#I have come to accept that my primary love languages at the moment are words of affirmation and gift giving

[sheltershock]

There’s a popular headcanon/piece of fanon that Sasha can’t stand being touched. It makes sense for someone on the Spectrum, and he does use telekinesis quite a lot to avoid touching stuff so it’s a nice headcanon. I’ve also had my moments of discomfort with people touching me, to the point that people pointed out it’s strange that I have the tendency to lower my head/bow to people instead of accepting hugs/shaking hands. 

I really like this idea, so I’m adding onto it. 

Sasha’s reaction to being touched is completely involuntary, and has been happening for as long as he could remember(which is his entire life apparently since he remembers his mom). Whenever someone brushes by, shakes his hand, or grabs him suddenly his entire body suddenly stiffens, heart rate increases, and he gets unreasonably stressed. Over time he’s developed his signature control over emotions so he has really good strategies to reduce the stress and resets about 95% of the mental/emotional labor, though the 5% still sticks with him for a while. The act of calming down takes a little while, it depends on how much stress was involved, but still experiencing touch is an extremely uncomfortable inconvenience in his life. 

The thing is that Milla seems to have physical touch as her primary love language, along with words of affirmation, but mostly physical touch. She’s ecstatic about it, always down to hold hands, hug and high five others. It could be that she likes to literally feel like she’s not alone, but it’s her thing nonetheless.

At first, Milla was deeply concerned and disappointed at Sasha’s sudden reaction to something as simple as holding hands. She initially took it when they had a budding friendship as a secret hatred/disgust of her, but was able to gather from others that it’s not just her, it’s everyone. So after they developed a little bit as friends, Milla asked if there was anything, “particularly offensive about myself,” that he felt towards her and was shocked when he said no. The greatest thing he could come up with was, “well sometimes I can’t rationalize the colors you choose to wear on a particular day, but it always looks good on you.” So then Milla just straight out asked what she wanted to say the entire time, and Sasha just explained that he just doesn’t like to be touched. Simple. 

However, I like the idea of contradictory desires, because it’s realistic. You can love your family, but also don’t want to spend any time with them, for example. And for Sasha, he can’t stand being touched, but he’s also human and still wants affection, but receiving said affection would also induce stress… So it’s a ruthless paradox of being touched-starved. 

When Sasha and Milla start “dating-not-dating,” Milla of course, wants a lot of physical affection. It’s how she shows/feels love and there is nothing wrong with that. She wants to do romantic stuff like hold hands in public, cuddle and be embraced with such warmth and comfort that even in the midst of a blizzard she’d risk getting heatstroke. But she knows that Sasha doesn’t like being touched so it’s a strange, impossible position to be in. Or so she thought. 

The two of them figured out the brilliant, mind blowing solution of…just ask for permission first. They’re already practically experts at communication, and all Milla has to do if she wants to hold her boyfriend’s hand is ask “hey, wanna hold hands?” and it’s that easy. Even if Sasha doesn’t like being touched, he still wants Milla to be happy. She’d listen to him talk about aliens and space and constellations for five hours straight, so why can’t he put his own comfort aside for a little while to make her happy? Of course, they almost always ask telepathically, because it’s really their private business and it’s embarrassing in public if you verbally get turned down because the other person really isn’t up for holding hands right now. 

But like how Milla wouldn’t particularly mind listening to Sasha infodump about special interests for hours, it turns out he doesn’t actually particularly mind touching Milla. Even if she asks, for example, to hold hands, Milla accepts the fact that even when Sasha says yes, he’s still going to tense up initially, because it’s an involuntary reaction. But he can still calm himself down even if they are still physically touching, it’s a combination of experience, strategies, preparation and just that he just likes Milla and secretly wants to be close to her. He can even get to a point that they’re both relaxed and acting like a “normal couple.” That being said, Milla wouldn’t want Sasha to change at all.

When they started dating, everytime Sasha would have to calm down enough to comfortably hold Milla’s hand he’d get embarrassed that it’s this hard to do something that’s really common. But Milla had a completely different view of it and he stopped feeling that way once she explained it. Milla often verbalizes her love a lot, she’d throw out an “I love you” similarly to how some people say “like” in a sentence. But even though Sasha barely says “I love you,” but when they do interlink their hands, Milla can feel the tension, but enjoys slowly feeling that tension lessen up and can physically feel Sasha relax around her. To Milla, it’s a constant reminder that he really cares about/enjoys being around her. And everytime it happens it feels like he’s saying “I love you” to her. It makes her so happy. One time, they ended up cuddling while watching TV, and she, again, liked watching the screen while feeling Sasha slowly relax. But then she looked away and was about to say something, she realized that he’d just completely fallen asleep and she was so happy that she nearly cried. She just loves her boyfriend so much. 

After hearing her say all this, Sasha felt far less embarrassed about it. Whenever they hold hands he’d turn to look at her and she’d have the biggest smile and her joy, warmth and comfort is dangerously contagious. It’s the only type of germs Sasha’s okay being exposed to. 

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #sasha nein #milla vodello #sashamilla #headcanons #physical touch #love language #two precious people in love #yeah i said Sasha was touched starved but after hanging out with Milla he just seems to be happier for some reason #im sure it’s just a coincidence #they also have a strange habit of waking up in each other’s arms… #nah it’s probably just nightmare prevention nothing to see there

[tokuteasings]

Dating - Ian Yorkland

Dedicated to Ghost Wife~! Wherever you are, hun, I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: It’s literally been 60 years since I watched them but I did my best~! I miss Ian so much man.

Ian is the definition of a loyal partner. A man who you can take home to your parents and have him charm the ever living pants off of them. He’s the kind of partner who will not hesitate to show up to your workplace with not only food, but whatever essentials you needed for the day, or just shows up for the fun of it because he missed you – and brought along a bouquet of flowers because he thought of you! He’s rather spontaneous in this aspect and in a way, you two almost never leave the honeymoon phase at all! He keeps this love alive, for as long as it can go. After all, with the line of work he is in and how fate works…no one knows exactly when either of you two will kick the bucket; Ian knows this well so he wants to ensure that every single little moment he spends with you is positive.

In fact…it’s was a strange transition from friendship to lovers. You two were such in a comfortable state and it was obvious that Ian was flirting with you. However, there was this…little line that wasn’t going to be crossed anytime soon unless one of you made that leap. Unsurprisingly, it was Ian. You had noticed he wasn’t flirting as much anymore, or not at all, actually. He had lavished his affections upon you with gifts, words, and even finger kisses. You had to work up the confidence to ask if he was serious and he gives you this soft smile you haven’t seen out of him, his eyes sparkling with this sort of electric energy as he whispers to you, “All I’ve wanted was to have you as my partner.” in this honest and earnest voice, nervousness twinged at the edges. He’s hesitant to have let you known but he hasn’t felt like this in years now. He’ll be hurt if you didn’t accept his feelings but would take it with grace. But when you confirmed that you liked it him, Ian had to stop himself from celebrating with the loudest cheer right then and there! Instead, he merely takes your hand into his, runs his thumb over your knuckles and presses a kiss to them with a wink of his eye. “Then I’ll see you tonight?”

He never forgets to tell you that he loves you. Verbally, physically, through gestures…to someone like Ian, he shows love in multitudes of fashions. Ian’s primary love languages are: verbal, physical touch, acts of service, gifts, and quality time. He’s proud of each and every crumble of affection he gives you and will not hesitate do to so in public. However, Ian has these sort of moments of sheer quietness as he thinks of what to say. He’s careful of his words when it comes to you, and it’s not a stifling quietness, but you know that he’s somewhere deep within his thoughts and needs something to help bring him out of them. But it’s during these hella quiet moments when he whispers you the most...saccharine things. Whispers of how much he loves you, mushy things. Ian always holds you close (hand or cuddling) whenever he does this. It’s like he never wants to let this go...and he won’t.

Ian is a loyal man and knows you won’t cheat on him or anything but he’s also not a jealous kind of person either. If anything, he’s pouty. He’ll dramatically talk off whoever’s ear is closest (Souji or Nossan) and complain, “Oh! My darling doesn’t love me anymore~!” and fake sob into their arms. Nossan gently has to pat his back and make him stop while Souji is just rolling his eyes and wants out. But there is no doubt that Ian is beyond clingy. He wants to cherish you until the sun dies and he is going to fucking do it. So expect him to send you constant texts about how much he misses you or the other Kyoryugers texting you to save them from Ian. 

Ian adores giving you nicknames! His faves are, “my treasure” “my darling” “my honey” and so on and so forth. He tends to make them up as he goes along and has a shit ton of them stored within that brain of his. The moments when he whispers them into your ear when you two are alone are perhaps...the best. He’s drawling out his English as he runs his hand up your leg and into your awaiting hand and kissing the knuckles with a gentle smile to his lips. It’s a simple set of nicknames with so much love poured inside and it makes you m e l t

Marriage is a goal for Ian but it’s also not a goal at the same time. There’s really no rush to head into it but there is this sort of mental image to Ian’s head about making you his and his alone. He will honestly wait for a couple of years, five or so, to pop the question. He’s nervous and you can tell because he took so much time to figure out the ring and how to propose. But he wants a family, he wants to settle down with you and share surnames and just exist in a space that exists for only the two for you and the two of you alone. Ian will wait for you once you’re ready but trust me when I say that marriage is going to be bliss for you two. If you two decide to have kids, Ian is the most dotting parent you have ever seen. It’s slightly overprotective but it’s more so that he wants his kiddos to be raised in a happy and healthy environment.

Arguments aren’t often but they do exist. They’re not heated but Ian wants to tell you his thoughts and will listen to yours. He wants to find solutions for this and if he’s getting angry, he tends to go off on his own to cool down. This rarely happens though and Ian normally wants to confront the problem right away. He’ll gently talk to you about it, having this sense of calm and wants to have this end in a way for all parties to walk away satisfied. He doesn’t half ass things and Ian rarely gets upset with anything. So these are pretty short and solved rather quickly.

PDA Monster. This fucker legit cannot keep his hands off of you and you know it. He’s always going to be holding your hands somehow, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and smirking at your flushed face. He loves wrapping his arms around you and kisses in public are also rather often. He tends to give you random surprise hugs and kisses outta nowhere and honestly it’s some of the best because his love had boiled and simmered until they reached a point where he cannot hide them! He has to hug you! Kiss you! He’s clingy as hell and will just fucking show up to your work just to get some free kisses. His favorite kisses to do in public are knuckle and finger kisses, because he’s such a tactile person, he has to show love to his other favorite method of affection - physical touch. 

Ian’s dates are fifty-fifty, not in a bad way but more so you two take turns on deciding what kind of things to do today. He’s just as happy to do indoor dates as outdoor dates. More often than not though, Ian will pick a date where the two of you will have fun. He tends to pick food places that you both like and will just spend the date feeding you! If he had to pick a date place that he wants, he would probably pick some sort of museum or botanical garden. You two can walk and talk, discuss the finer things in life and enjoy some quiet time together. He’ll probably say some cheesy as hell things like, “This piece of art is beautiful but not as beautiful as you.”

Dating Ian is a dream in itself. He always tends to end dates with a gentle kiss on the lips while holding your hand and then kisses the back of your hand. He’s the partner that wakes you up at 3am in the morning just to go star watching or comes by in the most ungodly hours of the day because he heard you were sick and made you soup. Ian is just someone who was probably made to be your soulmate and there is no other way around it or about it. But to be honest, the day he finds out that he wants to marry you is when you did something that clicked in his head. A lazy morning where he is reading a book and you’re on your phone, you let out a silly little laugh at a post and he glances over at you with this knowing smile and already is making plans to propose. But then he’ll reach over and kiss you, gentle, and whisper, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” and it’s probably a proposal in itself but...you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

#super sentai #super sentai x reader #super sentai imagine #kyoryuger #zyuden sentai kyoryuger #ian yorkland #TOOK 50 YEARS TO WRITE BUT FUCK IT ITS HERE NOW #also i miss utchy so bad yall i miss my samurai man

[ciaossu-imagines]

Hello! I really love how you analyze characters in-depth and thus it gave me the courage to ask despite being shy. I'm really at a lost at the moment and would need help. What do you think is Byakuran's primary love language, as well as pros and cons of dating him?

Oh my gosh! You are so incredibly sweet, my lovely anon! That is such a fantastic compliment and makes me really happy! And no need to be shy here! I do my absolute best to make this blog a very safe fandom spot and to make sure everyone feels as comfortable talking to me as I can! I'd love to do these for you and I hope you enjoy!

Byakuran's love language

Byakuran shows his love primarily through a mixture of gift-giving and words of affirmation. He's very complimentary and has a honeyed tongue that he puts to good use in flattering and making people feel special and it will be put to especially good use in any romantic relationships he gets into. He also really loves giving gifts, sometimes going more than a little overboard but he does tend to give gifts that he wants to give, more so than stuff that the people have stated they want. When it comes to how to make him feel loved though, the best way is through a mixture of acts of service and quality time. Byakuran loves it when people adore him, make him the center of their world and dote on him. It makes him feel special, makes him feel loved and valued. When they do things to help him, that's even better and it shows that those he loves listen to him and genuinely support him and, while he can sometimes use that unfairly to his advantage, most of the time there will be little ill will in it.

Pros to Dating Byakuran Gesso

As stated in the blurb above, Byakuran adores giving gifts to his partner. Flowers are a big thing and there will often be bouquets that he has given to them, carefully chosen and curated to speak messages, all throughout his partner's space. Sweets are another big one for him too, especially since it's a gift that gives in two ways - it allows his partner to have something nice and they can spend time together sharing it, which he especially loves.

Now, if his partner felt like they couldn't accept all these sweets because they should be on a diet? No, there's no way that shit is going to fly. They felt like he was spending too much on them or that they weren't worth all these gifts or all his attention? Definitely no way that shit is going to fly. They have an insecurities about their appearance or themselves? Not while Byakuran is around. He chose them after all and he sees absolutely nothing wrong with them. To him, they're incredible and intriguing and a million other positive adjectives. He'll make a show out of checking their temperature or doing something else silly to show his absolute disbelief any time they make any comment about their insecurities to make them laugh and to reassure them that he sees none of what they see. Special shout-out to all my fluffy bunnies out there - Byakuran, especially, while it's not a prerequisite, loves the fluff and stans for the fluff and will always touch your stomach or rest his head on it or your thighs or your chest. Just all around, the fluff is soft and welcoming and cozy to him and he'll do everything he can to make his partner's insecurities disappear so they can love themselves the way he does.

Life with Byakuran as your partner will always be forever interesting. He doesn't like boredom and he goes out of his way to keep things interesting in his own life and in his relationship with his partner. He can make even the most mundane tasks fun and crazy adventures and no matter how old he gets, he's never afraid of fun or of being a little childish and wild adventure and silly antics are par for the course in a relationship with him.

Cons to Dating Byakuran Gesso

Byakuran is...flighty, I guess is the best way to word it. He will overwhelm his partner sometimes with his intense interest in them, almost bordering on obsession and it can be a bit creepy. But he's prone to rapidly changing interests and those interests are always intense and he'll disappear on his partner while pursuing those interests. It's not that he's lost feelings for them; he most certainly has not. It's simply that he's preoccupied with something else and they're simply not a part of his mental processing or occupying brain space while he devotes himself to whatever interests him at that moment. Unless he needs them for something, calls and texts will go unanswered and they won't be able to track him down until his flight of fancy is fulfilled and he finds his own way back to them.

Byakuran has a possessive streak. He tends to view people as his when he gets attached to them and with his partner, they are most certainly his and, if his partner ever activates this in him, the relationship can become a little or a lot unhealthy as he becomes controlling and possessive, especially so if he believes they have betrayed him in any way.

Byakuran can be a little narrow minded in some ways. It is something he is aware of, since the whole future fiasco and is something he does actively work on, but he does tend to be very convinced that he is correct on everything and that what he wants and what he thinks about things are the only correct things and thus can be a little overbearing while arguing with his partner and it's sometimes really hard for him to understand their point of view on things.

#replies #katekyo hitman reborn #khr #khr headcanons #headcanons #byakuran #byakuran gesso

[ionlyeatbread]

*thinking about the time my 7th grade best friend gave me the stick we were using to play magic or the time my parents thought of me at the store and got me a cookie while they were out* L-love language <3

#I have come to accept that my primary love languages at the moment are words of affirmation and gift giving #something just gets me about having a physical proof that someone you care about cares about you and thought of you enough to get a little #thing or treat just- man #and hearing someone say they care about you and that you matter to them?? that shit is amazing oh my god #I am so full of love just thinking about it

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

[anaiswriterr]

Evil Lives Here

Pairing: Kirishima x Reader

Rating: T

Warning: This story contains the following subjects that may not be suitable for younger audiences or those who don’t like scary things: murder, blood, gore, language, and emotional feelings. Please be aware of you are easily triggered from these kinds of things and enjoy.

