#And not just because I apparently have a deep and abiding love for anything involving afterlife bureaucracy

[burnedbyshoto]

love is in the air | bakugou k.

— Different worlds, different stories, different beginnings. It didn’t matter what universe you were in because there was one consistency in these worlds: you and Bakugou were always in love. Was it just a coincidence that love is in the air whenever the two of you were involved? No, it was destiny. —

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pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

warnings: cursing (all), fluff (all), alcohol consumption (story 3)

word count: 3,505

a/n: so this is for my springtime anon for the bnhaclaimedmysoul event!!!! this was written for @brattyquirks​ !!!! anyways, I couldn’t decide what to write you sab, so I decided to hell with it and gave you four little short stories based off your favorite cliches!!!! I hope you enjoy 🌺

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SPIN THE BOTTLE 

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“If you don’t spin the bottle, we’re going to make you kiss Mineta!”

“You can’t make me do shit, raccoon eyes! This’s a fucking brats game anyways, why the hell am I going to play?!”

Your eyes shone with ever-loving glee at the sight of Bakugou, gritting his teeth with his lip pulled up into a snarl. His eyes were focused on Mina, who was waving the bottle in her hand, her face in a full grin while she stared on the peeved ash blond man.

“Because its a staple to a teenager’s life, and apparently no ones played yet!”

“It’s not going to be something I fucking play!”

It often amused you that Mina was one of the only people in the class who wasn’t afraid to play chicken with Bakugou, even more hilarious being that she won the majority of the time.

“Midoriya and Todoroki already took their chances at spinning it once,” Mina sighed, her arms picking up into a shrug while she shook her head. You watched in quiet glee in the way her eyes slowly opened, like some predator corning in on her prey. “But hey, I guess that means you’re not—”

“Give me the fucking bottle!”

And she had won.

Folding your arms, you watched Bakugou break into the circle of students, slamming the glass bottle onto the floor and turning it as quickly as he could, the words “die” announced to the class. You took in the way that his face was set into a frown, the corners of his mouth cemented into this permanent scowl. But you knew that it was for show, even you knew Bakugou better after three years of being his classmate, his eyes always told a different story. 

The two of you were pretty close for what could be considered relationships for Bakugou. While you weren’t apart of his core group of friends, the two of you held mutual respect and trust for each other that transcended that of daily interaction. The bottle spun for what seemed like ages, and you watched in hopefulness that it would land on someone good.

Slowly the lip of the bottle landed on Shoji, and Bakugou raged that it wasn’t fair. 

Much to Bakugou’s unamusement, to Shoji’s prayers that he wouldn’t be killed, and to the rest of your classmates tear-jerking howling laughter they kissed.

“I’m fucking out of here!” Bakugou screamed, throwing himself to his feet, ready to retreat to his room with the hours of night looming in. “Get this shitty game away from me, I never want to play—”

“You can’t leave yet!” Mina cried out, grabbing his wrist before he could escape the circle, “Y/n-chan is the last one to go, and you have to watch!”

“I don’t fucking care if it was All Mights damn turn, I’m not staying!”

“Come on, Bakugou, it’s not like it’ll take more than ten seconds!” you chide, your nose wrinkling at him in your mock disgust. “What’s the worst that’ll happen? I get to kiss your best friend?”

Bakugou’s nostrils flare, a visible indicator that he took in your words as a challenge of sorts and would follow through with staying. So with a grin, you grabbed the bottle and spun it.

You didn’t really care about who it landed on; after all, most of your classmates had already had strange matchups, the worst being a kiss from Kaminari and Mineta. As long as you didn’t land on Mineta, you’d call that a win. The bottle stilled, and you looked down to where it was pointing.

Bakugou.

His eyes widened, pupils were blown, and his jaw to the floor.

“HELL NO, I JUST KISSED OCTOPUS LIKE HELL I’M GOING TWICE!”

“Oh my god, you big baby,” you laugh, standing up. You reach Bakugou, who looks seconds from fighting, moments from running, yet allowed you to approach him regardless. What a rule-abiding nerd he could be.

“Pucker up,” you tease and seal your lips over his while your classmates scream.

After you pulled away, you hated to admit that your heart hammered in your ears, months of denial over your feelings gone up in flames while he stares at you in silence. Your classmates begin to clean up; no one quite aware of how you were both just staring. But when Mina’s arm is thrown around your shoulders, your attention is stolen, and you walk off, ready to help out.

In twenty minutes, you make it back to your room, your lips still tingling in their tiny explosions of the past feeling of his smooth lips against yours. A wistful sigh escaped your lips, you knew better than to expect anything from King Explosion Murder himself.

A knock on the door startled you. Having been caught up in thought, the noise made you curse under your breath. Walking to the door, you opened it up, your eyes widening when you saw Bakugou there, his eyebrows knit, lips pursed.

“You okay, Bakugou?” you asked, concerned for your friend.

He finally meets your gaze, and his stare is intense. Vermillion eyes hold yours without a single waiver in them; it’s intense, almost too intense to the point where you want to look away. But you don’t, you can’t look away. A harsh expel of air escapes his nose, and you’re useless to the way that he surges forward, hands grasping your cheeks and lips crashing against yours.

There’s nothing to say to this, but you can attest to the fact that your hands grabbed his biceps, your lips moving passionately with his until your bedroom door closed behind him.

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BEST FRIENDS BEING IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER

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Days at the lake were something you earnestly enjoyed. The gentle feeling of spring in the air, the sun warm against your skin, and the fresh green plants emerging from the once dead fields. It was perfect, almost tranquil if you were quiet enough.

But if there was anything to know about you and your best friend Bakugou Katsuki, it was that tranquility was something that happened once in a lifetime, and that moment was not now.

“Running away is useless!” Bakugou roared from a distance.

The cold sand flung from your feet while you ran as fast as you possibly could, the oxygen in your veins feeling like fire as you attempted to both run away and laugh at the predicament he was in.

What had started as a fun day at the lake that had finally thawed over from winter winds, turned into something stupidly competitive. You wouldn’t say you were a sore loser because you didn’t lose, but in this case where Bakugou had very obviously beaten you in rock skipping contest because he applied his quirk after you went without using your own. So in your fuming loss, you used your quirk to dump water all over his hair, leaving his hair and shoulder soaked.

His reaction to this was almost feline-like, his back arching, face set in an uproarious hiss while you howled with laughter, already running away. It took him time to respond to your act of war, but with him running like hell was at his heels, it was only a matter of time before he caught up to you.

You screamed for forgiveness, trying with everything you had to escape from his tight and torturous grasp, but you were losing. 

“This is what you get for soaking me with water!” Bakugou exclaims, tossing you into the ice-cold water, your shocked and defeated scream echoing across the water until it was drowned out by you going under. 

“You’re a dick!” you scream when you reemerge from under the water, fake tears pouring from your eyes, the cold water clinging, and stabbing into your body that was now exposed to the sweet air.

Bakugou looks ashamed right away, and you were sure that he hadn’t expected to have flung you so far into the water, or for you to not land on your feet. “Shit, I’m so — hEY!!!”

With your hands on his wrist, you threw him into the water, his angry screams erupting across the land the moment he reemerged from the lake. So there the two of you stood, thigh-deep into the lake, both soaked to the bone. Hands gripping each other, a feeble attempt at wrestling each other. His wet hair was slick to his forehead, the shine on his face from the water, and his heated words only inciting a fire within you that made you forget that you too were cold.

“You’re the worst!” you yell, trying to shove him forward with your interlaced fingers. “A tiny dildo is what you are!”

“A fucking dildo?! Why the ever-loving fuck would I be—?!”

“Cuz, you’re fake like plastic!!!”

“You’re an idiot, fucking dumbass nerd!”

“Oh yeah, well, you like this dumbass nerd!”

“And what if I do?!”

There was a silence that overcame the both of you, his cheeks simmering to the same degree as yours. In this silence, you weren’t sure what to say, and in a moment where you were unsure of the warmth being from your elation of his words or from your cold body hyperventilating from the cold water, you spoke.

“Do something about it then.”

There was no saying as to how this transpired, honestly it was one of the weakest fake arguments you’ve ever had with Bakugou, but with the rebirth of spring, there must have been something in the air to make his lips come crashing against yours. A wild and powerful force that ignited sparks and explosions within you, and a promise for more between both of you.

You pulled away, your eyes wide and wild, you took in Bakugou’s soft and heavy-lidded eyes and watched as his lips perked into a pleasant smile.

“Took you long enough, dumbass…”

“HOW IS THIS MY FAULT, BAKUGOU KATSUKI?!”

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ACCIDENTAL KISS

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The world was blurry while you brought your hand to your mouth. But where you had been expecting a bottle of whatever alcohol you had been drinking, you were met with nothing but your warm hand.

“Where’s my drink?! Oh no, did I drop… did I drop it?! Bakugou is going to kill me!”

Your typical cheerful and chaotic energy while being drunk had become sad and chaotic energy at the realization that you couldn’t find your drink that you knew you had. And even more so at the thought of the man you had a crush on hating on you for dropping it on the floor.

“What the hell are you wailing about, I have your drink right here, idiot.”

You whip to the side and see that Bakugou is the person holding your hand, guiding you back to your apartment. 

“Katsuki, you’re taking me back to my dorm?” you sniffle, tears springing into your eyes at the thought of how kind your crush was being to you. “You didn’t have to do this!”

“Yeah, well, your drunk ass was not walking back home alone, especially not this late at night when weirdos and perverts can be out,” he justified, making sure you avoided the bush when you stumbled against a bump on the floor. 

“I’m drunk, huh,” you giggle, pressing into his side, your body warm with the bitter liquid coursing through your veins. “That’s pretty crazy because I distinctly remember only taking… one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nineeeeeee shots! That’s not even that much!”

“Nine shots?! I’m going to kill that drunk idiot when I get back!” Bakugou snarls his arm fastening around your waist when you climb up the stairs, something you don’t understand why he does considering, all in all, you were walking just fine.

“Katsuki, can I confess something to ya?” you hum against his warm shoulder, breathing in his caramel scent with a happy sigh. 

“Not if you wouldn’t admit it when you’re sober.”

“Well, that’s no fun to drunken confession and besides!” you slur, slamming your hand against his chest. “I don’t ever make sense.”

“Well, that much is true,” Bakugou sighs, grabbing your keys and opening your apartment door. “Come on, get in.” 

You comply without a fight, skipping into your apartment with a stretch.

“Now, now, you get back home and text me when you get back, no funny business young man!” you exclaim, thrusting a finger into his chest, your lips pulled into a serious pout.

“Ya fucking right dumbass, I’m getting your ass into bed before I leave,” Bakugou grunt turning you towards your bathroom to assist you in getting ready for bed.

Within the next thirty minutes, you nearly succeed in getting Bakugou to rip his hair from his scalp. From first refusing to pee unless he was holding your hand, then forbidding to brush your teeth until he hugged you first. Of course, then it was the fact that you walked out butt naked after claiming you didn’t care if he saw you naked, and that you hated the PJs he chose for you. And how he had to chase you around the apartment to get you into bed.

But finally, Bakugou squatted at the edge of your bed, his face close to yours while you took long blinks, sleep catching up to you quickly.

“Goodnight, pain in my ass,” Bakugou says to your nodding off form.

“Thank you for always taking care of me,” you whimper, your hand stretching out to touch his face, the world slowly spinning. “You might act like a bad boy, but it’s okay, I can handle it for moments like this.”

“I don’t know what you’re — mmph!”

Your lips were pressed against his, a kiss that tasted faintly of alcohol on his own lips and the mint of your toothpaste.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips before pulling away, sleep consuming you before Bakugou could speak.

When you woke up the next morning, your body hangover-free, you were shocked and scared to see Bakugou sitting on your chair fast asleep. It wasn’t until he woke up did you genuinely feel fear crawl and bite you in the throat when he spoke up after staring at you for a minute straight.

“So, about last night.”

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FAKE DATING

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“I can’t believe I got stuck with you,” Bakugou grits while the both of you walk around the mall, your fingers dancing along your chin while you check out the clothes in the window.

“Why’s that? Is it because I make your hands sweat, heart skip beats, and make you stammer more than anyone else in the world?” you tease your focus entirely on the outfit in the window, trying to imagine how it would look like on your body instead of the mannequin.

“You know damn well that’s not the fucking case!”

Laughing, you nodded, turning to look at Bakugou with a grin, “Well, I’m sorry you drew the short end of the stick!”

What had started off as a class after school field trip had become ‘where the fuck is everyone?’

It maybe was your fault for dragging Bakugou into the nearest store because you saw the stupidest skull shirt you wanted him to buy and ended up with the two of you coming out of said store, the black skull shirt folded neatly in a bag that Bakugou held, and your classmates were gone. Bakugou had yelled at you for five minutes while you apologized profusely for separating the two of you from the group. 

A quick text from Kirishima had stated that everyone went their own ways anyway, but that meet up time at the food court would be at 5:30. 

“How do you think that would look on me?” you asked, pointing to the white spring outfit in the window. You had needed more outfits, years of not having anything cute had made you want to try something new with the new spring season.

“Fucking weird,” was Bakugou’s automatic response despite not looking at the outfit.

“Come on, brat, look at it first!”

“Who the hell are you calling brat?” Bakugou grumbled but looked at the white outfit in the window. He was quiet for some time, almost too quiet for how you knew Bakugou was. He looked over at you, his face set seriously, and he sighed. “It would look great on you.”

You smiled widely and nodded, “Okay!”

It took ten minutes for you to find the outfit in your size, to affirm it was a good fit, to buy it, and then to leave the store. Bakugou took the green cream bag from your hand, adding it to the other bags he had been holding for the two of you, and you were grateful.

Grabbing his elbow, you were ready to drag him off to a store he would like better, but you froze when you saw a familiar pair of eyes in the distance.

It was your ex-boyfriend.

It had been a year relationship that started off beautifully and ended disastrously. While you wished you could have concluded that relationship on amicable terms, it ended on something closer to, “I hate you,” and “don’t ever talk to me again,” and “I can find someone better than you any day,” and finally, “you couldn’t find someone to like you back.”

To say the least, you still hadn’t found anyone knew, and your arm firmly locked around Bakugou’s arm, your body stiffening slightly.

Bakugou felt it.

“What the fucks wrong with you?” he asked, his eyebrows knit in confusion, and you looked up at him, your eyes relaying to him everything.

“I see my ex, and I said I would be with someone the next time I saw him,” you whisper, your feet feeling cemented onto the floor as your ex drew nearer and nearer.

Bakugou’s lips twitched, his nose scrunching in his premeditative way of know just what you were going to ask. 

“You fucking owe me,” he hissed under his breath, his hand moving to rest on your hip, keeping you close as only lovers do. 

“Thank you,” you whispered in graciousness, your lips pecking his cheek in a display of affection.

“Y/n!” your ex called, and you look at him, he was standing in front of you, a confident smile on his face. “Long time no see, how have you been?”

“Good,” you answer with a tight smile. “You?”

“Much better now, but I gotta say I do miss you a lot.”

Your face wrinkles in astounded horror, the slightest bit of disgust and disbelief while he seems to ignore Bakugou all together.

“Listen, I know I said a lot of shitty things to you awhile back, but I’m so sorry!” he says, his face nor tone showing regret. “I know you’re not seeing anyone right now, so if you want to have an amazing boyfriend again, I’ll consider taking you back!”

“Fucking horse mouth,” Bakugou snapped, his teeth gritting together while he glared at your ex, his finger digging into your side. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

“Hm?” he alliterated, his eyes lazily falling onto Bakugou, “Oh, sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

“Yeah, and fucking back off before I shove my fist down your throat, asshole,” Bakugou threatened, his eyes squinting, his shoulders stiff.

“And why should I?” he asked, his lips pulled into a taunt. “Even if you’re dating, y/n-chan, it’s not like you’re any better than me, right Bakugou Katsuki? Y/n is grown, and I’m obviously the more mature one of…” he trailed off.

Why exactly?

Well, it seemed both you and Bakugou had the same exact idea. Your fingers thread through the thick hair at the nape of his neck. His fingers slipping under your shirt to rest against your warm back and your lips meeting in a passionate affair. His lips were tantalizing against yours, viciously warm, effortlessly smooth while your mouths moved in synch. Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids, electricity emitting through your joined lips while they moved impassioned for each other. 

His hold was tight, and your head tilted with your tongue, obviously coming to sweep at his bottom tongue.

“Do you have any shame?!” a voice broke from your left, and you saw an elder staring at the two of you with obvious shock at the intense PDA the two of you had just shared.

You couldn’t even find the words to apologize, your mind utterly consumed with the need to have Bakugou’s mouth pressed against yours once again. The both of you were blissfully unaware of the fact that your ex had since scurried away the moment the kissing took a sensual turn.

“Um,” Bakugou seemed to be at a loss too, and you studied his face that seemed to be going through a million more emotions than he was used to. “Was that—?”

“If you want,” you tease, bringing your lips once more to the corner of his mouth before grabbing his hand and pulling him away.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha spring time

[ihavelovednone]

Emily & Miguel: Power & control

This post is long - REALLY LONG. I’ve tried to reduce it and separate it - but it’s not really working. So here goes. It’s centered around Emily and Miguel and the power imbalance between them and the abusiveness that he displays. I hope it’s somewhat interesting and not to hard to follow - if you read it in full that is.

The initial power imbalance There are several aspects in Miguel’s and Emily’s relationship that creates a power imbalance between them. First, and probably the one that relates to every other imbalance in their relationship, is the fact that she’s a woman. That doesn’t really need any further explaining. Women are generally seen as the weaker sex and there’s a long since decided role for women that still has deep roots in our society and in Emily’s life it’s very prominent. Dita displays dislike about Emily involving herself in the search for her child for instance. Devante uses a tone that reeks of aw, little girl and Miguel is somewhere in between wanting to be the sole provider and wanting her help.

One more obvious thing is the clear age difference between Miguel and Emily. It’s kinda like a spinn on the stereotypical old husband, young wife trope - except that Miguel, even though he’s no spring chicken, is still relatively young and very attractive. Kurt Sutter and Elgin James are so subtle in the way they decide use a stereotype without stereotyping that if you don’t look closely, you miss it. 

I think they met when Emily was in her final years of college or in law school and Miguel was in the start of his business career - the legal business that is. I have this idea in my head that Miguel tried really hard to impress her and she just rolled her eyes at him. Emily’s smart and strong, opinionated and a fighter, we’ve seen that in season 1 when Emily’s delivered info to Miguel about LO, called Devante out on his misogynistic shit and when she didn’t let herself get intimidated by Potter. She also found the info about the murder of EZ’s mother and called out Miguel’s hypocrisy in season 2. 

At the same time there’s an insecurity within Emily. She’s probably been told several times by her parents that she’s not good enough. When Emily meets Miguel the break-up from EZ is probably still lingering, even if it was awhile ago they ended in a way that never really gave them closure - she didn’t just loose her first love, she lost someone that was a security to her. On top of that she’d lost her baby (yes I say lost because I don’t think she’d have aborted it had the circumstances been different). This probably made Emily more susceptible to Miguel’s charm.

That insecurity is very apparent in season 2 when Miguel starts spending more time with Adelita. He used to worship the ground she walked on, she was his “touchstone” and all of a sudden his work is all about taking Potter down with the help of Adelita and Emily ends up being in the background. There’s a desperation in her actions in that season. She enters territories she’d never actually enter otherwise. She’s so desperate for the Agra Park thing to work because she never chose the cartel, she chose Miguel. 

There’s also a duality with Emily in season 2 - The cartel is, up until the kidnapping of Cristobal, in the background of Emily’s life. She didn’t see, she didn’t hear.  I think she stayed with Miguel in the hopes that he’d liquidate the cartel and go one hundred percent legit but now, he’s rising - he’s making more money and Emily’s spurring him on. Maybe because she wants to be more involved with him, close to him, move Adelita out of the way. She wants to feel needed. It’s a weird dynamic between them, like the abused wife that wants to please her man or something.

Never in control Miguel might’ve initially been a person she found to be what EZ once was - a safe harbor, a home, a lifeline. Not necessarily financial, more emotional. Emily sees Miguels way of treating her with loving words and gifts as affection, maybe she knows that there’s something else under the beautiful exterior, maybe she doesn’t. As Erin said, they choose men that are darkness personified, hinting that they seek it out, it comes naturally - almost as a way to punish themselves for not being good enough. Miguel’s affectionate behavior bleeds into darkness, or maybe his affectionate behavior is actually something sinister altogether - like he feeds on women wanting him, needing him, he uses it to get to them.

In the midst of her vulnerability Miguel displays behaviors of wanting for her to belong to him and no one else, and that’s dangerous and toxic. She doesn’t realize that behavior as problematic until season 2 - even though it starts in season 1 when he propagates to EZ that he need to leave Emily alone - because it complicates things. 

Emily’s very isolated. She has no friends, she’s got no one that’s just hers. Except for EZ when he gets out of prison, and even so, they’re not really friends either. They’re more in limbo than anything. And even though they’ve got a past - she’s got the right to spend time with whoever she wants. Or should have the right. Loyalty to a man does not derive from how few men you’re in contact with as a woman. Emily doesn’t need to go back to her man, or only stay by his side. She’s not Miguel’s property. She’s allowed to have relationships with other men - as long as she’s not actually cheating - and even if she wanted to - she’s could, it doesn’t warrant abuse of any kind.

His want for her to be a housewife - or work close by, offering her a job in his company - is toxic. Why? Well, she’s constantly under his watch, she’s doesn’t have the opportunity to make new acquaintances and friendships without those people having relations to Miguel. If Miguel were to demand information about what a person has spoken to his wife about - they’d tell him - in fear of loosing their job, or their life. Now, had Miguel not displayed other types of weird and controlling behaviors it probably wouldn’t have crossed my mind that she worked for him. It would’ve been fine.

Him having her ride with a platoon and not be left alone is, yeah, you guessed it: TOXIC. Freedom is not something that she has. You might think that Emily, just because she lives in an ocean of money and opportunity that she’s somehow free. She’s not. She has no privacy. And yeah, you could argue that Miguel’s cartel work is dangerous and therefore she needs to be protected - but at what cost? She’s constantly under the watchful eye of Miguel’s lackeys - which becomes more apparent in season 2 when Nestor’s following her every move without her knowing. They work for him - they abide to him. She doesn’t have the ability to do what ever she wants - and when she does, he abuses her, as seen in S01E05. As I said in a post that’s been deleted now: Miguel is, most of the time, abusive without actually doing it himself. He uses his staff to control her.

We’ve never actually seen Miguel give Emily any presents, probably because it’d be very stereotypical of him and Sutter and James want to avoid stereotypes. But I think he’d do something like that, considering his expensive taste in suits, cars and other things - I think he likes showing of how rich he is. 

Miguel comes of as one of those people who’d use presents to stifle someone. The wife’s mad? Get her a meaningless expensive present to shut her up and simultaneously tell her you care for her without actually asking how she’s feeling. She thinks you don’t love her? Diamonds, get her some diamonds. Diamond equals love. Him throwing all kinds of materialistic shit at her is toxic and it doesn’t matter how much he loves her because his behavior ends up being manipulative and controlling every single time. 

The comment you should be grateful feels like something that’d come out of his mouth to (and probably from people on the outside looking in). Not that many women get to live a life in luxury, he’d probably say. Like she should be grateful for something she never really asked for. 

Conclusion This became a long post - probably longer than all my posts so far - combined. There are so many red flags with Miguel and Emily - some of them so subtle you hardly notice them. In the first episode I thought they’d go the whole sugar daddy route which might seem cool and fun in theory. But it’s in fact a very common way for young women to enter prostitution so I’m glad they didn’t go that way with it and display it like it’s no big deal - it’s all fun, look at all the pretty things I get for being a companion. 

Miguel’s abusive behavior is subtle at times and yeah, he loves her and she love him, but it doesn’t matter when the relationship is so unhealthy. Writing this piece has given me a new perspective of the two as well. Emily’s desperate to not loose Miguel - why? Most likely because she’d be on her own otherwise and she’s not really ready for that and Miguel’s behavior is probably something he’s picked up from his childhood and I’m not sure he’s always aware of it. Miguel very insecure. Let’s be honest, no man comfortable within himself would ever restrain a woman’s social circle, career or freedom to roam. 

#ihavelovednone writes #mayans mc #sarah bolger #emily galindo #emily thomas #danny pino #miguel galindo #jd pardo #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes

[forever-rogue]

how about reader trying to flirt with Mando, but he's pretending to be annoyed, but eventually he gives in?

Okay, but I seriously imagine Mando trying to act all tough if you’re flirting with him, but deep down, he totally digs it. Also, kind of took some liberties with this, and went with it, so enjoy!!

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Pssst,” you stood behind Din as he continued to tinker away at whatever he was trying to fix this time. He’d been sat there for almost an hour, unmoving, and murmuring quietly to himself as he tried to figure out what was wrong with the small silver object, “psst, Mando. My love? Din? Aka the love of my entire life?”

