#(also when I say “horrible outcome” it might not always be framed that way by the narrative)

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: INFP with social anxiety here. I have a therapist but we're focusing on some other issues right now. In the meantime, I was wondering if you had some advice for me. I know you're not a professional (you say that multiple times in your posts) and of course I'm not asking you for a fix for my social anxiety with this - I'm just asking your help to understand what part my cognition could be playing in all of this cause I'm really curious.

Basically, my problem is the time frame right BEFORE I meet someone and, sometimes, immediately after. I don't really have problems socializing in the "middle", if you get what I mean; I'm easily adaptable and once I'm relaxed, once I realize no one is there to attack me, my mind starts getting ideas and I kind of know what to say, even though I'm a bit out of practice and I still have problems convincing other people of my emotions (like, mirroring their emotions so that they know I agree with them and stuff like that; for some reason they never ---believe me when I say it with words).

When I make plans, anyway, and I still haven't met the person, I get this anxiety: like I would rather stay home than go there because it's going to be "boring" and I'm probably going to feel like an idiot or make some sort of social gaffe. I mean, I do kinda get bored after a while anyway, but I also know I tend to overestimate that level of "future boredom" to the point it hurts me to even think about showing up and forcing myself to think of stuff I can-- say.

I get anxious because I start thinking about the way people used to treat me in the past (I've always been the black sheep of my family and/or my social circles and I vividly remember some bad things they used to say to me) and I start worrying that, deep down, they still think of me like that and they're never going to forget that "preconception of my identity" and open their eyes to who I am now, or I guess to who I've always been.

I do realize it doesn't make much sense, this "who I ----really am" part - but I've always had the impression that I was a bit different than the "me" they percieved, maybe because after many, many years of being accused of "selfishness" and "inability to tune in with the emotional atmosphere" I learned that in order not to ruin the "social mood" I should've adapted myself to the group - but the problems is that I suppressed "myself" in the meantime (and with myself I mean, like, my real interests, the things I'd like to talk about for ages without-- having to be interrupted or looked down on because, quote unquote, "ok, cool, but we don't really care").

I understand now that if they don't give me hints of actually caring about the subject I should stop rambling like a fool, but this is making me feel like I have nothing "useful" to offer them and therefore bringing the anxiety I'm struggling with. It makes me scared that I'll never be able to be myself around them because of the "social rules" I want to respect to be accepted, & to make----it worse I'm out of practice like I said before and sometimes it just gets too awkward and I want to get out of there.

I bet I'm doing something wrong because friendships and relationships in general are not supposed to be "boring", am I right? And yet until I don't get distracted by the actual conversation, I feel like it's going to be really boring and uncomfortable and sometimes going through it is SO horrible... most of the time I end up making up some excuse to go home earlier and talk----my internet friends instead (thank God for the internet!!!!). Anyway, thank you if you'll answer! And have a good summer vacation c:

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The first thing I notice is that your thought process bears a very striking resemblance to many INFJs who struggle with social anxiety due to poor Fe development (see past posts). As a general rule, if I have good reason to suspect that someone might be mistyped, I won't provide info about function development until they undergo a proper type assessment. Otherwise, they might adopt the wrong method of improvement.

You say you want to understand what part your cognition plays in the social anxiety you experience, so I will mention the aspects of your cognition that seem most significant:

1) No Chill: You overthink things to an extreme, to the point of self-sabotage, perhaps even creating a self-fulfilling prophecy (i.e. when expecting the negative actually makes the negative happen). Overthinking means that you're not confronting the real obstacle getting in the way of your socializing. You're constantly trying to envision, imagine, or predict what will happen in a social interaction? WHY? What's the point of that overthinking? It's how you avoid confronting your fear head on.

2) Insecure: Your "predictions" are too often faulty because of being tainted by your underlying insecurities. You're insecure about being attacked, being accused, being misjudged, doing something wrong, being deemed of no value or unworthy of care, not being accepted or acceptable, dying of awkwardness, feeling bored, feeling uncomfortable, and on and on. You've described your thought process in detail. But nowhere do I see you confronting your insecurities, digging deeper into them, in order to understand the root of them. Insecurities are a manifestation of fear.

3) Control: Irrational anxiety is oftentimes about trying to control things that you shouldn't be trying to control or cannot have any control over - it wastes mental energy and leads to futile behavior. As long as you're trying to control social situations and their outcome, you are either trying too hard to make reality match up with your expectations or you're fumbling whenever reality unfolds outside of your expectations - you become rigid and frail. You claim to be "adaptable" but everything you say after that only proves you don't know the meaning of the word. You can't handle unpredictability, hence, the attempt to be in control by trying to "predict" everything. Do your attempts to control actually work? Do they help or hinder you? If they mostly hinder you, then isn't it time to change your strategy? Anxious people often believe that having more knowledge or control is the answer to their fear. But, in your case, the huge cost of being controlling is being incompetent. What's worse, the fear is still right there running the show.

4) Unresolved Trauma: You attribute your troubles to your past. Fair enough. Growing up in a social environment that did not respect and appreciate you is painful, even extremely traumatic for certain personality types. It also makes people too hungry for validation. It's natural that you wouldn't want to feel the pain of it again. However, if that pain remains unexamined and unresolved, you will unconsciously keep seeking to resolve it, which means re-enacting the trauma over and over again throughout life. The proof? Every time you meet someone, your first stance is defensive, because the first thing that comes into your mind is that you don't want to be attacked or invalidated. That old pain is running the whole show because you are deeply afraid of experiencing it again, yet you don't realize that YOU are the one calling it back up and rehashing it. What are you doing to resolve the pain rather than indulge the fear?

5) Self-absorbed: Social anxiety makes people too absorbed in their own thoughts, feelings, hopes, and expectations. They are too preoccupied with what they want, what will happen, how they will be perceived, how they might make a mistake, how they might be attacked, etc. This means they're not truly present with people, so the relationship can't really go far. Driven by fear and insecurity, they are always behind a wall, too difficult to reach.

Even if you happen to meet the right people, do you make it easy for them to befriend you? It seems that you can't open up with ease, you can't go with the flow of the other person when they don't live up to your expectations, you can't keep your emotions in check and misjudge situations, you get bored when it's not about you, you run away instead of making things better. Looking at yourself objectively from the outside, would you want to be friends with someone like that?

If you want to have good friends, you first have to BE a good friend. You want care, love, and validation? We all do. The best way to receive it is to be the first to give it. By being more aware of other people's needs and doing more to show that you care about them, you put them in a better position to care about you and meet your needs in return. This is the difference between actively trying to "make" a friend vs passively wishing for a friend to drop into your lap.

Being a friend isn't about what "value" you have, as though you're some kind of object being appraised and sold. Being a good friend is quite a simple matter of putting out the energy to care and show that you care. When you meet someone who's moved by your care, they will care for you in return. When you meet someone who's unmoved by your care, figure out the real reason why, in order to determine whether you should keep trying or put your energy elsewhere.

You never really know who you'll hit it off with. One of my favorite experiences in life is making a friend in the unlikeliest of places. As an adult, meeting new people is a numbers game. All you can do is keep pushing yourself to meet new people. The more people you meet, the greater the odds of clicking with someone. If you're looking to meet like-minded people, go to places that are likely to have people who share your interests. If you don't hit it off with someone, simply move along. You don't have to be friends with everyone, do you?

Yet, you take every little social interaction so seriously that each step is like life or death - that's what makes socializing tiring, laborious, and unfun. Why not enter into every social interaction with an open mind and an open heart? Why not truly go with the flow, without having to undergo the repetitive ritual of predicting what will happen or fussing over what did happen?

6) Poor Emotional Intelligence: This point is the common thread that runs through the previous points, which is why I keep repeating the word "fear". You have extremely low tolerance for negative feelings and emotions, which means you really need to work on learning how to deal with your emotional life better. Any little sign that things won't turn out the way you want and you start to panic, overthink, blame, or flee. Why do you recoil from yourself and your own feelings and emotions? Why are you so easily shaken by boredom, awkwardness, invalidation, failing, other people's negativity, etc? Why do you react so badly to these things (when others just brush it off and keep going)?

7) Low Self-Awareness: It's not enough to just name the fear ("I'm afraid of____"). Does the label explain why you have this particular fear and not some other fear? It's not enough to blame the past ("It's because of ____"). Why did someone else with a similar past as yours not develop this fear? To get to the root of fear, you have to identify, in exact terms:

what aspect of you has to change to overcome the fear

what aspect of your identity has to "die" (i.e. be let go of) in order to evaporate the fear

Until you answer the fear properly, it won't go away.

#social anxiety #anxiety #fear #emotional intelligence #mental health #ask

[aspoonofsugar]

RWBY Chain Of Faves

Who are your top 10 favorite RWBY characters and why?

Hello anon!

Thank you very much for this ask! I love talking about faves!

1) The murder kids aka Emerald and Mercury

I have talked about them here and here and I’ve shared some minor thoughts here and here.

I think their story has yet to enter its climax, so the metas on them are not as finalized as those on other characters. Still, the set-up is all there and I love it. As I say in the metas linked, they are a unit (body and soul, weapon and semblance). They are also two of the characters who mostly explore the cycle of abuse (together with Cinder, who is both victim and perpetrator).

I like how they are given the chance to screw up very very badly (and are given consequences for their actions), but are also always framed as two kids who try to be toughter than they are.

What is more, I love their relationship and their dynamic with Cinder. I think both bonds are very complex and are shown rather than told. This is why Emerald and Mercury’s body language is very effective imo. Their closeness is mostly conveyed through them glancing at each other or how they move around each other. This makes sense because they are in a place where they can’t speak freely.

In particular, I like that their relationship is deep, but not idealized. They care about each other, but are too scared to save each other. This is why Emerald needs the help of an adult (Hazel) to leave her abusive environment. This is also why she is recovering in a healthier environment that also lets her understand the consequences of her actions better. At the same time, Mercury who is instead stuck with another abusive mentor can’t currently escape.

When it comes to each one of them individually...

Emerald’s design and semblance are among my personal favourites. Her semblance especially is at the very top of my list. It has so much potential thematically and flexibility in terms of use (invisibility, transformation, specific illusions fitting a character’s flaw). I hope they use it more and in diverse ways in the future to show Emerald’s growth. For example, how cool would it be if she used it to help another character overcome a panic attack? Or if she helped Ruby enter the mental state to use her eyes with it?

I also really like she has a specific fighting style that fits her thief motif and is very different from others. It is less scenographic, but  very pragmatic and I love it.

I also liked the focus she received this season and I think it needs to be finalized. I am curious on how it will happen.

Mercury’s background is the one which breaks my heart the most. The little we know is horrible :( I also think it is a story that heavily relies on symbolism to convey the idea of abuse...

Marcus took Mercury’s legs, so he can’t psychologically escape the cycle of abuse... Marcus told Mercury he needs no crutches and Mercury is refusing to aknowledge his hurt and to heal... Marcus’s violence messed up Mercury so much he is not sure what he wants and his semblance is missing to underline it.

I wonder if we will discover more about his background or if what we have so far is all. I can see it go both ways to be honest. Also, Tyrian’s interactions with Mercury are interesting and meaningful, but also terrifying. I both want more and I am scared of having more :’’)

I am also looking forward to see how his allusion will be used. As for now, he has the potential to have at least three different motifs going on. The one of Mercury the God, the one of Mercury the metal and the one of Mercury the planet. Curious to see what is done with them!

Finally, I’m the One is one of my favourite songs because it is full of foreshadowing and perfectly conveys what their characters are about. I would love to properly analyze it one day, even if I have used it in multiple metas already :), so I am not sure I have new things to say.

The same can be said about their fight against Coco and Yatsuhashi and their fight with Cinder against Amber. In a sense, those two fights are complementary, since the first one foreshadows their major assets that are properly shown and charged symbolically in the second.

In short, their fight with Coco and Yatsuhashi is how they want to appear:

I'm the one that your mama said 'Don't mess with them or you'll end up dead That type they don't follow any rules'

Their fight against Amber is who they are deep down:

I'm the one That was born in a nightmare a murderer's son

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one

3) Penny

She is the protagonist of the Atlas Volumes and has my favourite arc so far.

Her arc is contradictive, sad and powerful. In a sense, her whole character is written to hurt :’’’) She is given a happy and enthusiastic personality to hide how tragic her story is.

Penny is an example of how to write a specific kind of tragedy, where the main conflict does not lie in the character’s flaw, but in the environment she is in. Penny wants to be a “real” girl, but others won’t let her. This conflict escalates until she tragically manages to affirm her personhood in death.

At the same time, she is given self-issues that can be seen as a flaw and tie to her environment. She is self-sacrificial and struggles to see herself as a true person. Still, this flaw does not really drive her plotline (others’ control of her does) and, as @hamliet​ has stated, it does not eat everything around Penny.

So, she dies tragically because she never gets the chance, not even to overcome these self-issues, but to properly face them. At the same time, her death is powerful and cathartic because she negates others’ control and manipulation. She negates the mechanisms that had her develop self-issues to begin with.

Is it a happy outcome? Not at all. It is sad and contradictive. It is gray, but this is precisely why it is powerful. It manages to convey and explore complex and contradictive ideas. It does not offer an answer, but only bittersweet questions.

I also really like how Penny’s allusion is used in the story. It is played straight in terms of plot since Penny becomes human as the story goes on. However, it is problematized in terms of themes. It conveys that humanity is about making choices and experiencing both happiness and pain. Finally, Penny’s final scene is an inversion of the original novel.

Penny is not the Blue Fairy’s creation, but the Blue Fairy’s creator:

She goes from Creation (passive, a child) to Creator (active, an adult).

Incidentally, Penny too has one of my favourite songs. Friend is beautiful and it perfectly describes her arc. It conveys how much she loves humanity despite how complex and painful it is. The music starting slow and melancholic to gain more power as it goes on describes Penny’s life beautifully. It is a story that ends too soon (the music interrupts at its most vibrant), but it is still a melody full of love for life:

An answered prayer A chance to Share the world To be a girl Who fin'lly felt alive

4) Cinder

Cinder is probably the most complex and best written character so far.

She manages to make me feel for her and to make me incredibly angry with her at the same time :’’’)

I have written several metas on her, so you can read my thoughts on her background, the focus she received this volume, how I think her arc will end and some minor symbolism.

Cinder is built on an equilibrium between victim and perpetrator. She is both and the narrative strikes perfectly with its framing of her. It is both sympathetic and strict and most of all tragic because no matter if Cinder wins or loses... she keeps spiralling either way and she can’t understand she is fighting a worthless fight.

She is also full of interesting motifs and symbolism. One I would like to explore more in the future (and for it to be explored more by the story itself) is her fall motif.

She chooses the surname “Fall” herself when it is decided her first target is the Fall Maiden. This makes for a nice juxtaposition between her and Winter.

Cinder is born with nothing. Her own name refers a substance almost completely burnt, something with almost no color. It is a very humble name, so she chooses a surname which is important. It is a surname that hints to her role as a vessel of the Maidens.

She is not chosen to be a Maiden... she is not supposed to be one. However, she decides she is going to take the power even if it is not hers. She is taking destiny in her own hands.

Winter is born with apparently everything. However, this is also why everything gets decided for her. She is given the name Winter before she was born. Similarly, Ironwood chooses her as the Maiden even before she discovers about them.

Cinder sees Winter as having everything Cinder deserves. However, she misses how Winter is facing very similar struggles. She might be given what Cinder is negated, but she too has to make that destiny hers. She has to take her story in her own hands, just like Cinder.

At the same time, Cinder’s fall motif is linked also to the idea of falling. She falls and makes others fall. Exactly like she burns and is burnt. The orange of her flames aesthetically calls back to the orange of the falling leaves.

This idea is also conveyed through Cinder constantly mistreating and even killing characters representative of sides of herself.

She abuses Emerald and Mercury aka her child selves.

She kills Watts aka her negative foil.

She kills Pyrrha and Penny aka her Maidens’ foils.

It is clear that all this hurting and killing parts of herself won’t end well for her. I mean, she, not Salem, is the one responsible of the two major deaths in the series (Penny and Pyrrha), so she is bound to receive consequences.

Another thing I love about her is how her intelligence is people focused. She is very good at reading and manipulating others and this is how she wins her major fights. This is both her flaw and her major asset. I like it because I think RWBY is good in showing different kinds of intelligence and Cinder’s one is very coherent with her personality.

Finally, I love how her Cinderella allusion is used. It is a deconstruction of the original fairy tale that is born from a question: “What if Cinderella were not the kind victim of the story, but a bad victim?”. It is also interesting how the key character in Cinder’s allusion is not the Prince or the Stepmother, but the Fairty Godmother who fails her twice (Rhodes and now Salem).

As a side note, I can’t wait for The Truth to be out in its complete version.

5) Oscar

Aka the one who deserves nothing of what he gets :’’’)

I love him because he is an example of how to write a character who is a cinnamon roll, but that also is not boring and has complexity.

His struggle is about his sense of self. He starts the story by wishing to become more than what he is, but he does not like that this “more” turns out to be about fusing with another person. He wants to grow not to lose himself to another entity.

This is his major fear:

Who will you see? There in the darkness When no one is watching Who will you be? When you're afraid And everything changes Will you see a stranger? Feel proud or betrayed?

This is well conveyed also by his relationship with the rest of the group. He starts as the odd man out and others mostly rely on Ozpin rather than him. He sometimes even seems to disappear behind Ozpin. However, as time goes on, he forges genuine bonds and he becomes dependable on his own. He becomes even more so than Ozpin because he has something Oz lost out of cynism. The ability to trust.

In the Atlas volume he is the character that embodies the thematic statement about trust:

Oscar: You want him to trust us? Then trust me.

The point is that to be trusted you should trust first, even if there is no guarantee it will work.

It is interesting because the theme of trust is explored starting with Ozpin, Oscar’s foil, who does not trust others, so our protagonists feel betrayed. However, in Atlas they find themselves in Ozpin’s shoes and must choose if to trust Ironwood or not.

Here, we explore a form of conditional trust. This idea is presented by Ruby, who wants to be sure it is safe to trust Ironwood. So she keeps secrets and studies him until she decides she can trust him... only to discover that was not the case immediately after. This happens because trust can never be completely safe. Actually, in its most negative declination, this kind of trust becomes the control symbolized by Ironwood.

No matter what, trust is always a leap of faith. This is why trust is a risk. Oscar shows this concept well. He decides to still trust Ironwood at the end of volume 7, but it does not work. Still, he does not stop and decides to trust Emerald and Hazel. This time his trust and faith are repaid. He is fred and gains a new ally:

I love Emerald and Oscar’s interactions btw :’’’) It is good that Oscar is the one who is growing closer to her. They escape Salem together and Oscar has not been hurt by Emerald the same way the others are.

Anyway, even if trust is worth it, the exploration of this theme in Atlas actually ends on a negative note. It ends with Cinder who is an enemy of trust because she uses others’ trust and feelings against them.

Anyway, Oscar is a key character and I can’t wait for his story to develop more!

6) Ironwood

He breaks my heart.

He is a an excellent tragic Hero.

He thinks he is the Great Good, but this is precisely why he spirals out of control and falls with his own Kingdom, hated by his allies and forgotten by his enemies.

His downfall stems from his inability to trust, his refusal of emotions, his single-mindness and mostly his convinction he is better than others. This idea is structural of Atlas society and is seen in many of his inhabitants. No matter the social class, we see multiple people thinking they deserve better and that they are above others. This is why Atlas falls and his people becomes refugees in the poorest Kingdom of Remnant.

Anyway, Ironwood thinks he is better than others, so he should be the one deciding for others as well. This idea is flawed and perfectly conveyed through his ideology of sacrificing everything. He feels he has everything, so he can sacrifice what he wants. Still, this is not the case. Others’ lives and feelings are not his. He doesn’t own them.

7) Weiss

I love Weiss. She has one of my favourite designs and one of my favourite semblances and fighting styles.

Her snowhite allusion being played to explore the idea of a dysfunctional family is very good.

In general, I love how much she has grown slowly, but steadily and how she has progressively become warmer. I enjoyed her interactions with her siblings this season. She also gets many moments where she shines for her humanity and intelligence.

She is both Snowhite and the Prince, but also the Huntress that changes and makes others change. She becomes an inspiration for her whole family and since the Schnees are all in Vacuo and she will eventually join them, I am curious if there is going to be more about their family dynamic.

Other than this, I am excited about her Nevermore summon, what is means symbolically and when she will use it.

8) Ruby

I think Ruby’s arc must still enter its climax and that she will shine towards the end of the series.

That said, I love her as a protagonist. She has an interesting set of skills that makes her competent, but not invincible. Moreover, I like how she is important and a participant of the plot, but also does not single-handedly solves everything by herself. She has to learn just like the others. For example, this volume she learns that trust is a risk and the importance of taking risks.

Moreover, she is actually very rarely the protagonist of a volume climax. Speaking of the most climatic volumes, Pyrrha is the protagonist of the climax in volume 3, Yang and Raven are in volume 5, Penny in volume 8.

The climax where she is the most in focus as a character is volume 6 and that is the volume where her eyes are explored and her personal arc is set up. That said, she still manages to be important and to contribute to the action in many ways.

I think her role is to inspire others and I guess that by making that speech this volume she is gonna grow into a symbol even more. If that happens it will be interesting to see what this means for her.

Apart from this, I am curious about her subplot with her mother and if it will tie to her choice to save Cinder with her eyes (since I think this is where we are going). She is going to be both Hood and the Huntsman who kills the Wolf and saves the Victim.

9) Nora and Ren

They are my favourite canon romance.

Their story starts with Ren getting focus (with Nora as a support) and is slowly shifting to Nora developing as her own person (with Ren as a support).

It fits for them to be one of the series main romances because as characters they both explore the concept of emotions and emotional intelligence.

I would say Nora is one of the most emotional intelligent characters in the cast. She is aware of her own feelings for Ren and tries to push their story forwars. She quickly picks up on Pyrrha’s crush and encourages her to make a move. Honestly, she sees herself as a dumb jock, but she is far from it. She is one of the wisest and most sensitive characters:

Nora: You shove people out so you don’t have to feel things that are hard!

Ren is ironically the one struggling with feelings, even if his semblance is all about emotions. In a sense, it is as if he develops it precisely because he struggles with this part of himself.

As a child he is easily overwhelmed by emotions like fear, which goes in the way of his actions. So, when he is under stress he deveops a magical power that lets him control this part of himself. However, as time goes on, it becomes more and more obvious that he should face his own feelings. And once he faces them:

Ren: No! No one is replaceable.

Then he becomes able to see both himself and others more clearly.

In general, both Ren and Nora must overcome their issues if they want to end up together.

Ren’s issue was his fear of being completely vulnerable and to open up with another person. Nora’s is her complete dependance on Ren and how she sees herself as only a part of him, while she is much more.

As a side note, Ren finally confessing his feelings for Nora only to be (temporally) rejected is a great note for his character arc. He was repressing his feelings out of fear, but now he has grown enough to take a risk (opening up, showing vulnerability). Well, this risk does not pay off immediatley. Nora asks him for some time and this is surely not how Ren would have hoped things to go. Still, he understands and supports her. He takes an emotional risk that does not pay off immediately, but he is able to live with it.

In terms of writing, I also think Raven is top notch. Moreover, Winter is a lowkey favourite as well.

I also like some minor characters like Ilia, whose background is built on a very interesting premise that fits her chameleon motif, and Whitley who manages to be helpful even if he is not a fighter. Velvet also has a cool weapon and semblance that tie with her photography motif.

I also love Yang, Blake and Jaune aka the other members of the main cast.

In terms of design, many of my favourites have also my favourite designs (Emerald, Weiss, Mercury, Cinder, Penny, Winter, Ruby, Ren and Ilia).