Synopsis: You press your hand hard against the cold glass shield that divides the two of you. Burning hot tears swell up in your eyes, you press a picture of a girl, a young girl who was brutally murdered and found in the woods. Clutching onto the jail phone in your separate hand, desperately attempting to catch your breath. You mutter out the words no wife should ever mutter, “Eijirou Kirishima... did you - do this t-to her?” Your voice wavers, eyes stinging to catch his reaction to the crime scene photo. He’s emotionless, “No.” He couldn’t of done this, there is not possible explanation.. he’s innocent. When the love of your life, the father of your two year old daughter, your best friend ends up being a mass serial killer you suddenly realize the man you solemnly swore to love till death was living a double life.

- evil lives here - screamtober series part two -

•

•

•

•

“Do you, Y/N L/N, take Eijirou Kirishima, to be your solemnly wedded husband; through sickness and in health, for poorer or richer till death do you two part?”

The memory swirls in your head, hand in hand with your longtime boyfriend, now husband. Freshly graduated from high school, with barley any money you wore a cheap dress from the nearby thrift store, it was short, tailored just above your knees. The nervous sweat softened your hands against his rough ones. 

“Yes.” You said in a soft whisper. 

Your hands tighten around the steering wheel, you wipe a tear away from your soft skin. Lightly tapping away the stray tears with a tissue, throwing the crumpled piece away at the dash. “Who are you here to visit?” The operator in the Prison Reform entrance asked tiredly, wiping the sleep off his eyes and taking a sip of his cup of coffee. But you didn’t blame him, neither of you wanted to be there especially this early in the morning. 

“Prisoner Eijirou Kirishima, I-I’m his wife.” You duck your head down in shame, after refusing to visit after months and months of healing. You needed to know, at  least for yourself. He gives you a quick stare, later pressing a button to open the gateway. You step on the gas and proceed to enter the parking lot. 

Your hand bare without the wedding ring you wore for years on end, a marriage he ruined. A family he tore apart with reckless actions and lies, a two faced snake this entire time. Living with a monster, loving a monster. Making love to a seemingly loving, caring man. 

You lay your head against the wheel, turning off the ignition. 

“Say cheese, Ruby!” You cheer, counting down the seconds for the cameras timer to go off. “Happy birthday, munchkin!” Kirishima exclaims, pressing a small kiss to her forehead. The flashing light just capturing the happiness in that moment with a single polaroid that joined the cases of other polaroid's that you swore you’d organize into a scrapbook one day. Your daughter clapped her hands in excitement, your lips form a small ‘O’ as you and Eijirou help her blow out the candles, an assortment of cheers and whoops come from the audience of her family. Katsuki Bakugou, her godfather and uncle, is invited to take a separate photo with her in his lap. A small smile creeps onto his lips, allowing the soft spot he carried for his niece to envelop him as he held onto her tiny frame. Laughing at her giggles. 

The golden days of your youth often involved your days with Eijirou, someone you met in your years of primary school. Though you were bullied by some of the other kids, Eijirou found you in particular interesting and fun. Befriending you in nearly a day, which meant you were befriended by Mina, Sero, Kaminari, and oddly enough Bakugou. Eijirou, was different. The one to walk you home to make sure you made it back safe, to make sure you had food, to give homeless people the extra pocket change he had or buy them a meal, he wasn’t the smartest but the most caring. Never a killer, a serial killer at that.

Psychology states that when a person murders it’s a chemical imbalance in their head, the need for more. The need to keep hunting the prey that walked around at night, alone, wishing to go home to their families. They all say he said the same thing, the survivors, those who instead of accepting the fate of death instead chose to fight for their lives and manage to get away. He said the same thing.

“Suspect number one, may you please come forward and repeat the lines that were just previously mentioned.” An officer orders, standing protectively beside a shaking young girl, probably in her late teens. Her hands cold and clammy, pressed against one another.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not get in the car with strangers?”

She’s nods her head no, and the officer asks the next person to move forward. The voices don’t match a single one until, Eijirou Kirishima steps up. How did he get in that suspect line, he didn’t know. I mean sure, his friends teased that he looked awfully alike to the description - but those were just jokes - nobody really took it seriously.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not get in the car with strangers?”

A panic arose in the girl, nearly jumping off her feet she points. “That man, his voice, it’s him!” She accuses. Not even a minute later Eijirou is placed in handcuffs and escorted towards a holding cell awaiting trial.

You should’ve just taken the first sign and packed your bags, but they say love can blindside you from the truth. And the truth was Eijirou Kirishima was the serial killer that roamed the dark alleys of Japan, living a two faced life. One where he shared with his wife and a beautiful daughter, and the other, preying on the weak. You huff, rubbing your tired, aching eyes. Eyeing the folder a detective handed to you in hopes you’d get something - anything - out of the liar you called husband. The bland folder sitting on top your passenger seat, mocking you with the content inside. The sudden urge to throw up washes over you, you’ve seen those pictures a million times, it’s practically burned into your memory. But this one, the only picture that sat inside the skinny - nearly empty - folder would haunt nearly anyone. You take one last deep breath, and step outside.

The hot, humid, October weather brushed over your skin as you lean forward to retrieve your purse, keys, and the folder. “Make this quick, Y/N.” You mutter, shutting and locking the car door behind you. If there was one thing that Kirishima taught you, it was that you should always lock your doors, and move quickly. You always thought that he meant it to be something sweet, that he cared about your safety. Instead, it was just something he knew most working and busy woman never really took into consideration. Each step feels like your walking on cracking thin ice, liar.

The fuming burning hot anger.

Wake up! This has to be some sort of dream, some nightmare, the lies. The piling lies and deception, an affair you believed. For months you believed he was having an affair, but instead, you learn the awful truth. An affair you could handle, something fixable. But murder, his daughter is known as the child of a killer. You wish you could hit him, kick him, anything. It dwells on you that maybe you he was always like this.

And yet you were the exception - along with many other of his friends - you stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Clutching onto the folder, you steady your breathing.

***

bzzzzzz

“Visitor for Prisoner Eijirou Kirishima, serial code 0926.” They call him down, chewing on the inside of your cheek you wait patiently behind a call booth. Tear stricken stained face and raging eyes. Your foot taps against the metal tile beneath you, until your breath is caught.

In a bright orange jumpsuit, his hands are handcuffed together and his ankles are chained to him. You duck your head down into you sleeve in shame, in disgust, but him, he had on a huge grin as he laughed off a joke the guard seemed to tell. He holds out his wrists in front of him before being seated and was uncuffed from the tight metal restrains. You watch him slowly reach out for the phone on his end, the grin he wore still as intoxicating as when he was just a teenager.

Psychopaths don’t have much emotion. 

Except for the inappropriate emotions at inappropriate times they invoke out into the world. 

You don’t immediately reach out for the phone, your mind is wondering off to when the loud banging of the front door woke up your daughter from her sleep after being sick for a week - she hadn’t gotten much sleep and neither did you for the fact of the matter - the loud screams from her room as police officers nearly broke down your door. Red and blue flashing lights dance across the walls of the living room as they peered through the cracks of the window blinds. 

You are brought back to the sounds of three taps against the glass. You reach towards the phone hesitantly, the cord following behind as you pressed it to your ear.

“Please! My husbands innocent! He’d never hurt another person!” You cried as he was pushed into a patrol car, your daughter screaming for her father. “Ma’am, this man isn’t who he says he is.” 

“Long time no see.. where your ring?” His voices makes you seize in the cool metal chair, his cool and calm demeanor taunts you. “I’m not here to make conversation, Kirishima.” You hiss. He ignores your warning glares and smirks, “It’s been a couple months, and I haven’t seen my daughter Y/N. I just want to see my family, I want to see you-” 

“Cut the bullshit, as long as I’m alive you’ll never see Ruby again!” 

You huff pushing passed the tears that pooled at the corners of your eyes, he stares into your  glossy E/C ones. “Where’s Ruby?” 

“Bakugou’s babysitting her.” 

“Somebody else is babysitting my kid, what let me guess you guys are hanging out with each other more? I knew you’d eventually sleep with him.” 

“Shut the fuck up! I haven’t done anything with him, he’s just being a a father figure Ruby needs not some psychopathic liar.” 

He chuckles, “I told you, I didn’t do it.” You slam your hand o the glass in frustration, pressing your hand hard against the cold glass shield that divides the two of you. Burning hot tears swell up in your eyes, you take out the printed imagine in the folder and press a picture of a girl, a young girl who was brutally murdered and found in the woods. Clutching onto the jail phone in your separate hand, desperately attempting to catch your breath. You mutter out the words no wife should ever mutter, “Eijirou Kirishima... did you - do this t-to her?” Your voice wavers, eyes stinging to catch his reaction to the crime scene photo. He’s emotionless, “No.” 

“Hey! Do you need a ride?” A man calls from his car, looking at the young girl who’s barley pushing eighteen. She nods, “I’m kinda lost! I just moved here, do you know where I can find the nearest payphone?” A smirk forms on the adults face, he unlocks his passenger side door, he adjusts his baseball cap. 

“Hop in.” He pats his passenger seat, the young girl was so desperate to hitch a ride she was willing to jump into any trustworthy looking person she could find; Kirishima was handsome and his face painted trust and caring. But inside those deceiving eyes were a need to kill. They pass by the payphone after a five minuet ride, “Hey, I think you passed the-” 

“I know.” He smiles, turning the steering wheel into the direction of the nearby woods. 

“What are yo-”

A chuckle escapes him lips, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not get in cars with strangers?”

TAGLIST: @pavlovs-titties​ @explosivefireworks​ @utopiamiroh​ @hikaru-mikazuki​ @strangethingsatthecirclek​ @myheroesaretired​

Next: Aizawa x Reader - Tag You’re It

#Kirishima Eijirou #kirishima x reader #mha x reader #mha #mha headcanons #my hero academia #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha kirishima #mha kirishima #bnha fluff #bnha angst #bnha smut #eijirou kirishima #kirishima ejirou #kirishima x reader fluff #kirishima smut #kirishima fanart #kirishima x reader smut #bnha kinktober #mha kinktober

[thetypedwriter]

Gideon the Ninth Book Review

Gideon the Ninth Book Review by Tamsyn Muir 

It would be only a slight hyperbole to say that a million people have either recommended this book to me or have told me to read it. I’ve heard for years now that this book is incredible and extremely well written and beloved by many. So, if that’s the case why did I wait so long to read it?

I don’t have a good answer. Sometimes a book is on your radar, but either the time isn’t right, other books take priority, or in my case, it’s adult fiction and I held slight trepidation that I wouldn’t love it as much as everyone else in the world seemed to. 

Thank goodness, that didn’t end up being the case and I’ll get into why in a moment. 

First, Gideon the Ninth has the most amazing descriptive sentence belonging on any front cover of any book ever. 

I shall put it here for prosperity and awe: “Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space!” -Charles Stross. 

Now, I don’t know who you are Mr. Stross, but that has to be the best sentence written in the English language since its conception. If that isn’t enough intrigue for you to crack open the novel then I truly don’t know what is or what it would take. 

That being said, Mr. Stross wasn’t entirely accurate, but that’ll be clear soon enough. 

The novel surrounds our main protagonist, Gideon Nav, or, known as Gideon the Ninth, the primary cavalier to the Ninth House necromancer. Essentially, this world takes place in a different solar system with its own sun star known as Dominicus as well as nine planets also known as the Nine Houses. 

Each House has a specific specialty for what is known for, and as summarized helpfully, but also overwhelmingly, at the beginning of the novel, the Ninth House is also known as the keepers of the Locked Tomb, House of the Sewn Tongue, and home to the Black Vestals. 

This meant nothing to me at the beginning and quite truthfully, I still struggled to remember throughout the novel who belonged to the Third House, or the Fifth and what that quite meant, as once again, each House has a reputation and expected skill set that precedes them. 

Not to say that it was poorly written because it wasn’t. Muir just has a lot of characters with specific titles and while she actually does quite a good job of categorizing them and helpfully reminding you who is who, I still struggled with just the sheer amount of information and people. 

Normally, this would be a massive criticism, like it was with the cast of characters in Lore but in this case it’s not Muir’s fault. She’s giving me all the information necessary to understand. It was just my brain that struggled trying to recognize and categorize everyone. If anything, I’m excited to re-read Gideon the Ninth and have it sink in like a second skin eventually. 

Having this large cast of characters, the book revolves around each of the Nine Houses (except for the First House) sending their best necromancer, a wielder of both thanergy (death energy) and thalergy (life energy) in the form of a House Adept, someone who is able to wield this kind of energy either in bone magic, flesh magic, or spirit magic. 

In accompaniment, each Necromancer Adept has a primary Cavalier, a trained fighter that is both protector, companion, and often, necessary energy suppliers to their Adept in both horrendous and acceptable ways. 

The goal of these pairs, having been sent to the First planet, is to become a Lyctor, an immortal servant to the Undying Emperor. The catch is that once the Necromancers and their Cavaliers arrive on the First, the shuttle departs and they are trapped in an abandoned, dilapidated, once-regal and great mansion that boasts hundreds of floors, secret doors, and mystery upon mystery. 

Each pair expects a streamlined process to Lyctorhood once they arrive, a methodical procedure, perhaps some training, and ultimately a test. What they don’t expect is a mellow man by the name of Teacher that claims to know nothing about the process himself, but is the overseer of the First. 

What follows is a mind-boggling search to become a Lyctor and unravel the mysteries of the haunted palace. What the pairs don’t expect is the death of their own, gruesome murders at the hand of someone in their very own positions and an evil danger beyond any of their imagination lurking in the mansion. 

This novel was a great concoction of mystery, action, interpersonal relationships, character growth, dazzling descriptions, and world building. 

The world of Dominicus and the Nine Houses is expansive and rich, something that I haven’t been able to sink my teeth into, and not for lack of trying, but because it is so deep and so layered that I simply need to take several bites to get it all down.

The mystery is fulfilling and strangely, to me at least, reminiscent of a game called Danganronpa. If you know what that is, and even if you don’t, it centers around the idea of a murder mystery, but where the killer is one of your own and the mystery is trying to figure out not ony the who, but the why of what they are doing, amongst a slew of other deadly riddles.

Gideon the Ninth is the same. As people continue to get picked off and brutally murdered, as a reader you find yourself trying to puzzle out not only who, but why someone would commit such atrocities and the motivation behind it. 

The plot itself of Gideon the Ninth was extremely satisfying and alluring. There were times where I personally found that novel bogged down with excessive description, but it was usually broken up with Gideon’s personal brand of crass humor, a very much needed breather with the expansive exposition, that, while extremely well done, well researched, and well written, did get a tad boring from time to time for me personally, even if it allowed for clear imagery as well as adding to already well formed world building. 

In addition to the plot, all of the characters were well done and as fleshed out as they could be considering the amount of characters involved. First, even though this is set in a fantasy sci-fi setting, each of the characters seemed realistic and like they could potentially be real people. 

A large criticism of books I often have, especially in YA, is that the characters often come across like caricatures, and not real flesh and blood humans with both positive and negative qualities. 

Each character, some developed more than others, have both flaws and strengths, even the main characters, which I highly appreciated. Not only does it make the story more real and palatable, but it also is just more interesting to read about as it’s actually based in humanity and the nature of human beings rather than some perfect carbon copy of one. 

Gideon as a narrator was hilarious. She was often crass, blunt, horny, humorous and ignorant. But on the other hand, she was also an extremely talented fighter, actually very sweet deep down, forgiving, and loving. 

This mix in a main character was a welcome one in addition to making Gideon feel like a real person, despite all the bone magic and necromancy, and often her thought process and dialogue made me laugh out loud. 

Another main character, Harrowhark Nonagesimus (What a name!) is Gideon’s Necromancer and main companion. She’s bitter, rude, spiteful, and ruthless. She’s also hardworking, intelligent, and stubborn. 

If you’re catching the pattern here, Muir isn’t just writing archetypes and passing them off as characters. She’s writing complex and nuanced personalities that are intriguing and interesting and well developed. 

I could get into the other plethora of characters like Camila, Dulcinea, Palamedes, Magnus, Judith and so on, but this review would be a thousand pages long so I’ll just settle for saying that every character was well done and lovingly crafted and not one of them, even the annoying ones, were characters that I hated. 

One important thing to note was Muir’s writing itself. It was incredible. Such descriptions! Such characterization! Such detail! Such vocabulary! I was supremely impressed with her writing as a whole and often found myself having to look up words that I had never heard of in my life (always a welcome change of pace). I was blown away by her sheet talent and creativity. 

The last two things I have to note might get me in trouble. 

One, the ending for me was...bittersweet. For fear of spoiling someone, I won’t get into details, but I found it both lacking and simultaneously making absolute sense. I wanted both more and yet, found that everything was just enough. It’s hard to put into words, but if you know, you know. 

I do have a slightly sinking feeling though that the ending twist will somehow be undone in the sequel. I don’t know if this is true (although I will eventually find out), and I can’t decide if I’m going to be happy or dismayed by it. 

Such conflicting feelings are in of itself homage to Muir’s skill as a writer and the complexities of her tale. 

