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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

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Ch. 4

18 + Minors DNI Please Check Rules Before You Follow

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!Reader (brief reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, allusion to nausea (once), brief sacrilegious language (dabi), mentions of alcohol (dabi), mentions of smoking (dabi), dabi is just a whole warning of his own, gender neutral pronouns for reader, fem cause they're called a woman as an insult, Shiggy is an asshole, grinding, degradation,

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which a project is completed and a new one begins

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged)

Your project was almost complete.

In some ways, it sort of felt like the end of an era. To Tomura, who was a creature of habit by nature, it was doubly strange to imagine no longer spending hours a few days each week locked away in your little study room with you bugging him to teach you simple html and him not-so-discreetly sniffing your hair.

He still hadn’t asked you out or whatever he’d been trying to do, much to Dabi’s chagrin. And because of this, Tomura was consistently plagued with the feeling of time running out.

You were supposed to meet today for probably the last time seeing as the presentation was coming up at the end of the week. He knew it was now or never at this point. If he didn’t fucking say something now, he never would and then he’d have to live with the same his roommate wouldn’t let him live down.

So instead of heading directly to the library after class, Tomura took the old route back to his apartment and shot you a quick text—praying to the fucking boner gods, as Dabi called them, that you’d take the bait.

would you mind putting the finish touches on shit at my place?—

there’s some parts i gotta do from my desktop—

That wasn’t completely a lie. It was nicer working from his pc setup, but before he wouldn’t have let you come anywhere fucking near there. Not until he’d finally accepted that you’d wormed your way into his brain somehow and he couldn’t live another day not knowing what your tongue tasted like.

bitch (endearing):

—no problem

—what’s your address?

Tomura’s heart fucking pounded mercilessly against the bony prison of his ribs. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to some good old fashioned anxiety, but he’d never felt a strange stirring in his stomach quite like this. Like he might puke, but in a good way.

He quickly sent back his street and apartment number, and waited on the corner until you texted back that you’d be there in an hour before he rushed inside.

“What the hell are you doing, creep?!” Dabi snapped at him when he burst through the door and yeeted his backpack onto the kitchen table.

Tomura didn’t answer, just made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door. He doused himself in record time, unbothered by the hot water causing red, patchy flare ups to bloom over his skin. He was almost disgusted with himself for putting in this much effort for someone like you. Someone being definitely kind of a slut if the way you dressed was a good indicator. But he just kept thinking about the way your hair or skin smelled so goddamn good when you leaned in close and he wanted you to be obsessed with him in the same way. Wanted you to want to bury your face in his neck and breath him in.

When he stumbled out into the hall moments later, towel drying his hair roughly, Dabi was taking a shot over the sink.

He looked at Tomura like hell had frozen over.

“Two showers in like a month?” he mused, sucking his teeth as the alcohol slid down his throat. “What’s the occasion? The fucking, second coming of Christ?”

“Well the bitch is coming over so…”

“Oh, that is a fucking miracle,” Dabi whistled and knocked back a second shot.

Tomura glared, stepping into his room and tossing his towel aside to tug on his nicest pair of black joggers and t-shirt that gapped a bit at the front, showing off a large expanse of his chest. It made him a bit nervous even just looking at his reflection but you definitely stared the few times he’d taken off his hoodie while you were working, so the risk seemed worth the reward.

“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to piss off for the night,” Tomura shouted into the kitchen as Dabi sauntered over to lean against his doorframe.

“You know, I conveniently do have a dick appointment with my own bitch, but now I don’t want to go.”

His tone was teasing, eyes hooded and clearly enjoying how flustered Tomura was already before you’d even gotten here. Tomura moved to snatch another pillow and do battle but Dabi raised his hands up quickly in defeat.

“Oh no, no, I just fucking did my hair for this Keigo asshole you are not gonna ruin it with that petty shit,” he shot back and disappeared somewhere into his own room. “I’ll be out of your greasy ass hair don’t worry.”

Tomura seethed and bit back of reply of his hair for once not being greasy as hell, but the multiple cum stains—both his and his nasty fucking roommates—marring the comforter caught his eye.

“Ugh,” he mumbled and balled the whole thing up, shoving it under the bed and spreading out one of his merch blankets from that manga you both liked.

Hopefully you wouldn’t think that was too cringey, but he had definitely seen your room plastered with merch in the background of your social media profiles which he totally did not stalk at all and maybe jerk off to on occasion.

The rest of his room was quickly cleared by a combination of shoving random crap into his closet and filling up their recycling bin to the brim with empty energy drink cans. He tackled the kitchen next which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Neither he nor Dabi cooked all that frequently, so the dishes weren’t an issue and the vague, lingering smell of whatever the fuck Dabi had been smoking early was cleared out a bit by leaving the balcony door ajar.

He checked the time on his phone obsessively, about ready to pound on Dabi’s door and throw him out on the step when the man in question emerged on his own—black platform boots donned with his ass hugging ripped jeans and a loose tank top.

He had on fucking eyeliner.

God and he thought Tomura was being desperate.

“What? Wishing you’d locked this down first?” Dabi sneered, grabbing his jacket from the rack and shoulder checking Tomura on his way to the door.

“I—” he stammered for a second, bristling as Dabi towered over him a bit in those fucking boots. “No, asshole, just leave before they get here.”

But at the exact moment that Dabi rolled his eyes and flung open the door, Tomura’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking up in mingled horror and embarrassment, he watched the door hit the wall and reveal you, a little more casually dressed than usual looking stunned as Dabi grinned down at you with pierced lips.

“Hi, I’m-” you started but Tomura’s live-in nightmare cut you off.

“Oh I know who you are, dollface,” Dabi wiggled his fucking eyebrows at you, clearly playing up the dramatics as much as possible to a degree even Tomura didn’t think he could pull off. “Name’s Dabi—”

“Uh, yeah and he was just leaving,” Tomura hissed and placed his shoulder firmly in the center of his roommate’s back, launching him onto the welcome mat as you side-stepped through the door.

“Yeah, see ya later creep,” he fucking winked as the door slammed shut in his face.

Tomura’s cheeks burned in the following silence which was only broken by your quiet chuckle. He noticed you did that a lot. Laughed at things without even thinking about whether it would sound weird.

“He seems like a lot,” you mumbled and glanced around at the living room/kitchen/foyer of his tiny apartment.

“Yeah…”

He thought he might feel the same sort of disturbance he usually did when Dabi brought his dates home but you seemed to fit easily into the space, unobtrusive but bright against the dingy walls.

“So, should we get to it?” you asked with a wry smile, spinning to face him and silhouetted by the sun set filtering in past the balcony.

He may not have felt the usual discomfort of intruders in his space, but his hands shook where he clutched at his thighs nonetheless. And just like always, if you noticed the bunched up fabric and the not so slight tremor in his bony arms, you didn’t say a thing about it.

You looked so good propped up on his bed, back against the wall and legs dangling off the sides as the now strangely comforting sound of your furious typing filled his room. It had been a few hours now, and Dabi had been true to his word, seemingly gone until tomorrow morning. The room was illuminated only by your screens and his small desk lamp that lit up your legs like a stage spot light.

His mind fogged over more than once with the fantasy of laying in between them.

“I just shared the final bit of script,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.

The notification pinged at the top of his screen and he hummed in acknowledgement, plugging in your last pieces of text and saving the program.

And just like that.

It was over.

“I think we’re done,” Tomura whispered.

He didn’t really mean to say it so softly, but it felt strange to talk at full volume so he rasped out the words, knowing you wouldn’t care how shitty his voice sounded.

There was a creak and soft footsteps behind him as you shuffled off the bed and over to his desk. Your hands rested way too close to his shoulders than necessary while you leaned over his chair to look at the finished product.

It was still a little rough around the edges but Tomura found himself feeling a swell of satisfaction now that it was complete. All things considered, you’d come up with a pretty damn good concept and he liked knowing he played a role in helping it come to fruition.

The piece you picked was weird as shit. Some political satire about eating babies, lots of juxtaposition about the private life versus the public self and some bullshit rants on the nature of humanity blah blah blah.

It actually reminded him of you a little bit, now that he thought about it as he took advantage of you position to stare intently at your eyes scanning the screen. Not the eating babies thing, but the whole private self stuff.

In the half semester he’d spent locked away with you in quiet rooms and noisy, dimly lit basements, he could see such a stark contrast between the you he’d known from class all those weeks ago and the you currently sighing in relief over his shoulder.

Softer, more real—not so Stacy, bimbo, pick me slut like he’d always imagined you to be.

“Damn, we did it my guy,” you nodded, clearly impressed with yourself and him as well, which had Tomura’s chest puffing out just a bit under the attention. “I could fucking kiss you, I thought we’d never get it done.”

You turned to him, eyes closed in a half laugh but Tomura was so far from laughing. Cause you were really, really fucking close and he could smell you again and you’d been chewing that fucking gum cause it was hot on your breath. He knew, he really did, that you were kidding, that this was just a thing people said when they were relieved but he couldn’t help the weird, deer in the headlights stare that his face froze in.

Blinking, you raised your eyebrows at him questioningly when he didn’t make some crude comment about your chest brushing against his arm or shrug you off like he might have before.

And then you got this knowing, little mischievous look that reminds him far too much of Dabi for a split second before you pressed your face just an inch closer.

His eyes flicked down instinctively to your lips and his face burned when realized there was no way you didn’t see how he looked at you. Shockingly, despite the churning in his gut and the shaking in his legs, Tomura leaned forward just a bit too, working up enough scant courage to maybe close the gap. But then you started laughing?

It bubbled up quietly in your chest, more of a giggle than anything else.

You were laughing and shaking your head and his stomach fucking dropped to the ground and his face was on fire cause you were laughing and that meant he’d been fucking played like a goddamn fiddle but—

But then you gave him this faint smile and you weren't laughing anymore, because you were kissing him.

You were fucking kissing him.

Which, while yes he had set out to have this be the end goal of the night, he hadn’t actually believed it would ever happen. He’d never felt it in his bones like he thought he was supposed to.

And holy shit your lips were so soft??

So soft and smooth with no cool, sharp metal poking or pulling at the splits on his. It was like fucking crack, or what he imagined crack might be like with the way your mouth just glided against his. It was so easy to follow you, which was good cause he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing for the most part. But you made it feel simple, and you even ran your tongue over the little scar that bisected his lips in this painfully adorable way that had Tomura pitching a tent in his pants like lightning.

