downwards just like his own. Exhausting. Painful. Unimaginable. Heartbreaking. “It was… y’know. It was all right.” It felt wrong to reduce the funeral service as being all right, as if he hadn’t been completely undone since the moment he awoke this morning. “It was a nice service - as nice as one can be.”

“Did you know them well?”

“Uh - yeah - yeah, we were close. He was-” Callum starts, voice constricting around the words. “We were in the army together.” He’s trying to sound strong, but his voice wavers on every other syllable.

“Where’s Whitney now? Did you go with her?”

“No - no I couldn’t take her there with me - I couldn’t,” Callam says, his words forming as a jumbled mess. “I went alone - I had to.”

“That must’ve been awful. I’d of come with you, y’know. All you had to do was ask.” His voice was taut with concern and Callum felt his resolve give a little, just enough to have his throat constrict tightly around the words fighting their way upwards.“I didn’t stay long. Just needed to…” What had he needed to do? See him? Commemorate him? Ease his own conscience? “Pay my respects,” he chose, and the words sounded just as hollow as they felt, and then: “Say goodbye.”

It’s a constant ache in his chest, this grief, an emptiness that’s difficult to explain. He feels void, like a clawed hand has dug out everything that’s inside him, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of his chest, edges torn and jagged. There’s a constant vice-like grip squeezing his heart, and the feeling of missing something so intense that it’s choking him.

The feeling of loss, the pain, is beyond words.

There’s nothing, Callum thinks, taking in Ben’s still form, quite as paralysing as grief.

But he’s sure he doesn’t need to tell Ben that.

——

Ben’s bed is a mess of covers and tangled sheets that must’ve been thrown off in his haste to answer the door. Callum doesn’t mind, though, in fact he finds in weirdly comforting.

He’s across the room in two long strides, on the bed and slumping down on top of the sheets before he can think about it too much.

Ben joins him on the bed after a beat; two, sits down opposite Callum, legs crossing at his ankles and Callum can’t help but seek out his warmth.

A comfortable calmness washes over them, something that makes Callum feel like he belongs. With Ben here he feels safe, and calm and himself.

(Not just for the first time all day, but the first time in weeks, admittedly.)

That’s why he stays, legs stretched on Ben’s bed and the moon up as they speak quietly into the night.

Bens itching to take Callum’s hand, he call tell, it’s obvious with the way his fingers are twitching where their brushing lightly against Callum’s thigh. He wants to allow Ben to give him what little comfort his touch might offer, wants to let him help. Wants to share their grief, lean against each other, rely on each other.

He wants Ben to hold his hand.

Ben ruins the moment, though, he goes and asks Callum if he wants to talk about him.

And yeah, Ben’s not stupid, is he?

“I don’t know,” Callum starts. “Never really ‘ave before, feels weird.”

“I think maybe it would help if you did.” Ben offers.

“When did you become a trained counsellor?” Callum asks, and yeah there’s a slight heat behind his words but he regrets it instantly.

“Arlight, no need to bite my ‘ead off, I’m just tryna help.”

“I know,” Callum sighs. “You are. Helping, I mean.”

“I’m glad. Honestly, I am.”

“I’m just not ready yet. I can’t dredge up all those memories, not today, not after the funeral.”

“That’s understandable,” Ben says, a kindness in his eyes. “But when you are ready.”

“I know,” Callum coughs awkwardly, and yeah, he might’ve seen this side of ben a few times now but it’ll never not throw him off how world. “Cheers.”

Ben shifts his body then, changes his position so his entire body is angled at Callum, one leg settled under himself and the other stretched out, foot knocking against Callum’s thigh.

“C’mere.” Ben’s voice is soft as he made a move to pull Callum close to his chest, hugging him tightly. He held him close, rubbing slow circles across his back, and Callum just buries himself further into Ben’s embrace.

“Thank you, Ben,” Callum whispers into the soft material of Ben’s pyjama top.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ben replies says softly.

“I do,” Callum says, as earnest as he can manage. “You’re kind.” He pauses softly, getting lost in some memory far, far away. A memory of soft skin and callused hands and whispered confessions.

Ben removes one hand from Callum back then, places it against the edge of the bed as he leans back slightly and hangs his head. “I ain’t, you know that as well as anyone.”

“Ben,” Callum says tiredly, eyes closing against his will. “Just - just let me thank you. I know it might not mean anything to you, but anyone else would have just left out there on their doorstep tonight. So, thank you.”

“It does,” Ben says. Callum looks at him, and Ben continues after a beat and: “mean something to me.”

He smiles shyly, feeling heavy as sleep pulls at him. He presses a kiss to Ben’s cheek, then kicks his suit trousers off, feeling settled for the first time all day.

——

It’s nice, feeling like some things are shifting slowly back into place again. Everything is crooked, empty, but with Ben here - his hands clasped tightly around Callum’s own - the hole in his chest seems to stitch itself back together a little.

The room falls silent once their both settled under the covers, the night casting its own spell. Callum closes his eyes and lets Ben’s breathing lull him to sleep, time expanding and contracting around them, as if this bed were the beginning and the end of each and every world.

#death mention #ballum #benway #ben x callum #eastenders #mywords #fic

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Think Again (When You Stop Freaking Out) - Pt.4

Following the breadcrumbs

Pairing: None Word count: 1630

Warnings: language, hella lot confusion, attemp at science talk… irony and sass? ;)

Summary: Matt and Steve meet. Foggy fanboys and wants to bang his head against the wall in embarrassment. Punches are thrown. For once, someone is more of a drama queen than Tony.

In other words; not so typical day at the Tower.

Story Masterlist

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When the two men entered the lab, it was one of the most surreal moments Matt had lived through. Which was saying a lot, considering he was wearing someone else’s meat-suit momentarily.

Matt’s attention was on both of them, his eyes flickering in between, unsure whom he should be observing first. The slightly chubby man in a beige suit and with long-ish hair must have been Foggy – Matt could immediately tell that, even when he was accustomed to see him in a completely different way.

Seeing the other man though… that was something else. If there wasn’t for the glasses and cane, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself. Not thirty-year-old himself anyway. His hair had a red reflexion under the lab lights, only emphasized by the red shade of his lenses, dark stubble covering his jaw. He knew he was athletic, but seeing himself in the shirt was just different. Matt stared wordlessly, tilting his head as he was trying to connect the two pictures of himself in his mind, while Matt Murdock’s hand went to scratch the back of his neck.

“Alright, now I believe you. Cap, you wouldn’t allow yourself stare like that, plus that tick is definitely yours. Don’t you think, Banner?”

Matt’s gaze shifted back to Foggy, seeing his awe-struck expression – it was an incredible picture, seeing his friend, and he almost felt tears in his eyes. He smiled at his friend.

“Hey, Foggy.”

Foggy’s eyes went wide. “Oh god, Captain America knows my name! Wait, how do you know my name?!”

“We're best friends, Fog,” Matt chuckled, making his way to him slowly. “Or I like to think so.”

At that, captain’s lips – well, Matt’s body’s lips anyway – curled up in a smile, the movement fascinating Matt. “Would you happen to call yourself a fruit? Hey, Tony. Bruce.”

Matt snickered, ignoring the puzzled looks of everyone else, the shock all over Tony’s and Bruce’s faces. “Oh, so he’s admitting that avocado is a fruit now?”

“Oh my god! Holy shit! You're— you're really-- and you're-“

“Yeah.”

“And you’re-“ Foggy turned to Captain America’s wearing Matt’s body with an expression of pure horror and the man just smiled.

“Yeah.”

“How?! Oh shit, this is awkward. I fan-boyed!”

Matt burst out laughing, shutting up when seeing Foggy’s wounded glare.

Rogers’ hand went approximately to Foggy’s arm. “It was nice, actually. I can give you an autograph.”

“Someone kill me know.”

“Nah, you seem like a funny guy. Though I’m not sure I can forgive you for fan-boying over Capsicle and not me,” Tony exclaimed, walking to their little group. “Nelson, I presume?”

“Holy crap, Tony Stark knows my name too!”

A satisfied smirk appeared on Tony’s face, when he was addressed with proper amount of amazement.

“Yes, and that’s Doctor Banner right there. Thanks for bringing him here, Foggy. Uhm… Captain Rogers?” Matt shuffled towards the man occupying his body and the man in question turned to him fully. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The captain extended his hand to shake and Matt accepted it with a smile, only to see him grimace.

“You’re crushing my hand. I mean, your hand. My hand is crushing your hand. Basically.”

Matt quickly let go, realizing that when he had been aiming for a firm grip, he might have failed and had gone with a bone-crushing squeeze.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay and it’s nice to meet you. Believe me, I know the struggle. Speaking of which, how on Earth do you live with all the… things?” the supersoldier asked rather delicately and Matt’s heart positively stopped.

Shit. Fuck. That was a part he hadn’t considered. Steve Rogers wasn’t only stuck with blind. He was also stuck with supersenses. Fucking shit.

He cleared his throat, shrugging, deciding to ignore the matter for the time being.

“This is insane. Mr. Stark, Doctor Banner… do you have any idea how to fix this?” Foggy interjected, sounding uneasy and Matt assumed he must have realized a whole new set of problems that the body-exchange could bring.

God, Matt hoped Foggy hadn’t said anything incriminating so far. Judging by his pale face, it might be a fool’s hope.

“Well. It would be helpful to know how this happened in the first place.”

Matt had to admit that Bruce wasn’t wrong.

Which didn’t mean Matt was happy to share any activity that might have led to this.

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“So… you touched some… alien artefact and the next thing you know, you wake up in Matt’s body? Okay, ouch, that was not the best choice of words,” Mr. Nelson – Foggy, as he insisted – summed up and Steve just nodded, while the sudden swish of air told him Tony gestured wildly, whispering to Bruce ‘I told you it sounds weird’.

“Mostly. It didn’t take effect immediately. We returned to the Tower, I went to bed. Then I woke up somewhere else.”

“Matt? What about you?”

Steve heard the other man gulp, a shuffling of skin against skin as if he rubbed his palms or something. His strong heartbeat – well, Steve’s really – sped up.

“I went to bed and woke up in a different one,” the man said, sounding honest. Then again, it might have been force of a habit; Steve usually was honest and Matt was speaking in his voice, so…

“Okay, hotshot. Anything strange happening that day? Touched something you shouldn’t have?... That sounded weird too,” Tony noted then and Steve thought he might have made a disgusted face.

Matt’s heartbeat was going crazy now. “Not that I know of.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, sensing there was something he wasn’t telling them. And if there was something he wasn’t telling them willingly-

“Well, why don’t you just try to touch the artefact again? That could work, right?” Foggy offered cheerily, too quickly.

All alarm bells were set off in Steve’s head. Why was Foggy trying to shift their attention to something else? Was he protecting a secret? Maybe the one that led to Matt being beat up? Had Steve and Matt got their hands on a similar artefact? Was that even possible? How?

“Matt. Did you… did you do anything strange in the past few days?” Steve asked calmly, causing the man tense completely; both his and Foggy’s pulse raced.

“I-“

“And maybe it had something to do with the fact I feel like I took some serious beating? I’m ninety-percent sure my rib is cracked and the headache I have is not exactly pleasant. Not to mention Foggy said something about revealing your identity-“

“Foggy!” Matt cried out, clearly outraged, throwing his hands in the air.

“What?! You were acting weird! You act weird when you have a concussion!”

“Exactly how many times that you know of he had a concussion that you can tell that?” Steve asked incredulously, suddenly towering above them all despite not being the tallest one in the room. It was the persona of the war hero that gave that impression.

“More than I can count.”

“Fog-“

“Alright, cool it, guys. What are we missing? Steve, what are you talking about?” Tony interjected, turning to Steve. “Cap?”

“I’m sure you heard me, Tony-“ The realization dawned to Steve and he wanted to slap himself for not figuring it out sooner. He turned to Matt, shocked. “You have abilities. The… the hearing you have, the smell, the touch, everything, it’s… Matt, what is all this? What exactly it is you do at night?”