Lastly, the one aspect that might get me into the stickiest of predicaments: Harrowhark’s and Gideon’s relationship. I don’t know if I like it or not. On the one hand, I absolutely love it. It's a hate-to-love slow burn, which really is the only way an OTP makes its way into my heart. I love that they’re so different and yet so compatible, one flesh and one blood and all that other nonsense. 

They see each other as equals, as adversaries, and I adore that dynamic in any pairing. I also love the F/F representation of some badass women and that they’re not traditionally attractive and beautiful. 

One of my favorite lines came from the end of the book where Gideon describes Harrowhark’s face as, “bitter” and “hateful”. I just love when characters aren’t conventionally gorgeous and yet beautiful in the eyes of the beholder and all that jazz. 

Now. Onto the problems. 

Harrowhark’s and Gideon’s relationship is kinda...toxic? It grows into something less so, but it definitely starts off that way. I really hate imbalances of power of any kind and Harrowhark definitely has power over Gideon, power that she creully abuses. I asked myself: if Harrowhark was a man and treated Gideon so abysmally for years, and then Gideon eventually forgave him and loved him despite everything, would I think differently?

And the answer is yes, yes I would. 

Is that fair? Probably not. But I can’t help but think how the dynamics change with the two of them being women, and how in my opinion, I think more is forgiven of Harrowhark because of it, even when it’s not deserved. 

Now, Harrowhark is a complex character and has traumas of her own, but I just can’t help but think of all the things she did to Gideon and the things she took away from her and forced her to do and then think of them together and it’s...not great. 

Overall, my feelings on their relationship are complicated (which is a repeated pattern when it comes to Muir’s writing) and I don’t mind that it’s complicated, it makes it interesting, but I also would be bereft to mention it here. I look forward to seeing how it develops and if my feelings change and grow on the matter as well. 

In total, Gideon the Ninth is a fantastic read. It has everything you want inlaid with characters who not only push the plot along, but incentivize you to read more. It has complicated issues and complicated characters, but that means it’s nuanced and complex and juicy enough to bite into. 

Don’t do what I did and wait years for this novel. If you need a good read, you don’t need to look any further and then let yourself be swept along for the necromantic ride. 

Recommendation: “Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space!” -Charles Stross. I mean. Come on people, what more can you ask for?

Score: 8/10 

#gideon the 9th #gideon the ninth #tamsyn muir #harrowhark nonagesimus #adult fiction #book blog #book review #Book Recommendations #book rec #favorite books #LGBTQ fiction #lgbtqbook #F/F books #F/F romance #8/10

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

In derry girls, what did you think of the episode where clare came out? Im irish (republic) and gay so i love that it was included, but some of the language used makes me uncomfortable i guess? I get that NI in the 90s wasnt very accepting but the directors have said that they already portrayed it through rose coloured glasses so having michelle say d*ke feels unnecessary. I love the show though and can certainly look past it! I was just interested in what you thought :)))

Hey anon!

Personally I love this episode of Derry Girls! In fact it’s probably my favourite episodes. I already liked Clare as a character throughout the series, probably because I relate to her a bit too much, so to have her be revealed as gay was just like the icing on the cake. Good representation for northern Irish characters are few and far between, and gay northern Irish characters are basically non existent. Derry Girls was this hit TV show that provided many with the first chance to see themselves represented meaningfully on TV, and that includes myself.

However, I think there’s a lot of really important stuff in this episode that people either don’t notice or just don’t really talk about, which I do understand because Derry Girls is, at the end of the day, a comedy and it’s much more fun to quote characters like Aunt Sarah saying “you cannot move for lesbians these days” than to think about the darker side of Northern Ireland.

(T/W for homophobia discussion!!!)

(Also this sort of turned into a ramble about acceptance by the end of the post but I just have a lot of feelings on what Derry girls represents and I feel like non northern Irish viewers maybe don’t catch onto that because they don’t have the necessary context)

Derry Girls, as a show, is so interesting and personal to me because it manages to perfectly strike the balance between presenting Northern Ireland as a deeply flawed and divided country, but also presenting it as a place where people can be happy and live their lives to the fullest despite the ever present danger of the troubles. And that’s a genuinely refreshing portrayal of N.I that we usually don’t get. However I’d argue that if Derry Girls doesn’t at least try and illustrate, to some extent, the causal and very rampant homophobia of northern Ireland then it runs the risk of romanticising Northern Ireland at the time, which I think is incredibly dangerous. I do think that the show is intentionally more digestible and does filter things through rose tinted glasses, however I’d argue that simply glossing over the homophobia would have actually been a bit disrespectful to the queer history of Northern Ireland and could erase the experiences and struggles of the LGBTQ community in N.I, both then and now. If the show doesn’t acknowledge that things were shitty then we paint an inaccurate picture of what it was like, and arguably still is like, to be gay in Northern Ireland. And considering that Derry Girls is one of the very few good depictions of Northern Ireland, it’s incredibly important that it’s an honest depiction.

You specifically asked about Michelle, but I think it’s important to talk about Michelle and Erin in relation to one another, and how they are both products of their time and of a deeply homophobic society.

(Now I’m going to briefly discuss Michelle’s use of the d-slur here however I just want to acknowledge that I’m probably not the best person to talk about this since it’s a lesbian specific slur and I’m not a lesbian. I welcome any additions to this post!)

I think Michelle sort of represents the overt and “loud” homophobia that’s present in our society. Michelle saying the d-slur is far from the first homophobic thing she says. I mean It’s literally a running gag in series one that she calls James “gay” constantly. And the sad thing is that Michelle’s off handed comments throughout the series are incredibly realistic to what you’d hear in Northern Ireland even today. I remember the f-slur being chanted during break time at my primary school, without anyone fully understanding what that word meant. Michelle is a representation of the homophobia that’s deeply ingrained into N.I to the point where it’s not even thought about or even seen as an issue. I mean...no one ever really talks about Michelle’s comments. Now whether or not they had to include her saying a slur specifically to illustrate the homophobia of N.I is not for me to say. You could change that sentence in the script and I think the point of Michelle representing “loud” and homophobia would still stand.

On the other hand...I think Erin represents the much more insidious and “quiet” homophobia.

Firstly, she has no issue with capitalising off a very personal essay for her own gain, shrugs off any protests that this might be wrong and doesn’t consider how her actions may hurt the writer of this piece (who is later revealed to be Clare).

Even the language she uses is a bit uncomfortable, saying that “a real life lesbian walks among us”. Are lesbians wild animals or mythical creatures? That seems to be what Erin is implying here. Plus Erin tries to make it out to others such as Sister Michael that she’s doing this because she genuinely believes in equal rights and wishes to stick up for the LGBT community, but when Clare actually tries to come out Erin is clearly confused and she reacts very badly. I mean, Erin literally says she doesn’t want Clare to come out and demands she get back in the closet, and you can see how hurt Clare is by this reaction. And this scene is kind of played for laughs and I think that straight viewers probably found Erin’s reaction quite funny...but this scene hit way too close to home for me. It’s the classic “I have nothing against gay people, but I’d just rather I didn’t have a gay friend/child/co-worker because they make me uncomfortable” that’s way too common in Northern Ireland. It’s the idea that people can present themselves as liberal and open minded, but when finally confronted with something that doesn’t fit their narrative, their societal conditioning kicks in.

As a queer woman, it was never Michelle’s causal homophobia that made me uncomfortable, it was Erin’s reaction...because it hit way too close to home. It’s a perfect representation of the “quiet” homophobia that’s still a massive issue in Northern Ireland today.

(Also the context of when Derry Girls was released is super important! Series one of Derry Girls was released in 2018...but Gay marriage wasn’t actually legalised in Northern Ireland until January of 2020 and even then it was quite contested by conservatives. Now I’m not saying there’s social commentary here but that’s absolutely what I’m saying.)

Now I’m not saying that Michelle or Erin themselves are homophobic, nor am I saying that they’re bad people. I think that they are teenagers that have absorbed a lot of homophobic rhetoric due to the time and the society that they live in. Although Erin’s reaction to Clare trying to come out was painful to watch because it felt so real, I don’t think her reaction was malicious. Erin is a teenager who has grown up in a homophobic society and now doesn’t really know how to react to this new reality and probably didn’t realise how hurtful she was being to Clare. (This isn’t me trying to excuse her reaction, again I am part of the LGBT community and I’ve experienced that exact same reaction from people, it’s me trying to understand Erin’s reaction). Erin and Michelle have both absorbed rhetoric from their deeply homophobic society, and unfortunately this rhetoric continues.

Plus I just want to comment on this idea of acceptance and change in Derry Girls. Derry Girls is set in the time of great change in Northern Ireland, where people were sort of starting to accept that people are allowed to be British or Irish or both. But this process was messy and it wasn’t instantaneous. And the acceptance of the LGBTQ community in Northern Ireland was the exact same. It didn’t just happen overnight. It was a slow and messy process of change, of people re-evaluating their previous beliefs and being given the chance to grow as people and to learn how to accept others. That’s not to say people haven’t made mistakes in the past, because they have, but they’re willing to take the steps to change. I‘ve always thought the LGBTQ subplot of Derry Girls is sort of a parallel to the overall process of change in Northern Ireland in a political sense. And I think that flies over so many people’s heads because they don’t have that context of the political situation in N.I.

(And this theme of acceptance is seen again in the series finale of series 2 with James! ✨ Thematic consistency ✨ )

Because at the end of the day, Clare is accepted by the group. In fact, we see both the teenagers and the adults actively take steps to make her feel loved, welcome and accepted. My favourite moment will always be Granda Joe saying “you’re a very talented people” to Clare in the most earnest voice. Clare is still loved by her friends and although they don’t exactly know what they’re doing, they do try and show their support for her. They absolutely make mistakes, and they did hurt Clare, but they’re trying and I think that stands for a lot, especially at the time.

And I think all of what I discussed was absolutely necessary to Derry Girls. Derry Girls might be a somewhat rose tinted portrayal of Derry in the troubles, but it never tries to romanticise the situation that the teenagers were in (because no one should be romanticising the troubles). I think that this stance of portraying the harsh reality of homophobia in N.I is equally important to the narrative of Derry Girls. I see my own experiences in Clare, despite the fact it’s 30 years later, so if they didn’t at least attempt to show the homophobia in Ireland it would have felt disingenuous and too “perfect”. Again, I’m not saying that Michelle using the d slur was the right way to go about showing the “loud” homophobia of Northern Ireland. That’s not my decision to make. However, just because Derry Girls is making efforts to present Northern Ireland in a more digestible way to audiences (especially non northern Irish audiences) doesn’t mean they shouldn’t also acknowledge the reality of Northern Ireland at the time.

(This all kind of makes it sound like I want Clare to get hate crimed which I obviously do not want. I think the way that Derry Girls showed the issues in Northern Ireland were perfect and very much necessary, minus the use of the d-slur specifically which wasn’t necessary to the plot.)

Anyway thank you so much for the ask anon! This was much more rambly than my usual posts but I just really have a lot of opinions on Derry girls because it does mean a lot to me and it often does hit close to home.

#derry girls #michelle mallon #erin quinn #clare devlin #enya discusses: derry girls #long post

[jdunkirk]

if you haven't read the lovely and amazing "crash and burn" by @aureutr, i highly highly highly recommend it, it's one of my all time favorite fics!!!

with this said, i am a man with little to no chill with my fixations, and i took the self appointed job to translate a speech from it into mando'a, for funsies :) apologies to those who don't see my read more, but i'm going to do this

under the cut shall be the speech, broken by sentences in indents, followed by my attempt at mando'a, and some things i have to say, if there is anything!

This is a message to anyone who considers themself a Mandalorian.

Ibic din'jor at an aala Mando'ad.

1st, the thing that made this take the most time was just the fact that mando'a will drop lots of information/words, leaving it up to context or word order to be implied! so nearly every sentence is shortened quite a bit, as a 1-to-1 translation would be way too lengthy for mandalorian tastes

the first word i had to invent was "message", din'jor being my result. i drew from the words "gift" and "to give" which share the root din, and the root jor which relates a lot to language, speech, and talking, thinking it was a "given speech." as an agglutinative language, mando'a would probably have lots of words like this, and looking at the vocab i've collected it sure seems to, as some of these roots are seen in lots of words that have similar or related meanings :)

roughly, it translates as "This message is to all who feel they are Mandalorian."

I am the Manda'lor and I am calling you home.

Ni cuy'Mand'alor, jor'chaaji yaim.

2nd, verbs! the verbs, as listed on all translators and dictionaries online, end with a vowel and a rhotic sound (-ar, -er, etc), but this translates as the infinitive form of the verb when used! for example, hibirar is "to learn", but saying ni hibirar is grammatically inaccurate. you would say ni hibira, dropping the -r, to say "i learn"

cuyir is especially interesting to me, as even the -i can be dropped and the verb fused to the following thing, a kind of way to especially show what you are or what something is!

i flip flopped on translating the definitive "the" as mando'a uses it mostly in emphasis, and i wasn't sure if it should be noted as special that way. i settled on "it's a big enough deal just to say it" and left it simpler!

roughly, it means "I am Mand'alor, calling you home."

For too long our people have been flung out across the galaxy.

Or'ca'nara droten re'or'goora dos oyu.

3rd, some new vocab again! this time, it's mostly just fusions onto existing words to give them a different meaning. rather than using "long" as a way to describe the time frame, i settled on something that means "a long/extreme time" since it felt concise while better capturing the specific feeling :O a similar thing extends to re'or'goora, using the root verb and attaching the "extreme" affix to create "to throw hard, fling" from just "to throw" :)

oyu is technically a new word, as it's not listed in the dictionaries i used, but i took the root from "galactic", since adjectives and adverbs consistently attach a suffix to make new words, -yc or -la!

roughly, it means "Too long have our people been flung across (the) galaxy."

Our strength once came from our numbers and now too many of us are separated and alone.

Cuun kot r'olaro teg soletyce, naysol mhi dar'tome, solus.

4th, a moment about pronouns! depending on where you look, you might get a few different results for "we," "us," "our," and "ours" especially. i double checked over a few different sources to verify which translations are most appropriate to use, and the common ones to use end up being cuun and mhi. the uncommon ones are vi and mhor, being listed as archaic mando'a.

mando'a differentiates from english/basic in pronouns as the pronouns stand for both the nominative and accusative versions (I and me, etc). the other pronoun is the genitive or possessive version (my/mine).

roughly, this means "Our strength came from our numbers, but too many of us are separated and alone."

Come to Concordia.

Olaro Concordia.

5th, i debated about trying to transcribe a kind of mando'a name for concordia. it kept me hung up for a while, not sure what it could be or if i should even do it. in the end i couldn't think of anything and left it, but truthfully it still bugs me >:( it doesn't seem extremely out of place, admittedly, so it isn't the end of the world by any means!

We will be sending ships to gather as many as we can, but come any way you can.

Ven'mashuki me'sene joruur sa birov lise, olaro an arase gar lise.

this translation should be quite close :)

The Mandalorian way is to allow any who wish to swear a creed to become one of us.

Mando'ara duumi an meg vore urmanka tomur cuun.

6th, a couple original vocab choices again! there wasn't an easy way to translate creed, so i took from the verb "to believe" thinking it was like a "belief or faith." truthfully i'm not fully pleased with it, but it was another thing that had me way too hung up so i felt i should just pick something and move on.

the last bit, tomur cuun, was a last minute change honestly. originally, i had it as cu'laror solus, but upon reflecting i felt it was too literal and wordy again. i made up tomur, which i define as "to join or become smth"

roughly, this means "The Mandalorian Way allows those who accept a creed to join us."

If you hear this message and wish to do this you are also welcome.

Susulu din'jor bal vercopaani, gar balyc olarom.

roughly, this means "(If) you hear this message and wish (to do so), you are also welcome.

But know that the training is long and hard.

A kar'tayli bajur munit, urakto.

this should translate closely again!

Too many of our wars have been against each other for differences in creed, or in clan.

Naysol akaane ru'cui tio'r mhi par urmanka, aliit.

roughly, this means "Too many wars were within us for creed, or clan."

We cannot continue this and also rebuild our home, our culture.

Nu'sla'nri bal tu'gotal'u cuun yaim, manda.

7th, conjugation and vocab! the negation of something is doing by either a stand alone article or a prefix, depending on the extent of negation. with just "continue this" being the negated part, i settled on nu' rather than ne' because i felt it sounded better.

for "rebuild," i picked the verb gotal'ur, "to make or create" and extended that as "to build," then i attached tug which seems to be the root for "repeating, again."

for culture, i settled on manda which actually stands for this rather large and powerful concept in mando belief. in short, it's the "soul" of being a Mandalorian, as an individual and also as a collective. that last bit is what really stood out to me, so i settled on that, as it's short, sweet, and very fitting in my eyes.

roughly, this means "We cannot continue (this) and rebuild our home, our culture/soul."

And so I also come before you to declare that from today onward Mandalore has a primary guiding principle.