God and when you pulled back and just enough to look at him again:

It was like every one of those cutesy, shojo manga suddenly made sense. The panels where the main characters look at each other and flowers bloom off the fucking page while they stare with those dark, hungry eyes—

Yeah.

Yeah he got it now.

And he was gonna ride that wave while he had it. So Tomura steeled himself and surged forward, grabbing both your arms and smashing his face much less gracefully against yours. He stood and you straightened with him, that same half giggle slipping out in the gaps where your lips parted on his as he clacked your teeth together and pulled back at the jarring sting.

“Eager are we?” you had that stupid smile on your face again but he honestly didn’t care anymore if it was an act or if your face really just looked like that with no fucking ulterior motive.

“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to catch your lips again and you mercifully let him.

Tomura nearly fucking came in his pants when you licked into his mouth and oh fucking god he really could taste the gum and that loud ass shit you were always drinking. Dabi was right, this was a fucking miracle.

Did other people always taste this good or was it just you?

He responded enthusiastically to say the least, sucking your tongue into his mouth and letting out a choked little noise when you prodded the back of his teeth. The movement of your legs, pulling him back towards the bed went mostly unnoticed until he felt himself tipping forward, landing with a thump on top of you as you both tumbled onto his mattress.

Tomura’s lips wondered boldly down your throat, smelling the soap or lotion or whatever the hell made you so fucking baby smooth compared to him and he actually growled into your nape when you laughed again.

“God, what the fuck is so funny?” he sounded muffled from where he was tonguing at the fleshy joining of your neck and shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” you pressed your lips against the peeling crown of his head and that alone made up for the interruption, “I’m just basking in the glory of being right.”

“About?” Tomura nipped at your skin once before lifting his chin to rest on your sternum.

“I just always thought you were sorta into me, but it was hard to tell cause you’re so quiet about that kinda thing.”

“....oh,” he didn’t really have an argument for that so he didn’t try to fight you.

“Did you think I didn’t notice all the convenient excuses to touch me or like the fact that you’re mean as shit to everyone else but me?" you asked not unkindly as you stroked a hand through his hair, frizzy from being left to air dry. “I also got the vibes you thought I was a slut anyway and it wasn’t super clear if that was a turn on or not.”

He cringed a bit at the blatant way you acknowledged all ruder inner monologues about your character.

“Well, I did a bit initially,” Tomura glanced off to the side, suddenly finding the chipping paint much more fascinating. God he really wanted to get back to the good stuff. “But I don’t now…”

“Oh no,” you cupped his face, running a thumb against the cracked skin on his cheeks and didn’t cringe when the drying skin flaked onto your shirt, “that was a pretty astute assumption.”

“Uh, what?”

He felt his draw drop and you dipped your thumb past his front row of teeth, toying with the pooling saliva.

“All the better for you though,” you continued dragging his chest against yours so he could feel your nipples through his shirt, “cause that just means I know how to show you a good time, and I get the feeling you’ve never had that happen before.”

You punctuated your words with roll of your hips against the fucking iron rod in his pants. The noise that left Tomura was inhuman.

He thought back to the day you got partnered with him. How he thought it would be a fucking nightmare and Tomura wanted to let the record show that he officially retracted that statement. This was in no uncertain terms, actually a wet dream come true and he was sure Dabi would never fucking believe him unless he walked through the door right now.

“That works,” he stuttered around the finger in his mouth and you reared up to wrap your legs around his waist.

Your lips found his again and he hummed in approval only cut off as you rolled so he was laying back and looking up. When you pulled back, he shivered at the way you raked your nails over his chest.

“So, you gonna tell me how much of a disgusting whore you think I am?”

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura imagine #tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #dabi #bnha fanfiction #bee.writes

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curioussubjects · 3 years

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“Probably think you’re overcompensating:” Perception, Masculinity & Queer!Dean

So I’ve been wanting to write about my particular take on Dean, queerness, and masculinity because all the time I see takes, and I get into discussions, and I keep having to repeat myself. Not exactly an issue except peddling takes via hyperlink is much easier. This post is a bit of a journey, as anything I write tends to be, but the central thread here is fairly straightforward: emotional vulnerability. Most of my understanding of Dean circles around issues of emotional vulnerability and perception, which is not wholly unconnected to my reading of Cas and happiness -- that is, allowing yourself to be open and vulnerable, and accepting your worth is crucial to accurate perceptions of reality.

In the beginning, we had John Winchester: after Mary died, John “was just a shell.” He became entirely closed off and focused on one thing, and one thing only: finding YED and killing monsters. John actively suppressed his grief over Mary by immersing himself in hunting, a new found mission meant to avenge and protect. The change in John is so marked that in our encounters with younger John lead to his own disgust at the parenting Dean describes, without knowing it’s himself he is censoring. Furthermore, in the Winchester motto being “saving people, hunting things, the family business,” we can see into what drove John in his mission: his guilt in not being able to save Mary, hunting as an outlet for that guilt, the imposition of that mission onto his sons. When Mary died, John’s entire philosophy and modeling of how to be Father and Husband (and Man, really) rested on his ability to be a sword and shield. A protector, unflappable, steady, focused. Someone who should always put the mission first, with little to no distractions.

Dean, as eldest son and the natural second in command, inherited John’s mission and philosophy. While John was away, Dean was in charge of protecting the family (Sam), and was expected to that steady, unflappable protector. Someone who was in control of their vulnerability and never open to weakness. If John’s mission was to avenge Mary, Dean’s mission was to look out for Sam. Anything that caused Dean to deviate from that was a failure. It meant that Dean failed as A Father (and Husband mirror, not that he was a spouse proxy, but that John projected his own image onto Dean). Crucially, when we see Dean “fail” in the mission of looking out for Sam, they're due to Dean doing something for himself, or even doing something for Sam -- hence how he ended up at Sonny's for shoplifting. because apparently theft is wrong if it's not credit cards scams, thanks John. And in looking out for Sam, we find the first fault line in Dean being able to uphold John’s maxim of being invulnerable because to protecting Sam also meant, to Dean, to shield him from John’s abuse and expectations, it meant that Sam was nurtured, as best Dean could manage. Beyond protecting Sam, however, Dean would also inherit John’s mission should he die in the line of duty. And so Dean did. He was tasked to kill the YED and even Sam if Sam became a threat. Anything that would make Dean deviate from that single minded mission was to be purged. Or shoved so far down that the mission would not be affected.

In short, the baseline of duty Dean was operating on was: look out for Sam, look out for the Family, obey orders from the Father, carry out the Mission, avenge mom, kill monsters (noble and good, sure, but still immersed in the revenge mission). Whatever tool you use to carry on another day is acceptable, so long as it is ephemeral and utilitarian. If you need to drink, fuck, etc, in order to keep going so be it, but whatever you do must never impact the mission. College, relationships, picket fences, and dogs, are distractions. They are things that would necessarily take you from The Life. They can only ever be the rewards for completing the Mission. Paradise, if you will.

Emotional vulnerability, then, that which allows the world to thing touch you that deeply is a distraction. You have to be a shell. You fight, but you also fight because the hunter life is not for others. All in the hopes that one day the mission will be done, and there’s an end of the tunnel with peace and a normal life, which is a lie. Not a lie because hunting is antithetical to happiness, but a lie because the mode of operation created and imposed by John makes it impossible for one to ever reach happiness. Happiness needs a way in.

But what’s all this have to do with Dean being queer? Well, this has everything to do with how Dean experiences his queerness. A lot of the time I see people thinking of Dean as someone who suppresses, or, even worse, represses his sexuality when neither of those things are true (someone suppresses or represses their queerness doesn’t go around loving queer film, gushing over crushes, and making queer cultural references). Personally, I don’t think Dean represses as his go to coping mechanism (though he does repress, sometimes, like how John wasn’t a good father, actually). Dean is much more likely to suppress his feelings and his trauma: those are his to handle, and his to stow so he can Get the Job Done. But if Dean ever suppressed his bisexuality, which at some point he might have, I’d argue had much more to do unnecessary risks, than something like self-hatred.

Nevertheless, the issue when it comes to queerness, then, wouldn’t be Dean fucking men or being attracted to multiple genders. It wouldn’t wholly be an issue with masculinity either because the Masculine Values™ the Winchesters operate under a very specific to their situation, as I described above. It’s less about manly posturing, and more about being the perfect soldier (and, eventually, commanding officer). However, queerness brings with it queer & homophobia. As such, one’s sexuality could be leveraged as a weakness. It's something that can be exploited, if one allows it to hurt them. It’s also something that could draw attention to oneself, which is a bit dangerous for a hunter. So, for me, if John ever knew about Dean being bi (and with his neglect, he very well might not), his main problem would be with it being unnecessarily dangerous. Taking these issues into account, it makes sense to me that Dean would be uneasy with being perceived as queer because of it being a tactical disadvantage rather than him having an actual problem with being queer. So when we see posturing and overcompensation, when we see Dean lean particularly hard on the more overtly macho sides of his personality, it’s a mask. Incidentally, if Dean ever found himself in queer spaces he wouldn’t be so uneasy to the point of having to lean into the overcompensating mask -- which, of course, is influenced by cultural heteronormativity and all that mess.

Ultimately, Dean wants to control how he is perceived because it gives him the upper hand. He had to learn to be a chameleon to survive, and he had to develop a thick skin because to show weakness is to fail the mission, and weakness means that you die, or, worse, the one you are meant to protect dies. It’s no wonder that Dean’s character development had little to do with him accepting his queerness (which canon, refreshingly, presents as just a fact of who he is, no fuss), but learning to be emotionally vulnerable. To let love and happiness in. To be who he is completely, without fear, without guilt, without shame, and without self-doubt. That letting himself be happy isn’t a sign of weakness or leading to failure, that it isn’t a gateway for hurt. And none of that, none of it, is about some internalized hatred of his own queerness. Finally, Dean’s freedom and lesson is that the true steadfastness is self-actualization, and really, to quote Cas:

I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're “daddy's blunt instrument.” And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you see it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are.