Other than them, I love Neo’s design, characterization and fighting style:

Finally, I also like Tock’s design and concept, even if she only appears once.

Thank you for this ask! I had fun with it!

#rwby #rwby meta #emerald sustrai #mercury black #penny polendina #cinder fall #oscar pine #james ironwood #weiss schnee #ruby rose #nora valkyrie #lie ren #renora #tw: penny's death #rwby murder kids #murder kids #winter schnee #anonymous #asksfullofsugar #my meta #chain of faves

[moonctzeny]

The Bet

au+trope+prompt game: coffee shop!au Mark + enemies to lovers + is that the best you can do?

pairing: mark lee + fem!reader

other members as background characters: lucas

genre: fluff (only some suggestive stuff)

word count: 3,796

warnings: slight objectification of reader, suggestive stuff, heavy making out, a boner, i guess a stockings kink

summary: “When you took that part time job as a barista at your local café, you only cared about grabbing your check while doing the least work possible. But when your supervisor, Mark Lee, keeps getting praised and winning ‘Employee Of The Month’, you offer a bet, to prove him that he’s no better than you. The outcome? Your relationship changing forever.”

a/n: hbd baby <3

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It started off as just a little part time job.

College life was not easy to cope with financially, and eating instant noodles for a week straight could only save you so much money. So when you saw the ‘Barista Wanted’ sign at the cafe that was just a block away from your house, you didn’t miss your chance for a few extra bucks. And that’s all that job would be for you. Doing the least work possible for the minimum wage you were given, if it wasn’t for him. Mark Lee.

Mark was sweet, honestly. He greeted you with a smile when you first came in and showed you around. He was a bit shy when he awkwardly stated that he was kind of like a supervisor there. But the way that the boss would go on and on about how great he was, every Monday morning, was starting to get annoying. So was his ability to always save your ass whenever you made a mess in front of your boss. So was his picture hanging in the “Employee Of The Month” frame right from across the bar. That kid won that title every.single.month. And no overtimes, sweeping or mopping from your part seemed to change your boss’s mind.

It all began when you and Lucas, another part-time worker whose shift started right after yours, were talking about whether you would make rent this month. Mark was sitting next to you, occupied with organizing some cups by size, but decided to chip in.

“Well”, he sighed “guess we’re just gonna have to eat the rich. Or take that pole dancing class you mentioned, Lucas.”

The taller boy found it funny, letting out his signature giggle and you would too, if Mark’s damn “Employee of the Month” picture wasn’t staring right into your soul, mocking you.

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us are lucky enough to get that sweet I-love-kissing-the-boss’s-ass bonus every month, Lee”. Lucas whistled at your comment, used to your bickering but still very entertained.

“Careful how you speak to your supervisor, y/n or you’ll never get to be employee of the month”.

“Oh please”, you scoff “having extra keys to the back exit and cleaning the coffee machine twice a week? That’s wayyy too much responsibility”.

Sarcasm was dripping from your voice, but you were only half lying. You didn’t give a flying fuck for the position. You just wanted it because he had it. And that certain “he” was starting to get a little tired from your constant degradation. Mark smirked at you, but anger was evident on his expression.

“You should be thanking me, you know. At least you get to mooch off of my tips”.

Lucas yelled a drawn out “ooohhh” but you could barely hear him. Your eyes were piercing Mark’s, too busy keeping yourself from blurting out every profanity that came to your head in that moment. Instead, you took a deep breath.

“You think you make more tips than me?”, you asked calmly. Cockier than ever, the boy instantly replies with a “I know I do”, never breaking eye contact. This was your chance, you thought. The chance to prove yourself and shut him up for good.

“How about we make a little bet?”

Mark raised his bow-shaped brows, focusing his attention solely on you.

“Let’s put separate tip jars next to the cashing machine for the rest of the week. If I make more, you’ll convince the boss to remove that horrible frame for good”. He followed your eyes to his picture on the wall, and nodded.

“And when I win?”, he asked curiously and you chose to ignore his little play on words. You furrowed your brows, trying to think of a good motivation for him, as if his competitive nature wasn’t enough.

“OH! OH!” Lucas interrupted, “she can go on a date with that creepy friend of yours that always comes to the cafe to see her!”

Mark’s eyes instantly lit up at the idea. He handed out his pinky, looking to seal the deal with you.

“Bet’s on”, he said, with a seriousness that looked foreign on his cute features, and motioned to his pinky with his eyes, urging you to intertwine it with yours.

You sighed and walked away, muttering a “God, you are so lame”, but the next morning you came to work with a jar with your name written all pretty on it.

You didn’t really have a strategy per se. In fact, you had completely forgotten about the bet, too busy preparing orders and running around. You were cleaning up for Lucas to take your place in the shift, when you felt Mark looking down at you from the other side of the counter that usually separated you from the costumers. “May I be of help, sir?”, you asked him mockingly, not bothering to spare him a glance.

“You should wear those white thigh highs. You look cute in them.”

“Huh? What?”, you ask in confusion, still cleaning the surface carefully.

“In your date with Jason”, he explained with a teasing tone in his voice, Jason being his ‘creepy friend’ as Lucas calls him. Why did he have to piss you off right when you were ready to go home?

You continued to ignore him, only muttering a “I’m not going on that date”, when you hear a clinging sound and finally look up at Mark.

“You sure?”

He was holding the two tip jars, swinging them around. To your horror, Mark’s had more than twice the money than yours.

“WHAT??” you let out and immediately regretted it when some costumers looked at you like you were crazy. You continued with a whispered yell, “How the fuck did that happen??”

Mark grinned at you and lifted his shoulders innocently, before walking away. He must have cheated by slipping in coins when you weren’t looking, that sly motherfucker.

That’s it, you decided, on Wednesday you were going to spy on his every move.

After watching him intently for the whole morning, you came to the conclusion that Mark had a way of making everybody like him. Whether it was him memorizing the regulars and their orders, or asking them if they knew some random Will Smith song about Miami, he was always the textbook example of an eager, smiley and pleasant barista. Even you smiled at the sight of him fumbling with the pen when two pretty girls gave him their names to write on the coffee cups. He flashed them a smile and mumbled an apology, and you watched as they cooed at him and left a very generous tip. You were almost convinced by his adorable act, when he turned around and winked your way.

Ugh, you hated Mark Lee.

You decided that making a better connection with the customers was the way to go. You weren’t the type to start a conversation about the weather out of the blue, nor did you know any Will Smith songs, so you decided on drawing a little doodle on the cup next to their names with every order. The younger ones thought it was a nice addition to their snapchat story, the older ones found you cute. And as they came back for a coffee refill, your jar started filling up as well. It wasn’t much but you were getting closer to reaching the 3/4 of Mark’s tips, so you were pretty happy with yourself.

You were drawing a little heart for a latte when you smelled his cologne. You felt his breath pushing away at the hairs that were sticking out from your ponytail at the nape of your neck. You hated how it sent a shiver to your spine, how it made your hands a little shaky and how the heart drawing turned out a little wonky.

Mark was your “enemy” and your supervisor and Mr. Annoyingly Perfect but Mark was also hot. You would never admit it, but you even had a little crush on him when you started working there. You might pull a disgusted face every time Lucas tells you that the solution to your constant bickering was to “just fuck already”, but you wondered whether it was his oblivion to your crush that made your little hatred towards him grow. And you’d be lying if you said that you never stared at his cute ass sticking out of his apron a second too long, or that it didn’t turn you on when he got pissed at the ice getting stuck in the blender.

So now that he was almost pressing against you from behind, closer than ever, you wouldn’t mind at all. That is if he didn’t open his god damn mouth.

“Really?”, he scoffed “Is that the best you can do?”

His tone was so condescending that it made you furious, pressing your nails in the paper cup, and you were surprised that the liquid didn’t spill everywhere. He gave you a victorious smirk from getting that reaction out of you, and you wanted to punch it right off of his face.

Oh, that meant war.

On Thursday morning, you walked in looking the best you’ve ever looked for a morning shift. You had your hair in pigtails, hair bands matching the color of your lowcut dress. Your lengthened the straps of your apron, your cleavage not leaving much to the imagination.

It was ridiculous, you thought, how many tips a push up bra can get you. It only took a couple customers for the word to spread and the horny men to line up at the cafe. You batted your eyelashes at them, the “Good morning, I’m here to serve you, how can I help you sir?”driving them nuts. You had to say it every time, shop’s policy, but now it sounded more suggestive than ever. You were disgusted by their gawking eyes and terrible attempts at flirting, but you had a goal.

And hell were you winning. You weren’t sure if it was your jar that was filling up at an amazing rate or your outfit, but that was the first time you ever saw Mark make a mistake in his orders. You swore you felt his gaze following you around all day, murmuring something to himself every time a customer asked him if the pretty girl could serve them instead.

It was the end of the shift, and you were happily chatting with Lucas as you were cleaning up the counter. He was doing a terrible job at keeping his eyes away from your chest, but when it came to someone as good looking as him, you really didn’t mind the attention. You took your apron off and started folding it neatly when Mark took your wrist and dragged you into the storage room.

He held a bunch of wrinkly paper towels in his hands. You noticed something was written with a pen messily on each of them.

“This is the seventh phone number that a dude has given me today”, he told you as he stared into your eyes, careful not to move his gaze any more south. It was your turn to mess with him.

“Well good for you”, you said with a smile, “Didn’t know you were so popular with men, Mark”

He closed his eyes, trying to control his temper, and shoved the towels towards you.

“They’re for you. They asked me to pass them to you. After the third guy I forgot what their names were but you can figure them out yourself”. You took them from him with a quiet “oh, thanks” and he sighed.

“You can’t come in here looking like that. This is a workplace.”

You looked at him with wide eyes and fake innocence. “Like what? What’s wrong with my outfit?”. His patience was running short.

“Why don’t you ask Lucas” he replied, with a tone that started to piss you off.

“If you can’t control your hormones like you’re some teenage boys, that’s not my prob-“ you start but he cuts you off. You had never seen him act so stern.

“We have a dress code. Maybe the boss can remind you, if you want”.

It was the first time Mark had actually pulled the supervisor card on you and you felt a little hurt by the coldness of his voice. You swear you saw a bit of instant regret in his eyes but you decided to leave the matter alone, and left the storage room after ostentatiously throwing the phone numbers in the bin next to the door.

Friday was the last day of the bet. You didn’t show up with a flashy outfit, because 1) you didn’t want to risk losing your job for a stupid bet and 2) because straight men were annoying and so were their pickup lines that you didn’t want to deal with. You did wear the white thigh highs Mark mentioned though, with a skirt whose length followed the dress code, just to tease him a little bit. You had never worn them in work before, but when you ran across Mark one day on your way home from a girls’ night out, both a little drunk and disoriented, he didn’t hide his admiration towards them.

He noticed right away when you walked in the café this afternoon. Fridays were the only days when you took the later shift instead of the morning one. You hated it because that meant having to work with Mark until closing, and due to his perfectionism you’d always be staying with him overtime, cleaning every inch of the place, and never participating in any Friday parties that your friends hosted.

You were a little worried that things would be awkward between you after your little argument yesterday, but when he pointed at your stockings and asked if you were “dressed up for the date already”, you knew he didn’t keep any hard feelings and neither did you. What you didn’t expect was his jar to be as full as yours, if not more.

You panicked, and took Lucas to the side, making him promise that he would tell you if he had cheated while you were gone or not. He shrugged.

“Sorry, pretty, no cheating. A high school visited the park across the street as a field trip. The girls went crazy over him. Pretty sure they spent all their allowance here”.

At that you dropped your shoulders in defeat and worked your shift with a pout on your face. You wouldn’t take the humiliation of losing the bet, especially after the little stunt you pulled on Thursday. The hours went by agonizingly slow, and the moment you were dreading finally came.

You turned the “Sorry, we’re closed” sign at the glass entrance door, as you were mopping the floor. All the costumers were gone, and your boss had left the keys to you and Mark, asking you to lock up instead as he had ‘an errand to run’. You wished that your coworker would somehow forget about your bet and spare you the embarrassment, but instead, he gave you a devilish side smirk and motioned you to come closer.

He emptied his jar first, and started counting out loud in front of you, insisting that you do it out together so as not to pull any “funny business”.

40 bucks. It wasn’t bad, it was good actually, and you groaned, now feeling more nervous than ever.

Mark on the other hand, relaxed his shoulders and happily started counting your tips this time. His smile started to wear off, though, as you did much better that he thought. You were neck-to-neck, figuratively and almost literally, as your heads nearly bumped together in deep concentration.

“37,38,39,40…41,42,43” he whispered out and you couldn’t believe your eyes.

You won. You actually won. You never had to see that stupid “Employee Of The Month” frame ever again and most importantly, you were finally better than Mark at something.

You let out a high-pitched squeal, jumping up and down excitedly on your spot, strikingly different that the boy next to you, who was frozen in place.

“I woooon” you teased him with a sing-song voice “and you looooost, loserrr”

It was an understatement to say that Mark was fuming.

“It’s not fair!” he yelled and pointed an accusing finger towards you. You rolled your eyes and walked further back, next to the counter with the coffee machines, happily swinging your hips.

“Don’t be a sore loser Mark, I won fair and square”

“I’m not a sore loser!”, he whines, “I was at a disadvantage!”

You raise an eyebrow and turn towards him, to see that he had taken a few steps at your direction. “Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“You’re hot!”, he groans and rubs his hands over his face. “Hell, I would die from a caffeine overdose if it meant seeing you with your little pigtails and that top and that smile, ready to ‘serve me, sir’”

You could feel your ears and cheeks turning on fire and you’d blame it on the flattery, but his horrible high-pitched impression of your voice was what made you too angry to fully process what he said.

You grabbed a syrup bottle from the counter behind you and pointed it towards his face.

“Ugh, Mark! You’re so annoying! Why do you always need to be the best at everything!”

You barged into him, squeezing the bottle over his face. With his quick reflexes he swiftly grabbed your hand, successfully immobilizing you, but you had already managed to get a big, fat line of syrup right across his lips.

In a moment of clarity, you stopped resisting and became aware of the position you and Mark were in. You had moved backwards as a result of your fight, the countertop digging in your lower back. His one hand was grabbing at your lifted arm by the wrist, the other resting on the marbled surface behind you in an effort to detain you. To top it all off, you stared at the mess you made on his lips, coupled by the unreadable look on his eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you thought. This is your supervisory/n! You know, the guy in charge when the boss is gone? The guy that you basically jumped because of a stupid bet? That you actually won? But will still get you fired?

You were getting ready to move away and profusely apologize to Mark, your eyes frantically moving from his eyes, to his lips, to his “Employee Of The Month” picture from across the room. He, however, stayed still, only releasing your wrist to now place his hand under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Clean this mess”, he demanded, in a tone you would have never expected from Mark, “immediately”

In the seconds that followed his demand, the tension between you two was thicker than the drizzle that still decorated his mouth. He came even closer, your noses only a centimeter apart, his fingers pressing on your face lightly.

You were worried whether you read the room wrong or not, because if you did, your next move would most certainly get you fired.

He could barely hear your whispered “here to serve you” before you finally closed the distance between you.

You pulled his bottom lip between your lips, your tongue shyly sweeping across it, collecting the syrup that was starting to dry into a sugary paste. He was soft like a cloud and tasted like caramel. You repeated the motion for his top lip when you felt him melt into your kiss. The moment was sweet like the taste in your mouth, but it changed as soon as you felt him grab the back of your thighs, lifting you on the top of the counter.

You matched his hunger by sucking on his bottom lip this time, determined to clean him up as best as you could. He moaned your name into the kiss, his fingertips digging in the inside of his favorite thigh highs. Your skirt had well ridden up, allowing him to pinch the fabric of one of them.

“These” he started, his lips now sucking on your neck, “almost cost me my supervisor’s position with all the messing up they made me do”

He let the elastic snap against your thigh, earning a small gasp from you and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is that so huh? Because I’m so hot? With my boobs and my pigtails and my willingness to serve?” you ask with a laugh, and you feel him smile against his deep kiss over your pulse, grabbing your legs to scoot your ass and pull you closer.

“Because you’ve been driving me crazy ever since you got this job. And because you look so fucking sexy when you’re mad”

His boldness made you desperate as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled him back up into a passionate kiss. It was sticky and hot and full of tongue, and you felt something poking on the inside of your thigh before a loud noise made you snap and pull away from each other in shock.

You looked at the floor to see a, thankfully not broken, but dismantled blender, that you must have pushed off the counter in the heat of the moment. You stare down at Mark as you both laugh at the situation, his hair messy and lips swollen and you know you definitely mirrored his look.

He cleared his throat. “Uhh, not that I don’t enjoy this, cause I really do, but if we keep at it Lucas is going to be the next Employee Of The Month, and not only is that ridiculous, but we would both basically lose our little bet”

You laughed at his comment and let your feet dangle awkwardly, your cheeks heating at the thought of what might have happened if you two had kept going.

“I’m sorry for being such a bitch about your framed picture” you said with a small voice, avoiding his gaze “you don’t have to take it down”

He smiled at your attempt at peace as he picked up the blender pieces and skillfully riveted them in place. Your eyes suddenly widened before adding, “I will NOT go on a date with your creepy friend though”

Mark giggled at that and shook his head before returning his eyes back at you. His cheeks were flushed a crimson red, deep in thought.

“How about me?” he blurted, “I mean, how about going on a date with me instead?”

You nodded your head, reaching a hand out to fix the messy locks out of his eyes.

“Yes. I think I’d love that”

#mark lee scenarios #nct scenarios #mark lee #mark lee fluff #nct fluff #mark lee birthday #nct au #nct 127 #superm

[jennycalendar]

ok I’m trying to get my friend into btvs and I’ve come to realise. Jenny is the River song of btvs. what do other people think about this like she’s the “cool strong woman” type that really just doesn’t get to exist as a character in her own right rather being mostly just like written in as a cool love interest for the nerd man character. also they’re both lesbionic despite not being lesbians and they’re both characters that despite not having any real depth written into them (at least. not on purpose)I still Jenny slate scream if I think about them for more than 2 seconds

no this is what i have been SAYING FOR YEARS!!!!! literally i can just point to my eighth grade river song obsession and go like. that primed me for jenny calendar. they are the same fucking picture.

i think jenny's held my attention so consistently though because river's arc is the more logical outcome wrt what happens when you write a sexy lamp and subsequently try to use her to amp up the drama. it's sort of this messy mishmash of parts that just Do Not Make Sense. like river being held in prison for a murder she was very clearly forced to commit against her will, river being set up as this Enigmatic Assassin and consistently framed as a Sexy Mystery when she was instead this abused and brainwashed child who was literally tailor-made to kill the doctor, that kinda thing.

like honestly i kinda think that's akin to the idea of jenny falling in love with angel in the buffyverse, yk? that's the kind of thing we're working with there. this level of "he has consumed every part of my life and his existence has made me what i am and my love for him is my one defining quality." but dw frames river and the doctor as this Great Romance while the doctor is actively a dick to river a good percentage of the time, which is OKAY if you're watching and she's still this sexy mystery who Might Have Killed The Doctor, But Is Being Coy About It -- but it becomes, like, so retroactively uncomfortable to watch the doctor yell at and berate river when her full backstory is taken into account.

which again is what happens when you're just throwing drama at the story without a clear game plan in mind! literally do not even get me STARTED on the ponds like there's genuinely so much good stuff in the pond era that just does not get fully dived into -- the idea of amy and rory "getting to raise mels after all" because they GREW UP with her and then that's just IT!?!?!? and the matt smith/alex kingston chemistry is DELICIOUS and i will love river/doctor till the end of time, but. god. they are at times so messily written.

and jenny SHOULD HAVE ENDED UP LIKE RIVER which is why she drives me up the wall! like the choices that were made for her came from the same river-y place of "we want to create some drama, so let's give jenny a convoluted and poorly-conceived backstory," but instead they created direct parallels between her and giles and ended up with this fascinating and horribly tragic story about a woman who repeatedly and fiercely chooses kindness and love instead of duty and obligation -- one that pairs so insanely well with giles's story, which is about a man who repeatedly and fiercely makes the EXACT OPPOSITE CHOICES and repeatedly pays the price. like i should be coming back to jenny the same way i come back to river five years later and go "this is a mess, writing-wise, and watching it makes me feel weird and sad even though i always love it" but i come back to jenny and i'm like "she has a whole fucking character arc. she is shown repeatedly to be a woman of substance and compassion and courage. she gives up her life because she believes in the goodness of the monster she was raised to hate -- the monster who KILLS HER in the end."

tl;dr yes jenny is so much like river but the places where they diverge make me insane forever. they were both written SO poorly, and yet jenny's character arc is THERE and TEXTUAL and ROCK SOLID. im gonna lose my shit.

#asks #meta #vamp1rate #jenny calendar #river song #i'm j. i'm just . man i don't know what to say #i love river so much and i will always love river/doctor i do want that noted #i just think that they had so much potential that the show rlly didn't commit to addressing! #too caught up in this idea of river as Sexy Space Wife. #i love her characterization in husbands of river song #@cauldronofmorning sent me an ask a billion years ago that described that episode as ''apologetic'' #and i feel like that's really the vibe. #like an apology by virtue of trying to give river interiority and solidity outside of her life with the doctor.

[belovedbangtan]

Dive

Pairings: Jungkook x y/n, Yoongi x oc

Word Count: 3.1k

Description: Camping with your ex, sounds horrible right? The camping trip was planned and payed for long before y/n’s shitty boyfriend broke up with her. Her best friend Abby, Yoongi, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook are there to make sure she has an amazing time. However, sharing a tent with a smoke show like Jungkook is bound to lead to some complications.

Warnings: Language, Mentions of anxiety, drinking, that’s is for this chapter!

✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️✨✨⭐️

“I just don’t think we’re the right fit,” His voice was calm. Too calm in your opinion. You didn’t bother to ask questions, but he insisted on explaining why. Of course, he was trying to make you feel better about the situation, but him rambling on about how your lifestyles didn’t align was not something you wanted to hear. He wanted to get drunk every weekend and spend daddy’s money, while you were too tired to even think about drinking. You didn’t have a safety net to rely on and that was something that he would never understand. It didn’t make the blow hurt any less. You knew the relationship was getting rocky. When it was bad, he turned a blind eye, but when it was good, it was really good. Your mother told you that the way you ignored serious problems would end up biting us in the ass. You groaned as you realize that means you have to tell her she was right all along. He handed you your box of things and you can’t believe there wasn’t more in the box. After a year of sleeping at his house, you could fit everything in a small box. Part of your brain knew this would happen; it anticipated your flame burning out.

You close the door behind him and you sift through the box. You scoff picking up the frame that held a picture of you both. Remembering when he showed it to you. You were in awe as he complimented your figure, claiming “That’s when I knew I loved you”. You take the frame instantly throwing it into the trash can, along with the other keepsakes he assumed you would want to keep. You laugh to yourself finally being able to realize what a pretentious douche bag he was. The tears staining your cheek are confusing you. You did love him, you just weren’t in love with him. It hurt nonetheless.

You throw yourself onto the bed letting the memories of the past year overwhelm you. You might as well get this out of the way. You decide to call your best friend, Abby, the one who introduced you to Ben. The dial tone rings out and you still try to sort out how you feel. Within minutes of talking on the phone, she decided she’s coming over. Even though you insist that you’re fine, she knows you well enough, and you’ll never say no to ice cream.

“What a fucking douche,” Abby mumbles shoving a spoon of ice cream into her mouth. You reach over dipping your own spoon in. You were adults now; you didn’t even bother with bowls.

“Tell me about it,” you roll your eyes, leaning back onto the couch, “I’m pissed I have that whole camping trip next week paid for..”