Ni balyc rejorhaa'i, ibi'tuur, ratiin, Manda'yaim gana alor'yc ruusaar.

roughly, this means "I also announce, from today and always, Mandalore has a leading principle."

People before all else.

Adate ru an ashi.

used Reu's translation for this :)

This is the Way.

Cui te Ara.

8th, the debate about definitive-ness was settled here, finally! it felt appropriate for The Way to be the definitive noun out of them all, given how important it is. ibic cuyi te ara could be correct, but it's just a little wordy for mando'a, so "this" is dropped and cuyi is simplified further, rather than it's affix form when attaching to nouns.

Reu translates "this is the way" as cuy te yust in her work, which i somehow overlooked when i was doing my own translation, lol. i think it fits just as well, as yust could translate as "way or path," so really which translation one picks is a matter of preference!

Mandalore is calling you home.

Manda'yaim jor'chaaji gar.

roughly, this means "Mandalor is calling you." i dropped the redundant yaim for home, since it's already in the mando'a name for Mandalore.

will i do a project like this again in the future? maybe...... gotta find something that tickles that pickle again, but i had a lot of fun with it so i'm probably gonna keep those eyes open :) thanks for reading <3

#long post #the mandalorian #star wars fanfiction #mando'a #mandalore #mandalorians #conlang #artlang

[refinedbuffoonery]

I + Can’t + Lose + You (5)

masterlist. AO3. 

It’s still Sunday in my time zone, so HA! I kept my promise! Anyway, this is the last chapter, so thank you all for joining me on this crazy ride. Heads up, the end is ~spicy~ but not like, explicitly filthy (it’s teenager appropriate). Enjoy! 

*****

Riley pulled into Mac’s driveway a few minutes shy of 2:00 am. Her lower back ached, her right leg cramped, and her eyes were bloodshot, but they were finally home. Thank god. Riley didn’t want to drive again for a week. She told Mac as much, earning a chuckle. 

Nearly every joint in her body popped as Riley crawled out of the driver’s seat and stretched, an undignified groan escaping her lips. As if her body was on autopilot, she drifted inside after Mac. 

The house was unbearably hot and stuffy. Dropping her bag by the door, Riley opened her mouth to suggest they divide and conquer opening the bazillion windows in this goddamn house when Mac yanked the fridge open and asked, “Beer?” 

“Now?” 

“Yes, now.” He cracked one open and held it out to her. Sighing, Riley accepted, and Mac opened another for himself. 

Riley took one sip before her bladder felt like it was about to explode. “Oh my god I have to pee so bad,” she announced, scurrying from the room. 

*****

Mac couldn’t help but laugh. He’d offered Riley a beer to stall her from immediately going to bed and to buy himself time to figure out how to tell her he loved her, and now he was going to say “I love you” in the same five minutes as her frantically yelling “I have to pee.” 

Of course. 

But it was the incredulous look on her face when she returned and realized he’d been laughing at her that sent him over the edge, unable to catch his breath as he doubled over in laughter. Riley’s pouting didn’t last long, however, and soon she was hiding her smile between sips of beer, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. Mac couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was in that moment, eyes glimmering with amusement despite the exhaustion making her movements sluggish and her shoulders cave inward. Even on her worst days, or under the worst circumstances, Riley exuded warmth, filling up the empty spaces in Mac’s heart like a fire lighting up a hearth. 

She was it for him—his adventure buddy, his drinking buddy, his “look up at the stars and talk about life” buddy, and his best friend all in one. The eye of his stormy life. Every look and every touch felt like safety, like home, and every time she said his name it sounded like the rest of his life. Riley knew every terrible thing he’d ever done and still trusted him anyway, and if that wasn’t love then Mac had no idea what was. 

He just needed to go for it. Take the leap and tell her how he felt. Mac was done wasting his time being afraid of crashing and burning and ruining what he already had. 

For Riley, he’d risk it all.

*****

Riley knew what Mac was gearing up to do when he invited her outside, and for the first time ever, she was ready for it. She leaned on the balcony railing beside him, their shoulders just brushing, and stared out at the city lights gleaming beneath the constant haze that filled the LA basin. Her knuckles accidentally grazed the back of his hand, sending sparks jittering across her skin. Mac mirrored the motion, and her breath hitched. Casually, Riley switched her beer to her other hand, leaving the one closest to Mac free so he could hold it. If he wanted to hold it. 

Even though he’d practically spelled his feelings out already, Riley couldn’t shake the doubt still lingering in her mind. What if he didn’t mean it? What if Mac decided he’d rather just be friends? What if, after an eternity of pining over each other, the spark between them fizzled out like a used-up match? That last scenario would break her heart more than anything else—that no matter how much they both wanted it, they wouldn’t be able to make it work, and they’d implode the same way his relationship with Desi did. 

The thought made her sick. Closing her eyes, Riley imagined crumpling the thought like a piece of paper and throwing it as far away as she could. A big gulp of beer drowned the rest of her doubts. For now. 

When she opened her eyes again, Mac was studying her, no doubt trying to determine what caused the sudden change in her body language. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” She brushed her fingers against his, intentionally this time, and he didn’t prod any further. Instead, Mac tentatively laced his fingers with hers, like they were teenagers holding hands for the very first time and not grown-ass adults who’d held hands—with each other, no less—countless times. Just as they always did, Mac’s fingers locked perfectly with hers like it was their primary function. 

The cool ocean breeze did nothing to ease the burning Riley felt every place her skin touched Mac’s. Did he feel it too? Did he ache the way she ached to wrap herself in him and never let go? Mac squeezed her hand, and for a brief moment Riley pretended he’d read her mind and answered, Yes. 

He squeezed again, and Riley lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m in love with you,” he whispered, searching her eyes. He looked tired and terrified and a little...hopeful. Like that hope was the lighthouse guiding him home with each word that tumbled out of his mouth. “I need you, Riles. I need you in my life so badly I can’t risk losing you because I waited too long to tell you that I’m in love with you.” 

He took a deep breath. “I’m not perfect. Sometimes I’m selfish and self-destructive and get lost in my own head, and I can’t guarantee that I’ll never hurt you. But I would break every bone in my body and give my life over and over again to protect you, and that’s a promise. You’re my best friend. I trust you more than anyone else in the whole world, and you make me feel like any problem can be solved as long as we do it together. I’ve spent forever agonizing over when was the right time to tell you, and earlier today I realized I was just wasting time I could’ve spent building something permanent with you.” Mac’s voice broke. “Because I love you.” 

It was everything Riley ever wanted to hear. And so much more. 

“And if you don’t feel the same way, I get it. I’ll never bring it up—” Riley held a finger to his lips, cutting him off before he gave himself a panic attack. 

“Mac, it’ll always be you. Don’t you get that? If I could have anything I’ve ever wanted in my life, I’d always choose you. Every single time. Because, at the end of the day, you’re the person I want to come home to. You’re the person I want to share my life with. No one else, okay? You can try to push me away and keep on carrying the weight of the world by yourself, but I won’t let you, because starting today we are a team, and on this team no one has to face stuff alone.” 

Riley waited, and when Mac just stared at her instead of saying something back, she realized she’d forgotten the most important part. 

“Because I love you too.” She lifted their joined hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “And nothing will ever change that.” 

Her heart beat so loudly Riley was sure Mac could hear it. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

“Yes, but before you do that, I have one question.” 

Mac’s eyes pleaded, Make it quick. 

She teased, “You said you trusted me more than anyone else on earth, but what about the astronauts on the space station?” Mac looked like he wanted to throttle her. “Does that mean you trust them more than me?” 

He sighed, and a faint smile curled his lips. “Never. Now please shut up and let me kiss you.” Tilting her chin up, Mac cupped Riley’s cheek and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was slow and deep and entirely too short considering what they’d just confessed. Riley’s lips chased Mac’s when he pulled away, but he simply kissed the bridge of her nose before resting his forehead on hers. “I know this is the part where we’re supposed to go have the best sex of our lives,” he said, “but I really just want to go to bed.” 

Riley laughed. “Thank god. I’m about to pass out.” Still holding hands, they walked inside, sneaking glances and grinning like idiots drunk on happiness. 

“You’re sleeping in my bed,” he announced. “The guest bed is covered in laundry that I’ve been avoiding folding for a week.” Mac frowned, like he regretted the words that just came out of his mouth. “Or, well, you can sleep on the couch if you want, but, um, I’d like it if you slept with me. But again it’s up to you.” 

Warmth bloomed in Riley’s chest. Ever since he’d jumped her while they were infiltrating that party in Monte Carlo, Mac meticulously asked for her consent. For everything, no matter how mundane. She knew he still felt guilty for throwing himself at her like that, but Riley wasn’t in any hurry to reassure him when his atoning behavior made her feel so safe and was, honestly, hot as fuck. 

“I plan on sleeping with you every night for the rest of my life, MacGyver.” 

He tensed, and Riley panicked that she’d gone too far with the rest of my life bit. But then he pushed her against the doorframe and kissed her soundly, caressing her sides, and she relaxed. He rasped, “I’d like that very much.” 

They stumbled into the bedroom, stealing kisses and sneaky glances while getting ready for bed. Mac tossed her a soft, gray t-shirt to sleep in. Not trusting herself, Riley turned her back to Mac as she shimmied out of her clothes and donned his shirt, ignoring the searing feeling of Mac’s gaze on her backside. She trudged to the guest bathroom to remove her makeup and brush her teeth with the toiletries she kept there for nights just like this—when she crashed at Mac’s, too tired to go home. 

Mac was already in bed when Riley returned, having claimed the side closer to the door. She wondered if he did that intentionally, or if his protective instinct was just that: instinct. 

The full weight of her exhaustion hit her as Riley sank into the memory foam mattress. She knew the second Mac turned off the light she’d pass out, so she forced her body to scoot to the middle of the bed in a half-assed attempt to cuddle. “Goodnight, Mac.” 

He turned the lamp off. “Goodnight, Riles.” Riley was vaguely aware of arms circling her body and a leg slipping between hers as she slipped out of consciousness. Eyes closed and tucked safely into Mac’s embrace, Riley drifted into the black abyss and forgot the world.

*****

When Mac woke up this morning, he never would’ve guessed he’d fall asleep with Riley snuggled into his chest. Never would’ve guessed they’d look each other in the eyes and say, “I love you.” Never would’ve guessed he’d wake up the next morning to the promise of banging his best friend’s brains out. 

It was surreal—enough so that Mac feared one blink would make it all go away. But the beckoning hand of sleep proved too strong, and Mac had no choice but to let himself be pulled under.

*****

The gentle press of Mac’s lips against hers brought Riley into the awakened world the following morning. She’d rolled onto her back during the night, and now Mac hovered over her—forearms braced by her shoulders, chest grazing hers. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles to her arms beneath the sleeves of her t-shirt. Riley groaned, not ready to be awake yet. 

Mac peppered her face with kisses. “Good morning,” he murmured. Riley would’ve melted under his attention if she weren’t so intent on going back to sleep. 

“If that clock doesn’t at least read 7:00 a.m., I am going to kill you,” she mumbled, half asleep. Mac chuckled darkly, and Riley knew she wasn’t going to get her way. 

“7:05,” he said against her lips before kissing her again. Riley cursed him and his inability to sleep in. She groaned in complaint, but the sound morphed into something else when one of Mac’s hands slid under her shirt, feeling the smooth plane of her stomach. He paused when his fingertips brushed the bullet wound scar on her left side, before resuming exploring. Riley’s eyes popped open when he finally pulled away, lying on his side. 

Riley rolled to face him directly. “Did that really happen last night?” 

“Only if you wanted it to.” Mac offered her a sad smile. If she changed her mind, Riley knew he would respect her choice and figure out how to go back to being just friends. Even now, Mac was giving her an out, if she wanted it. 

The only thing Riley wanted out of was her clothes. And Mac out of his. 

“I love you,” she said, clear and bright as the morning sunlight peeking through the curtains. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, whether it’s a pack of monkeys chasing us with grenades or nightmare parent-teacher conferences, but I do know that no matter how crazy or difficult life gets, there’s no one I’d rather do life with than you.” 

She could’ve sworn Mac’s eyes were watering. “Come here,” he said, low and demanding. The sound went straight between her legs. Determined to hide how nervous she really was, Riley complied, pushing Mac onto his back and straddling his hips. Mac eyed the way her shirt bunched around her hips, leaving every inch of her legs exposed. He’d gotten better at hiding it over the years, but Riley long lost track of how many times she’d caught him checking out her legs when he thought no one was looking. 

Something in her back pinched as she leaned down to kiss him, and Riley winced, moving a hand to brace her lower back. 

“What’s wrong?” Mac asked. “Do we need to stop?” 

Riley shook her head. “No. I want this. My back just hurts after twelve hours of sitting in a car, so I need you to be gentle.” 

“Okay.” Mac sat up to kiss her, sliding his hands under the back of her shirt. Calloused fingertips trailed up and down her spine. They lingered as Riley tugged at his lower lip with her teeth, drawing a groan from his throat that set her blood on fire. She did it again, and his fingers desperately gripped her sides, making her laugh into the kiss. 

Riley trailed her lips along Mac’s jaw and down his neck. Her breath hitched as his hands swept up the front of her body, stopping just as his thumbs brush the undersides of her breasts. She moaned, arching into his touch. 

Still, Mac paused at her reaction. “Is this okay?” He sounded as nervous as Riley felt. 

She curled her fingers in his wild, sleep-mussed hair. "Yes. It's more than okay." When he still hesitated, Riley guided his hands up her chest, playing up her reaction by holding his gaze and biting her lower lip. The way his hands started to squeeze and move on their own told her it did the trick. 

Slowly grinding on him, she resumed kissing his neck, determined to leave a mark on his pale skin. Mac gasped, and his hands got a little braver. Slowly, he tugged her shirt off. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, looking at her like she was something holy. Riley shivered. Mac kissed her neck, rubbing her sides and hooking his fingers into the waistband of her underwear before hesitating again. 

“Please,” she whined. 

Mac flipped them carefully, and Riley squirmed for a few seconds, struggling to put her legs in the right place. She was usually so much better at this—sexier and suave. But Mac just kissed her cheek and waited patiently, smiling softly. 

Finally comfortable, Riley nodded. Keep going. His lips applied just the right amount of pressure as he left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her torso, and she melted under his attention. “You are so beautiful,” Mac said between kisses. 

Riley didn’t know how Mac stayed so coherent, murmuring compliments and “I love you”s and continually asking permission as he worked his magic with his mouth, his fingers, him, drawing gasps and moans and incoherent babbles from her lips. 

The tightness in her back melted into the background as he rocked into her. Nothing mattered in that moment but them. 

His movements were slow and gentle, as requested, and that made them all the more dizzying; by the time Mac sent her over the edge, Riley was gone, lost in the delicious haze of love and lust. 

She managed to cup Mac’s cheek as he found his own release. He turned his face to kiss her palm, and the intimate gesture made Riley’s heart pound—even more so than any of their previous activities did. Riley pulled him closer, using her hands to encourage him to relax and lay his full weight on her. 

“Fuck,” Riley said. “I should’ve made you my boyfriend weeks ago.” Mac beamed at the label. 

“And deprive me of the most terrifying road trip of my life?” he mocked, brushing a rogue strand of hair out of her face. 

Riley snorted. “Never. Although, next time, we do that together.” 

“Together,” Mac agreed. 

For the first time, Riley allowed herself to truly imagine what together would look like. A lifetime of it. Something permanent. 

All of it.

#beth writes #macgyver #macriley #i+can't+lose+you #macgyver fanfiction

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 3)

ONE MORE CHUNK AFTER THIS. And it’s the sexy one. This has been such a joy to write, as spaced out as it is. Hoping to finish this THIS WEEK, so I can begin on SHORT drabbles. (Am I capable of short?)

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

It was not a very restful night. Wanda’s tired and aching body didn’t move at all, but her dreams had raced chaotically with no reprieve. They were usually quelled with the reassuring warmth and weight of Vision’s form beside her, which she would slip her arms and legs around, finding solace in the comforting white noise of his serene and positive thought computations.

Her eyes instead shot open, the stark morning-light mercilessly bringing her to full consciousness. She saw that the bedding beside her was undisturbed, then peered over at the living area from the bedroom nook of the hotel room. Vision had remained on the couch, facing away from her gaze. She almost thought he hadn’t moved from that spot since their parting last night, but she could see a new shirt upon his shoulders. Blue. He liked blue. Because she liked it on him.

Almost as if sensing Wanda’s awakened state, he looked up from his lap, but didn’t turn towards her.

“Good morning, Wanda.”

Wanda noticed the guarded politeness of the greeting. She took a pillow and firmly fluffed it back into shape before tossing it haphazardly back upon the bed.

“Morning, Vis.” She lightly padded over to him, clad in her faded night shirt and sporty red underwear. She leaned over the back of the couch and peered over the synthezoid’s broad shoulder. “That must be some book…”

She saw that, though he was staring at the literature in his graceful hands, it was only the title cover page.