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #john winchester's a+ parenting #spn meta #my writing #polol #dean is bi

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vminity21 · 3 years

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Beyond the Facade | knj

Pairing: handyman!namjoon X preacherskid!reader, bestfriend!taehyung X pregnant!reader, f2l!au

Word Count: 10,958

Genre: mysterious/angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): strong language use, semi-detailed childbirth, mention of infidelity, alluding of a love triangle, evidence of a sheltered background, angst involving family matters, smut, losing virginity, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play, hand groping, lots of flashbacks but that is the point of the story i sorry; Rated: 18+

Summary: A sheltered life leads to harbored secrets that are buried in order to protect someone you are falling in love with. As the time is nearing for the life growing inside you to be welcomed into the world, the reminiscences of all the moments unfold to reveal a beautiful story that needed to be told.

Credits to: @suhdays for making such a phenomenal header! The talent she has never ceases to amaze me!

The graying of the clouds is all you can see beyond your window other than the panging rain droplets now trickling upon the glass. Arm resting against your forehead, your lips press into a straight line in response to the series of thoughts circling your mind. Carefully, you slide your palms upon the mattress in an attempt to sit up, wanting to see more of the view besides the crying sky. Knuckles curling to rub your tired eyes, you furrow your brows, the comforting warmth of the bed covers remain tangled between your shins. Leafless trees border the side of the building save for a small swing set; a paved section decorated with a basketball hoop where a large shed stands many feet across from it. If one is to step outside the front of the structure, there sits a church surrounded by a gravel parking lot where the neighboring land hosts a barbed wire fence with an abandoned house and field.

It's been four months since you deemed the fellowship hall your home, and appreciatively, the area has been vacant since the falling of the church which saves even more stress than what you've been in since moving here. Achingly, your legs stretch to move off the bed before your feet land onto the grainy carpet. Your right-hand slips to steady your back, maneuvering your body to scoot to the bed frame, which has become a daily routine, weak fingers gripping the wood until your digits become pale white. Letting out a steady sigh, with all your strength you lift yourself to where you can stand, "Oomf," a small whimper escapes past your lips, tensing at the cringe plaguing your shoulders.

Being seven months pregnant sometimes has its perks, but this isn't one of them. Bending your body forward slightly, you step sluggishly toward your dresser, pulling out maternity clothes lent to you before the move.

"So, when are you going to tell us?" The soft murmur belonging to your mother echoes from the driver's side. Her expression submits an evident mixture of exhaustion and exasperation; though it's been a month since the announcement of your pregnancy, your mother is currently driving you to a doctor's appointment for a checkup on the baby to make sure everything is okay, "we have a right to know."

Arms crossed over your chest in mild annoyance, you bite the corner of your mouth until the side of your head meets the window, getting lost in the line of trees zipping by.

Waddling into the bathroom, the vague memory fades, your hand reaching to turn the knob of the shower. The squeaky sound along with rushing water splatters against the shower curtain sending a soothing jolt of excitement. Chilly air springs goosebumps over your limbs once you're freed of your clothes, waiting patiently for the water to warm before inching into the tub. When steaming liquid soon dribbles among your frame, a grin of satisfaction sparks brief happiness you needed an escape to. The heat of the downpour eases your aching bones, fingers clasping behind your neck to lean your head back, "Oh!" You gasp in surprise when the instant feel of a kick happens within your tummy. Eyes flutter down in the direction of your swollen belly, palms moving to caress it, "Look at you, what are you trying to do? Escape?" Cooing with a light giggle, when the baby kicks again, you can't help the giddy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Now, this- this is what you love about being pregnant. Finishing up, you dry your hair before swiftly dressing along with brushing your teeth.

Thoughts still pertaining to the small life growing inside you, you've decided since your first doctor's visit that you do not want to know your baby's gender until the day that you give birth. When you presented the idea to your mother, she was all on board, proclaiming how she had done that with your younger sibling. Running a brush through your hair, you skim one final look into the mirror formerly then head to exit the bathroom.

Gradually sauntering through the mini hallway, you're more zoned on the way your hand pats upon the wall in some form of maintaining stableness to the point you hardly notice almost slamming into a tall figure.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" A deep voice panics, raising his arms in a way to catch you though your arms mirror the same. Heart ramming, a breath of relief winds past your parted lips- your eyes scanning the slim legs that follow to the handsome face of Kim Namjoon. His eyes enlarged apologetically.

"Oh Namjoon, you scared me," a tender chuckle sets the feel of calm for he sees the amnesty etched in your eyes.

"I'm so sorry, [Y/N], I was about to head out to mow the lawn, but just wanted to check and make sure you're okay," he timidly scopes the view of your huge abdomen, gulping once his hands rest loosely at his sides, returning his eyes to search yours before a sweet grin spreads upon your face.

"It's no biggie. Thank you for checking on me,"

His dimples show from the way his lips press in a tight smile, nodding in reply, timorously turning to waltz to the outdoors in preparation of the day ahead. You watch until he disappears from your line of vision; the creep of a blush burning from your chest to your cheeks. Raking your hands through your hair, you force yourself once again to deny the attraction seeping through your soul thankful your blush attacked after he left.

Kim Namjoon works for your father, making sure the church grounds continuously stay clean and cut creating a pretty environment to the eye. Protecting the land is another part of the job description- protecting it from any loiterers, wild animals, protesters, etcetera- maintaining flower bushes encircling the area as well as mini projects your father will want Namjoon to build. The swing set, including the shed, happen to be plans that Namjoon successfully constructed due to your father's wishes. In return, Namjoon is provided a place to live- the room that once held your father's office, is now changed into a bedroom.

It's strange for you to think about it now- how so much has changed in just seven months, when a year ago the church was thriving, unaware of the secrets that clouded within the audience. Squeezing your eyes shut, a reminiscent from the beginning of your pregnancy rears its head causing a tiny brink of nausea to form.

Taehyung's arms drape around you tightly, embracing you in all entirety that your eyes shut against the crook of his neck. Your fingers squeeze his shoulder, legs bent across his thighs while tepid tears spill onto your cheeks.

"Shhh," he tries to comfort, his breath tickling your exposed ear- your face still buried beneath his chin, "It's going to be okay," he whispers just as soft as the flicking fire burning amongst numerous candle wicks. Scents of vanilla blends with birch fitting the dimly lit bedroom that you're thankful exists other than the man refusing to let you go until you feel better.

"How?" You choke back another sob, "How am I going to tell my parents? How am I supposed to confront the church if that's what it comes down to? Shit... My dad is going to fucking kill me," Taehyung's shirt is soaked, but he could care less, tangling his long fingers into your hair to stroke the back of your head.

"Okay, now, you're being dramatic,"

"So, maybe I am? But you know very well that my parents aren't going to take this lightly,"

"Yeah, but I think it's safe to say that telling your parents you're pregnant is far better than if you were to tell them how you truly feel about religion,"

"Okay? Perhaps, you're right," a snippet of a frustrated huff leaves your trembling lips, "especially not with what's been going on with the church, I don't know how much more they can take,"

"Well, your dad should have thought of that before he had an affair with my mom," Taehyung's icy tone brings chills to your frame before he loudly swallows, lips firm from the anger boiling behind his almond eyes. Tendrils of his bright, red hair glow regardless of how dark the atmosphere is, and you hardly hold back the sheer pain stabbing your heart from the guilt you can't help but endure.

"Tae, I'm so so sorry,"

"Hey," he peers down at you, realizing he may have taken his comment too far, even though you're just as angry towards your father as your best friend is, "you didn't know," sniffling back the remaining mucus clogging your nostrils, you desire to face Taehyung no matter how foolish you think you may look, scooting your body to where your palm indents in his mattress next to his legs, his arm now rests around your waist, and for a split second, you're close enough to where the tempting appearance of his striking face beckons the strange glimmer of longing. A longing of curing whatever loneliness you're going through, but you're not the only one experiencing this moment for Taehyung's lips part just enough to plead your attention.

You can't stop yourself, and you don't, because before either of you comprehend, you close the gap letting the delicate wave of his kiss caress yours. "Tae," you breathe against his lips, reuniting with his kiss almost immediately while a dizzy spell of want travels through your chest. You know this isn't right. He knows this isn't right, but too many pent-up emotions between your hearts have gotten out of hand, and for now, all the two of you have is each other. His fingertips move to tenderly trail your jaw, gasping into his mouth when the tip of his tongue circles yours before you move to trap him in a perfect straddle. You need something, anything to feel whole again- something to forget about the people you lost and the people you will lose. And, if there's anyone in this world you do not want to lose it's him.

There's no refraining, there's no hesitation, just the growing pace of the kisses, and the way you're so enthralled with how beautiful he feels squeezing you tighter to him. "[Y/N]," he moans, hating himself for how far he wants to go with you, yet he craves your touch, nearly supplicates for it. You want to feel his skin, and the aching throb below you seems to deafen any other screams of stopping, and yet, your fingers move to the end of his shirt, peeling it just enough to expose the solid wall of his abdomen. "[Y/N]," he stops you, breaking the final kiss, his hand covering your wrist, while your eyes frantically search the side of his face, "We- we can't,"

You haven't seen him since, because of the boundaries that were crossed and would have been farther crossed if Taehyung had not had the strength to stop. The pair of you have been best friends since childhood, and neither of you wants to take anything beyond for the sake of feeling empty, but he assured you that night, even after your panic of apologies pouring from your mouth, after the humiliation that shackled your system, even after the daunting assumption that your friendship was over- he cupped your cheek, promising that he was still here and that he would never end your attachment over something, you both will never regret.

It's a secret you've suppressed for some time. Taehyung calls every so often when he can; dealing with his broken-hearted father on top of two jobs consumes every bit of his time. Yet, you can't help but miss him, the one person who loyally stayed by your side even when you came forward to your friends about your pregnancy. And, the one friend who still loves you all the same, even after discovering his mother's affair with your father.

Rage isn't enough to describe the resentment against your father, and ever since you told your parents that you were expecting, and ever since your move, you haven't spoken to him. You'll never forget how torn your mother was- depression weighing heavy on her, and that's something that's hard to forgive.

Your mother looks frail as she twiddles the crumpled tissue in her hands. Tears brim her eyes through the silence in the car, sparse sniffles breaking your heart into a million pieces. The two of you had just come back from the grocery store to restock the kitchen in your recently new home and are now parked at the church's back door to drop you off. You hesitated upon leaving because the thought of your mother having to return home to a place of remorse is the last thing you want for her. The promise of a car was granted to you, but you turned it down, refusing to accept anything from the man who caused so much pain to your family. To Taehyung's family.

Running the tissue underneath her eyes, she speaks, "[Y/N]?"