She cuts you off immediately, “No, fuck that. You’re still coming.”

You sit up quickly, eyebrows scrunching together, “You’re delusional if you think I’m coming on that trip.”

“You’re delusional if you think you’re going to let him control your life, you’re coming and that’s that!” she points a finger in your direction.

“I don’t even have any camping gear. He was the one that had all of that stuff.” You explain as you pick up the quart of ice cream, walking it over to your freezer. Of course, you were excited to go on this trip. Abby couldn’t stop talking about how much fun it had been last year. Tons of people all camped out, getting drunk out of their minds. She told me about how the last night they would all skinny dip in the river at midnight. You cringed when she first told you about it, but now it sounded revitalizing. You couldn’t get past the fact that Ben would be there. He would without a doubt try to make you feel bad for coming since it was mostly his group of friends. Not to mention how would you feel watching him as he throws himself at the single chicks.

“I can ask Jungkook if he’ll share his tent. His friend was supposed to come but bailed,” She instantly started to text him.

“No, no, no,” You rush over trying to take her phone from her hands, but she was too quick, “Abby, I’ve only met Jungkook once and it didn’t seem like he liked me very much.”

She looks down at her phone as it dings, the corners of her mouth raise as her brows do, “Well, he doesn’t mind. It’s settled you’ll come. You can sleep in Kook’s tent, and you’ll hang out with me and Yoongi’s friends.”

You see, Abby was dating Yoongi. Through Yoongi, Abby met all of his friends from College. To be honest you still didn’t quite understand how Ben and his group of friends became friends with Yoongi and his group of friends. A year ago, Abby invited you to a birthday party and Ben was there. He was so persistent about taking you on a date, you gave in. He turned on the charm, he was the picture-perfect boyfriend. As soon as you fell for him, it was like he didn’t feel the need to try anymore. So, he stopped. He stopped planning dates for you, and simply started going out with his friends again. That was about seven months into the relationship. Eight months into the relationship you found messages from a girl he claimed to work with. Clearly that was all bullshit. You wondered how a relationship could go from good to bad in a matter of months, but it happened; and you regret falling for him in the first place. You had met Yoongi’s friends before and they were always pleasant, you just hoped that they would be more authentic than Ben and the group of uptight assholes he calls his friends.

It was confusing to you but Abby explained that there where about 25-30 people coming, but they would mostly stay in their own friend groups. You assumed you would know most of the people in Ben’s group, you just hoped they would ignore you.

You zone out, you mind flooding with all of the worst possible outcomes. Abby rambles on about how you’ll love getting to know all of the boys. How they’ll welcome you with open arms. You had met them before, they were incredible humans. However, it didn’t make you forget that your ex-boyfriend would be there too. You finally focus on her words, and you listen as she brags about all of the exciting things to look forward to.  After a while her enthusiasm makes you forget the bad. Genuine excitement starts to run through your veins. She was right, you deserved this trip just as much as he did. You were going to have a good time despite him and that was that.

 Friday came faster than you anticipated. You threw yourself into work, leaving your brain little time to think about your broken heart. Or the potential disaster this weekend could be. Abby calls you letting you know that they’ll be outside to pick you up shortly. You grab your luggage and give yourself a once over in the mirror. It was particularly hard deciding what to wear today. How do you dress when you want to make your ex jealous, but you’re also in the woods and sweating your ass off? Cut off jean shorts, a plain white crop top, with a buffalo plaid tied around your waist. Your hair in loose waves, you tousled it with your fingers before sliding the black baseball cap over your hair. Before you have the chance to freak out and change your entire outfit you hear honking outside. You grab your bag filled with blankets and a pillow and you toss your backpack over your shoulder.

The door to the SUV flings open to show a beautiful blonde man on the other side, Jimin. You remembered Jimin the most from previous gatherings, he was always attempting to create a conversation. He yells your name in excitement, instantly making you feel more at ease. Last thing you wanted was any additional drama or tension between you and whoever. He pulls you into a warm hug. After he puts your things in the trunk, you both hop into the back seat.

Abby turns around and looks you up and down, sliding her sunglasses down her nose slightly.

“You’re cute. I like it… it’s like,” she tilts her head as she scans her brain for the right words, “casual, but still make my ex kinda jelly.” You nodded in response, laughing to yourself. Sometimes you felt like you shared a brain cell. With that Abby punched the Campsite address into the GPS and we were on our way.

“So are you nervous?” Jimin asks quietly.

“Kinda,” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, “but honestly I just want to have fun. It’s really not about making him jealous or anything. I just want to do me, and he can do whatever he wants.” You shrug before looking up to Jimin, a devilish smile starting to take over his face.

“I’ll make sure you have the best time. No unnecessary ex- boyfriend drama,” his smile is sincere, and you can tell that he means what he says, “I’m serious. You don’t have to worry about stupid shit. Just have a good time.” His hand lightly grazes your arm.

He barely hears your ‘thank you’ as Abby turns the radio on full volume, then Yoongi instantly turns it down. She glares at him and his stoic face shows he’s unfazed by her ferocity. You giggle at their interaction; you’ve never met two people who leveled each other out more. They were perfect for each other and exactly what you hoped you and Ben would be. It was never like that though, your chemistry was never something anyone would be jealous of.

A few hours, and a many snacks later you finally pulled into the camp site. Your stomach drops when you see your ex’s car lined up among the rest of them. You take a deep breathe, staying in the car a moment longer when everyone else gets out to unpack their things. In the middle of giving yourself a pep talk, your door is pulled open by the one and only, Kim Taehyung.

His smile is one to make you forget, and that’s exactly what it does.

“What’s the hold up, beautiful?” He reaches across you to unbuckle your seatbelt, and you don’t have time to panic, “Don’t worry, Jimin briefed me. Operation ‘Good Time’ is a-go.” He quickly looks left and right over dramatically. You can’t stop the laugh that surfaces. He was fucking hilarious and you thanked the heaven that you didn’t need to explain yourself or your situation. Even though you were sure that Abby had probably blabbed about the entire situation to all of them. It didn’t matter though, they were making this experience exactly what you wanted it to be. He takes your hand pulling you from the car, making obscene secret agent sounds as he rounds the car to the trunk, Yoongi and Jimin both giving him the weirdest look.

You scan the area around the campsite, your eyes wanting to find him, but your head and heart knowing that you wouldn’t like what you saw. Suddenly your eyes were frozen on someone else. His long hair in a tiny ponytail on top of his head as he rolled the tent from the bag. The tattoos on his arms giving him an edge that he didn’t have before. His entire demeanor was making your body warm. Of course, you remember Jungkook, you remember how rude Ben was to him. You sigh before taking your bags and deciding to walk over, the least you could do was help him set it up.

“Hey roomie.” You say instantly regretting it as it left your lips, he made you forget how to think.

He chuckles as he looks up, brushing a few stray hairs away from his face, “Hey! I should be done in a few minutes.” He says popping together the pieces of the tent like a pro.

“Let me help!” you set your bags down and you move to his side. He hands you a piece to put together, and he demonstrates how to do it. The muscles on his forearms making your knees weak. What the fuck was happening here, it had been so long since you’ve felt this way for someone. Another reason to be thankful that things had ended between you and Ben.

Almost as if he heard your internal dialogue, you hear him. Your eyes shoot up to see him shot gunning a beer with his close circle. You groan, mumbling ‘fucking douche’ under your breath, but apparently loud enough for Jungkook to hear.

His eyes peak over at you and he can’t help but laugh at your response, “You’re not wrong.” He agrees quietly. You nod your head agreeing with him.

The tent is finally together and you start to put your things inside. Jungkook rolls out a queen size blow up mattress and you instantly regret the tiny sleeping bag you brought. You might have fucked up.

“Are you sleeping on that?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide as he kneels next to the mattress using a battery powered pump to bring it to life.

“Uhm, yeah. I guess I didn’t get the memo,” You giggle at your pathetic 5th grade sleep over set up.

He looks at his mattress then looks down as if he isn’t sure of what to say, “Well this is a Queen, we can share if you want.”

“Oh my gosh, no. You’re already sharing your tent,” You shake your head, even though you know deep down that’s exactly where you want to end up.

“The offers on the table,” His tongue pokes the side of his cheek as the corners of his mouth turn into a smile, “Besides, having you in bed with me wouldn’t be the worst thing.” He turns his head biting his lip gently as he laughs quietly. You giggle nervously in return because it’s all you can do. You’re positive your cheeks are burning red, and there’s a wetness between your legs suddenly. You excuse yourself to get your other bag, and possibly smack Abby for failing to brief you on the smoke show that is Jeon Jungkook. Asshole, you knew he was attractive but, what the actual fuck.

Abby was sitting on Yoongi’s lap while Taehyung and Jimin were setting up the tent. A tent fit for royalty. It was massive compared to the one you were sharing with Jungkook, but you definitely weren’t complaining about the smaller shared space. Frankly, you were thankful for it. You walked over to your friend and flicked her on the back of her head. She ducked down and covered her head, “What the fuck was that for?!” She screamed.

“For many reasons!” You start yelling at her in a whispered tone, “one, you didn’t tell me to bring one of those blow up thingies.”

“Oh fuck. My bad, what else?” she rolls her eyes, still not feeling the abuse was necessary.

Your eyes widen and you point your head in a different direction, she quickly got the hint. You grabbed her arm once she was safely out of Yoongi’s lap, pulling her to where no one could hear you.

“So, I met Jungkook. He might have asked me to sleep with him?” you say questioning yourself entirely. Now that you say it aloud… were you dreaming that happened?

“Excuse me… what?” She scrunches her brows together grabbing your arms.

“Not like… sex. But to sleep on his mattress… but he could have meant sex?” You were genuinely confused.

“Ah!” She squeals and quickly checks her surroundings, “Okay, so he’s single and YOUR single. I’ve been waiting for this!” She squeaks, speaking too fast for anyone else to comprehend what was happening. She starts to ramble on about setting you and Jungkook up and you quickly stop her. That wasn’t what you came here for. You didn’t come to rebound in a tent a few feet away from your very recent ex-boyfriend. You came to have fun. Simple as that. She lets it go but insist that you shouldn’t deny it. ‘It’ being the undeniable connection Jungkook and I apparently had. You rolled your eyes but, you hoped she was right. You hoped that you left this weekend with more than memories. Hopefully the connection you made with Jungkook, Taehyung, Jimin and Yoongi would be something that would make all of the awkwardness worth it.

 As the sun fell behind the tall trees, the temperature dropped quick. Around what felt like 11 at night, mostly everyone was done for the day. Maybe not everyone but you certainly were. After watching Ben hit on every girl with a pulse you were exhausted. Tae and Jimin distracted you for a bit with a game of sand volleyball, but that only contributed to your exhaustion. You told everyone you were going to sleep. You unzipped the tent and you pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a swapped your crop top for a t-shirt. As you unzip your sleeping bag you look at the air mattress. For a half a second you debated on falling asleep on it, but then deciding it might be awkward when Jungkook finally comes to sleep. Maybe he was kidding about sharing the bed with you. You really didn’t know him well enough to decipher when he was being sarcastic or serious. Even if you knew he was serious, would you do it? You snuggle up in your sleeping bag, wishing you would have at least brought another cover with you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t imagining what it would feel like to have Jungkook as your own personal heater. Having is arms pulling you into his body, maybe feeling his lips against yours. Eventually your exhaustion takes over and you fall asleep with some not so PG images in your head.

You’re woken up a few hours later to the sound of the tent being unzipped. You see Jungkook climb inside through the slits of your eyes. You’re eyes close as you hear him rustling around in his bag, probably looking for pajamas. You turn away from him, realizing how cold you are you start to shiver. You take the edges of the blanket and pull them up to cover your nose. You forget about Jungkook until you feel a large blanket covering your body. You hear him shuffle back onto the air mattress and you want to sit up and give it back to him. Maybe tell him you can both use it. You’re too tired to be that ballsy though, you slowly start to fall asleep again.

A/N: So float trips are really popular where I’m from, so i’m sorry if you have no idea what i’m referring to! Hopefully our mood board helps with some imagery! Please let me know what you think!!

#bts #bts imagine #bts fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jeongguk #jeongguk imagine #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts smut #bts jungkook #bts jungkook fluff

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.2

We Move Together...

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 2400

Summary: In which Steve might get a bit tipsy and jealous in a sweet way. 

A/N: As adertised, What I’d Never Say or Do (Had I Been in My Right Mind) is only refered to as WINSoD. Also - enter Age of Ultron ;)

Warnings: mention of superntural creatures, alcohol, language, briefest mention of death, journalists acting like jerks 

Part 1 (previous chapter)

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The press conference was a thing from nightmares. You did not enjoy all the flashes of cameras; you were not Tony freaking Stark, all charming and witty when over a hundred reporters stumbled through the doorway of the huge conference room. No, you could only manage to be sassy and fun within a circle of your friends. Which you found yourself in anyway, but boy, the presence of the others was still very much apparent and they were the ones asking questions.

Even Bruce had been forced to come, much to his dismay, but him and Clint were for some reason left out when it came to the poisonous questions, their duo considered only unwilling participants of the whole plotting for and against the poor soulmate pair of you and Steve.

You truly envied Thor who was off to Asgard once more. And while you wouldn’t want to be in Bucky’s shoes, you sure as hell wished you could sit this one out as he did, the public still not aware of his existence safe for one priest who had helped him to find his way to Steve.

It was ridiculous. The tone a question was asked with was enough to distinguish whether it was aimed at you and Steve or at someone else. Hell, when it came to you and Steve, they didn’t even bother asking, just stating the facts instead.

“Such a long recovery. That must have been horrible, especially with amnesia involved, wasn’t it.” (Yes, shockingly. What is it to you, huh?)

“Such luck you were able to remember, isn’t it.” (Luck had nothing to do with it. God’s sister has.)

“You must be angry with Captain’s team too, aren’t you.” (No, they are the best, you idiot, this whole thing is a stupid lie.)  

“I am sure you’re willing to share your story since people were grieving for you in such a worship-like way…” (…fuck you.)

In reality, you tried to word your indignation towards this herd-like aggressivity aimed at the Avengers and the blatant pity for you rather carefully, speaking of hardship but justified, and yes, you were very lucky indeed. They didn’t need to know just how much.

Steve received a pretty similar set of questions, but they were more of anger and questioning whether the team was still able to function after such a betrayal that nearly ended up tragically. Steve was surprisingly convincing in his act of a disappointed teammate and friend and expressed hope that they would be able to continue to exist and cooperate, his team slowly earning his trust back.

“Have the outcome had been different, my reaction would be too. But the love of my life is here with me and that is what matters. I cannot begin to say how lucky I am to have her back and I thank God for that every day.”

You bit your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at the private joke and smiled at him instead, earning a whispering wave of ‘awww’ from the crowd and a blinding mess of camera flashes when you gathered the courage to lean in and kiss Steve’s cheek chastely. The reporters went absolutely nuts.

Tony and Natasha on the other hand had to face the stoning. Seriously, there were being personally attacked, questions dripping venom. But they clearly had more experience and knew how to answer without the cunning reporters being able to twist their words into something else, much to the vultures’ dislike and annoyance. Duo Stark-Romanoff fought back and very effectively.

It filled your chest with pride, having friends capable in so many ways. They were so freaking badass.

It made the whole experience more bearable; that and Steve’s hand always touching you, grounding you and reminding you that never ever he would let you face the wolves alone.

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You all knew that a public apology and trying your best to deal with the press somehow wouldn’t be enough. Well, you had hoped it would, but hadn’t quite believed, expecting to have to more in near future.

You were right, of course, which was why you were currently dressed up (or dolled up, as Steve loved to say, because you were his doll, after all) and forcing yourself to leave the elevator once it would stop, with Steve by your side.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he coaxed, knuckles brushing your cheek tenderly, planting a soft kiss to your temple, too worried about smudging your lipstick despite Natasha’s earlier reassurance that it wouldn’t smudge under any circumstances as she had thoroughly tested.

You tried not to think about that kind of testing and clearly Steve felt the same.

Instead, you gazed into the cerulean blue with a drop of green of his eyes, not convinced. He was being sweet and all, which you appreciated, but in reality, he had no way of knowing it would be alright. Mostly because Tony went all the way and invited all the important people who could influence the public opinion as much as rising stars of whom he felt could influence the public in the near future.

So next to a senator and a group of big-shot businessmen, there would hang out a pair of lawyers sticking for the little guy and right next to a supermodel, there would be a girl starting a new food bank. Thinking about it, it was a funny parallel to Steve and you by his side, except you weren’t doing any good, unlike them. Not that you would say that out loud.

To be fair, the Avengers decided to spice thing up a little by revealing Bucky Barnes being alive, very slowly leaking his story of a brainwashed soldier. Funnily enough, in a shadow of your big reveal, his own went rather quietly.

People were so freakin’ weird.

“I guess I’m gonna survive…” you murmured, ignoring the icy shiver that ran up your spine at your choice of words. Steve’s gaze seemed to turn distant for a moment before coming back to you, some of the strength he had been trying to project into you disappearing in the wind because of the painful memory. “Sorry. That was-“

The emotion no doubt twisting his gut caused his inhibitions to fly out of the window and his lips captured yours in a searing kiss that took your breath away. You melted against his muscular frame that seemed to engulf you completely, his calloused fingers grabbing onto your bare shoulders, digging in a bit deeper than necessary.

Your head was spinning with the passion displayed so openly and in the back of your mind, you registered that the elevator stopped, but before you could get to the idea of thanking Tony’s AI, your brain got side-tracked when Steve shamelessly licked into your mouth and backed you into the railing by the wall.

Feeling the familiar heat pool in your lower abdomen, sending sizzling heat through your veins, you instinctively gripped the lapels of his suit jacket when his lips retreated to give you a chance to breathe in.

Who needed breathing anyway?

He grinned against your mouth, the little shit he was, and one of his hands guided your head to a tilt for better access. You most definitely whimpered at that as his body trapped you against the wall completely, not leaving an inch in between.

Feeling him this close would never get old and you thought you might burst by the time his mouth moved to your left ear, keeping you in place while his hand moved from your shoulder to trace the line of your dress, slipping between the high slit of your dress to caress your thigh.

“Watch your mouth, doll. Or I’m gonna have to do exactly this to shut you up every time you don’t,” he whispered and your ragged breath caught in your throat when the perfect comeback popped in your head – a reasonable one, surprisingly enough.

“I bet the press would love that.”

His fingers flexed on your leg and his teeth very carefully nibbled on the skin of your neck, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“Don’t care about the press,” he growled lowly, sighing as if in pain when he slowly pulled back, leaving you clutching the railing so you wouldn’t fall as your legs turned into an uncontrollable wobbly mass. Then, as if he wanted to ruin you completely before the night even started, his lips were graced by a soft smile, his eyes twinkling. “I care about you.”

“And you call me trouble…”

He had the nerve to wink at you and thank the AI for the stop he never explicitly asked for.

“My pleasure, Steve,” Jarvis hummed, sounding amused and self-satisfied.

Your soulmate gentlemanly offered you an elbow to lead you out of the cabin.

“Shall we, my lady?”

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In all honesty, the party wasn’t that bad, mostly because it wasn’t just to celebrate your resurrection, but also retrieving a sceptre Thor’s brother had used during The Battle of New York.

You wouldn’t go as far as saying you enjoyed the evening greatly, but you had met several interesting people of which only few had weird questions regarding you; however, weird questions when showing up in public was an everyday occurrence.

You finally truly understood why Steve was happy you treated him like an equal (most of the time anyway).

Every single original male Avenger and Sam and Bucky made sure to dance with you as well as with Natasha and for a good measure, when the song got the right beat, your favourite redhead dragged you to the dance floor for a friendly dance; needless to say Natasha was much better at spontaneous dancing than you. Steve assured you about the opposite by a kiss and a rather filthy promise as soon as you shared your thoughts on your lacking skills with him.

Actually--- yes, you might even say you enjoyed the party very much, uncharacteristically for you, considering the insane number of people attending. The penthouse was way too full, but here you were, sipping on your third glass of champagne, listening to Thor’s colourful narrating regarding Asgardian battles. It wasn’t that you were interested in battles, no – it was the man himself creating suspense and gesturing wildly and making the whole clutch of listeners breathless.

“Careful with the admiring, doll,” Steve whispered to your ear, his arm sneaking around your waist out of nowhere, nearly making you jump out of your skin. “I might get jealous.”

Giddy from the alcohol, you turned your head and brushed his lips with yours.

“We did establish I’d marry Thor if you weren’t an option, didn’t we?” you teased lowly, catching the wink Thor sent your direction as if he heard you despite your hushed voice. It wasn’t flirtation; no, it felt more like mischief, as if he was being your wingman, which he excelled at apparently, because Steve might get little possessive if the grunt by your ear was anything to go by. “As if you didn’t know I only have eyes for you.”

“Just eyes?”

“Why, Captain, are you implying something?”

“Maybe.”

“Of course, my heart is yours as well,” you smirked at him, making his somehow annoyed and pleased at the same time. You leaned even closer. “And everything else.”

“Alright, but what about that hammer of yours? I mean, I saw people swinging around Captain’s shield – though not as skilfully – but no one uses your weapon. Why? Is it that heavy? Are you the only one strong enough to… keep it up?” one of the women asked, apparently more than a little tipsy, judging by her implication.

Gee, she had no inhibitions. Were you being like this now? You really hoped not…

“Well, my lady, that is a very complicated matter…” Thor started, clearly pleased by that question.

“Dance with me again,” sounded softly at your ear and your lips automatically curled up in a smile.

“Whatever makes you happy, my love.”

Steve grinned as he swiftly got rid of the glass in your hand and was already pulling you away by the time you noticed the envious or the amused stares of your companions.

“Green’s not a good colour on you, Steve,” you hummed incidentally, earning an actual pout. “This is adorable though. And I’m not gonna complain about you getting a bit handsy more often.”

“Trouble, doll.”

“I love you too.”

“I do love you. I’m sorry if I got annoying. It’s just… ugh. Thor. You got this look in your eyes and I just-”

Oh.

You sometimes forgot Steve could be as self-conscious as you were. It made your heart ache and yet grow with fondness for your soulmate.

“No, Steve. I might get starry-eyed, because of course I do admire him. It’s easy to get captivated by his stories or his manners, just look at the crowd around him. But you… there’s something about you… that strikes me right here.” You tapped over your heart pointedly. “You know me through and through and yet here you are. You must know I’m yours and still – you treat me every day like you’re courting me and at the same time, we’re comfortable with each other and--- yeah, that. Thor is great. But you’re everything. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he confirmed, brilliant eyes shining, the drops of Asgardian liquor he had consumed adding to the glow. “And you’re mine.”

“Meant to be…” you cooed, happily giving in to his lips when they found yours again for a short moment. You barely realized you stopped in your steps as the slow song had made you only sway. You whispered into his lips then, unbothered. “Plus, I bet you could lift that hammer and keep it up too if you tried.”

His rich laughter filled your ears and he spun you both in circle, planting a kiss on your forehead. You already planned on how you’d get him a custom-made mug with a little hammer on it, reading ‘I am worthy’ or something like that. You were sure he’d love it.

Yeah, it was an amazing party.

Here was a funny thing though; when you had already been confronted with the fact angels and God existed, you should have known blasphemy was a thing.

So, naturally, as you had said ‘I guess I’m gonna survive…’, you should have known there would be a thick chance that you wouldn’t.

That was the first thing that flew through your mind the moment something burst through a wall as if it was made paper thin and not metal.

The second thought? Oh shit.

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Part 3

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Thank you for reading! 

Like I said, chapters of this fic will be less chronologically tight. Buuut, you’ll see ;) Also, sorry it took me so long.