“Y/N,” his tone was firm and it was already apparent that he was annoyed, however slightly, with the sudden intrusion. You put your hands on shoulders and give them a light squeeze before leaning down and kissing the top of his head. He was in normal civilian clothes for once, enjoying the quiet comfort of the home you shared in the isolated forest of a planet where no one would ever think to look for him. But he had been so involved with whatever he was doing that you hadn’t seen much of him today.

“Yes, my love?” you asked, resting your head on his shoulder, trailing a few slow kisses along his jawline. He tensed ever so slightly, closing his eyes as he bit his lip, trying to remain composed. You continued your actions for a few moments, knowing you were his hitting his weak spots that usually always him break down.

“I’m trying to work,” he insisted, focusing his attention back onto the small object, “I just need a little more time.”

“But you’ve been working on this for ages,” you pouted, pulling back from him and audibly huffing, making sure he knew you were annoyed that his project was getting more attention than you were, “you’ve just gotten back after being gone for three weeks. I’ve missed you…I’ve missed your touch, your hands, your lips, everything.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he replied, and while you knew he meant it, it was still annoying not to have his attention right now, “now please give me about fifteen minutes more, then every part of my attention with be yours.”

“Promise?” you asked, and he nodded, still not looking at you. You ruffled his mop of dark locks, swearing you could feel him leaning into your touch slightly as you decided to abide by his request and wait. You had waited three long weeks for his return, you could wait a few more minutes.

You left him in the room where all of his equipment was, wandering back to your bedroom, deciding to change into something more comfortable and, let’s be honest, revealing. He’d been gone for some time, you figured you might as well as give him something to look at. And if you got lucky, well, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing for either of you.

But fifteen minutes came and went, and there was still no sign of him. You had grown tired of waiting around for him, lying in bed and basically twiddling your thumbs, so you crawled out, determined to make him come with you, whatever it took.

“Din,” you called out as you called over to him, finding him still engrossed in his little project. He made a noncommittal sound, but you weren’t having it anymore, “Din Djarin. It had been almost half an hour, and I’ve grown impatient.”

“I know,” the sigh of audible in his voice, but you just completely interrupted him, grabbing the objects out of his hand and setting them down the table with some force, “seriously? I was-”

“Working on that, I know,” you said as you took his hands in yours and pulled him to his feet. He was tall and loomed over you as he fully took you in, dark eyes raking over every part of your body, a slight twinkle to them. To anyone that didn’t know him, or at least didn’t know him as intimately as you did, it would have been intimidating, but you could practically see the gears in his head turning, watching as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Damn,” he managed to choke you nodded and he gently traced his calloused fingertips over the contours of your face, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that…”

“If you’re trying to flatter me-”

“I’m not,” he promised, closing the gap between the two of you as he crashed his lips onto yours, his large hands finding their place on your waist. You snaked your arms around his neck, running a hand through his hair, tugging on it gently. You’d missed this, as well as everything else about him, nothing was ever the same when he was gone.

“Din,” you pulled back from him, putting your hands on both sides of his face, as you studied his features. He was handsome, so handsome, a thing that the outside world almost never saw; it was a shame in your opinion, but you understood what being a Mandalorian meant. He closed his eyes as he leaned into your touch, kissing the side of your hand ever so lightly, “I’ve missed you. I hate when you’re gone for weeks at a time.”

“You can’t come with me,” he said with small tone of regret in his voice, “not right now. It’s too dangerous when we’re both wanted. We just have to let things die down a little bit.”

“I know,” you acknowledged, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I miss you. I love you, and it’s hard to have you know because I never know what could happen to you. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered as his eyes lingered on yours, almost as if they could see straight into your soul, “I want to keep you safe, you’re my priority.”

“Sounds more like I’m a liability,” you joked and a serious look crossed his face as he shook his head.

“Don’t say that, it’s not true,” he took your hands in his, lacing his fingers through yours, “you are it, you are everything.”

“And so are you,” you replied, earning a megawatt smile from, “my favorite silly Mandalorian. Now come on, let’s go and get some rest.”

“Rest?” he raised his eyebrows at you as you started to lead him back to your bedroom. He had a feeling that wasn’t written in the stars just yet.

“Eventually,” you winked at him, “but for now, just come with me, my love. I know you’re always on alert, but for tonight, just let go and relax. Let me take care of you for now.”

“Y/N,” his voice once again adopted the firm tone that you caused to run down your body for a multitude of reasons, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Din.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #star wars #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian x you #ahhhh #enjoy #feel free to send in mando or pedro requests! #baby yoda #din djarin #din djarin x reader

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Women in SPN—Is it Really That Bad?

TL;DR: Somewhat, yeah, it kinda is.

This is going to be a series of long ones, people.

Before I jump head first into this giant vat of weird toxic shit, let me say something:

The thing about most of the female characters is that on their own? They’re perfectly fine, ranging from serviceable to the occasional flash of thematic brilliance. Barely any of them qualify as “this is hateful on its face and incompetent regardless of context and the writers should feel bad for ever conceiving of it”, i.e. the normie benchmark for justified criticism. It’s only when you put these characters next to each other that a worrying pattern emerges;

Although discussions about sexism in the media were very much a thing in the mid-2000s, as well as shows with characters whose primary role wasn’t to serve a man’s needs, I can’t honestly claim that the flaws of SPN are out of the norm for its time; and

The first few seasons could really do with a PSA at the start of each episode, something along the lines of “A part of the reason why female characters are killed off or written out with such regularity is rabid superfans who couldn’t abide anything with tits brushing against J2, srsly, the writing team and the 2000s’ fan base were a match made in hell, except it wasn’t the writers who couldn’t do with bitching on their LiveJournals about the gall of women to exist in the show, choosing instead to harass the creators and actresses and wives and call them every sexist insult under the sun AND I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE HAS THERE EVER BEEN A CESSPIT AS DISGUSTING AND NUKEWORTHY AS THE SPN FANDO—“

Anyway.

SPN has a legacy (as a posterchild for not knowing when to bow out gracefully, but legacy nonetheless) and isn’t watched in 2005 but in the year of our Lord Today. Meaning that as time goes by, the issues surrounding the show’s production retreat into the background and only what’s on the screen remains, to be judged on its own merits.

So let’s run down a list of the more noteworthy and relevant female characters of the first arc, focusing on their characterization, role in the narrative, and end. In the conclusion to this series of posts, the sum of characters will be analyzed as a whole to see if there are any unique tendencies in the show’s handling of women as opposed to that of men. I’ll do this for the original five seasons as the recent finale went out of its way to say that nothing after season 5 was strictly speaking necessary so why bother.

(Also because I died of frustration in season 8 and vowed not to subject myself to any more of the post-apocalypse fanfic era)

Angels, while strictly speaking genderless clouds of energy, will be classified as men or women depending on the apparent gender of the vessel they spend most of the time riding. The same goes for demons where I also take into account their stated gender while they were alive. That’s because although beings like Meg, Ruby, Anna, or Lilith can’t technically be considered women in the show’s present day, their consistent preference for conventionally attractive and/or female vessels throughout the original arc makes claims of genderlessness essentially meaningless. For all intents and purposes, we’re watching girls and women on screen.

Baby—the only true NB of the first run

All right, time to jump.

Say hi to our ladies!

Mary Winchester

Killed in the very first scene to give the story a reason to exist, she remains an active presence throughout the first arc where she has a wide-reaching influence on the plot and characters, driving the conflict on several levels. Fleshed-out more and more with each appearance to be more than just “the dead mom”, she’s portrayed as protective, pro-active, capable, and assertive, mirroring the duo’s desire for normal life and their inability to have it. Her story comes full-circle in season 5 when the personal tragedy of her fate is embedded in the wider tragedy of the Winchester family curse and the overall theme of destiny.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major

On her own: Textbook example of fridging… and that tropes aren’t bad in and of themselves.

Jessica Moore

Comparatively, if anyone doubts fridging can evolve into something meaningful, Jess drives the point home by having no personality and no point but to prop up her boyfriend before she ends up pinned to the ceiling, the reveal of which is the most interesting thing about her entire existence. At best she’s a symbol of Sam’s civilian life, at worst an obstacle to be removed for the story to happen.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major in terms of manpain, non-existent otherwise

On her own: A cardboard cut-out, barely qualifies as a character

Missouri Moseley

A psychic and the primary reason why John Winchester even knows to wipe his ass. Appears once over the course of the first arc yet everyone wants her to come back years later—that’s how awesome she is. Has this fantastic trait of being compassionate and empathetic while not taking a single speck of shit from anyone, especially when it comes from the two main dumbos who might just as well have been raised in a barn. Is very particular about the pristine state of her coffee table.

Status: Alive as of s5, killed in s13 (wait, what?)

Importance: Major…ly wasted potential

On her own: As strong a character as Bobby Singer, and as worthy of being elevated to the main cast.

Lori Sorensen

The writers can’t figure out why anyone in the universe would care about Jess either so they insert an intentionally awkward romance subplot to convince people the time’s not yet ripe for Sam to stop grieving and start slaying. The result’s… erm… well, awkward. Lori’s naïve, sheltered, devout though accepting of her non-repressed friend, and sort of on a religious crossroads because of her hypocritical preacher father. I guess the virginal power of her virginal virginity does… something in the plot? Primarily a vehicle for Sam to mark the stages of his moving on.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: A bit done. Like a bit lot. Like a “could be a trope namer” bit lot.

Meg

Boom, baby!

Arguably the chief antagonist of season 1 and one of the best things about it. The first one to point out the pervasive toxicity of the Winchester family business, so props for perceptiveness. Possesses the standard qualities of a lower-level henchman—manipulative, no-nonsense, and quietly sinister which, while not exactly groundbreaking, sets her apart from the other bad guys in the season as they tend to have no distinguishing characteristics at all. Plus Nicki Aycox makes the role seem more unique and “lived-in” by projecting a sense of understated amusement at the two main chucklefucks. Is one of S1’s turning points in blurring the lines between monsters and humanity. Has a face transplant twice—once to have revenge (good on her) and the other time to pursue someone else’s goals again before getting stomped into the ground like a mook.

Status: Alive as of s5 (?), killed in s8

Importance: Major

On her own: The actresses do most of the heavy lifting. Which doesn’t mean I don’t love watching the character burst onto the scene and announcing the end of the Winchester brand of bullshit.

Layla Rourke

A terminal cancer patient in a religious cult, she’s a more mature take on a Lori-type character and the themes of faith and doubt. Serves as a conduit for Dean’s budding survivor guilt, self-loathing, and sense of worthlessness. Is kind and cheerful, with strong hints that she’s relying on forced optimism to get through the days; also understanding of the circumstances of others while realistically freaked about the possibility of death. Weirdly, she enters the episode already in a state of acceptance and leaves it just as accepting when it’s confirmed that yeah, she’ll die soon. All expressions of anger at the injustice and senselessness are left to her mother which somewhat undermines the “struggling” portion of Layla’s character and renders the final scene where she makes peace with her fate a bit hollow.

Status: Implied dead

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Dean’s development

On her own: I want to like her, I really do, just… if only she were allowed to get pissed, once.

Cassie Robinson

Dean’s ex and that’s pretty much all there is to her. I struggle to pinpoint a single personality trait of hers—the 2000s idea of a “strong woman” and “not like other girls”, perhaps? Undermined as a love interest because TPTB don’t show the happy or any parts of her relationship with Dean so really, why should anyone care if two sniping assholes with little to no chemistry get back together? Memorable for being in a horribly scored softcore scene which YouTube tries to convince me lasts for shy over a minute, not the week I remember it to. Involved in the show’s first and last attempt at incorporating the issue of anti-black racism.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: She’s in the racist truck episode. ‘Nuff said.

Sarah Blake

A sophisticated people-person conversationalist with a love of high art and a deep sense of introspection. Ascends to the state of godhood by being able to pull off pigtails while adult. Bonds with Sam over responding to loss by crawling into a shell but deciding to move on. Doesn’t care for your fancy schmancy fine dining, Romeo. Isn’t ashamed to openly talk feelings which includes her explicitly asking Sam if they have a thing going on (honestly, this is such a breath of fresh air for a normcore romance). Despite being scared out of her wits, she refuses to be shoved into the helpless civilian box after learning about the existence of the supernatural; Dean creates a Pinterest wedding board in response.

Status: Alive as of s5, pointlessly dragged back to be murdered in s8

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Sam’s development

On her own: A great love interest that has enough writing behind her to fool you into thinking she’s something more.

Up next, whenever I feel like it, seasons 2 and 3!

#spn #spn critical #supernatural #supernatural critical #sexist writing #mary winchester #missouri moseley #meg masters #sarah blake #layla rourke

[bexterbex]

Masking the Heart

A new galactic war was forming, and your star system needed to create an alliance. Your father, the king, made a deal with the First Order in a promise of protection for guaranteed trade. You are arranged to marry the Commander Kylo Ren, apprentice of the Supreme Leader. A man who is hidden behind his mask. Will your husband show you his heart? Or will it be forever hidden behind a mask?

PLEASE NOTE: This work has many dubious/non-con consent scenes, it is an arranged marriage AU that plays off of many issues women face in arranged marriages. The author of this work does not condone arranged marriage practices, domestic abuse, or non-con sexual encounters, this work is for fictional uses only. 

There will be no tag lists on this work. Masterlist with Upload Schedule.

Chapter 1

Pale grey sky was outside your window this morning, it had been raining for weeks. Foreshadowing some impending doom, that you had yet to see. But you could sense a change coming–soon. You could see it in the face of your father, your mother, and their advisors. You weren’t stupid, you had heard the rumors of another galactic war. Once much like the last one. Where millions of poor souls would die, and the galaxy would be in shambles afterward, because no one could just win. Both sides would be brutally beaten and crippled by the end.

You got yourself ready in the morning, your father had always told you that a proper princess should have servants doing things for you, but you enjoyed being independent. Born into a life of luxury, a life of nobility, was something you never wanted. You had dreams of being someone who could make a difference, the ability to make changes, but alas you were not in the position to do so.

Yes, you were the daughter of a king who ruled over not just the planet you lived on, but those in your system. Five planets. Five planets that were rich in resources. In the last war, your people had remained neutral, under your grandfather’s rule. Something your father tried to follow, but this time the war seemed to be different. This time everything seemed to be bigger.

You finished getting ready, your hair done, your usual daily gown on. One of the few things you allowed servants to do was clean and bringing in your food. You ate breakfast quickly, something simple and light before you headed off down the hall to start your day.

Your father’s personal attendant caught your attention, “Your highness your father requests your presence in his cabinet room immediately.” You followed him through the palace to meet your father.

Entering the room you noticed a few things. First, you noticed that it was unusually full of people, most of the time when your father requested your presence here it only had a handful of advisors. Your mother was present, which was unusual in itself as your father did all the political dealings of your planetary system, your mother mainly handled charities. All of your father’s cabinet members were present, which did not happen often, because this included the governors of each planet and their aide’s. And lastly, there were people you did not recognize, a ginger-haired man, a male dressed all in black who donned a black helmet that obscured his face, and several white armor-clad soldiers who you knew to be stormtroopers.

Your father stood as you entered, but no one else. “Ah, my dearest won’t you join us?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an order. You could tell he was wearing his fake political smile, the one he wore when dealing with foreign dignitaries and the like.

You bowed your head to the others in the room, offering a small smile as you took your seat next to the governors. In this room, you were ranked below them, but above the rest of the cabinet. You knew something was in the works. Your father never usually received guests in this room, that was left to the throne room or a parlor, or on rare occasions his own private study. You couldn’t read the datapads, but you could tell something major was in the works.

You heard the crisp accent of the ginger-haired man speak, “It is a pleasure and honor that you could join us, princess.” His voice was exact and his pronunciation defined.

You were taught propriety and etiquette. “As it is to make your acquaintance.”

He gave you his name, “General Hux.” His steely teal eyes analyzing your every movement, almost like you were a target in battle.

“General Hux,” you repeated the name sticking to your frontal cortex. Why was a general of a foreign army sitting in your father’s cabinet room? So you glanced back at your father.

“It is an honor to have the First Order join us on such an occasion. I believe an agreement can be made between our peoples. One that will benefit us all.” Your father’s words clanged like a bell. He spoke to the General but you could see his eyes dart to you.

Your face scrunched momentarily in confusion before your royal training kicked in and your face became your usual mask. The mantra of ‘royalty never wears their hearts on their sleeve’ played in your head.

You then turned your head to the General as he spoke, “It is a pleasure to be here. The Supreme Leader would be most pleased with an agreement. But as we have spoken, there must be something to bind the deal. We both have a problem that needs to be solved.” He was like your father, speaking to him but his eyes darted to you.

You then realized most of the attention in the room was focused on you. Something you were and weren’t used to. Your mother was the only other woman present in the room, the male gaze was crushing. But you knew it was better for your father to explain things than to speak out of turn. You were a guest in his cabinet room, as were the First Order, but you had little right to speak even as the princess. Unless you were spoken to or the floor was open, you were to keep your mouth shut.

Your mother and you were not like the women of your planets, you were not ‘free.’ You were expected to abide by tradition, to let men lead. You would never have the crown, that would always go to your husband since your father failed to produce a son. Or if your father were to die before you got married, the crown would go to some distant cousin of yours. You were born to serve your people and to serve the crown. That was your duty, and one day your duty would be to your husband.

Your father spoke again, “Yes, I agree with what the Supreme Leader, I believe he has agreed to the offer I have given him. Has he not?” Again his eyes darted to you as he spoke to the General. You watched as your mother failed to uphold the mantra, her mask breaking, her brow worried.

Hux lifted his chin in agreement, “He has. And he has requested that the binding be done as soon as possible.” His face then turned to you, but it was your father that called your attention.

“Ah, yes my dearest this involves you. The First Order has agreed to give us much needed protection in exchange for a portion of our resources. In order to conclude the agreement I have offered your hand in marriage.” His eyes were watching you as the news sunk in. He was handing you off to them, in exchange for the safety and future of your people. A sacrifice you knew you may one day have to make.

Your mask remained as you nodded to him, “And who am I marrying?” Your mother looked worried, her mask fractured. She only married into this life, she wasn’t born into it, she wasn’t trained from birth. Your father had the privilege to marry for love, something you might have been able to do if they had a son as well. But you were their only daughter, so you were going to have to marry someone that could one day become king, someone who would rule your people, something you couldn’t do.

Someone new spoke, a distorted and haunting sound said, “Me.” You turned your head to look at the man clad in all black. His helmet, his mask, obstructing any and all view of who he may be. The visor was so black that you doubted that there were even eyes behind it.

You heard the General clear his throat, “You will be marrying Commander Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, and the Supreme Leader’s apprentice,” but your eyes did not leave the concealed man beside him as he spoke.  

‘Royalty never wears their hearts on their sleeve.’ You tore your gaze from the Commander to return to your father’s face. “When will the wedding be?” Your voice was calm to those who did not know you, but you knew your parents could tell otherwise. As your mother’s face was painted with disdain before she tried to conceal her emotions.

Your father held your eye, “Tomorrow.” You could tell that if he were to speak any more than one word that he would have failed the mantra. This wasn’t something he wanted to do, but it was something that had to be done.

You quickly blinked a few times while taking one deep breath, all eyes in the room were still on you. You could not fail your people, you always knew your freedom was the price for theirs. A sacrifice you would always have to make. You turned your head back to the obscure man, “I would be honored to be your wife Commander.”

You watched as he lifted his chin in acknowledgment of you, but didn’t say anything. You could not tell what he was thinking behind that mask. It was like staring into the cold void of space, just as haunting, but somehow more forgiving.

Your father stood in fake excitement. “Then it is settled. We will have a small ceremony here tomorrow and then we will bid the happy couple goodbye.” You could tell this wasn’t something he wanted, but he had your people to protect, and this war was not the same one your grandfather saw.

Again it was General Hux that did the speaking, “Yes, shall we finish the rest of the agreement now?” It seemed apparent your presence was no longer needed. You were there just to be told you were to be married and that was it.

Your father nodded at the General, “Yes,” he then turned to you and said, “You can go now my dearest, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

As you stood up to leave could have sworn you could feel the Commander’s gaze as you left, but as you shut the door behind you, you could see that wasn’t true. His helmet facing forward to your father. He looked like a stoic statue, unmoving and menacing. Once the door was shut you practically ran back to your room, well, moved as quickly as you could because you were still in the presence of others. The staff couldn’t see your emotions falter, they were your people and your duty was to them. The mantra played on repeat as your feet carried you down the hall and eventually into your room, the door shutting behind you.

You crawled up into the large sitting window that you usually read in, the one you often played in as a child. As the tears began to fall from your face and as your vision began to blur you looked outside. The pale grey sky was now dark, and lightning sparked overhead. But what good would tears do now? Your duty was to your people, to keep them free. You always knew you would never have freedom, so what were you mourning? You blinked away the tears as fast as they started. You watched the brewing storm while your body felt numb. You had two mantras, ‘royalty never wears their hearts on their sleeve’ and ‘your duty was to the crown and its people.’ Two halves to the mask you had to wear.

Your tears were long dried up as you heard a knock on the door. You got up to answer it, your mother’s seamstress came bustling in with a rack of dresses and fabric behind her. “Up in front of the mirror your highness.” She was an older woman that didn’t take any nonsense or anything from anyone. You did as you were told and she immediately threw fabrics against your skin analyzing how they would look. You didn’t have much say in the matter, you almost never did unless it came to your daily gowns. You liked being as independent as possible but most of the time choices were made for you.

You were with her alone for a few minutes before your mother entered the room. She looked like she had been crying more than you had. Her mask always failed as she was too sentimental. She stood back for a few moments as the seamstress continued to work. She seemed to be unsatisfied with just the fabric as she pulled off pre-made dresses.

“No, she should wear something proper, something made for her. She is a princess after all.” Your mother pleaded with the seamstress. Her voice also reflected that she had been crying.

“I wish it were that easy your highness, but the wedding is tomorrow and she needs a dress. None of these fabrics work well against her skin or her body type. However, this dress does.” She held it up to you.

“But is it something a common girl can get? I don’t want her wearing something off of the rack. She only gets one wedding for crying out loud.” Your mother was on the verge of a meltdown. She was taking all of this much farther than you were, and it was supposed to be your wedding. But you felt as if it had yet to sink in properly, you wondered just how long she had known about this whole arrangement.

The seamstress shook her head, “No, it is a dress that I had designed for the both of you, I had the intention of dying it with an ombre effect but as of now it’s our best bet as a dress.” She was right, none of the other dresses on the rack seemed like a wedding dress, and as amazing as she was you doubted she could make a whole new one in time.  

Your mother still didn’t seem convinced, but you just wanted this all to be over with, “I will take this dress. You are right, I do need a dress, this is a one-of-a-kind dress so it will work. There is no need to fuss over anything.” You wanted them both to leave, the reminder that you would be leaving tomorrow after the wedding reminded you that you needed to pack. Something that could be quite an ordeal for a short trip let alone picking up and moving your whole existence.

Your mother let out a huff of frustration but relented to your will, and she followed the seamstress out of the room. You were alone again, but before you let any bad thoughts in your mind take over you began to pack. It felt odd, packing your life up, the only life you had ever known. Especially within a few hours, you were going to have a new life as someone’s wife, a life of the unknown. A man you could barely even say that you had met, was going to be the one dictating your life and eventually one day your people.

You were midway through packing all of your summer/spring dresses when you heard another knock on the door. Opening the door, you were met with the face of your father. You let him in. As he entered, you could see that his hands were folded behind his back and his attention was focused on the floor. His usual contemplation walk, something was weighing on his mind.

“You know I had no choice,” he finally broke the uneasy silence between you. His eyes still cast down to the ground, his voice sounded as if he was between a hard place and on the verge of crying. His usual almost invisible cracks in his mask.

You faced him squarely, “I know.” It seemed as if both of your parents were taking this harder than you were. Your mask hadn’t faltered since the meeting, you only removed it when you were alone.

He brought his eyes up to meet yours for a second as he stopped pacing about, but then he resumed his contemplative walk. “I know it isn’t the decision my father would have made, but the Supreme Leader made an offer I couldn’t refuse. In many ways we are the ones winning in this deal, you are the only sacrifice.” You watched as his fists clenched and unclenched as he spoke. His vision always keeping you in sight but never looking directly at you. You knew he feared your reaction.

“My duty is to the crown and my people, and I will do whatever is asked of me. I have known this day would come since I was a little girl.” Your voice was firm and sure, you did know what your duty was. Yes, you had a hope that you might have been able to fall in love with someone, but you knew realistically that it would not happen.

Your father completely stopped pacing, standing before you with his fists now at his sides. He flexed his hands twice before his palms laid flat against his thighs. “I know, and I will be forever grateful for this. As will be our people. I just wish it could have happened under better circumstances. A war like no other is brewing, and we need to protect ourselves.” He held your gaze firmly, you knew he meant every word he said. He was speaking as the king now, and not your father. His mask is now perfect and rigid. He nodded once to you, before turning and leaving.