“Oh…” She fought rising hurt. Perhaps he had just begun another. He could read exceptionally fast. It didn’t necessarily mean that he would have preferred to stare at a title page in the dark rather than come cuddle with her…

Vision pulled his gaze away from whatever distant thought he was processing and closed the prop in his hands. “I admit, I found myself too… distracted… to properly enjoy the novelty of physically reading, nor thoroughly contemplate the mastery of Tolstoy musings in it’s original Russian language.” He finally chanced a side-look at Wanda. “Not with more pressing perturbations to consider…”

He patted the seat cushion beside him, encouraging her to join him. Wanda obeyed, though she pulled her bare legs to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. Vision let her have her space, though his cognitive intuition told him that he should be holding her. He instead tentatively mirrored his hands against each other, creating a gesture of thoughtful regard.

“I have given a great deal of consideration to our conundrum regarding... well, regarding…”

“Sex?” Wanda offered, her turn to be unabashedly pragmatic.

Vision looked down, gentle smile on his lips. “Yes.” The smile then faded. He looked back at her. “And I have come to the conclusion that, perhaps preserving the other intimacies of our relationship, encouraging unperturbed growth, should be the primary focus. Rather than focusing on the … incompatibilities.”

Wanda sat in silence. Stunned. “I... I knew it was different, but I didn’t think it was… unbearable.”

Vision’s head reared. “No. Oh no, you misunderstand me, Darling.” He risked placing a hand on one bare knee, for consolatory contact.

“Well I can’t make you feel the way YOU make me feel.” Wanda placed a hand on his, clinging tightly. “I can’t do what you do for me, and the moment I point it out, you don’t want to take comfort in me, anymore…” She was doing her best to speak levelly, but her eyes watered with imminent tears. She tightly pursed her lips together to keep composure.

Vision now scooped her towards himself, embracing her lovingly. “Wanda, no. Please cast that conclusion from your mind.” He stroked her shoulder tenderly. “You are being far too gallant, taking the blame for my obvious and… and-and staggering limitations as a synthetic person.”

“Vis…” She held him back now. He was stuttering, like he usually did when he displayed nervousness or broached sensitive topics.

“The truth is, perhaps I’m speaking from a place of self-preservation. I… I don’t know if I could cope. If you came to resent me… for such limitations.” He gave a humorless huff. “I think I would rather cease to exist than witness that day…”

“That day will NEVER happen, Vision.”

“I see that my non-reciprocation upsets you, Wanda” He insisted. “I saw it last night, and the beginnings of it in other nights before.”

Wanda was silent a moment. “I never said anything that would insinuate-”

“No, but I can see it.”

“How?”

Vision opened, but then shut his mouth. Trying to explain how he could interpret the electric impulses of her aroused body would be yet another reminder of their physiological differences.

“Nuance” he said. “I know your body well enough to know when you are stimulated and when you are not.”

Wanda’s head shook, incredulous. “How could you think that I could ever resent you?” She reached out a hand to cup his face.

“Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But some day, when my limitations keep preventing you from reaching important milestones in-in your life…” He trailed off. Unable to finish. It was unbearable for him to ponder.

“No. Not EVER.” Wanda retorted.

“Wanda…”

“NO, Vision” she said firmly. “I don’t see a future with kids, or a house with a picket fence… a dog. Hell, I don’t even know if in this line of work I’m going to make it to a very old age.” She held his face, gently. “All I see… all I feel… is you. And that’s enough for me.”

Vision placed his hand atop of hers, closing his eyes as her words deeply touched him. But after a moment, he reopened them. His gaze sad.

“It shouldn’t be” he murmured.

She tilted her head at him, full of love and emotion in those wounded, deep hazel pools. She caressed his cheek, tracing some of the patterns of his face and the etched seams of his forged skin. He closed his optics as she moved down his prominent, straight nose, until her touch loomed over his lips.

“Do you remember our first kiss?”

Vision smiled weakly. “I’m incapable of forgetting it. Nor would I ever wish to.”

She returned a soft smile, focused on her finger tips upon his attractive lips. “It was after I saw how you felt about me, through the mindstone. I could see into you and how you saw me… how you felt about me…”

It was a diversion. And it was successful, as the synthezoid was lowering his forehead to her instead of keeping her on topic. But it was only borrowed time. They had undoubtedly arrived at the precipice of a chasm that couldn’t be bested with assuring words and tender embraces alone.

Wanda’s hand skimmed up to the stone, her powers emanating in scarlet wisps of light as she moved her fingers in graceful, fluid motions. Vision’s eyes opened as he felt her administrations. It made him light-headed, but also completely enveloped by her essence. He could feel her observance of him. He didn’t even try and hide what he had come to know as profound feelings for the human before him. All his thoughts and motivations completely bewitched with maintaining her happiness. He watched as her closed eyes looked so serene. As she basked within his thoughts of her.

And then her hand bore down upon the yellow gem. Startled, Vision’s eyes fluttered opened. Her grasp was firm. For a moment, he winced as he remembered that day at the Avengers compound, when he and Wanda had found themselves on opposite sides of a rift. She overrode his mobility drives, controlling him from the inside out. He knelt before her, helpless, though unharmed. But this sensation was different. There was a struggle of control… but it was not within him. He watched as she gritted her teeth, furrowed her brows. The reflecting force that showed her the rich abyss of his adoration, suddenly flipped.

Vision sharply inhaled with shock. She was already in there, entwined with his consciousness… but he felt as though his was being drawn in by hers, and down into her depths…spiraling with the currents. An up and close look at her forceful oceans… until the roar of sensory newness calmed into…

Love. 

She loved him. She never said it. But she felt it. It was overwhelming and consuming beyond explanation.

Vision tried to find himself again, to process this, but the connection was so potent. It was easier to simply accept it rather than try to quantify. It was senseless to quantify. Quantifying was stupid.

“W-Wanda-“ He tested his voice, but was silenced by her lips. Her lips, which he could feel. Not his against hers… but simply HERS. He tasted himself. Felt the texture of his skin against her pleading buds. How it delighted the delicate skin with sensation. She urged against him and it was so clear what she wanted and why. Vision opened to her, his breath hitched as hers did. The rhythmic thump of her heart felt as though it was within his own breast, increasing in pace with the prolonged contact. Suddenly the shimmering shores of Wanda’s pleasure centers became more than just a map to analyze for productive response. There was aching. And a hunger that Vision had never known possible…

Wanda removed her hand from the mindstone and reality came back to disorienting focus. Both she and Vision were breathless from the kiss. Vision’s eyes were still closed, his body working in overdrive to adapt settings in order to accommodate and categorize the new sensations. His cerulean eyes slowly opened when he felt Wanda nuzzle against his nose.

“I had to show you…” She breathed. “You are enough.”

Vision grinned broadly, on the brink of happiness and humility. That she could feel as she did for a being like him. He pulled her face to his once more. His core pounded. Odd as he was not under duress… but he accepted, and even enjoyed, it. He breathed and gasped against her lips with the intensity… and there was that hunger once more. But it was now his own.

#ScarletVIsion #WandaVision #vision #wanda maximoff #I'm seduced by this soulmate idea #literally there is no one else that could ever make him feel this way #LITERALLY #little syntheziod lucked the frick out #finding a good lead in to the the sexy bit was alittle tricky #got alittle melodramatic #so I had to start delete and restart this chunk a few times

[gamesception]

The Promised Neverland is kind of really good, actually?  I mean, yeah, I’m late to the party as usual, but I just binged the first season of the anime, and then the manga from that point on (the site I was on didn’t have any of the second season, but apparently it diverges from the comic and gets bad anyway, so maybe just read the comic to begin with).  And, I mean, spoilers, obviously, but I’m going to get into some extremely major spoilers here so if you haven’t read it or if you’ve only seen the first season of the anime maybe skip this post and read the manga, but...

...

I’ve tried and failed to write a big long post about all the ways it’s so good, how the main three characters are each so compelling, how its pitch dark but not cynical or misanthropic, with mortal stakes but not gore-porny, positive and optimistic without being trite or naïve, how choosing Emma out of the main three to be the primary protagonist and viewpoint character keeps the story from becoming a masculine militaristic power fantasy, how the antagonists are treated as characters and not just monsters - even the ones that are literal monsters, about how the story never supports or glorifies the idea of sacrificing the weak so that the strong can survive, about how empathy and understanding and a chance for peace are extended to every single villain without putting a burden to forgive on victims and without ignoring the need to fight those who refuse the offer of peace and uphold the status quo, how the story opposes oppressive hierarchies at every turn - not just those the monsters use to control the human children at the farms, but also how the monster elites use access to human meat to controller the lower social classes of monster society, and even to an extent within the human resistance.

But there’s just way too much to talk about to get it all into one big giant post, and I don’t have the stamina for a big extended ongoing project right now - or else I’d return to one of the like 12 I have on hold.

But, like, to pick just one thing....

ok, so eventually we learn what the monsters are and why they eat people.  They’re a weird sort of organism that can temporarily take on the characteristics of things they eat.  Eat a bird and grow wings, eat a bug and grow an exoskeleton, eat a human and gain a humanoid body and the intelligence to become self aware, learn language, form societies - for a while.  But if they go too long without eating people, then they lose their minds and revert to a bestial form.  In order to save the humans, the resistance leader Minerva plans to wipe out the monster society altogether.  After all, they literally have to eat humans to continue being people, there is no possibility of peace.

Protagonist Emma, though, has seen not just the horrific human farms and their cruel and corrupt rulers, but also their towns and settlements, their families and children.  She was even saved at one point shortly after her escape by friendly monsters who opposed the farm system, and even though it seems impossible, she wants to save both the humans and the monsters.

A more typical show, at least among those with premises as dark as The Promised Neverland, wouldn’t take Emma’s side in this.  She would be forced to ‘grow up’ and face the fact that she can’t save everyone.  Her naivety would get someone killed to break her heart and teach her to be hard and cruel as if those things are virtues.  Or, more likely, she wouldn’t be the viewpoint character to begin with, she’d be a side character whose ideals would get herself killed in order to elevate the male characters’ angst and justify their violence.  Either way, the message would be “Emma’s ideals were unrealistic and could never survive contact with the harsh reality of the world.”

TPN instead takes Emma’s Side.  She finds monsters who maintain a humanoid body and intelligence without eating humans, and they’re able to spread that trait to the rest of monster society while the humans all escape to the human world.  Now, as much as I don’t like the grimdark ‘there is no peaceful option’ hypothetical version of the story, this development could have been handled pretty badly.  Like, just reading it like that, it sounds like the story raised a big moral dilemma and then chickened out of it.  But that’s really not how it comes off while you’re reading it, for a couple reasons.

First of all, Emma meets the non-human-eating monsters early in the story, long before we get the explanation of how monsters in general work.  So by the time we learn that the monsters must eat humans to maintain their self identity, the audience already knows that there are exceptions and that an alternative exists.  The story never sets this up to be a moral dilemma in the first place, so when the issue is bypassed it doesn’t feel like it’s undercut itself.

More importantly, though, is the thematic & metaphorical content.  Because the monster society is a pretty explicit metaphor for unjust human societies, and monsters represent the people who make up such societies.  Not just the aristocrats who benefit from the unjust society, or those who directly enforce and uphold it, but also regular people.  People insulated just enough from the suffering and death that their lives are built on that they can turn a blind eye to it, but aware enough of their complicity in that suffering that they construct excuses to justify their part in it, and by proxy excuse those at the top who actually benefit from and shaped the society as it is.  People living lives simultaneously just comfortable enough to keep them docile, but precarious enough that they’re too caught up with struggling to maintain the tenuous grasp on the lives they have to feel like they can work towards anything better.  Monster society in TPN is a cage built out of the corpses of humans cattle, but built to imprison and enslave the monster civilians who eat them.

Hanging the story on the fantastical element of monster biology would divorce it from that essential metaphor while also endorsing an outright genocidal worldview, and TPN explicitly calls out the plan to wipe out the monsters altogether as just that - genocidal.  It never even pretends to entertain the notion that the audience should accept that plan as the right choice, even while it doesn’t condemn Minerva for pursuing it. When Emma is proposing her plan to Minerva, the deal she strikes with him is ‘I will try to make my peaceful solution happen, and if I succeed then you cancel your plan to wipe out the monsters’.  Minerva is eventually shown to be lying when he makes that agreement, but Emma isn’t, and note the if there.  If Emma’s plan fails, then she - and thus the narrative - accepts that Minerva’s plan to save the children is still better than leaving things as they are, even if it means wiping out all the monsters.  After all, the society IS monstrously unjust, and even the lower classes within that society ARE complicit in that injustice.

Minerva’s problem isn’t even presented as a matter of him hating the monsters too much to see a route to peace with them.  The story doesn’t frame the conflict between Minerva’s and Emma’s plans as hate vs. love or revenge vs. forgiveness.  It’s instead more of ‘hierarchy and division bad, mutualism/openness/relying on each other good’.  The point is to show how Minerva’s role as a figurehead who believes he has to project strength to uphold the hope that the other humans have placed in him has worn away his ability to rely on others or to be open to alternatives they offer, leaving him with rigid and inflexible thinking.

So when Minerva learns about the monsters who don’t need to eat humans, he doesn’t see an opportunity for a better outcome - potentially even an easier outcome since he doesn’t have to make enemies of the entirety of monster society - rather he sees a threat to his plan to starve the monsters back into an animalistic state.

And if that whole subplot isn’t explicit enough, Minerva’s internalized need to project strength also results in his physical body wasting away in secret from a condition he believes to be untreatable, but the moment he finally breaks down and admits he needs help Emma is able to point to a solution, one that again doesn’t come across as a cop out because again it takes the form of another character the audience was already introduced to a long time ago.

In a story arc that the second season of the anime adaptation apparently cut entirely, wow the more I hear about anime season 2 the worse it sounds.  And after the first season was so good....

...

Anyway, I tried to pick just one thing and this post still turned into a colossal gushing word cascade, and there are so many other elements to talk about.  Like how The ‘Mothers’ and ‘Sisters’ are menacing villains with seemingly no empathy for the children, but when Sister Krona realizes she’s lost the power struggle with Isabella she leaves the kids tools to help them, and then when Mother Isabella realizes the children have escaped, she covers up the route they used in order to buy them a little extra time to get away.  It’s these little touches - just as much as the short backstories that follow them - that show us how, while they might uphold the system out of fear for their own lives, and might have rationalize their part in it in order to live with the horrible things they’re doing, the mothers and sisters don’t actually hate the children.  Knowing that makes it believable when in the end Isabella does turn on the system, and every single one of the other mothers and sisters join her.

The bit when the fighting is mostly over and she tells the Mother at the house “it’s over, now we can just love them” and the other woman breaks down crying is so sad and human, it makes me tear up thinking about it..

Like I said, all the villains are characters, not just monsters.  They all have motivations for the horrific things they do - sometimes irrational, often selfish, but not even the most unforgivable of the monsters are just evil for evil’s sake.

Again, I’m rambling.  It’s just...  I’m used to these sorts of pitch dark dystopias being, for lack of a better term, kinda fashy in their messaging?  Or at the very least deeply cynical and misanthropic and just kind of mean spirited.  And TPN is so completely the opposite of that, in so many ways.

#tpn spoilers #tpn #the promised neverland #anyway yeah it's pretty good #though again apparently the second season of the anime falls of the rails #like from reading reactions today #it seems season 2 drops or completely flubs literally everything I go into in this post #don't watch it #i haven't #and feel better off for it #edited because I misremembered a couple things #like the 'we can just love them' line comes after the fighting not before #the point remains though

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs: Patronizing Meeting

Primary Pairing? Trio?: MariKana... Dia? Hinted: RinPana, KotoUmi? Words: ~2.1k Rating: G AU: Theater, Werewolf, Werebeast, Monster, Cryptid

----------

Author’s Note: A bit of a detour from NicoMaki. Honestly, I thought the spotlight would first swing to YohaRiko, but this is what came to mind, so here we are.

Summary: The theater’s primary patron pays a visit.

----------

“Oh, park there, Kanan-chan!” A voice cried excitedly from the back seat.

Kanan sighed and shook her head. “We can’t just park anywhere on the street, Mari-chan.”

“Uuu…” Mari pouted. “But I want to have a good view of Dia-chan’s new theater.”

Kanan chuckled. “You can see it just fine from here, and you’ll get to see it close up in a little bit. Let me just find your designated parking slot.” She turned the steering wheel to direct the car into the lot.

“We have a designated spot?”

“Of course, you do. Didn’t you read the email Dia-chan sent the other day?”

“I skimmed it.”

“All of the top tier patrons have designated parking slots.” Kanan explained. “And since your donation was the largest, even managing to edge out the Nishikino family, you get the best spot.”

“Of course mine was the highest, I want to help my Dia-chan however I can.”

Her Dia-chan… Kanan mused silently. If only…

While it was true that the three of them had grown up together, they had lost track of each other back in high school when Mari spent her second and third years over seas in the United States before going to college in Italy. Dia also left to attend college in Tokyo, leaving Kanan alone in Numazu.