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers soulmate #soulmate au #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #steve rogers imagine #avengers #a:aou #mcu #marvel #captain america soulmate #winsod #anika ann

[edwardslostalchemy]

the thing that kills me about bakugou is when the plf go "having a powerful quirk means i'm better than you"and basically advocate for eugenics, it's horrible and corrupt, but when bakugou does it, it's lol funny and 'oh that gremlin.' in a recent chapter he made fun of the past OFA holders for having 'weak' quirks and dying and he said these things in front of Toshi, who has himself given so much. just...what was the point of him knowing about OFA if he was just going to be a disrespectful ass?

I have no idea why it was necessary for him to know, tbh. I think it was a waste of an opportunity to give him growth by NOT telling him. And honestly, I agree that k*tsuki and the plf have similar ideals because they’re elitists. :/ They think they’re better than others. Unironically, the lov wanting k*tsuki on their side would have been like, them all sharing this same thought. Idk, I just don’t like him. The things he says and does are played off as comedic relief now and it’s honestly so annoying. He needs to be brought down from his pedestal. 

(I have multiple messages so I am putting them all in one post under a read more, I hope it works, but if somehow it doesn’t, I’m really sorry. My computer says it works, but mobile doesn’t show it. This will be a long post.)

Anonymous said:

You know... I wouldn’t mind Bakugou winning vs Ochako so much if his blast had simply redirected enough rubble for him to make it though the pelting, and the fight had ended with an actual visible inflicted injury on his part, like a cut on his face, that stuck around for the rest of the tournament. Make the close call have more concrete, visible consequences for him then his arms aching a bit.

I agree with this completely. That thing about his arms aching doesn’t show much of the consequences at all. And he gets over it rather quickly. I hate that he has so much plot armor.

Anonymous said:

Ngl i dont ship Todo/deku (dont really ship Izuku with anyone lol) but its such a nice ship like?? People can ship what they want but why ship Baku/deku when Tododeku is RIGHT THERE. I would rather have todo/deku be the twin stars like.. Todoroki having to overcome his fathers legacy and be a better hero then his father ever could be while Izuku perpetuates all mights legacy and carries the legacy of One For All?? Poetic cinema

+ I SENT AN ASK ABOUT PREFERRING TODO/DEKU TO BAKU/DEKU AND I WANTED TO ADD SOMETHING SKSKS. we could totally have an "its your power" moment. Izuku getting Todo to accept his left side and Todo getting Izuku to remember that OFA is his power now.

Todo/deku is really the poetic cinema we need and deserve. Idk why people like b*kud*ku, that’s what they prefer, but the ship itself is not healthy in the slightest and I find it pretty disturbing. I agree with you, nony. Everything you said is correct.

Anonymous said:

If I'm gonna be honest the whole "he was raised in a household of screaming and abuse" isn't a good enough reason as to why Bakugo has no chill. Like we've seen people like Todoroki raised in a household much worst but he didn't come out as a jerk or bully. I'd like to see more of Bakugo's interactions with his parents but for the most part the dad seems like a pushover and his mom is just loud at times. But no where close to Endeavor. So yeah Bakugo shut up challenge

Yeah, idk how their dynamic works, it’s just mitsuki screaming at k*tsuki while his dad tries to intervene, but doesn’t do a good job about it. I don’t like that she smacked his head. But I think people really stretch it to give him a tragic backstory when in reality, he doesn’t have one. He is a spoiled brat. Shouto has proven how to be a better person. He’s just a better character in general.

Anonymous said:

This might be long but I want to get something off my chest and I love your blog so I used to like bk//dk. If you asked me why. It's because I was enamored by the fanon ver of this pair with a better bkg and the whole appeal of childhood 'friends'/reconciliation trope it had going on and some fans have convinced me that their relationship wasn't as bad as it's portrayed before UA and that bkg was only like that because of society and thinking Izuku was "looking down" at him. 1/3

Thinking about it. it's really stupid and the verge of victim blaming but anyways. What stopped me from liking it and instead hating the pair is that after dk vs kc 2 I was expecting the improvement in their relationship, for a moment I thought we got it. But in reality it's just bc we haven't seen them interact much after the overhaul arc and before the joint training arc.Then the joint arc came and the 2nd internship arc came and whoo boy, I feel like I was cheated on. 2/3

Rather than making bkg's behavior improve towards Izuku, He's still as much of an asshole who belittles him, mocks him ,acts like he can't stand him but less threats of killing him combined with Izuku who just takes it because he's a nice person. But the narrative acts like their good friends now and I have been feeling so frustrated with this, I wanted a mutual relationship with mutual respect on both sides and bk//dk hasn't reached that part and it shouldn't take this long for it to be. 3/3

Thank you for sharing this with me, nony!! I appreciate it. It’s really sad that their relationship hasn’t improved at all. It’s so long overdue and now things are played as comedic relief like him hurting Izuku with his spike and also being extremely disrespectful during the ofa meetings. Their relationship isn’t healthy and it isn’t friendly, no matter how canon wants to paint it that way.

Anonymous said:

the only reason bkg gets to know OFA is because he guilted Izu into telling him a half truth in S1 then guilted AM and Izu with his tantrum in S3 He also had the privilege to know Izu since childhood and saw AFO so he had the advantage Izuku would have never told him otherwise. Same time Izuku's friends don't "deserve" to know about OFA, rather, Izuku deciding to tell them himself will make the revelation to them more special since its Izu deciding to tell a piece of himself than being forced to

HOT TAKE

@havocsss said:

i just wanted to say i appreciate your opinion on bnha about bakugo (bc someone finally said it 👀) and you put into words for me how i feel abt that character - and that's partly why i just can't watch it. he's the bully that everyone idolises and gets let away with murder and naaaah mate that's not how it works

Thank you, I’m glad to hear it. I don’t like that he, a literal bully who has suicide baited Izuku and has hurt him with his explosion quirk, is the fandom’s favorite and the most popular character. Literally any other character would have been better to stan than him. He’s everywhere and I can’t enjoy part of the series because of him always being there. It’s so annoying. I will continue to yell about why he is not a good character until horikoshi gives us the development he desperately needs AND an apology to Izuku for being so abusive to him. And yes, bullying is abuse.

Anonymous said:

I know that feeling. I also greatly dislike Bakugou. He almost ruins the manga for me at times. I can't even think of a plot with Izuku where Hori won't try to include him in some way. I tried reading metas abt him, tried to look at him in a different light but I realised that I really hate his personality, combined with his overhyped popularity just makes me can't stand him. I wish I could even just be neutral for him but that's being a challenge.

Yeah, he’s not a good character. Very infuriating and annoying. We do not stan him in this house.

Anonymous said:

I feel like if Aizawa actually knew that Bakugou used to bully Izuku he'd probably whoop Bakugou's ass

OOF I’d like to see him expel him.

Anonymous said:

I like how it's framed like I'm supposed to feel sorry for Bakugou because he feels manpain for not being the strongest in the class. Like the dude went from a regular school to the best of the best and he still expected to be the strongest person there is with no challenge?

Awww, is the spoiled brat sad? Good. He can die mad about it.

Anonymous said:

If Aizawa did the combat training instead of All Might he would've stopped Bakugou the first time he used his gauntlets and automatically failed him and I really wish that would've been the outcome

Tbh he should have been expelled for trying to kill a classmate.

Anonymous said:

Oh yeah I remember that character entrance when he just basically I insults his partner for training. Look I love the kid but if I was a teacher I would've flamed him so hard like there could've been a hostage, that weapon could have went off, his partner could've been captured. That's how you ended up failing the license exam

OOF. When will he learn.

Anonymous said:

Um excuse the ever living fuck out of me but I just saw a fic that was bakugou/consequences where Izuku attempted suicide and you know what the ship was?? My pure green son who deserves the world and his literal bully/abuser are you SHITTING ME???? I try very hard not to hate ships I do really try but I just CAN'T with this ship it disgusts me

It's not a healthy ship. I am disturbed by this fic and I don’t even know what it’s called and I don’t want to know. Eww.

Anonymous said:

I see myself as Izuku cause I relate to him a lot and I just read something where Bakugou does what my abuser did to me to Izuku and now I'm having a very hard time stomaching the thought of him and like I really loved kiri/baku too but now I can't even think about it cause someone who shipped my notp thought it would be a good idea to make Bakugou an abuser and give Izuku Stockholm syndrome ☹

Oh nony…I’m so sorry to hear about that. That really sounds rough and I hope you’re feeling better. That sounds awful. I’m just…I’m appalled. Also giving Izuku Stockholm syndrome with this ship is just. Wow.

#anti bakugou #anti bkdk #iamtypinglike98madmen #havocsss #anonymous #tw abuse #if anyone needs anything tagged let me know

[theanxietylifes-blog]

The Anxiety Life

Entry 1  

I cast my mind back to 2o13, black 2013......

My karate sensei announced he was quiting teaching classes, after 4 years and several belt grades into my training under his guidance. A teacher of not only karate, but a teacher of life, a figure I and so many other students looked up to, and were inspired by.

That's where it all came crashing down around me, that's what I believed to be the trigger.

The mental illness I would eventually come to nick name as the black dog.......  

       Back in the late 80's, in a time I consider some of the best times of my life, the nostalgia of those later high school years where I felt invincible, achieving in mostly anything I put any kind of time and effort into. Excelling in sports and music, all the things that the "in kids" were into.

Back then, as it probably still is today there were different social classes, or I guess a social pecking order at school. At the top there were the really cool kids, who were usually tough, and bent or broke the rules often, rebelling against any form of authority. At the other end of the pecking order, you had the straight laced somewhat dorky misfits and bookworms, you know the types, that would often go on and peak in life, becoming highly successful long after school days were long gone. I was neither at the top or the bottom of that pecking order, rather, some where in between. I had a good group of friends, and came from a good middle class home where home life was also pretty good.  

     Even in those salad days, as early as my later high school years It was there.....

and my first recollection, that I could remember when it started.....  

Standing at the light switch in my room, the last thing to do before I hopped into bed," ok turn the light switch on, then off, then on, then off, how many times was that,  

it has to be six times, ok jump into bed", my head voice now in full gear, loud, and relentless.  

"You better get get back up, and back to that light switch or something real bad is going to happen to you". Now back at the light switch again",1,2,3,4,5,6 on off on off", this cycle occurring over and over, before that inner voice was silenced, and I could finally go to sleep.  

Entry 2 Black 2013

 I think it was a month or so after my sensei, and life mentor left the Dojo when it began....

I woke around 2am in the early hours of the morning, feeling uneasy, but what was more unsettling was my racing heartbeat, and the horrible feeling like I couldn't take a decent breath in. The more I tried and couldn't, the faster my heartbeat raced,  and the more I panicked.....waking my wife up in the process I remember spiraling into a frenzied terror.

My wife was trying to calm me down, telling me to try and calm down and focus on measured breathing. But it was to no avail, I couldn't be calmed, I just kept yelling in desperate panic "feel my pulse, feel my pulse im having a heart attack, I can't breathe I feel im going to blackout at any second", but right at the point where I really felt like I was going to pass out, I got control of myself, I started to feel my breathing return back to normal, and after a while my heart rate slowed down, and although shaky from the ordeal after about half an hour and some comforting from my wife I felt ok.

Things got worse, a couple of nights later I had the same night repeated all over again, only this time, in my sheer panic, of once again feeling all the symptoms of a perceived  heart attack, the heart palpitations, some chest pains, difficulty with breathing, (hyperventilating), this time, t frantically threw some clothes on at the end of my bed, slipped past my still sleeping wife, and without any rational thought, grabbed my car keys, got in my car and sped off like a mad man, to the closest hospital emergency department, which was about 10 minutes away.  I had totally lost it, thinking I was going to die, I sped through red lights, driving as fast as I could, with only the single thought in mind, of making it to the hospital before I passed out,

I got there still frantic, I pretty much ditched the car anywhere I could, close to the emergency department.....

After some hours past, and a panicked wife that woke to realise I had gone MIA....

I got the all clear from the emergency doctor, and I made my way back home.

ENTRY 3

I have been in the workforce now for over 30 years, and I still don't know what I want to do in my working life, in fact as the years roll by I've  certainly discovered  more and more about  what I don't want, but feel lost when it comes to finding my purpose in working life, and for that matter  life in general.

I hate my job, I feel like i'm surviving, not really living, and I feel like my only friend

once i've clocked on, is time ticking away, until It's tools down and I can go home.

I'm constantly in search for a possible career change, I covert all the online employment guides, and career guides, I also take online career adviser tests, constantly trying to find my fit, but nothing has ever jumped out at me, screaming here I am, the career choice that's right for you....don't get me wrong, I am not afraid of further study and or training, or putting the work in, for the right role, but my fears lye in the fact that I am getting to, if i'm not there already, an age where a career change would be very difficult, especially when I still don't really know what my best career would look like.

ENTRY 4

People and socialising can make me feel tired, I feel like it takes a lot of energy to go out on a social outing and have to socialise with groups of people, even family social gatherings can wear  me down quickly. It's not like I don't like people, I work in a job role that sees me interact with people throughout my day, I know that I mentioned that I hated my job in my last entry, but it's not necessarily, the interacting with people part that I dislike about the job, I feel it's more the overall picture of my job, and how it fits with me as a person.

I feel my social skills have declined, particularly in recent years and especially the older I get. I find the art of small talk particularly hard, I think mainly because i'm of the philosophy, that if you don't have anything "real" to say, or something that has meaning, It's  better not to say anything at all. Perhaps this has been one of my downfalls in recent years, and why I don't have many friends, particularly close friends. The other point is, I guess I don't put in the effort required to maintain a friendship either, I suppose this all comes back to putting in the required  time, and effort, into building friendships, something I haven't felt a strong need to do. Maybe it might just be that I haven't found people that I naturally find interesting and I can relate to, friends that I don't feel the need to make forced, awkward conversations and interactions with, where I don't feel uncomfortable if I don't have something to say for the sake of filling in silence, where socilaising is actually enjoyable, and doesn't feel like it's soul draining.

Sometimes I wonder if I am normal. as I really like my own company a large percentage of the time. I have interests that I like to endulge a lot of my time with, and I am a very goal orientated person. For the sake of keeping my identity anonymous, I have chosen not to disclose my interests, only to describe how they play a part in my life.

ENTRY 5

I am a very nostalgic person, I find myself reflecting alot about the past.....I often sit and think about how the past always seems to have been the best times of my life, and how the present can never measure up to be as good. I often think back on the fond memories about late high school life, and my first years as a young adult, post high school in the late 1980's and early 90's.

Partnered with my frequent daydreaming and reflecting on life and the past, is my life long love for music. I think music is one of the greatest gifts in life. to me, there is nothing that can conjure up emotions and can elevate your "mood," whether it be, sadness, happiness, aggression, or any other state of mind, quiet like the power of music. One of the many joys of music is it's ability to serve as an audible photo album, a sound track to our lives. How many times have you heard a song on the radio, and it's a song that you may have forgotten about over the years, which you haven't heard since you were a teenager, all those years ago, in a certain time in your life, and then bam! those familiar song notes hit your ears, and there it is, and you are instantly transported back to that time, only, unlike a photo, a still frame captured in time, music is alive it's a truly awesome thing, that for a moment, can take you right back to that time, the smells, a girlfriends kiss, or some special accomplishment back then, a special thing that only the power of music can deliver.

ENTRY 6

Back in black 2013, I had many trips to the hospital, with varying symptoms that seemed like heart attack symptoms.....

It was on one particular occasion, where the hospital ran a thorough range of tests on me, which all came back normal, the doctor started asking me questions i'd never heard before, followed by a paper questionaire. This included questions like, have you ever thought about killing yourself, and do you often feel like you have a lack of motivation in life, and other questions along those lines. After submitting my answers to the questionaire, the doctor came in to discuss the outcome with me, and in summary, concluded I had Anxiety depression issues, and perscribed medication, and discussed having me see a phsychologist.

A couple of days after that consultation with the ER doctor. I woke up early one morning feeling like I wanted to jump out of my skin, I felt terrible, on edge and my heart was beating  100 miles an hour, and I felt myself loosing control, and spiraling into yet another panic attack episode.

Apart from that, I also had other horrible underlying feelings like, an over whelming sense of helplessness, and feeling like everything was just too hard to deal with, and I was just too tired to face the realities of life.

mental health

anxiety

depression

#mental health #anxiety depression

[solynacea]

333: Pride, Gluttony, & Scars

Warning: This a very long post that contains character analysis and an as-of-yet unsubstantiated theory. I don’t blame you if you want to skim read, and there’s a TL;DR at the bottom.

I’ve seen a lot of posts about the events of the newest chapter of Nanatsu no Taizai; as someone who does manga edits, I spend quite a bit of time staring at panels and dialogue to figure out how to organize, what can be taken out, what should be left in, etc. And I’ve done the same with this chapter, pouring over the scenes of Escanor’s final moments again, and again, and I’ve seen a theory about Merlin posted by @derieri​, so I’d like to share my thoughts on the final words exchanged between Escanor and Merlin.

But first, let’s talk about blame. I’ve seen so much of it going around: Elizabeth should have healed him, Mael should have kept Sunshine, Meliodas should have kept him from fighting, and while those are valid complaints, they also subtract from and undermine Escanor’s character and the development of his arc. We learned from his gaiden that he thought he was a monster, unfit to live, a beast to be put down without remorse. It wasn’t until Meliodas bested him in combat and forced him to realize that his life was not his to do away with so carelessly that he began to live. And Escanor did what so many people with chronic depression/suicidal tendencies do: he latched onto his comrades as a reason to continue living.

Note: I am someone who suffers from the above conditions, so I am basing my analysis on that.

To Escanor, his very reason for being alive in his world was to protect the people he cared for, even if that meant losing his life in the process. And while he does care for the people of Liones — seen by him battling Estarossa to keep them safe and purposefully moving their fight to a lake to avoid hurting the knights nearby — the largest part of his world was the group of misfits who had become his friends. The Seven Deadly Sins were his family, the people he loved, the ones he would do absolutely anything for. Escanor did not see value in himself outside of as a tool to protect others; even without Sunshine, facing down an Indura spawn, he was willing to let it rip him to shreds to protect Gilthunder and the others. He was willing to die then. If Mael hadn’t intervened, he would have.

The long and short of what I’m saying is that, even without Sunshine, he would have found some way to put himself in that battle. We knew he was dying. It was shown in the blood he continued to cough up no matter how many times he was healed, in his disregard for his safety while fighting the Sinner at Camelot. His one regret when he thought he was going to die then was that he wouldn’t be able to continue protecting his comrades. Escanor, in his final moments, made two choices that those around him, who loved him, respected: he retook Sunshine to fight for his friends, and he burned up his life to keep them safe. (For those of you saying that Mael could have taken his place: yes. Or he could have joined in. But the Sins weren’t able to resist the Demon King without Merlin’s limit break magic, so whether or not him doing anything would have changed the outcome is debatable.)

Now that the bulk of my understanding of Escanor’s character is done, let’s move on to what originally prompted this post: his confession, and Merlin’s reaction to it.

While saying his farewell to the Sins and others, Escanor makes sure to acknowledge each of them in some way, whether by thanking them, apologizing, or asking for a favor. Or, in Ban’s case, getting in one final roast. What doesn’t he do? Downplay their grief. He fully acknowledges that his death is going to impact them all in some way, particularly not being able to attend King and Diane’s wedding. And when he gets to Merlin, he makes the confession of feelings she already knew he held. 

After which Merlin does what Merlin is best at: she deflects. This is a canonical character trait for her; whether making a vague mention of something (her love for Meliodas), or waiting until the last second to reveal pertinent information (her Infinity magic), Merlin is known to be powerful and mysterious. She’s cool, she’s unruffled. And that doesn’t change here.

What does change is how Escanor speaks to her. Up to this point, he has always been respectful, almost to the point of absurdity. He does not press her on anything, does not question her. Yet here we see him blatantly refuse to allow her to hide behind a half-truth. Did Merlin view him as a test subject? Yes. Merlin views everyone that way to some degree. But Escanor isn’t a fool, and he immediately shakes his head and tells her that his feelings for her exist regardless of her view of him. Which leads to this:

Her veneer cracks. Merlin has only appeared vulnerable to this degree at one other point, and that was the death of Arthur. Her cool demeanor falls apart whenever some she cares for is dying, and that’s what happens here. If you want to read her body language, she’s averting her gaze (hiding from him), crossing her arms (to get distance/hold her emotions in check), and digging her fingers into her coat (to retain control). The moment Escanor tells her that he doesn’t care how she sees him because it won’t change how he feels, she begins to fall apart. And what does she say? “You’re too late.” We’ll come back to that.

She continues by seemingly veering off topic. “Too late for anything, for everything . . . some things just can’t be taken back.” Now, quite obviously we have yet to get a full gaiden for Merlin. Some of her backstory has been hinted at, like the destruction of Belialuin, which seem to be what she’s referencing here. But there’s something odd about it, and as @derieri​ pointed out, the way she’s wording her sentences and the confusion of Meliodas and Elizabeth make it highly likely that she’s referring to something other than Belialuin’s fall while saying that it’s too late. She continues by saying, “Escanor, I wish you would have found me sooner . . . If possible, 3,000 years sooner . . .”

That’s a very specific time frame, given that the first Holy War ended exactly 3,000 years before this event with the sealing of the Demon and Goddess Clans and the curse put on Meliodas and Elizabeth. 

Here, Escanor directly acknowledges that there is something other than the sin that earned her the title of Gluttony. Merlin’s reaction?

Utter surprise and, by the sweat on her brow, horror. Whatever this sin is, it’s something that she’s tried desperately to keep hidden for centuries. Not even Meliodas, who she once loved, or Elizabeth, who she views as an older sister, know what it could be. When Escanor says that he doesn’t know the specifics, only that there was something else because she always looked so sad, we get a close up of her eye. Traditonally, this is a technique used whenever one character breaks through to another. It’s meant to bring us close to the character, to show those boundaries breaking down.

In this context, it means the boundaries between Merlin and Escanor are breaking down.

She goes silent after this while he says his final farewells, and doesn’t move until she goes to him and kisses him. There are three things that happen in those few panels that contradict Merlin’s established character: 1.) she moves towards someone, instead of having someone move to her; 2.) she acts on an impulse; and 3.) she puts herself directly in harm’s way. Merlin has been in battles before, yes, and she has suffered damage, but it is very rare for her to put herself so blatantly in danger when she doesn’t need to be. She could have told him she’d always remember him fondly. She didn’t need to burn her face as horribly, yet she did. 

Directly after the kiss, she says:

There’s an interesting word choice here that might not be obvious to non-native English speakers. Merlin does not say, “I do not reciprocate your feelings for me.” She says, “I was never able to reciprocate your feelings for me.” In other words, she doesn’t say she does not love Escanor. She says she’s unable to love him. And there’s a world of difference between those two. It’s the difference between saying you do not eat something because you don’t like it, and you aren’t able to eat something because there’s a reason, like an allergy. Something is prohibiting Merlin from returning his feelings, at least in a deep way.

This is the panel that first caught my attention. “As proof of your life, as proof that you existed, I’ll take these burns upon my body . . .” That is a lot of commitment for someone she claims to see only as a research subject. There’s another person we’ve seen sear their flesh to touch the person they care for, and that was 3,000 years ago, when Meliodas reached into a goddess barrier to cradle and comfort Elizabeth. Merlin is scarring herself so that no one, herself included, will ever forget Escanor. And furthermore, she’s doing it as a symbol of his love for her. 