You were left alone once more as you continued to pack, later a servant came and delivered your lunch. Something that was rather unusual, but you wondered if the negotiations were still happening. Your father on a rare occasion would host an official luncheon to make deals like this, and that is when you usually had meals in your room. This is what you assumed was happening, you didn’t want to know all of the details even if you weren’t privileged enough to know them.

The hours ticked by as you finished packing away your life, the already gloomy light from your windows dissipating with each passing hour. There was a knock on the door, only this time it was a servant informing you that dinner would be ready in an hour and that you would be joining the guests from earlier.  

This meant it was a formal dinner that you had to prepare for, something you hadn’t exactly planned on. This meant you had to wear one of the dresses you planned on leaving behind, one of the ones you would not prefer to wear, but it left you no choice other than to unpack what you had just packed. You put on the most suitable one you could find, one that had a lower neckline than you preferred as an unwed maiden, but you figured if your soon-to-be husband would be there that it wouldn’t be the worst option ever. You finished getting ready, putting more effort into your appearance than this morning. Hair done, makeup on, accessorized, and ready to face the music.

You walked down the long corridor to the formal grand dining room. Usually, your parents and you would use a small dinette area to eat as you preferred to be together that was versus the large airy and rather empty dining room. When you entered you noticed that your father’s cabinet and governors were also staying for the meal. You were greeted kindly as you sat down.

Your father sat at the head of the table, your mother beside him, and you beside her.

Directly facing your helmeted fiance and in between him and your father was the red-headed General. Your mother and you kept light conversation between yourselves as your father spoke to your guests.

But the General caught your attention, “The wedding will happen tomorrow early afternoon, both the Commander and I are now needed in the Hoth sector. So I do apologize for the rush.”

Your father chuckled and responded for you, “There is no need to apologize. It needs to happen either way, and this way both sides don’t get cold feet.” He then took a rather dramatic sip of wine. The General gave a small seemingly forced smile in kind.

Your fiance was the only one not eating, there was an empty plate in front of him, you supposed that it had something to do with the helmet. But his attention seemed to be on you the whole meal. Feigning to stay silent as conversation moved around him, his helmet facing you. Both your father and the General did not seem off-put by his muteness. You wondered if your whole marriage was going to be like this or would he eventually warm up to you?

Your father seemed to have a fake and dramatic jovialness to him the whole night, and your mother seemed to do her best to mimic this. The rest of the cabinet and governors did not seem to pay much attention, but then again they never really got to see who your parents were behind the mask of decorum and duty.

You were the first to turn in for the night; you didn’t have much conversation other than a bit with your mother. Your father’s cabinet and governors only tended to speak with you when they absolutely had to and your father was too wrapped up in conversation with the General, there wasn’t much keeping you here.

As you walked away, you could hear your father loudly say, “She needs her beauty sleep for tomorrow.” And you heard the laughter of men fill the room. And for some reason even though you knew he didn’t mean a word of it, it stung. You were about to be handed off like a piece of property in trade and none of them cared.

Getting ready for bed your brain was filled with questions that you knew you probably wouldn’t get answers to anytime soon or if at all. Would your husband keep his helmet on during the wedding ceremony? Would this be a normal marriage or just a marriage on paper? Would he expect you to do your ‘wifely duties’ every night or when he asked for them? When would children come into the conversation? Or better yet what was his first name or is it just Commander Ren? You knew absolutely nothing about the man you would marry in just a few short hours, and this kept you up through the night tossing and turning.

A maid came to wake you up or rather to tell you to get out of bed since you really didn’t sleep at all. You had barely started your breakfast before your mother’s lady’s maids pulled you into the refresher to start a bath and to get you ready; they were muttering something about the amount of work needing to be done to get you presentable. By the end of it all, you were as smooth as a baby and just as hairless too. One of the older women said that no man should have to wade through a jungle on his wedding night. They put you in a robe and dumped you in front of the vanity as they got to work on your hair and makeup. Never seeming to try to include you in any real conversation, after all, they weren’t your attendants, they were your mother’s.

By the time you were able to look at a clock, you could see that it was only an hour before your wedding. Around this time your mother entered the room, just as you were finishing up all of your extensive preparations. She put both hands on your shoulders as she looked at you through the mirror, choosing not to directly face you.

Her voice reflected her disdain about the whole affair, “I will tell you what my mother told me: when your eyes are open keep your legs shut, but when your legs are open keep your eyes shut. Remember your grandmother was in an arranged marriage with your grandfather.”

You didn’t know if she was trying to comfort you or give you horrid advice, “But I thought they had a good marriage?”

Your mother shook her head, “They did eventually, but that was what she told me before my wedding night, and your father and I married for love. You do not have that privilege so that is why I am telling you this. Love may eventually come your way but you will need to get over being strangers first. And unfortunately, if your soon-to-be husband is like most men you will be expected to consummate the marriage tonight. So remember what I said, keep your eyes shut, maybe persuade him to turn off the lights. If you do that, it will make everything a lot easier.” You didn’t really know how that would make things easier. You had yet to see this man’s face so how would choosing not to make anything easier?

“I will.” You wanted this conversation over with, you had been mulling over similar thoughts all night but none of your worryings would actually help you. You would do what you would have to do. In a little less than a half-hour, your soon-to-be husband would represent more of the crown than you did, and you would have to respect and obey that. You were both silent for a few minutes before your father entered the room.

Your parents just looked at each other for a few moments, having some sort of silent communication, before your mother left the room. Your father was here to walk you down the aisle. He seemed to be at a loss for words but he managed to say, “You look beautiful.”

All you could really do was look at him before responding with a quiet, “Thank you.” He then held out his arm, and you took it. Knowing he was about to lead you into the impossible unknown. Something you wished as a little girl would never happen, but here you were being led down the aisle in the throne room to meet your masked betrothed. That was one question that you had answered. Yes, he would be wearing it to the wedding.

Your father conducted the ceremony, which for a royal wedding was rather short. In the exchanging of vows, you learned that the Commander’s first name was Kylo. His voice was distorted and intimidating the whole time through his helmet. The kiss was awkward, you paused for a moment after your father said the famous words, “You may now kiss the Bride.”

You waited to see if your now husband would remove his helmet, but he didn’t. You were forced to inelegantly kiss the cold metal of his helmet. Something that did not reciprocate your warmth, something that blocked your ability to know who this man was that you had just married. But your father started the gaiety as you two broke apart, the room filled with fake joy. It made you feel for a split second that this was an actual wedding and not the sealing of a contract. Although you had the rings to prove it, you did not feel as if you had just been married. No you felt as if you were just traded away.

The ‘celebration’ moved into the formal grand dining room once more for a light luncheon, because soon you and now husband would have to leave so he could head off to who knows where to do who knows what. Your husband still refrained from eating as others seemed to mull about and enjoy themselves. Although you ate you stayed by his side throughout most of it, having to put on a fake smile, your own mask, as people congratulated you two. He still did not seem to speak, it was almost as if you had just married a droid.

It wasn’t long before your reception was over and you were being escorted to a shuttle. Your mother couldn’t seem to look you in the face as she hugged you goodbye, and your father’s mask was resilient at not showing you how he was truly feeling. But you could tell this wasn’t what they wanted, but it was what needed to be done. ‘Royalty never wears their hearts on their sleeve’ and ‘your duty was to the crown and its people’ were exactly what was chanting silently in your head as you walked into the shuttle after giving your parents hugs.

Your things had already been sent to the main ship, the Finalizer. And you felt rather out of place. Not only was the entire ride silent other than the pilots needing to speak to one and other and the space traffic control for landing. You also looked out of place, everyone else on the shuttle was wearing their uniform, but in many ways, you stood out with the Commander. He was not in any sort of similar uniform to those around you, and you were in a wedding dress. All in all, it made you feel rather exposed for the first time, even though you were modestly dressed.

When the shuttle landed you both unbuckled, you half expected him to hold out his arm to you but instead, he barely paused on the exit ramp before telling you to, “Follow me.” It wasn’t pleasant, it was quick and harsh. It made you feel as if you were an obstacle in his life, something he would have to deal with instead of trying to work with.

You followed him through the halls, your hands folded in front of you as you watched officers and stormtroopers dodge out of the way. This was the first time you ever felt like you were some sort of spectacle, you had always lived in the public eye, but now you could really feel the judgment. You were walking behind your husband, and you looked absolutely out of place on a military vessel. He walked like he belonged here, or rather this place belonged to him, whereas you felt as if you were trespassing on someone else’s ship, a frightful guest trying not to impose on anything.

He paused for a split second as the doors to his chambers opened, or rather your chambers. They felt empty. Nothing in them screamed that someone lived here. There were no personal effects, nothing to say that this was a personal permanent residence. You sheepishly followed him into the bedroom. Where you could see your luggage piled up into a corner.

There was no speaking, only uncomfortable silence before you heard his belt hit the floor and the order to “Strip.” He was planning on consummation then, with no prior discussion or preamble. Your hands shook as you tried to comply. Reaching behind yourself to undo the zipper. In a half of a moment, you were now in just your underwear before him, showing more of yourself to him at this moment than you had to any man ever. He was stripped down to just his pants.

Through the distortion of the helmet you heard your next order, “I said strip. Once you are, lie back on the bed.” So it was going to be closer to what your mother said than you had initially thought. You were going to consummate your marriage with less than a hundred words spoken between you two other than your vows. But you obeyed.

Now you were fully exposed to him as you lied back on the bed. You didn’t know if you should cover yourself out of embarrassment or if that would only result in further scolding. So you decided to keep your hands as fists at your sides. Just lying there naked for him to take in. So he was nude except for the helmet, but you felt as if you would be scolded for asking why it was still on.

He brought a hand in between your legs, touching the delicate folds there. You remembered what your mother said, and you screwed your eyes shut. His hand seemed to rub along your slit before a finger was thrust inside of you. Causing you to gasp and grab the sheets. “What are you doing?” Your eyes now open wide as you looked him in his masked eye.

You heard a modulated huff of frustration before he said, “I thought you would appreciate some preparation for your first time. Before I fuck you. You are a virgin are you not?”

Your lip trembled, out of both fear and light pleasure. “I am,” you said barely above a whisper. You could feel your body wash over with shame at the admittance. In this moment he made you feel as if being a virgin wasn’t enough, that somehow it wasn’t good enough. But you were taught to be a maiden until your wedding night, where your husband would claim you as his own. And now you felt as if, he didn’t want you. Something that struck you with humiliation straight to your core. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that it would be enough to mask your feelings.

“This will be the only time you get it, so relish in it, princess.” Your title came out as a harsh bite rather than a sweet gesture. He quickly inserted another finger, stretching you and then another. Preparing you for his cock, but there was little warning as he pulled his fingers out of you before he slammed himself fully inside of you. There was a loud perverted groan coming from your husband as he did so.

He did not even let you fully adjust to him as he began relentlessly assaulting your cervix. Your body clenched tightly around him, causing him to elicit another monstrous sounding moan. You had no idea how long you were there, under him as he indulged in his carnal desire. But you knew it was over after he filled you with hot cum. You received no pleasure from the exchange as he pulled out and got off the bed.

You tentatively opened your eyes as you heard movement in the refresher attached to the room. He came back with a wet cloth and rather roughly cleaned you up before pulling his pants back on. “This will be the only time you receive any sort of cleanup from me.” He was making his stance known to you.

You timidly watched as he redressed himself in the clothes that he had taken off. As you saw him prepare to leave you had a hint of courage to ask. “Where are you going?”

He sharply turned his head towards you, “To my room. This,” he gestured behind himself, “is your room. I should make it known that I expect you to perform your wifely duties whenever I want them.” And he stepped out the door which shut behind him. Leaving you all alone on your wedding night, freshly fucked, without an ounce of sympathy thrown your way.

A/N: https://www.unchainedatlast.org/about-arranged-forced-marriage/ National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #masking the heart #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #kylo x you #arranged marriage au #star wars imagine #star wars

[countryshitposts]

You're Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

The Entirety of Your Life Belongs to Your Dear Mother

Countryhumans Mafia AU.

AO3 Link

Trigger Warnings; murder, death, violence, shootings, guns, mentions of rape, assault and prostitution

-

Name Guides;

Nippon Teikoku- Japan Empire

Nippon Koku- Japan

Daehan Minguk- South Korea

Choson Inmin- North Korea

Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

Daehan Jeguk- Korean Empire

Nabi- Colonial Korea, belongs to @redffeather

-

"Please, we need to find my mother!" The teenager says as he rests his elbows on to the department's desk, and America pinches the bridge of her nose as another sigh erupts from her.

(If America had to pinpoint where the whole agency started to take the whole Teikoku thing seriously and making him public enemy number one, it had to be here.)

"Look kid, our hands are full with loads of cases", America replies, not even glancing to the direction of the grovelling teenager and his uncle, who was rubbing his shoulders to calm him down. "Especially with a lot of mafia cases popping up lately, I believe that a missing woman ain't our number one priority."

"What my sister is trying to say", Canada jumps in, simply because of the fact he thinks that America saying truthful words is more criminal than the problems they are facing, "is that we will solve the case of your mother once we solve the problems evolving around the whole city." He gives her a pointed look but she rolls her eyes- her brother would do anything to prove her wrong.

"What's your name again, young man?", Philip asks the boy in front of the desk as he enters the reception desk with a notepad. "To remember your plea."

(America knows that once the boy files his name into the notepad Philip would tear the paper and burn it.)

"Daehan Minguk", the boy replies with a small stutter, and he points to the man with him, "this is my uncle, Daehan Imsi."

Philip nods, "Is he your only family?"

"No. I have a mother, Nabi- she was taken by a mob boss many years ago-"

"Wait a minute", Canada holds out a hand to stop Minguk's rambles. "Your mother was taken by a mob boss? Who, may I ask?"

"His name was Teikoku", Imsi speaks up, jaw hardening and a hand subconsciously lingering on his shoulder like it holds his most painful memories. America perks up at that name, and so do the others in the police station. "He murdered my brother - Daehan Jeguk - and Nabi had to... abide to him." His voice becomes strained as he wipes away a tear that had escaped the prison of his eye. "I told her that she didn't need to, but she tells me to run with the twins before she was dragged away by that bastard, and I never saw her since."

"Wait, Minguk had a twin?" Philip scribbles briefly on his notepad before pointing the pen to the uncle-nephew duo.

Imsi nods, "His name is Inmin, but he left our home to join a mob as he becomes more desperate to find his mother." There was a slight edge in his voice, as if that is not the only thing about Inmin they need to know- on the other hand, Minguk was quick to change the subject from his brother; he rambles on about the spots where he had previously looked for Nabi, with Canada reassuring that justice will be brought to his family while Philip nods agreeably as he takes more notes.

In the meanwhile, America looks at them with a bored look on her eyes as she disinterestedly fiddles with her pen. She had remembered being involved in a mafia mob, once- her father was a mob boss and devours territory after territory before settling with her mother for a night and having her. She didn't have much memories of it since her father keeps her from such affairs until even when he was arrested of his crimes. He remembers embracing her before the trial, before he is declared life in prison and she and her siblings bid her goodbye.

And three weeks later America discovers her father had broken out of jail, with no news of where he went.

"... America!" She blinks once again, looking around and seeing that the two were already gone, replaced with Australia and New Zealand who were handling paper documents.

"What?", she snaps at them with a scowl, completely annoyed at the fact that they decided to wake her from her dream produced out of boredom.

"We were talking about the Teikoku case", Canada says, cup of coffee in his hand. "About what we're going to do to him and his colleagues."

America groans, "So you guys are really taking this case seriously now, huh? All because of a son wanting his mother to come back..." She catches the cup of coffee sliding towards her and takes a sip of it, savouring its bitter taste on her tongue.

"Not only that", Kiwi replies with a sigh, "there's been a rivalry brewing within all mafia mob clans this time. A... territorial feud."

"Territorial feuds are the reason why dad got arrested", America crosses her arms, pursing her lips at the memory. "Alright, what's the recent news of the mobs?"

"Two mobs - Poland and Reich - had exchanged bullets today near the public square", Australia responds as he points to a sector of the map, "reason was that Reich accused rival mob boss of murdering a colleague of his."

"Wait a minute- Reich?" America tries to remember who had the name before her mind clicks to the one family of the Deutsches. They had been a rampant mafia family when she was just a nobody officer, but they heavily weakened to the point the former - and late - mob boss of the family, Deutsches Reich, had to run away to another city. "Didn't the last one die and leave his incompetent son in place?"

"Weimar's records seem to have been erased from every company he seems to have been, it seems." Australia fiddles around another stack of papers. "And replaced with Reich's records. Strange, since his kids, West and Ost still have their birth certificates intact."

"That's another mystery the others will solve", America replies, brushing the case off of her shoulders. "I'm talking about how Canada doomed us all by promising two people that we can return their mother to them."

Canada scoffs, crossing his arms, "And we will get his mother back from Teikoku."

"Canada, Teikoku's mob is one of the most dangerous mafia groups I have ever seen in my entire life." America leans back on her chair with a huge sigh, like she has done a lot other than sit on the same chair and answer calls all day.

"But you love danger, don't you?" She stops, feeling Canada's glee from a mile. Her mind tells her she's been caught in her own game and now she actually has to work in this operation to break into Teikoku's most private grounds.

America jumps back to proper shape. "First of all, I ain't seducing Teikoku to the point he spills his disgusting secrets down to the floor."

Canada's smirk grows wider. "We aren't telling you to let the asshole fuck you, my god."

"Does the guy have any relatives outside of him, himself and he?"

"He does", Kiwi starts, flipping through another load of documents. He starts to spread photos of the selected individuals around the desk. "Alright so apparently his father was the former billionaire Tokugawa Shogunate. His mother was a prostitute-turned wife named Edo, and he has two brothers, Tokyo, and Koku- the latter happens to be his half-brother, whose mother is Azuchi-Monoyama."

America blinks wildly at the two pictures of both Koku and Teikoku. Their eyes were as grey as a dark rain cloud over the horizon, threatening to spill its tears into the buildings, their hair as dark as night and smoothed into perfection (Koku's hair was longer than Teikoku's much uptight one though), their face shape more refined and so similar, even more than Tokyo, who was Teikoku's whole brother. The only things that were different is the aura they perceive; Teikoku wants respect and fear, eyes shining with dozens of ambition and malicious intent, while Koku's shine with some form of kindness and perceived innocence, like he has never done something wrong his entire life.

"They look like twins", America states matter-of-factly, and her brothers all roll their eyes at her statement.

"Yeah, which is the reason why Teikoku likes him even more than his own kids." Kiwi takes out two more pictures, "two daughters, one son; Hokkaido - mother is Ezo - Palau, and Okinawa, whose mother is the lost Ryūkyū."

"Testaments from Teikoku's colleagues and victims state that he's quite fond of his brother too", Aussie replies. "Well, someone has to bribe Koku into their bidding." He gives a pointed look at America and she scowls.

"I have a bet that Koku's his second-in-command", Canada says. "It's why he's in Teikoku's good graces."

"Well then", America stands, cup of coffee on her hand, "we'll talk about it with the others later, on what we're going to do with Teikoku's mob."

-

"Tell me, Minguk", Philip says in a much softer voice as he takes out his notepad. "Can you remember how they took your mother?"

Minguk was sitting, legs wide as his hands clasp together, expression looking mournful like a baby animal crawling back to their dead mother which had become victim to the cruel clutches of the circle of life, but the youngling must continue and will fall the same fate as their mother. He takes a deep breath, looking at Philip and everyone else in the room before exhaling loudly, sweat dripping from his forehead like he was forcefully being interrogated by a crime he has or has not committed.

"I was eight, when it all happened..."

"Hurry Minguk!", his mother's soft voice echo through the long and winding alleyways, but his little feet was not enough to carry him through a long and treacherous journey. He waddles as fast as he can, his family members a few steps ahead of him but it felt like they were running away from him now. Overwhelmed with the sense of fear and dread in his senses, eyes staining with tears he fell over and starts to cry, only to be scooped up by his father, who caught up with Nabi - who has Inmin - and Imsi.

He hears loud sounds coming from the corner they had just turned, and he couldn't help but shake a little as his little body snuggled more into his father's shirt, who was sweating much but it was fine, his father is scared, from the way his heart starts to thump.

"Appa, what's happening?" Minguk's small voice finds its way to his father's ears, and between huffs he answered.

"It's nothing, Minguk... there are bad people chasing us... but we can get away from them." There was a small loss of hope in the last sentence, something Minguk notices but did not get; they will get out of here, from the bad man chasing them away from their home.

Another loud BANG! sounds from behind the corners and with a choked cry of pain his father falls down and Minguk yelps, his fear starting to form. He lands on the hard ground as strange liquid comes out of his father's head.

"Appa? Appa!", Minguk shouts as he crawls towards his father's sleeping body, nudging at him to wake up. "Appa, it's no time for sleep, remember? Please wake up!" The young boy touches the part of his father's head pouring out the strange red liquid; it was thick and somewhat slimy, and it crawls onto his hands and clothes with a sense of vengeance. He hears Eomma scream from somewhere ahead of them and feels himself being scooped up by familiar warm arms. He struggles against her strong arms, shouting and kicking and getting the liquid from Jeguk's body into her sleeves. He needs to be there for his father when he wakes up, he needs to tell him what has happened.

"We need to leave now, Nabi", Imsi says, carrying Inmin's small frame, his younger brother looking at Appa's body with wide eyes.

(Why is uncle asking them to leave? Appa is sleeping on the ground!)

Eomma does not listen, as Minguk feels her shaking, trying to hold him as she falls to her knees and her chest heaving as she releases her nerve-racking sobs, making the whole world turn dark and blurry. Even Minguk wishes to cry too, as he tugs on her sleeve and keep inquisitively telling her what is happening, but it was as if a shield went through her and blocks out all the noise he is making. He tugs on her sleeve, on her dress and tries to uncover her face which are now being covered by her wet palms. Imsi's voice is now a muffled and distant whisper.

A small tsk tsk tsk starts to sound from in front of them, and a man kicks Jeguk's slumbering body away from them both. Minguk feels anger inside of him as he lets go of his mother - he hears her shout at him to go back to her arms - and to the towering and standing man above him.

"Oh Chōsen.", the bad man says, snickering and smirking all the way, looking at his mother. "You have no idea how much I wanted to do this."

"Jeguk paid his debt!", Eomma says through choked sobs, still looking at his father's body like she has just lost something dear to her. "Why would you do this?!"

Teikoku shrugs, as he looks at Minguk with those empty, gray eyes, before smiling maliciously back at Eomma. "For entertainment; I've been bored these past few weeks, and I figured I needed something to enlighten me."

"By killing my husband?! Putting my family in danger?!" She scoops up Minguk from where he was standing and he did not fight, as he feels his mother's heartbeat quicken.

"It doesn't have to be like this." The man steps on Appa's corpse like it was just a bump in the road, a speed bump and Minguk doesn't like it as he grits his teeth. He wants to fight him, he really does.

He pulls Minguk away from Eomma, who was now reaching for him with a small plea in her face, but Teikoku kicks Minguk away like a small animal. He starts to cry as he feels the rocky ashphalt come contact with his face and he feels two arms scoop him up, and now he is with Inmin. He massages the gash on his cheek as he looks at Eomma and Teikoku in horror.

Teikoku pulls Eomma up, her frame shaking as he puts his arms around her waist and pulls her closer into her. Eomma's eyes widen as she hears him speak and starts to cry even more than before, with uncle shaking his head.

"Nabi, don't- AGH!" Another bang sounds from the gun Teikoku was holding, straight through Imsi's shoulder, as he drops both Inmin and Minguk to the crowd, with both of them embracing each other for comfort. His ears were ringing from the loud sound, heart racing, as he closes his eyes.

When his eyes open, Eomma and the bad man were not there anymore.

Philip hands Minguk a tissue as he finishes his story, tears streaming down his face like a river with a thousand currents, the tear drops dripping into his jacket like rain in the most calming of mornings before it turns to solemn ones as the clouds go grey and dark as night, no sun to help them survive. Minguk wipes his face, sniffling a little, as everyone in this room share furtive glances with each other on what they were now about to do.

Canada casts America a look, and she crosses her arms while looking at him.

"Did you hear what Teikoku told Nabi?", Philip softly asks as he takes Minguk's hand like a father softly telling his son he had done nothing wrong.

(America can't blame him; Spain murdered his son in cold blood and now he's maddeningly trying to implant himself as a father figure to all he meets.)

"I didn't, but now, I do", his face hardens, resolve becoming more firm, "Teikoku had asked for her body for our freedom."

The entire room is silent; not even the air conditioner's buzz can penetrate nor shatter it. Philip tells Vietnam with a glance to take note and she does. America's throat was dry with anxiety, palms sweating and she didn't know why- she decides it was the officers' breathes, on how they were going to handle this situation and how they will plan this suicide mission out.