It had barely been a year since Mari tried to reestablish contact. She managed to convince Kanan to leave the dive shop in the capable hands of a cousin, move to Tokyo and open a new shop right on Odaiba Beach. However, she ended up spending much of her time driving Mari around and leaving the shop to her employees. Not that she minded this arrangement. She enjoyed the excuse to spend time with Mari, and if she was being completely honest, knowing the blonde’s habits behind the wheel, it let her worry less for her friend’s safety.

Driving was also a way for Kanan to feel like she was contributing to the household. Mari was obviously the primary bread winner, so Kanan liked to do things in return.

Mari had found a huge 3LDK penthouse apartment where she invited Kanan and Dia to live with her. However, thus far, only Kanan had accepted. Dia, unfortunately, had been less responsive to either of their efforts to reconnect. But there was a room was open for her to accept at any time.

“Ah, here we are.” Kanan spotted the slot and pulled in.

“Eh? The best parking is on the second level?” Mari sounded confused.

She really didn’t read the email… “Of course, this is where the skyway entrance is.” Kanan explained.

“Skyway? Booo… I wanna see the main entrance!”

At this Kanan laughed. “Alright, just let me message Dia-chan to tell her where to meet us.”

With that said, Kanan exited the vehicle and was about to open the door for Mari, when the blonde hopped out herself instead.

“<Let’s go!>” Mari cheered in English, offering a brilliant smile and pumping a fist into the air.

Kanan pulled out her phone as she followed her energetic friend toward the stairway.

Krakanan: Mari-chan wants to see the main entrance, so we’re heading there instead

KurosawaDia: Very well. See you two in a few minutes.

KurosawaDia: Umi-san will be joining me.

Krakanan: I figured as such

Krakanan: I look forward to meeting your new business partner

Krakanan: I’ve heard good things about the Sonoda Theater Group

Not expecting a response, Kanan returned her phone to her pocket and continued her way toward the front doors of the theater. She and Mari made their way across the street, around the corner and..

“Dia-cha~n!” Mari cried, running up the handful of steps between the sidewalk and the entry and all but tackle hugging the raven-haired woman at the top.

“Salutations, Mari-san.” Dia greeted. “Thank you for coming today. I look forward to introducing you to the cast and crew.”

“Always so formal, Dia-chan.” Mari pouted. “It’s been for~ever~ since we saw each other, you should be more excited.”

Something changed in Dia’s expression. Just for a second. Had Kanan blinked, she would have missed it. And she had no idea what to make of it.

“Anyway,” Dia said after a moment “please allow me to introduce you to my partner in this endeavor, Sonoda Umi.” She pulled an arm free of Mari’s embrace to indicate the blue-haired girl beside them.

“Thank you for your generous donation, Ohara-san.” Umi said with a bow.

“Ohara-san?” Mari repeated. “<No, no, no.> You can just call me Mari. Any friend of Dia-chan is a friend of mine, Umi-chan.”

Pink dusted Umi’s cheeks undoubtedly caused by the casual referral. “V-very well, Mari-san it is.”

“Anyway, what a lovely place you two have here.” Mari finally released Dia and stepped down a few stairs to get a better view of the façade above her. “But, Sonoda Kurosawa Theater? Really?”

“We decided it best to put Umi-san’s name first.” Dia explained. “Her family is more renowned here in Tokyo than my own.”

“No, that’s not it.” Mari dismissed. “I meant, why just your names? That’s so boring!”

“How do you mean?”

“You should call it something more exciting, like The Monster Mash!”

“That is a song, and a dance type.”

“Or how about Tales from the Cryptids?”

Dia sighed. “That’s just a play on the title of an old television show.”

“But I mean that’s what this whole place is about, right? Giving our kind a place to be what they are while excusing any slipups as movie magic?”

“Theater magic, but you’re not exactly wrong.”

“I hate to interrupt,” Umi spoke up “but should we really be discussing such things out in the open like this?”

“Oh, you worry too much, Umi-chan.” Mari waved her hand at the other woman.

“No, Umi-san has a point.” Dia conceded. “Let’s head inside, shall we?” She turned and motioned for the others to follow.

“Fine.” Mari crossed her arms before moving back up the steps. “But you guys hired that Yoshiko girl, right? I think we’ve all seen how her claims are reacted to by the general public.”

Kanan couldn’t help enjoying the show as she watched her friends behave pretty much the same as they did back in high school. They really hadn’t changed much… except for whatever that crack in Dia’s demeanor had meant. She decided she could explore that issue later and smiled to herself as she followed the others into the theater.

“<SHINY!!>” Mari proclaimed, throwing the front doors wide as she entered.

“Pigi!” A voice squealed as a head of red hair ducked below a nearby counter.

Ah, of course Dia-chan would bring Ruby-chan here with her. Kanan thought to herself. I wonder if that means Hanamaru-chan is around here somewhere as well.

“You can come out, Ruby.” Dia said, her tone softening immediately as she called her younger sister and moved toward where she was hiding. “It’s just Mari-san being her usual boisterous self.”

“Mari-chan?” Ruby poked her head up. Emerald eyes sparked with recognition. “Mari-chan! Kanan-chan!” She ran to greet the two excitedly.

As Mari happened to be closer, she greeted the blonde first with a warm embrace. However, she was quick to shift to Kanan to welcome her as well.

“Good to see you again, Ruby-chan.” Kanan said as they parted. “We’ll have to catch up sometime soon.”

“Mm.” Ruby agreed with a smile. “Are you two the reason for the meeting?”

“They are.” Dia confirmed. “I want everyone to meet some of our generous patrons. I believe we have the Nishikinos slated for tomorrow?” She turned to Umi who confirmed with a nod. “Anyway, speaking of the meeting, we should head to the stage now for it.” She was about to turn and resume walking when…

“One last thing, Dia-chan.” Kanan spoke up.

“Yes, Kanan-san?”

Kanan spread her arms wide. “Hagu.”

Dia flushed a little but smiled anyway and stepped into the embrace.

“It’s… good to see you again, Kanan-san.” Dia spoke quietly, surprising Kanan. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cold as of late.”

Then, all too soon, as far as Kanan was concerned, Dia pulled out of the hug and resumed leading the way through the theater to the stage. Upon arrival, Umi and Dia began their introduction of the theater’s patron, Mari.

It seemed Dia’s penchant for long drawn out speeches hadn’t changed. Kanan considered. And it seemed she had found a business partner with similar tastes.

Ah, there’s Hanamaru-chan. Kanan thought as she scanned the crowd gathered on stage. Next, she picked out Chika and You, remembering their faces from back in Numazu. She made a mental note to greet them all after the meeting.

She recognized Nico and Maki from pictures included in emails sent by Dia about the lead roles for their first production. A few other faces looked familiar from other pictures, but she couldn’t readily place their names.

Still, it was amusing to observe some of the body language of those gathered. There was a young woman with red hair both longer and darker than Ruby’s. She was giving nervous side glances to a shorter girl near her. That girl had some of her blue hair tied up in a bun with a black feather sticking out. Wait, was that the Yoshiko girl Mari had mentioned a few minutes ago?

Next was an ash blonde whose attention seemed focused on Umi. Then, there was another redhead with braided twin tails who looked quite friendly standing next to slightly taller woman whose aura was as cool as the dark blue of her hair. A bespectacled brunette was looking at Nico like a fan waiting for an autograph. A darker brunette with a lovely red ribbon in her hair next to another ash blonde sporting an uneven, though cute haircut. A short pink haired girl with a blank expression stood next to a taller blonde with a brilliant smile. Then a sleepy looking brunette, a raven-haired young woman giving off a fiery aura, another with the tips of her dark twin-tails dyed green and a redhead with a stylish bun surrounded by a braid.

Quite the crew. Kanan found herself wondering what each might be.

“Food’s here, nya!” A voice cried from somewhere in the auditorium before an orange-haired blur scampered down the aisle. “Where do you wanna set up, Umi-chan?” A young woman asked, not seeming to care that Dia was still talking.

“Rin.” Umi scolded. “You’re early.”

“Better than late, right? Oh! Kayo-chin is here!” Rin scampered over to the brunette with glasses.

“R-Rin-chan...” Kayo-chin? said as Rin rubbed their cheeks together. That must be a nickname.

Kanan wondered if the nya had been indicative of her actually being a cat or just a verbal tic. Based on her running speed, Kanan suspected the former, though both wouldn’t surprise her.

“Special delivery!” Another voice rang out.

“Honoka, you’re…” Umi started.

“Ooo, what did you guys order for us?” Mari interrupted.

“We got lots of stuff!” Rin announced proudly. “But I gotta set up the tables and such for Honoka-chan to put things on.”

“Do you need help carrying anything?” The braided redhead spoke up.

“Sure! Lemme show ya, nya!” Rin sped back up the aisle.

“Emma-san…” Umi sighed as the redhead followed.

“It’s alright.” Dia said. “We’ve already lost Mari-san.” She turned back to her staff. “It seems the meeting is adjourned. Please be sure to thank Mari-san for sponsoring this meal, brought to us by Kousaka Catering.”

“I thought she didn’t know what was ordered?” Umi raised an eyebrow.

“I placed the order. Mari paid the bill.”

“I see.”

“There’s plenty of food!” Mari announced loudly. “Don’t hold back! Eat all you want! Take some home if you want. I don’t want to see anything left.”

As Kanan headed up the aisle to see what else needed to be carried in, she mused about the appetites of those she knew. If those were any indications of the others, she wondered just how much had been ordered. She figured it would probably fill an entire…

Box truck.

Sure enough, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk, emblazoned with Kousaka Catering on the side, sat a box truck. And it indeed appeared to be completely packed.

She spotted Emma carrying several catering boxes, stacked past her head.

“The breadsticks are buono!” The young woman said as she passed.

Part of Kanan wanted to break out her other arms in an attempt to carry even more boxes, but as there was no shortage of witnesses on the public street, she settled for a similarly sized stack as Emma. Perhaps some other time. No more than three steps later, and Rin was already slipping past her, carrying only half as many boxes, but speeding along at probably thrice Kanan’s pace.

Again, Kanan found herself wondering what all everyone was. She knew Mari would want to stop by the theater on a regular basis, so perhaps over the next week or so, she could find out.

----------

Author’s Notes Continued in Followup Post

#MariKanaDia #AU August #Ohara Mari #Matsuura Kanan #Kurosawa Dia #Sonoda Umi #Putting on Hairs #Love Live Sunshine #Love Live #fanfic

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.18

A Step Forward

11/27/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,213

Warnings: angst, fluff, language, jealousy

A/N: This one is a lot of dialogue. I mean, most of my chapters are but this one especially. Hopefully this sheds some light on what happened. These two still have a lot of work to do and hopefully this is the last big hiccup they have. Maybe? Who knows?!! lol Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I really like writing these two together after so much time of them being at odds. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

TAGS FOR THIS STORY ARE CLOSED!

Steve is teetering upon the edge of slumber. His mind is racing, replaying the moment he'd messed the night up over and over.

You’re smiling at him. Happy. Happier than he's ever made you and then he steps in it. He tells the entire Great Hall about your problems and he doesn’t know why he just can’t stop talking.

He knows that he should. He knows that he needs to stop but staring at you, cherishing the brightness in your eyes—the love he thought he’d driven out of you—it all just comes spilling out.

He wants them to know that he doesn’t deserve you. That you’re amazing and kind and sweet and gentle and regal and forgiving and desirable and you’re his!

Somehow after everything, you’re his. Still.

He tries to play off your anger and it does lighten the mood in the room. Everyone seems to settle, and they don’t take it all as seriously as they probably should.

He can see you softening, that small hint of hope slips out and that little bead in your belly is not only the kingdom’s future but both your futures. Proof of the good that the two of you can create and somehow, you’ve allowed him to be blessed.

The body he'd ravaged cruelly, you turned his weakness into strength. You’re growing his baby. Both your baby. Precious. How can the baby not be when they’ll be half of you?

It spills out of him before he can stop it and he sees the rage in you return.

Then the two of you fight in your room and he says all the wrong things. Things he doesn’t mean. Things that slip from his stupid privileged tongue that he can’t take back.

Sarah Rogers would be disappointed in him. He knows it.

Like an idiot, he leaves you. He stops in his room and squeezes his hands into fists. He punches the wall by the door, and it cracks and crumbles.

“Fuck.” He sighs, defeated.

Why does he always mess up with you? He'll fix it in the morning. Because even if he went to you now, you’d never let him in. You’d want your space.

You said it too. “Alone.” He groans.

How long has he been laying here? Unable to sleep? You’re all he can think of. How he might be able to fix this. Again.

Always there seems to be something to fix because he breaks it. He breaks you.

Maybe you’d really be better off with someone else? Maybe leaving is what’s best for you?

These thoughts swirl around his mind as he keeps his eyes shut and urges himself to sleep.

Even after an entire afternoon spent sleeping in your arms, he’s exhausted. His mind makes no sense, jumping from one thought to the next.

Knowing that you could never really leave him makes him restless. Out of obligation you’ll stay by his side. Before that might have been enough, but now he wants all of you.

If it hurts you or if it makes you unhappy, he'd rather you go and be at peace. But then…he'd he alone again. Not just that, but he wouldn’t have you here. Brightening his days with your sweet smile.

What have I trapped her in? He thinks, agonized over your situation maybe more than you are.

His mind fills itself with the sight of you in your green dress. Gorgeous. His true flower among the lackluster gems in the crowd. They’re cold and hard whereas you are blooming and vibrant. Full of life.

You'd had your hands on him today too. In bed, on the dance floor. Soft warm digits caressing his face and body.

He can almost feel them here at the cliffside of slumber.

You’re tracing the shape of his arms, sliding your hands down onto his stomach, slipping one under the waist of his pants which he'd failed to remove before collapsing.

His mouth parts and he breathes in, tantalized by your touch until he realizes that he doesn’t smell peonies. It smells like mint and lemon. Small hints of gardenia. A soft tang. All wrong. Not you.

He’s been desiring your body. He wants to show you that he can make you feel good, just as Thor had…but this feels too good to be true after your fight.

“Y/N…” He calls out your name anyway, a passionate whisper, a wish for this dream in madness to be real.

He opens his eyes as a pair of lips press against his bare stomach and he yanks away from the blond head in his lap as deft hands make to slide his pants down.

“What are you doing?!” He’s in utter shock.

Not just because it isn’t you but because it’s someone that he would have never…no. This can’t be right.

Sharon. Maggie’s cousin. Her sister almost. One of his closest friends. Friends.

His senses come crashing back and before she can get his pants down further, he grabs her by the shoulders and pushes her back.

“Sharon, what are you doing? Why are you in here? You sh-shouldn’t be here.” Steve demands, shock still his primary leaning, he blinks the sleep from his eyes, confusion muddling his brain.

His rapidly beating heart helps him focus.

Sharon herself looks almost dazed but her eyes are clear as she meets his.

“Steve,” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why I never thought…tonight, watching you have to pretend with Y/N, that you love her and the baby…It should have been us after Maggie died.

“It’s what she would have wanted.” She reasons.

“No.” Steve shakes his head.

“I know that you know that I’ve always cared for you.”

“What?” Steve shakes his head.

“I always hoped that you’d look my way, but I resigned that wish when you and Maggie began to court.

“For you and for her, I would have done anything.” Sharon nods, her hands sliding up along his torso then back down to his hips.

“Sharon…” Steve begins, pushing her back harder until she’s sitting up fully.

“So, you don’t have to pretend anymore. We can be together. Let Y/N go and-"

“Sharon!” Steve says loudly, shaking her hard just once so that she’ll focus on him, her blonde hair swishing at the sides of her head with the rough shake. “First of all, what Y/N and I have is not a farce. It’s real. More real than anything I’ve had in a very long time, and I love her. Really love her. I’d die for her.”

Dramatic? Maybe. True? Definitely.

“But-" Sharon shakes her head, confused.

“Secondly, she is your Queen. You will treat her as such. You do not address her by first name. You do not speak to her as if you have known her all your life. Our friendship does not lessen your duty or obligation to respect and serve the crown be it King or Queen.

“Steve…”

“And thirdly,” Steve hesitates, if only because this woman is more than friend. She’s family.

Only a few years younger than Maggie but just as precious. Just as loved. A different love but love all the same.

“I have never felt for you the way you say you’ve felt about me.” He hopes he isn’t too harsh, but he also can’t leave her in any doubt.

Still, when he looks at her, he sees the small blonde girl racing after him, Margaret, and Bucky. Trying to keep up but unable. Calling out to them to slow down. “Wait foh me, Pwince! Maggie”

“I love my wife, Sharon. And your being here-this isn’t right. It isn’t proper. You’re crossing a line that once crossed will be hard to come back from."

“But if I can’t have you…” She begins voice utterly flummoxed. “…how am I supposed to keep Maggie alive?”