"Yeah?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but the guilt from how stressed your mother has been is something you wish you could carry instead of her. After the betrayal of your father as well as him resigning from the church to send people away from the place they once sought refuge in- on top of her oldest daughter being pregnant with her first child is already a lot to handle. The other frustration you bite your tongue from expressing is the fact of your parents refusing to let you get a job until the time after you give birth. You want to make the money to provide for yourself and your son or daughter without the dependence upon your parents- your mother especially, yet you're grateful for her adamancy on keeping you from any risks outside of the walls of your home.

It takes a moment before your mother gathers her words, "Do you- do you think you could ask Namjoon to help take you to the hospital? Whenever it's time... for you to have the baby?"

It was easier for your mother to ask that of you because he lived in the same building, and if any emergency of your water breaking happened earlier than expected, at least you would have someone available to take you to the hospital. Your gaze clears from the zone out you've had the whole time standing in the entrance of the hallway before Namjoon left. Turning on a heel, you decide to return to your bed, slipping under the covers- you're too wide awake to sleep as of now, yet the foam of the mattress eases the soreness of your back once you lean against the pillows.

-Four months earlier-

Queasiness envelops your abdomen to where you recognize the cue, rushing to the porcelain throne to heave whatever yellow liquid is left- spurting it into the toilet while you grimace through the pain. The door swings open behind you mixed with heavy footsteps quickening to you. When large hands swoop to hold your hair back, you don't have the strength to look at the intruder due to the continuous retching that deems you defenseless.

"It's okay, it's okay," the deep voice is soft, and relief brings tears to your eyes when you recognize it to be Kim Namjoon. You're embarrassed once your stomach gives you a break, your palms pressing to your forehead while you slump against the wall.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, swiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Namjoon scatters to find a tissue, patting the corners of your lips.

"You don't have to be sorry,"

"That... wasn't what I was apologizing for,"

A knowing glance is all he must give for you to share whatever thoughts you can't bring yourself to voice. He was your friend before all of this, yet you failed to mention to him about the pregnancy, and with him being the worker of the Church- he didn't discover your budding stomach until the day you moved in. His eyes flicker away from your stare toward the slight protrusion of your baby bump due to your ruffled t-shirt. He settles on the floor across from you, silence being the only conversation held. He isn't one to hold anger, and though you kept him unaware until your third month of pregnancy, he refuses to leave your side, making a pact to himself he will do whatever it takes to provide the care that you will need. As well as the little one.

Despite the emotional roller coaster, you remain amazed with how he keeps his patience with you. A day of depression to a random bout of laughter- memories turning of the betrayals of close friends who judged you immediately the day you put your trust in them- the freedom you craved away from the sheltered life your father forced upon you- even days where you can't seem to put your tears on pause, yet Namjoon holds you through every grieve.

"What if... what if I'm not good enough?" Your voice shakes between sobs- you had been dreaming restlessly yet another night, tossing within your bed to the point Namjoon came to check on you- rushing to pull you into his arms the moment your eyes fluttered to reveal pained tears. Your words nearly shatter him- pulling away just enough to where his eyes lock with yours.

"How can you say that, [Y/N]?" The faint light of your lampshade causes his face to glisten- angelically, you decide, yet the shadowing doubt of motherhood plagues you still, because what if you genuinely can't care for the child that you're six months away from holding? Fears encompass you like an ocean, smashing along your mind in harsh waves. "Look at me," are the words that snap you from whatever sea you were suffocating in to realize you had unintentionally switched your gaze from him. It's the calming effect the warmth of Namjoon's eyes bring when he exposes whatever faith he has in the woman you are and will become. "You're going to do just fine, believe me, I know it,"

Sniffling, you run the back of your hand along your chin where an escapee of a tear dangled, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because when have you ever given up on anyone that you care about," it's not a question, he's stating what he knows to be a fact. Something he learned of you when he first was hired to tend to the property. "You're stubborn when it comes to winning someone over. I was determined not to befriend anyone here. But you changed that for me, remember?"

A knowing tug of a smile trembles into a stretch upon your lips, "I do,"

"Same with the baby. I know you will love that little one more than life itself. It doesn't have a choice, and you'll let him or her know the second they're born,"

When a hearty snicker leaves your mouth, you notice the sticky feel of your drying face- you are no longer crying.

"You don't have to do this alone, [Y/N]. You showed me that even when I didn't know what else to do. Now, get some rest, okay? You have a doctor's appointment bright and early," the bed creaks from the gradual movement of Namjoon standing,

"Wait!" You speak before you can stop yourself, Namjoon immediately pausing- the heat of his arms is felt beneath your palms from your pounce of panic, and with evident chagrin, you shyly stare at his chest, "Can you uh, ... Can you stay in here with me tonight?" You've refrained from asking sooner due to the shame of not telling him the news that's become apparent, and even now, you haven't been able to comprehend how he's not the slightest bit angry with you. When his arms encircle you closer to his frame, no words need to be said because he's already answered by just this gesture. Nuzzling into his embrace, the side of his chin pressed to your forehead, "Whoever it is, I hope they grow up to be half the person that you are," you whisper, squeezing him tighter, infinite smiles now ending the night that cures any ounce of uncertainty.

By the fifth month of pregnancy, you finally come to the realization of how selfish you have been- it's no longer about you and your needs; it is now about the needs of your son or daughter growing within you. Namjoon catered to every grocery store trip, stocking the kitchen and in return, you choose to cook for him every meal, hoping to show as much appreciation to him that you can.

"Have you thought about any names?" Taehyung's voice muses on the other line of the phone, the sound of him bringing a small smirk upon your face. You've missed him terribly so, yet the acceptance of surprise phone calls is all you can settle with for now. At his question though, you pause with the tilt of your head, taking a quick sip of the broth that you're currently heating on the stove.

"No?" It's a brief question of guilt, something you haven't been ready to ponder, "Honestly... haven't thought that far ahead yet," you add in the vegetables to boil within the broth.

The familiar, deep chuckle is all you hear to gain an idea of what your best friend is about to say next, "I should have known,"

"Alright, Birkenstocks. What do you mean by that?"

"Breezing past that mistake. You named your Parakeet, Bird,"

"Well, in my defense, I was seven years of age,"

"And in my defense, playing basketball in Birkenstocks was supposed to start a trend,"

"Since how? I-"

"Ask Hoseok,"

"You lost a bet didn't you-"

"And, I will pay for it for the rest of my life, now won't I?"

"With me around, you will,"

Hoseok is the deacon's son who's dream of fashion has been shunned by his family, yet he designs in a sketchbook Taehyung hides for whenever Hoseok and he share the same work shifts. He's not one you have had the opportunity to communicate much with, but you're thankful Taehyung has someone to maintain a friendship with while you two have been apart. A short response of silence settles while your cheek and shoulder squeeze the phone for a moment as you stir the steaming vegetables.

"You could have named the bird, Tweety at least-"

"Oh!" You playfully growl, "Back with that again, huh?"

"Do I need to send you a link of baby names-"

"I promise you, Tae, I do not plan on naming my child, Kid, okay?"

"You'd be surprised-"

Taehyung's excitement for his future Godchild brings a simmering joy to the surface of your pattering heart. Almost as equal to the eagerness, your mother has shown with this being her first grandchild. Graciously, your mother has never been as strict as your father, hence why the past five months have gone much smoother then they would have if your father had never had an affair with Mrs. Kim.

The phone call ends whenever dinner is finished, and by that time, Namjoon scuffles through the door- the outdoorsy scent drifts to your nose while you place the sweltering bowls of soup on the table. Namjoon shimmers his feet from his work boots before hanging his coat, timidly glimpsing in your direction to confirm you're okay.

Small talk ensues with the typical questions of how each of your days has gone once the pair of you take your seats. One secret, yet another you and Taehyung have harbored, is the awareness of Namjoon's atheism- something your father must never learn of his worker. Namjoon, who will not admit it, works on the church grounds in order to provide for his family who lives a few miles up the road. Ultimately, there are many secrets not worth sharing to your parents, not only for the sake of sanity but for the protection of the ones who you've kept close, especially Namjoon. With your father being the tyrant of a priest, he used to be, there is still the potential distress of him firing Namjoon over the mere difference of beliefs. Something you refuse to let happen while you're around.

Clinking spoons replace conversation, for how long, you're uncertain; the fog of your thoughts seem to consume upon one in particular- something that has remained festering long enough, yet you have never said it aloud- figuring this moment may be the time that you do. Namjoon confided in you and Taehyung once he found comfort in trusting the pair of you- even subjects that one would have never expected him to open about. Guilt presents itself to the point your eyes squeeze shut, opening them to move your spoon to play at a piece of broccoli swimming in the potage.

"They don't know," your words are careful- slow even- continuing your vision on the dinner before you. You can feel Namjoon's soft eyes on you, his expression confused. "They don't know who the father is," that's when your gaze trails to meet his eyes just for more guilt to manifest behind them. By they, you're referring to your parents, as well as every other soul excluding Taehyung, "I won't tell them." Namjoon slowly nods with the sense of understanding, knowing the cost that will be taken if your father were to know who you're trying to bury beneath this web of fear. "Besides," you sigh heavily, "I'm surprised my father was lenient enough to let me live here," you confess, "if he wasn't so guilty over the affair, I would be homeless-"

"I wouldn't let that happen," Namjoon says suddenly, destroying whatever anger you were dwelling upon. Your mouth falls open in shock at his words and the frilly flutter of your heartbeat is hard to ignore. After living here for two months, he's proven time and time again that he means what he says; what he just said. Speechless, the rest of dinner continues in fond silence, your heart refusing to steady for the man slowly captivating your heart.

The sixth month of pregnancy gifts swollen feet and aching bones on top of your belly growing heavier by the week. Namjoon has stayed loyal- tending to your pregnancy cravings in the dead of night, aiding to your discomfort whether it involves a heating pack or a cup of ice, slipping under the covers on nights you want him to hold you, driving you to every doctor's appointment without any hesitation; with all that he's been doing for you, it's like your feelings have blossomed deeper which you know shouldn't be happening with the peril of your father finding out. The unexpected visits from your father are few, yet you usher the reminder to yourself of protecting Namjoon, though he carries the weight of facing your father instead of you who avoids the confrontation.