Canada speaks first, his voice deep, loud and firm to get everyone's attention. "Records state that Teikoku has brothels all over the city. Some has to infiltrate them, and others have to infiltrate his home."

-

Write; that is what Koku does in his spare time. Write anything that is on his mind with no hint of stopping as he scribbles on any piece of paper to write the words in his mind- be it inquisitive questions to everyday life, general snippets his brain manages to think of as he does work or chores (and he'd hate how he would forget the structure and saying of the words once he is now seated on a table with a piece of paper on his hands), or even the shortest of stories or little prompts his mind gears generate and letting his writing skills be honed for the best. He studies the short sentence he had made for the fourth time, before crumpling it and throwing the paper into the bin.

(His brother had gifted him a laptop on his birthday three years ago, but he rarely uses it unless it's around Teikoku or when he needed something for printing.)

A small butterfly perches on his window, and he smiles peacefully, a sigh on his lips as he stares at its wings, a fiery blaze of fire like familiar ambitious eyes staring back at him before fluttering away, only to be eaten by a bird nestling into the tree. Koku cringes as he hears the crunch of the butterfly, before deciding what he'll write next.

In the meanwhile, Teikoku takes a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it and putting the damn thing in his mouth, as he looks at the documents on his table with a content look on his face. His gray eyes look up for a moment to check what time it is in the window displayed in front of him, before his cigarette drops to the ground, mouth agape.

In front of his window are a swarm of butterflies, seemingly looking at him with those little delicate wings of theirs.

#countryhumans #mine #writing #ameripan #countryhumans america #countryhumans japan #countryhumans australia #countryhumans canada #countryhumans japan empire #countryhumans colonial korea #countryhumans kpg #countryhumans korean empire #countryhumans north korea #countryhumans south korea #countryhumans new zealand

[unlockthelore]

Can’t Afford Love

Approximately five years ago, Kurama expected to be in the realm of his birth — surrounded by demons and spirits, the supernatural to which was only fiction in the realm of humans — but fate had other plans and he reaped what he sowed for his sentimentality. It wasn’t all bad though. Blessed with a group of friends that were akin to family, a mother who loved him with all that she had, and a partner though prickly in nature was a steady pillar of support in his darkest hour — he could have been in worst situations. Alas, not all things were golden and he was forced to admit that despite his acceptance of his human captivity, there were things that were unavoidable.

One of his friends catching feelings for him wasn’t something that he wanted to endure. The idea of rejecting them, of breaking this peace that he had, it was worrying. But he hardly believed that something would occur that would tear them away from him. Maya’s involvement with Yatsude put it into perspective that no matter how “human” Kurama might have been, there were some things that were simply unavoidable. He hadn’t expected her family to move away after it all happened or the void that would be left.

His worries lingering as he looked to Kuwabara, Keiko and Yusuke. His eyes lingering on Yusuke the longest, the picture of his smile seared into Kurama’s mind and his heart ached as he thought of what it would mean.

Without being asked, Hiei kept an eye on his friends to reassure him that they weren’t in danger by any others trying to challenge the pair for their territory. And on one such day, while Kurama worked on his homework at his desk and Hiei was perched on the windowsill, he said the words that Kurama dreaded most.

“You’re aware that he has feelings for you, aren’t you?”

Kurama swallowed thickly. Hiei had already told him that Kuwabara went home and met with his sister halfway, Keiko was walked home by Yusuke and the pair exchanged a few words with their usual bickering before parting ways. So the only one he could be talking about was — Yusuke. Kurama narrowed his eyes at his notebook, his eraser tapping lightly against the printed ink, though his mind was far removed from the problems before him to face the one at hand.

Even though Yusuke tried to hide it, he wasn’t the most subtle of people. The faint blush that dusted his cheeks when Kurama smiled at him, walking closer to him when they were heading home together, his hand brushing against Kurama’s own with their fingers close enough to lace together but missing at the last second. Whether he or Yusuke pulled away, Kurama isn’t sure but neither of them speak on it. Nights he spends over at the Minamino’s, either falling asleep on the couch or the floor, yet somehow ending up next to Kurama in his bed.

Then it’s the way that he looks at him. With that lopsided smile that he normally gives Keiko, a conspiratorial grin when they’re seconds away from pulling off one of his schemes. Or the soft smiles when they lay side by side and Kurama pretends to be asleep, just to see him like that for a bit longer with a halo of dark hair fanned out across the pillow they share.

Letting his pencil fall with a clatter, he tucked his mouth against his hand and narrowed his eyes at the wall. Perhaps it wasn’t Yusuke who was falling but Kurama righted himself before he could descend any further. Entertaining ideas of being with him would only lead them both down a path of no return and he didn’t want to hurt Yusuke. But the world he belonged to was one that he couldn’t bring him along.

“…I am.” Kurama finally said, letting his gaze drift to Hiei’s waiting form. The fire demon’s eyes glowing bright crimson in the low light filtered through the curtains that he’s pushed aside to make room for him on the window sill.

He studies him quietly and says nothing. Likely letting the answer seep into the atmosphere between them but Kurama knows the stage is set and this is a conversation they are going to have. No matter how uncomfortable he feels it is.

“And you’re not going to erase his memory?” HIei asked evenly, as if he were requesting Kurama to perform a party trick.

Kurama shook his head and turned his head away. The idea of seeing Yusuke regard him with such confusion as Maya did was disheartening. And he wasn’t sure if he could fool the three of them into believing that there was no connection between them. Not when they were this interlaced in one another’s lives.

“Yusuke is not aware of all that I am,” Kurama explains, picking up his pencil and scratching the kanji of Yusuke’s name in the upper left corner of his paper. He’s helped heal Yusuke’s injuries, from fights or other incidents, with his energy but he never fully explained. As children, Yusuke believed with wide-eyed enthusiasm that he possessed magic and that trust was something he didn’t want to tarnish by revealing the truth. “There’s no need to erase his memories.”

“And if he knows? Would you erase his memory then?”

Kurama pressed his lips together to keep from stating something that he didn’t want to. From telling Hiei to just drop it. The question is a sound one. Yusuke knowing is a threat to the balance that they’ve set and would put him in the line of danger at that. But could he erase himself from Yusuke’s memories if he found out the truth? Could he alter not only his memories but that of others, make it seem as if they were never truly friends or simply fell out of a friendship with each other?

“He won’t know.”

Hiei’s footsteps are soundless but his presence is loud. He brushes past the back of Kurama’s chair, close enough that he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on in. “You plan for possibilities, don’t you?” Hiei asked, though it was more of a statement than a question, a derisive tone that pricked at Kurama’s nerves laced in to his cold veneer. “So in the chance that he does know, what will you do?”

Kurama turned slightly in his chair and though he didn’t have an answer, that in itself spoke volumes. His hand settled on the page and covered Yusuke’s name from view as if it were a treasure to be kept. And in his heart, he was. “I will deal with the situation should the need arise,” he muttered tensely, keeping Hiei’s gaze.

A moment of silence passed between them and the air was charged with something that Kurama couldn’t put to name. Then with a soft huff, Hiei averted his gaze and looked ahead of him.

“… Does he really hold that much value to you?”

Something in Kurama trembled. Irritation at being found out, confusion at how deep the feeling went, and derision because of course not — but also yes. Yusuke had been his friend since his human vessel was a child, they bonded and he was happy to be at his side. At their side.

“He has been a friend for a very long time.”

“Mm…” Hiei regarded him from the corner of his eye and the fire demon’s focus, while admirable, crept along Kurama’s skin as if he were being picked apart piece by piece. “So, if someone were to kill him..”

Kurama felt the spike in his energy but quickly quelled it, clenching his fist around the back of the chair. “They wouldn’t live long enough,” he promises, unwilling to think of Yusuke’s vacant eyes or what manner of foolish creature would try to take someone that held meaning to Youko Kurama.

He swallowed thickly and Hiei arched a brow before closing his eyes.

“You have feelings for him.”

Kurama tensed up slightly and his grip on the back of the chair tightened, the plastic creaking beneath his hold. “It doesn’t matter,” he reasons. Being with Yusuke was impossible considering that he was a human. He had no idea what Kurama trey was, and his feelings for Keiko ran deep. It was better that he focused on her, that he lived out his life as he was meant to.

Even if that put distance between them and he wasn’t able to hold onto his hand — Yusuke would be happy and alive. Lost in his thoughts, Kurama didn’t notice Hiei moved until the paper that his hand had been covering was slipped from beneath his grasp and turned face down. Staring down at it blankly, he tipped his head back to look into Hiei’s eyes.

“You were thinking something unnecessary again,” Hiei said with an arched brow, studying Kurama quietly. “If his feelings are that bothersome, I’ll change them.”

“Touch him and it will be the last thing you do,” Kurama said abruptly, his voice low and the threat was laced into the coldness of his tone. His plants, hidden among the furniture in his room, were primed and ready to confront a threat. Though he could sense their confusion. Hiei had been a fixture in his life for some time now and the idea of harming him wasn’t a fond one but Kurama wouldn’t abide by what he was offering. “I value our partnership, Hiei. Do not jeopardize it.”

Hiei’s gaze swept over him a few times before he huffed a laugh, climbing off Kurama’s desk and making his way to the window. The curtains were pushed aside, allowing the afternoon sun rays to flood through, haloing him in reds and oranges.

“He’s coming here,” Hiei said, undoing the window’s latch and pushing it open. Despite the threat that Kurama posed to him, he didn’t regard him with anger. Simply climbed onto the window sill and stared out at the city line with his back to him. “Apparently, he wanted to bring you…”

It wasn’t like Hiei to hesitate but when he did, Kurama’s heart hammered in his chest. Yusuke was coming here? And he was bringing something?

“Well, you’ll see…”

Before Kurama could say anything edge-wise, Hiei disappeared into the setting sun and left him with nothing but the soft breeze blowing at his curtains and a mind racing. Kurama sighed and sagged in his chair. He wasn’t sure what came over him to go so far as to threaten Hiei.

The last time such a thing occurred, the fire demon alluded to Shiori coming to harm. And that was another extreme that he took his time to work up to. Running his fingers through his hair a few times, he pushed away from his desk then headed downstairs, deciding to wait on Yusuke to make his appearance.

Sitting downstairs, Kurama turned on the television and curled up on one end of the couch allowing his mind to wander. The glass sliding door allowed him a view into the backyard and he could see the flower beds where he’d been tending to the arsenal he’d need for his triumphant return to the Makai. The same place where he came face to face with a barefoot boy, dirtied from the head down, with a smile that could light the sun. He found him annoying, wanting him to leave quickly, and gave him a flower at his behest. To his surprise, that same child with his sunny grin, returned to him with dim eyes and quivering hands to return the flower.

He learned later that whoever Yusuke tried to give the flower to denied it. And when he broke it, the grief he felt was secondhand — he was apologizing for something that he couldn’t control. Protecting him from the forces at work which turned him from a sweet laughing child to one who shouldered his pain and anger and answered with his fists was impossible. But he did his best to protect the heart inside of him, Kuwabara, Keiko, Maya and so many others trying to reach out to him. And the Yusuke that they loved had changed but at the core he was the same.

The same child who grasped his hand tightly and looked in awe at the difference between their lives. The one who told him that he was lucky to have Shiori and cried when he was shown kindness. Kurama’s nails cinched the skin of his palm and he held his hand close to his chest, diverting his attention to the screen blankly. He couldn’t let harm come to Yusuke. Not from him. The Makai and the Far Shore weren’t places that were meant for him. He was vibrant, burning brighter than the sun, and belonged to the world of the living.

If Kurama had it his way, he would be there for him and serve as his protector. The one who defended him from the darkness that’d undoubtedly try to swallow his light.

A soft click brought his attention back to reality and the backdoor sliding open. Yusuke smiled at him widely, his hair messy, uniform undone with his undershirt showing and his pants a bit lower than they were supposed to be. It was charming on him at the very least and from the state of his knuckles, he must have gotten into a fight before he came or on the way. He pulled off his shoes and set them aside, stepping in with careful steps.

Kurama pretended not to see him until he crept behind the couch and reached for his shoulder.

“Hello Yusuke.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see the fingers still and tremble before dropping limply to the back of the couch. “So much for a surprise,” Yusuke grumbled, leaning against the back of the couch instead, tipping forward to where Kurama could make out his face and his lopsided smile. Brown eyes flecked with hazel crinkled at the corners with obvious affection. “C’mon, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Kurama couldn’t help but return that smile. Yusuke’s always seemed to put him at ease. And despite the unrest he felt, he was warmed by the sight of it. “I am always happy to see you.”

A soft noise came from Yusuke, one of surprise and the pink dusting his cheek was adorable. His lips quirked into a sheepish smile, his chin tucking, a familiar gesture when he was young. Shyness that he kept aside and Kurama buried his mouth against his palm, trying not to smile.

“Well.. I’m here,” Yusuke muttered, climbing over the back of thee couch to drop beside him. As he sank into the cushions, he hesitated and tensed up, casting a look over his shoulder then up at Kurama. “Your mom’s not here, right?”

“She’s at work,” Kurama insisted, somewhat curious to what it was that he wanted for that to be important.

“That’s good…” Yusuke sighed, sagging against the cushions, his head tipped to one side, dark hair falling into his eyes.“She’d be on my ass for climbing on her couch like that.”

Kurama chuckled, reaching over to brush Yusuke’s hair from his eyes. “She worries about you.”

His eyes were wide and he regarded Kurama with such wonder that it was hard to look away. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, brushing his hand aside as he crossed his arms behind his head and leant back against the couch. “Yeah, yeah, I know… that’s what makes it weird.”

Kurama thought to ask about that. Why wasn’t he home? Where was his mother? The taboo topic of his father drifting across his tongue bitterly but none of the words are forth.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot..” Yusuke flashed him a smile temporarily stealing his breath away. “I proposed to Keiko again today.”

Remembering Hiei’s report about Yusuke walking Keiko home, Kurama felt his heart clench. The proposals weren’t something new. He’d seen Yusuke propose to Keiko three times in one day, sometimes to catch her off guard and others because he seemed genuinely serious. But the two of them were young and it wouldn’t happen although Keiko flat out rejected him, she’d smile with every one as Kuwabara teased Yusuke and Yusuke insisted on getting in a fight with him.

Now that they were older, his proposals weren’t as often but when they did come, he did look charming. His smile soft as he regarded her and Keiko’s refusals came after a brief hesitation. Usually sensible reactions but always with a smile as Yusuke backed off. It was a heartwarming sight to see. Young love at its finest, but it also tugged at his heart. He wasn’t jealous of Keiko by any stretch of the imagination but that sort of happiness, those carefree moments, it wasn’t something that he could have with Yusuke in good conscience.

And it felt wrong to be a part of them.

“What did she say this time?” Kurama asked when he realized that Yusuke was waiting for him to say something.

Yusuke’s smile faltered and he dropped his head, grumbling. “We’re still too young..” He lowered his arms, resting them on his knees as he leant forward. “But it wasn’t a no like when we were kids so that has to count for something.” Lifting his head, he smiled at Kurama and the colors from the television cast shadows over his face that made his eyes seem brighter. “Right?”

That smile only made the aching in Kurama’s chest worse but he slowly bobbed his head. “Right,” he muttered, looking away to settle his gaze on the TV. He wasn’t interested in the show itself but it did give him something to focus on.

Minutes passed and he could feel the weight of Yusuke’s gaze on him and the shift in the air. Anticipation pricked at his skin and his energy shifted restlessly as he waited for the other shoe to drop. And without disappointing, Yusuke took a deep breath then averted his gaze, giving Kurama a measure of leeway with his expression.

“… There was one other thing that she said too..”

“What was it?” Kurama asked, somehow managing to keep his voice neutral despite how he felt. He glimpsed Yusuke in his peripheral gazing at the television and the pink dusting his cheeks darkened to red at the tips of his ears. He turned his head away slightly and Kurama’s eyes softened.

“She’s not… the only person I like.”

Kurama swallowed thickly and he prayed to whichever deity would listen that this wouldn’t happen. Not Yusuke.

“No?”

“No…” Yusuke glanced at him quickly, but it was the look in his eye that sealed Kurama’s fate. His gaze drifted to the table in front of them before focusing on him again. “…I like you.”

While he hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, the warmth building in his chest was even more surprising. A soft fluttering at the look Yusuke gave him, adoring and kind, a far cry from the scathing glares that his teachers received or some of the other delinquents in the city. He was handing something soft and fragile to Kurama and he loathed that it was being offered to him. A kind beating heart, colored in gold, a rare treasure that even someone as jaded as Youko Kurama could see was one of a kind.

He wanted to pull him closer. Tell him that he liked him as well. That his smile lit up his day. That his laughter was beautiful to his ears. That he was loved. That he was wanted. The ache worsened and despite the small distance between them, it felt as if a chasm had risen and separated them on opposite sides of a wide ravine. And he wouldn’t dare pull Yusuke to his side.

“…I’m sorry, Yusuke.”

The transition might have been quick to some but for him it was painfully slow. He’d shattered many hearts before and watched them fall to pieces without a second thought but this one, he would remember. Yusuke’s eyes didn’t darken but his eyelashes fluttered, his eyes widening and then narrowing as the words sank in. He pressed his lips together, as if he were trying not to say something, a show of thoughtfulness that others thought he didn’t possess. But Kurama knew. He knew that Yusuke had it in him. And he hated drawing it out of him like this.

His brows furrowed and his eyes shuttered, shutting for a second as he turned his head away. His arms resting on his legs, head lowered, dark hair falling and casting shadows amidst the light flickering from the television and Kurama wanted to touch him but he saw the faint tremble in his shoulders. Yusuke was fragile right now and if he touched him, he might shatter like glass.

After a minute passed, Yusuke lifted his head and opened his eyes, staring at the television screen.

“It’s alright,” he said, his tone fairly upbeat although there was something missing. His eyes were what gave him away, the light reflecting the sheen of unshed tears as he watched the program without a sideways glance. “This is the new one, right? I think I missed it last time.”

It wasn’t alright, Kurama wanted to say. He didn’t want to deny him, he wanted to explain. And the ache in his chest pulsed pain throughout his body as he watched Yusuke try to keep himself together. He could have told him that he didn’t miss this one. That they watched it together the last time he was over, the night that he fell asleep tucked close to Kurama’s side and the youko lost interest in the program, happy to watch over him until the smile that he wore slipped from his face.

But he didn’t. He looked ahead of him and closed his eyes, handing back the heart that was offered to him and hoping that the boy it belonged to wouldn’t vanish from his sight. “I think so,” he said, though he was hardly paying attention.

He tried to convince himself that this was right for Yusuke. He deserved to be with another human, to live happily — without fear — not with a demon that would bring him nothing but pain and death.

“Cool..” Yusuke murmured, his voice trailing off.

They sat in silence for who knew how long. A somberness lingering in the air that even the choreographed laughter of the actors on the screen couldn’t break. As the sun fell over the horizon and night came, Yusuke tipped his head back and looked in Kurama’s direction though he knew that he was staring past him rather than at him. The show came to an end and the credits ran while Yusuke stood up and stared to stretch, groaning with a satisfied sigh.

“Alright, I should get going. It’s getting late.”

Kurama watched him quietly. He wanted to stop him from going, tell him that he could stay. Normally he would stay but this wasn’t the time to point it out. Rooted to the spot, he watched Yusuke as he walked around the back of the couch without a backward glance and went to toe on his shoes.

“I’ll see you later, Yusuke,” he said as the backdoor slid open.

“Yup,” Yusuke said with a slight wave over his shoulder, pausing in the doorway. Kurama wasn’t sure what he would say but he had a multitude of things that he could think of. “Y’know, it really is okay.”

What?

Yusuke looked at him from over his shoulder and gave him a smile. “No hard feelings, alright?” With another small wave, he closed the door behind him and walked off with his hands in his pockets, disappearing from Kurama’s sight but the image of his smile was burned in his thoughts.

It wasn’t alright.

How could Yusuke say that it was alright?

The traitorous voice the back of his mind told him that it was just his kindness. It was simply how Yusuke was and he both loved it and hated it. Pulling his knee to his chest, Kurama rested his head against it and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to tell himself that this was the best for Yusuke in the long run but he couldn’t even convince himself with the pain he felt.

He wasn’t sure how long passed but a shadow blocked the light from the television. The screen going blank after a soft click of a button and Kurama finally lifted his head, staring up at Hiei in the dim light filtering through the sliding glass door. For a moment, the fire demon said nothing and Kurama wondered what went through his mind. Did he think him weak for feeling this much for a human? Was he thinking of ways to gloat or laugh at him for attempting?

“If I told you,” Hiei began, his voice soft but loud in the stillness of the sitting room. “You wouldn’t have been able to greet him normally.”

Kurama’s eyes widened. Hiei knew. Of course he knew, he thought bitterly. But if he would have told Kurama beforehand, he would’ve prepared every eventuality. Anything that would have kept Yusuke from confessing to him and having his heart broken. But it would only prolong it and delay the inevitable. Anger threatening to bubble up quickly dispersed. Hiei wasn’t the one at fault and taking his rage out on him wouldn’t heal the rift between him and Yusuke.

“I know,” Kurama muttered, his voice hoarse and cracking. He hated how vulnerable he sounded. He hated the ache in his chest, the pain in his heart, the longing for Yusuke’s smile. Or how quiet and understanding Hiei was attempting to be. His youki wrapping around him in a caress, warm and present, from his side of the ravine that he made between him and Yusuke.

Hiei knew what he was. Who he was, and it had grown easier to love him. He didn’t balk or obsess over the fact that Kurama had feelings for Yusuke. He tried to help. And now…

Now, he needed him.

Hiei stepped closer to him, Kurama’s foot brushing against his thigh as he closed the distance between them. “Your mother will be gone for a few hours,” he said, an obvious fact that was leading to something. His arm opened and Kurama saw the opening when it was silently given. “It’s alright.”

Kurama lowered his foot and Hiei stood between his legs, allowing Kurama to wrap his arms around his middle and tuck his face against his stomach with a soft noise. He buried his face there, trying to let the darkness swallow him and the warmth cradle him. Hiei’s hand resting at the back of his head and pressing, the other at his back, a hug if he was so bold to declare it so.

Kurama knew that this was necessary. That Yusuke as human and it made it impossible to give his affections without lying to him but he hadn’t expected it to hurt to deny him. Or the longing to give in knowing that he couldn’t.

#yu yu hakusho #kurameshi #kurahi #kurama #hiei #urameshi yusuke

[forestwater87]

201X in Review: A journey of cringe and regrets

Realizing 2020 is really close and wanted to look back at the second (full) decade I’ve actually been alive for. I feel like either a huge amount of stuff has happened, or basically nothing’s happened, but there’s no middle ground.

2010: 

Cringy 2010 photo: High school prom (in middle, dark green dress and...a face)

Junior in high school. 

Had my first-ever Real Boyfriend(TM). (Pictured in above cringy photo.)

Had just ended an extremely toxic 12-year relationship and was still figuring out how to have friends. 

Chemistry fucking SUUUUUCKED and I don’t miss it.

Had a super intense love for Megamind. I saw it minimum of 4 times in theaters and had a major crush on that blue lil nerd. (Began a personal grudge against both Tangled and Despicable Me for taking away its deserved spotlight, a resentment I have not yet gotten past 10 years later.)

Most regrettable 2010 memory: Getting way too intense about a new boyfriend and lowkey abandoning my friends. Not cool.

Most awesome 2010 memory: I have friends from back then I still love and keep in touch with (despite my abandoning them for a bit there). That’s pretty dang awesome.

2011: 

Cringy 2011 photo: High school graduation with one of the most beautiful women in existence. (We’re still friends, and she’s still gorgeous.)

Graduated high school! (Gym fucking SUUUUUCKED and I don’t miss it.) 

Fell in love with the college that was supposed to be a “safety school” and didn’t apply anywhere else, which means I can brag about having been accepted into 100% of the colleges I applied to. 

Started at Ithaca College -- don’t say “it’s gorges,” it gets so old so fast -- and had a miserable first semester and an incredible second. 

Started getting . . . uncomfortably involved in religious groups. (I mean, I’d been doing that since I was a kid, but it got kicked up to 11 in college.)

Most regrettable 2011 memory: Dressed as a “g***y” for Halloween. Fucking yikes.

Most awesome 2011 memory: Figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.

2012: 

Cringy 2012 photo: Modeling first successfully completed knitting project. With bamboo needles because Ithaca is a hippie paradise.

Learned how to knit, entirely out of boredom in long lectures.

Technically started my tumblr experience, though it was only for a few months while I worked through some Shit by being in love with Loki from the Avengers (and THiddleston in general). Stayed on here just long enough to discover Achievement Hunter and Rooster Teeth, and never went back.

Broke up with first-ever Real Boyfriend(TM) and handled it so well I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety disorder.