Remember that point I said we’d come back to later? In the theory, it’s stated that Merlin sold Meliodas and Elizabeth out to the Demon King and Supreme Deity. Which, frankly, I think would be another level to the tragically beautiful story that is Nanatsu no Taizai, but from that come two possibilities: Merlin was punished for her hubris in daring to speak to the gods she betrayed by having her ability to love removed, or she removed it herself after the destruction of her home/the curse being placed. 

Tl;dr: Merlin did, in some way, love Escanor, but whether through her own means or outside interference was unable to reciprocate it fully.

#text #long post #nnt #nanatsu no taizai #merlin #escanor #escalin #nnt meta #nnt analysis #meta post #analysis post #it's been a while since i did one of these and it came out waaaay longer than i expected #and it's also four am so i'm rambling a bit as well

[ladybugsfanfics]

Shut Up And Kiss Me [7/?] | Tom Hiddleston x reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader

Style: part 7 of ?

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: cursing, Tom being a gentleman, 

Summary: You and Professor Hiddleston have been colleagues for many years now, and through those years the hatred for each other has only grown. Now, as a new school year starts, you’re being told that you have to share a classroom or a class. Neither are happy about the outcome, but knowing you’ll never come to an agreement, you let the class choose for you. Team-teaching is rare in 2019, but it is a lot harder to do when you can’t stand the person you’re doing it with. 

A/N: oof, this part took a long time for me, but I really like it and I hope you do to ^_^ also, thanks to @adefectivedetective for helping me with the idea of a play, it helped tremendously and I had so much fun writing it <3<3 enjoy!

send an ASK to be added to the taglist ^_^

Previous | Series Masterlist | Part Eight

It’s deathly annoying to relay the message to your best friend, and Benedict, and to the other few people (that’s a lie; there are no other people) you’d told about your payback on Hiddleston. Reality is; he’s just too kind. Yeah, you can be a bitch, but there’s a limit to how big of a bitch. 

Still, it sucks to not do a carefully planned out prank which would peg him down a notch and also (was supposed to) make him lose a little bit of the reputation he carries around that does him no good―honestly you’re getting sick of it. 

But you can’t do anything now. 

Hiddleston is just too nice. He offered to drive you home more than once last week after he did so two weeks ago. He offered to help you with your research―how he would be of help neither you nor he knows, but he offered and they say it’s the thought that counts. And worst of all, when you’d complained about Chris’s last day being Thursday, he had offered to take the whole Creative Writing class, giving you the chance to spend more time with the one week fling you’d had. 

There is just too much nice emanating from the person that is Hiddleston, and it’s getting on your nerves because you can’t be mean anymore. Now, mean makes you sound like even more of a bitch than you can be at times, and the times when you’re actually being a bitch, you sound even worse. That is a problem.

Maybe that’s a new reason for hating Hiddleston; he is so nice you can’t hate him that he makes you look like a horrible person―which is very wrong (though not always)―and he doesn’t even look guilty about it. 

The audacity. 

He even has the audacity to look kind of… handsome?... where he sits across from you in the café. This had been your idea, as a thank you for letting you cut class and go on that date. You’d asked Friday night, before you left to enjoy your weekend. 

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you again,” you said. “You hadn’t had to do that.”

He waved it off and gave you a smile. “No, it’s okay. I hope it was worth it, though? Did you get to say a proper goodbye?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it was really nice. But, as a repaying, what do you say we grade these stories together? Over coffee? Sunday, maybe?”

To be honest, you hadn’t expected him to say yes. And you’d both established there is nothing more to it than wanting to grade the first stories together, and a way for you to give back what you feel you owe.

But it annoys you that the thought drunk you had so many weeks ago has to linger at the back of your mind. Now of all times. It’s not like you haven’t thought so before―you can’t deny facts. 

Hiddleston is handsome, always has been and probably always will be. But that doesn’t mean he has to dress up for work and coffee with you. After all, he isn’t supposed to like you very much, yet there he sits;

His ginger hair is slicked back, curling up under his ear and in his neck. Every now and then he adjusts his glasses, either by lifting them entirely or by using his middle finger to push them back―considering how much he does the latter, you’re almost certain he’s sending you a message, one you would expect, but because everything else seems wrong, the message seems like something else. The blue eyes he hides behind the frames flicker over the words on his screen with an intensity you haven’t seen before. He keeps looking at it, scrutinizing the story and continuously making notes―the sound of his keyboard is slowly getting on your nerves. 

But, to be fair, it’s his clothes that triggers the handsome thought most. He wears the same sweater as always, dark blue that clings to his arms but falls a little everywhere else. The pants he wears are the same as always. The first time you saw the look, when you first met him, it was fancy and sophisticated, but now it feels old. 

Yet, at this very moment, it suits him in such a way it’s almost… You don’t have a word for it, but the way it has you swallow a lump in your throat and try to refocus your attention on the words on your screen doesn’t sit well. 

Benedict may have been right in assuming you’ve never really hated him, but that does not mean you like-like him. He’s handsome, you were attracted from the first moment you laid eyes on him, and that’s it. There’s nothing else to it. 

Drunk you probably admitted to him being handsome. Drunk you tried to say you like him, have a crush. Drunk you is known for being wrong. Plus, mixed with sleep deprived you, they are both known for making rash decisions. 

You shake your head. There is no need for this mindset, no need to contemplate Hiddleston, or his looks. All you have to do is read this story, comment on it and grade it. And then do that with the next one, and the next, and hope that you’re not too caught up in thoughts to not properly do your job. 

No.

You can do it. You can read the sentence. 

You can’t read the sentence. Nope, it’s all blurry. Fuck. “Uhh, I’m just gonna go… you know,” you say softly and gesture in the direction of the restrooms. 

Hiddleston looks up at you and nod, no real expression on his face. And is fast to turn back to the task at hand―if you’re correct he’s probably already read and graded a third of his stories. You’re still stuck on the first one. 

But you shake that thought off as well, get up and find the restroom. 

You close the door behind you and take a deep breath. There should be no reason for this, no reason for everything to bubble to the surface because something changed in the last month that distorts the ideal you got from him from the last three and a half years. 

The Christmas Party is a long time since. He’s probably forgotten, even if you haven’t. After all, it’s within you the guilt lies. Oh, I wish I could hate him. 

You shake your head and move to the sinks. Despite wearing some make-up, you turn on the sink and splash your face with cold water. It runs down your skin in a tickling manner, but it’s better than the heat that had made its way there. If you blush in his presence, so much as show any sign of weakness, blood will be spilled, and it will be yours. 

A deep sigh and a dry of your face makes for five minutes later. Where all you do is stare at the face in the mirror and ask what’s going on. But you know what’s going on; you’re becoming friends, or at least colleagues that can work together. 

So you nod, walk back out and sit down across from him with a newfound sense of courage and confidence. It makes it easier to concentrate on the work ahead, easier to concentrate on the story in front of you. 

God, I hope this isn’t going to be a regular occurence.

---

Being told there’s a Monday morning meeting is not the news you need when you step into the teacher’s lounge to steal a cup of coffee. Literally anything but the news of a morning meeting would be fine―especially when the person relaying the news is Hiddleston with somewhat of a smirk playing on his face that grows bigger when you groan loudly. He may be nice, but he still has some spark left. 

You walk together into the meeting room, where every professor have crammed themselves inside. There are no free chairs and the two of you lean against the wall in the back, hoping it’ll be over before it even starts. 

“You know what this is about?” you ask Hiddleston. 

He shakes his head. “Not a clue. Maybe there’s some change in something?” 

You cock a brow. “Change in what? Pay? Could use a raise now that I think about it.”

The comment gets a chuckle as a response, which has you smile triumphantly. Hiddleston doesn’t say more before Dean McHallan stands at the front with a nervous smile and a note card in his hands. 

“Hello everyone, so lovely that you could all take the time out of your morning to cram in here. I know it’s a bit crowded, but I hope you can bear with me,” he says with a small smile. The chatter dies down and every professor looks at the dean. “Now, what I have to say will probably surprise a few of you, but also make some happy. We have been asked to do a play in front of the students.” A groan erupts amongst the faculty, quickly hushed by McHallan. “Not long, it will only last for about a month with only one show, but with a message we want to give. Now, the play was written by our lovely drama teacher,” ―he gestures to a woman who stands at the side with a big smile― “and we have already figured out who should play the parts, seeing as there might be a rather few number of you who actually would volunteer to participate.”

McHallan sends a new smile out in the room. “Now, let’s see here.” He pulls the paper closer to him. “The male lead has been handed to Tom Hiddleston.” 

There’s a little cheer, but mostly uninterested clapping. With the exception of the drama teacher who looks Hiddleston’s way with a big smile and a flirtatious flutter of her lashes. Hiddleston himself gives a smile and nods, accepting the role just like that―probably not too weird seeing as the man always wanted to make it as an actor. 

You whisper a congrats to your coworker, who gives you a tight lipped smile in return. 

The dean coughs to get the attention back to him. “Now, for the female lead.” He takes a break, gaze travelling over the women in the room. “Y/N Y/L/N!” 

You blink. Frown. Stare at McHallan, who shoots you a smile from where he stands at the other end of the room. Hiddleston mumbles congrats and laughs at your expression. Most shrug, not really caring, but a kind of shriek erupts and everyone turns to see the drama professor glaring your way. 

“Excuse me,” she says, “how can she get the female lead in a play I wrote?” She gestures to herself. “Drama teacher,” then to you, “history teacher. Do you not have eyes?” 

“I agree with that, she can get the role if she wants to,” you say nodding. 

Of course, McHallan shakes his head and in your peripheral vision you see Hiddleston shake his, too. “We picked names from a hat, everyone has been assigned something so don’t go crazy from one role, okay?”

That discussion went over fast. You sigh and roll your eyes at Hiddleston’s smug expression, and then listen as McHallan lists the other characters and who were assigned them (Benedict got a tree, though he looks happy about it). 

---

The students file into the classroom as you read through the script. You read through it last night, or some of it, but you need to know if you read correctly at that last part. Because if you did―well, it won’t go well. For anyone.

“Awfully dedicated for someone who doesn’t want the role,” comments Hiddleston. 

You look up at him to see him put down his bag and shrug. “Did you know that the interaction in this between the two leads is the opposite of ours?” 

He nods. “I read through it last night. Not sure how you’ll pull it off.” 

“‘Not sure how you’ll pull it off’,” you mimic, “excuse me, but they kiss! They kiss.” 

“What are you worrying about? It’s just a kiss.” Hiddleston smirks and you swallow the feeling that shoots up at the thought of kissing him. You’re not sure whether you want to throw up or just need to eat something, but the twisting in your gut is not one of pleasure. 

Shaking off the thought, you put down the script and look up at the students in front of you. The chatter flows through the room, some seeming to be about what you just put down. Hiddleston coughs for attention and it quiets down, but their interest is piqued and a few hands shoot into the air. You nod for one of the boys on the first row to speak.

“Is that paper you were holding the reason you weren’t here on Thursday? Are you going to leave for an acting job?” 

You shake your head. “No, the paper and my absence on Thursday do not correlate. And no, I am not leaving for an acting job, because that script is for a play we professors are putting on for you guys.”

If it’s possible for multiple people to share a frown, that is what the thirty students do. “Why? And who are you playing?” a voice asks from the back row. 

“We were lucky enough to get the leads,” says Hiddleston and you roll your eyes. 

“Correction. He was lucky, I was unlucky because I do not want it.” 

Another ‘why?’ pops up. 

“First, I am no actor. Second, I’ll be playing opposite this dude and the two leads are love interests. I am not… I just don’t think I'm good enough of an actor.” You shake your head and press your lips together. 

“Can you show us some?” asks a voice in the middle. You can’t detect who said it, but you would love to let them know never to ask that, but before you can answer no, Hiddleston nods, says loudly ‘yes, sure’ and pulls out his script. 

You glare at him and try to put on a mask for the students. Some laugh seeing your resignation as you pick up the script again. “What do you want to see?” you ask, not wanting to choose anything. 

A chant of kiss scene erupts and your mind goes blank. That’s where we are, wow great. 

Hiddleston smirks, the same one as before. “Afraid of playing out some of it? Maybe they’ll boost your confidence enough to go through with this?” 

You sigh. “I wish I got the same role as Benedict. I would die just to play a tree.”

But that doesn’t help now and you find the―thankfully―only kiss scene in the script. It’s near the end with a long dialogue before it happens. Already now, your gut churns at the thought, nerves creeping up your arms and back, filling you with dread. This will never turn out good, especially not when you’re acutely aware of your students stares―at least they’re more attentive than usual.

“For context sake,” says Hiddleston, “before this a lot of things have happened that have caused the two characters to be rather wary of each other.” 

You nod, sigh and look down in the script. You don’t know the words by a long shot, but you know Hiddleston starts at least. And then he does. 

“I’m sorry.” You look up at Hiddleston and see the regretful look he sends you. “I didn’t mean to… it sort of happened.”

A deep breath. “How does that matter? That’s not an excuse, nor an apology.” 

Hiddleston takes a few steps closer to you. Your heart pounds in your head reading over the words he’s about to say. “No, it’s not. But it’s the best I have.” You look up and lock eyes with him, lock eyes with deep blue, so full of regret, eyes. “I love you.”

Your throat feels dry but you look back down in the script. “Not enough,” you say and despite the fact that you should look up and in his eyes, yours stay trained on the script. 

“How much is enough? What else do I have to do to prove my love?” Hiddleston tilts your chin up with a finger―god he’s a good actor―and you see the sadness that coats his face. “I would kill for you, love. I would―”

“It doesn't matter what you would.” You look back down in the script, losing Hiddleston’s gentle touch. “It matters what you did.” You take a step back, creating bigger distance between the two of you. 

Hiddleston meets your look and then glances down in the script. “Tell me what I can do. There has to be something.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. You ignore your gut wrenching, the sweat coating your back and the obvious tension that lies like a blanket over the room. In your peripheral view you can see the students watch the two of you with curious interest, but instead, you let the pause break and open your mouth.

“Let me punch you.”

There’s a snicker in the student audience but your eyes are trained on Hiddleston’s reaction. He sighs, nods and opens his arms. “As hard as you need to.”

In the script, your character walks back to him, so you do the same. It says to lightly punch him, to act as if you take out your frustration by repeatedly hitting his chest and then, with tears streaming down your face, curl into it and let him embrace you. To be honest, you could use the hug, and you could use the punching bag. So you lightly do what it says, not really punch him but you make it look like that, and for some reason you’re comfortable enough to act like you’re crying and curl into Hiddleston’s chest. His strong arms secure you tightly, and you feel the heat rise in every inch of your body by how close you are. 

And then it’s the kissing part. You’ve read it more times than you can count. You know the words, the acting. But you don’t want to admit to it. 

The students are all quiet, probably leaning close and you hear someone whisper about the kiss coming soon. 

You pull from the embrace, though still close to him you look up at Hiddleston. He looks down at you, a pained smile on his face―completely in character―and then the words, spoken as a whisper, “Kiss me.”

Thankfully, oh so thankfully, Hiddleston smiles and pulls away, turning to face the students and bowing. You use a moment to realize what’s happening, but do the same as him and plaster on a smile. It’s not like your heart is beating a mile a minute. Like you wanted the kiss, no you didn’t. That’s silly. Weird. 

No, you shake it away, take the compliments that you are more than a good enough actor, and then relish in getting to actually start class. There are other, more important things than a play happening, and one of them is to teach a class. 

---

Lunch on Friday doesn’t come fast enough. After a class and then using your spare time―usually used for research, grading papers or planning classes―have gone to learning to play a role you don’t want to play, you need the break. The drama teacher, albeit angry about the whole ordeal, helps you out whenever she can and you’re grateful to her for her help, especially in knowing what message she wants to come across with the play, but it’s tiring. 

You slump down in the chair across from Benedict, mumbling a ‘hi’ to him and Eddie. They both cock their brows in you direction but neither says anything as you bite into the sandwich you prepared that morning. 

“Grumpy today, or?”

You divert your gaze to Hiddleston, who sits down in the free chair and places his lunch on the table. “Oh, how nice of you to comment on the fact that I don’t enjoy seeing your face.” 

He chuckles. “Sorry, what’s going on?”

“The usual this week. McHallan said we’re doing this for a month with one show, and I don’t wanna do this at all. The show we had on Tuesday was more than enough,” you say and take another bite. 

“Is she hard on you?” 

You finish chewing before answering, swallowing with your hand in front of your mouth―manners, right? “Hard? She glares at me during the entire thing. I bet she wrote it all just to be able to play the lead herself and kiss whoever got the male lead, and considering how happy she was when that was you I bet you’re that person.”

“Wait?” Benedict gets your attention. “You have to kiss?”

“Yes, Mr. Ignorant, we do.”

Benedict holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I find it amusing. But either way, I don’t have the script since I have no lines and… thank you for the information.”

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your sandwich. 

Hiddleston smiles, amused probably. “She’s a little mad about that part. Especially after Tuesday and we showed a scene for our students and they ended up writing small paragraphs of us as a couple. They are, I think it’s called ‘shipping’ us now.”

“Oh, tell them welcome aboard. A lot of us have been doing that for a while now.” Benedicts comment only gets him a glare from you, something Eddie seems to find very funny, so you send one his way, too. 

“I just don’t see why we have to. I don’t want to kiss his ugly face,” you say. 

“It’s a play. It won’t last long,” replies Hiddleston. 

You press your lips together and find the picture you sent of it to Y/BFF/N earlier in the week. “It says here ‘kiss for thirty seconds, tongue is appreciated’. They want us to make out in front of the whole college. Excuse me but I can barely stand your face. The only good that would come of it is that I would have my eyes closed and wouldn’t have to look at you.”

“Well, at least you know what’s it like to make out with someone with a beard,” comments Benedict. 

You count to ten in your head. “I’m going to let that slide because I don’t hate you, but you are on thin ice. Be sure I’m not certain I want to help you next week after all. However, I’m there for your kids and not you, so you might be lucky.”

Eddie snickers from where he sits, a grin on his face and eyes flickering between you and Benedict. “To be honest, I thought this would be a quieter table, but I was wrong. I don’t mind, though.”

Hiddleston smiles. “Had she not been here, it would have been. But a little less fun, though.” 

You sigh and decide not to comment. It’s neither worth it, nor do you really have a good comment. At least he called you fun. 

 ---

Usually, you wouldn’t make the trip to the store on a Saturday meant to be inside and do nothing. Yet, there you find yourself, walking determinedly to the hot chocolate section and picking up a box of powder to make instant hot chocolate. On the way to the register, you swing by the candy department and grab your favorite chocolate. 

Yeah, it’s that time of the month. 

You manage to grab with you a bag of chips as well, and some berries, and oh, pastries look so good. Yup, chocolate donuts it is. 

As you stand in line, you’re certain you saw a ginger bob of curly hair. And you’re correct, as Hiddleston comes to stand in the queue behind you. 

“That’s a lot of chocolate,” he says and you nod. “Baking something? Or just relishing in it being Saturday?”

You nod. “Sure, we can say those are the reasons.”

“Oh, oh. Sorry, I don’t think that far.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t think about it, it’s really nothing. I’m just grateful there’s not much pain right now.”

Hiddleston nods. “I have heard that isn’t exactly lovely.”

“So,” you say, “what are you doing here?” You place the items you have―which became more than planned―on the conveyor belt, putting one of those rectangles to separate your items from Hiddleston’s and the guy in front of you. 

“Here for a last minute shopping, really. Found out I lacked some food,” he says. 

You nod. “Food is smart, that’s true.” 

“Yeah.”

The silence lasts after that until you get your total. You put your card in and type the code and press ok and… rejected. “That’s.. I’ll just try again.” And rejected. 

Fuck.

“Let me pay.” Hiddleston looks at you, a trying expression on his face, but you don’t have much choice. 

“I’m paying you back,” you say matter-of-factly. 

He nods. “Sure, you are.” He smiles at the woman behind the register when it goes through and says yes to the receipt. You snatch it from him and put it down in the bag you bag your groceries in. It’s not much, but it’s enough and you saw the price, you will pay him back. 

You wait for him to bag his own items before exiting the store together. When you near your car, you glance at him. “I will pay you back.”

“You need information to do that.” 

“I have my ways.” 

He nods. “Benedict, I presume?”

You nod. “Yeah, see you Monday.”

“Bye.”

And then you get in your car with a churning gut, a sweat-ridden back and the feeling that you might not be able to pay him back. But at the same time feeling a strong need to punch him for being such a gentleman.

He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to do anything. 

Which is exactly what makes it so hard to ignore that flutter in your stomach at the thought of him. 

permanent tags: @devilbat @adefectivedetective @gamillian

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bold in the taglist are people tumblr won’t let me mention :(

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfiction #twh #thomas william hiddleston #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #loki #college professors au #professor hiddleston #professors au #tom hiddleston slowburn #enemies to lovers #slowburn #reader insert

[huilian]

Noctuis chapter 3 is up! thank you to people who have been reading!

here’s the text under the cut

The signal is on, and Batman is here. That should be it. That should be it, but Jim can’t help but say, “Why are you here?”

Batman grunts. The sound makes Robin angle himself ever so slightly away from Batman, which is absurd, because this is Batman and Robin.

But then, this Batman is not the other half of this particular Robin, and from what he’s seen, this Robin doesn’t particularly play well with others other than his Batman. There’s something wrong with this Robin’s Batman, Jim is sure of it, so he ventures to ask, “Is he okay?”

Batman grunts again. It might have been months since Jim has had to read this Batman, but he’s had years of experience under his belt. Batman doesn’t know either. 

So, even though Batman has answered the signal, and even though there is nothing he truly needs Batman’s help for, Jim keeps the signal on. There is nothing Jim can do to help that Batman, other than provide a light that’ll guide him home. 

Jim hopes it’s enough.

Jim also hopes that the kid is going to be okay. 

(Jim remembers the first Robin clearly. The way he can put on a show so well it fools even Jim, at first. Jim remembers feeling every single year he’s lived weighing his shoulders when that same boy shows up in the cape and cowl to answer the signal, putting on a show all the while. 

A different show, but a show all the same. 

Jim hopes the kid is okay.)

***

They are watching. They are always watching. 

They are listening. They are always listening. 

Dick knows the water is drugged, the same way he knows the taste of blood on his tongue and the grip of knife handles on his fingers. 

Dick knows the water is drugged, but he drinks it anyway. What choice does he have?

Dick stumbles away from the well, feeling his thirst lessens but the clouds inside his head grows. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything. 

They are watching. 

They are listening. 

***

Barbara counts every second they’ve spent on the search. A missing person’s time frame of survival is at most 72 hours. It is now 64 hours, thirty-two minutes, and eighteen, nineteen seconds since Dick’s last check-in. 

The time frame extends considerably considering it is Dick that is missing. The time frame also shortens considerably considering it is most likely the Court of Owls that took Dick. 

Another dead end. This has been the eleventh dead end in two hours. Babs changes tactics. 

“Red Robin, any progress?” she says to the mic. 

“No, Oracle.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Switch channels.

“Batgirl, any progress?”

“Negative, O.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Switch channels. 

“Black Bat, any progress?”

“No.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Switch channels.

“Batman, any progress?”

A grunt. No, then. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Mark the places that’s been confirmed to be negative. Breathe in, breathe out. Find new potential locations for the others to search.

Oracle listens to all, whether it is the loudest of proclamations or the softest of whispers. Her webs of information swirl all over the world, taking in everything from the pettiest of crimes to the most outlandish of schemes. Oracle watches over all, so how can an organization as large as the Court of Owls slipped through her net?

Breathe in, breathe out. It is now 64 hours, thirty-five minutes, and forty-eight, forty-nine seconds since Dick’s last check-in. 

***

Dick’s back in the portrait room. They haunt him, those faces. They are frozen in the frame, in time, and in death. Dick looks at those faces and the images of him standing over those faces, looking down at them as they die, assault him. It could have been him dealing the blows. It could have been him holding the knives. 