“Whoa, what?” Tony burst out, while Foggy and Matt seemed to be ready to get a heart-attack, their body-temperature rising.

“Captain Rogers, I… I’d like to talk to Fog— no, you’re gonna hear me anyway, never mind…”

Steve’s eyebrow rose at Matt’s note.

“Are you… are your other senses enhanced since you’re blind?” Bruce pried, not unkindly. Patiently. It dawned to Steve maybe he should have been gentler as well, but the secrecy was bugging him, especially when it was giving him the idea of something very shady happening here.

“It’s not just that. It’s his body reactions,” Steve added carefully, feeling everyone’s gaze shift to him.

Matt Murdock sighed and it sounded as if he ran his hand down his face. “Well, I guess there’s no point of denying it…”

“Deny what exactly?” Tony demanded, impatient. Yeah, deny what?

“Try to hit him.”

“I beg your pardon?” Tony asked while Foggy just cried out: “Matt! You can’t just ask people to hit Captain America!”

“Take off the glasses, please. And it’s my body, isn’t it?” Matt noted wryly and as Steve obeyed with a perfectly confused expression, Matt went for it by himself.

Steve easily deflected the fist on instinct, following by a punch of his own, hitting Matt square in his jaw, gasping at both the automatic reaction and the sharp pain shooting through his hand.

Oh and at the fact that he actually hit something – very precisely despite the fact he shouldn’t have known where Matt was.

The action was followed by several shocked exhales.

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” Matt hummed, rubbing his jaw, while Steve tried to keep a straight face despite his hand hurting like son of a bitch.

“What the fuck just happened?” Tony asked the obvious question, breaking the stunned silence that followed Matt note.

“Dude, your hand just punched Captain America. Are you gonna get arrested?”

“You tell me, Foggy.”

“What the fuck just happened?!” Tony turned the volume of his voice up and accompanied the question with a broad gesture. “How did you do that?”

If Steve could see now, he would be staring at his aka Matt’s hands in complete shock.

Oh, excellent question, by the way.

“Easily, Mr. Stark. I’m Daredevil.”

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Part 5

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Meet Matt Drama-Queen Murdock. He is a perfect match to Steve Is-This-a-Test Rogers, isn’t he?

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart @igobypoet

#marvel #fanfiction #captain america #daredevil #steve rogers #matt murdock #bodyswap #fanfic #mcu #steve rogers fanfic #matt murdock fanfic #captain america fanfiction #daredevil fanfiction #think again when you stop freaking out #anika ann

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suggable · 4 years

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Im going to write down my second experience seeing Day6 live mostly for me, but feel free to read it after the break if you want (please do not reblog it tho) ✨ a little warning i’ll probably get very emotional and personal and this is going to be Very long and probably will get incoherent at some point!!!!!

I saw Day6 yesterday in Madrid for the second time, and not to be dramatic but it was probably one of the best experiences of my life 😭💕 I already had lots of fun last year but this year’s concert was not only fun but very meaningful for me.

As some of you may know I finally finally finished this week my architecture studies after 6 and a half very long and tough years. The last two have been especially hard, aproximately the same ammount of time I’ve been following Day6 closely. When I first discovered their music I immediately fell in love with it, and I fell in love again when i got to know them. I can positively say they’re the closest artists to my heart, my soulmate band. I do love and appreciate a lot of other artists but the way I love day6 it’s.... unparalled. I’m gonna stop being cheesy now hfjjsjka but knowing that I was going to see them again and meet them after all the constant exhaustion that my master’s has been has given me so much strenght during those all nighters and endless days working on my project kjfdkjjks

I’m privileged enough to have been able to get vvips tickets this time but tbh that’s not important, the whole experience of the concert it’s what makes it worth it. Me and my friends decided not to go queueing very early bc we wanted to be well rested and we knew we were going to have a good spot in any case. We were so lucky yesterday’s weather was sort of warm, considering our awful awful experience from last year jkdjkskj. I’m so happy we were so prepared this time, we brought lots of snacks and blankets for the queue. We also prepared some fanart freebies to share and trade and it was the nicest experience, everyone there was so so lovely!!! I had such a great time only waiting in line and chatting with myday ^^ After we got out numbered wristbands we picked up our signed entropy copies. I got the “Sweet” version which is my fave!!! I traded around the pcs so i ended up with all Sungjin and Dowoon jhjfhjsdj (and the loveliest Dopil pc 😭❤) I was so happy we didnt have any trouble with queueing or numbering this time!!!!! Then we went for lunch and almost didn’t make it back on time bc it took us ages to get out meals n we wanted to leave all the heavy stuff and coats at the car jdfjkdkjskk but!!! we made it thanks to the lovely people next to us in the queue!!!

We finally got into the venue (which is so big!!! and we filled it!! im so PROUD) and my friends were headed to the left side where Jae is but I noticed the middle section was also kind of empty so we ran there kjkjfd and ended up in 2nd-3rd row!!! so we were in the middle and had a great view of everyone ^^ i felt kind of bad bc the people around us had been queueing from 3am and we’d arrived at 8:30 :P also next to us there was this korean girl who runs a Dowoon fansite and she was very nice and polite and she must kind of hate now me a bit bc I didn’t stop moving and jumping i hope her pics came out nicely anyway!!! we only had to wait for an hour inside n we had lots of sweets to keep our energy up so it was quite alright :)

when they boys came out i noticed i had the clearest Sungjin visual so I ended up looking at him most of the time kjfjdkkkdksd i just couldn’t help it like the pics don’t do him justice he’s just so cute and expressive and makes the funniest faces when playing!!! and sort of bounces when playing which is the Cutest thing!!!! there was some sort of problem with his guitars at first n seemed a bit annoyed but it turned out alright!! I also paid lots of attention to Jae bc he has Such Energy performing, the truest hype man!!! when he plays you can see he’s genuinely enjoying himself and loves myday so so much :(((( he interacted a lot with us!!

Dowoon was also in front of me but he was covered most of the time by his drumset :(( I could see him making all these baby bird pouty faces or mouthing the lyrics and it was.... so CUTE :((((( he’s so cute i 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 also i was in awe at his drumming technique like he’s so so so talented and you can clearly see how much he loves it!!! He’s the best boy!!!

I had to move my head a bit to see YoungK and Wonpil and I tried my best looking at everyone when they were singing, but my eyes would automatically go back to Sungjin jfdjskjkaskj I can tell you Young K is very VERY Atractive when performing, he has a sort of magnetism!! He also seemed soooo happy and would jump around non stop and smile at the fans and just Bless us in general!!! Wonpil was sort of serious when playing but you could tell he was concentrated !!! Also his piano and dj skills im!!!!!! like when he plays the Time of Our Life intro so easily!!! i play piano and let me tell you it is difficult as Fuck!!! he truly is so talented!! plus when he was talking with us he was so playful and cute :(((((

Some concert Highlights for me: hearing Best Part live, also So Cool, TOOL, Headache, wanna go back!!! how to love!!! SWEET CHAOS!!!! also hearing WARNING again which may easily be my fave song of them now (well no...we all know it’s impossible to pick just one but yeah jkdfjskkç) also Colors!! when the first chords started playing i started tearing up n then the chorus came n i just broke down crying jsdsk I also cried during I Need Somebody and that bit when we sang back to them and we sang I Smile :((( also the fucking SOLOS hello most talented band in the universe????!!! but like for real they all sound so good live!!! i love that you can clearly hear the drums and keys and all the instruments, plus their vocals are just!! so!! good!!!!!! Jae and Young K went Mad with the adlibs I was living my best life!!!!!

at some point i locked eyes with Sungjin n my potato brain decided the best thing i could do was to send a flying kiss his way so i did n he got so SHY!!!! and made a 😳😳😳😳 face jkdfjkjkjks i felt v awkward afterwards like i didnt know he was going to react that way jfdkjksa

Also hearing them speaking spanish...fucking surreal...but when they did their ments in English!!! wow!!! they’ve gotten so good!!!! they kept saying they were so happy and this was the best way to end the tour and they’d grown so much, and reminding us to always be happy i :((((( Wonpil’s ment was the sweetest thing and he sent such an important message and I started crying again (and i made eye contact with Jae while ugly crying so i had to hid behind my banner jkdskjjkjdskks) and couldn’t stop through the whole length of their ments :(( i barely remember anything from young k’s bc i was trying to compose myself a bit jkfkjkjd Dowoon’s was so cute!!! He’d wait for the translator and make such funny faces i :((( Sungjin’s English and like Everything about him im so gone kjfkjjkds and then JAE’S...........

that was truly the Highlight of the night, what truly truly made everything special and what i hope will make them cherish and remember this night forever. So a bit of context: we had prepared a project where during For Me we would take out some prints of some of Jae’s encouraging and inspirational tweets and held them up. So at first Jae was surprised but I guess he didn’t have the time to read which specific tweets we were holing. Then during like the second half of the song he realised n got like v serious like he was trying not to cry...I remember Sungjin also realised bc he was looking at Jae just Knowing.... When we took the concert pics Jae asked us to take an extra one with the tweets bc he wanted it for himself....and then his MENT he thanked us for listening to him and letting him know we hear his words and basically acknowledge and validate him when he passes those life lessons to us and that it meant more than we could imagine....and he was getting more n more emotional n trying not to cry but im p sure he did...and then Sungjin and Wonpil came to his side n started doing this weird dance around him hdjfjjkskjsdkjskkkladsslk n cheered Jae up THEY’RE SO PRECIOUS :(((( but like moments prior u could see Sungjin just Waiting for it n smirking jkjkfdsjkjkkjs also the fact he immediately tweeted about it after the concert 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

the whole hi touch thing was such a fiasco but tbh i didnt have much hope to begin with jkfdjkdkjs they made us wear face masks as a prevention for the coronavirus break.........but it didnt really matter bc there was an insane number of vips so we were a LOT of pple for the hi touch...we were rushed n pushed n screamed at by both security n mmt staff....i was laughing at the whole absurdity of the situation n wonpil saw me hjdfkjksjks...we barely had time to say something and high five them but i did manage to say thank u to each of them n look them in the eyes at least!!! (they’re so beautiful from upclose!! and GIANTS! and sungjins eyes.........otherwordly) i felt so bad for the fans that were looking forward to it and for them as well bc you could see their apologetic faces....but anyways everything else went so well im not going to dwell on that!! so yeah i’ve met day6 but i barely remember anything kjjkdsjkd it feels like a fever dream :((((

but tbh considering everything it was the nicest experience!!! im so happy i had the chance to see them again n i hope they come back again!!! also i really wish they’d tour more cities, like there are so many mydays that deserve to see them too :(((

ok im done with this whole essay like i could keep rambling and rambling but this is the most essential of it!!! if you also read this thank you!!!! please be happy and trust and listen to day6!!!❤💖💕✨🌟

#lau rambles #day6 concert #day6 in madrid #please dont reblog!!!!!#personal tag #day6 #i also made a more fun twt thread!!!

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roryqpotter · 6 years

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30 Day OTP Challenge: Cuddling

Sherlock had to stay in hospital for a few days as the doctors wanted to keep a close eye on him. When the fire was put out fully, Moriarty and two of his snipers were found dead in the debris. It seemed Sherlock had managed to rid the world of a dangerous threat yet again, but this time it almost cost him his life.

The first night John had to go home to shower and sleep. As he lay in bed, he thought about everything that had happened a mere day before, and what was to come. He felt bad about leaving Sherlock at the hospital if he was honest. They had gotten word that Mycroft would be giving them a briefing of what steps would be taken next in a day or so, and John didn’t want Sherlock to have to face the scolding alone. It was as much his fault as Sherlock’s that they ended up in that situation.

After three hours of lying there with sleep nowhere in sight, John sat on the side of his bed and looked down at his feet. It was amazing that only a few months ago he had been a limping, depressed man with no purpose, and now he was the flatmate of a man with an incredible mind. That first night of them living together had been one of the best nights of his life. True, he had been shut down by Sherlock when John was about to ask him out, but the chase and tracking had well made up for that.