Got very deep in a religious group at IC, which was . . . not very healthy and could perhaps not inaccurately be described as “cultlike.” (I owe a major apology to everyone who knew me back then; I was very much a major bitch.)

Despite the previous two bullet points, this was the best year of my life up until that point. I lived next door to my two best friends in college, loved my major, and pretty much was confident that I had everything figured out.

Most regrettable 2012 memory: Writing a fan letter to Tom Hiddleston, which included a photo of me and my phone number. I was convinced my charm and wit would totally make him fall in love with me.

Most awesome 2012 memory: Pretty sure this is the year my love affair with RiffTrax began, too. I had a posse and we’d go see live shows together.

2013-2014:

Cringy 2013 photo: A blanket that I made and sent to Jennamarlbes for her dogs, because it was too small for people. Pretty sure it showed up in a video at one point.

Cringy 2014 photo: My awesome college roommates and I dressed up to give out candy to people’s dorms on Halloween. Reverse trick-or-treating: very fun, always recommended.

HA. So much for having anything figured out.

I don’t actually remember much of this period in my life, because I was navel-deep in a major religious crisis that would continue until . . . a couple months ago, basically? There was a lot of freaking out and trying to reconcile culty fundamentalism with the freewheeling pinko that lived deep inside and was trying to break free.

Lots of therapy, though. And med adjustments. Eventually figured out something that worked. Free campus counseling was the bomb though.

I do remember living in an apartment and cooking for myself for the first time, and also playing a lot of tabletop games with my roommates. (Also drinking. Lots of drinking.)

Oh shit, was this when I started that Drunk Librarian blog? I was trying really hard to be The Nostalgia Critic for books (ew), but I remember having a lot of fun with that. That was when my lifelong vendetta against John Green began.

Most regrettable 2013-2014 memory: Did I mention that the blanket I sent to Jenna included a letter? Did I mention that letter included some bible verses I thought she would appreciate????

Most awesome 2013-14 memory: Started a knitting club. It was just like 4 people hanging out and not knitting.

2015:

Cringy 2015 photo: Me being emaciated, makeup-smeared, and proudly showing off a collarbone piercing. That piercing has since rejected, but was in fact cute af.

Graduated college! Summa cum laude, bitches. (And an unfinished minor because I didn’t feel like taking the one (1) class I needed to graduate.)

Started library school and moved back home with parents. That was . . . an adjustment.

Changed library school “majors” halfway through my first year, after a lot of soul searching and panic attacks.

Had a short but catastrophic relationship with a man 9 years older than me (who was my pastor. Awkward). Religious crisis continued.

Got really skinny and hot because I was too miserable to eat. Dyed my hair red for the first time and looked basically like Ariel.

Discovered Party Hard and got really good at killing people.

Remembered how much I fucking love my parents’ dog:

Most regrettable 2015 memory: Being that person who “thought I could change him.”

Most awesome 2015 memory: Did you see how cute that dog is? His name is Oscar, after Oscar the Grouch.

2016:

Cringy 2016 photo: I had this huge thing for 1950s dresses for a while, complete with petticoats.

Grad school continued.

Religious crisis continued.

Therapy happens to deal with Things, is quickly dropped due to money and lack of shrink-chemistry.

Discovered a dumb little web cartoon with a teensy fanbase and no love for my favorite ship. Began work on a fanfic to correct this.

Finished a long-form fanfic for the first time in my entire life.

Virtually abandoned every other fandom to hyperfixate on this for the rest of my life.

Got super political, then super depressed. Quit Facebook because I realized I hate everyone I’m FB friends with.

Discovered Stardew Valley and never got anything done ever again.

Found Tumblr again (needed it to keep in touch with my first-ever beta reader, @raenbowsofficial) and turned into fandom and politics trash.

Most regrettable 2016 memory: Man, was I cocky about that Hillary Clinton winning the election. Oops.

Most awesome 2016 memory: I mean, CAMP CAMP. Obviously.

2017: 

Cringy 2017 photo: My first day of work as a very bisexual-in-denial librarian.

Finished grad school and became a certified librarian (in NYS anyway)!

Got a job at a local college, including my own office!

Shaved half my head!

Moved into my own apartment and adopted a cat, fulfilling a goal over 7 years in the making!

Became friends with two of the most important people I’ve ever met. Visited one of them on a semi-impromptu 9-hour drive to Virginia and met IRL for the first time. First ever all-night solo trip, one of the best days of my life.

This might’ve been the year I got the VFD eye tattooed on my ankle, though I can’t swear to that.

Was part of my first long-form tabletop RPG with friends from college (and friends-of-friends). Was very emotional and also quite gay.

Rediscovered Megamind thanks to excellent fanfiction. That shit is still great.

Currently the best year I’ve ever had. 

Most regrettable 2017 memory: I should’ve attended my graduation from library school instead of deciding it didn’t matter. It mattered a lot.

Most awesome 2017 memory: Seeing the-artist-formerly-known-as-ciphernetics in person.

2018:

Cringy 2018 photo: Um, apparently we don’t get one, because there’s an image limit to these posts. Lame.

Was laid off and took 6 months to find another full-time job. Spent most of that time depression-napping.

Said full-time job lasted 4 months before I ran like my shoes were on fire, because it was morally . . . suspicious and left me borderline suicidal.

Got very fat because I was too miserable to stop eating.

Had to cut my hair so I would look “professional.” Looked like my ex-boyfriend. My mom said I “looked like a Trump supporter.” To-date the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

Moved back in with my parents due to not-having-job-ness (got to bring the cat, though).

Lost parents’ health insurance and had to pay for my own. Discovered health insurance is ridiculously expensive.

Became super left-leaning thanks to the power of Tumblr and Youtube (and possibly that super expensive health insurance thing). 

Writing came to a virtual standstill, though I managed to organize and actually finish participating in all of Gwenvid Week (for the first time).

Two weeks after quitting the job from hell and three weeks after moving back in with the parents, I was offered my old position back. Accepted. Was once again a college librarian.

Most regrettable 2018 memory: Knowing I didn’t want the nightmare job and accepting it anyway. Might’ve been the only choice, but it caused a lot of unhappiness.

Most awesome 2018 memory: The day I was laid off, I hopped on a plane and went to fucking Disney World. Because why not?

2019:

Started work again. Finally (mostly) stopped having panic attacks about being fired/laid off out of the middle of nowhere around 8 months into new job.

Fewer paper cuts than expected.

Accidentally became associated with dinosaurs at work, despite not having any sort of special affinity for dinosaurs.

Did develop a deep and abiding affinity for octopus. Also elephants.

Took cat to doctor. Cat didn’t enjoy doctor. Cat is now 8 lbs. and 14 oz. She is big girl.

Rediscovered the joy of reading again. Newly discovered that mysteries actually can be pretty awesome, and read barely anything else all year. (Personal recommendations: The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton and Waisted by Randy Susan Meyers.)

So. Many. Youtube. Video. Essays.

Discovered Stardew Valley mods and eventually broke 3k hours of playtime. 

Napped frequently. Panicked less frequently. It’s a step in the right direction.

Most regrettable 2019 memory: This post sure is long and over-share-y, isn’t it? Didn’t even include a cut so you could more easily scroll past my face. Inconsiderate, is what that is.

Most awesome 2019 memory: This one is pretty good. Right now.

2020: 

??? 

Profit.

#all right the 2010s were weird #random forest ramblings about my life i guess #here you go

[daoimean]

Pink in the Night | Chapter I: Sleepover

Chapter II | Ao3 Link 

Summary: 

Fellas, is it gay to be madly in love with your gal pal? As war rages and internal demons fester, Glimmer struggles to come to terms with her feelings.

Chapter Summary: 

Come on, let's sleep in my bed Can I just be in my head with you?

Pairings: Glimmadora (Glimmer/Adora)  Warnings: None 

Word Count: 1,576 Sleep isn't coming easily tonight, and Glimmer isn't the only one who thinks so.

 She knows who it is as soon as the door creaks open; pretends to be asleep and undisturbed by the approach of tentative footsteps, not reacting even as the bed dips to the extra weight next to her. 

  It's become kind of an unspoken rule, one of many that's formed between them in the time they've fought together, been together (not in that way—), that Adora is welcome here whenever she likes. It's also an unspoken rule that they don't really talk about it, don't really address the underlying layers of these impromptu sleepovers, which she isn't sure is for the sake of Adora's dignity or her own. 

  What she does know, though there's some vague anxiety holding her back from fully admitting it, even to herself, perhaps of coming off selfish, or maybe just a little weird— is that she's actually come to miss Adora on the nights she's not around, and sleep tends to come a little easier when she is. 

  Not tonight though, apparently. 

  A sleepless eternity drags, and then some. She doesn't need to look at Adora to know she isn't having much luck either.

  "Hey," she murmurs eventually, shuffling round to face her. She’s groggy, squinting in the lack of light, and doesn't quite manage a smile until Adora reaches across the minuscule space between them to poke her nose, her own lips curling into a mischievous little grin as Glimmer recoils, pulling a face before breaking into giggles herself.

  "Hey," she whispers, probably reminiscent of late nights in the Fright Zone's dorms, "shouldn't you be asleep?" 

  "Probably," says Glimmer, quirking a brow at Adora's hypocrisy, "shouldn't you? " 

  This is usually to be the point their sleepovers turn into, well, actual sleepovers. The kind that involve chatting, laughing because everything is somehow funnier this time of night, deep discussions about everything and nothing, save for the actual serious topics that have come to dominate the daytime hours and catch up to them thereafter, because everything is somehow smarter this time of night too— and, still, not a whole lot of actual sleep, but at least the weight of the world feels a little lighter by morning. 

  She wonders, sometimes, what it would be like to have Adora here every night, sleeping or no sleeping. Sure, their nights together wouldn’t really sleepovers anymore, but does that matter? It’s hard to tell what pushes the boundaries of her and Adora’s friendship when her only reference point is Bow, and it’s so...different with him. Sure, she loves Bow, of course she does, just…

  Not like she loves Adora. 

  There's a weariness about her tonight. It dulls her eyes even in the dim light, pulling at the edges of her smile until it falters, momentarily betraying what lies underneath. That smile returns, though, when Glimmer pokes her nose. "Yeah," she shrugs, "probably." 

  Glimmer sits up, stretching her stiff limbs. Adora does the same, and Glimmer has to restrain herself from watching. "Come on." She holds out her hand. "Let's go on a midnight adventure." 

  It's actually well past midnight, and staying within the safe confines of Castle Bright Moon at these spooky hours is one of the few stupid mom rules Glimmer's actually pretty happy to abide by, so it's not going to be much of an adventure either. But she teleports, Adora in tow, to various locations of the Castle's outdoor areas, balconies and courtyards and even the Moonstone Tower itself, until finally, on an unmanned parapet, she finds herself, surprise surprise, all out of teleports. 

  "I...need a minute," she says to Adora, catching herself on a wall as her legs threaten to give way under her. She'll stay here until the world stops spinning.

  Adora just playfully rolls her eyes, nodding towards the Moonstone Glimmer just teleported them away from. "You could have recharged over there, dumbface." 

  "Yes," Glimmer groans, " thank you , dumber-face." 

  Compared with the near-suffocating summer heat of Glimmer's room, the nighttime breeze up here provides some much needed relief. She watches as it tousles Adora's hair, lifting the strands that must have fallen out of her ponytail from hours of tossing and turning. The bags framing her eyes tell of countless sleepless or sleep-deprived nights; the slump of her shoulders, the lost, despondent look that resumes over her features when she thinks Glimmer isn't looking, tells of the kind of tiredness no amount of sleep is going to solve. 

  Glimmer doesn't say anything. But she does approach her once the dizziness subsides, leaning her head on Adora's shoulder, placing her hand over Adora's where it grasps the wall, tight enough for the white of her tendons to strain through. Adora exhales, and the grip seems to slacken, as she rests her head on Glimmer's; it's among the few instances Glimmer's actually kind of glad for the height difference. 

  "Sorry," she mutters, though she's probably no more sure what she's apologising for than Glimmer is, "I'm just... really tired." 

  "I know. It's okay." Glimmer soothes. She runs her thumb over the back of Adora's hand, across the purple and blue bruises that bloom across her knuckles, hesitating, swallowing. She feels compelled to ask. "Are you...sure it's nothing else?" 

  Adora is quiet for a while. She draws her hand from under Glimmer's, folding her arms and resting her chin on them, gazing dazedly over the expansive view of Bright Moon before her. The moons and the Moonstone are still the sole lights of the sky, the silvery gleam dancing across the clear waters below, illuminating the rolling hills and vast cliffs that circle the queendom like a protective wall, like the safe arms of a lover. It's all mundane to Glimmer, it's all she's ever known, but it must be a far cry from the view Adora is, or was , used to. 

  Her response, when it comes, isn't what she expects, but it also doesn't surprise her. 

  "Is it bad I sometimes miss the Horde?" 

  She says it very quietly, tentatively, like she's ashamed of the fact, afraid of being chastised for admitting it. After everything the Horde have done to Etheria, to the people of Bright Moon, to her— how dare she harbour any sentiment towards the enemy, right?

  Glimmer isn't angry, though. She puts her arm around her to assure her of this before she verbally does so, gently squeezing her shoulder. "No, of course it isn’t bad. You grew up there, right? You had friends, you had Catra— it'd be weird if you didn't have some good memories." 

  "Yeah. That's the thing." Adora sighs. "I don't regret leaving, obviously, I just... sometimes I wish I'd left on better terms, you know? The Horde raised me, these people were basically my family , even Shadow Weaver had...her moments, sometimes, and I feel horrible acknowledging that after how she treated Catra. At the end of the day, I...I wouldn't be who I am now without them, I feel like I owe them more than just...upping and leaving. They deserve closure as much as I do. Probably more , actually." 

  "Adora." Glimmer's tone still isn't angry, but it is much more firm. "You don't owe the Horde anything , okay? Not your old friends, not Catra, and definitely not Shadow Weaver. You were only a baby when the Horde took you in, it's not like you asked for any of this." 

  "Hmm." Adora doesn't seem convinced. "I guess you're right." 

  She knows, from piecing together what she's been told, the gist of Adora's upbringing, and she can use that to trace the roots of her turmoil. 

  She knows, but that doesn't mean she understands. 

  Glimmer hasn't been conditioned to fight from the moment she can stand. She hasn't had her entire reality ripped from beneath her feet, found out that everything she came to understand about the world is based on a lie; she hasn't had to turn against everyone who raised and were raised with her for the sake of her morality; and she isn’t now stumbling into the cusp of adulthood tasked not only with rebuilding herself from the ashes of her previous life, but also carrying the burden of Etheria's very fate on her shoulders. How can she even begin to understand what that's like? 

  "But then again," Adora adds, "I didn't choose to be She-Ra either." 

  In a lot of ways, Glimmer feels like she's known Adora for years. 

  In many others, it's like she doesn't know her at all. 

  "I'm sorry," she responds, quietly, pathetically, for lack of anything else to say. 

  "Don't be, it’s not your fault." 

  But maybe this is okay. 

  Maybe what they have now is fine.

  Adora is Adora, Glimmer is Glimmer. They exist in separate spheres that sometimes overlap. They fight the Horde together by day and their own demons by night. Glimmer is here if Adora needs her as a silent comforting presence, or a distraction, and she's sure if the need arises, Adora will return the favour. Because that's what friends are for, right?

  But then, as Adora turns to face her fully, leans in as Glimmer's arms slide around her in a full embrace, and they're so close Glimmer can feel Adora’s breathing, hear her heartbeat through her nightshirt until it seems to meld or sync with the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears— she finds herself face-to-face with those boundaries once more. 

#adora #glimmer #glimmadora #she ra #shera #spop #spop 2018 #shera fanfic #how do i tag this #my writing

[popatochisssp]

Fur a Good Time, Call... 4/15

Series: Undertale, Horrortale Relationship(s): HT!Sans/Reader, HT!Papyrus & Reader, HT!Sans & HT!Papyrus Chapter Warnings: none

You work at an animal shelter. You love all your fuzzy buddies and can’t imagine a better job for yourself than looking after cats and dogs all day, even when the work is hard and often gross. What can you say? You’ve got a lot of love to give!

You’re just not quite sure yet how you feel about the new monster who’s been helping out these days, and this riddle wrapped up in an enigma is something you just can’t resist investigating…

AO3 Link

Bone Appétit

You’d always known your lack of etiquette-related knowledge was going to get you into trouble.

…alright, well, maybe not always, but you’d had a feeling that not knowing Proper Adulting Protocols might be a problem for you at some point and done absolutely nothing about it, so your current predicament was entirely your fault.

It had all started with Papyrus.

You had sent him a text shortly after your first meeting, asking after his availability to meet up—and he’d immediately called you back.

Unlike his brother, who was happy to text at all hours of the day and night, it turned out that Papyrus was more of a phone person who would always just rather talk.

To be fair, it was a lot easier for you to tell him all about the nice little park nearby that you knew about over the phone, and it had made for a pretty damn cinematic reunion spot for you and Buddy when you all finally made time to meet.

It made you smile to remember the way your dog friend had gone absolutely fucking nuts when he saw you for the first time in over a week, wiggling and whining and straining so hard against his harness to get to you that if it had been anyone but Papyrus holding his leash, you might’ve been worried.

You’d already pretty much known it, but you’d since confirmed the undeniable truth: Papyrus was a really cool guy!

Your little park hangouts started to become a regular thing and even considering you had a dog as a social buffer, the conversation between you came so naturally that you think becoming friends with this skeleton was an inevitability, with or without Buddy.

Papyrus was genuinely incredible at carrying a conversation. He filled awkward spaces like a professional and introduced new topics with ease when the old ones dried up; things you felt you’d always struggled to do yourself. He was also a beacon of cheer and optimism the likes of which you’d never met and it seemed like just being near him was enough to brighten your mood on a rotten day.

That may have been another family trait. Sans had a similar effect on you, only he didn’t even have to be in the room with you to do it. You doubt that from anyone else, a picture of a baked potato fallen on the carpet and the single word ‘dang’ texted at 1:47 AM could’ve brought you to literal tears of laughter like it did coming from Sans.

You: Oh no, that’s so sad!

PUNbelievable: [IMG-42]

You: OMG, you’re still eating it?! Pick the dust-bunny off, first!

PUNbelievable: can’t, it’s fiber.

You: No!!!

Among other things, Sans was a great catalyst for a lot of your chats with Papyrus—when topics of his schoolwork got too technical for you to follow, or the latest news in monster politics and what negotiations King Gerson was involved in ran thin, Sans was always a staple to fall back on.

If Sans loved to gush about his brother, then Papyrus loved to gossip about his in equal measure, something you took full and shameless advantage of.

PUNbelievable: hey, why’d you tell Papyrus about the garlic powder sweetener thing? i thought we were cool?

You: You think you can put garlic in your coffee, choke on the first sip, and then try to insist to me that it’s better that way and down the whole thing and I WOULDN’T tell your brother you did it?

You: Besides, he told me how you only started drinking ketchup as a gag and then got hooked, I felt like I owed him a funny story back.

PUNbelievable: oh my god, you’re ganging up on me. i feel so attacked right now.

PUNbelievable: [IMG-54] look, your son is heartbroken that you could be so evil.

You: What were you holding above your head to make Buddy do that face for you?

PUNbelievable: pizza.

You: Well did you give him any?

PUNbelievable: lil bit.

It was talking about Sans that had gotten you into this situation, though.

“You Go To The Same Place For Lunch Every Day?” Papyrus had asked, somewhat incredulous. “Wowie, It Must Be Quite The Restaurant!”

You had paused in the middle of pressing smooches to Buddy’s forehead, turning to the big lanky skeleton squished onto the park bench beside you. “Well, it’s cheap,” you admitted, “which is most of it, but Sans and I really like it so yeah, I guess it’s good!”

Papyrus was suddenly squinting at you from behind his glasses. “Wait. Sans Likes It? Oh No, It’s A Grease-Trap, Isn’t It?”

“Ehhh…” You couldn’t really find the words to deny it. None that weren’t outright lies, anyway.

“Oh My God, That’s Terrible!” Papyrus lamented, a hand pressed dramatically to his skull. “You Can’t Live On Grease! Well… You Can, But You Really Shouldn’t! Do You At Least Eat Actual Food For Dinner?”

You had snorted, ruffling Buddy’s fur. “Actual food as opposed to… what, fake food?”

“Yes!” Papyrus had thrown a toy for Buddy to fetch and your only hope of distraction had practically sprinted out of your hands after it. “Frozen Meals, Microwaved Stuff, Things You’d See In A Gas Station Convenience Store And Wonder If It’s Marked Down So Low Because It Expired Two Years Ago.”

“………” Papyrus had just described half of your kitchen and pantry. “Well…”

“Oh My God,” he’d sighed. “I Suppose I Should’ve Known If You’re Friends With My Brother, But If You’re My Friend, Too, You Can’t Eat Garbage AllThe Time! I Can’t Allow It!”

Your little traitor returned and you’d busied your hands playing tug-of-war with his toy. “I don’t have many other options,” you told Papyrus. “I’m no chef and I like to have something actually edible after work, so it’s kinda pre-made or nothing.”

Papyrus had looked thoughtful for a long moment, and then settled firmly on a conclusion.

“Then You’re Coming Over To Our House For Dinner,” he’d declared. “When Are You Free?”

And that was the story of how you’d ended up here, at a nearby drugstore at what felt like the last possible moment, trying to figure out whether you were going to buy something or not.

You were pretty sure that housewarming gifts were still a thing, but Sans and Papyrus hadn’t just moved into their house. Were you still supposed to bring something?

It was your first time formally seeing the place, and you were going to be a dinner guest, so that was probably enough to warrant a gift…? Right?

You knew a bottle of wine was usually the go-to for things like this, but then also, neither of your friends had struck you as big drinkers. The last thing you wanted was to give them something they’d put in a cupboard and never use, but that also crossed off the only thing you knew for sure was generally expected and accepted.

You’d been aimlessly wandering around the store for awhile now, much longer than you’d wanted to be here when the whole gift-thing had occurred to you. If you kept this up, the employees were probably going to think you were here to steal something.

Okay, come on, you’re making this too hard. Just… get something small, you decided. Something they’d like, the first thing you see, just do it!

Papyrus ended up being easy enough to choose for once you forced yourself to stop over-thinking. A fuzzy desk succulent in a cute little pot had jumped out at you right away and it now sat innocently in your basket while you did one more lap around the store, looking for something to join it.

It was proving a lot harder to turn off your brain and just pick something for Sans, though, which frustrated you to no end.

(It had surely nothing at all to do with your very small and totally negligible crush on the guy, and how you wanted to somehow impress him with a thoughtful gift that you carefully chose in ten minutes on the way over to his house.)

Sans is a simple guy, you reasoned with yourself. This should be easy, just think of what he likes!

Well, obviously, Sans liked food, but it seemed a little gauche to bring snacks to a homemade dinner.

He liked cats, but there wasn’t exactly a surplus of cat-related merchandise here. Besides, it felt a little like a betrayal to bring a cat-thing to the house where your dog-son, as Sans kept insisting, lived full-time.

God, what else does he like?!

You were near some office supplies now and sighed deeply. You were unlikely to find anything good over here unless Sans had some deep, abiding love for colorful paperclips that he never told you about.

You had almost completely turned away from the aisle when you saw the basket of paperweights.

As soon as you picked up one of the smooth stones and read the ‘motivational’ text on it, you knew.

“It’s perfect.”

The weight plopped into your basket and you happily hurried up to the front to pay for your items.

All you had to do now was get there on time, and you were golden.

-

You actually managed to be early! Stress really did fudge your perception of time, apparently.

Papyrus had given you great directions and you found the house without any trouble. It was a little small but in good repair and in the middle of what seemed to be a very nice neighborhood.

You’d been assured you’d know which house to go to as soon as you saw it, and with the cute string of fairy lights wrapped decoratively around the fence of just one abode you were pretty sure you were in the right place.

With your gifts in hand you go up to the door and knock, hoping you’re not too early and no one’s ready to answer the door.

You shouldn’t have worried, of course: ‘too early’ is an oxymoron for Papyrus who throws the door open and greets you with his usual enthusiasm right away.

“Welcome To Our Home!” he says, ushering you inside. “It’s Such A Pleasure To Have You Over!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” you agree. You’d seen more of the inside of this place than the outside, through pictures, but it was so much nicer to see it in person. Their house had such a warm, homey vibe to it that just didn’t come through in background glimpses on your phone.

A vibe that was totally disrupted when Papyrus very loudly announced to no one that you’d arrived.

Oh, maybe not no one. The pronouncement of your name had claws skittering distantly on some tile and much, much closer the snort of somebody just waking up.

Buddy burst into the room to wiggle excitedly at your feet just in time for a very sleepy-looking Sans to sit up and lean over the couch he’d been napping on and wave a little ‘hey.’

He might’ve almost looked cool doing it if his hoodie-string hadn’t found its way into his eye-socket sometime during his nap and he had to awkwardly fish it out right in front of you.