Night comes quickly after a day spent cleaning up the nursery that seems to be coming together, other than the crib Namjoon's been building- something you accidentally discovered when strolling close to the shed one sunny day. He's so dedicated to the unborn infant, it nearly brings you to tears, glancing around the elegant hues of multiple pastel colors painted across the room with stuffed animals, blankets, and furniture he continues to gift you amongst different items your mother has added to the collection. You always enjoy the sporadic visits from your mother, because she's free to celebrate the life that she refuses to consider as a sin.

"Are you thinking boy or girl?" Your mother elbowed your side earlier today after moving around the furniture.

"Hm," you hummed happily, thankful for the relationship that's being redeemed with her, "you know? I'm not very sure,"

"I can tell from all the colors you've chosen," she teased, "it looks beautiful," she cooed, pulling you into an accomplished side hug. You didn't want to stick to just pink or blue, so you chose every other shade in between, colliding the space with colors that could go for either or. "You're going to be a wonderful mother,"

The sound of the front door opens distracting you from the former memory, staring down at the table that now rests heaping plates of chicken and rice. The fellowship hall used to be filled with numerous rows of horizontal tables mingled with circular ones where the crowd would come to camaraderie to joyful hymnals, delicious food, reflected testimonies without any warning of the secrecies soon floating to the surface. Now a solo table, the one planted before you, pairs with a few sparse chairs just enough to seat at least four people.

"Hiya," you greet, trying to ignore the subtle increase of your heartbeat. Namjoon flashes a kid-like smile once he shutters out of his jacket, "How was your day?"

"It was good, thank you," he replies, taking long strides until he makes it to you, "How was yours with your mom?" His right-hand steadies the small of your back while his left one clutches yours to help settle you into your seat. It's hard to focus on the question he just asked when the scent from outside seems to heighten the attraction you already feel towards him, "It was good," you manage to say, reaching for the silverware to begin digging into your food, "Thank you... For helping me," the distance between your stomach and the table now is something you've been trying to get used to as well as the turmoil of trying to stand and sit.

"Anytime."

A blush floods your cheeks when he holds your timorous stare, so you avert your eyes to your dinner, letting the obvious feeling of Namjoon watching deepen the red shade on your skin. A few minutes disappear into time before you feel a shove against your abdomen from the inside. Your hand instinctively flies to press upon the baby bump, Namjoon jumping at the motion, stopping mid-chew, while his eyes enlarge in surprise.

"It's okay," you chortle at his reaction, "it's just the baby kicking," his response reminds you of the moment you felt the baby kick for the very first time- similar to a weird flutter that's hard to describe, and it had taken you a second to realize what it was exactly- just your baby making its presence known to you. Namjoon swallows the bite of food in a nervous gulp, the pang of his silverware mutes from where he lays it on the napkin.

"Here," you murmur affectionately preparing to stand to your feet. Namjoon immediately jolts from his chair, rounding the table to gather your hand in his. Instead of relying on his strength to help you position yourself, you plop back onto the seat, sliding his hand to the area where the baby kicked a few minutes prior. Namjoon kneels to level with you, his plump lips ajar mirroring the widen stance of his eyes while he patiently waits, his nervous heart pounding in his temples. It's the exuberant joy in his smile that meets his eyes in a dazzling glow the pure second the baby kicks again, and the bliss of delight smothers your heart in so many ways imaginable at this moment the pair of you are capturing together. Your hand remains resting upon his while your eyes lock repudiating from breaking contact.

"I told you that you don't have to do this alone," he whispers, and it's then you come to the awareness of how near his face is from yours, his dimples visible from his smile to the point you press your lips to each one, shocked at your act of boldness, but you can't refrain. He's too handsome and too wonderful to stay away from any longer. That's all the invitation needed, for Namjoon's lips brush yours igniting the sparks of what you've been trying to suppress for way too long. Your fingers find his hair when he leans to deepen the kiss, moving his hands to rest on the chair, fingers pressing into the wood until pale white.

At this moment, you don't care what anyone thinks.

You are in love with Kim Namjoon, and there is nothing in this world that's going to scare you away from that.

-Present day-

The pitch black outside the window brings frustration when you awaken to scold yourself for how long you've slept. Gathering yourself once the fatigue rolls off, you cautiously sit up, scooting to the bedpost until you're on your feet. Taking a trip to the restroom, you notice upon exiting the clock on the wall reads seven pm, and you wonder if Namjoon has made it inside for the evening. It's eerily quiet save for the air conditioning, but you pause when you see the lights are on in the main area of the building. Shrugging, you waddle around the corner until the sudden shouts of, "SURPRISE!", nearly knocks you to the ground.

Gasping, your eyes widen while your hand flies to your chest. A prolonged second interferes before your brain deciphers the two individuals cheering before you. Numerous pink and blue balloons hover to the top of the ceiling matching the colors of a cloth decorating the one table now adorned with a cake and wrapped gifts. "What?" You can barely speak from the light headiness taking over, but the tears that well in your eyes when you see the boxy smile of your best friend sends you in an attempt to run just to crash into his arms. He meets you halfway, surrounding you within his embrace as he rocks you back and forth muffling your wails of joy into his checkered sweater. Your soaked cheeks are wiped away from the material as been done countless times before, and his tepid palms squish your cheeks when he steps back to gesture toward your belly.

"Wow look at you! Your belly is huge!"

"I'm still in denial of how fast this pregnancy is going!" You say breathlessly, you're so happy to see Taehyung, you can hardly contain your composure. Namjoon steps forward with his hand reaching to squeeze your best friend's shoulder. Taehyung's fiery strands are curled upon his forehead, lustrous beneath the lights as it always has before, "Your father let you come?" There's a seriousness behind your voice at the question because you are cognizant of the fury Tae's father has against the church from the events that occurred what, in some ways feels like a lifetime ago.

"Well, no," Taehyung winces mischievously, "I told him that Namjoon and I were going to a basketball game,"

"Of course, you did, you sly fox,"

"You know you love me," Tae pecks your forehead before leading you to the table where the sweet whiff of cake flatters your nostrils.

"You guys didn't have to do this," you're still wiping tears off your face, though it's evident that your crying is from untainted gratitude, "What did I do to deserve the two of you?"

Namjoon kneels, intertwining his long fingers with yours, using the tip of his thumb to tickle circles upon your skin, "Taehyung mentioned how when you were kids that you loved surprises, especially if it involved a small party of some sort so," he tilts his head toward Taehyung, "And I knew how much you missed him, too. I just wanted to do something to celebrate you. And, the baby,"

It doesn't take much to smother this man in kisses nowadays, and once you express your thankfulness to the men before you, Namjoon reads your mind, snatching a small kiss in return.

"You two are on kissing terms, again?" Taehyung teases while you poke your tongue at him in mild embarrassment. Namjoon does not know of the moment you and Tae shared, and that's something you're not ready to talk about, and with the cutesy scrunch of Namjoon's face, the memory escapes to the back of your mind for now.

By the end of the night, the frosting had met all three of your faces- some smushed into Taehyung's hair while some swiped across Namjoon's neck, and your eyebrows are smeared along with the possible suspicion of some getting up your nose. Cleaning the mess takes a while, but nobody in the room would trade it for anything, and it's good stalling to prevent the night from completely ending.

Walking Taehyung to his car is the only dread overwhelming your system because you're not sure of when you will get to see him next. Tears flood your eyes, breaking Taehyung's heart as an awe of shame gusts past his lips, "I'm sorry, [Y/N]. My dad's expecting me home soon,"

"I don't want you to go," you choke, on the brink of bursting at the seams- Tae fumbles to tighten his arms behind your back- him trying to be mindful of your abdomen being pressed too firmly against his frame.

"Please don't cry," he whispers near your ear, "Please, please don't cry," His lips curl from the tears burning within his own eyes wishing with all his strength he could rid of the aching hurt that has kept your friendship separated. Tae swiftly pulls away when he remembers another present, he meant to give you earlier, whirling around to unlock his car, bending into the vehicle while his hands shuffle around the floorboard in a desperate search for whatever he wants to show you. When he turns to face you, a sharp inhale of glee echoes into the night- the lopsided plush of a heart is attached to a blue body ornamented with yellow polka dots that match its mouth. "Oh my gosh!" You squeal, "Tae, it's adorable! Where did you find this?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in pride, he hands it to you, "I made it myself. And," he pauses for effect, "since you have trouble naming things, I did the honors and named it for you. I introduce, Ta Ta."

"Ta Ta?"

"Yeah, like 'Ta Ta... for now,'"

"Just when I thought I couldn't love your dork of a self even more," you exhale, slamming your eyes shut just to bury your face further into his chest, not able to breathe in his scent from the clog of mucus stuffing your nose.

"I love you, too." His voice thickens with emotion, "Now, quit saying it like you're never going to see me again, because you know I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" Your cold nose moves to press into the corner of his jaw where steady breaths move between your parting mouth. It's a serene moment where he turns just enough to glimpse at you, engaging in the beauty he's always found within your heart. Taehyung's agape lips now rest centimeters from yours when his large hands raise to rest his fingertips along your flushed cheeks- the curls of his frizzy hair pressing to your forehead, prickling your closing eyes. You discover your free hand enfolding around his wrist from the daunting desire looming from what's been left unspoken, and the shiver in his breathing brushes your chin once the light touch of his nose cuddles to yours. You both stand there for a seeming reel of eternity, battling the inward mayhem of choice that's displayed itself on the invisible line tempting to be traversed.

"I promise."

He hadn't kissed you, but there was no denial that he wanted to, especially with the way your face has haunted his dreams since the night your lips met in emotional patterns of sorrow. But, deep down, he knows it's too obvious of a choice if the one for him is to be you, but the love that has been kept for you will never go away. The same as a tether of your heart will forever be his no matter how deep your love goes for someone else. Kim Taehyung will always be your poise- your muse- the soulmate of a friendship that you will always need.

Toddling to the nursery upon Tae's departure still presents the boiling tears from your tired eyes dripping off your cheeks as you set Ta Ta beside the koala plushie Namjoon gifted you; the humor involving the struggle of both Taehyung and Namjoon carrying the crib Namjoon built for the baby taunts a smirk at the corner of your lips. It's dark besides the faint light of the hallway behind you, giving you just enough to admire the scenery around you- sniffling back what you can before reaching to cover your quivering chin with your hand. You've missed Taehyung. You miss him. And, how beautiful of Namjoon to surprise you with your best friend's presence? Reuniting the three musketeers from once upon a time?