Thing was, the feelings John had never really faded away. He had thought about possibly telling Sherlock that he was bisexual and fancied him, except Sherlock showed absolutely no interest in anyone or anything except the Work. John had tried dating in order to get over Sherlock’s rejection, but no one had grabbed his attention like the detective had. If only John was able to get through Sherlock’s defenses, maybe, just maybe, something could happen.

Right before John got up to make some herbal tea, he got a text on his phone. Who the hell would be texting him-? Sherlock, it had to be Sherlock. John took his phone off the charger and as he thought, it was Sherlock. The text read,

[Come to hospital. Bored. –SH]

Not wanting a repeat of the wall incident, John got dressed and got a cab to the hospital. It was around 3 am when he arrived, which meant Sherlock hadn’t slept. John went inside and asked which room Sherlock was in. He had been moved to a different room on the third floor, and when a nurse asked who John was visiting on the elevator, it seemed that the detective had tormented the staff enough that a grimace appeared on the nurse’s face.

On the third floor, John merely had to follow the sound of scathing deductions to find Sherlock’s room. By the time he got there, a woman in scrubs was crying while pushing a computer monitor with her. She must have done something to piss Sherlock off big time if she was in tears. John managed to enter the room without further encounters and saw Sherlock was on his right side toward the door, a look of distaste on his face. John sighed,

“Couldn’t go a day without ripping the staff apart?”

“They’re all idiots.” Sherlock said. “They persist in trying to start conversations with me, discussing topics that don’t even matter.”

John merely sat down in a chair next to Sherlock’s bed.

“They’re trying to be decent human beings to their patients, it’s not a crime to try to be nice.”

“Since when has ‘trying to be nice’ included complimenting me in a way that could only be described as being ‘chatted up’?”

The nurses… hit on Sherlock? True, he was a very attractive man, but that broke lots of medical guidelines and rules. No wonder Sherlock was in such a piss-poor mood.

“You could report it if you’d like.” John offered. “That breaches code of conduct for staff to patients. They could be doing the same thing to other patients.”

“The difference being other patients would be stupid enough to have their confidence boosted by the attempts at flirting.” Sherlock shifted his position so he was on his front. “It truly reveals that someone is shallow and lonely when they’re willing to flirt with their patients.”

Well, John couldn’t argue with that. However, Sherlock could have misinterpreted the compliments as flirting when they were just being nice. John tended to compliment patients at times, but it was strictly in a friendly manner.

For about two hours the two started discussing random topics ranging from deductions of the other staff, to how Sherlock had answered some cases via email on his phone. John started to get a bit drowsy by the end of those two hours and said he was going to go home to sleep, but Sherlock stopped him as he was about to walk out.

“John.”

“Hm?”

“The covers they gave me are rubbish, and at this point I need physical human contact to be comfortable.” Sherlock put down one of the railings on his bed and scooted over. “Come help me warm up.”

John couldn’t help the blush that ran over his cheeks at Sherlock’s request. Sherlock was basically asking to cuddle in his bed. How could he ask that so casually without being embarrassed? This man was an enigma that John couldn’t understand most times. He cleared his throat.

“Why not ask one of the nurses for a heating pad?”

“If I wish to turn over, the bed will be heated in all areas, not simply my own spot.”

John saw something in Sherlock’s eyes that betrayed that line of logic. It was almost… fear. Was Sherlock afraid to be left alone? There were many things Sherlock Holmes was known for: being clever, pissing people off, deducing someone to pieces, but never was he afraid. The whole explosion thing must have really shaken him up.

Instead of pointing out that he was lying, John simply took off his coat and shoes and awkwardly got into the bed next to Sherlock. He made sure to face away from his friend so that it would be less awkward. Thing was, he didn’t expect Sherlock to suddenly turn onto his side and rest his front against John’s back. It suddenly made the soldier acutely aware that there was only a flimsy hospital gown separating himself from Sherlock’s body. It wasn’t exactly arousing, just… constant.

They laid there in silence for a few minutes, simply experiencing the moment. It was weird, almost surreal for John. He had never imagined being in a bed (well, hospital bed) with Sherlock for the night. However, Sherlock being Sherlock, had to be blunt and get to the point.

“You seemed to like when I held your hand in the ambulance.” Sherlock observed.

Even when he was in pain, he had observed John’s comfort in that action. No doubt he also deduced how John felt as a whole. John sighed. He might as well not deny it,

“Yeah, I did.”

“And you have been dating women below your standard since you moved in. Even Sarah is more of a good friend rather than a girlfriend. You also haven’t been trying to fully commit to any of the girls you have dated, and all of them have said they were competing with me.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around John lightly. “You are attracted to me.”

John shivered from the sudden contact and the affirmation. He wasn’t surprised that Sherlock had figured it out, but how long he had known would be the important question. If only he could see Sherlock’s face, even if it was covered by the classic Holmes mask.

“How long have you known?”

“Since you asked me about my love life the first night. However, it seems the attraction has grown from physical to emotional since then.”

“Yeah, it has.”

“And you haven’t pursued me since then. Why?”

There were honestly a multitude of reasons why John didn’t ask Sherlock to date, but it was mostly because of the way he acted. He didn’t even react when Molly would flirt with him or ask him on a low-key date. That was the biggest red flag that Sherlock didn’t date.

“You don’t date at all, you don’t even like caring about people. I thought you just weren’t interested in relationships, so... I didn’t say anything.”

Sherlock pulled John closer to him, almost possessively.

“Well your assumption was incorrect. I have in fact had romantic relationships in my life, though The Work had overshadowed that need for years.”

John was shocked, to say the least. There’d been no indication in the past that Sherlock would be interested in that kind of thing. The fact that he had even done that in the past was shocking. Sherlock usually acted like that was beneath him in some way.

“And now?”

“Now there is a candidate that I am considering to be my significant other. He helps me immensely with The Work, makes me adhere to my body’s needs for sleep and sustenance, and reprimands me when I have broken a social norm.”

He’s… he’s talking about me. In his life (or rather the past few years), John hadn’t expected Sherlock to be interested in him. John never thought of himself as anything special. He was an average bloke who had served his country as a doctor, nothing more. Sherlock was a genius beyond his time, socially inept, yes, but cleverer than John could ever be. The question was, what would happen now that they admitted their feelings for each other.

“So… what now?” John asked.

“Well it is fairly obvious you haven’t had a relationship with a man before (or rather a serious one), so we shall start with what people would call ‘seeing each other’. I believe that is when someone is romantically attached to another but instead of officially becoming a couple, they go on dates, share romantic gestures, things of that nature.” Sherlock paused. “Unless my attempt at cuddling is making you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s all fine.” John held onto Sherlock’s hands with a smile. “Whatever you want it to be, I’m fine with it.”

And he meant that. Sherlock was willing to give a relationship a chance. That was incredible in itself. Granted, the circumstances could have been better for them to start dating, but what was their life without a little danger in it?

They fell asleep in peaceful silence.

#Johnlock #30 day otp challenge #cuddling #hospital recovery #rewrite of Season 2 #Sherlock #ficlet #series #confessing feelings #starting relationship

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heolyspxncer-deactivated129-blog · 7 years

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Saved [Jennifer Jareau]

Summary || After working at the FBI for a few years you’re transferred to a new department

A/N || I wrote this a while ago when dealing with my own anxiety [school can really fuck me up especially grades] and it was kind of really hard to do due to the format so I hope it’s fine

Anxiety. That was the word you would use to sum up your whole life, a roller coaster with ups and downs and the continuous whisper in your ear from a nagging person that didn't seem to ever go away no matter what you did it just didn't, it was attached, clung onto you and held you back on more things than you would ever want to admit. And it was always there, it didn't even leave for a single second, it was always there.

The anxiety never left you, no matter what you attempted. Some part of you accepted the constant stomach aches, sweaty hands and flushed cheeks as you went through life, as you finished high school, did a few years of community college before going to the academy and even graduating from that with a ghost lingering onto your waist, its grip never faltering. It seemed to only worsen when you were transferred from your unit to the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, not only a foreign team but a foreign city.

To say you were nervous on your first day would be quite the understatement, despite having worked at the FBI for around six years it felt like your first day on the job. Luckily, nothing happened yet, it was a more quiet day, as JJ described, with no case so far which the whole team seemed to really appreciate. You felt your heart pick up as you tried to settle into your desk, there were two you had talked to so far, more or less because it was forced. You had spoken to Hotch before your transfer, he explained all the details and the reason as to why, the second person was JJ who immediately showed you around the second you stepped foot inside, the others didn't seem as excited then again you didn't really mind as they seemed to be a really close family and you had no idea about what you could possibly talk about with any of them really, you didn't even know their names, well you knew names but not the faces.

So as you fidgeted with your hands and stared at the picture of your dog to say you were surprised when you heard the booming voice of your Unit Chief would be putting it lightly. “Wheels up in thirty.”

Despite having been well informed about the job and all the travelling it required it still kind of struck you with awe and a surreal feeling, this was your first case here, with a new team and a new city, all of it felt foreign but oddly good.

-8-

The case was rather simple, a series of murders all done by the same person, it was simple enough when said out loud but with little to no evidence it was hard enough, the only thing all of you had to go on was victimology. The first day was finished now, you were able to link faces with the names you already knew which was nice and all of them seemed oddly nice which made you both feel relieved they weren’t too opposed to someone new in their tightly knit family yet at the same time caused an endless string of feelings about how they might have to act this way, how it might all be just because you’re new, maybe it was even pity. Needlessly to say it kept tugging at you like an annoying itch you could never get rid off, especially when the question came up of who you would share a room with.

“I’d like to, if you want to of course.” JJ said immediately which really surprised you, did she feel burdened? Maybe she felt like she should because she was the person to show you around, maybe she already didn’t like you but didn’t want anyone else to have a burden like you. All of your thoughts seemed endless.

“R-Really?” You said without really thinking.

“Of course!” She replied with a surprising enthusiasm, maybe she really wanted to.

And so it happened, you were the last to leave the police bureau mostly because you lost track of time, as you headed for the hotel with your jacket tightly around you couldn’t help but to wonder, did they forget you? Is it because they don’t like you? Maybe they did it trying to avoid you? It could be so many things, yet it seemed unlike them to just forget someone with how close they are, maybe they don’t want you to join the team? Yet it seemed weird, it had been said Agent Hotchner asked for you specifically but maybe that was just made up, some form of way to hide how it was forced onto him just as much as it was onto you.

As you got closer you heard a car stop and curiously turned, news. It was one of your biggest nightmares, which is why you respected JJ immensely when you discovered she was the communications liaison, one you rarely had to face at your old position both because it wasn’t as entertaining for the media and because you didn’t spend too much time in the field, most of it was asking questions to people for information, nothing public or such. Yet this was a serial killer, someone who had killed already six people, this was perfect for the media.

“Miss L/N!” They all seemed to scream at you, whatever questions they had in mind drowned in your ears and muddled together as you started to rush towards the hotel which now seemed an infinite amount away, growing father as you tried to grow nearer, you felt your palms growing sticky and your breath picking up despite your physical fitness.

The questions were louder, less clear and it started to sound more like screaming than people asking questions or anything clear really, that was when there was one voice booming above it all, clear as daylight.

“There is going to be a press conference tomorrow. For now, no comment.” It was JJ, she sounded perfectly clear and both oddly patient and calm. She put a hand on your back, quickly guiding you inside and luckily all of them ended at the line of the hotel room. The sound died down and so did the blinding lights, after a few moments everything finally seemed normal, your breath was at a regular pace, you could hear the employees of the hotel yelling at the press to go away clearly, everything was fine.

“Are you okay?” She immediately, which somewhat surprised you, maybe she genuinely cared, maybe she didn’t force.

“Y-Y-Yeah I… I’m not as used to the media, they liked to cover the story after it was done.. I uh.. I haven’t ever really interacted with them.” You said honestly, it felt like a relief to say but at the same time showed a vulnerability, something you didn’t like.