“Sweet dreams?” you couldn’t help but tease.

“nah, i don’t dream,” Sans said distractedly. He spotted the objects in your hands. “what’cha got there?”

“Oh, I brought gifts!”

“Oh My Goodness, How Courteous,” Papyrus exclaimed. “You Certainly Didn’t Have To Do That!”

“They’re small,” you promised. “It’s just a little ‘thank you’ for having me over!”

You held out the succulent to Papyrus, who gasped loudly.

“Oh, Very Little!” He took it from you and held it up to admire it. The plant in its tiny ceramic pot had fit in your palm, but Papyrus could hold it in just the tips of his long bony fingers. “It’s So Cute! And Thoughtful! Thank You, I Love It!”

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t seen Sans’ gift.”

You passed the paperweight over to a curious Sans, still hanging over the back of the couch.

He took one look at it and immediately dissolved into ugly, wheezing laughter that made you downright giddy with pride.

While he was losing his shit, he helpfully flipped it over to show his brother the writing on it.

‘NOTHING IS WRITTEN IN STONE’

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh, Oh No, That’s Great, Too!” Papyrus assured you. “I Love Irony!”

“it’s perfect, i’ll cherish it forever.”

You smiled…and then the sight of Sans holding the rock sparked an elusive memory in your head.

“Like you cherished Rocky?”

Sans had been lucky until now. Even once you’d started hanging out with Papyrus on the regular, you always seemed to forget to ask about the fabled ex-pet and cursed yourself at home later for letting it slip your mind again and again.

Not this time!

“Oh My God, I Should’ve Known That Would Come Up Sooner Or Later.”

You watched Papyrus kneel, fondly brushing over Buddy’s fur. “Listen,” he said to you, very seriously. “I Promise You, You Don’t Have To Worry About Our Dog’s Safety.”

“…” Wait, what? “I don’t?”

“Not At All! Buddy Is Being Very Well Taken Care Of Here, I Am In Charge Of His Mealtimes,” he told you with a pointed glare at his brother. “And Buddy Is Never Outside Without A Leash Or In-Yard Supervision, So There Is No Chance Of A Rocky Repeat!”

…oh my god.

“Oh, that’s…good to know,” you managed to get out. “Very comforting.”

“Good, I Strive To Be Comforting At All Times!” Papyrus stood, his attention back on his new little succulent. “Please Excuse Me For A Moment, I Need To Put This Where It Will Get The Best Light.”

And then Papyrus went off to squirrel his gift away, totally oblivious to the turmoil he’d just caused in your mind.

“…………Oh my god.”

Sans lost it again, practically cackling at you even as he pocketed his newest rock.

“Rocky was real?!”

“i told you he was,” Sans snickered, shaking his head. “you really gotta start trustin’ me more, jeez.”

Your mind was blown. Your world-view shaken.

Clearly, the only solution was to pet a dog.

You went around to the front side of the couch and plopped down on the floor where Buddy immediately swarmed over to you now that you were on his level.

“Hi, Buddy, good boy,” you cooed, letting him sniff and lick at your face. “At least you make sense.”

You may have gotten a little absorbed in scritching and snuggling because eventually Sans interrupted. “hey, i’m here, too, y’know.”

You spared him a sidelong glance. “What, you want a belly rub, too? Ear scratch?”

“sounds like a neat trick, wanna try it?”

He actually leaned down a little bit, tilting his head in invitation. You laughed but…what the hell, why not? If he was cool with it…

You reach up and give the unbroken side of his head a little scratch. You think this might be the first time you’ve actually touched him without cloth in the way and the texture of his skull is a lot smoother than you would’ve guessed; more polished and almost soft. Your nails don’t catch on any scrapes or divots at all and you wonder if all his bones feel the same way.

Which is… wow, a lot more suggestive-sounding than you intended it.

Feeling needlessly bashful about it, you pull your hand back. “How was that?”

Sans didn’t seem quite so affected. “for an ear scratch with no ears involved? it was great, a for effort.”

“Gee thanks,” you scoffed. “See if I go for the belly rub after a rousing motivational speech like that!”

There’s not much small-talk to make waiting for Papyrus to get back. You had both just seen each other at the shelter earlier in the day and not much has come up to talk about in the handful of hours you’ve been apart.

Sans does tell you that his brother has been looking forward to this dinner all week, though, and he thanks you for coming.

Unnecessary, as far as you’re concerned. “What, like I’m gonna turn down dinner at my three best friends’ place? Come on.”

And oh, look at that, you’d made Sans blush again. Stars, it was downright adorable the way he turned blue and pretended like he totally wasn’t, with that shy little, ‘eheheheheh’ of his.

He really had to quit doing that. It wasn’t exactly helping you forget about your crush that definitely wasn’t a big deal at all.

Papyrus saved you both with his return. He didn’t ask or even seem to notice anything unusual about the fact that you were on the floor with the dog, and you admired his ability to roll with the punches.

“There, All Settled! Now, As Much As I Admire And Appreciate Your Earliness, It Does Mean That Dinner Isn’t Quite Ready Yet…”

“That’s fine, I’m not in a hurry!” you assured.

“Well, That’s Good, Because Even If You Were, It Wouldn’t Cook Any Faster!”

“Is there anything I can do to help out?”

Papyrus seemed visibly startled. “Really? You Want To?”

You shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind. I’m not great in the kitchen but I do have an extra pair of hands, if they’d help. Besides,” you added, “I think I’d get antsy sitting around not helping while you did all the work!”

Papyrus clasped his hands over his chest and fixed you with a beaming smile. “I Knew There Was A Reason I Liked You!” he said. “Sans, Take Notes, This Is The Thing You Need To Practice.”

At the mere mention of doing something, Sans flopped back onto the couch. “yeah, okay, cool, i’m note-taking right now.”

Papyrus squinted at him. “You’re Going To Sleep Again.”

“nah, i’m takin’ the notes on my eyelids.”

“You Don’t Even Have Eyelids!”

A loud snore was Sans’ response.

You laughed even as Papyrus let out the most comically frustrated noise you’d ever heard.

You’d only hung out with these guys separately before and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for how hilarious they were together.

“Come on, Pap,” you chuckle, getting to your feet. “Leave him be, he did some stuff at work today. Let’s go check on dinner.”

Papyrus relents and you follow him into the kitchen, where it looks like he’s making pasta.

You’re a little relieved—that’s a pretty easy dish that even you can help with, so you ask him what he’d like for you to do.

Your job, he tells you, is to watch the noodles and stir occasionally until they’re ready. He’ll be busy throwing together the accompanying salad, apparently made up of veggies from his very own garden.

If he was trying to impress you, he’s absolutely succeeded.

You alternate between watching the noodles cook and watching Papyrus chop fresh greens. His cuts are swift and even with obvious skill behind them and you feel like this man could’ve easily become a professional chef.

“Sans said you don’t cook much these days,” you said. “I think I feel a little honored that you’re doing it now just so I didn’t go home and eat a frozen gas station burrito instead.”

“Ugh.” Papyrus paused mid-slice, looking to the ceiling as if begging for divine intervention. “I Knew, I Knew You Were Eating Crud Like That.” He pointed the knife in his hand at you, mock-threatening. “You Better Not Let Me Catch You With That Garbage!”

You raised your hand, a parody of scouts’ honor. “I solemnly swear, Papyrus, you will not catch me.”

He sighed. “That’s The Best I’m Going To Get, Hmm?” You playfully shrugged and he went back to chopping a cucumber. “Well, Fine. But Of Course I’m Going To Cook If You’re Coming Over To Visit! It’s A Very Important Step In Friendship-Building, You Know!”

“Is it?”

“The Most Important! I Used To Make Spaghetti All The Time Underground, Literal Oodles Of Noodles! My Friend Taught Me The Recipe And Our Cooking Lessons Were Wonderful Bonding Experiences!”

“Wow, that must’ve been some good spaghetti.”

“Oh, Not At All,” Papyrus told you. “It Was Terrible, She Didn’t Know The Recipe, Either. But We Had Fun Making It Anyway!”

You stifled a laugh. “Why’d you keep making it if you guys didn’t even know how?”

“Cooking Underground Was Much Harder Than It Is Up Here, With All Your Syndicated Food Shows On TV And Those Recipe Blogs On Your Human Internet,” he said, flapping his hand dismissively. “We Had A Cooking Program That Aired Sometimes, But It Was Pretty…Erm…Unique. Not Very Replicable In One’s Own Home. And We Had The Undernet, But It Was A Lot Better For Social Media Than Anything Else. Basically, If You Wanted To Learn How To Make Something, Your Best Bet Was To Know Someone Who Already Knew How To Make It And Have Them Teach You.”

“And if you didn’t?” you wondered.

“Trial And Error! And Lots Of It!” He grinned a little. “Honestly, It Was Mostly Error, But It Was Hard Finding People To Taste-Test And Give Useful Suggestions. All I Had Was Sans, And I’m Sure You Know By Now, He’s Disgusting. I’ve Seen Him Eat Mayonnaise With A Spoon, Directly Out Of The Jar. I Can’t Rely On Anything He Says As Useful Critique!”

“Garlic coffee,” you agreed, sadly shaking your head.

“Nyeh-Heh-Heh, Exactly! Please Don’t Worry About The Quality Of This Spaghetti,” he added as an afterthought, “I’ve Studied Plenty Of Actual Recipes By Now With Only The Highest Amount Of Stars Given In Reviews!”

“I wasn’t worried. I’m sure Master Chef Papyrus has something great cooking, literally.”

He laughed but you could tell he was flattered and patted yourself on the back for making him happy.

It seemed to you that the noodles were just about done and Papyrus came to take over the pot from you when you said as much, because he didn’t have any skin to potentially scald with hot water— unlike your poor fragile human self.

You watched him drain the noodles in a steady, practiced motion, admiring his general grace when he spoke again.

“Not That You Asked, But I Prefer Not To Keep Many Secrets From My Friends And… Well, We Are Friends, Aren’t We?”

“Definitely,” you agreed in a heartbeat.

Papyrus smiled. “Then Because You’re My Friend, I Don’t Mind Telling You That The Reason I Don’t Cook As Much As I Used To Is That I Have Some…” He paused a moment. “Well, The Word My Therapist Used Was ‘Trigger,’ Is That A Term That People Use Outside Of Therapy?”

You try to school your expression to something neutral at the sudden turn. “Yeah, it is.”

“Then I Have Some Triggers That Are Kitchen-Related, So It’s Usually Just Easier To Avoid The Situation As A Whole. For Mental Health Reasons!”

Your neutral expression fails, crumpling into a concerned frown. “Papyrus, I don’t want you risking your mental health for my sake.”

“I’m Not!” he cheerfully assures you. “It’s Only Certain Things In The Kitchen, And This Is All Very Safe. I’ve Never Had A Reaction Around Vegetables Or Pasta… Which Is Great Because I’m Not Sure I’d Know What To Do With Myself If I Couldn’t Prepare My Signature Dish For My Very Cool Friend!”

That’s a relief. “Alright, as long as you’re not putting yourself out.”

(You realize, of course, by process of elimination, that raw meat is probably the thing that triggers Papyrus. You don’t need to ask why and you don’t intend to.)

“It’s nice to know you’re looking out for your mental health,” you add, with genuine sincerity. “Do you and Sans see the same person?”

“Hmm?”

“For therapy,” you explain. “Sans doesn’t come in to the shelter every day. Is he your ride to the office on the other days? Or… are you his? I feel like you would be his, I can’t imagine him taking on that much responsibility.”

Papyrus is…suspiciously quiet, busying himself with food-plating and not meeting your eye.

You backtrack a little. “You don’t have to answer or anything, if it’s private. I totally get that, no hard feelings…”

“Mmm…Sans…” Papyrus says haltingly, “Doesn’t Go. To Therapy.”

“…Oh.”

That… wow, that really sits badly with you.

Sans is a grown skeleton. You know that, of course you do, and you especially know that you have no authority whatsoever to tell him what he should or shouldn’t do. If he’s not seeing a therapist, that’s his business and should be totally fine.

But…

You saw the news reports. When monsters had first surfaced. The pictures that came out… of the monsters who’d escaped and the desolate, horrific prison they’d escaped from…

There was no other way to put it: it was bad and everything humanity had seen of it had only been the aftermath. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of grisly day-to-day these poor people had suffered through and you weren’t alone in knowing that—there was a reason health care had been the quickest thing humanity facilitated for monsters, physical and mental.

The fact that your very good friend lived through the Underground and isn’t getting any kind of counseling…

It doesn’t feel right. You really don’t like it.

At the same time though, you’re not sure how you’d even begin to express that thought. Anything you can think to say would come off as the worst kind of pushy; like you could possibly know best at something you really knew nothing about, or had any kind of right to dictate what he should do just because you were friends.

Instead, you decide to just…bite your tongue.

Papyrus is far too sharp for you, though. Without you having to say a word, he seemed to read every thought in your facial expression with a single glance.

“No, I Know, I Agree,” he told you. “I Would Love For Him To See A Therapist, Too. It’s Really Helped Me, It Would Be Nice If He Could…. But Also…He Has His Reasons For Not Going. I Thought He Was Just Being Stubborn, At First, But… His Reasons Are Actually Good Ones.” Papyrus grimaced a bit, looking at you beseechingly. “You Said I Didn’t Have To Answer If It Was Private. Would You Be Satisfied If I Told You The Reasons Why Are Private?”

“Of course,” you agree immediately. You don’t understand what a good reason could be, in a situation like this, but if it’s private, you know it’s not your place to understand.

Papyrus looked infinitely relieved by your answer. “Then The Reasons Are Private. But, Don’t Worry Too Much About Sans, He’s Almost As Tough As I Am! He Really Has Been A Lot Better Lately, Even Just On His Own. Besides,” he added with a conspiratory smirk. “We Know He Has At Least Two Very Cool People Looking Out For Him If He Ever Needs It!”

“That…really does make me feel better,” you admit, smiling a little despite yourself. “Thanks, Papyrus.”

Sans was doing okay, you assured yourself, and if he ever wasn’t, you’d be there to help. You and Papyrus both!

You share that pleasant moment of solidarity and then you’re moving on. The food has to get to the dinner table somehow and tall as he is, Papyrus only has two hands and you’d promised him an extra set.

It makes you audibly snort in surprise when on the way, Papyrus wakes Sans by kicking the edge of the couch and yelling, “Sans, You Lazybones, Wake Up! Your Friend Is Over For The Very First Time And You’re Going To Snore On The Couch All Night?”

“nah, I can snore at the table, too,” Sans mutters, rubbing his face and finally rolling off the cushions onto his feet. “i’m versatile like that.”

“You’re Impossible, Is What You Are, You Bipedal Snail!”

The bickering is almost jarring from how warm and concerned Papyrus had been about Sans just a few minutes ago, but the affection in both moments is obvious enough, if you know where to look for it.

Little brothers, you think with amusement.

Sans meets your eye on the way to the table and you get the sense that he’s having the same thought. You share a smile and he shrugs as if to say, ‘what’re you gonna do?’ before you all sit down for a delicious meal.

You almost lose your mind when Papyrus places a bowl of kibble at the fourth place setting and Buddy hops up into a chair like he’s done it a million times before, chowing down with the rest of you.

You want to take approximately ten thousand pictures of it, but Papyrus wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been studying recipes so you also really do not want to stop eating what is probably The Best Spaghetti You’ve Ever Had.

Dinner conversation is filled with effusive compliments to the chef from everyone. Or, you, at least. Sans is complimentary, but you’re not sure he has it in him to be effusive, and Buddy literally couldn’t speak.

He’d stared puppy-dog-eyes at everyone still eating and drooled a considerable puddle into his bowl after he finished his kibble, though, which was…sort of a compliment?

At some point, the topic of work had come up and Papyrus spoke a bit about his part-time job at the home improvement store. You learned that he was exceedingly coveted in the lumber department for his ability to just pick up giant boards and planks when it took several of his smaller human coworkers to accomplish the same task.

You also learned that one of said coworkers had mentioned she had negative vacation time allotted. “…And I Was Sure To Clarify If She Was Speaking Hyperbolically, But She Was Entirely Serious. Negative Time Off! I Feel Like That Shouldn’t Be Allowed, Don’t You?”

Taking off so many days that you owe your employer your time? “That doesn’t seem right,” you agree. “It feels kind of shady of your boss to allow that, but I don’t know. I can’t really imagine taking that much time off that I’d be in the red. The last time I took off was…ha, well, that week our manager forced me to take off, right before you started, Sans.”

You realized that somehow, that story had never come up when Sans looked at you with wide eye-sockets and a dawning grin. “wait, wait, hold up, she made you go on vacation? like she told you that you had to stay home for a week?” At your confirmation, he snickered. “oh my god, that’s the funniest thing i ever heard, that’s so you.”

You weren’t blind to the humor in the situation. You laugh at yourself a little along with him, but Papyrus interjects.

“I Would Never Take A Vacation!”

The conviction in his tone gives you pause. “Wait, really? Never?”

“Not For Any Reason!”

Sans chuckles. “you’re so intense, bro,” he said fondly. “it’s awesome.”

“…Well, now, I kinda want to make you go on vacation,” you admit.

You recognize the hypocrisy—you had certainly never really wanted to take time off when you had so much you felt you needed to do at work—but something about Papyrus’ firm stance just gave you the urge to be contrary.

Besides, it isn’t as if these skeletons don’t deserve a break or a trip or something. They’ve been up here for more than a year and haven’t gone anywhere else? That’s just a damn shame!

If you knew these guys at all, though, you knew you’d never get them going anywhere if you couldn’t convince Papyrus first. Sans was a homebody in the extreme and you’d need his brother on board to have any hope of dragging him somewhere out of his way.

“Isn’t there someplace you’d want to go?” you ask Papyrus. “Just to visit? Anywhere at all?”

“None Come To Mind!” Papyrus insists. “And I Certainly Wouldn’t Want To Request Time Off For It!”

You think you have your plan, at those words.

“You don’t work weekends, do you?”

Sans props his elbow on the table, looking casual but his hand is suddenly covering as much of his ever-widening smile as possible. He’s clearly already figured out where you’re going with this, and you’re grateful he’s sorta trying to shut up about it.

“No!” Papyrus answers, almost petulantly. “They Wouldn’t Let Me. And I Don’t Have Any Classes Either, Weekends Are The Worst! There’s Only So Many Weeds I Can Pull In The Garden Until There Aren’t Any More Weeds To Pull, And The Best Soap Operas Are Only During The Week, Which Is Prejudiced Somehow, I’m Sure!”

“I don’t work this weekend, either. We should do something. Y’know, for the sake of doing something instead of just laying around all weekend.”

Papyrus squints at you. You realize he’s also figured out what you’re up to.

“……Hmm, A Trap, Obviously. And Not Even A Very Clever One, I’m Afraid. You’re Clearly Trying To Trick Me Into Some Sort Of…Vacation-ry.”

“Is it really a vacation if you don’t take any leave for it, though?” you debate. “If you drove somewhere for a couple hours and then came back, you wouldn’t call that a vacation.”

“Alright, Definitional Nuance, Getting More Clever,” he concedes. “And Where Would This Hypothetical Not-A-Vacation Take Place?”

“Maybe that could be a surprise?”

You’ve never seen Papyrus look pissed before. “Ooh, Curses, I Love Surprises! Alright, Fine! You’ve Shanghaied Me, But Only If I Get To Drive!”

Fantastic, you hated driving distances. “Deal!”

-

Dinner ended and Papyrus went around collecting the dishes to wash—but this part he insists is the host’s duty and encourages you to sit with Sans and bask in the glow of a delightful dinner.

You can’t even make a sassy remark at that, it really was delicious. Instead, you plop yourself down onto the plush couch cushions right next to Sans.

“And Stars Above, Sans, Entertain Them!” Papyrus admonishes his brother. “You’re Technically A Host, Too, You Know!”

“yikes, that raises a whole host of problems”

You snicker.

“Oh My God, That Wasn’t Even Good! You’re Lucky They Like You!”

And with that way too accurate final statement that you hope nobody is thinking about as hard as you are, Papyrus was back off to the kitchen.

“Don’t listen to him,” you say to Sans, “I think you’re funny.”

“oh don’t let ‘im fool you, he does too,” Sans says, winking like he’s letting you in on a secret. “he just hates to give me an easy laugh. wants me to put more effort into my jokes instead of goin’ for the low-hanging fruit.”

“Sounds like he’s not berry grapeful for your zesty sense of humor.”

“it’s enough to make a guy meloncholy,” Sans agreed. “it’s the pits, actually, but I understand his raisining.”

You laugh and then a brilliant idea strikes you. You hurriedly whip out your phone and gesture for Sans to come closer so he can see your screen.

He watches over your shoulder as you pull up your contacts list and change ‘Papyrus’ to ‘PAPaya.’

Sans laughs, his deep baritone laugh that you can physically feel, especially when he’s sitting so close to you. It hits you anew how goddamn big he is when you realize that even though you’re sitting down on the same couch, the top of your head doesn’t even clear his shoulder.

“Is it ever weird for you?” you blurt, suddenly curious. Sans doesn’t answer, but his expression goes confused. You quickly add, “Being friends with me, I mean.”

That didn’t seem to clear anything up. “…because… you’re human?”

“No, no, the… the size difference. Is it weird?”

“oh. i dunno, i never thought about it before?” He scratches at his cheek a little, pondering the new concept. “i mean, most humans i met have been kinda small. i don’t think you’re that much different….”

You feel like he’s not giving the matter the appropriate amount of consideration. Driven by the need to prove your point, you wordlessly take his hand and flatten your palm against his.

(It’s definitely for size-comparison reasons. It has nothing to do with wanting to hold his hand.)

As soon as his big red eye-light falls on the sight of your hands pressed together, he snorts and starts laughing again. “oh my god, never mind, i take it all back, you’re teeny, what the fuck.”

“I am not, you’re just huge!”

You must not have said it very convincingly. “i can almost close my hand,” he giggled. “oh my god? this is hilarious.”

His fingers fold over yours a little bit and you definitely don’t spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about the way it feels. It seems like all the scrapes and nicks you were expecting on his skull are down here instead and the scratchy roughness is a fascinating texture against your skin. You’d love to explore it more, but friends didn’t really stroke each other’s hands just because, and you don’t want to be weird.

You pull your hand away. “Come on, don’t be a jerk about it!” you say, shoving away from him playfully.

“aww, okay, you’re right, i’m sorry.” He grabs your sleeve and tugs you back toward him. “c’mere, bring it in, apology-hug.”

You hug him.

It’s almost like being totally enveloped in him— he’s unfairly huge and his arms around you practically block out everything else, even when your own arms can’t even reach all the way around his broad-set rib cage. You do your best and find that his bones are hard against your body, which you’d expected, but not poking anywhere or really even uncomfortable, which you hadn’t.

He’s warm and he smells exactly like you’d have guessed he smelled, like ketchup and dryer sheets, but surprisingly, it isn’t gross. It’s…homey. Comfortable.

You’re a little startled by how much you like it and the thought makes you realize you don’t actually know how much time has passed since this hug started.

Has it been just a few seconds or more than a few seconds? He’d have nudged you away if it was too long, right?

Should…should you pull back first?

Is this awkward now?

Sans seems to answer all of your questions in one fell swoop…by setting his chin down on top of your head to emphasize how tiny you are.

Clearly his plan all along.

“Oh, you fucker, get off me!”

You wriggle out of the hug and he lets you go. One brief second of eye-contact is all it takes to set you both off.

The two of you are laughing like loons by the time Papyrus comes back from doing the dishes.

He proceeds to tell you all the proper hostly things— that it was a lovely evening, and they loved having you over, and you all must really do this again sometime, future Not-A-Vacations notwithstanding—and you know it’s about time for you to be heading out.

It’s getting late and it’s a weeknight, so you and Sans have work in the morning and Papyrus has an early class to attend, so you completely understand. Papyrus gives you a wonderfully large tupperware of leftover spaghetti to take home with you and walks you to the door with Buddy trailing after you.

You say your goodbyes to him, and to Papyrus, and you turn to Sans to do the same.

He cuts you off.

“hey,” he says, leaning casually against the wall like the coolest guy in school in every teen movie and staring down at you with lidded eyes. “can I come with?”

Oh boy. Wow.

As it turns out, you are not prepared for the things you feel when you’ve got your crush looming over you, asking to come home with you for the night.

“Uh….” You try your hardest to cover how flustered you suddenly feel and let your mouth fill the awkward space. “I, uh, I wasn’t really planning on doing anything else tonight? I was really just gonna go home and sleep, I feel like there are, heh, better times for a hangout?”

Sans laughs and for one terrifying moment, you thought it was at you. “nah, no, you’re right,” he says. “sorry, i literally just meant coming to your house, wasn’t plannin’ on staying more than a minute.”

Your confusion is apparent enough that he continues. “you’ve seen me take shortcuts, right?” he asks. “y’know, when i’m someplace and then i’m not, ‘cause i’m someplace else?”