And she breaks. Steve sees it, right before his eyes. This woman, this fighter. Strong. Resilient. Part of the team…she breaks.

Whatever it was that had been keeping her together seems to shatter.

And Sharon weeps. Truly weeps. Steve can see in her the acceptance it took him nearly a year to acquire.

The reality that Maggie is gone. She will never come back and life is just that much emptier without her. It’s a hole that can never be filled. A piece that is taken and maybe over time the edges of the scar begin to heal and fade, but they’ll always be there. That unfillable hole. That pain.

Her sobs are not like yours—there you are again, taking over his brain—they’re quiet but make her whole body shake.

She wraps her arms around herself as if trying to keep herself together.

Steve’s hands flutter by her shoulders, at a loss. How can he comfort her without giving her the wrong idea? He can’t leave her like this.

She suddenly throws herself at him.

Her hands push him back as she straddles his waist and she pulls up her nightdress until it’s up above her thighs.

“Please, S-Steve j-just let me f-feel something…” She begs.

Steve is quick to get her off of him, shoving her to his left so that she rolls onto the bed and nearly off of it. The threat of falling makes her cling to his side.

He makes to shove her off but realizes she’s not clinging in a desire to get him in a compromising position but rather, she’s holding onto her sanity.

Her previous thought seems abandoned but still, Steve waits, checking to see if she might try again but she doesn’t. She only continues to fall apart and Steve’s heart aches for her.

His own eyes water and after a moment he gives in and holds her. He holds that little girl chasing after her older cousin, idolizing her strength. He gives her what he denied himself for a long time, reassurance.

“It’s going to be okay, Sharon. You’re going to be alright.” He assures her.

“I m-miss her!” She sobs, and Steve nods, rubbing her back.

“I know.” He gives her a few minutes to find some composure then makes to push her away.

“No!” Sharon cries harder, “Please, just a few minutes? I-I have no one now.”

Steve shakes his head, wanting to send her away but also unable to. How can she think she has no one? She’s family. She’ll always have the team.

“Sharon you can’t sneak in here like this again.” Steve chastises her, knowing her like a sister but unable to recognize the woman beside him.

He considers her as she sobs, wondering how long it has been since she talked about Maggie and what happened. Surely it wasn’t since the burial?

That amount of denial…

His lack of sleep begins to catch up to him as he watches her. He blinks, arms going slack around her as his eyes take longer and longer to open.

He doesn’t mean for it to happen. He was only going to give her a minute. Just enough to get herself together, then he’d show her out. But his exhaustion is too much.

Darkness takes him, then he hears it, the click of his door and a disbelieving gasp of betrayal.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N.” His Majesty says.

You feel the edge of his fingertips against the small of your back and you jerk away from his touch.

He takes his hand back. A sorrowful sigh warms your side.

He’s almost curled around your back like an oversized cat, keeping his hands to himself but he’s eager to look at your face.

What he’s trying to see you’re not sure. Your angry expression? The pain in your eyes? The way you do that thing with your mouth when you’re furious?

“My sweet, I’m sorry. Please believe me.” He begs.

Once again, he tries to touch you, this time he places his whole hand on your back.

“Don’t touch me.” You say, nearly breathless. “I’m not ready for touch.”

You make it clear and pull away from him again.

He quickly takes his hand back and raises it a little so that you can see it.

“Okay, darling. Okay. I won’t touch you.” He looks like a big puppy. Large storm blue eyes giving off as much innocence as they can while you seethe.

You glare at him. “Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

He looks down at your hands, balled into fists around the sheets of your bed beside your thighs.

“I can-”

“You can’t.” You shake your head. “You can never know what it feels like to be lesser than. Inadequate. And then find the woman who makes you feel like that in your husband’s bed.”

“My husband?” Steve asks, smirking up at you.

“This is not the time to be making jokes!” You raise your voice, caring not that Peter can hear you.

The other guard switched off with him after all the screaming in the hallway.

Steve cowers. “Right, yes. You’re right. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. A complete moron.”

You give him your back again, arms crossed over your chest as you let your anger settle.

“Am I a game to you?” You demand, agony slipping through to coat your words with ire.

“What? No. Of course not, my flower!” Steve insists.

He moves around you, sliding off the bed to squat in front of you, his hands find your wrists and you glower.

Quickly he takes his hands back and places them just beside your knees instead.

“I’ve said that I’m sorry so many times, I think the words are beginning to lose their weight.” Steve nods slowly, reading your irritation accurately.

“You’re not wrong.” You bite. “So, why don’t you stop doing things to be sorry for?”

“I’m trying.” He leans forward, nearly putting his forehead against your lap, but he doesn’t lay it down. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him. “I’m trying so hard to do right by you, but I do everything wrong.”

“Not everything.” You counter. “Your grand gestures, they’re lovely but I can do without those.”

“You didn’t like the pavilion?” He worries.

“I loved it, your Majesty.” He sighs but doesn’t complain this time. “But it was unnecessary.”

“It was very necessary. I cannot pay such homage to my deceased wife when my living one is just as precious.” He fights. “If I could plant peonies in every field surrounding the castle, I would. In fact, I think I will.”

“Please don’t.” You shake your head. “As beautiful as that would be, the expense would be extravagant and there are much better uses we could put that money towards. The school in the village is in desperate need of repair and new books. Perhaps we can add a whole new wing? For a proper library with all the most recent-”

Steve laughs.

“Why are you laughing?” You demand, annoyed with him easily because you’re already angry.

“Because you’re not like any woman I’ve ever known.” He reaches up to caress your cheek, but you pull away. He drops his hand, unoffended. “Most women would be swooning at the idea of such an expensive gift.”

“Is that what Sharon would like?” You spew, vile and bitter and rightfully jealous.

You watch as the light that had just entered his eyes is extinguished.

“Y/N…Sharon is not…” He stops, realizing what he’s about to say then thinks better. “I didn’t know that Sharon felt that way about me. I’ve known her all my life. She’s like family. I’ve always seen her as a younger sister. She used to follow Bucky, Maggie, and I around when we were children. For me it had always been Maggie. I never thought that she would think of me in that way. I certainly never thought about her that way. And I don’t now,”

You’re hanging on his every word for more than just his assurance of his feelings.

This is the first time he’s ever volunteered any information about his life before you showed up. This is the first glimpse into what made the man you see before you into the man that he has become.

“You do believe me, don’t you?” He pleads.

“I don’t know.” You admit, frowning. “Seeing you and her like that…Why was she in your bed?”

Steve growls, and you look down, angry but feeling like a bother with your questions.

He seems to notice the way you shrink because despite your protests, he reaches behind you to slide his hands down along your back to reassure you.

“No, darling, no. I’m not…I’m frustrated with myself. With this whole situation.” He explains. “Never with you. Ask me whatever you’d like.”

“Answer my question then.” You order, recovering quickly. “And hands.”

He quickly pulls his hands back to rest beside your knees and licks his lips as he considers how to answer.

“She did think that I didn’t love you. She came to try to-” He stops, tilting his head to the right and back quickly as he chews his lip. “When I realized why she was there, I told her that she was wrong. Then she tried to do it anyway, but I pushed her off and where you saw her is where she fell. And I was going to push her off completely. Send her back to her room but then she was in hysterics over Maggie and I-”

“Why can’t I escape your wife?” You ask him, saddened by Maggie’s perpetual presence in your marriage. And you sound it. You’re exhausted.

“You’re my wife, Y/N.” Steve affirms.

You ignore him. “I’m not saying that I don’t ever want to talk about her. She was a large part of your life up until the point that she wasn’t, and I am desperate to know about your lives together, but why does she keep getting in my way?”

“I don’t know.” Steve sighs. “I think maybe it’s me and not Maggie.”

He blinks, his eyes lingering more towards closed.

“Were you sleeping? When Sharon went in?” You wonder, remembering the shift of your bed as you tossed and turned.

“No.” He says. “I was almost asleep all night long. Every moment that I came close to slumber my thoughts of our argument would pull me back.”

His cheeks suddenly flush and this time he reaches to grab hold of the soft white sleeve of your nightdress and gives it a few flirty tugs. It’s a shy gesture and it warms you. This new side of him—him reaching out for you—is pleasant and surprising. You’ve seen only the cold man and more recently the eager man. Eager to make amends and reinitiate the intimacy of husband and wife.

This shy probing person, blushing up at you from where he’s planted himself innocently between your legs, he’s unexpected.

“At first I thought it was you. When she touched me…it was in a way that I’ve wished for you to touch me.” He confesses, voice low, deep, coming out of his chest to melt your resolve.

Your neck burns and you swallow hard, then you remember why he’s down there and why you’re on the bed, fuming.

“I don’t want to hear about how Sharon touched you, your Majesty.” You chastise.

“No. I wasn’t going…all I meant to say is that I only want you to do anything like that to me. I don’t need any other woman’s touch. Only yours.” He promises. “I wish…well I wish she hadn’t snuck into my bed and done what she did, but I wish that it had been you. I want you.”

“Then why was she in your bed?” You demand, unmoved by his declarations.

Steve shuts his eyes, thinking back to the last thing he remembers, and he could feel Sharon shaking in his arms as she sobbed what must have been two years’ worth of sorry.

She’d rejected her grief like he had only hers had manifested in a different way. Where he’d hurt you in his attempts to deal with that grief, Sharon had thrown herself at him. Then finally succumbed to the agony and fallen apart in his arms.

“I was going to get her off…I just…she started to cry and then I don’t remember anything. I remember thinking that she shouldn’t have tried to ignore her sorrow and then…then you were walking in. We must have cried ourselves to sleep.” He realizes, sounding regretful.

“You were crying?” You nearly gasp, remembering the way he’d looked that first night after your wedding, sobbing at your bedside for what he’d done and the utter shame and regret he’d been feeling. That broken man had won you over with his sincerity but the sight of him had been heartbreaking, eyes all red and swollen, brow knit in anguish.

As handsome as he always is, it wasn’t a good look on him. Not one you wish to see repeated. It seems even now all you want is for him to be happy.

Without thinking you reach up to trace what you can now see are the dried trails of his salty tears. Your fingers are gentle and careful, all thoughts of anger gone for a moment.

He smiles, flipping your heart over and over as you realize that he’s staring at you.

“What?” You wonder, moving to take your hand back but he catches it and he runs his thumb along your palm.

“How can you be worried about me now after everything that happened today? I thought you were angry at me?” He points out.

“I am angry with you.” You gripe, trying to pull your hand from his.

“Then why are you so kind? So caring?” He’s trying to read you and his scrutinizing blues have your stomach tumbling.

“I don’t understand your question.” You shake your head.

“I thought maybe you would choose not to speak to me again or maybe not care, after all of this.” He explains.

“Oh. Is that how it’s done here? Do you stop loving someone just because you’re angry at them?” You throw out. Maybe being a bit more bitter than you mean to be. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not some cool and collected noblewoman with skill I clearly have yet to learn. I don’t stop caring just because I’m angry.”

“No, Y/N…” Steve sighs and you yank your hand out of his grip. “I didn’t mean—”

You tear your eyes away from him, focusing off to the side at anything other than him.

Steve watches you, observing the way your shoulders droop, the way your lips quiver as if you’re ready to cry or maybe scream?

When he can’t stand your silence anymore, he sits down beside you, leaving no distance between you. He’s pressed against your side casually. The physical touch is not even a thought to him as he settles.

“You’re better than all of us, Y/N. You know that, right?” He asks, keeping his eyes on the ground as you finally turn to look at him. “Before I fell asleep, before Sharon…I started to think that maybe I’ve trapped you in this place without ever truly considering how this life might change you? Is this really the place where you belong?”

Your heart is suddenly racing. Is he going to send you away?

Your hand travels down to your stomach and you cup the small swell.

Wait, is he trying to get rid of you?

“Don’t you want me here?” You ask, not realizing how heartbroken you sound.

“What?” Steve looks at you, confusion etched across his handsome features. “Of course, I want you here.”

And then he’s laughing.

Laughing?!

“Why are you laughing again?” You demand, voice cracking a bit.

Steve turns to face you, his hands finding the sides of your face as he continues to laugh.

“This isn’t funny.” You protest, not realizing how close to tears you are.

“No.” He manages to say but chuckles a little bit more. “No, it isn’t. I’m sorry. Ignore me. I just can’t fathom how you thought I was telling you that I didn’t want you here.”

“Well, you said that-”

“I said that maybe, I trapped you in a situation where the life you lead can only be full of pain. I don’t like hurting you, flower. I hate it.” Suddenly, he’s not laughing anymore, but his thumbs are slowly tracing the shape of your cheekbones. “I wish I could take back every instance where I have hurt you.”

“Me too.” You admit.

“I want you here. I need you here. I love you.” He sighs.

Leaning in towards you, he tilts his head to the side slightly, but you quickly pull back before he can kiss you.

His hands slide off your cheeks as you lean away from the reach of his puckered lips.

“I’ve not forgiven you yet.” You remind him. “I don’t want to kiss you.”

A lie. But he doesn’t know that.

“I still don’t understand how Sharon being in your bed is alright.” You tell him.

“It isn’t.” He acknowledges and places his hands in his lap. “I should have sent her away as soon as I realized she wasn’t you.”

“Why didn’t you?” You demand, refocused.

“Because she was heartbroken. And she’s like a sister to me. I feel responsible for her in some ways because she was Maggie’s younger cousin. It never occurred to me that she would do anything like what she did today.”

You ruminate on his words but your gut instinct from that first day meeting her rears its head.

“I knew that this was going to happen. From the moment that I met her, and she refused to call me by my title…”

“Ah, that she won’t be doing again.” Steve assures you. “I’ve made sure she knows that it’s unacceptable the way she’s been speaking to you.”

“But you won’t send her away?” You ask, knowing the answer already.

Steve thinks hard for a bit, gauging your expression before he shakes his head.

“I can’t.”

Your heart drops.

“But it isn’t what you think, my sweetness.” He scoots closer again and you reach up to push his arms away as he tries to bring them around you.

“Stop trying to touch me.” You tell him angrily. “Why can’t you send her away?”

Steve refuses to answer. He stares at you, face growing more and more torn as he weighs your need for answers. You make to get up and leave him there in your room, alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve reaches out for you and takes hold of your wrist. “Wait.”

You stop, turning to look at him, giving him a chance to remedy this. And in this moment, Steve knows that there is no other option. He must let you in completely or risk losing you permanently.

And this will be the last time he lets this happen. If tonight is any proof, you two cannot part angrily again. He won’t let it happen. He’ll stick to your side until the two of you have worked out whatever it is that’s come between you until he knows that you’re okay.

You are his choice and he will stand by it until he dies.

The tightness in his chest is painful. The thought of you away from him, hating him, and with his baby too? No. He needs to make this right.

“I’ll tell you. Please sit down?” He reaches for you and you don’t fight him this time.

You let him touch your hip and he turns you so that when you sit on the edge of the bed, you’re facing him.

He takes the opportunity to feel your tummy and you don’t pull away, which he’s grateful for.

You’re too good for him.

You’re justified in your anger and contempt and yet here you are, giving him this little bit of comfort even though you could continue to push his hands away.

“What I’m about to tell you is not something that should be repeated outside the confines of this room. If we’re alone, then it’s alright but if we aren’t, I need you to keep this secret. I know I can trust you, but I need you to know that this puts you in danger.” He sighs heavily. “More than you already are. I wanted to keep this from you for as long as I possibly could. This is not part of your life here, but it is a part of mine and Sharon’s and Nat’s and Bucky’s…we’re all part of it and since we’re always around you—”

You gasp and Steve stops to look up at you. Realization has made your eyes wide as saucers.

“The man who attacked me?” You guess.

Steve wants to smile. You’re so smart. Instinctive. Perfection.

“Yes.” Steve nods. “I’m certain it’s because you’re my Queen. But it’s more than that. Natasha, Samuel, Bucky, Peter, your father-”

“My father?!” You ask him in shock, Steve nods.

“Yes, your father. Your mother. Thor…Sharon…and a few others you haven’t met—all of us work hard to fight the evils of the world. This unfortunately exposes our loved ones to dangers.” Steve nods, watching the shock fade from your face. “Dangers that I didn’t want you exposed to. Dangers that have already found you.”

Deep fear begins to take root in his chest, choking him and he wants to hold you if only to feel you close and safe. But you don’t want to be hugged right now.

“So…” He can see your mind racing, thinking up a hundred different things until you seem to settle on one. “…Maggie? She was also part of this group?”

Steve nods. “Yes. She was my partner, in every sense of the word. She and Sharon made quite the team too. And when I lost her…to infection…I’d always prepared myself to lose her in battle. I know she’d thought about losing me that way too. We’d talked about it before. I never expected it to be so…normal.”

He wonders if you can suddenly see why he’s struggled so much with Maggie’s death. He’d come face to face with situations that meant life and death all the time, only to lose her when they were supposed to be safe, it took him so long to come to terms with it. For a long time, he couldn’t accept it.

And Maggie and Sharon were so close.