“I know that feeling, it was a long time ago but it never really gets easy,” She said with a laugh that sounded like angels. “We should probably get to our room, it’s eleven already and we’ll probably start as soon as the sun rises with this much pressure on the police.” You merely nodded and went along with her.

That was the first time Jennifer Jareau saved you.

-8-

You were all finalising the profile, the aggression made it seem like some form of revenge, along with the clear features all the victims shared and the sexual abuse it likely had to do with some form of breakup, something that made the unsub want to enact revenge on someone like that person. There seemed to be one fault, one you had noticed early on. assuming the unsub was alone. The murders were disorganised yet the crime scenes were spotless, it didn’t add up for one person to use this much aggression unless it was someone very collected but the profile pointed to someone who had been acting odd lately, out of his element in various ways.

“What’re you thinking about? You’ve been staring at it all day and yesterday.” JJ said which surprised you and you slowly felt all eyes turn to you, you hadn’t said that much or done that much, whispered some suggestions, stood awkwardly when interviewing the families and got ambushed by the media.

“Well…” You swallowed hard, now or never. “I don’t think there’s a single unsub, I mean logically. We’ve said the unsub is likely devolving in his personal life, and along with the aggression, the murders, the abuse and just everything adds up to them being disorganised or at least somewhat in that direction, I mean Elia her whole room was covered in her blood, that doesn’t strike me as organised..”

“There could be a second person doing all the hard work, the stalking, the planning, the preparations and the cleaning up afterwards. This person would be a parental figure for unsub one, unsub one would have to trust them enough to tell about the betrayal and feel safe, it could be the second unsub encouraged them to kill, something they might be too cowardly for to do or might be incapable of doing. We can still assume unsub one likely does physical labour but they might also live with the second unsub, I think they would feel unsatisfied and unable to resolve to killing themselves does all the planning, they could still find pleasure in watching the kill.”

There was a silence that followed, was it that ridiculous? Maybe you should’ve just kept silent, until Rossi spoke up.

“That’s the thing we’ve missed in our profile, a second unsub. The missing link.” You let out a mental sigh of relief, it wasn’t too ridiculous.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Hotch asked although you were convinced he knew the answer, despite the anxiety you got into the FBI as it only tended to arise when you were in very big crowds, from as far as their therapist could tell, which is why that specific detail was in your file.

“I just wasn’t sure yet. There’s no point in saying something without evidence.”

JJ grinned.

-8-

Running, you hadn’t felt your legs burn like this in a long time as you did always do your best to stay fit. Apprehending the second unsub was easy enough, the man was disabled, paralysed from the waist down which generally didn’t allow for much murder room, he did do the stalking but he didn’t do the cleaning up, he merely told the other unsub to do over an earphone. Since he was his uncle, the one parental figure he could rely on, the first unsub always listened to him even despite his bad temper.

He also did physical labour, which is why you expected him to be strong but not this fast. You knew the rest of the team was divided over multiple cars, likely figuring out a way to get wherever he was going. You pushed yourself no matter how bad your legs started to burn, you needed to catch him, this was a place generally inaccessible to cars, if you lost him there is a chance you would lose him forever.

When he took a sharp turn you heard a siren painfully close and soon followed by the slamming of doors, they had caught up. As you took the same turn you realised this was a dead end, a last stand. As you got closer to the unsub who just halted he turned around, pulling out a gun. The world seemed to slow down as you heard a sharp click and jumped sideways to attempt to avoid whatever bullet might come your way, only it never came.

A loud cry made you snap out of it, the unsub was shot in his shoulder, his gun dropped to the ground, you turned around, it was JJ.

#jennifer jareau x reader #Jennifer Jareau #criminal minds imagines #jennifer jareau x fem!reader #criminal minds #fanfic #imagine #x reader #I still don't know how to tag my writing like???

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laughingpinecone · 7 years

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Yuletide letter

I am laughingpineapple on AO3

Aw yeah, Yuletide time again, here we go! I love all these characters and canons and, barring DNWs, I'm interested in any story about them you might already have in mind. Here's a list of ideas if you prefer to start from a prompt.

Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (doubly so if the event the fic focuses on is canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and the likes, bonding and emotional support/intimacy (platonic too!!), loyalty, casefic, surrealism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional friendships/relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic where applicable, dreams and memories and identities, and did I mention worldbuilding

Cool with: what-ifs, AUs, any tense, any pov, any rating, plotty, not plotty, IF, nerdy canon references, unrequested characters popping up

DNW: bleak endings, rape, PWP, non-canonical children, unrequested ships, canon retellings

***

Ghost Trick: Jowd, Cabanela

The fandom that got me into Yuletide to begin with! I love the whole cast and their intricate connections, but Jowd and Cabs are my forever faves. I ship them dearly, and I ship them dearly with Alma when she's alive, but I'm also always interested in gen about them as long as the bond between them is central in the fic. I didn't request her because if you're down for, say, case fic with or without Sissel's help, I didn't want to make any additional characters necessary. I just want the fic to star Jowd and Cabanela but also feel free to use the whole extended family aka her, Sissel, Pigeon Man, Kamila, Lynne and/or Missile at will! Or Emma or whatever.

Cabanela has Jowd as his whole motivation, and while Jowd's family comes first for him, we know they were close and he cares for his BF(F) in his own way. I love Cabanela with his endless energy and confidence and Jowd's fatalism, their occasional role reversals (who'd have pegged Cabanela for the hard-working guy and Jowd for the one who'd swoop in and get all the merit!), their banter and trust and tacit understanding, how after five years of not talking to each other and thinking Cabanela hated him, Jowd got that watch and understood what it meant and came through for his friend. I love their tragedy and the prospect of a happier life in the new timeline, with Sissel watching over them (and chasing Cabanela's scarf which is clearly a fantastic cat toy). I love their design, their clothes and the shapes and details of their bodies, so if you ever want to indulge in physical details, not necessarily in a sexual context, stuff like a very soft hug with a majestic ticklish beard, either of their hair getting in their eyes when wet, or Jowd stepping on the damn scarf while Cabanela is hopping downstairs, please do indulge to your heart's content.

I think the game implies that Jowd, Sissel, Yomiel and Missile have their memories of the old timeline, while everyone else does not, so I'm always interested in stories set in the new present that use this imbalance – maybe Cabanela eventually gets briefed on what happened, but it's still not the same as remembering.

A story could be focused on those weird presents they reportedly gave each other – surprise me, or maybe in the new timeline Jowd gifts the framed gun to Cabanela, that missing piece of evidence that would've proven his innocence, now that Cabs doesn't need it and doesn't even know what it's for?

Or maybe it could explore a what-if scenario where Yomiel is stopped and redeemed on the Yonoa, but there is no timeline reset, and Jowd and Cabanela are left to mend what's left of their lives.

Or any slice of life plot in and around Jowd's household is always welcome. Cabanela with his unwavering loyalty and enthusiasm, and that absolute confidence that can be charming or off-putting depending on the person and situation, and Jowd and Alma allowing themselves to be on the receiving end of that much affection, and giving him a place to rest. And at least Jowd has a personality that’s sturdy enough that Cabs can bounce off it, a charismatic presence of his own with his rough humor, physical prowess, brittle emotional sphere and occasional stonewalling.

Obduction: Caroline Farley

I was sure I'd fall in love with the puzzles, I wasn't sure this brand new world would captivate me as much as D'ni ever did, and yet here I am. There's so much to explore about Hunrath's unique setup, with people coming in from more than two centuries, adapting, sharing their memories of Earth. The tree and all the questions and philosophical views that come with it, the seeds and that starry expanse at the heart of it all... and then Soria and then Maray and Kaptar, which we know so little about.

I'd like to see it all filtered through Farley's eyes because she's my fave, and also because I think her background is pretty interesting in and by itself, having been pinecone'd away from Earth when she was three years old. It makes for an interesting counterpoint to the born-and-bred Earthlings like CW with his nostalgia (for the record, I'd read platonic banter between these two for days), but she's no Hunrath native either. And the way her house got swapped into such a central position and became a hub for the community... cool stuff. And what about the mysterious deceased John Farley, who can't be her blood brother because we're told the only relative who came with her was her grandmother, who is highly unlikely to be her husband because of the way “Farley” seems to be used as her maiden name (the house she was swapped with is “Farley's house”...) and who is buried next to a man? An adopted brother maybe? What made her end her stint as a mayor so suddenly? What's a meditation with the Arai feel like, how does it change her outlook on her daily life? What weird thing happened on Hunrath one day? What’s daily routine over there? What required a team-up with dear Josef and did she think a little higher of him afterwards (I'll love Josef if Cyan won't, he wasn't the right mayor during those trying times but the man has his merits damn it)? I nominated the three main characters because they’re the only ones who get fleshed out properly but feel free to include any of the other people we see mentioned!

Twin Peaks: Albert Rosenfield [TWIN PEAKS THE RETURN SPOILERS. Final Dossier prompts to be added asap, I'd like Mark Frost to know that dropping new canon right after signups two years in a row is highly yuletidephobic)

Ships: Albert/Dale, Albert/Harry and Albert/Dale/Harry.

DNWs, mostly in the sense of topics fraught with complicated fandom opinions I wouldn't risk in an exchange: Albert/Constance and hell God baby damn no we ain't talkin about Judy.

So the story ends (or, ahem, artistically cliffhangers, as it does) with the fiery pacifist locked behind a tired, stoic mask, shooting a friend with shaky hands and taking pride in it, and not being even greeted by the man he set out to find before the asshole disappeared again. Cheers to the FBI. Needless to say, I'd like to see my favorite character find himself again, on his own or with the aid of any combination of characters of your choosing. It's never too late to shovel yourself out of the shit, Albert!

I could see him resigning on the spot (especially if Gordon and Diane also disappeared?) and staying in town to heal. Does he go to Harry, does he end up adopted by the Trumans, does he find some of his fire back by shouting at Doris and bonding with her that way, to remarkable mutual benefit? Does Frank, in all earnest and from personal experience, recommend him a hat to cover the hair loss? Or does he end up bonding with Hawk, how would their snark and general judgeyness complement each other? Does he make it to Bookhouse Boy eventually, and what kind of adventures or simple late night chats at the Bookhouse could take place then?

In a year or two or five, does Hawk find Coop like Margaret predicted, under the moon on Blue Pine mountain? How do they reconnect after so long? Do they fall in love again, as changed, tired men? I find it an interesting Albert/Harry and eventually Albert/Harry/Dale scenario, filled with bittersweet possibilities. An Albert/Dale option could be that Albert does not stay in town and Coop goes to find him, and they start again wherever Albert lives now.

Whether he resigns or not, does he keep in touch with Constance? Do they exchange punny second opinions and gallows humor in general over Skype?

He and Denise are on a first name basis, how did they bond, what's their average night out like, or what happened in the Philly office back when Gordon was still their boss that Gordon could absolutely never find out about?

Ditto Diane, it's so easy to picture them smoking together and presenting a united “fuck this and fuck you” front in the office, so what was their friendship like, how did it continue after Diane [got tulpa'd and] resigned? Onto even more painful territory, if Diane didn't disappear in pt17 or if she eventually comes back on her own, how would they rebuild their friendship? Do they come to terms with that horrible day when he shot her? Does she remember those 20 years of their friendship and therefore also dying by his hand, or does she not remember, and so he did kill 'a' Diane along with all their time together, and found another one he didn't even know he'd lost so long ago?

Tammy is pretty much his padawan, what's her apprenticeship like? I love how she's technically Gordon's protege but he's the one who takes time to talk to her and /know/ her (like the fact that she gets carsick). Does she ever get to make him talk about himself? About what this search for Coop means to him?

Did he... did he ever run into Wally by accident in any random corner of the country, and how'd that go down? Like, ignoring the Andy and Lucy connection (although I do adore Andy and Lucy), just Wally as his own very peculiar person, bumping into Albert or being involved in a case or whatever.

Ditto Jade – she's got her brand of pragmatism and of managing to come out unscathed and unflapped by supernatural nonsense, it'd be fun to bounce her off another rare sensible soul like Albert who could easily turn up in Vegas working on a blue rose case.