Oh, yeah, that neat little trick. “Yeah, I’ve seen you do it a couple times.”

“well it only works if i been somewhere before. so if i tag along with you, you can leave your car at home next time an’ i can just drop you off.”

Right. Yes, obviously, that makes sense.

“Convenient,” you say out loud. “Sure, let’s go.”

-

The drive home isn’t nearly as awkward as you worried it would be.

It’s actually… very nice.

You don’t talk much because you’re feeling a lot of feelings that need some time to be processed, but it wasn’t like Sans was talking, either. The pleasant weather was holding strong and you had the windows down, so the skeleton in your passenger seat was leaning against the door and staring totally absorbed at the moon while the warm night air blew past his skull.

Even in mostly uninterrupted silence, you find that you just feel comfortable with Sans and that’s something you really like.

You get home almost too quickly and Sans asks if he can come inside, “just to see the place, real quick, you know me, last thing i wanna do is stand between you and sleep.”

You didn’t have time to clean up or anything before you left the house, so it’s not as neat as it could be, but you don’t feel particularly embarrassed. You’ve seen enough photos of the inside of Sans’ room to know there’s no comparison.

Your house is just your house, not very big or painfully small, not insanely messy or hyper-clean. You feel like it’s an accurate reflection of you: just average.

“Got what you needed?” you ask Sans. “Is this enough for you to…shortcut? Or whatever?”

He seems to consider it. “let’s find out,” he says. “what time do you leave in the morning?” You tell him. “cool, I’ll pop over tomorrow, you can give me a ride to work.”

That seems…so unnecessary for somebody who can literally teleport.

You almost tell him so but he shoots you a wink and shortcuts out right before your eyes.

You take a deep breath and huff it out in one long exhale.

After a minute, you go to put the leftover spaghetti in the fridge before you forget about it.

It would be a shame to let Papyrus’ cooking go to waste just because you were getting all tied up in knots over his unaccountably charming brother.

Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

#fur a good time call #fanfiction #undertale #sans #sans/reader #horrortale #ht!sans #ht!papyrus #myfic #papyrus

[lamujerarana]

Do you think that other being speculated to be on the ace spectrum, Reed would be romantically attracted to other genders than female?

Yes, definitely! I mean, in the first place, (I hope?) we all know about that canon alternate universe where Reed is married to Johnny instead of Sue. So there’s at least one universe where he is openly and canonically into men. Personally, I wish he’d married Ben instead and I resent the fact that there are no canon BenReed universes, because there should be. @androidavenger and I agree that it’s because Marvel is afraid of how powerful and convincing Ben and Reed’s love for each other would be. They’re practically married already in 616, so seeing them together as a romantic/sexual couple would probably feel pretty natural.

I personally think of Reed as being a sex-favorable/indifferent bi ace with a low libido (but pan or poly or any mspec label works for me). Like, if Sue wants to have sex, he’ll oblige and enjoy it, but he just rarely feels inclined to seek it out himself, and when he does, it’s more about the intimacy and romance and showing Sue that he loves her than anything else. (I wrote a longer post about Reed being coded as ace in canon, which you can find here.) He definitely experiences romantic attraction to some degree, though, since he canonically fell in love with Sue at first sight. But I could see him being somewhere on the aro spectrum because it’s not like he gets romantically attracted very frequently. Sue and maybe Alyssa would be the only two people he’s ever been romantically involved with in canon, which is…not a lot. I also think it explains why he’s so over-the-moon in love with Sue – he’s never really felt that way about anyone before or since. 

Personally, and I admit that I ship them pretty hard, I do think that Reed’s relationship with Ben is probably the one that has been framed as the queerest. I have a very hard time seeing his relationship with Ben as anything other than queer. But I do admit that the fact that Reed doesn’t seem to experience sexual attraction means that it’s a bit harder to find panels where he comments on Ben’s looks or gets flirty with him, although I can show you plenty of panels where Ben gets very fixated on Reed’s attractiveness and/or flirts very openly with him. 

But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any panels where Reed expresses a deep and abiding love for Ben that is even framed in romantic terms and couched in romantic phrases. 

More beneath the cut!

I mean, he says this about Ben in Fantastic Four v1 #51:

“You know how I felt about Ben! He was more than just a friend!” has very clearly romantic connotations, as does the fact that he’s willing to die for Ben. And Ben echoes that sentiment – as well as Reed’s willingness to die for him – later on in Fantastic Four v1 #382:

There’s also just the fact that Ben, Reed, and Sue pretty much already act like they’re a thruple and always have, and if polyamory wasn’t so taboo, they probably would be. They make sense as a thruple, they balance out each other’s flaws perfectly and keep each other in check, they love each other deeply, and frankly, they just need each other. I’ve seen, for instance, people say that Sue’s the one who functions as a check on Reed, but that’s just not true. For one thing, Sue is pretty vicious and ruthless herself, thank you, MUCH more so than Reed, who tends to be gentler, kinder, and more forgiving than Sue. Sue and Reed 99% of the time make their plans together, and Ben is normally the one who functions as their conscience. See Authoritative Action for a perfect example of that. But what I’m getting at with this is that Reed and Sue very much need Ben. 

Even just in canon, Ben, Reed, and Sue are pretty committed life partners. They all live together and Ben and Reed have done so for the entirety of their adult lives, from 18 years of age to 40. They are also raising their kids together – kids that Reed and Sue canonically think of as being just as much Ben’s children as they are theirs:

Sue’s horror there stems from the fact that they ARE Ben’s kids, of course. He takes care of them just as frequently as Reed and Sue do. Sue is a CEO and philanthropist and Reed is a busy scientist – frankly, Ben takes over childrearing duties pretty damn often. Again, the three of them work well together as a thruple.

Ben even tells Sue at one point that he loves Reed almost as much as she does, and this while Reed and Sue were technically still on their honeymoon. From Fantastic Four v1 #44, which, you’ll notice was written all the way back in the 1960s:

But the most romantic BenReed story, in my opinion, is Hereafter. In the previous arc, Ben is murdered by Doom, and Reed spends a full hour frantically trying to bring him back to life. When he can’t, he completely falls apart. He shuts down, won’t talk to anyone, and throws himself into figuring out a way to get Ben back, because not even death is taking Ben away from him. When he does figure it out, he calls Sue and tells her that he can’t stand not having Ben by his side…so he’s going to Heaven to get him back. Reed literally can’t live without Ben. Johnny and Sue decide to join Reed on his mission, and when they get there, they pass through each one’s idea of Heaven. Sue’s is a nice, safe day with her kids, Johnny’s is camping with his parents, and Reed’s…Reed’s idea of Heaven is Ben’s face in the shape of a puzzle that he has to assemble. As though there is something about it that he’s trying to figure out, but hasn’t quite managed to yet (his romantic feelings for Ben, maybe?). This is from Fantastic Four v1 #510:

So, yes, Reed’s idea of Heaven is canonically Ben’s face. I think too that this is a great parallel – what Reed perceives as the mystery of Ben – to Reed’s rapturous love letter to Sue a few years later in Fraction’s run, in Fantastic Four v4 #4, where he calls her the mystery he’s never quite been able to figure out. 

His feelings for Ben and Sue seem awfully similar, don’t they?

Anyway, Hereafter climaxes with Reed having a meltdown because Ben announces that he doesn’t want to go back to his life and Reed blames himself for Ben’s death and just can’t handle the idea of life without Ben. Ben realizes at this point that the reason he hadn’t been able to get into Heaven is because he couldn’t bear to leave Reed, so he snaps Reed out of his meltdown by promising, over and over, that he’ll never leave Reed.

I swear to god, I have read romances that are less romantic than this scene. 

But also it makes sense that they care about each other this deeply. Ben and Reed are extraordinarily close and have been since they were college roommates. They’ve been inseparable since college. Once they graduated, they kinda just…kept living together the rest of their lives because they couldn’t stand being apart – in earlier canon, they joined the army together during WWII because they didn’t want to be separated after college. Ben’s said he loves Reed so much he’d die for him, Reed’s said the same about Ben. Ben, Reed, and Sue have gone on romantic island vacations together. Ben used to call Reed “lover boy” and “pretty boy” VERY regularly, and Reed never complained. He still occasionally calls Reed “baby,” and Reed acts like it’s totally normal for his supposedly platonic BFF to be calling him pet names. Ben also apparently is in the habit of wolf-whistling at Reed when he’s looking hot, and Reed doesn’t mind. Tweaking their relationship to make it explicitly romantic/sexual is just…not much of a stretch. Their love for each other is already intense, their relationship close and intimate, and I’d be lying if I said that Ben hasn’t pretty overtly flirted with Reed. He even once promised to kiss each of Reed’s fingers, which just. How is that even remotely straight, Marvel?

I could also write whole separate posts about the queerness of Reed’s relationships with Black Bolt, T’Challa, and Victor.

#starkshipper #sorry this is so late lol! #benreed #reed richards #ben grimm #hmm this is making me want to write a story #where ben and reed are basically dating #but it takes reed a while to figure it out #set in college #probably #sue helps them figure it out #and they all date #asks

[niskrp]

:// SEARCHING OPERATIVE …

… searching for AGENT 006 / KING OF SPADES. classified files indicate that they go by KO YURA. born in SEOUL, SK, in 1986/30/01, further investigation makes it clear that they joined the agency FIVE YEARS ago. they are a CLANDESTINE AGENT who specialize in MARKSMANSHIP. higher clearance is needed to access further information…

… ENTER PASSWORD TO ACCESS THE COMPLETE FILE.

:// ACCESSING BACKGROUND FILES …

rumour has it they were happy back in the day.

her father owned a successful business which meant a large home, an array of expensive gifts, not to mention a pristine reputation. they were apparently a family envied by many for being seemingly perfect; hardworking husband, pretty wife, prettier daughter.

but then they crash and burn in spectacular fashion, a glittering empire crumbling in a matter of weeks; a fall said to be inevitable for a multitude of reasons.

from here the details become murky, truth lost among the gossip and rumours. people preferring to offer their own side of the story rather than seeking out the exact details on what went on behind the scenes.

bankruptcy. rival business. gambling addiction. shady connections. plain greed.

their standard of living takes a dive—and so does she, dragged face first into a world absolutely nobody wants to be a part of.

/

sometimes home is a cramped one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of seoul. sometimes home is the living room floor of an acquaintance. sometimes home is the backseat of the family’s car. never pleasant, never comfortable. never hers. somehow they manage: father, mother, and her. a miserable trio scampering from one dilapidated house to another, desperately clinging onto any hope that they’ll make it through another day. which they do, barely. she doesn’t question it. grows accustomed to finding bills hidden beneath old newspapers and waking to the landlord’s demand for rent at 1 am. believes it’s normal to live on three day old rice and whatever else her mother can prepare from a near empty fridge. doesn’t blink an eye when her father announces they have to move somewhere else for the second time that month.

too young to understand the reasons why they’re subjected to this hellish experience. not young enough to realise that she deserves better, they deserve better.

/

poor girl. dirty girl. sad girl. it’s the norm to address yura by anything but her name. not that she minds—or more specifically, not that she has any say in the matter when classmates are adamant on frowning upon her very existence anyway. poking fun at her lowly status and tarnished reputation, like it’s her own damn fault that the world has it out for her at every turn. so she feigns ignorance, redirects her attention to her studies and other activities where her questionable family history isn’t the main topic of conversation. no easy feat when everyone is insistent they know more than she does. bad girl. violent girl. bully girl. she can’t be blamed for snapping when a “joke” crosses the line and hits a nerve. word spreads fast of an incident involving her fist and the jaw of a popular upperclassman, and previous judgemental looks quickly turn into that of disgust, of borderline fear.

as much as yura despises the way her name is dragged through the mud, she begrudgingly admits it isn’t too bad. it’s better, maybe, to be feared than pitied by complete strangers. those who don’t even care.

/

they say she shares a lot of similarities with her father. don’t you see it, they ask. by the way you both smile and laugh, they point out. no way anyone can ignore the fact you’re his daughter, they tell her. but she struggles to see it. only associates him with helplessness and failure, both traits she’s certain they don’t share. perhaps they’d been similar once, at a time when they weren’t burdened by the need to make ends meet. laughter would’ve come freely then, and she might’ve been able to revel in the very details that brought them together as a father and daughter pair. for now they couldn’t be anymore different. him, regularly found in a drunken stupor, mourning his fall from grace with the assistance of cheap soju. her, reading outside a nearby restaurant when the electricity is suddenly cut off at home, trying to avoid following in his footsteps.

her mother tires of their situation and never hesitates to threaten walking out. makes a scene of packing her bags and announcing her imminent departure before quietly returning hours, days later.

normally she refrains from asking why. pretends nothing has changed and goes about her usual routine, except she’s ever curious today. thinks the whole packing and unpacking business is more trouble than it’s worth.

“it’s because i love him.” “that’s sad.” the words roll off her tongue, and a single glance over to her mother is enough for yura to regret opening her mouth in the first place. the answer she receives is only confirmation of that. “yeah.” a long pause. “it really is.”

/

graduation will be it. better life, better pay. money to buy an actual home that’s free of mould, creaky floors, and disgruntled landlords. maybe there’ll be enough to relocate to a high end suburb she’s read so much about and forge a brand-new identity, a sought after fresh beginning. study hard, this will be hers. knows it can be, sees it to be true by the amount of stories she’s heard of people like her. bottom of the rung folks who’ve worked their way up and now lead a life starkly different to what they started with. an escape can be granted if she tries. uses her brain for more than breaking the landlord’s locks (out of necessity, obviously) and wandering the streets with a ragtag group of friends in tow.

alas, normalcy doesn’t bode well for her.

she dreads the daily grind of day-to-day life. climbing up the corporate ladder isn’t as appealing as others make it out to be, nor is abiding by what society insists is in order for a young woman like her: marriage, motherhood, filial piety until death. even now, with nothing to her name, the prospect of settling for stability is amazingly out of the question. if it means sacrificing her own enjoyment for the sake of fitting in and catering to what’s expected of her, she’s happy to go without it. teachers tut over her eventual choice, as if she’s making a massive mistake over signing her name to join the police. maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. either way, she doesn’t think it’s anyone’s business but her own over what she chooses to do with the rest of her life. then again, why should it?

/

safe to say, training brings her to her knees. meaning: she really, really likes it here. potential bad habits are all but crushed beneath the heel of superiors eager to see what she’s worth, what she can do; this gangly thing with a smart mouth and chip on her shoulder. if anything, the reason she provides for joining the force (“the uniforms, i’m a fan”) simply gives them the incentive to run her ragged. which they certainly do, in an almost sadistic fashion, except to their surprise, she manages to flourish—and then some. strict discipline is all she needs and it does well to shape her into a deadly weapon. talents are already there: dogged determination and reckless sort of fearlessness. they just need to polish each and every one of it up until she emerges gleaming, shining; much like the framed college degree on her wall.

an uncanny knack to remain cool under pressure becomes the draw card for many. throw her into the most difficult of situations and she’ll pull through. slightly battered, a little bruised. but most importantly: alive. it’s commonly assumed that she simply thrives in chaotic environments such as these. the type who isn’t distracted by irrelevant details and can be solely focused on the task at hand. capable of adhering to instructions while simultaneously preparing a plan b for when things don’t quite click.

kinda stubborn, kinda risky. all round lethal.

she supposes she only has her tumultuous home life to thank for getting this far.

/

he’s impressed.

“i think you should apply though.”

“is this your way of getting rid of me, sunbaenim? i’m hurt.”

it used to be perceived as an ominous sign whenever the superintendent bursts out laughing, though she’s long come to see it as a reassurance of sorts. that, she hasn’t completely fucked up in his presence and her body won’t be thrown into the han river at dusk for ruining his usual foul mood.

a very, very good sign indeed.

”you know what i mean. you’d do well elsewhere, with them.”

“guess i’ll think about it.”

“is that a yes?”

“it’s honestly a ‘i have to compare salaries first and get back to you’ kinda yes.”

“yura.”

she grins, decides to cut back on the jokes before he dumps her in the river for real. “i’m kidding, i’ll do it. want to see if their coffee is as good as ours, too.”

god knows what the coffee tastes like at nis. they could be drinking the elixir of life and she’d still be reluctant to relocate, uncertain of what they could possibly offer her when she has everything she needs over here. a steady career, wide social circle, glowing reputation.

can’t say the hesitation is enough to deter her from completing an application out of plain curiosity, though.

/

after much deliberation, the application is sent through without dwelling on what might occur if she’s accepted. doesn’t hold much of a hope she’ll make the cut when there are bound to be others who would be better suited for the role. candidates who are more experienced and fulfil the criteria nis have set out, whereas she may fall short somewhere along the lines.

she prepares for rejection. reality, however, has another thing coming.

training puts her through her paces once again, but she digs deep and holds on in the exact same way she’s been taught to do, learned to do over the years. rides with the punches until she adheres to their lofty expectations, leaving nothing to be desired—besides keeping her smartass comments to herself.

experience is taken into consideration when they ultimately usher her to the role of marksman, and it’d be a lie to say she isn’t somewhat perplexed by their decision. it’s not what she initially had in mind, especially with the position she’s just left behind, but she bites her tongue and accepts the offer anyway.

we need someone like you here though, they explain. someone focused, someone calm, someone with a damn good aim.

can you do this for us?

she can, and she does.

:// ACCESSING PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION …

they deem her bright, diligent, ruthless; a woman in possession of a sharp mind but sharper tongue. such ferocity is hidden beneath a calm and collected demeanour, only resorting to violence in situations where negotiation is no longer on the cards. rumour has it her anger is especially volatile, bloody even, though no one’s been fortunate enough to bear witness to such a scene to be able to confirm.

despite her line of work, yura manages to maintain a happy go lucky approach in regards to delegated tasks and interactions with colleagues. first to crack a joke, first to suggest heading out for a round of drinks, first to distance herself from serious and stressful situations. it’d be far from beneficial to be constantly preoccupied with either past or present missions, and she never fails to emphasise the importance of being able to ‘switch off’ once the job is complete.

many frequently mistaken her laid back nature to be that of pure laziness instead, what with her tendencies to move around at a leisurely pace and taking things in her stride. could be seen as not caring enough, or half heartedly doing whatever necessary before quickly shifting her focus elsewhere—which couldn’t be further from the truth. she’s always watching, always listening, and always willing to defend when the time calls for it.

rest assured that the success of the agency is a main priority, and yura has every intention of ensuring the safety of those involved won’t be jeopardised.

… END OF FILE. CONTACT THE AGENT DIRECTLY FOR MORE.

#006 #t #c

[kanarikadelak1996]

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#Solutions To Avoid Divorce Amazing Cool Ideas #How To Avoid Lawyers In Divorce

[keanuital]

As a filmmaker, you can destroy entire cities with relative impunity and gleefully obliterate whole civilizations with malicious delight without losing an audience’s sympathy. But movies must tread lightly when animals are involved, because there are few things more likely to enrage audiences than the unnecessary death of an animal, particularly a dog. Dogs are borderline sacred in American society, and our treatment of onscreen mutts reflects that.

Thankfully, the 2014 instant cult classic John Wick, directed by former stuntmen Chad Stahelski and David Leitch, has the most necessary and meaningful death of a cinematic canine since Old Yeller, and one nearly as mourned. The dog is the key to John Wick’s magic. Without it, the movie is merely an extraordinarily well-made, skillfully directed and performed action neo-noir starring Keanu Reeves. That’s not a bad place to start, but the dog’s death elevates John Wick to the level of lurid pop tragedy. It transforms a movie for action-film buffs into a movie for anyone likely to be deeply affected by the death of an adorable dog. That is to say, everyone.

I usually find the revenge genre morally abhorrent and emotionally empty, but when vengeance is exacted on behalf of a four-legged charmer instead of a person, it changes everything. In that case, the very universe itself howls for justice, and in John Wick, the title character is the instrument of its fury.

The film opens with the death (by natural causes) of John Wick’s wife (Bridget Moynahan), a woman good and decent enough to inspire her adoring husband to abandon his life of violence and criminality, even though he is to killing people what Meryl Streep is to acting: the gold standard by which all others are judged. A lesser film would have dragged out the wife’s death, but John Wick deals with her as quickly, smoothly, and efficiently as it does everything else.

HE’S NO MERE KILLER FOR HIRE. HE’S MORE LIKE A CONTEMPORARY FOLK HERO.

Before her light is permanently extinguished, though, she arranges to have a puppy named Daisy shipped to her husband’s home to help him deal with his impending grief. John doesn’t get to spend a whole lot of time with the dog, but he doesn’t need to. Daisy immediately makes an indelible impression and worms her way into the hearts and minds of everyone in the audience. Seldom has a badass action movie been so defined by the adorableness of one of its principals. With the exception of the Death Wish series, of course.

John Wick himself is a familiar action-movie archetype: a man of violence who has figured out a way to leave his past behind and enjoy the simple pleasures of an honest, law-abiding existence. Then one day, Iosef Tarasov (Alfie Allen), the degenerate son of Russian mob kingpin Viggo Tarasov (Michael Nyqvist), attempts to buy John’s 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 from him at a gas station. Wick politely declines the offer, but Iosef is used to having his way, so he and his men follow John home, where they murder his dog and steal his car. This makes John Wick angry. And you wouldn’t like John Wick when he’s angry. Because first he gets angry, and then he starts murdering people. And once he starts, he doesn’t stop until his thirst for vengeance has been sated.

Wick now has something to live for, and more importantly, something to kill for. From that point on, Viggo and John are on a collision course only one of them will survive, if anyone survives at all. In one of the film’s few bits of exposition, Viggo explains that John’s nickname was “The Boogeyman,” but even that undersells his badassery, because, as Viggo clarifies, John Wick is not the boogeyman so much as he’s the one you send to kill the boogeyman. He’s no mere killer for hire. He’s more like a contemporary folk hero.

In Viggo, John Wick boasts a villain worthy of its anti-hero. Nyqvist plays the mob boss as an inveterate philosopher who regards his life and death with a wry sense of world-weary resignation. His respect for Wick borders on awe, and he seems to know, deep down, that it is his existential destiny to be killed by him. He seems resigned to his fate.

But something deeper also seems to be at work. There’s a sense that Viggo wishes John Wick were his son, and he’s come to terms with his death — and the death of his own son — as an appropriate price to pay to the universe for the unforgivable, unpardonable crime of killing Wick’s dog and stealing his car. To put it in Network terms, when snot-nosed Iosef and his boys killed Wick’s dog, they meddled with the primal forces of nature, and Wick quite simply is not having it.

THE GENIUS OF JOHN WICK LIES IN ITS TOUGH-GUY MINIMALISM. 

Derek Kolstad’s crackerjack screenplay is as notable for all of the things that aren’t said as it is for the few things that are. It boldly and brazenly eschews exposition — the elaborate backstories and speeches and arbitrary love interest and all of the other crap that makes action movies so forgettable and interchangeable — so that it can focus monomaniacally on all the things that make action movies awesome.

The film allows John Wick to remain a mystery throughout and surrounds him with characters who are every bit as enigmatic and tantalizingly unknowable as him. We learn, for example, almost nothing about the underworld figures played by the likes of heavyweights Willem Dafoe and Ian McShane, but the way they treat each other says more about them and the dark, ominous, honor-bound world they inhabit than reams of dialogue ever could. Because John Wick leaves so much unsaid, we don’t have any choice but to fill in the blanks.

These weary survivors flesh out the film’s vision of a criminal world that functions as an alternate universe that exists within our own world, complete with an elaborate code of ethics that, like everything else in the film, is never explicitly spelled out. This shadow world has gods and demons and legends of their own, and John Wick qualifies as all three. He’s a righteous angel of vengeance.

The genius of John Wick — and I do not use that word lightly — lies in its tough-guy minimalism, in the way it strips the revenge melodrama down to its raw, potent core. That minimalism extends to the dialogue. The more Keanu Reeves says here, the less badass he seems. Thankfully he says almost nothing, so when he does speak it’s more forceful. Likewise, we don’t need to hear about what a force of nature John Wick is because it’s apparent in every punch, every kick, and every bad guy murdered; the film is admirably committed to showing rather than telling.

Just about the only time John Wick says more than is absolutely necessary is when he’s captured by Viggo and explains the urgency and necessity of his particular path. He describes what Daisy meant to him, how she gave him his first taste of hope in ages, only to have that hope extinguished by a bullet. In John Wick, the criminal world is no place for tourists: either you’re in the life 100 percent or you’re out completely.

John murders a small nation’s worth of glowering Russians over the course of the movie, so he’s not exactly tip-toeing shyly back into his old ways. Yet it isn’t until John is captured by Viggo and roped to a chair, when he tells him and his armed thugs, “People keep asking if I’m back and I haven’t really had an answer. But now, yeah, I’M THINKING I’M BACK!” that his bloody comeback becomes official.