Little do they know, from the unearthing of your pregnancy to now, the two men have mended your broken heart and stitched it back together again piece by piece. You're highly uncertain of where you would be without them, and just the thought alone is one you refuse to dwell on. While memories turn like a spindle of loosened thread, a revelation halts you in your tracks. The thought rings loud and clear gracing a wide smile on your face while one more set of tears dampen the corner of your eyes.

After scolding yourself for so long for not thinking hard enough on the subject,

right here, hands grasping the handlebar of your future child's cradle,

you finally have a name picked out for your little one.

2 months later....

"Namjoon, I'll be fine," the pointed look you flash him prompts a nervous chuckle once his hands rest to rub gently along your sides. He's concerned as he's been almost the entire pregnancy, but of course, now his worries are heightened to an extreme, "I'm not due until next week. Don't worry,"

"I know," he groans, tugging you closer just enough to plant a warm to kiss to your neck, "But, I can't help it."

"I'll be fine," you drag the word with a teasing sound of a whine. Namjoon shaking his head at you with a smile you're now feeling upon your lips. "Mm," you hum into his kiss, your hands sliding to squeeze his shoulders in reaction to how impeccable it feels. You end the moment simply to gaze at him, "You'll be back before you know it," you assure him- his trip to the grocery store being the plan for the afternoon.

"Okay," he says tenderly, eyes flickering to your lips once more before leaning to brush them to his own, "I love you,"

There's a small pause, one that entails warmth smothering your chest in giddy sensations when his eyes steal yours after pulling away, "I love you, too, Joon," watching him head out the door until the truck disappears along the road.

Of course, the day doesn't go accordingly the way you expect, because on carefully prodding to the kitchen in preparation to cook breakfast, a slight ache ensues within your abdomen. "Oh," you groan, stroking the area with your fingertips before deciding to lay down for a bit instead. When reaching your room, the sharp pain of a cramp returns causing a harsh cringe as you lean against your bedpost, hardly able to concentrate on the attempt of climbing onto the mattress. You remain hunched over for five minutes, forcing slow breaths to prevent from panicking, and when you find the coast to be clear, you straighten yourself out.

Suddenly, before you can comprehend what's happening, a gush of water splatters onto the carpet soaking your feet in the process.

"No," you whisper, eyes frantically scanning your room for your cell phone. Namjoon shouldn't be far with the grocery store only being a few miles away, but in order to get a hold of him, you must find your only way of contacting him. Hands pat your bed, thrusting off the bed covers and shaking them roughly, yet no 'thump' is heard before you cast the covers in a pile onto the ground. The next destination leads to the restroom, with no luck of your phone being in your bedroom- when another wave of pain shoots within your stomach, you gasp, trying to endure through the discomfort with all your might.

Leaving a water trail behind with every step you take, you desperately search the countertops before stepping into the area that holds the kitchen, wondering if there is any possibility it may have been left behind there. Your feet meet the cool surface of the tile floor, your gape scanning the entirety of the space before a pant of relief escapes past your dry lips the second your shaking hands gather the device. "Agh!" A contraction surges, hands squeezing your phone unintentionally, yet you grimace just enough to maintain your focus on the task at hand. Managing to get the phone ringing, it doesn't take long until you hear the man of your dreams at the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Joon, it's time," you choke, voice thick with pain.

"Oh, shit! Hold on tight, I'm on my way, just hold tight, I'm coming-"

You just happen to be running by the church in favor of dropping off the work truck keys to your father when he unintentionally introduces you to the new employee you assume he plans to hire, "[Y/N], this is Kim Namjoon. He's going to be taking care of the church grounds for us, isn't that wonderful?"

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," you greet, underlyingly suffering from the attraction swarming to your reddening cheeks. When your father mentioned of hiring, you never anticipated the person to be this overwhelmingly breathtaking.

"It's nice to meet you too, Ma'am," Namjoon's polite nod mirrors the dimples evident from a soft grin, his hand reaching for yours to shake before your father continues the tour of the place you've grown up memorizing. But something initiates you to stay, eyes lingering on the back of the tall figure decked in a turtleneck covered by a green jacket complementing a pair of jeans along with brown shoes. There's a spark of intuition that day, one that ignited the prominent determination that you want to get to know this person even if your father ends up finding out.

Namjoon busts through the door with pure alarm etched in his voice, "[Y/N], I'm here! Baby, I'm right here," he immediately jumps to where you are, keeled over on the floor, throwing his arm around you until he lifts you out of the fellowship hall and into the work truck. Words you attempt to form are muted by whimpers, tears brimming your eyes from the pain that doesn't end, "I'm going to grab the suitcase, I'll be right back," time must be faster than you can measure for Namjoon arrives, slinging the suitcase into the backseat before slamming into the driver's side.

It takes a while for the newly found employee to warm up to every opportunity you take in order to get to know him. One thing he's slowly but surely learning is that you're not one to give up so easily- something you've noticed him picking up on, especially on days, you annoy him when he's on call to build a project. You make it clear to talk to him nonstop until he acknowledges your existence, and the times he doesn't breathe a word results in a call to Taehyung.

"Come help me," you plea hearing Taehyung's exasperated sigh on the other line.

"You are so annoying,"

"You know you love me, fool," you gloat because with defeat, your best friend reluctantly joins you, even accompanying a basketball just in case if Namjoon happens to fancy sports. Your girlfriends, Luna and Jo, were informed of your undying crush on the mysterious worker, crossing their arms in jealousy that you half-heartedly ignored.

"He doesn't even come to the services," Jo droned, "Don't you think it'd be best to get to know someone that's more... active in the church? Like the pianist's son, Min Yoongi. You two had such a cute relationship when you were three-"

You can't get past why no one seems to understand that you must win Namjoon over, and though Luna and Jo have seen the world along with you since childhood, you roll your eyes, turning on a heel, "I'll catch you later,"

Tires screech along the road while Namjoon swerves past cars on the highway, hands ghost white from the tight grasp he has upon the steering wheel. Meanwhile, your hand grips the bar above you while your other rests upon your belly- the keenness of getting to hold your baby in your arms is all you're thinking about other than Namjoon who's keeping you sane.

"Just a few more miles and we will be there. Just breathe," his voice is unsteady from the fright of this situation, but he upholds his enlarged gaze upon the road. He fumbles for his phone- trying to contact anyone from your family in order to tell them the news.

"GAH!" Leaning forward, a wail echoes within the vehicle as another contraction attacks.

"You guys aren't going to stop until I'm your friend, am I right?" Namjoon's elbows are folded from the hold he has on the basketball meeting his chest. Tae jumps sporadically in front of him with outspread arms preparing to prevent the ball from flying into the hoop.

"Damn straight," you shrug your shoulders in observation of Namjoon's tilting head.

"I thought church girls didn't cuss,"

"And I thought you'd have more game than the basketball," You retort.Tae halts, straightening his frame, eyes flickering between you and a quiet Namjoon, "Now hurry up. If you win, I will leave you alone for good. If Tae wins then we treat you to dinner and a movie. How does that sound?"

With an incredulous shake of his head, Namjoon smirks, "Okay," the scuffle of his converse is heard on the pavement when he briefly turns to toss the ball toward the hoop. The basketball pangs the ring, twirling ferociously to the point, your heart begins to sink, but to your pleasure, the ball tips off the rim, landing in a rejoicing Taehyung's arms.

"HAH!" You sprint, colliding into Taehyung's embrace while Namjoon tries to stifle the smile overtaking his lips, "Looks like it's going to be a burger and fries' kind of night," you wink, unaware of the hope that Namjoon has of wanting to gain your friendship just as much.

The hospital entrance appears after the rush of Namjoon turning into the parking lot soon helping you out of the truck. The suitcase will have to wait being he can retrieve it later, his ultimate goal is getting you within the building to where you're safe. "It's okay, it's okay," he tries to appear relaxed, but everything becomes a blur until a nurse with fluffy, black hair approaches with a wheelchair to help settle you in. His nametag reads 'JIMIN' – him rolling you quickly down the hall when the presence of a female nurse whose nametag reads 'MONNIE' helps you change into the nightgown upon arrival of the hospital room. Voices are mingling together from the pounding in your temples, but Monnie keeps her hands gentle on your back to lead you to the bed where she hooks you up to what seems like a million machines whilst providing as much comfort to you as possible.

Namjoon's calloused hand covers yours when one other nurse, Jungkook, floods the room, bringing a chair for him to sit in. You're not sure of all the commotion that's overwhelming the room, but you steady your breathing as Namjoon directs, squeezing his hand through each contraction. You recognize the doctor, Kim Seokjin, a tall man already dawned in a scrub hat, mouth mask and gloves, scurrying to where you are, "Alright, I am going to check your dilation Ms. [Y/N], just breathe in and out." Slamming your eyes shut, you whimper from the discomfort, "Alright, she is dilated three centimeters. Once you are at ten centimeters [Y/N], you will begin pushing. No worries, I will alert you as soon as I need you to begin. Keep breathing. Everything will be okay,"

"Taehyung... My mom... Dad-" you murmur deliriously between breaths, the foggy sense of your conscious outweighing how to speak properly.

"No worries baby, they're on their way. They're on their way right now," he sweetly kisses your perspired forehead, running his free hand through your tangled hair.

The three musketeers were official after the day at the basketball hoop, eventually learning of Namjoon's atheism as well as him providing for his family.

"My dad couldn't find a job that pays enough, so I promised him that I will do whatever it takes," it had been six months since Namjoon had been hired, and currently is finishing his final paint to the shed while you and Taehyung sit Indian style in the grass. "Thanks to the job here, I can afford the rent for my parents as well as give them my car since here, I just use the work truck..." Namjoon sharing more in-depth with his life story- you finally get what you've been determined to gain since meeting him.

It's weeks later that you'll never forget, leaning against a mini, red monkey bar after sharing your feelings toward the man you've grown so fond of. There's no denying the feelings he's had for you, and once he inches closer, the crave to hold his hand has never been stronger. Boldly, your fingers trail to intertwine with his, your nerves close to getting the best of you despite the persistent smile that hasn't left him. When you find the bravery to look up at him, he swallows calmly before leaning in, you stand on your tiptoes to meet halfway until your lips touch. The slide of his arms encompassing your frame feels so inviting when he presses his body to yours. The world is put on pause to you and nothing else matters other than the way his lips move so elegantly- your arms wrapping around his shoulders while he sways you from side to side.