Much to Albert's chagrin, feel free to double down on the canon-appropriate weirdness! But also on the canon-appropriate cheese...

#letter

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sinangoral2017-blog · 7 years

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[07.29.17] i recognize that i am ridiculously behind on writing this post, so for those of you who have still been keeping along, i am very sorry! i can explain! let’s rewind.

the in-limbo period of time that i had in between japan and iceland was chaotic, to say the least. consumed with fixing things around the house (our ac broke so i had to readjust the fan unit outside), visiting mom at work, and gearing up for iceland, i got really busy. i was always hoping to write about my downtime in minnesota because, after all, it would’ve been one of the highlights of the summer (I LOVE MINNESOTA). ultimately, i just never had the chance.

in either case, wifi in iceland turned out to be far more limited than i had originally predicted. since i slept in my car most of the nights (more on that later), the only wifi i had access to was when i was filling up at a gas station. even those connections were weak, so the prospect of uploading any text entries, let alone photographs, were minimal. i was sad to admit to myself that the trip couldn’t be shared with you all as i lived it. instead, it had to be relayed after the fact upon my return to the states.

now that things have calmed down a bit and i’m living a slow and sleepy minnesota life, i can take some time to update you and share with you some of the trip’s highlights. though it’s pretty difficult to walk you through 11 days in iceland in one post, i’ll try to do my best.

it makes sense to start with the disappointing email i received from a mycology professor upon taxiing to my gate in iceland, saying that he had decided to take a last minute vacation and couldn’t meet up with me. understandably, these sorts of things happen, but i was pretty bummed that one of my connections had to back out. luckily, my other connections (who were a married couple at the iceland academy of the arts) and i were to meet towards the end of my trip, so in a matter of minutes, i was a free bird with no agenda. as such, i landed in iceland with a certain restlessness that, for some reason, urged me to just hit the road as quickly as i could.

my shuttle bus from the airport to my rental car location was 6 hours late, so i had to bum around the airport. i know – first world problems – but with that agitation that was boiling inside of me to just get rolling, i started to go nuts. nonetheless, several hours later, a sweetheart girl, who couldn’t be more than 19 years old, picked me up. she insisted on carrying my duffel bag and backpack. i could tell that she could tell that i felt a little weird about it. seemingly reciting a speech that she likely gave to many idiotic american males before me, she explained to me how iceland is one of the most feminist, forward-looking, and optimistic countries. as we drove off in the 14 passenger van and she slam-shifted the burly van’s gear shift, i couldn’t help but notice that she was enjoying my slight surprise.

well, i picked up my rental car (a five-speed fiat panda that was a joke compared to my female friend’s bus), bought a map, and hit the road, traveling north towards reykjavik. the only plan i had decided on was to drive through reykjavik and ignore the city, promising myself that i’d spend ample time there upon my return. and so, i kept driving north on the ring road (highway number 1), taking my time, stopping every couple of kilometers or so to soak up the scenery. i took about an hour to stop at a “bonus,” which was the equivalent of a small-sized costco, to pick up sandwich meats, bread, and preservable food. i had heard the horror stories about the food prices in iceland, so i made it a goal to live off of my own concoctions for at least the first six days.

since i knew i would be living out of the panda for the majority of my eleven day trip, i made it a goal to compartmentalize the car into different zones. blame it on my architectural brain, or occasional obsession with specificity, but i had to get comfortable in the car.

the front passenger seat was dedicated to brushing my teeth, trimming my beard, making coffee, and changing clothes, while the driver’s seat was for… driving. nothing too weird up in the first half of the panda.

the rear seat was dedicated for sleeping, but only sort of. since my rather large body didn’t fit easily back there, i would sleep on my left side and swing my legs up through the center console and rest them in the passenger seat. when i’d get tired of this position in the middle of the night, i’d switch sides and sleep on my right side. strangely enough, it felt too awkward to let my feet rest in the driver’s seat when i was in this position, but after the third or fourth night, i found it pretty comfortable to hang my foot off the gear lever if i parked the car in first, third, or fifth. the miserable techniques of an aspiring architect.

the rear hatch was dedicated solely to food, as i ate out of a ‘kitchen’ that i built in the trunk of the panda. two cardboard boxes housed all the plastic cutlery, toilet paper, and rolls of paper towels that i had stolen from the airport. after all, i had to do something productive with my 6+ hours, and i had made the mistake of finishing my book on the plane. i kept all my deli meats, cheeses, jelly, and spreads inside high quality ziploc bags inside an equally heavy duty plastic bag, which i hung from the exterior rear windshield wiper of the panda. this way, i could prevent insect buildup. in addition, the weather was pretty cold overall, so i took advantage of the icy rain and cold wind while i drove and slept to naturally refrigerate my food. with the exception of some dirt that entered the bag on the eastern parts of iceland, this technique worked out pretty well for me.

to compliment my weird program divisions inside the panda, i developed a strict routine of eating, resting, refilling fuel, and begging for free hot water for my french press that i had brought along. strangely enough, it was through this chronology that i was able to tell what time of the day it was, since the all-day brightness was so disorienting. all in all, i charted my travels, favorite locations, and quirky experiences on the aforementioned map, notating for myself as many things as i could recall from the day. i’m hoping to pin up this map on my apartment’s wall when i return to pittsburgh.

i’m going to sound stupid if i try to describe what i saw - it was just too beautiful. color was surreal, mostly because the abundant grays made everything else feel so saturated and accented. while i’ll let the photographs speak for themselves (there’s just no way i can try to explain how beautiful iceland’s landscapes actually are), i’ll share with you two existential moments that i had along my travels, which adequately color the trip for what it was. the first involves a bunch of multicolored sheep at 4am, and the second involves a hitchhiker that i met along the road.

after around the fifth night, having a full night’s rest became a great difficulty, and i started to have lucid dreams as i fell in and out of sleep. this particular night, i woke up to find that what i had thought was an ingenious plan to hang black tshirts from my rollup windows to block sunlight was actually a horrible decision. a zillion mosquitos were in my car. not 10, not 100. a bagilion. just like the horror movies. i had idiotically parked near a marsh/swamp for the night, and all the stupid insects had crawled through the gaps in the windows. here’s an excerpt from an email i wrote to an important friend about the event, which adequately captures my inner turmoil:

despite the success of this leg of the trip with camping inside the car, last night was a disaster. i woke up to ten thousand mosquitoes inside the panda at 445a because i'm an idiot and fool and i left the windows open because i'm an idiot and fool. i knew nothing else than to drive like a madman with windows down for two hours to get rid of them, eventually ending up in little town. weather is overwhelmingly foggy and don’t want to drive because it's a bit unsafe. i can't see these ****ing suicidal sheep that come out of god's **s onto the road and baaaaaa and bleep around. and the farmers spray paint their butts to know whose is whose so i just see these little pink and blue and red butts galloping towards and away from me through the fog. it's slightly poetic but also so maddening. and i guess, at this point, i break down, knowing that this hell is sent from the gods and that they're rightfully directed at me. ***k ***k ***k stupid sheep ***k.

i don’t think i can look at sheep in the same way, to be honest.

several days later, on a random impulse, i decided to pickup a hitchhiker that i found just outside of hella, iceland. jeanne, who turned out to be a total sweetheart, was french-canadian. we stuck together for the whole day, visited a couple of waterfalls, and talked about the weirdest stuff. later, we stopped by the side of the road and pet some random horses. wouldn’t you? it’s amazing how comfortable you can get with someone you don’t know and know you likely won’t see again, simply in light of the fact that you are both blank slates to each other. you have nothing to lose. so those several hours we spent together were really nice.

my time with jeanne also made me realize how lonely a solo traveler can feel in iceland. again – first world problems – but a reality for me, nonetheless. iceland, no matter how grateful i was for the experience, should’ve been absorbed with someone else, at the very least. it was just too beautiful and esoteric to have been lived through alone. i find that relaying my experiences with my mom and minnesota friends has become quite difficult, because the picturesque scenery i’m trying to depict seem exaggerated. and as cathartic and uplifting as iceland was for my health, i wish i had shared that with someone else as well.

when i finally finished the long loop around iceland, i had three to four days to soak up reykjavik, so i checked in at the cheapest hostel i could find and explored the city by foot. i had great beer, good grocery-store food, and occasional splurges on drip coffee. it was during this time that the married couple i was scheduled to meet informed me of a sudden family emergency – one which forced them to fly out of the country last minute.

this brings me to the guilt that i felt about missing out on my mycology connections in iceland, despite how much it was out of my control. i keep asking myself: what if i had planned for just one more resource? was three really enough? of course, i know that these things happen, and that i should learn from this, but an underlying sense of embarrassment still resides. originally, i had hoped to visit japan and iceland to soak up 50% of research and knowledge from both, but i’m now realizing how naïve that was. iceland, in the end, turned out to compliment japan as a therapeutic release from my everyday worries – something that arguably is extremely important, especially as i delve into my fifth and final year of school – but also something which admittedly steers away from the original thesis-based proposal i had put forward to carnegie mellon.

i was lucky enough to fly through boston, both on my way to and from iceland, and see several important people in my life. i stayed with nick, who was my best friend and roommate at grinnell college before i transferred. though i wasn’t able to see the wonderful temple rea, i got to annoy his awesome sister, walton, for an afternoon. i even got to see the handsome and well-dressed kyle wing in the city, which was a blast. the rest of my time was spent soaking up the boston public library, perusing random bookstores, and gawking at MIT’s media lab and campus. ultimately, boston was a wonderful reprise for me as i get ready to return to pittsburgh.

i have spend quite some time wondering if i should keep this blog going or not. i likely will for thesis, but i’m not sure if i’ll start a new one or just continue on this platform. more on that after i talk with my advisers on the matter. i think i need a springboard for thoughts, i just don’t know if i should start over or not.

nonetheless, i’m so incredibly grateful for the opportunities i’ve had throughout this summer to travel, learn, and live. i still cannot believe how this fantasy became a reality, so to my donors, department, university, and mom’s patience, thank you.

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ah17hh · 4 years

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Looking for some advice, can anyone help? via /r/polyamory

Looking for some advice, can anyone help?

Hello! I hope this is okay and the right sub to talk about this in, I apologize in advance if it isn't but would be very grateful to be pointed in the right direction.

This is whirlwind, and it's long. I don't think I have ever made such a long post on Reddit. I want to be clear as well that the three of us have talked about this and will most likely continue talking about all this, I just need some support and guidance, I guess.

I had flitted around with the idea of being poly for a while, and ultimately came to the decision that I'm more inclined to be monogamous if only because it is very hard for me to divide my attention away from one partner. I absolutely see the benefits and the logic behind a poly relationship, have friends that are poly, and support it as completely valid.

I've been involved in threesomes in the past and enjoyed it, and now, with my current boyfriend we occasionally would share the fantasy of including a third and sometimes going on Reddit to look for a third. It's hard to find someone in the moment, so I had the idea to look for someone who would be up for playing together casually and semi-regularly. And, we were pleasantly surprised to find someone.

However, the three of us got much closer than anticipated and are now trying to navigate this sort of pseudo-poly thing, and as you can imagine - it's fucking hard. So far we've had a couple open discussions about things, and while I think it's essential to be honest with each other about everything, it's stressful as well.

I have so many mixed feelings. Initially, my boyfriend anticipated that she and I would mostly be playing together (I feel like I should clarify that even though that is the case, finding a third was more for him than for me.) but I mean...I love him and want to include him. I love watching my boyfriend show our third (I just realized that I have no idea what to call her, our friend? our partner?) care and affection, it's a beautiful reminder of why I love him, and I am enjoying getting to know our third as well and think we have the potential to be really good friends.

He's expressly said that it was fine if she and I are intimate with each other without him, and that we don't have to tell him or include him at all, but that isn't really something I find myself wanting to do - I'm attracted to her, and probably would have fun, but I often don't feel the need and I think she and I both have a hard time instigating that kind of thing.