Reeves delivers those instantly iconic lines with ragged breath and visceral, overpowering rage. Like Philip Seymour Hoffman in Mission Impossible 3, he’s a deadly threat to everyone around him even when bound and captured by his enemies.

THERE’S A ZEN CALM TO JOHN WICK THAT COMES AS MUCH FROM THE ACTOR AS THE SCRIPT.

But there’s a Zen calm to John Wick that comes as much from the actor as the script. Reeves possesses a sweetness and vulnerability that, in the past, has worked against his efforts to come across as tough and imposing. But that likability, as well as his androgynous good looks, makes it easy to buy the title character as a man who will never recover from the personal losses he’s suffered, no matter how many Russians he murders. Just as importantly, at this stage in his career, Reeves has the presence and physical chops to pull off playing this virtuoso of bloodshed, this Mozart of righteous mass murder. Style-wise, John Wick is a marvel of clean, unadorned efficiency. The film’s alternately black-grey and lurid neon color scheme and visceral brutality suggest Only God Forgives if Nicolas Winding-Refn’s film was intent on entertaining audiences rather than repulsing them.

The world of John Wick is full of mystery and empty spaces, so while the film is perfect in its own right, its universe begs to be expanded with sequels and a TV spin-off and graphic novels and comic books and novelizations. Accordingly, the sequel did even better with critics and audiences than the original film, and it seems like there’s an awful lot that can still be done with the character, as evidenced by plans for a John Wick TV series.

But why stop there? If any blood-splattered action movie franchise invited an officially licensed line of dog toys and bulletproof puppy vests, it’s this one. Hell, if Billy Jack got four movies, then John Wick deserves at least eight.

John Wick transformed Keanu Reeves (who had a little bit of success in action via the popular Matrix films) from a wannabe badass to the real thing. John Wick is the hero we need, and a hero for our times, even if we have done little, if anything, to deserve him.

#keanu reeves #john wick

[bewareofchris]

author asks: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 12, 13 and 25

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

my thesis on Tony/Steve in the MCU?  Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to go about it.  apparently universe swapping is involved.

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

I’m not certain Embarrassed is the correct word to describe it but there is RPS in my torrid writing history that even while I was writing I felt was questionable?  I largely believe in live and let live but I also feel that RPS probably shouldn’t exist.  However, I am notoriously easy to get to write things if we’re pals and my girlfriend loved RPS and thus, I wrote just a bunch of it.  Although most of it was SPN and they went off and made RPS ok by having The French Mistake create fictional real people Jensen and Jared.  Despite this, if I were ever going to remove my fiction from the internet (or try) it would be the RPS

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

I wrote from the first sentence to the last sentence in the order you read it.  If I discover a paragraph in the first part of chapter one doesn’t work and I’m on chapter sixteen there’s even the chance that I’ll literally rewrite the entire story starting at that chapter.  I cannot deviate from this path.  

I actually really enjoy fucking up the Chronological order of things in a narrative.  I write things backwards, in zigzags, sometimes I write two storylines happening in reverse time (like one is going forward, one is going backward) because I can.  But even those two are written first to last sentence exactly as you read them.  

4) favorite character you’ve written

...uh, fannish?  I have a favorite narrator for every fandom.  for Weiss I loved Schuldig, DBZ I liked Vegeta, for Star Trek I prefer Bones, for Supernatural I have developed a deep abiding love for Sam, for Assassin’s Creed I usually go with Malik but I adore Altair as a narrator.  For the MCU, Tony is very fun.  I like writing Tony.  I’m rusty but he’s fun.

Original, my precious baby Caramis.  He’s arrogant, unlovable, very smart, kind of dumb, and believes strongly in the principal of vengeance.  

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

I’m not 100% sure I can be surprised at this point.  I can’t think of any single character that I was like WELL I NEVER THOUGHT I’D END UP HERE.  (Except Sam Winchester because I hated Sam Winchester for 9 or 10 seasons, non-stop, full time, like a job.)  Usually I’m surprised by pairings.  It’s always like “oh ok, we ship this now.  cool.  not sure why but ok.”

12) your weaknesses as an author

Scenery.  Setting.  Costume.  Anything that requires strong visualization skills because I don’t see pictures in my head, I see adjectives.  “Describe this building to me” it’s brick.  a square.  congrats.  A building.

13) your strengths as an author

Characters.  

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

I’m very bad at this.  it’s not modesty, it’s memory loss.  But I just read this Steve/Bucky thing (set in the first Captain America movie, this scene before the Stark Expo) the other day and I remembered this:

When he kissed him that time, itwas like Bucky just couldn't hold it in. Like he was suddenly (all at once) terrified of all the things that hewas going to miss, all the chances he'd never have, all the things that couldpossibly go wrong.  Bucky--brave andstrong--pulled him forward by one half of his unbuttoned shirt and kissed himlike if he didn't he'd just die.  It wasn't even one kiss but three or fourchopped up and pushed together, until Steve was kissing back (and he was scaredtoo, of all the things he wouldn't be there to see, all the stupid things thatBucky would do without him) and scratching his fingernails down the arms ofBucky's coat.  In all the months ofworrying about the war, of trying to make something of himself, he'd let go andlost track of those wandering little thoughts about why the hell Bucky hadkissed him in the first place.  Here itwas, all at once, and he still couldn't figure it out.

 from the ask your author meme

[elarawritingtrash]

Fandom: D. Gray-man

Written in 2018

Summary: About a year before Allen joins the Order, General Yeegar finds a young accommodator.

Warnings: Same as parts 1 and 2.

Part 1

Part 4

                                                          Part 3

Traveling with Yeegar was largely much less interesting than that one mission. They generally only ran into Level Ones, and not in such huge numbers. It took a month before Yeegar would reluctantly allow Alexandra to fight akuma again.

With more practice flying in general, as well as fighting akuma specifically, Alexandra got much better at it. She got faster at lost distance flying and with short distance flying and turning. The biggest achievement in her opinion was learning to fly, attack, and block simultaneously, which was actually very difficult. It got a lot easier when she switched to blocking individual bullets rather than just trying to block everything.

Not to mention, with increased speed came the ability to dodge rather than blocking the akumas' bullets; she herself, not counting her wings, made for a pretty small target, and akuma were not good at aiming.

Yeegar, and so Alexandra with him, visited Headquarters every couple of months. The first visit wasn't very interesting, as all of the exorcists, even Lenalee, were out on missions. Finders, for some reason, refused to talk to her.

The second, however, was amazing. Alexandra had so much fun.

While Yeegar went to talk to Komui, Alexandra had time to hang out. It turned out that Lenalee was out on a mission yet again, which was sad; Alexandra missed her. In exchange, though, another exorcist she hadn't gotten to meet yet was there, as was Lavi.

Lavi offered to introduce her to the other exorcist, an intimidating man (teenager? She couldn't tell) with long black hair and a sword.

Alexandra agreed innocently, thinking that the exorcists were all generally on good terms with each other. She was very wrong about that. Ten minutes later, she hadn't technically gotten to meet the other exorcist and he had Lavi at sword point.

Lavi danced backwards nervously. "C'mon now, Yuu! Don't be like that," he said.

"Don't call me that! It's Kanda!" the other exorcist shouted.

He advanced slowly, sword out.

"Think of the children, Yuu!" Lavi said, gesturing to Alexandra. "You wouldn't want her to see that, would you?"

Kanda (?) didn't even glance at her. The situation only devolved from there. Alexandra didn't really mind, though; Kanda hadn't threatened her at all, only Lavi, who arguably brought it on himself. Plus, she learned a lot of English words that Yeegar had never taught her. Like the many usages and forms of fuck.

She wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but she thought she'd gotten the general idea.

Although, she never did actually get to meet Kanda.

The third time wasn't as interesting as all that, but Alexandra did get to meet a couple new people. The teenagers she already knew were on missions, but there was a man named Suman Dark there. He was nice enough, she supposed, but kind of patronizing. He was also the first exorcist, or even scientist, she'd met who was actively weird about her age; the others, if they reacted at all, merely look a bit sad.

After a rather awkward conversation during which Suman seemed to try hard to be considerate of her age, Alexandra took an opportunity offered by Johnny and fled.

She also met a woman named Tina Spark. Tina was not actually very nice, but she was a lot easier to talk to, because she didn't care about Alexandra's age. She was very brusque and foul-mouthed for a woman, and Alexandra loved her.

Tina also told her about the other women exorcists. Alexandra didn't quite get why, but she was plenty interested in knowing about more exorcists. In addition to the two of them, Hevlaska, and Lenalee, there were two others. One was even a general! Alexandra was looking forward to meeting them. Apparently normal exorcists went on missions with other exorcists about as often as they got solo missions, so she'd probably get to meet most of the exorcists eventually. Maybe not the general, though.

Alexandra wondered when Yeegar would have her stay at the Order. She didn't want to ask, but it had been a year since she started traveling with him. She didn't know how long was customary, but it felt like a long time.

As usual, they left the next day after getting there. Maybe next time, she thought. Even after a year, Alexandra had no idea how Yeegar decided on their paths. At this point, she was convinced it was on a whim. They didn't go anywhere quickly, either; they tended to take a winding path, spending a couple days in each nice city they came across.

This time, they made their way across Europe to Italy. It took a couple weeks just to enter the country. Alexandra didn't mind, though; it was mostly spent looking at the sights and meeting new people, which was cool. And she really did like Yeegar. It was a problem, she'd realized: when she was at Headquarters, she wanted to stay there, but when she was traveling with Yeegar, she didn't want to stop.

So, she'd decided that she wouldn't decide. She would just let Yeegar decide, and she wouldn't pressure him in either direction.

After they got to Italy, they took a circuitous route, going through several big cities, to end up at the coast, in the city of Catania. Alexandra had wondered why Yeegar would want to do that, but then she found that coastal cities actually had a lot of people. Like, a lot. Then, they continued following the coast, all the way around Italy and back up, through France, and into Spain.

Somewhere near the French-Spanish border, Alexandra lay on her bed in their inn room, looking across at Yeegar and his bag of carefully-stored Innocence.

"Is it worth it?" she wondered idly. "Looking for compatible people."

"Why would it not be?" Yeegar said.

"You haven't actually found any," Alexandra said. "Not in more than a year that I've been with you."

Yeegar sighed lightly. "It is a fair concern," he acknowledged. "The problem is, there just aren't that many compatible people. Only 109 Innocence, and millions of potential matches. It can seem pointless, traveling around looking for those who are compatible, with months and years of failure. In the end, however, I am only one person. If I can find even one match, that person could likely do as much for the Order as I could. If I find two, then I have done more to help the Order than I could have if I'd been taking missions like the other exorcists. Do you understand?"

"Yeah. That makes sense," Alexandra said.

She meant that; it did make sense. It made her think, though. Yeegar was obviously very concerned with helping the Order, which only made sense, since it as an organization was the only thing trying to fight the Earl and his akuma. But Alexandra wasn't doing anything, traveling with him as she was. If he really only cared about helping the Order, why hadn't he sent her off yet?

"Master, when do you think I'll be ready to be a real exorcist?" she asked.

Yeegar's expression tightened and he turned away. "Alexandra..." he said with a deep sigh. Eventually, he said, "You are very young."

"But I'm not bad at fighting akuma," Alexandra said, trying to sound neutral. She had never wanted to argue with him about this. "And I could be helping."

Yeegar stepped around his bed, moving to sit on the edge closest to her. In response, Alexandra sat up to mirror him.

"Alexandra, I do not have any doubt in your ability to fight akuma or to help the Order," Yeegar said frankly. When she went to speak, he held up a hand. "Please, let me finish. You are good at fighting akuma, and you're very skilled for your age. In addition, I have dedicated many years of my life to the Order for a reason; I truly believe in the goal and it is my wish to help the Order in any ways I can."

He paused and took a deep breath.

"However. I have been part of the Order for a long time. In that time, I have met many exorcists, several of whom I have personally taught. Of those exorcists, a good deal have died," he said somberly. "The life of an exorcist is not safe. It involves a lot of fighting, sometimes alone, almost always in less than ideal situations. A single mistake can cost lives."

Yeegar reached out to brush some of Alexandra's hair away from her face, a soft look on his face. "I know you could be helping," he said quietly. "But please, let me protect you for a little longer."

Alexandra's eyes watered, and she blinked rapidly in the hopes of keeping from crying. In the end, she couldn't manage anything beyond a nod in response.

They continued down Spain, through to the city of Cartagena, where Yeegar decided to cut across the country to Madrid rather than continue following the coast. This all but confirmed Alexandra's belief that he was just making up the path as they went along.

It had been long enough, then, that Yeegar decided to begin making their way back to Headquarters. That didn't mean much; with the way their traveling went, it would be a good month or two to actually get there. Alexandra didn't mind.

Now, she emphatically didn't mind, having decided that she would absolutely not be upset about traveling with Yeegar. Well, not for like, another couple of years.

Alexandra found out through Yeegar, who found out through the Black Order grapevine, that they'd gotten a new exorcist. Apparently one of the other generals, who everyone thought was dead, had had a secret student. Alexandra was excited to meet them, too; hopefully the new exorcist would be at Headquarters when they finally got there.

They wandered back up through France. Alexandra learned some French words that she was sure Yeegar would disapprove of, and also learned a deep and abiding hatred for grape-based drinks.

They made their way through both Versailles and Paris, the previous capital of the country and the current one. Yeegar told her that one of the other generals, a man named Froi Tiedoll, was from France, and also confessed that he personally couldn't stand the language. On that day, Alexandra felt a sense of kinship with him that, she felt, had never before occurred.

Then, since Yeegar was on a coastal kick this trip, they decided to go through Belgium. When Alexandra said as much, Yeegar gave her a disappointed look.

"Brussels is hardly coastal, Alexandra," he said.

She shrugged. "We could go closer to the coast," she said.

Yeegar laughed, but they decided to go for Brussels anyway. On the way, Yeegar took a liking to a smaller town, not quite the usual cities he tended to spend his time in. Apparently, Alexandra thought, he'd decided to meet everyone there personally.

Finally, Alexandra got him to leave.

They had had to walk to get to that town, and so they had to walk to a nearby city to get to another train station. Because Yeegar did all traveling slowly, he walked slowly as well. It was a very slow and steady pace. Alexandra, getting bored, tended to wander in a circle around him.

Every now and then, she moved in closer again, just to make sure they both knew where each other was. As they got closer, her circles got smaller. When they were only about an hour away, she really only went from one side of the street to the other, and about the same distance to the front or back of Yeegar.

She couldn't say why, but she was always warier around cities than in the middle of nowhere.

Alexandra noticed Yeegar tense beside her. Looking ahead, she immediately saw why, and stepped closer to his side and fell behind him a bit. There were two people standing in the road ahead of them. A man and a woman.

It wasn't exactly suspicious to run into other travelers on the road. But two people standing completely still in the road? That was odd.

And, as they got closer, Alexandra noticed that they were both wearing weirdly formal clothing, unsuited for traveling. The man was wearing a full suit! With a top hat. Nobody did that on a dirt road unless they didn't care if it got dusty.

Yeegar stopped a fair distance from the two people. Alexandra knew that it was just outside the range of his pendulums.

Something about them was strange. They both had dark skin, which wasn't so weird, but it wasn't just dark, it was gray. Alexandra peered at their foreheads, which seemed to have black markings on them. It looked like a series of crosses across their forehead.

She stepped a little further behind Yeegar, finding something about them unnerving.

The man took a step forward. "Good evening," he said politely, tipping his hat.

"Good evening," Yeegar said, even as he nudged Alexandra into stepping further back. "Is there a reason you're standing here on the road?" he asked, somehow managing to sound polite rather than just accusatory.

The woman, who was really more like a girl, as she couldn't be much older than Alexandra, giggled. The man chuckled lowly.

"As a matter of fact, there is," the man said. "You see, we were waiting for you, General Yeegar of the Black Order."

"Is that so? And who might you be? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," Yeegar said.

The girl skipped forward several steps. 

"We are Noah," she declared. With a slight, condescending smile, she said, "We are apostles of God. Together with the Earl of Millennium, we aim to destroy humanity."

Yeegar's Innocence activated with a flash. "Then, we are enemies," he said evenly.

No explanation needed, it seemed.

"So we are," the girl said, mocking smile on her face growing into a feral grin. "We're on a hunt for the Heart of Innocence, and you're our first candidate! Isn't that nice?"

Alexandra glanced between the strangers (Noah?) and Yeegar uncertainly. Judging by his expression, it was not nice. So she activated her Innocence.

The girl's eyes flicked over to her, that eerie grin not wavering, and Alexandra had to resist the urge to take a step back. She wasn't the only one who noticed, it seemed, for the next second, one of Yeegar's pendulums had whipped out, narrowly missing the girl as she danced backwards out of range.

Still, her grin didn't falter.

The man eyed her with an unreadable expression, maybe something like concern, but didn't speak.

"My, my. That was surprising," the girl said.

Yeegar's eyes were narrow. Alexandra didn't think she'd ever seen him like this. "What do you want with the Heart?"

"What else?" the girl said with a giggle. "To destroy it, of course! I hear, if the Heart is destroyed, all the other Innocence will disappear, too. Do you think it's true?"

Destroy it? All of the Innocence will disappear? Alexandra wanted desperately to ask if that was possible, if that was what would happen. Innocence could be destroyed?

"I will not allow you to do that," Yeegar said, frown deepening.

Yeegar lunged forward just enough to bring them into range, his pendulum flashing out. The girl moved back again, though she still looked more amused than anything. The man, however, dodged past it gracefully and moved closer. He was fast; almost before Alexandra could react, he was up next to Yeegar.

Too close for Yeegar's long to mid-range weapon to be effective.

Before she even thought about it, Alexandra had flung herself between them, wings blocking a blow from the Noah that had enough force behind it to send her stumbling backwards into Yeegar. She spread her wings, forcing the Noah to retreat or be sliced up. Wisely, he chose to back up, putting him back in Yeegar's ideal range.

However, she'd made a mistake. One she needed to stop making. The Noah immediately dashed back in, Yeegar's dual pendulums seemingly little more than a passing concern.

The Noah's hand closed around the front of her coat, and so fast that she couldn't bring her wings back around, he'd picked her up and bodily flung her out of the way. It was easy enough for her to catch herself midair -- she had too much practice maneuvering by now to have failed -- but she lost sight of them for several precious seconds.

By the time she got them in view again, the Noah's outstretched arm which he'd thrown her with was reaching for Yeegar, but the chain of one of Yeegar's pendulums was securely wrapped around it.

He yanked roughly to the side, dragging the Noah off his feet, and the other pendulum swung around in a deadly arc.

The girl Noah, meanwhile, was merely watching from a safe distance. She'd pulled a lollipop out and was idly licking it. It was possible she couldn't fight, but she'd moved plenty fast before.

In any case, it turned out that she didn't need to be worried for her fellow Noah; long before Yeegar's second pendulum could make contact, he'd managed to shake off the one around his arm. Then, with no warning, he sank straight into the ground.

Alexandra stared.

Several heartbeats later, he slid back up out of the ground next to the girl.

“Alexandra," Yeegar said urgently, and her eyes snapped back to him. He looked worried. "Run."

"Master--" she started, but he interrupted her.

"No. Just get out of here. Call the Order, tell them what happened," he said. It was unmistakably an order.

Alexandra looked back to the two Noah, who were watching them very casually.

"Are you done playing, Tyki?" the girl asked idly, biting down on her sucker.

The man waved one hand carelessly. "I suppose so. This man doesn't seem very interesting," he said.

"You're just not imaginative enough," she said with a giggle.

She pointed at Yeegar, who made a quiet choking noise and collapsed to his knees. His eyes, Alexandra noted with alarm, were still open, but blank and unseeing.

Run.

Call the Order, tell them what happened.

Please, let me protect you for a little longer.

Alexandra didn't know what the girl had just done to Yeegar, and with two of them, especially with the man's strange ability, she didn't think she could win. Not alone. She spread her wings, preparing to take off, but first.

To destroy it, of course!

First, she dove for Yeegar, snatching the bag that held the extra Innocence he carried. She knew, after seeing him remove his own anti-akuma weapon, that it wound all the way up both his arms, reaching across his back under his coat. There was no way she could take that one as well.

She had no choice but to hope it wasn't the Heart, whatever that was.

"Hey--" the man Noah started, sounding perhaps mildly alarmed, but mostly just curious.

A flap of Alexandra's wings brought her into the air. The man started towards her, possibly realizing what she was doing, but in this case, she was faster. Her second flap, harder now that she was off the ground and had more room, brought her far above. Then she made her way over them, towards the city she and Yeegar had been traveling to.

And she pretended that the tears prickling at her eyes were just from the wind.

What would have taken close to an hour at walking speed was, at Alexandra's top flying speed, only a couple of minutes.

She landed just outside the town, not wanting people to notice her wings, deactivated her Innocence, and ran inside, the bag of Innocence clutched to her chest. From many, many train stations, she knew that they almost always had a phone that people could use.

Sure enough, several minutes later of running that, somehow, stole the breath from her lungs far more effectively than flying, Alexandra found the phone.

There was somebody using it, but she just tugged at their sleeve, not bothering to hide the tears on her face and in her eyes, and gasped, "Please, I need... It's an emergency."

The man at the phone vacated it quickly. Alexandra felt a little bad; it wasn't technically an emergency. Unless there was an exorcist in the town, they likely wouldn't make it in time. No matter what happened now, Yeegar would almost certainly die.

Because Alexandra had abandoned him.

She called the Order's number, which was essentially a front desk. Or maybe just a front. After Yeegar had brought her to Headquarters for the first time, she'd been given an exorcist ID, which she now told the operator. After a long enough wait to give her time to compose herself, she was sent through to somebody more important. Not Komui himself, or anything, still somebody who's job was answering a phone.

But still, somebody important enough for the information she needed to give them.

The Black Order loved its dark, shady tendencies, so when the person answered the phone, they didn't speak. Alexandra only knew there was somebody because of the breathing.

It was very melodramatic.

"My name is Alexandra. I'm an exorcist traveling with General Kevin Yeegar," she said. "We were attacked by two people who referred to themselves as 'Noah' and claimed to be working with the Millennium Earl."

The person on the other end didn't speak for a moment. Then, "Location?"

"Just outside the city of Wavre, Belgium," Alexandra said.

"Any other information?"

Alexandra had to take a breath. "The general was still fighting the enemy the last I saw," she said dully. "He may not have made it out alive."

The person paused long enough to ensure that she didn't intend to add on any more information. "Understood," they said.

With a click, they ended the call.

Alexandra stood there for a long moment, curling around the bag of Innocence she still held to her chest. She wondered if she was safe in the city. If the Noah would come after her. They had probably attacked in the middle of nowhere on purpose, but she'd gotten away with nine Innocence, counting her own. They might not be willing to let that go.

She might have been tempted to take off her coat, try to blend in and hide. But, even if that hadn't gone against what the exorcists where supposed to be, she had no hope of hiding with her wings; if the Noah could see them while they were deactivated, she'd stand out like a sore thumb.

So she didn't bother.

Depending on who the Order sent and how far away they were, it would be at least a day before anybody showed up. So Alexandra made her way through the city, found an inn with a keeper who spoke English, and got a room.

The thought of Yeegar, possibly still alive, still fighting the Noah, still dying, made her want desperately to go back to him. But what good would that do? She could die with him? And she had to protect the Innocence, anyway. Eight extra Innocence that weren't ordinarily her responsibility; a responsibility that was usually only given to generals.

Alexandra couldn't leave them, and there was no way she was bringing them back to where those Noah could still be hanging around.

So she stayed put.

The next morning, a group of finders came to... well, find her. Exorcists were generally easy to find in a town; there were people everywhere who recognized the emblem of the Order. Slinging the bag of Innocence over her shoulder, she led them back out to where the Noah had attacked.

After taking the last bit of path at a breakneck pace the previous day, it was odd to walk back. They were in a hurry, of course, so they moved faster than Yeegar and Alexandra had been before, but she had to pace herself with the understanding that they were finders, not exorcists. A pace that was a jog to her was sprinting to them, despite their longer legs.

So despite being in the lead, Alexandra let them set the pace at a jog for them. Well, until the end, anyway. At that point, when she recognized the area, when she saw what might have been Yeegar -- well, she sped up, quickly getting ahead of the finders. And she was right: it was Yeegar. Yeegar, barely recognizable, general's coat stripped off, clumps of hair missing from his head, pinned up to a tree in some strange mockery of a crucifixion. There were wounds on his back in the shape of words: 'God Matter'.

Alexandra gasped. "Master!" she said like a sob.

Yeegar wheezed.

Alexandra threw herself forward, scrambling at his restraints even before the finders caught up.

Because, "He's not dead!" she said. "He's not dead..."

But when she and the finders had gotten him down, gently put on the ground, he just stared ahead blankly.

His lips parted slowly. "The Thousand Year Duke is looking," he sang slowly, somewhat offkey, in a hoarse voice. "He's looking for the Great Heart... I didn't have it...

"Who will be next?"