“So, she’s here because of the attack? Sharon?” You guess, and he wants to kiss that smart little head of yours.

“I sent for her as soon as Thor told me what he saw. It’s why he wasn’t here tonight. He’s been making regular scouting missions from here to Asgard since you got back. Just to make sure you’re safe.” Although Steve is grateful for Thor’s assistance, he’s also a little miffed. You’re his wife. Why does Thor feel so entitled to you?

Smug jerk.

“We were all going to meet tomorrow. She’ll hate herself in the morning.” Steve knows that she’ll find a way to apologize to you and him.

“Am I supposed to feel bad for her?” You ask him, and as Steve meets your eyes, he’s surprised though impressed by the sharp edge in your tone. The rage still bubbling there beneath the surface. “Because I don’t.”

“I know.” Steve nods.

“I don’t want to see her. Or speak to her. How long will she be here?” You wonder.

This disappoints Steve a little. He’d really wanted you and Sharon to get along since she’s precious too, but he can see how that is impossible now.

Why had she gone and tried something so foolish? Why had he let her stay? He shouldn’t have been swayed but she’s like a sister.

“I’ll send her home after the meeting.” Steve offers. “So long as nothing comes up. She’s very skilled at fighting those evils I spoke about.”

Steve can already see the hesitation in your pretty face. The regret. The guilt at asking him to send her home right away.

“If she’s really that valuable…if having her here makes things easier. If you want her here-”

“I will send her home as soon as the meeting’s over, my flower.” He insists, resolute in his choice. “I want you to be happy here. I know that things have been difficult for both of us. I’ve made things difficult for both of us, but I told you that I’m going to show you how much I love you and need you here and I meant it.

“There’s only you, Y/N. You are my forever and I hope to make it a pleasant forever. For me but especially for you. I have so much to make up for, if you will let me?”

You’re watching him, eyes big, trying not to blink because there’s a small puddle under each eye growing bigger by the second.

God, he hates it when you cry. If he could take all of your tears and turn them into smiles he would. No…your laugh would be better. So beautiful.

“Say something, little flower.” He pleads, moving the hand resting on your little swell to your hips. He scoots closer when you don’t pull away.

Will you let him hold you? He loved sleeping with you today. Cuddling together. Feeling your soft body between his arms had felt better than he would have thought possible.

Your tears finally spill over and he brings his hands up to wipe them away as they fall.

“Do you feel this way only because of the baby?” Your lip trembles and he feels his heart shatter. “I mean, I know that it’s what we’ve been waiting for, what you’ve needed, and I was just wondering-”

You look down at your hands, run them over your teeny bump, caressing the child sweetly. You’re already in love with that little one. You’re exuding devotion for it.

“-If maybe the reason you’re so eager to-to keep me here is because of the baby? I-”

Steve brings his hand down to take hold of your chin, gently pulling it upwards until he can meet your watery eyes.

“I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you.” He whispers, “And I only fought it for so long out of a misplaced sense of responsibility for Margaret. You are my responsibility now. You are my love. This child is a blessing but even without it, even if the kingdom were taken from me, you are my wife.

“I will show you. What happened tonight…that will never happen again. I’m an idiot. A large one.” Steve can’t help but smile at you as you sniffle, reaching up to wipe your nose as you consider his words.

“I’ll leave again.” You tell him, not a threat but it’s a promise. He can see the determination in your eyes. “I can’t stay with that happening in the other room. Our room…”

Your drift off sadly and Steve realizes why you’d been at his door.

You had been coming to be with him. In his bed. And he’d found Sharon there instead.

“Shit.” Steve’s throat is tight. How is it possible that he missed this small detail? “It is our room. Damn it, Y/N. I will…I will have the bed remade. I will-What color do you want? We can redecorate the entire thing. Make it new. It will be our room. Tell me what you want, I’ll do it.”

Steve watches as you stare at him, then finally, your lips take a small curl. It’s not a full smile, but it’s a small one. Just enough to give him hope that he hasn’t fucked this marriage up permanently.

“I’m really tired.” You tell him, and Steve springs up to clear your side of the bed. He pulls the blankets back and holds them up as you slide in. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my flower.” He smiles at you, tucking you in and then letting his hands linger on your stomach.

“You’re staying, right?” You ask him, and when he meets your eyes, he finds you watching him with uncertainty.

“Of course, I am.” He says with determination. “Of course.”

He moves around the bed, blowing out a few of the candles that had been left on as he goes plunging the room into semi-darkness with only the light of the fireplace casting dancing shadows across the room.

He settles in, turning to face you and makes to hold you.

“No.” You protest. Steve freezes. “I’m not ready for that. I’m still angry with you. For more than Sharon.”

Damn. You’re right of course. Steve had gone and said too much at the feast.

“Right.” He nods, unable to help the crestfallen look on his face. “Right. I’m sorry.”

“You can hold my hand.” You offer, and when he looks at you, you’re holding your hand out towards him, laying on your side to face him.

Steve smiles. Hope. This is all he needs for now. As long as you haven’t given up on him, he’s okay.

He takes your hand, pulls it to his lips and kisses your fingers. He lays with you in silence. Watching as your eyes slowly shut, and when you’re fast asleep, he closes his too.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #marvel fanfiction #medieval au #avengers x reader #mcu fanfiction #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #arranged marriage au #royalty au #steve x you #king!steve x you #pseudo princess pt18 #pseudo princess

[ericamzdm]

S5E6 Pick-Apart - Pt 2

Continuing on from Pt 1 - We’re still on ‘Adora Never Really Owns Her Shit (and is more than a little terrifying)’

You’re holding her prisoner, Adora.

YOU’RE HOLDING HER PRISONER, ADORA

...that’s Shadow Weaver language, Adora.

(~6:40)

Adora: “Catra is driving me crazy. I thought we actually stood a chance at fixing things this time. But after everything we’ve been through, she’s still a stubborn brat.”

After a brief interlude on Etheria, we’re back to Adora being angry about Catra’s lack of compliance. (At least this time she’s just complaining to Glimmer and not, you know, assaulting Catra).

This is just reinforcing my existing impressions - Adora is upset that Catra isn’t falling in line. Adora’s version of ‘fixing things’ is ‘Adora tells Catra what to do’. Adora views Catra as a ‘stubborn brat’.

That is some Bad Shit.

Adora continues to treat Catra, her peer and supposed love interest, as a child - except that I would also be upset to see her treating a child like this.

Because ‘brat’ is an awful word, especially when used against actual children. It is, by design, an attack leveled on the powerless by the powerful, defining them entirely by how convenient they are for their caretakers. It pretends that any inconvenient reactions or desires are the product of intentional, unearned spite and ‘stubbornness’, not the result of the target being a full person with real, independent feelings, needs, and goals (and in this specific case, boatloads of trauma).

Again - all of this is Shadow Weaver language. Adora is still letting Shadow Weaver live rent-free in her head, defining her perception of Catra, her agency, and her actions (and it’s an ugly, abusive perception). Their relationship is never going to be healthy until Adora recognizes that, and works to correct it.

(~6:48) 

Glimmer: “Did you think she was instantly going to become a different person?”

Adora: “I thought she’d at least try. We all risked our lives to save her and she can’t even say thank you? Can you believe it?”

...yikes. Where to start.

(a) Adora’s complaining about Catra not performing gratitude sufficiently continues to be a real bad look. You do the right thing because it is the right thing, not because you expect people to lave your ego afterwards. You definitely don’t pitch a fit when the fail to adhere to this bargain you struck with them inside your own head.

The impression is very much that Adora rescued Catra, not because she wanted Catra to be safe, but because she wanted Catra back (under her control).

(b) It’s pretty creepy that, in this conversation, Adora is outright admitting that she wants to make Catra into a ‘different person’. Because if that’s what she wants...who is Catra-as-she-is to her? A child, in need of her guidance? A lump of clay, waiting for her molding influence? What is she in love with, if not the person in front of her?

It’s one thing to want to help someone you love to grow, and become the best possible version of themselves. But that’s working with them, to find that version and bring it forward, not imposing some external sense of ‘better’ on them.

(c) Adora continues to act out violently throughout this scene - kicking over boxes, lobbing Space Jello around. Catra’s not the only one with emotional dysregulation issues.

(d) Not thrilled with Glimmer/the use of Glimmer in this scene. If she’s supposed to have grown emotionally over the season so far, I’m not seeing it.

(~10:30)

Adora: “That signal’s coming from her chip, isn’t it? Once again, Catra is ruining our lives.”

Good job victim-blaming, Adora. Man, you really are just breaking out all your old tricks in this episode, aren’t you. 

(To clarify: Adora is explicitly blaming Catra for something she had no control over, a side effect of her trauma, and something she is not even aware of. It is deeply fucked up.)

(~12:30) 

Adora: “Grow up and let us remove [the chip], or we’re all dead.”

I will address the Entrapta-related content in part 3 - that said, Adora is once again marking up Catra’s not actually unreasonable fears and trauma reactions to “childishness”, and doing a hell of a lot of threatening looming and grabbing.

Yes, they need to remove the chip for everyone’s safety, but that’s clearly not the primary driver to Adora’s anger here; that continues to stem from the fact Catra isn’t just Doing What She Wants, even when Catra has no way of knowing what the situation is.

(~12:47)

Adora: “If you think hiding from the people you hurt will make you feel better, we’ll drop you off and you’ll never have to see us again. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Which makes it hard for me to really buy this in the way (I have to assume) it was intended. 

Structurally, this is Adora finally, fully releasing the idea that she should control Catra. She is accepting that Catra’s decisions are based on Catra’s wants and needs - they’re not fundamentally ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’, simply because they conflict with Adora’s own desires. She’s admitting that, however much she wants a relationship with Catra, Catra can chose a life without her in it.

All very vital and necessary stuff.

And it feels desperately unearned. There’s no build up, no moment of realization. It just kind of appears in the dialogue, which itself is delivered in tones of anger, frustration, and defeat. It comes across as Adora being bitter that she can’t force Catra into choosing her, not as her reconciling herself to the idea this is Catra’s choice to make, as her own full, independant person.

(~13:00)

Catra: “Adora, wait. Please. Stay.”

But it’s close enough to giving Catra a bit of space, and the narrative treats it as such.

Because this is what Catra needed to continue her growth - the freedom to chose. The chance to look at her options, and decide what she really wants, without anyone threatening her, or making demands, or trying to force her hand.

And what she wants is for Adora to stay.

NB: This is not some kind of trick being played on Adora; this is Catra finally - now that she has the space and the choice - opting in to to relationship that Adora has been trying to force for the entire episode (and series).

(~16:50)

Catra: “I want to go home.”

Adora: “I’m getting us out of here.”

This is another instance of Catra making a choice - Going home is now a thing Catra has chosen for herself, rather than a statement being imposed on her by Adora (however well meaning).

This is also a shift in how Adora speaks about Catra - it’s now “Us”, not “You” - important and welcome! It signals a shift in how she’s treating Catra, where she’s now an equal partner in the relationship, not a junior to be controlled and overridden. (Again, I would just be happier if it did not feel quite so out-of-left-field.)

(~21:30)

And at the end of the episode, Catra is finally given the space to come out and start dealing with the rest of the BFS at her own pace, with her own bondaries in place.

She’s still got a long way to go, but now that she has the freedom to chose, what she’s chosen is to take the first steps towards building healthy, non-abusive relationships.

================

Part 3

#spop #spop season 5 #pick-apart #catra #adora #catradora #abuse #because again #adoras behaviour here is Not Great

[k7l4d4]

Revamping Near-forgotten Retro Cartoons!!

Hey all, today, I decided to revisit some of the cartoon reruns I saw on TV back when I was like, wow, six or seven I think? How the time flies! Well, I decided to look some of them up, and decided, why not give them a revamp for the modern era? Everybody clap your hands!!

When Cartoons first started getting serious, beyond just shorts and whatnot, anything even remotely successful was milked to the bone, copied and cloned to hell and back, and just rung out all together. This is me attempting to find those old shows and make them a little more unique. Enjoy!

Jabberjaw: You would expect a show about a band travelling an aquatic world with a frequently disrespected and harassed shark to be a pretty unique concept, right? Wrong. Unfortunately, of all the clones of Scooby-Doo, this, to me, was one of the laziest, even though I loved the show. NO effort in the slightest was made to give it any original flavor beyond the setting, like, at all.

My version, would have the friends still be a band, but, instead of being native to the fantastic, setting, would be struggling local performers of a sea-side town who, despite being acknowledged as some of the best in the state talent-wise, are frequently the subject of local mockery and disdain, as they can never seem to stick to a theme or style. The band consists of Buford “Biff” Brisk, the lead guitar, Charlie “Clamhead” Wilter on the Trumpet, Wendy Bubbles on Keyboard and occasionally Keytar, and Shelly Swanson on Bass.

For all there skill, in an effort to find a theme they can work with and stick with, the band attempt to practice in a local cove. After a few hours of jamming and experimentation, the tide comes in, and, just as they believe they are going to drown, they wake up to find themselves in a strange, almost futuristic aquatic world, inhabited by Fishfolk and Merfolk, with themselves being some of the incredibly few Mammals in existence. While they initially panic over the lack of air, they rapidly calm down as they realize they can still breath.

The band’s near unique status has them pegged as a side-show attraction, granting them no small amount of fame, and plenty of gigs. However, the lack of a drummer, something they have always struggled with, and their inconsistent theme, causes them to lose both gigs and crowds, their primary source of income as they try to find a way back home. While wandering the local waters, searching for a drummer, they eventually discover some of the impressive drumming any of them have ever heard, but when they go to investigate, who do they encounter but a shark!?

After the initial bout of panic, the shark manages to calm them down and introduce himself. Enter Joebar Jawkowski, also known locally as Jabberjaw. In this world, sharks are highly prejudiced against and ostracized, seen as thugs and bullies at best and vicious monsters and killers at worst. Jabberjaw has always tried to bridge the gap between sharks and the rest of the water-dwellers, yet his efforts are always rebuffed; every time he tried to hang out with others, he was either chased away for being a shark, or used as a scapegoat to avoid getting in trouble. After all, who would belief that the local guppies would splatter ink all over someone’s house as opposed to the “dangerous and brutal shark!” His efforts to hang and bond have often resulted in him accidentally blabbing about his fellow sharks, revealing local hangouts and meeting places, causing many of the local sharks to be harassed and persecuted by abusive authority, losing him the trust of others.

However, despite his bad rep and numerous screwups, Jabberjaw is a sweetheart to his core, always willing to help and be there for his friends, and he still wants to make friends with others. After they hear his story, the band tentatively, but genuinely offer him the role of their drummer; he’s done so much and gotten himself nothing but grief, so why not? Of course, Jabberjaw accepted.

Biff is the leader of the band, always being the first one to show up to practice, and the one who always insists on staying after to clean up. Passionate and upbeat, Biff is the driving force behind the band, always pushing forward to have the band succeed, and always ready to listen, to be a shoulder to cry on, and just be there for his friends. He isn’t perfect though. For all his claims about being all about the music, Biff is usually always the one getting caught up in whatever fame the band has managed to accrue at any given moment, much to the annoyance and occasionally concern of the others. Biff comes from a pretty conservative family, and while they love him, they do not approve of or respect his decision to be a musician, often wondering when he’s going to “Stop all that nonsense and get a real job.”

Clamhead doesn’t say much, but when he does start talking, it usually means something is going down. Clamhead was frequently bullied as a child due to his constant use of made-up words when he got excited, as well as his strange turns of phrases and his near exclusively seafood diet. Due to this harassment, Clamhead became something of a self-imposed mute, often using the bare minimum of words, when he managed to talk at all. Music quickly became a strong outlet for his feelings, allowing him to express himself more effectively. Clamhead rapidly formed a strong bond with Jabberjaw, due to their shared diet and the ire it earned them from the locals.

Bubbles, she prefers to go by her last name, is a sweetheart to her core, often going out of her way to help even people who everyone would agree are self-absorbed jerks, themselves included. Bubbles, for all her ditzy demeanor and simplistic language, has always been a true genius. Even as far back as Elementary School, she took high school and college classes in her free time, having racked up an intimidating number of degrees and diplomas before she ever even Officially graduated. Bubbles was routinely bullied into submission as a child, as her spacey demeanor caused many to look down on her and not take her seriously, mocking her whenever she tried to help with, well, anything!

Shelly is a cynical introvert, bitter and detached from the world, not that you’d know it by looking at her. Shelly has always been extraordinarily beautiful, attracting attention from a wide variety of sources, including those that are... creepy. This attention unnerved and confused her as a child, leading to her closing herself off, and later to biting back with viciousness, and in some cases cruelty, as she got older. She genuinely enjoys her time with the band and considers them all her best friends, yet occasionally feels like an outsider looking in, in comparison to her gloomier attitude and behavior in relation to the others. Much to her surprise and disgust, the odd attractive quality that draws others to her is even stronger in the new world, leading to all sorts of... unwanted attention.

#jabberjaw #cartoon rewrite #classic cartoon #reboot #feel free to ignore