I'm also terribly insecure. I wish I wasn't. I have always struggled with feeling as though I'm "enough" and while my partner tries to be very reassuring that I am, it's really hard for that to sink in. I also feel like if I were to pump the brakes, I'd be stunting his emotions during this whole thing as well (this is not something he's said or inferred even, I just want him to be able to enjoy the human experience and all of the emotions that come with it.) I don't want to change him, but it's hard to reconcile that this is something he might need or want considering that I'm satisfied with just him. I feel selfish.

I don't want them to be intimate together without me at least knowing first. I don't want to feel like the third wheel in my own relationship. They were intimate together once without me, I had been asleep and I woke up and knew that they were together and it was surreal for me. I asked if they had been together and they both answered honestly but sounded extremely guilty and were quick to do like...damage control, which I almost feel like made me feel worse than the fact that they were intimate. Maybe because it made it appear that they both felt like they had been doing something wrong? So we all kind of came to the conclusion that it'd be better for me to be in the loop next time.

Now, whenever they talk together privately, even if it's platonically, I get the impression that they feel as though they're walking on eggshells. Today I confronted them about it and said that I'm getting put in this position where I'm supposed to trust both of them but they both act like they're doing something wrong when talking to each other - our third says she feels weird bringing it up because of how she feels it will be perceived and my boyfriend just doesn't bring it up at all, so it feels like neither of them trust me to be okay with it, and I'm just left alone to figure it out or bring it up and seem like I'm trying to dictate what happens.

I'm trying very hard to patiently navigate this whole thing and be understanding, but I also can't just snap my fingers and stop feeling insecure, either. It'd be great if that could happen, but in the mean time when something happens that makes me uncomfortable, I don't know how to respond or react right away and they both feel bad for making me feel bad. It's just so tricky. I have no idea what I'm doing.

I could really use someone to talk with about all of this or at least some advice. Thank you so much for reading.

Submitted August 22, 2020 at 02:03PM by spindlette via reddit https://ift.tt/3l6UIkZ

#IFTTT #reddit

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rilenerocks · 4 years

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This photo of me was taken in 1968. I was a little bit shy of my 17th birthday which would arrive in late spring. My country was reeling. Martin Luther King had been assassinated and furious protests roiled through cities which were literally on fire. That was only the beginning. Just before my high school graduation, Bobby Kennedy was killed. The war in Vietnam was escalating. The Black Panthers were rising. I was wide-eyed and questioning authority, processing my political views and choosing my future ideological path. That summer, I worked downtown in the Chicago Loop. The Democratic National convention came to town, and with it, streets became lined with police dressed in riot gear. “Tumultuous” feels like a relatively mild adjective to describe the city’s affect. I’d come out of my office at the end of my work day and pass the officers in their blue helmets, holding their billy clubs and slapping them against their opposite hand. A force designed to intimidate. There were raucous demonstrations and rollicking concerts in Grant Park in which the atmosphere turned violent. I wasn’t beaten or arrested, but just the same, the adult I was evolving into was molded by all these events. By the time I started college that fall, I was working my way into a political ideology, built on a mostly liberal home education, which ultimately led me to more radical views. It’s no coincidence that 1968 has been studied and restudied as a pivotal moment in modern history. The issues of racism, sexism, classism and anti-war activities occupied my college years. Who I became, the principles at the center of my essential humanity, were forged during those years. Becoming an adult, a wife and partner, a friend and parent, and an ally for victims of oppression, all stemmed from the central philosophy that I chose for myself back then. I participated in demonstrations during that convulsive time and beyond it. I ran, so fleet footed back then, from local and state police in my community and also in the nation’s capital. I was arrested. I remember a great about those heady days in which I thought me and those who agreed with me would change the world. It’s 52 years later. The world is in the grip of a viral pandemic. I’m approaching the end of my seventh decade on this planet. My life has been crammed with a great deal of beauty and joy, ugliness and sadness, fulfillment and disappointment. Luckily for me, my little personal life has been a source of all that is positive. I’ve had great love and a wonderful family. I’ve not been hungry or unclothed or homeless or unsafe. But my social justice aspirations have fallen short many times over. The battles waged back then, and the struggles to achieve fairness, equity and respect throughout my country and the world, still loom large. In fact, in many ways, the mountain of problems seems even higher to me now than it did way back then. Maybe it’s because the time ahead for me is shorter, which makes things seem so daunting. Daunting and repetitive. How can the same wretched issues remain so deep and unchanged? Maybe the pandemic has made things seem worse, given the scary claustrophobic nature of this time. I’m not really sure. All I know is that the murder of George Floyd, on top of all the other murders of black people which have continued steadily throughout my lifetime, has unleashed a fury and an anguish that’s hard to stop thinking about. That makes sleep hard to come by. That brings empathy, sadness, questions and more questions. That brings the intense need for systemic change in our damaged and eroding democracy to heated urgency. I’m wishing I could talk with Michael, my passionate partner and teacher of American history, with whom I shared the same world view, and who could help me navigate this incredibly complex time of both physical and health challenges which feel so overwhelming.

I’ve been looking at my Civil War bookshelf. I got started studying that war when I was about twelve years old. Someone gave our family books about Abraham Lincoln. I read them over and over. I remember the admiration I felt for this smart, self-taught man who represented my home state and wound up freeing the slaves. Or so it seemed. I still can recall that he died at 7:22 am on the morning of April 15th, 1865, not even a week after the surrender of the Confederate army, the end of the war. “Now he belongs to the ages,” they said. At my own tender age, I thought the Civil War had really ended. But as years went by, and I began to read more books, and to witness the inequities experienced by black Americans, I realized that the war never really ended and that in fact, it was still being waged, sometimes more overtly, sometimes more covertly, but waged just the same. That in fact, it is endless. Despite everything that’s been written about states’ rights and other random motives for the war, to me it’s always been about slavery. Pure, simple and unrelentingly true. I kept on reading, book after book. I could never fully absorb the fact that people stood opposite each other for four years, blasting each other to bits because one side wanted so desperately to retain control of its work force, looked upon as no better than subhumans. Granted, there are complexities deeper than that for some of those long ago people, but in the end and to this day, racism is as American as the proverbial apple pie.

In the spring of 2016, Michael was four years out from his initial diagnosis of his relentless Merkel cell cancer. He’d been through 55 radiation treatments, 20 injections of chemotherapy, a hideous oral targeted therapy and ultimately, immunotherapy. All of these assaults on his body had bought him periods of time when he was healthy. We both knew that his cancer would reappear eventually. After he got through his treatments in 2012, we took a trip to Sanibel island after he finished school in June, 2013. When fall came with its wicked metastasis, he went through 18 weeks of chemo. With no idea how long he’d be cancer-free, we headed back to the Florida Gulf Coast for restoration of both soul and body. But once that was over, we decided that he should think carefully about all those dreams on his wish list, the places he’d hoped to have time to see in his future retirement. One of those bucket list items was the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. Luckily for us, our shared appreciation for history made these trips a simple get. Off we went to Memphis in the spring of 2016 for the profound history, the music and the barbecue.

It’s hard to describe what it’s like approaching the Lorraine Motel if you were a cognitive person alive when Martin Luther King was assassinated. I can’t count how many times I watched the scene on that balcony after he was shot, when Jesse Jackson, Andrew Young and others stood pointing in the direction from where the bullets had come. As with the scenes from the Kennedy assassination, those images are burned into my brain. I barely got through the front door when the weeping began. The barbaric weapons of slavery on display, along with the texts, photos and actual artifacts of oppression are powerful and painful. Our time spent there wasn’t as much learning something new as it was being forever altered by the proximity to the instruments of horror. I feel lucky to have shared that experience with Michael.

And now here we are today. Michael is gone. Endless racism is still here. Only a week ago, George Floyd was killed by police in Minneapolis. The country is teeming with rage and the current administration is behaving like we’re headed toward a police state. I truly fear for democracy. The surreal nature of this reality, coupled with the still-circulating virus, is hard to describe. To say things feel pretty weird is a serious understatement. I spend a considerable amount of time feeling I’ve time traveled back to the 1960’s and I know I’m not alone. Sometimes because of the lockdown measures, it kind of feels that way. Today, a protest was planned for my community. At first, I thought I’d go, as I’ve gone to other demonstrations throughout my life. Too-many-wars protests, women’s rights protests, anti-gun protests, and now a black lives matter protest. Then I was worried about being in a crowd with the virus concerns as I’m old enough to be in “the most likely” death group. What about my kids and grandkids who would be devastated if something happened to me just a few years after losing Michael? Thirty minutes before the gathering, I was still pulling weeds in my garden. In the end, I realized I needed to be there, virus or no virus. Sometimes you just have to live your principles no matter what. As I walked the few blocks to the meeting place, I realized that most of the people around me, headed in the same direction, were young enough to be my grandchildren in addition to children. That was okay. They get to see that the gray hairs still have something to say. I found my own family there and we had a shared political experience which I’m proud to say, wasn’t the first one. What I wish is that it could be the last one. That the endless time of protesting could finally come to an end.

Endless This photo of me was taken in 1968. I was a little bit shy of my 17th birthday which would arrive in late spring.

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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Kanye West visited the White House Thursday, ostensibly to discuss criminal justice reform. That didn’t really happen.

Instead, West, seated across from Trump in the Oval Office, surrounded by reporters, launched into a rambling soliloquy that touched on seemingly everything else, including planes, the 13th Amendment, and mental health.

Rolling Stone’s Ryan Bort described the scene:

He pitched the president on a plane to replace Air Force One called the “iPlane 1.” He talked about how he had been misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder (he was actually just sleep-deprived). He became the first person to publicly say “motherfucker” in the president’s office. Bloomberg White House reporter Jennifer Jacobs called it the wildest Oval Office event she’s ever seen.

A particularly surreal moment came when West explained why he finds Trump so appealing. “I’m married to a family where there’s not a lot of male energy going on,” he said. “There’s something about … I love Hillary. I love everyone. But the campaign ‘I’m With Her’ just didn’t make me feel, as a guy that didn’t get to see his dad all the time, like a guy who could play catch with his son. There was something about when I put this hat on that made me feel like Superman. That’s my favorite superhero. You made a Superman cape for me.”

While initial reports said West would visit the White House to talk about policy, the meeting served a second, arguably more important purpose: to mark the culmination of months of highly publicized exchanges between Trump and West. Just six months ago, West began effusively praising the president, referring to him as a “brother” and fellow wielder of “dragon energy,” before posting images of himself wearing a signed “Make America Great Again” hat.

That was followed by a string of shared compliments between the two that continues, with West notably grabbing the mic after a recent taping of Saturday Night Live to express his support for the president. “If someone inspires me and I connect with them, I don’t have to believe in all they policies,” West told the audience, shortly after claiming that Democrats conspired “to take the fathers out the home and promote welfare.”

West isn’t limited to only praising Trump. He’s also tweeted approvingly about far-right commentators like Turning Point USA’s Candace Owens, who called Black Lives Matter protesters, “whiny toddlers pretending to be oppressed” and said that post-Charlottesville concerns about rising white nationalism are “stupid.” West has also attracted attention for his own comments that “slavery was a choice” and his more recent remarks that the 13th Amendment — which outlawed slavery — should be abolished.

It’s all marked a controversial — and in some ways confusing — evolution for the rapper and producer who famously declared “George Bush doesn’t care about black people” back in 2005. (West attempted to walk back his prior comment back on Thursday, saying that the remark represented a “victimized mentality.”) In his earlier years, West positioned himself as a black artist unafraid to discuss the realities and possibilities of blackness.

That he has thrown his support behind a White House at odds with those things — and that his support has been followed by West renouncing much of his past self — has been a strange thing to witness.

But in 2018, some of that confusion may be misplaced. After all, West’s interactions with and praise of Trump date back further than this year. And West first flirted with far-right imagery and weird ideas about slavery years ago, well before Trump entered the political stage.