The Court is trying to tell him a story. About the people they killed. About the power they store. About how they are unafraid of Batman, despite Batman pushing them off years ago. 

But Dick already knows this story. He knows all about the people the Court killed. He knows all about the power the Court has. And he is going to make sure that after he is done, they will be afraid of Batman. 

Dick blinks. The portraits return to just that, portraits. 

Dick goes back into the labyrinth. 

***

“Robin!” Batman growls, but not his Batman. 

“Don’t touch me!” Damian says.

“Robin, stop.” Batman saying something in the span of seconds was not rare, according to the accounts of his mother, his grandfather, and even Pennyworth, but it is rare to Damian. It is rare for his Batman.

 It reminds him even more that Grayson is gone. 

“No!” Damian pushes his target to the wall again, knowing that it will bring a multitude of pain to his target, and discovering that he feels guilty for not feeling guilty. “This man knows something and I am not going to stop until he tells us!”

“Robin.” Father’s growl is not that much different than Grayson’s. Perplexingly, it makes him miss Grayson even more. 

He was supposed to call for back-up. He was supposed to be safe. 

Damian throws the man to the ground, not really caring about being gentle. The man is a criminal, he was caught red-handed trying to kidnap children, but he knows nothing about Grayson’s whereabouts. 

Damian retrieves the restraints he has with him, tying it on the man as quickly as he can. He has no time to waste. 

He’s going to find Grayson. He will find Grayson. He will. 

The other outcome would be too horrible to even comprehend. 

***

“Dickie? Is that you?” A woman’s voice rang out. 

“We missed you so much, Dick.” A man’s. 

Mom. Dad. 

But how? Dick saw them fall. Dick saw their line broke and he saw them hit the ground. How are they here?

It’s the Court. 

“Come on, son. Come with us.”

Dick walks towards them. He knows, he knows it’s the Court and that this is another one of their tricks, but he has missed them. 

How he has missed them. 

“Come on.”

Dick walks. Closer, and closer, and closer. Until their faces sharpen from the hazy blur he saw before and their hands are close enough to touch. 

Dick can feel the drugs churning inside him, but he finds he doesn’t care. He’s exhausted and injured. He just wants his parents to hold him. 

Dick extends his hand, moving to grab his mother’s. 

Faces morph. John and Mary’s smiling faces turn to the smooth, emotionless white mask of the owls. “We’re the Gray Sons, aren’t we?” they say together. 

No. No. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

It’s the Court. 

He knows it’s the Court. He shouldn’t have approached them in the first place. It’s the exhaustion and the blood loss and the cocktail of drugs flowing in his veins. 

This is just another trick to catch him. 

Dick moves backwards, away from the parody of his parents. He’s not going back to the Court. Not again. Not ever. 

***

“Oracle. This one is also a bust,” Tim says, knowing that it’ll be another failure in a series of failures for Barbara and pushing his own disappointment down. 

“Copy that, Red Robin. Do you want to check the next one or are you calling it a night?”

It’s four a.m. in the morning. By all rights, Tim should be home in his apartment, bickering with Cass on acceptable sound levels when the other occupant of the apartment is sleeping. By all rights, Tim should be sleeping. 

He hasn’t been able to sleep since Dick went missing. 

“I’ll check the next one,” Tim says into his comms. “What’s the address, O?”

A few typing noises, then Oracle says, “Are you sure? You sound exhausted, Red.”

Tim huffs. “So do you.” He is bluffing, of course, because with the voice modulator that Barbara uses, he can’t really tell whether she sounds exhausted or not. But Barbara only uses the voice modulator with the family when she wants to hide something, and that is practically proof. She is exhausted by their failures to find Dick. “What’s the address?”

Barbara sighs. “On King and St. Peters. The thirteenth-”

“The thirteenth floor,” Tim cuts in. He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s running on coffee, adrenaline, and five nonconsecutive hours of sleep in seventy-four hours. “I know. Thanks, Oracle.” 

Tim aims his grapple gun and fires. He knows he should sleep, he knows he functions better with sleep, but he’s not going to be able to sleep knowing that Dick is still out there, possibly in the Court’s clutches. Might as well make good use of the time. 

King and Peters, thirteenth floor.

***

Coffins. Rows and rows of coffins. 

Dick knows this place. He’s heard of it from the other Talons when they were brought in to help his training. The resting place of the Talons. Or more accurately, the storage place. 

The other Talons talked about how being on ice is not resting. It is just being suspended, tucked away until their next use.

If Batman hadn’t saved him, Dick would have been here with the rest of them. 

There are several coffins open. Are they here?

Dick walks between the rows of coffins, heading towards the open ones. Maybe he can figure out who they are, and whether or not he knows them. 

But before Dick can even reach the closest open coffin, he heard a swooshing noise. Dick moves away from a sword clearly aimed at his back. 

Dick turns and faces the Talon, who is holding the sword low on his hands. “Batman,” he says, “the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

The googles. The bandoliers slung across his chest. 

Cobb. 

It seems he’s healed from the knife to the spine.

Dick tries to punch him in the face, but he is weak after days in the Labyrinth. Cobb easily blocks the punch and counters with his sword. Dick moves out of the way again, but this time he’s not fast enough. The sword hits him. 

“You should die knowing your body would not be returned to the surface,” Cobb says, as relaxed as ever. He is confident that he would win. 

Dick stands up. Cobb lets him. Cobb’s toying with him. He knows Dick is weak, he knows that this fight is nowhere near fair with one opponent starved and dehydrated. He is confident he would win this fight. 

That’s going to cost him. Dick is not going to die tonight. Batman is not going to die tonight. 

“The Court has decided to keep your bones here, to be displayed”- another swing of Cob’s sword. It hits Dick’s arm, where the previous stab wound has barely healed. Dick goes down again - “in the Labyrinth forever. A monument to a valiant enemy.”

Dick kicks him, but Cobb simply takes the kick, confident that nothing Dick can do would hurt him. Cobb brings his sword down, towards Dick’s stomach, but Dick manages to roll over and evade the sword at the nick of time. 

Straight into Cobb’s own kicking foot. 

“Do you have anything to say before your death?”

Dick answers that with a headbutt to Cobb’s stomach. Cobb casually brings his elbow down, and Dick sees stars.

“Nothing, then.” Cobb nods derisively. “So all that’s left to do is decide the manner of your death.” He turns towards an audience, clearly visible to him, but invisible to Dick. “My Court! He is prepared!”

Blinding lights. White faces. 

“I present to you, the Batman! How do you wish him to die?”

Voices shouting, drowning each other. The same voices as his nightmares. 

They are coming closer, or is it Dick that’s moving closer towards them?

White faces. White walls. White floors.

Voices that haunt his nightmares. 

They stop, suddenly. But all that does is to let another voice speak out, softer than the others, yet somehow still the same as those that haunt his nightmares. “Hurt him… more.”

Pain. It doesn’t stop. One hand turns to two turns to three turns to too many to count. White masks turn to white faces turn to owls. 

Hands turn to knives turn to claws.

Blood seeping down his clothes. Voices. Lights. 

“Stop.”

Dick breathes in. The pain doesn’t stop, but it doesn’t worsen. The mass of bodies around him parts. Claws retract, and a face, different from the others, towers over him. It’s golden.

“Can it be?” the voice from the golden mask says. The Grandmaster. “Has our Gray Son return at last?”

Gray Son. Gray Son. 

Dick lifts his hand, preparing himself for the pain he surely will receive. Shockingly, no pain comes, so he keeps going. Up, and up, until he can feel his hair. 

The cowl is down. 

Dick swallows. The Court is always watching, he knows that, but now the Court sees.

Now the Court knows. 

Dick has damned his entire family. 

“Of course,” the Grandmaster whispers. It runs on Dick’s skin, bringing a chill even though no breeze actually comes. “Who else can survive the Labyrinth as well as you, Gray Son?” A hand touches Dick’s chin, forcing him to look to the soulless eyes of the golden mask. “The Batman took you away and the Batman delivers you back.”

Dick feels his body being hauled upwards. Then, the coldness of a blade on his throat. 

“This changes everything, does it not?” The parliament behind him cheers. “Our Gray Son, returned after many years. The Bat takes good care of you, I see. Your skills have improved.”

The Grandmaster strokes Dick’s face, from the corner of his eye to the curve of his chin. It emphasized that Dick’s face is bare, that his cowl is down. 

It emphasized that Dick has failed his entire family. 

“You have completed the Labyrinth,” the Grandmaster continues, “the only thing missing from your training as Talon. Now you truly are the Gray Son of Gotham, our greatest weapon. Isn’t that right, Gray Son?”

Dick stays silent. He’s not Batman, the cowl is down. He’s Dick Grayson, and as long as he doesn’t speak at the behest of this man, he won’t be the Gray Son of Gotham, Talon of the Court of Owls.

Dick is aware that that distinction only exists in his own mind, but he feels he is allowed his coping mechanism. 

Even if he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. What a selfish man he is, thinking of his own comforts while knowing that he has betrayed his entire family. 

“Answer when the Grandmaster asks you,” Cobb growls from behind him. 

Dick stays silent. Behind him, Cobb presses the knife deeper, almost cutting skin. But Cobb won’t kill him. Not here, not without permission from the Grandmaster. 

And the Grandmaster is still eyeing him like a prize. Dick can’t go back to the Court. He won’t. He’s betrayed his family enough. 

Dick takes his chances. 

The only good thing about having Cobb so close to himself is that Dick can grab anything from Cobb’s arsenal of weapons. Dick knows that suit, and what it carries, as well as he knows his own. He has spent countless hours with it. 

Dick reaches towards Cobb’s side, where he knows a stash of explosives is stored. He lifts them out, elbowing Cobb in the stomach at the same time. 

His arm protests, but Dick ignores it. He throws the explosive to the ground, and tackles Cobb down.

Boom!

The Owls run for cover, including the Grandmaster. Dick braces for impact. His suit can handle the explosion, but not without it hurting. 

It throws both him and Cobb to the ground. Cobb, who didn’t have a chance to properly brace himself, is stunned. Dick quickly moves away, hoping the explosion will keep Cobb down, at least for a while. 

Dick looks around. There’s a hole on the floor. 

No better choice.  Dick jumps in. 

Water. Walls. A labyrinth traded with another. 

But the walls are not white. The floors are not white. 

The voices of his nightmares are silent. 

Dick walks and walks and walks, away from the Court, away from the Owls, away from the hands wanting to turn him into a weapon. 

Dick walks until he can no longer see. 

Dick walks until he can no longer hear. 

Dick walks until his legs crumble underneath his own weight, and even then, he crawls.

Dick moves until he can’t. 

He hopes it’s enough. 

***

#dc #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #barbara gordon #jim gordon #apparently #fic #lian writes #noctuis

[theprodigypenguin]

A8 jegulus (can it end well? Love your work!!)

A: Angst - 8: “Am I not enough for you?”

Whoo boy I was determined to finish this before going to bed. I started watching The Great British Baking Show and got SO distracted (for the record I’m glad Diane is gone and Iaine didn’t deserve to get sent home because that fucking BITCH literally sabotaged him). Anyway. This almost got too deep for me, but I managed to rein it in a bit. The information collected about Abandonment Issues was found on this website. Enjoy!

Regulus had abandonment issues. At least that’s what he read in the Muggle help book he’d found sitting on his usual table tucked into the furthest back corner of the library.

It was circular and hidden between tall bookshelves filled to spilling over with outdated textbooks and scrolls that had been shoved there once they’d lost their use. Regulus found some comfort and solidarity by taking that table, because no one else ever seemed to use it. It was too musty back there, there wasn’t enough light because the old glass was cloudy and likely hadn’t been washed in centuries. Regulus figured he was the only person who ever sat there, but the hard cover self help book he’d found sitting there was arguably not his.

At first he was bothered by the fact that someone had stolen his secret space, tainting it with pointless Muggle items. He’d wandered back there in the middle of the day in a horrible mood, silently seething and shaking as he kept his head down and avoided Madam Pince by sliding down the side aisle while she was organizing books at her desk. He wanted seclusion, he wanted to curl into the chair with his feet pulled onto the cushion and the hood of his cloak pulled onto his head and down over his eyes so no one who passed by would see the angry tears cutting down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms around his knees and muffled the sounds of frustrated sobs against his trousers.

It was infuriating, being James Potter’s secret boyfriend. When they’d started their relationship, Regulus had known it would be behind curtains, secret rendezvous up in the Astronomy tower at midnight, sneaking out together to lounge on the grass at the edge of the Black Lake, wrapped around each other and laughing over silent jokes, indulging in each other when no one else could see, testing each other, seeing what was right, what they were comfortable with.

Both of them accepted no one could really know about them, but they were fine with it. Regulus was fine with it. It gave him a feeling of true elation to know he was the one who was dragging his hands down the plane of James’ stomach as the talented Quidditch Chaser pinned him to the wall hidden behind a tapestry barely big enough to hide them. Regulus was the one tasting James’ lips and feeling the texture of his hair between his fingers. James was his, and no one knew it, and that was exciting. A silent rebellion on Regulus’ part, because when he was snogging James senseless, half of him was feeling the brutal smugness, knowing how furious his parents would be, revolting in such a damning way.

It was a game, but every day, every week they spent in a decided relationship, the hesitant touches growing more confident and the curious eyes darkening with resolution had Regulus weak. It was just a game, but he was enjoying himself far too much. He liked it too much. He liked James too much. Falling like he’d been hit in the chest with a Bludger and toppled off his broom a hundred feet in the air with the Golden Snitch clutched above his heart, hoping to everything James would be the one to catch him. Regulus liked him.

Maybe that was why it was so painful, a hot iron twisted into his gut, seeing James standing so close to that Evans girl with a brilliant smile on his face, leaning one shoulder against the wall with his arms folded, looking too cocky, too confident, too interested in the red hair and green eyes, the lips that had scowled at him for six years but were now cresting in a soft smile.

Regulus already knew James had been interested in Lily for a great deal of time, interest that had turned to a crush in fifth year. He’d heard Peter, Remus, and Sirius tease James about his admiration before, had heard Snape brooding and hissing about how Lily deserved better, James was an overconfident pig, Lily would never be interested him in a million years. Yet there she was, seventeen and looking at James the same way he’d looked at her for years.

Regulus’ relationship with James was still young, admittedly, but in the few months they’d been together, he’d gotten attached, he’d started to trust, and now he felt like he was being left behind, simply because he’d seen James smiling at a girl Regulus knew he liked. James wouldn’t do that though, right? He wouldn’t break it off with Regulus just because he thinks he finally has a chance with Lily Evans. Or maybe he would. This whole time, the tender fingers on his cheeks and the lips on his forehead, had they just been ways for James to distract himself from Lily? Was he just using Regulus? Or was he just overreacting?

That’s when he reached out to the book on the table, flipping it open and reading a few lines until he realized it was a self help book. He turned the pages lazily, trying to distract himself, ignoring the few tears that had managed to squeeze out of his eyes. His body went rigid when he got to a particular chapter at the end of the book, titled appropriately with “Signs of Abandonment Issues”. Regulus read on autopilot, his heart in his throat.

“You’re Afraid to Turn Down Requests: There’s a huge difference between being kind and being afraid of further abandonment. There’s something wrong if you can’t say no. If you think that letting them down will make them leave you in an instant, you likely have abandonment issues. You Easily Get Jealous: If you have abandonment issues, there’s always something to be jealous about. You don’t like it when your otherwise loyal partner hangs out with their friends. When jealousy becomes a serious issue, you’ll always be insecure about your partner’s loyalty.

“You’re Afraid to Open Up: After months of being quiet and alone in class, you find someone genuinely interested in you. The two of you become the best of friends, only for this person to leave you for a new set of pals. You’ll begin thinking that you’re never enough, that you’re easily replaceable. You put up walls around you because it’s not worth the risk of being hurt again. Abandonment has made you a cold, unapproachable person. Making yourself hard to approach prevents otherwise good people from entering your life. If you’re actively deterring others from knowing you better, how can you find the people that are actually worth the risk? Being left out makes you think it’s better to be left out all the time. You Want to Have the Perfect Partner: Nobody’s perfect, you’re always going to find an issue because you’ve set unrealistic expectations for them. You’ll never find that perfect someone because they don’t exist. You’re going to turn down people who are imperfect but are otherwise honest, reliable, and kind.

“You Have Low Self-Esteem: Abandonment issues arise when someone important in your life disappoints you big time. Even if it’s not your fault, you might blame yourself for the outcome. You’ve Become Passive: People don’t normally see a single mistake as a major setback, but experiencing heartache over and over again can change how a person views their life. You’re always accepting the things that happen in your life, there’s nothing under control, so for people with abandonment issues, it’s normal to fail every day. Being passive also often means becoming a pessimist, a spectator in your own life, you don’t see the good in it. You’ve become so intent on seeing the bad side of things that the positive outcomes go unnoticed. If you do realize that something good is happening, your mind tells you that it’s not going to last. Any success is a mere oddity. Being abandoned does this to you: It tears down your belief in the goodness of others. Constant disappointment ruins your sense of hope and love. You no longer view life as having two sides of a coin: One good, one bad. For you, it’s just going to get worse from here on out.

Abandonment issues come from being wounded by an important person in your life unexpectedly leaving you. If you are someone who pays little attention to your own feelings in general, you are likely to minimize the emotional impact of painful events, such as your original abandonment.”

Regulus read over the section again and again, somehow his mind returning to Sirius at the end of it all, how betrayed he’d felt when his parents looked at him sullenly and scowled that Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, how lonely he felt in his own home when Sirius had returned for the summer in aggressive reds and golds, grinning like he’d found new fire in his life, barely sparing Regulus a glance as he locked himself in his bedroom and turned it inside out, pinning up posters throughout the years, writing his friends and proudly displaying his house. Then the summer he was disowned.

Regulus remembered how clammy his hands had been as he clung to the banister and slowly descended the stairs to watch where his mother and brother were screaming in the hall. There was an angry bruise on Sirius’ jaw, his lip busted open and bleeding, his gray eyes alight in madness and a bag of bare belongings on his shoulder. He stopped yelling, letting his mother scream profanities at him and casting his eyes up the stairs to Regulus, narrowing in resentment as his lips curled into a scowl.

Don’t leave me here alone, Regulus remembered the thought that never made it to his mouth, wondering idly what Sirius would have done in that moment if Regulus had spoken, begged him not to go. Instead he stood, passive, and watched Sirius leave, slamming the door and knocking picture frames from the walls in his violent exit. His mother screamed, Regulus hugged the banister, sliding down to sit on the stairs and staring at the door as if he actually thought Sirius would come back for him.

He didn’t.

Was that why Regulus couldn’t stop shaking at the prospect of James leaving him for Lily? After months of memorizing each other, after James finally made Regulus laugh, snickering into his hands as they hid in the broom closet just outside the Transfiguration classroom, would James really do that? Why?

Maybe because Regulus just wasn’t good enough. In the months they’d been together, it had taken Regulus a long time to so much as hold James’ hand, even longer to graduate from hesitant kisses to full on snogging sessions with hands holding tight to clothes and hair, but they’d yet to go further. Is that what James wanted? He wanted to sleep with Regulus? Regulus was acting like a prude, giving James so little, and that’s why he was looking at Evans again; because he wasn’t getting what he wanted from Regulus.

Don’t leave me here alone.

He went in search of James, stupid Muggle book clutched between his hands, and shouldn’t have been surprised when the person he literally ran into first was Remus Lupin, Sirius at his side. Regulus bumped hard enough into Remus to stagger back in shock, though Remus didn’t move an inch, looking somewhat taken aback at Regulus’ sudden appearance. Sirius bristled from beside his friend, holding a hand in front of Remus like he was trying to protect him from Regulus, who looked behind them expecting to see James but realizing with crushing disappointment they were alone.

“Can you maybe watch where you’re running?” Sirius asked harshly, and Regulus turned his eyes to him. “I should expect better from a goody two shoes Slytherin Prefect.” His statement held bite, but Regulus noticed the way his face softened into confusion. “Why are your eyes red?”

“Hey that’s my book.” Remus pointed deftly at the book in Regulus’ hand, and Regulus snapped his eyes to him. “My mum sent it, said I might like it. Left it in the library.”

Regulus felt something odd in his throat as he immediately stepped forward to shove the book against Remus’ chest, then hurried around him, leaving he and Sirius to watch after him as he jogged down the hall back towards where he’d last seen James in the courtyard with Lily.

Part of him didn’t want to see him again, see him standing leaning towards that Evans girl with that smile, he felt like he might vomit if he saw it again, but he needed to talk to James, before he had a complete breakdown. He just needed to know.

He was both relieved and upset to find the courtyard was empty, because James wasn’t with Lily, but he wasn’t there either. What if he’d snuck off with Lily somewhere? What if he was in the broom closet just inside the door? Regulus backed up into the castle, his pulse in his throat making it hard to breathe as he turned to face the broom closet, reaching a hand towards the door knob but freezing. If they were in there they could be snogging, or worse. What was Regulus supposed to do when he saw that? Saw his boyfriend shagging a woman? He didn’t know what to do, until a voice spoke into his ear.

“Alright there, Reg?”

Regulus flailed in shock, letting out a yelp as he tripped over his own feet, and probably would have hit the ground hard if James hadn’t reached out to grab him, lunging towards Regulus to hook an arm around his back so it looked like he was dipping the Slytherin mid dance. James looked startled for a moment at Regulus’ clumsiness before a cocky grin took to his lips.

“Well now, Little King, I knew you were falling for me, but I didn’t realize it was so literal.”

Regulus felt his face burn, scrambling to straighten up and stand on his own, stepping away from James until his back was against the closet door and staring at James with wide eyes like he’d done something wrong. James’ smile faded as he seemed to quickly pick up on Regulus’ mood, taking a step closer and lifting a hand but pausing when Regulus flinched.

“What’s going on? Why are you making that face?” James furrowed his brow, and something that could have been mistaken as protectiveness filtered into his eyes. “Did something happen?”

“Am I not enough for you?” Regulus blurted, and James stared with a blank face, looking truly confused.

“Huh?”

“I saw you earlier with Evans,” Regulus quickly explained, and James’ eyes grew wide, brows shooting up in realization, but there was no guilt or shame from being caught. “Am I not enough?! This is because we haven’t done anything, right?!”

James shot forward to cover Regulus’ mouth with a hand, pulling him away from the closet door as it was opened abruptly and a Ravenclaw girl stuck her head out, looking annoyed.

“Do you two mind? I’m trying to kiss the daylights out of someone in here!”

“Very sorry about him,” James apologized quickly, keeping a hand over Regulus’ mouth, one arm wrapped around his shoulders to keep him close. “Drank a potion a while ago, told him not to test it on himself, fool wouldn’t listen, now he’s spouting nonsense. I’m gonna take him to get some air, you two have fun in there.” James turned, slowly pulling his hand away and leading Regulus back to the door leading out into the courtyard. “Let’s go, Reg, get you some fresh air. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

Regulus was speechless for several reasons, mainly humiliation that he’d blurted that out, and the fact someone had actually heard him, someone had actually been snogging in that closet and heard him and probably were very suspicious of what Regulus was yelling at James for. Fuck, she was a Ravenclaw, she probably already realised.

James lead him away from the courtyard and down towards Black Lake. No one else was around, and James seemed to eye the area for a moment before dubbing it safe, then released Regulus and turned to him.

“Now what’s gotten into you? What nonsense are you babbling about?”

“I saw you with Evans,” Regulus said dumbly, feeling like a major idiot as James arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah? She’s in my house and she’s Head Girl, sometimes I have to talk to her,” he paused before shaking his head. “You didn’t think I was flirting with her or something, did you?”