Time doesn't seem to speed up through all this pain, but the adrenaline swimming in your veins peaks when Dr. Seokjin prepares to check your dilation again. "Ten centimeters-" He confirms, "Alright, [Y/N], the baby's coming. When I say push, you push. Okay," he positions himself though you can't see anything past your gown and raised knees, "One, two, three! Push!"

"AGH!" You grunt, a small scream vibrating at the back of your throat once you push with every fiber of strength, you can muster.

"Breathe, breathe," Namjoon's hand hasn't once left yours- sweat pouring from your scalp while the burning agony overpowers your body.

"Is she here!?" The click of darting heels enters the room and are loud enough for it to catch your attention. "Oh, honey, I'm here!" It's your mother- scampering to your side with the undeniable blur of Taehyung's red hair following suit. You want to ask where your father is, but before a chance is given, the doctor shouts, "Push!"

"AAAAAAAGH!" You manage, body straining in all its entireness. Taehyung jolts to let you squeeze his hand along with Namjoon's. His features show nothing but fear at the sight of you being in so much strife, yet he holds it together enough to cheer you on.

"I'm- I'm so glad you both are here," you cry- another sixty seconds drifting before the shout of, "Push!" erupts.

"I'm scared," you murmur in the dimness of the room. On your knees, Namjoon's soothing hands glide along the tops of your thighs motivating you to run your hands along his forearms. You don't know where your parents are, and you're too angry to care. You're bushed of the fighting so, you sought comfort in being here, with Namjoon. Taehyung dropped you off at the fellowship hall with the promise of not breathing a word- because if your parents were to find out remotely of your whereabouts, you'd hate to discover what the consequences will be.

"Me too," his nervous eyes investigate every inch of your face. You've never been with anyone this way before- secretly hidden away from the world outside trying to suppress the revealing crave of what you're curious about. Scooting forward, you drape either leg around him, propping yourself enough to where your arms lace around his neck.

His breath hitches from the gesture- your lips erotically aligning with his in slow movements, heat rising below you when you feel the hardening of his being beneath your sense, "I want you," you whisper. He knows that you're a virgin, and with care, he lays you on the bed, hovering above your frame where your bodies align perfectly. "Are you sure this is what you want," concern consumes his countenance, but you desperately bring your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I don't think I've wanted anyone so much in my life,"

You gasp into his kiss where he slips his tongue along yours- the sensation one you've grown used to from the slovenly kisses leading up to this very night. You give Namjoon permission to sneak his large hands underneath your shirt, trailing up your ribcage before swallowing your breasts whole in his heated palms. Nipples so sensitive, your heat drenches the moment he realizes the effect it has on you just by merely brushing the rising buds, lipping at your neck while he basks in the beauty of your moans. "More," you beg, "Please, Joon, more." When clothes start to be thrown off, you're determined to pleasure him, but have not an idea on how to do so. "Show me," you breathlessly demand, Namjoon's palm leading yours to encircle his twitching being. You stroke his erection as shown, biting your lower lip from the throbbing feeling of your core- him instantly finding your entrance to fill it with his fingers as carefully as he can- both of you pleasuring each other, yet still getting lost in kissing so deeply, the two of you forget to gasp for air. The sensation of heated pressed bare skin can be the most beautiful thing, especially with the way your legs entangle with his. You're surprised the feel of his prodding fingers didn't bring as much discomfort as you would have originally anticipated, but when he brings a hand to his penis, he rubs his tip along your slit letting the sloppy sound of you leak onto it. "Holy shit," he moans from how soaked you are for him- his fingertips finding your clit while yours dig into the backs of his shoulders.

Smoldering kisses move from your lips to your breasts, down your abdomen to your inner thighs where you tense underneath his touch that slides to hold your bottom half where he can scan your heat. The tip of his tongue swipes upon your slit excruciatingly slow to the point your fingers tangle with the material of the bedsheets. The smacking sound of his lips savor your taste while his tongue circles your core- you're hyperventilating from how deliciously he flicks his tongue upon your slit, screaming his name relentlessly- the speed of his skilled mouth driving you wild from the growing climax beckoning your stiffening thighs, "Oh, Namjoon, oh- Joon- I- Oh!"

He's not ready for you to finish because there's more he wants to show you. Hovering above you once again to see you coming down from your high, your heaving chest longs for his touch, and he nearly comes undone from the smile embellishing your face. His tracing fingertips parade along the outline of your body in featherlike tickles while the sounds of panting breaths mingle with shifting sheets bring subtle music to your ears for the rest of the night. The gentle parting of his lips grasps your own in smooth movements persuading arousal streaming from your core. Your fingers now link with frilly tufts of his hair, gripping the strands in reaction to the pressing of his bare chest to yours, dreaming of nothing more than to be entwined with him for what you hope will be forever. Hips grinding into yours prompts the light moan teasing his ears for more before his mouth trails to pause above your pounding heart. His hair brushing your chin, your arms glide to wrap around him holding the hope that he will never let you go. Not even for a second.

"Alright, one more! Almost done! Push!"

Sucking in one long breath, with a compulsory scream, you push with all you have left in you. Exhaustion weakens your limbs, yet a rush of relief floods your body when the cries of an infant reverberate within the room. With heavy eyes, you turn to see your mother with tears cascading down her face and onto the back of her hand covering her agape mouth- eyes remaining locked in front of her. Taehyung's gaze doesn't drop though his fingers loosen from yours at the small bundle immediately apprehending the eyes of every individual. Right then, you move your head to your other side where Namjoon gradually rises in awe- his hand still has yours. Gathering any ounce of strength, you're ready to see the child you've been waiting to hold for nine months, so cautiously you sit up until your stare meets Dr. Seokjin's. You can see the smile in his eyes despite the mouth mask, and what he says next brings you to tears, "It's a girl,"

"Oh!" You thrill, anxious to meet her while the nurses scurry to clean her up.

"Sir, would you like to do the honors?" The doctor gestures a pair of scissors towards a stiffened Namjoon whose eyes are welled with hushed tears. He can't even speak, yet he nods from the happiness exploding beneath his chest.

"Wait," Your mom says, "Is- is?"

It's a moment that seems to fit the setting for your father walks in, as if on cue, shoulders slumped from the anticipating tension now darkening the room. Taehyung's shoulders tensed at the sight of the man he despises, but for the sake of you, Namjoon and his Godchild, he keeps his composure enough to ignore the elephant now standing in the room. The fear that used to consume you upon your dad unraveling the truth about your secret vacates you when you know that you and the two men present can conquer anything.

"Yes," the answer is to your mother, but your stern glower of warning is only connected with your dad's although your mother's stare remains on you, "Namjoon is the father."

Namjoon stands with pride while he accepts the pair of scissors from Dr. Seokjin- your father, with a shocked expression, watches as the man he hired happens to be the same man who stole his daughter's heart without his knowledge. Yet, he refrains from anger, because who is he to ruin such a precious moment about to unfold here?

Pictures are taken of Namjoon cutting the umbilical cord, his fingers gently rubbing his daughter's cheek while he wipes at the tears dripping from his eyes. Jungkook takes her into his arms to weigh her before wrapping her in a plush pink blanket, "She is seven pounds and five ounces,"

Endless joy envelops your heart from the scene playing out before you; especially, when the vision of your father's quivering chin, admiring his granddaughter leaves you speechless along with the hope of redemption entering your beating heart.

"Are you ready to hold her?" Monnie's kind eyes match her smile when she touches your arm.

"Yes," you stifle a sob, "I want to hold her,"

Monnie poses her arms to where Jungkook places your daughter, Monnie guardedly turns to rest your baby into your arms. Her small face chortles, her eyes closing while she puckers her tiny lips. "She's so perfect," you cry, love in all its beauty falling from your eyes while you watch your daughter's fingers fold individually upon her chest.

"Just like you," Namjoon whispers, locking eyes with you before inching forward to give you a loving kiss.

"I love you, Joon," you whisper, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I love you, too."

"Uh," the deep serenade of your best friend interrupts, all attention abruptly turning to see him raise an index finger in the air, "So, as the Godfather, I must ask a very serious question," the room chuckles along with him as they patiently wait for his request, "What's her name?"

"Ah," you nod, realizing that hasn't been made known to anyone other than to yourself. Your mother steps forward to place her hand upon your shoulder while your father keeps his distance enough to not cause any trouble- though the two of you share a small smile to let him know all is well. Namjoon watches you in admiration- the woman of his dreams holding his child in her arms while facing her deepest fear yet holds her head with pride about the man she will spend the rest of her life with along with her daughter swaddled to her chest. You are everything he's ever longed for and more, and he's ready to defeat any storm in life if it's with you and his daughter.

To answer Tae's question though, you return to face him, tears gathering in exhilarating bliss.

"Taejun." Her eyes slightly open at the hearing of her name as a tiny smile adorns her lips,

"Her name is Kim Taejun."

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freddiekluger · 3 years

Text

Why Cap Being Internally Closeted Is Not Only Possible, But Valid Representation

i wrote this to a lot of mitski and onsind, so you can’t blame me for any feelings that bleed through

now i don’t know if it actually exists, but i’ve heard of there being a lot of discourse surrounding the captains story arc regarding his sexuality- i believe the general gist is that having a queer character that remains closeted to themselves is either unrealistic or ‘bad’ representation, and as someone who really treasures the captain and relates to his story so far a lot, i thought i might break this down a bit.

i’ve divded up every complaint i’ve heard about this into four main questions which i’ll be covering below the ‘keep reading’, because this is gonna be pretty comprehensive. full disclaimer i reference my experiences as an ex-evangelical non binary butch lesbian a couple times, and i spent a year studying repression and the psychological impacts of high demand sexual ethics for my graduating sociology paper, so this is coming with some background to it i swear

the big questions:

can you EVEN be gay and not know it????

but isn't this just ANOTHER coming out arc, and aren't we supposed to be moving beyond those?

but if cap can't have a relationship with a man because he's a ghost, what's the point?

since cap's dead, isn't this technically bury your gays, and isn't that bad?