What we are seeing now then, may not exactly be something completely new. But West’s evolution from outspoken rapper to outspoken rapper and prominent Donald Trump supporter has still been one that has captured a fair amount of attention, not only for what it reveals about West himself, but for how it has come to capture concerns about race and racism in the Trump era.

West has long been known for his tendency to make a public spectacle, whether through on the fly comments or behavior. There was 2004 when, after losing a Best New Artist Award at the American Music Awards, the rapper left the show, later telling reporters that he was “robbed.” One year later, West slammed media depictions of black hurricane victims and declared that President Bush didn’t care about black people during a telethon raising funds for survivors of Hurricane Katrina.

Then there was his 2009 outburst at the MTV Video Music Awards, in which he cut off Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech to declare that Beyoncé had the superior video. The VMAs moment also put West in the path of another president, Barack Obama, who was caught on a hot mic calling the rapper a “jackass” for his outburst. West later referenced the incident in his 2010 single “Power” with the line, “they say I was the abomination of Obama’s nation.”

As each of these moments unfolded, West’s track record became a bit more clear. The outbursts showed that West was not only willing to blurt out what was on his mind at any given moment, but also that he was aware of how to take an event and put his thoughts and opinions front and center.

This belief, coupled with West’s larger than life self-image — the rapper wore a crown of thorns on a 2006 Rolling Stone cover and declared himself Yeezus seven years later— suggested that West wanted to wield influence over more than music. He wanted to be seen as a leader of American culture itself.

That belief was not entirely unfounded — West was one of the most prolific producers of the 2000s and helped expose a number of artists to the industry — and he’s become as well known for his outbursts as his own hits. But while West has always been controversial, his boasts and outbursts in the 2000s were seen as fitting into a broader commentary on race and racism that was at times reflected in his music, a reminder that one of the biggest artists of the decade was confident in his blackness and wanted to challenge those who he perceived as disrespecting that.

But over time, he started to push boundaries in ways that were harder for fans to defend.

One moment that is perhaps particularly relevant in hindsight: In 2013, well into the promotional tour for West’s sixth album Yeezus, he was spotted wearing a coat with a Confederate battle flag patch on its sleeve. The flag also made an appearance on tour apparel.

When a Los Angeles radio station asked West about the flag that year, he gave an answer that tracks pretty closely with some of his more recent statements:

“React how you want,” he said. “Any energy is good energy. You know the Confederate flag represented slavery in a way – that’s my abstract take on what I know about it. So I made the song ‘New Slaves.’ So I took the Confederate flag and made it my flag. It’s my flag. Now what are you going to do?”

In the years following the Confederate flag incident, West wouldn’t speak as much about politics, though he was photographed with his wife Kim Kardashian West and Hillary Clinton in 2015, the same year that he proudly claimed that he would run for president in 2020. A year later, West offered a more direct commentary on politics during a post-election stop on his Saint Pablo Tour. This time, West was very clear about who he was supporting, telling concertgoers, “If I would’ve voted, I would’ve voted for Trump.”

Prior to this, West had referenced Trump’s wealth in a handful of songs and the 2016 video for “Famous,” in which a naked figure of Donald Trump joined West in bed with synthetic replicas of Kim Kardashian West, Taylor Swift, and others.

But in his speech onstage that November, West explained that it was Trump’s speaking style, not his policies, that were so attractive: “There’s nonpolitical methods to speaking that I like, that I feel were very futuristic. And that style, and that method of communication, has proven that it can beat a politically correct way of communication.”

A month later, West was spotted in Trump Tower for a meeting that West said was about “multicultural issues.” As they stood in front of reporters, then-president-elect Trump spoke of the rapper as if he were an old friend. “We’ve been friends for a long time,” Trump told reporters. “We discussed life.”

At the time, West’s meeting with Trump sparked confusion, but was mostly seen as a reflection of the two men’s somewhat similar personalities and desire to for status. As Constance Grady wrote for Vox, West and Trump shared a mutually beneficial relationship, by “filling a void in each other’s public personas. Kanye uses Trump in his lyrics to signal the idea that he has access to wealth and power. Trump mentions Kanye in his interviews to signal the idea that famous people like him.”

By 2018, that relationship would attract much more scrutiny.

More than a year after West met with Trump in New York, and after several months of silence on Twitter, the rapper returned to the platform this past spring. His first tweets were relatively simple, announcements for upcoming albums and random bits of self-help knowledge. But then West began tweeting about politics, and later, Trump.

He started with an April 21 tweet about Owens. “I love the way Candace Owens thinks,” West noted, offering little explanation of exactly what he liked. A day later he tweeted, “The thought police want to suppress freedom of thought.” And three days after that, he began tweeting about the president.

“You don’t have to agree with trump but the mob can’t make me not love him,” West tweeted on April 25. In another message, he shared an image of himself wearing a signed Make America Great Again hat. “Love who you want to love. That’s free thought. I’m not even political. I’m not a democrat or a republican,” West tweeted that same day.

The messages quickly drew attention, including from Trump, who thanked West for the support and offered his own words of praise, tweeting that the rapper “performed a great service to the Black Community.” All the while, West continued to argue that his support of Trump was not due to any policy, but rather his support of the president’s thoughts and approach to politics.

When West faced criticism for his support, he countered that he was “refusing to be enslaved by monolithic thought,” arguing that critics were angry that he had broken with the beliefs of other African Americans and that black people were too focused on racism.

Things took a further turn when West began making comments on the history of racism and slavery in America that alternated between misinformed half-truths and wholly incorrect statements. While West said a lot of things in a relatively short period, the most notable was that “slavery was a choice,” a comment that fits into a long history of minimizing the damages of slavery. West initially doubled down by tweeting out apocryphal quotes from Harriet Tubman and comparing himself to Nat Turner, but later deleted the majority of his more controversial tweets from this moment.

For a brief period, as West geared up for a busy summer of album releases, it seemed like his political commentary would cease. But West called renewed attention to this conversation in September after his outburst at Saturday Night Live, which was followed by the aforementioned tweets calling for the abolition of the 13th Amendment.

Those comments reignited a storm of controversy around the rapper that largely revolves around two things: 1) his vocal support of Trump that is often accompanied by claims minimizing the historical and current effects of racism, and 2) his tendency to make completely inaccurate remarks about race and slavery.

However, this is not simply about what all of this means for West, but how it has been used to advance narratives about race and racism that affect others. There is a concern that West’s comments and support give cover to a presidential administration that has pursued a policy agenda that will negatively affect communities of color. Writer and author Ta-Nehisi Coates captured this concern in an essay about West earlier this year:

West might plead ignorance—“I don’t have all the answers that a celebrity is supposed to have,” he told Charlamagne. But no citizen claiming such a large portion of the public square as West can be granted reprieve. The planks of Trumpism are clear—the better banning of Muslims, the improved scapegoating of Latinos, the endorsement of racist conspiracy, the denialism of science, the cheering of economic charlatans, the urging on of barbarian cops and barbarian bosses, the cheering of torture, and the condemnation of whole countries. The pain of these policies is not equally distributed. Indeed the rule of Donald Trump is predicated on the infliction of maximum misery on West’s most ardent parishioners, the portions of America, the muck, that made the god Kanye possible.

West’s statements have made it clear that he does not understand this, or that if he does, he doesn’t care. On Thursday, he noted that it was Trump’s masculinity and his “male energy,” not his policy proposals, that made him a more attractive pick than Hillary Clinton. In an interview earlier this year, West said that “feeling is more important than thought. I had enough of the politics.”

In May, T.I., a rapper who has repeatedly collaborated with West and featured on his single, “Ye vs. the People,” told radio program the Breakfast Club that West was largely unaware of Trump policies like the travel ban.

“He loves the thought of [Trump]. … He defied all odds … and in his mind, that’s how it is,” T.I. explained. “He don’t know the things we know because he has removed himself from society to the point that it don’t reach him.”

But, even if West sees himself as removed from politics, it is impossible to separate his support of Trump from it. When West supports Trump and says he wants to talk about criminal justice reform and violence in Chicago for example, he is saying that he wants to sit with a president who has advocated for implementing stop and frisk in the city and whose attorney general is actively trying to stop a police consent decree between Chicago and the state of Illinois from going into effect.

Though West is willing to say that he disagrees with the president on some aspects of policing, statements like “we kill each other more than police officers” are more than enough to cancel that out.

Trump has repeatedly thanked West for his public statements of support, crediting them for a supposed increase in support from black voters (this was not actually the case), while conservative commentators have argued that West’s support is proof that Trump and the Republican Party at large are not racist. West, meanwhile, claims he’s changed the image of Trump supporters and MAGA-branded apparel. Even as West continues to declare his independence from politics, he is increasingly being positioned as a political ally not just to Trump, but to conservative politics in general.

The White House is revealing both a core misunderstanding of black politics and a cynicism about race in holding up West — even as he continues to make missteps on a range of political topics and makes grossly inaccurate remarks about racism and slavery — as an example for black voters to follow. While conservatives and Trump seem comfortable with West, they are by no means able to speak about race in a way that will move large numbers of the demographic to which they claim to be reaching out.

Original Source -> Kanye West’s confounding political evolution, explained

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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aplaceofstone · 6 years

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AO3: faceofstone

All prompts and ideas are just suggestions, if you are the kind of person who likes to follow them. If not, cool, they are certainly not the end-all of what I love about these fandoms and characters.

If we matched on something that’s more on the surreal side of things, this blog is mostly aesthetics and could offer some visual prompts as well.

I like found families, oddball friendships, sympathy toward outcasts, characters who fully embrace being outcasts, melancholy, a sense of place, bittersweet accomplishments, and a stubborn flicker of hope in an overall bleak world. Dreamlike atmospheres that aren’t necessarily scary, some sort of reassurance that can be found in the weird and the profoundly unnatural.

All fic formats, tenses, povs and roughly canon-appropriate levels of grimdark are fine.

Myst: Anna, Atrus, Calam, Catherine, Marrim, Yeesha

Any missing moment for any of these characters, cranking up the spookiness or fluffiness factor to 11 for tricks or treats respectively. What does a Myst fic fit for Halloween look like? What does “$mystcharacter has a very nice day” look like, for that matter? The multiverse is the limit. I love D’ni as a setting and it’s full of possibilities (I got great D’ni fic last Yuletide and there’s always place for more!) but there are infinite Ages out there too! What happened one day in the desert? Did Catherine experience some major foreshadowing? Did Yeesha link to Riven at some point? Did Marrim play aunt to little Yeesha? Did Anna know Calam? What hobby do Marrim and Catherine share? Did the bahro keep an eye on Atrus? What’s the riskiest thing Atrus ever wrote (and did Yeesha jackass her way into an even stranger iteration of it years later)?

Ghost Dog: Ghost Dog, Pearline, Raymond, Samurai in Camouflage

I’m an enthusiastic new viewer and I would very much like to read more about these characters and/or the connections between them. I love character studies with a slice of life backbone and I love new interactions and anything that could be classified as a cute missing moment. A day in the life of Ghost Dog (may or may not include actual dogs or other wildlife). Grownup Pearline taking up his mantle, finally understanding his death. The Samurai in Camouflage doing whatever it is that he does – I don’t know the first thing about RZA but if you want to base some part of the character off him, it works for me, all I know is that his cameo is so striking. Raymond persistently (and adorably) at the center of it all. Any Hagakure quote that hasn’t already been used by the movie could be a great jumping-off point, especially for the samurai characters but Raymond has been dragged into this as well so he better deal with it. Art-wise, any illustration of any of them doing their thing would make my Halloween.