Regulus felt like passing out as his hands curled into fists. “Were you?”

James just snorted, taking a confident step forward and leaning to get into Regulus’ face. “No,” he said firmly, and Regulus felt his eyes burn. “Merlin, Regulus, what stupid thoughts go through that head of yours? You really think I’d cheat on you?”

Regulus took a shaky breath. “I-I saw you and thought, maybe, because I’m so difficult, because we don’t… do things.”

“You think I care about that?” James gaped. “I’m perfectly happy with the simple romantic dynamic we have, even if it’s a secret.” He reached out to cup his hands around Regulus’ face, thumbing at his cheeks where the tears from earlier had dried. “You’ve really been crying over this, huh? You’re a real idiot, Regulus Black.”

Regulus frowned in mild irritation, glaring at James. “You’re the idiot, James.”

“What for?”

“A smart person wouldn’t agree to go out with someone like me.”

James just grinned, looking entirely too amused. “Huh, guess you do have a point. We’re both idiots then. Only an idiot would still be dating me, with all my flaws in tact.”

Regulus just frowned at that, vaguely recalling what he’d read in the self help book and lifting a hand to touch the back of James’ arm gently. “I don’t mind that,” he said, and it must have been out of character for him, certainly not what James was expecting, because suddenly James looked shocked as Regulus slid his fingers up to cup the back of James’ hand on his face. “I don’t need you to be perfect or flawless, you know.” He shut his eyes, wondering what kind of mess he looked like with the dry tears on his pathetic face. “Just… don’t leave me alone.”

Instead of answering with words, James pulled Regulus closer, ducking his head so he could kiss Regulus, willing all of his feelings and promise and forever to seep from his lips and into Regulus’ body. It was the first time they’d kissed out in the open like this, in the middle of the day, where anyone could see them, but somehow Regulus couldn’t find it in him to care. So long as he knew James was still his, he didn’t care about anything else.

Send in prompts: Dialogue Prompts | Miscellaneous Prompts

#jegulus #amelia writes mini fics #mini fics #james potter #regulus black #regulus arcturus black #seekerchaser #send me prompts #let the jury know i fucking love jily #i also love jegulily #i love lily evans potter in general #but I did indeed use her as an angst decive #yeet i guess

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Athazagoraphobia (Part 4)

Waking is hard. 

She doesn’t like doing it anymore. 

Maybe if she were plagued by morbid nightmares of being chained to the grate and devoured by unseen forces, waking wouldn’t be so dreadful. But her dreams are surprisingly pleasant. Mundane but pleasant; in them, nothing has changed. She is still Azula with a sharp and clear mind. She is still Azula with a crown on her head. 

In some of them she had won the agni kai and ruled over her kingdom with a larger crown adorning her hair. 

And so waking up is a terrible thing.

It is especially grueling when she wakes with her leg throbbing. She supposes that it is a good thing that her leg throbs with such fury. It means that it isn’t a dead limb yet. She also supposes she should be lucky that she isn’t bearing the telltale signs of an infection induced fever. Her leg has already rendered her remotely useless for the time being, the last thing she wants is for a fever to cripple her further.

She looks down at her hands, at her wrists, at her arms. Her arms are still bruised and both of her wrists have raw and scabbed rings around them. She makes a mental note to monitor them for signs of infection. And another to offer Chan a curt thank you for having the foresight to cleanse the wound---even if it was only to prevent having to waste antibiotics on her.

Leg aside, her main concern is her weight. If she was small enough to slip out of her constraints than she is small enough to have grown considerably weaker. 

More fragile. 

What a loathsome predicament.

No one has come to check on her and she is growing increasingly anxious. What if they had been attacked in the night? What if she is the only one left? What if they simply decided to forget about her and move on? Her stomach lurches at the thought. She never struck herself as the type to fear abandonment or isolation, and yet…

The only company she has is an image of her mother shaking her head from the corner of the room. Azula clutches her head, only momentarily before deciding that she has had enough. She sits up and looks about the room. 

She ought not to, but she heaves herself to her feet--her one good one anyhow--and leans against the bed frame. She makes a clumsy one legged hop to her closet and pulls out several bundles of clothing that she had been meaning to get rid of. She tosses them in the middle of the floor before giving the room another once over. She finds a chair in the corner of the room. She hesitates only momentarily before splintering the legs with a blast of fire. She burns away the sharper edges before binding two the first two chair legs together with one of her old robes and the second set. She pries the armrests away from the chair next and binds those as well. With the remaining cloth, she makes a cushion, more for comfort than anything else. 

She sends a silent prayer to the Spirit World that the makeshift crutches will be sturdy enough to support her weight. She takes a breath and gives them a test run. She makes it across the room and back twice before deciding to have a look down the hall. 

The knock of wood against the floor verberates down the halls, reminding her of their apparent vacancy. She has grown to hate the silence. It leaves too much room for her mind to fill it. Punctuated by darkness her journey to the throne room is going to be dreadful. She wants to light some of the hall torches but can’t risk dropping her crutches. 

Azula isn’t sure how she will approach the stairs. 

She has the length of the hallway to figure it out.

By the time she reaches the stairs, the only plan she has is to lay the crutches across her lap and slid down the stairs, like an undignified fool, on her rear. 

She scowls to herself, but has never shied away from what needs to be done in the past. She drops down and carefully slides herself down the stairs. It takes much longer than it truly ought to, but eventually she reaches the ground floor.

She breathes a sigh or relief at the sound of conversation and makes her way towards it. It would seem that these people, this gaggle of survivors has found the council room. Azula wants to be discreet about her entrance but there is nothing inconspicuous about the clunk of her makeshift crutches. 

Every head in the room turns. Of the twenty of them she recognizes only the faces of Chan, Ruon Jian, and Generals Bujing and Shinu. She doesn’t know them well, but they had always held respect for her. 

She hears footsteps behind her. Part of her expects to have a run in with whatever ‘things’ have these people cooped up in her palace. Instead she sees three more familiar faces. First, and most notably, is the wrinkled face of Lo...or maybe it is Li. Either which way, she finds the woman’s presence reassuring.

Only until she recalls that the last time they had conversed involved her banishing one of the two. She swallows. 

Azula doesn’t have names for the other two girls, but she recognizes them as two of her serving girls. Like the generals, she knows little of them, but they had treated and served her well. “Lo?” Azula guesses in way of greeting. 

“Li.” The old woman corrects. She detects a hint of bitterness.

“Is Lo dead?” 

“Yes.”

Azula feels a pang of guilt. She, until her mind frayed, had trusted the twins. Was, perhaps, even fond of them. She assumes that the guilt was a little more than just a pang. It might have been something notable because Li continues.

“We never left the palace, Princess. We hid away in the serving quarters--you never venture there--and waited for your…” she pauses, “for your mood to get better.” 

“Then what happened to her?” 

“At the moment when Sozin’s comet reached zenith, there was a great sound. A horrible one. We thought that it was the sounds of war finally reaching our soil. We decided to find the source of the sound…”

“And.” 

“We found it, princess.” She replies sadly. 

“What did you find?” 

Li presses her thin lips together. “Something beyond what I can describe. It is more like a feeling than a physical being.” 

Azula crinkles her brows. 

“It does things.” Ruon Jian speaks up. “To mind.” 

Azula swallows, “Does that mean…?”

Li cuts her off, “no, you aren’t infected.”

“Possessed.” Chan corrects. 

“Call it what you will,” Li shrugs, “the point is, your mind broke of its own volition.”

“How can you tell?” Azula asks, barely above a whisper. 

“Madness comes in many forms. You weren’t right that day, but you weren’t feral and animalistically violent like the infected.” 

Azula would beg to differ, but she isn’t fool enough to say as much. 

“Forgive our impoliteness.” Shinu cuts in. “Have a seat, you need it more than I.” The man stands and Azula slips into the chair. 

Bujing rolls his eyes, “always the gentleman even when society and its expectations are dwindling.” He slams his fists on the table. “You know what I think?”

“What do you think, Bujing?” Chan asks.

“I think that its a bad idea to have her around. You should have seen her on the days before the comet. She wasn’t possessed. No, sir, she was way ahead of them. Beat ‘em to it.” 

Azula’s lip twitches into a scowl, only for a flicker before she wills herself back into a composed state. She supposes that the lapse in stability is still working its way out of her. 

“She’s already crazed without their help. Look at her…”

“Have you ever been chained to a grate for nearly a week. Dehydrated, starving, making a mess of yourself--if you understand my less pleasant implications?” She pauses. “I can provide the experience if you’d like. We can see how long your mind can stay healthy.” She pauses once more. “Though you’ll have the comfort of knowing that someone will be coming back for you. It’s much more maddening to think that you’ve been forgotten.” 

Bujing swallows. She has to admire his persistence and honestly, “you were breaking before then.” 

She shrugs. “I assure you, I am fine now.” Now if only she can assure herself. 

“What are you getting at?” Shinu asks. 

“I’m just wondering why are we keeping her around.” Bujing replies. “When she can snap at any moment. She’s a danger to us all.” 

Azula might have been happy to hear that she is intimidating even with a broken leg was he not discussing kicking her out of her own home.That sort of audacity will have to be snuffed. 

“She will be when she heals, anyways.” He clarifies. “Right now she is just dead weight and a waste of resources.”

Azula gives an indignant sniff. “Clearly I can craft my own resources.”

“Then you’ll have no problem out there.”

Azula’s stomach heaves again. “Have you forgotten whose home you are in?”

“Have you forgotten that the world has ended. Your title is null, Azula.” Bujing smirks. 

“We’re not kicking her out of the group, Bujing.” Chan says.

“I have given you a few reasons to be rid of her. And I’ll give you another for good measure; she isn’t just a waste of resources but she’s useless. She can’t fight them off and she can’t go out on supply runs. If we have to make a hasty retreat she will only slow us down. Dead weight.” He finishes. “Tell me why she should stay?”

Chan is quiet. 

“She’s clever.” One of the serving girls speaks up. “We have a lot of fighters and scavengers here and we have a doctor. But our strategy so far has been...uh…”

“Balls to the walls.” Chan finishes. 

The serving girl nods. “We go in with no plan at all, make it up as we go, and get lucky. We aren’t going to be lucky every time.” 

“And when I do heal…” Azula looks from face to face. “It will be worth your while to have me around.” She holds out a palm full of fire. Should they try to evict her she has already made up her mind to torch the palace in her wake. She doesn’t wait for the discussion to conclude. She doesn’t need to, she already knows the outcome. “I will be in my room.” She preps her crutches and begins to stand. 

“Have dinner with us.” Shinu offers. “It it’s no royal banquet, but it’s something.”

“I suppose that dinner is a good time to begin discussing a plan. You seem to have this place well fortified. You can start by telling me what you have already accomplished and what we are facing.” She looks to Li. “Tell me about the day of the comet.” 

#Avatar #Azula #Fanfiction

[jeffreystewart]

Norsery Rhymes from A to Z Happy Thorsday - Brunhild

Well here we are another Thor’s Day and another 20 min sketch of a Norse (and Germanic) mythological character, along with a bit of story around them. This week it’s Brunhild (Brynhild, Brunhilde, Brunhildr, Brunhilda). Princess, Queen, Hero, and Valkyrie.

Her name essentially means “War Armor”, from brunia “armor” and hiltia “conflict” in old high German. Which makes sense considering her armor in the Norse and tales are often what is cursed to keep her asleep.

Brunhild’s story changes quite a bit depending on the sources. 

In one she is a Princess, in others she’s the daughter of Wotan and Erda or Bundi, and the adopted Daughter of Hiemi. In some the Sleeping Valkyrie and even Brunhild are separate people entirely.

I’ve tried to separate them a bit by source and story points, but I’m sure I’ve mixed up a few things here and there, given the tales even by source have sub sources that disagree with each other. I guess that’s one reasons why it’s always been such a go to for storytellers to make it all make sense in a single narrative. As they are all taken together, they’re the Rashomon of Norse tales so be kind if I’ve mixed them together too much for your tastes.  I really enjoyed breaking this all down and the drawings that came out of it. I’ll be posting a few more version over the next week.

In the Norse Icelandic tales, the very old Volsungs saga and shorter and newer Prose Edda, Brunhilde is the daughter of Budli, and sister to Atli. She grows up to become a Shield-maiden, a Valkyrie in the castle of King Heimir whos is married to her eldest sister  Bekkhild. 

She is tasked with deciding a fight between two kings. Instead of choosing the one Odin favours Halmgunnar, she sides with the Other Agnar, as she feels this is the more fair outcome. Odin enraged sentences her to live a mortal life alone. Cursed to perpetually sleep in a ring of fire, behind a ring of shields, in castle at the top of the alps on mount Hindarfjall. 

The hero Sigurdr Sigmundson of the Volsung had already slain the dragon Fafnir before hearing of Bruhilde in her prison by Sigurdr’s hawk friend. Surmounting all barriers he awakening her by removing her Valkyries armour and helm, which held the curse. She was essentially imprisoned in the armor and obligation she failed to uphold. At least how Odin likely would have seen it. So Sigurd proposes with his magic ring Andvaranaut that he will return and marry her, and goes out to get her Brother Atli’s blessing. 

Along the way he stops in at a castle in Burgundy. There the Queen Grimhild, a sorcerer and magician, creates a powerful potion for Sigurd to think he is in love with her daughter Gudrun. And then convinces Sigurd to help her son marry the fabled Valkrie Brunhilde. They find Atli, and he gives his blessing. Then return to the mountain. Gunnar tries several times to get past the ring of fire, but he alone or on a horse cannot pass. Sigurd transforms into Gunnar crosses the fire and marries Brunhild. Apparently it being dark when Sigurd woke up the first time and met Sigurdr. Some versions of this says that Sigurdr and Gunnar attack Atli’s castle and he only agrees to let one of them marry her to end the attack on his people. The fires gone upon her marriage, Sigurdr takes the ring from Brunhilds finger and sends Gunnar to her. Then takes the ring to Gudrun. I mean, why waste a perfectly good magical engagement ring. 

So Brunhild and Gunnar, Sigurdr and Gudrun, and Queen Grimhild and King Gjuki are all now one big extended family at the castle. Gudrun, being the jealous type and insecure about her landing Sigurdr the old potion way squabbles with Brunhild and let’s slip that Sigurdr was the one who woke her, wooed her and and rode through the fire. Brunhild as you can image was a little angry. 

She convinces Gunnar that Sigurd had taken marital advantage of her back at the ring of fire and urges Gunnar to kill him. Gunnar afraid to break an oath of brother hood he swore with Sigurd, instead calls on his other siblings, his brothers Gutthorn and Hogni to help him. Hogni was out as he’d also sworn the oath of brotherhood. But Gutthorn was apparently out of town and had made no oath. Gutthorn however was not the killing type and so Hogni and Gunnar got one of their mother potions. They gave it to Gutthorn and it caused him to fill with rage at Sigurdr. Either killing in his sleep at the castle or while out in the forest. Bruhilde then kills Sigurdr and Gudrun’s son and throws herself on Sigurdr’s funeral pyre. In some versions abandoning the daughter she had that was also Sigurdrs child. 

The Volsunga Saga frames the whole story as a tale told to a giant Gygr, in Hel as Brynhildr goes to find Sigurd there after their deaths. In the Norse Icelandic tales like the old Poetic Edda, Brynhildr is a daughter of Budli. In one verse she is distinguished from the sleeping Valkyrie Sigrdrífa / Sigrun, and in others they are one and the same. Wagner and others have interpreted this to be two tales interwoven, or even a direct generational saga because of this. 

As the same person Brynhildr is a Warrior Maiden, and Swan Sister. Valkyrie servant of Odin. Also called Hildr the Helmed. Who lived with her seven sisters all Valkyries. 

She was disobedient with Odin when she took the soul of the old Goth king Hjalmgunnar, instead of taking Agnarr to whom she was forced to side with. Agnarr kidnapped her and her seven sisters when she was twelve by stealing their Swan robes or dress. An item that gave him power over her. Some sources say in marriage, and others just in powers, as he might have worried marriage might negate her station and thus her powers. It can’t hurt to have 7 Valkyries on your side. In other tales she disobeys Odin by not marrying Hjalmgunnar because she had already sworn she would not marry a man with fear.

She was punished by Odin, placed into a preserving unending sleep. Laid under her shield, with a ring wall of shields, and fire. Only the the person who carried Fafnirs gold could pass and wake her. She’s awoken by the hero Sigurd, who crossed the flames with the gold and wakes her by freeing her of her halberd and in some versions with a fairytale kiss. 

We hear this last part in the form of a flashback with flash forwards of sorts, where a detailed prophesy of these events and more is told to Sigurd by his uncle Gripir. Outlining that he will defeat a dragon, learn to speak to birds from it’s blood, carry it’s gold, find love through birdsong, wake a Valkyrie, and find adventure, and eventual peril. With Sigurd asking lots of questions but kind of missing the bad parts. 

 In some interpretations she wakes immediately and leaves with Sigurd, and others she wakes slowly. Sigurd leaving thinking her dead, and having never seen her face under her helm. If taking the sleeping Valkrie as separate from Bryhildr then on her waking she thanks him with the gift of true wisdom, and rune knowledge, and go their separate ways. Sigurd and Brynhildr leave. Finding shelter and a foster father in King Heimi who adopts Brynhildr. They fall in love and become betrothed but unwed to each other. In the other interpretation she just kind of shows up at Heimi’s castle who takes her in as a daughter. I usually picture her waking up alone and wandering down the mountain until she finds kind shelter. 

In both versions Sigurd goes off. Sigurd becomes restless for adventure, or to prove himself, or to secure a title, and continues his travels set to return soon. Why she couldn’t go adventuring with him as she’s no longer tied to her Valkyr duties is left a mystery. One that it has been argued that makes a bit more sense if Brynhildr and the Sleeping Valkyrie are separate people. 

Finding Giuki’s kingdom, the queen Grimhild casts a spell to make him forget Brynhilder so he can marry her daughter Gudrun who has fallen in love with him. In this version Gudrun does not know of the magic being cast on him and when he awakes from the spell bear her no ill will. 

Sigurd assumes Gunnar’s form and woos Brynhildr. Likely starting with telling her of Sigurd’s new love. When they are all together and married the truth is revealed and the spell is broken. Sigurd is horrified by his part in the deception. Bryhildr not knowing of the spell convinces Gunnar that Sigurd took advantage of her in the wooing, and to satisfy the dishonor Giuki’s other sons slay Sigurd.

Bryhildr learning of the spell throws admits to everyone that Sigurd had never taken advantage of her, and her love for him returned throws herself on Sigurd’s funeral pyre to reunite with him in Hel. In some versions she blames her brother for allowing all of this to happen before she kills herself.

In the Germanic tales such as the Nibelungenlied. Brunhild is a Princess or Queen of Iceland or more likely Ironland (Isenland), and is not a Valkyrie, though she does have superhuman strength. She lives in Isenstein (Iron Stone) castle. 

Her kingdom 12 days away from Burgundy and it’s Capital of Worms, where King Gunther has heard tales of her fierceness and beauty and is determined to marry her. Siegfried the Crown Prince the kingdom of Xanten warns Gunther of doing this. He knows of her and thinks this would be a bad idea. Because she’s super strong, a warrior queen, is quite bright, and has a bit of a temper. Gunther though promises Siegfried he can marry his sister Kriemhild if her helps him succeed. Which was the reason Siefried had gone to court in the first place. Kriemhild had never married because of a prophesy that her husband would die a horrible death. The reason Siegfried is so concerned is that Brunhild vows she will not marry any man who cannot best her in feats of strength and battle. 

When they get to Isenstein Brunhild initially thinks it’s Siegfried who’s there to woo her,  but is surprised that it’s Gunther who challenges her. As she was impressed by Siegfried and is surprised this man is only a vassal of Gunther. As the challenges of battle begin, she throws a giants spear, throws a boulder, leaps over that same boulder and fights Gunther. Sigurd devising ways to beat her in the war games and combat uses his cloak Tarnkappe that gives him invisibility, shape changing, and the strength of 12 men. He already had invulnerability everywhere but the back of his neck from bathing in dragons blood. He keeps giving Gunther the advantage. Helping avoid, and in some version throw the spear, avoid the boulder and toss Gunther over it. Then helped defeat her. Ensuring she’s fooled that it was Gunther who did all of these things all along. 

She’s initially a bit suspicious of the whole thing and is hesitant to commit to marriage to Gunther. But he brings his whole army and parks it on her front porch. As an ‘escort’ back to his castle. In some sources Siegfried goes to the trouble to conquer all of Nieelungenland by himself and within a few days, just so he’ll have a nearby army to help Gunther with is ‘marriage escort’. 

So they all get married together. Siegrfried and Kriemhild, and Gunther and Brunhild. Brunhild is upset during the wedding about Kriemhild marrying a vassal instead of a Prince. On the wedding night Gunther appears to have none of the strength he showed in the challenges. So she strings him up hanging from his belt all tied up hands and feet from a cloak hook on the wall. The next day after the servants likely find Gunther and let him down, Gunther goes to Siegfried to get his help again. Siegfried uses his cloak the next night to appear as Gunther and with the strength of 12 men is able to satisfactorily prove he can subdue Brunhild to her expectations. He then goes to hang up his cloak and switches places with the real Gunther who was watching from the wings. Brunhild either through her marital bed time with Gunther, or by Siegfried taking her ring and belt, loses her strength as well. 

As time passes she has a child that they name Siegfried for some reason. We’ll call Him Little Siefried from now on. 

Brunhild never gets over the feeling that original recipe Siegfried doesn’t act or seem like a vassal. So she and Gunther invite Siegfried and Kriemhild to the castle. But things get tense between them when they start arguing about how great their husbands are. Brunhild escalates things a bit too far, and Kriemhild responds that it was Siegfried who took her on maidenhood on her second  marriage night. Showing her the ring and belt as proof. This sends Brunhild to confront Gunther about this. Gunther comes clean, and insists that Siegfried never lay with her. 

She demands Siegfried’s death, and one of Gunthers vassals Hagen (Dazs was apparently unavailable) takes it upon himself and agrees to kill him to end her grief. Hagen makes up an incoming war that Siegfried and Gunther agree to help him with. When Gunther learns of the plot, he does nothing to stop it. Hagen gets Kriemhild to mark on Siegfried where his vulnerable spot it so he can make sure it’s protected she belies. Hagen then says the wars off, let’s go hunting to celebrate! Where he catches Siegfried unawares and hits him with a spear in his weak spot for massive damage. 

Brunhild celebrates, and after Gunther dies Little Siegfried takes the throne. 

In each there’s a tale of tragic love gained and lost, magic used, vows broken, and in some, deaths with the hope of two souls eternally being together.

If you’ve read this far and are looking for a little more reward than the sentiment I ended on above, here’s a terribly punny joke for you. ‘Brunhild, after everything she’d been through, made sure her betrayer was Sieg-Free’d from his body.’

#norse mythology #valkryie #brunhilde #siegfried #sigurd #brynhild #odin #drawing #sketch #line art #Character Design #character art

[mymindsmadness]

𝐹𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈

Happy MyTake!Monday all!

This Monday I wanted to share something I’ve been messing around with for a while. Several drafts of this have been sitting in my folder forever. It was something I really liked the concept of, but wasn’t sure I could do justice. As of right now, it’s just a one-shot, but I’ve considered writing more. If I do, it probably won’t be every Monday, just for the simple fact that this took me so long to stop messing with. Either way, Enjoy!

Rating: T (as of right now)

Warnings: I’m very much an American. I try to get a lot of the terminology and whatnot as close as I can to not take people out of it, but nothing is perfect. Also, I suffer from insomnia. It doesn’t sound bad, but a lot of my editing was done under sleep deprivation. 