The Wire: Gus, Cedric, Lester, Bubbles, Omar, Brother Mouzone

These are my favorite characters. They do not interact a whole lot, if at all. I would really, really like them to. Could you make it happen, dear author? They all have such strong personalities and their arcs are driven by themes that could work well with each other, any combination looks to me like it could lead to something great. They could be looking for each other because of their jobs or interact by chance (at the pub, on the street…) or even have some hitherto unsuspected connection, like when Wilson contacts Gus in s5. I don’t have preferences for a point in the timeline, I’d love to read fic set before, during or after – of course postcanon Omar presents some complications but nothing fanfiction writers haven’t written their way out of before. But I also like canon’s framing of his death, so if you want to have other characters focus on Omar’s legend one way or another, I would love it too. Just pick your faves among this crop and run with it, I’ll love it! For fic or art of a single character, I would like to see them doing something we haven’t already seen them do – for example a hobby you headcanon them having. For art of two (or more?) characters, seeing them sitting somewhere and talking to each other – the visual counterpart of the “just make them interaaaaact” fic prompt…

Twin Peaks: Albert, Tammy, Cynthia, Hawk, Harry, Frank

For the federal side of the cast, I’d like to see what life has in store for them after that mess. Albert got a heavy emotional fallout to deal with, and the realization that Gordon lied to him in a major way that’s connected with Cooper’s disappearance, speaking of whom, he’s off again, taking what was left of Diane with him to boot. Is it enough for a person to be fractured, could he be split in two? Who is left for him? (Shipping-wise I’m very partial to Harry, platonically I like him and Denise, again Harry, Tammy, Constance, Diane should she be back. But if you think he could be good friends with any other character, for example Cynthia or Hawk, do surprise me!) Tammy is the face of Blue Rose now. What about a little spookiness in her life? What happened when she was stationed in town writing The Final Dossier? Does she team up and/or go on a date with Cynthia, what’s their dynamic, how do they play off each other? Do they sit down to talk about what they want to make of this new Blue Rose, to make it work when all the previous generations failed? What creepy event could showcase Cynthia’s position on the supernatural, the human drive to look beyond and beyond until you get burned and all the themes of TSHOTP and TFD? Or what’s her relationship with Colonel Davis like? Does Garland appear to her at some point to guide her, looking for all intents and purposes like Mufasa but having died too soon to get the reference (tragic)? Hell, does Laura?

For the Sheriff’s Station people, I’d be interested in their relationship with the mystery of the woods. They’re all Bookhouse Boys, they better act like it, that’s my basic prompt. Did Harry cross a threshold looking for Cooper? Did he get the sword mentioned in the script for the s2 finale and what deeper meaning would it have? How did Deputy “I’m a skeptic, but-” Hawk recount a weird encounter in the woods (and to whom? Margaret? Lucy?)? Did he ever climb either peak, or if not, why not? Was Frank born with that no-nonsense attitude of his or is it more of a fake it till you make it situation? What about his chevron-lined, bullet-deflecting hat? Did he go for a walk with Doris and something happened that made them realize what kind of mess their marriage has turned into and they can still live better lives (together or separately. I love them both)? Do they all carry the woods with them in some ways? If you don’t have anything plotty in mind, something strange and almost nonsensical like Becky’s last scene would be great. Or you could focus on the literature enthusiasts aspect of the Bookhouse Boys and write or draw something cute based on that. If you like, Cooper can tag along in any scenario in presence or in spirit.

It’s easy to think about spooky supernatural business when it comes to Twin Peaks but treats are the other side of the same coin – there can be a gentle angle to all this, hope for the future, nurturing woods, genuine comfort after all of canon’s hurt and I would love to read about it. Sometimes the right thing happens at the right time and they can be happy, for a while.

Please, no mentions of Dale/Audrey or Shelly/Gordon.

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tashawritesstuff-blog · 6 years

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Moving On

Hi y'all! Here's a short story I wrote for a creative writing class. It's about love and heartbreak (and love again).

TW// DRUGS

"...will you marry me?"

The words slowly drift to Abby's ears and comprehend. Did he just — ? What? Minutes before, they had been sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner together, and now there's a beautiful ring shining in the kitchen lamplight. Noah, her boyfriend (fiance?) kneels on the floor in front of her. He'd been talking about kids and asked for her ring size. She's an idiot for not seeing this coming.

She hesitates though. Are they ready for this? Is she? They've been dating for the past two years and already live together. All that's left is the marriage license, right? Noah's treated her well. He challenges her to be better. He hasn't left yet. She was a mess when they first met, but he never left. She hates how it sounds like a Hallmark movie. She loves it at the same time. How many people get to live a Hallmark movie? Noah taught her what a good partner can look like. Erik never did that. All Erik taught her was heartbreak. Noah's been good to her. They work well together.

She looks down at Noah's smile, the ring, his position on the kitchen floor. She glances around at the photos of them hanging on the walls, their mugs still out on the counter from this morning. This is right.

Inhale. Exhale. "Yes."

"Just go out with him! What harm could it do?" Imogen says. She's sitting beside Abby on their gray, fraying couch in their two bedroom apartment, one leg thrown over the armrest.

Abby leans back on the couch. "I don't know. He seems like a dick."

"So what? If he is, then drop him. I'll even beat him up for you if ya want." Imogen says this with her signature don't-fuck-with-me smile. She snatches Abby's ice cream and a scoop of mint chocolate chip disappears into her mouth.

"Rude," Abby says, taking the bowl back. "I don't want to date right now." Abby's been avoiding dating for the past few months. She wants to focus on work, or at least that's what she tells herself. Her sighs when she's caught staring too long at a couple in public though never go unnoticed by Imogen.

"Lies. You were whining about finding a new relationship last week. You can keep deflecting all you want, but I have a counter-argument for every lame excuse you'll come up with." Imogen takes the ice cream back and finishes the remaining few bites. Abby scowls instead of responding. She was a different person last week.

"Okay, I'll text him for you," Imogen says, grabbing Abby's phone off the coffee table.

Abby lunges for the phone and topples off the couch in her haste. Imogen is faster and sprints out of the living room to the kitchen.

"Unfair!" Abby exclaims to Imogen's retreating back. After a few moments, Imogen re-emerges in the living room.

"He'll pick you up tomorrow at 7."

Warm air and the smell of buttered popcorn greet Abby when Erik pulls the theater doors open. Not bad for a first date. Overused, but not bad. She only came because of Imogen anyway. She can sit through a movie and small talk over dinner, then gently turn him down. She can do that. She'll tell Imogen there wasn't any chemistry. The end.

Throughout the movie, Erik doesn't do anything weird like try to hold Abby's hand or do the lame yawn arm stretch. He just watches the movie, occasionally plucking popcorn from their shared bucket. During the funny moments, he laughs with everyone else. His laugh sounds like a low chuckle. Abby's never met anyone who can truly chuckle. He can do it though. Afterwards, they end up at Applebee's. Erik lets Abby order her own food and doesn't make any offhand comments about it. She's pleasantly surprised by this. He talked about his high school football career on his dating profile. Her past experiences with guys who still talked about high school football hadn't ended as well. He doesn't talk about football though. He asks questions about her. She doesn't turn him down at the end of the night.

"Okay, it went better than I thought it would," Abby says.

Imogen had been waiting for her after the date. A huge canvas laid on the living room with Imogen sitting criss-cross on the floor in front of it. Her hair tied up in a bun, strands falling out in the back. A smear of green paint on her cheek. It's not the first time Abby's walked home to Imogen painting on the floor. She's been in a few exhibitions, but her painting career hasn't fully taken off yet. Abby sees a palm tree forming on the canvas. She hopes it brings Imogen luck.

"You're welcome," Imogen says. She washes her brush and then stands up. "Are you going to see him again?"

"Sure. He invited me to lunch."

"Lunch? That could be fun," Imogen says.

"Yeah," Abby says. She walks carefully around the canvas to the hallway that leads to her room. She drops her purse on the dresser and then turns to see Imogen leaning in the doorway.

"Are you good?" she asks.

"Yeah, yeah. I just hadn't expected it to go so well," Abby says.

"But it's good?"

"Of course. I was sure I was going to turn him down and then I didn't. It's surreal I guess," Abby says. After a pause she continues, "I'm being silly. Let's just go to bed."

"Okay," Imogen says, but she lingers in the doorway for another minute. "You can still turn him down," she says and then disappears back into the hallway.

Abby sighs. She knows. She knows. Erik was nice though and he seemed to care about her. She wants to give it a chance.

Abby walks into Erik's apartment that she slowly invaded and called her own too. There's plastic cups littering the floor and dirty dishes sitting on the coffee table in the living room. Why can't he ever clean up after he invites guests over? Why does it feel like Abby comes home to this almost every day now? It's tiring. She's barely seen Erik alone the past month. She bends down and begins cleaning up the cups. After taking the trash out she sits on the couch and flips the TV on. None of the channels will come in though. The cable must've been canceled. It's enough.

She grabs her books off the bookshelf and doesn't care when some of them topple to the ground. In her haste, she knocks magazines off an end table. She doesn't care. In the bathroom, she grabs her shampoo, knocking others into the tub. She grabs her toothbrush and swings the medicine cabinet open to retrieve her makeup. Erik's muscle relaxants fall out and spill into the sink. She moves on to the bedroom next, tripping over clothes already scattered on the ground. She drags her suitcase out from under the bed and tosses it open. She hears the door open when she's half done with packing.

Erik enters the apartment. It's trashed. Different than before. Books that were once neatly organized on the shelf are falling over and half on the ground. Magazines lay open on the ground, their pages curled. The TV hums with only snow flashing on the screen. He trips over a pair of jeans outside the bathroom and sees his pills open in the sink. He hears a thump from the bedroom.

Erik walks into the bedroom, careful not to step on too many things. He swings the door open to see Abby by the dresser tossing clothes out. There's a suitcase open on the bed already half full of clothes. Another suitcase leans against the wall. Abby doesn't look up when he enters the room. She walks past him to the closet. She yanks a few items down and throws them towards the suitcase on the bed.

"Really?" Erik says. He doesn't know what brought this on. Why is she mad?

Glaring at him, she shoves another dress into the suitcase. She collects the remaining clothes on the bed and places them in the suitcase before zipping it shut. Erik stands in front of her after she hefts the suitcase off the bed and begins to walk out.

"Can't we talk about it?"

"We already did." They really didn't.

"This isn't talking." Why is she leaving?

"I've said what I need to. Erik, move." I can't do this anymore.

"I love you."

Please, don't say that. It's already hard enough. "I don't believe that anymore." Let me go.

"Please."

Abby shoves past him and grabs the second suitcase. "Don't follow me."

The coffee shop only has a few people sitting inside, typing away on their laptops. Abby deeply inhales the scent of coffee and fresh baked pastries. She orders her usual Chai tea and decides to also get a banana muffin. She checks her email while she waits for the tea. Someone else walks in and orders a black coffee. They stand next to her to wait.

"It's a nice day," they say.

Abby nods. "Sure."

"I don't mean to be forward, but are you busy right now?"

Abby looks up at the person beside her. Shaggy brown hair just long enough he has to swipe it out of his green eyes. He's wearing a long black coat made of some sort of wool material over a white button up shirt and dress pants. Sort of cute.

"Why?"

He smiles. Definitely cute. "I'd like to get to know you."

Not to be forward? Ha. But whatever. Might as well.

"I'm not busy."

The barista brings their drinks out. The guy grabs his and hands Abby's to her. Then he gestures towards one of the tables by the window. Abby follows him over and sits across from him.

"I'm Noah."

"Abby."

He shouldn't be doing this. He knows he shouldn't and he can't stop. It's been almost six months since he last indulged. That's good progress. He can have this. If he doesn this then maybe he can sleep tonight. Maybe he can finally move on. This isn't moving on. He knows that. The words still haunt him though. Don't follow me.

Surrounded by darkness with only the blue of his laptop illuminating his face, Erik opens Facebook. He only has to type a letter before her profile comes up. He scrolls through her recent posts. It's mostly mundane updates from work and cute animal videos. He pauses when he reaches a post with a photo attachment. She's standing with him, Noah, and they're smiling, hands raised to their chests. Silver bands gleam on their fourth fingers. Oh. Oh.

Abby Hayes Oct 23rd, 2017

I said yes!!! [photo attachment]

25 likes

He should’ve seen that coming. He should be happy for her. He is happy for her. She deserves this. He is happy for her

Click

26 likes.

#writing #love story #short story #tasha writes

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