Notes: If you guys like this, make sure to leave a comment. As I’ve said, this is a one-shot right now. For me to even consider writing more, I’d have to know that people were actually enjoying it!

Summary: When Voldemort killed Harry, it was not Dumbledore he met at King’s Cross, but an angel of fate. Harry threw his fate off course, and she’s not happy about it. There is only one thing to do. Start over. 

Although Harry knew death would come quickly, he hadn’t quite understood it until he was standing in the ghostly version of King’s Cross Station. Was this… heaven? Did wizards even believe in such a thing? It didn’t seem like the heaven Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went on and on about every Sunday after church. There were no puffy clouds or harps. Most importantly, there were no people. Where were his parents? Where was Sirius or Remus or Tonks? Maybe this was some kind of… purgatory? Harry shuttered at the thought. Had he not done enough? Had he not earned his right to be with them? His whole life he had been nothing but a puppet on a string, dancing by the will of others. In the end his life wasn’t even his, but he sacrificed it anyway. If that hadn’t been enough to re-

His thoughts were cut off by his own (admittedly, embarrassingly high-pitched) scream as he turned to find a woman not much other than himself sitting on one of the pearly benches. She looked serene in this place that wasn’t a place. Her eyes were a haunting silver to match everything else around her, but her hair was a wild nest of black curls. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He didn’t know why, but he had expected her voice to echo within the not-place.

Nervously, Harry wiped his hands down the front of his trousers. “Err – not your fault I suppose.” He tried for a polite smile, but the twitching of her full lips told him he had failed. “Where are we? It looks like King’s Cross…”

“I suppose it does. Though, I’ve never seen it in person.” She hummed, her expression neutral as she looked around. “I think it’s supposed to be symbolic. Either way it came from your subconscious, so it’s hard to say.” She shrugged and moved to one side, patting the bench beside her.

He hesitated, his nerves from being on the run still frazzled. But what was the worst that could happen? He was already dead after all. Carefully, Harry moved to sit beside the woman. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Again her lips twitched as those sharp mercury eyes turned to him. “I know who you are, Harry Potter.” She hummed again, taking in his appearance. “I’ve been watching you since you were a baby.”

Many people had watched Harry his whole life, it seemed. Still, a chill of unease worked its way up his spine. “Are you… an angel then?” She certain looked angelic enough, if not for the mass of untamed curls that reminded him slightly (unnervingly) of Bellatrix’s.

“In a sense.” Her tone was light. “I’m a fate weave. One that happens to be in charge of your fate line.” His confusion must have been clear because she continued on. “The Greeks had it right – for the most part. Every person on earth has a fate line. Like… a thread that represents a path. You still have freewill, so sometimes that thread gets knotted. It typically sorts itself out, or it had been. Everyone’s thread is woven together into a… tapestry of sorts.” Standing, she held out her hand a moment before a wall of what appeared to be glowing, golden yarn appeared next to her. He couldn’t see the top, as it faded well above the not-place. The edges stuck out over what would have been the tracks, going on for quite some time. Most of the lines ended before it reached the thin frame that held it in place. It didn’t have a particular pattern, and there were loose ends sticking out in places, but it was… beautiful. Harry could have sworn he heard it humming in the silence of the ghostly King’s Cross. There was something about it that humbled him... made him feel insignificant for the first time in years.

“So that - that’s everyone on earth right now?” He asked, standing slowly. Millions of tiny strands, each practically dancing between several others, humming and pulsing it’s siren’s song. “Their fate lines I mean.”

“This is just a small portion.” Standing on her toes, she pointed to a strand of thread, following it with her finger. “This one is yours.” She came to the first small knot. “This is Ron Weasley’s… and a little further down, Hermione Granger’s.” The bands wove together into an elegant braid, at least, from what Harry could see. “You don’t know how hard it was convincing the fate weaver in charge of her line to keep her out of Ravenclaw. In the end, we knew it was for the greater good.”

Hearing their names hurt. He would never see them again. Here he was learning about their lives - their fates that were changed because of him. Maybe this wasn’t heaven or purgatory. Maybe this was hell. Sure, Harry hadn’t been horrible during his time on earth, but he hadn’t been a saint either. “Why are you telling me these things?” It didn’t seem possible in this not-place, but Harry felt… tired. He had been so tired for so long.

“Because you knotted your line.” The woman’s face had been a mask of calm until that point. At this, she looked distraught. “You really mucked it up, you know! I worked day and night to keep you on track, and then you threw your line off course with a bit of idiocy and panic! Because of that, several others were changed.” She pointed to a few loose ends before landing on a tight knot along his own line.

It wasn’t like the small knots that represented his life with Ron and Hermione. This was a nest of tangles that reminded him very much of that one time his Uncle Vernon made him spend the day unknotting Christmas lights. From the sides of the knot, several edges frayed and stuck out in all directions. Only a handful went on after that. Harry’s, he noticed, did not end. “Those ends… are they…”

“Deaths.” She hummed. “I’m going to get demoted now…” Her tiny tone of distress wasn’t meant for him this time.

“So you’re telling me… it’s all planned? I never had a choice at all, and I would always end up here? Dead?” A weight settled in Harry’s stomach that almost made him feel dizzy. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I fought Voldemort or just enjoyed my time with my mates?”

“Of course it mattered, Harry.” Her voice was gentle, her eyes soft. It was almost worse to be pitied. “Typically fate is set, that much is true. You would have always ended up here, but the journey could have been much better for everyone. You’re the first person I’ve ever met that managed to rewrite the outcome of several lives. In fact, this wasn’t meant to be your last stop at all. You were meant to go back.”

“Cheers.” Harry nearly barked. Of course he was the exception. “If fate is set, I don’t see how I could have rewritten it in the first place.”

“It’s like…” She paused, biting her bottom lip before reaching into her nest of hair and producing a hairpin. “This pin is meant to hit the floor, yeah?” She waited for him to nod. “It’s this pin’s fate to land on the floor. It will do so. I want you to try and rewrite its fate.” She released it.

It was only through war-trained senses and years of playing seeker that Harry was able to reach out and grab the hair hairpin mid-air. Holding it up for her to see, he raised an eyebrow feeling satisfied with himself. “That wasn’t very hard. I’m surprised more people don’t rewrite their fate.”

“But you haven’t rewritten it.” She pointed out, a smug smile lighting her face. “Its fate is the same. You might not put it down now, but I imagine you don’t intend to carry it with you always. Maybe to make a point you would for a while, but sooner or later you’ll forget it. Eventually, it will fulfill its destiny. We can manipulate or alter the roads humans take based on their choices, but the outcome will always be the same… except... in your case.”  

“Look, I’m sorry miss…” He balled his fist around the hairpin, willing it to dig into his skin and take away some of his pain.

“Lyra.” She offered, her eyes moving to his fate line in dismay. “Lyra Black.”

Harry’s anger left him in an instant. “As in the Black family? Sirius Black?” It would make sense, now that Harry thought about it. She had the eyes and hair for it, though she looked younger than Sirius.

“Yes.” She was smiling again now, the tapestry nearly humming in protest as she turned from it. “I was his aunt - or second aunt’s cousin? It’s all terribly confusing when it comes to pureblood lines. I never cared for them. I am sorry about him passing through the veil, love. You’ll be happy to know he talked my ear off about you when he passed through here.” She gave him a small smile. “But where were… ah yes.” She pointed to the beginning of the large, unsightly knot. “Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry was still processing the information about his godfather when she mentioned the name. He scoffed, taking a step back in shock. “Lucius Malfoy screwed up my timeline? I should have known-”

“No, no. Don’t be silly.” She waved him off with her free hand. “Draco Malfoy. You used a spell on him… Sectumsempra. Nasty bit of work. Poor dear.”

“P-Poor dear!?” Harry’s anger returned in a flood. “He was going to crucio me! I’ve been fighting a war while he sat on his arse having tea with the dark lord! I hardly think-“

“Don’t be daft.” He was cut off by the sharpness of her gaze. It was easier to her relation to Bellatrix at that moment. “He was a scared child. Don’t you remember what Voldemort told you when you tried to use the cruciatus curse on Bellatrix? He wasn’t wrong when he said that you have to mean it. I hate to be the one to tell you this, Harry, but Draco wouldn’t have meant it. You weren’t meant to hurt him that day, you were meant to save him. 

“He never wanted anyone’s life on his hands. Why do you think he didn’t give you to Voldemort when he had the chance? Doing so would not only have saved his family, but given them a standing social status in the new world. He chose to save your life instead.”

Harry blinked, his eyes moving back to the tapestry. The gaudy knot stuck out more than anything else. Was it true? Was it all true? Part of Harry wanted to believe that Malfoy had not recognized him that day at the manor, but the larger part knew that he had. “I was meant to… save Malfoy? That’s ridiculous! Dumbledore tried!”

“Well Albus wasn’t meant to save him, now was he? Keep up, Potter!” He couldn’t argue with that. “Because you found that blasted book, everything was thrown off. Several deaths could have been avoided and now- are you alright? You’ve gone a bit green.”

Deaths. More death was on his hands. It had been more than just cutting Malfoy open, which he had already felt terrible about… he had killed people. “I think I need to sit down…” He sunk back into the bench behind him as the tapestry flew upwards and out of sight, making the not-place seem even emptier. “All those people… I could have…” He took a deep, shaky breath.

“You still can.” Harry’s chin jerked upwards to meet Lyra’s determined gaze. Suddenly, she looked a great deal more like Sirius than Bellatrix. “It’s against the rules, you see... There will be some things that you cannot change. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. However… if we can unknot the tapestry, you’ll get the fate you deserve and I won’t get sacked.”

Harry wasn’t sure how an angel could even get sacked, but he imagined it wasn’t pleasant. What did she mean? Did she want him to dabble in bringing the dead back? He had no desire to make Inferi, and he didn’t know of any other way. “I… I won’t bring them back to life.”

“Of course not, Harry.” She rolled her eyes. “But what if you could go back to that moment? What if you could do it all over knowing what you know now?”

In the back of his mind something prickled dangerously. It sounded an awful lot like Hermione warning him not to meddle with time. But what if he could. He would still be a horcux… he would still have to fight… but maybe, with more time, he wouldn’t have to die. Not like this. “Okay… yes. I want to do it over.”

Her smile was cat-like as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Chin up Harry. You’re going to love where this leads.”

As everything faded to white, the last thing Harry saw was the glint of light off the small black hair pin sitting quietly on the floor... 

 Also being posted to AO3 (in case). You can follow it HERE

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#harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #if you squint #possible future drarry #if I continue #my fic #fanfiction #I'm not happy with it #but it's better than the first draft #I like the concept I just suck at writing these plots

[cath-with-a-c]

This is the comment I woke up to on Friday morning. The amount of bigotry hiding behind the almost polite and seemingly thoughtful wording is astonishing. 

I’ve responded to it already, informing the individual behind it that I won’t be discussing the points of the comment with them, as they’ve resorted to personally attacking me, which is...dumb. I mean, attack my work all you like, it either helps me grow as an author by learning from my mistakes or as a person by growing a spine and defending my work. But coming after someone who has no connection to this and can’t defend themselves because they are no longer with us? Low and disgusting. (Also wow, they’ve taken the time to find the only truly personal post I have on tumblr, and it’s more than a month old, what a commitment to come off as pathetic, really)

Anyway, while talking to that particular individual is out of question, I still kinda wanna address the certain things in the comment because wow, my first queerphobic comment and an excuse to talk more about “Nothing and Everything”, my boys and myself? How can I pass that?

(this is like... a long-ass one... prepare yourselves)

(I’m gonna refer to the commentator as “Fox” and, probably, “them” because well, I don’t know what their preferred pronounce are)

NB! I’m using the term “queer” as an umbrella term to mean everyone who isn’t strictly straight and/or cis-gender.

Let’s start from the top

1.

The best part about slashfic writers is that when they write about child abuse, child sex abuse, and drug and alcohol abuse while including gay characters, is that they’re really writing about the lives of gay men without realizing it. To you, gay men being abused and that being the arbiter of their homosexual identity is too homophobic to fathom. But you still confirm it in subtle ways, and that always brings a smile to my face. 

Now, English isn’t my first language, so I might be missing something, but If Fox meant being the arbiter of as in��defining, being the reason for, than no, it’s not homophobic. It’s just dumb. One, there isn’t a single relevant scientifically accurate study on the abuse causing someone to “turn gay”. Two - there might be a correlation (and it’s not necessary there, I’m just guessing), but the cause and effect will be the other way around, queer kids get abused more because they are queer, not become queer as the result of the abuse. And, most importantly, three - in terms of sexual orientation, you can’t turn someone queer, as well as you can’t turn someone straight. It’s something you are born with and discover as you go along. 

And also the other two queer characters, Rob and Penny, weren’t abused by their parents and/or other family members, but we will touch on that later. 

2.

“The Brotherhood had no problem with homosexuality” - Of course not, and neither do the Templars. It’s the Current Year. You can marry/have sex with whomever you want, whatever you want, whenever you want.

Ignoring the fact that this was taken out of context, and the whole phrase has a slightly different meaning, there are two things that are factually wrong with this statement. First - even in the Current Year, there is a ton of places where being openly queer is dangerous, from the countries that have “anti-gay” laws (ranging from “you can be gay, but stay quiet or go to jail” to “die a horrible death for being gay”), to certain, let’s say, traditionally oriented places in the US. Second - this is not Current Year. The bulk of the story takes place between 1998 and 2003, this phrase is taken from the chapter taking place in 2003, 16 years prior, things were, let’s say, slightly different.

Also, I don’t understand why Fox tried to make this sound sarcastic, we are talking about two societies, with one canonically being for freedom and choice and the other one relying on public favor to propel their agenda, of course, none of them will have qualms with the GRSM community, 

3.

“Honorary gay parents of a gay kid” - Well no wonder the kid is gay. Look at the environment xe/xim/xer grew up in.

I like how Fox uses the non-binary pronounces referring to Penny, when the only thing that has been said about her/them is “I’m into girls.” Also out of 16 kids on the Farm, only 3 are confirmed to be queer. They’ve all grown up in the same environment, so that statement is... meaningless. And in case Fox was referring to Rob and Des turning Penny “gay” well, they’ve also been close with Sam and he’s - what a shock - straight! So again - meaningless.

I’m gonna skip Fox shitting on my friend’s art, again - such remarks are low, pathetic and not worth discussing, let’s get to the juicy stuff. 

4.

It’s amusing, no, to have a pansexual – an individual who is attracted to ‘all genders’ - writing about gay men so much? How many genders are there? Thousands? 51? All on the spectrum? Regardless, tumblrinas are as big on their sexual identities as they are on their activism. In this case, we have a person – presumably female – getting wet over two dudes banging. I’m simply wondering if they packed enough lube and had their enemas. Maybe it was hidden in their stash?

Well, as a matter of fact - they didn’t have lube in their stashes because the only way to get it was to essentially ask one of the adults going to the city to get it for them, can you imagine a 16yo asking something like that? Death from mortification would be the most likely outcome.

Seriously though, I write what I like about whom I like. The only thing it has to do with me being pansexual is that I have more confidence in writing non-straight characters and relationships because I know it’s fine, and my queerphobic background can’t silence me anymore. Also - Desmond isn’t gay, he is bisexual. Rob is gay, true. 

The amount of genders is still up for debate, in my personal opinion it’s all on the spectrum, and the only reason gender issues don’t come out in fiction as much as sexual orientations do is that gender in a lot of cases is a more personal thing than orientation, that’ll inevitably reflect on the inter-character dynamics. A lot of genderqueer people are fine with using male or female pronounces, which to an outsider would put them in respective categories. There are, of course, androgynous people, trans people, non-binary people and others for whom gender and the perception of their gender are important in day to day life - and there are more and more stories featuring them.

Also, on the note of pansexuality - it’s not “attraction to all genders,” it’s having an attraction to the person regardless of their sex or gender, those labels play an insignificant part in me deciding to pursue a relationship. (Also also there might be like a ton of things to discuss in regards to how sexuality relates to gender identities, but not here, not now)

And yes, I’m afab, so yeah, “female” and I do “get wet over the two dudes banging”. Fox got me. Now what? Shame Fox seemingly can’t conceptualize that I “get wet” because I wrote those boys in a story that contains a hard emotional journey full of heartbreak, and I do revel in the short happy moments they’ve got together. The sexual/sensual part is hot because it’s those particular two guys, not just random two guys. 

Oh, and the last thing here - I don’t know if it’s news for Fox, but not all people in a homosexual relationship engage in anal sex. Especially teens in their first relationship. Just saying.

Let’s skip another personal attack part, here we go, sorry that the phrase is broken up

5.

she educated a pansexual SJW into confirming every negative and dirty secret in the gay community: a brutal, abusive father, societal ‘homophobia’, drug and alcohol abuse, and feeling inadequate compared to heterosexual people.

Tbh, this is the part of the comment that had me confused for a moment, as I mistook Fox for one of the “hardcore gay” people, that think that with letters added to LGBT and by putting everything on the spectrum we somehow affect negatively the “real” gay community. The next paragraph cleared this shit for me tho.

Right off the bat - SJW isn’t a dirty word, Fox shouldn’t try to sell it as one. And I won’t label myself as a SJW, because as of now, I lack the commitment to the cause. 

For the next part, I’d really, really like to quote a line from one of my fav vines “Bitch, where?” but for the sake of politeness, I’ll go with “Citation needed,” because from all of the things mentioned, the only one that is really prominent in the text is the “brutal, abusive father”. Societal homophobia isn’t exactly in the text (pay attention, teen Rob is cautious about adults being homophobic, it’s a valid fear a lot of queer teens have prior to coming out, but the general atmosphere isn’t homophobic. If I wanted it to be, adding a scene of public shame/shunning for someone caught in the act wouldn’t be hard), no drug and\or alcohol abuse (1 scene of teens trying drinks for the first time doesn’t count - surprise, teenagers try drinking), and feeling inadequate is mentioned once as a fear of a nine-year-old Penny, who has no frame of reference other than heterosexual behavior of the others, and is corrected almost immediately by Rob.

6.

Was this about Assassin’s Creed? No, not really. Despite you being a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE fan, you don’t really respect these characters. Miles is a douchebag, it’s true, but he’s respected even by Otso Berg. That should tell you something. 

(I’d like to see an example of Fox-approved, really-about-Assassin’s-Creed fanfiction, for a future reference, but alas, they’ve commented from as guest)

Interesting how me not liking or respecting Bill, canonically abusive douchebag known for alienating people because of how cold and manipulative he is, translates into me automatically not respecting every other character in the series. 

Also, I don’t see how Otso Berg respecting William as an opponent should sway my judgment. I’ve mentioned here on my blog that I like Garnier de Naplouse as a villain - how self-assured he is, and how much quiet intelligence he has. Do I like him in general as a person? No. Do I respect him? No. He tortured people. I relished in seeing Altair murder him. 

With Bill, him being a douchebag and abuser is a deciding fact for me, I do not respect abusers, no matter how great they may be. But tbh, on the leadership front, I can’t quite decide if Bill is a fine leader given the circumstances, or if the number of instances of him being canonically shitty as a leader is big enough to call for his removal. 

7.

You crafted him into a predictable homophobic dad, albeit he isn’t Christian. I was waiting for the Bible to be thrown at Desmond.

Again - citation needed. One instance in the text of Bill being homophobic. Not abusive, not overly-demanding, but homophobic. 

(Spoiler alert - there isn’t one.)

As for the Christian associations - well, it’s in the tags. Literally. In this story, the Brotherhood is a cult, like the JWs, or the LDS church, but with Creed instead of a holy book. And I guess I succeeded in conveying the feeling.

8.

In another Tumblr post, you wrote about how William is very abusive to Desmond, and how that is inexcusable. You bring up Nikolai and putting his child out in the cold as punishment, and earlier, cited Philosophy Tube in regards to solitary confinement (which really shows a lot). How do you explore this concept?

I wonder what me citing Philosophy Tube shows, except for maybe that I find Olly to be a very pleasant narrator and that the themes he touches on are rather interesting (Olly is precious, protect Olly).

I think I was rather unsubtle with showing what exactly abuse, inflicted by Bill, did to Desmond. And not, not “turn him gay”, about that in a moment. I don’t delve like deep into what was happening in Desmond’s head because this story is from Rob’s perspective. Not Desmond’s.

This story isn’t about the relationship between Bill and Desmond. It’s about Desmond not living in a vacuum all those years on the Farm.

Write William being SO abusive he turns his son gay. You make him so homophobic Desmond reacts by engaging in self-destructive behaviour and, in turn, becoming your average gay man. Your OC, Richard, Robert is merely the bridge.

“Bitch where?!“ (c) 

1. Desmond isn’t gay. He is bi (because I’m keeping it as close to the canon as I can and I love Elijah to death). It’s in the tags, and it’s in the tags rather than stated because Desmond’s sexual orientation isn’t the point of this story, 2. Bill isn’t homophobic, at least not openly. There’s a different issue within the Brotherhood, the fact that they expect everyone born into the Brotherhood to have kids of their own. This is the source of Rob’s unease and perceiving adults as not reacting positively him or any other kid in a queer relationship.  3. If I wanted Bill to come off as homophobic, I’d portray him like that. Using slurs, for example.  4. Bill abuses Desmond not because he thinks his son is gay - he thinks his son is weak. In general. Not related to orientation. Like in the fucking canon. I’m merely turning the abuse factor up to eleven. 5. No one abused Rob, his father is shown in the text to be one of the best parents on the Farm - and Rob is gay. No one abused Penny, her family is mentioned briefly, but I specifically did it in a way that shows that they are nice - and she is a lesbian. Another boy, Colin, got abused by his strict mother - and he is straight. Desmond got abused by his father - and he is bi. There is no correlation between abuse and being queer.  6. Desmond's self-destructive behavior came from him being abused on a daily basis for most of his life and having no way out. Again, if it was linked to his orientation Rob would do that stuff too. He doesn’t.

9.

You make these characters gay because, as a ‘queer pansexual person’ you can. But you don’t really make them human. In fact, every single negative stereotype you want to protect yourselves from our oh-so-bigoted society are confirming them, while simultaneously denying that they exist.

In short, everything and everyone acted the way I expected to, and was written the way I expected a queer pansexual to write them: meaningless, with only the sexual identity taking place. Funny how that’s the only identity politics that’s allowed. Everything else is oh so bigoted.

I’m not denying the existence of the stereotype, I’m just not acknowledging it as valid, because it’s not. It’s like blaming violence on video games - you’d be hard-pressed to find a youngster who doesn’t play a semi-violent game of some kind, with blood and murder, but every time someone brings up that another shooter was playing those games, they forget to mention how many youngsters play and don’t commit murder as a result.

The same way Fox keeps bringing up the “abuse turned Desmond gay” without acknowledging that there’s a ton of straight teens that get abused worse than Desmond in this story, or the two queer kids right in the text who weren’t abused.

It’s also funny that Fox is adamantly holding to the “sexual identity” thing, despite the fact that it came up only in 5th chapter (with 4 chapters before that having nothing to do with sexual orientation) and it’s not even an identity/orientation thing. It’s the “relationship between Rob and Desmond” thing and “Desmond is clinging to as much happiness as he can because he has none” thing. The only time orientation comes up in term of identity it’s when Rob talks to Penny and thinks of himself as a closeted gay man, but it immediately switches back into the “relationship between two people” again. 

10.

You call yourself an AC fan? 

Yes. Yes, I do. Ain’t nothing some bigot on the internet can do about it ;)

(If you read this through to the end, I applaud you, thank you for your time <3)

#Assassin's Creed #Desmond Miles #william miles #my writing #nothing & everything - AC #bigotry #queerphobia