1. "but is it really possible to not know? Isn't that bad representation?"

short answer: no and no.

before i get into the validity of the captain's ignorance about his own orientation as 21st century rep, let's break down how the hell the captain can be so clearly attracted to men and still not even consider the possibility that he might be gay, as brought to you by someone who literally experienced this shit.

the captain's particular situation is both a direct result of the lack of information around human sexuality he would have had (aka clear messaging that it's actually possible for him to be attracted to men. i don't mean acceptable or allowed, i mean physically capable of happening- the idea that orientations other than heterosexual exist and are available to him, a man), and a subconscious survival mechanism. the environment in which he lives is outright hostile to gay people, while the military man identity he has constructed for himself doesn't allow for any form of deviation from societal norms, let alone one so base level and major. as a result of this killer combo of information and environment, instincts take over and the mind does it's best to repress the ‘deviant’ feelings until a. one of these two things changes, or b. the act of repression becomes so destructive and/or exhuasting that it becomes impossible to maintain. the key to maintaining a long-term state of repression of desire is diverting that energy elsewhere, and a high-demand group such as the military is the perfect place for the captain to do this (this technqiue is frequented by religions and extremist ideologies worldwide, but that’s not really what we’re here to focus on).

while the brain is actively repressing ‘deviant’ feelings (aka gay shit), this doesn't mean you don't experience the feelings at all. when performed as a subconscious act of survival, the aim of repression is to minimise/transform the feelings into a state where they can no longer cause immediate danger, and something as big as sexual/romantic orientation is going to keep popping up, but as long as the individual in question never understands what they’re feeling, they’ll be able to continue relatively undisturbed. you know how in heist movies, the leader of the group will only tell each team member part of the plan so they can’t screw things up for everyone else if they get caught? it’s kind of like that.

this is how the captain appears to have operated in life AND in death, and it’s a relatively common experience for lgbtq people who’ve grown up in similar circumstances (aka with a lack of information and in an unfriendly-to-hostile environment), and accounts for how some people can even go on to get married and have children before realising that they’re gay and/or trans.

personally, while i can now identify what were strong homo crushes all the way back to childhood, at the time i genuinely had no idea. there was the underlying sense that i probably shouldn't tell people how attached i was to these girls because i would seem weird, and that my feelings were stronger than the ones other people used to describe friendships, but like-like them in the way that other girls like-liked boys? no way! actually scratch that, it wasn't even a no way, because i had no idea that i even could. i even had my own havers, at least in terms of the emotional hold and devotion she got from me, except she treated me way less well than cap’s beau. snatches of the existence of lgbt people made it through the cone of silence, i definitely heard the words gay and lesbian, but my levels of informations mirrored those that the captain would have had: virtually none, beyond the idea that these words exist, some people are them, and that's not something that we support or think is okay, so let's just not speak about it. despite only attending religious schools for the first couple years of primary, until i got my own technology and social media accounts to explore lgbtq content on my own- option a out of the two catalysts for change- the possibility of me being gay was not at all on my radar. don’t even get me started on how long it took me to explore butchness and my overall gender, two things which now feel glaringly obvious.

when shit starts to break down, you can also make the conscious choice to repress which can delay the eventual smashing down of the mental closet door for a time (essentially when the closet door starts to open, you just say ‘no thanks’ and shut it again by pointedly Not Thinking About It). in the abscence of identifying yourself by your attractions, it becomes quite common to identify with a lack- in my case, this meant becoming proud of how sensible and not boy crazy i was, and in the captain’s case, this means becoming proud of how sensible and not sensuous/wild (aka woman crazy) he was, identifying with his LACK of desire for women and partying (which, even in the 40s, involved the expectation of opposite sex romances and hook ups). i’m not saying that’s the only reason he’s a rule follower, but i think the contrast between About Last Night and Perfect Day pretty much support this. (the captain getting on his high horse about general party antics that he inherently felt excluded from because of underlying awareness of his difference & his tendency to project his regimented expectations of himself onto others, vs. joining in the reception party, awareness of how the environment supports difference in the form of clare and sam, and relaxing his own rules by dancing with men- the captain doesn’t mind a party when feels like he has a place there.)

so the captain was operating in a high demand, highly regulated environment (primarily the military, but also early 20th century England itself), with regimented roles, rules, and expectations. working on the assumption that he wouldn't have had out/disclosing lgbt friends, he would have had little to no exposure to lgbt identities, and what information he did receive would have been hushed and negatively geared. while my world started to open up when i started high school was allowed to have my own phone + instagram account, resulting in me realising something wasn't quite 'right' within a few years (making me a relatively early realiser compared to those who don't come out to themselves until adulthood), in life the captain never had that experience. he didn't receive the information he needed, his environment didn't grow less hostile. with the near-exception of havers related heartbreak, his well disciplined and lifelong method of repression never became destructive/exhaustive enough to permanently override the danger signals in his mind and allow him to put his feelings into words. neither of the most common catalysts for change happened for him, so he continued as usual, even after his death.

BUT, and here’s where we come to why this is actually great representation, arrival of mike and Alison represents the opening up of new world. for the first time, the captain is actively made aware of the fact that his environment is no longer hostile, and better than that, it’s affirming. he’s also getting access to positively geared information about lgbtq people and identities, so option a of the two catalysts for change is absolutely present, and resoundingly positive.

the captain’s arc is also relatively unique as it acknowledges the oppressive nature of his environment, but actually focuses on the internal consequences, and the way that systems like those that the captain lived in succeed because they turn us into our own oppressors. for whatever reason, we repress ourseslves, and often can’t help it, and i find that the significance of the journey to overcome that is often overlooked in more mainstream queer media. perhaps it’s just not very cinematic, or it remains too confronting for cishet audiences, but ghosts manages to touch on it with a lovely amount of humour and hope. Jamie Babbit’s But I’m A Cheerleader is another favourite piece of queer media for the same reasons.

not only does it show this, but as the captain continues to get gayer and lean into some of his less conventional traits (like an interest in fashion and the wedding planning), it shows lgbt people who have been or are going through this that there CAN be a positive outcome. it takes a lot to unlearn all the things that have painted you as wrong, especially when a massive institution is desperate to continue doing so, but you can do it, you can be happy, and it's never too late. (i've been meaning to say that last point for ages for ages, but a mutual beat me to it here)

2. not just another coming out arc

i absolutely support the demand for queer stories that don’t center around coming out (it’s like shrodinger’s queer: if you’re not coming out on screen, do you really even exist?), but i don’t align with the criticisms that the captain should already be out. for the reasons mentioned above, the captain’s particular story is fairly different to the ‘young white teenager who mostly knows gay is fine, it’s just everyone else that’s got the problem, but have a unremarkably straight sounding soundtrack, a trauma porn romance, and a cishet saviour’ that we keep seeing. the captain’s ongoing journey with his sexuality emphasises the overaching theme of the show: recovering from trauma and humanity’s endless capacity for growth, and i think that’s worth showing over and over again until it stops being true.

additionally, while the captain’s journey regarding his gayness is a big part of his character and story, ghosts makes it clear that it’s not the ONLY part, and being gay is far from his ONLY characteristic or dramatic/comedic engine. the fact that i’m even having to congratulate ghosts for doing that really shows how much film and television is struggling huh.

while all queer media is, and should be, subject to criticism, i think if it helps even one person then it absolutely deserves to exist, and i can say i’ve found the captain’s journey to be the lgbt story i’ve found that’s closest to my own, which says a lot considering he’s a dead world war 2 soldier who hangs out with other ghosts including a slutty Tory, a georgian noblewoman, and a literal caveman.

3. if captain gay, why he no have boyfriend????

another complaint that’s been circulating is that since the captain doesn’t, and likely won’t, have a boyfriend, that makes him Bad Representation because it follows the sad single gay trope. i kind of get the logic from this one, and a lot of it is up to personal interpretation, but part of me really enjoys the fact that the captain’s journey towards accepting himself is separated from having a relationship.

coming out is often paired with having romantic/sexual relationships (either as the reason or reward for doing so). my own struggle with repression didn't end the second that came out, and i still struggle with letting myself develop & acknowledge romantic feelings as a result of actively shutting them (and most other feelings in general) down for years, and statistics show that lgbtq youth in particular tend not to live out their 'teen years' until their twenties. by not giving cap a relationship straight away, ghosts separates the act of claiming identity and sexual orientation from finding a partner (two things which are, more often than not, separate), and also provides some very nice validation to folks who have yet to have the relationship they want, especially when lots of mainstream queer media is now jumping on the cishet media bandwagon of acting as if every person loses their virginity and has a life defining relationship at sixteen. it’s essentially a continuation of the earlier theme of “it’s never too late”, and who’s to say the captain won’t get a gay bear ghost boyfriend to go haunt nazis with??? people die all the time, it could happen.

(also, i think him and julian will have definitely shagged at least once. it was a low moment for both of them and they refuse to speak of it.)

lots of asexual/ace spectrum fans have come out to say how much they’ve loved being able to headcanon cap as ace, and while that’s not a headcanon i personally have, i think it’s brilliant that ace fans feel seen by his character- we’re all in this soup together babey (and sorry for cursing everyone still reading this with that cap/julian headcanon. i’m just a vessel)

4. “okay, but cap’s a GHOST- doesn’t that make this Bury Your Gays?”

this is a bit of a complex one, but i’m going to say no as a result of the following break down.

Bury Your Gays (BYG), aka the trope where lgbtq characters are consistently killed off (and often with a heavy dose of trauma, while cishet characters survive) is probably one of my least favourite lgbt media tropes. BYG has two main points:

1. the lgbt character is killed, thus removing them from story entirely- hence the use of the phrase ‘killed OFF’ (killed off of the show/film)

2. the character’s death reinforces the perception that lgbtq people’s lives must end in tragedy, instead of being long and fulfilling, or are inherently less valuable. bonus points if the character is killed in a hate crime or confesses same-gender love right before they die (that one implies that queer love genuinely has no future!)

not every death of an lgbtq character is bury your gays, and i personally feel that the captain is an example of an lgbt death that isn’t.

first of all, while the captain is dead, so are the vast majority of characters in ghosts. the premise of the show means that death is not the end of the line for its characters- for most of them, it’s the only reason we get to see them on screen at all. as such, the captain being dead doesn’t remove him from the story, so point one is irrelevant.

at the time of posting, we don’t know how or why the captain died, but we've had nothing to suggest his death was in any way related to his latent sexuality, so his mysterious death doesn’t actively play into the supposedly inherent tragedy of queer lives, nor the supposedly lesser value. that’s as of right now- since we don’t know the circumstances of his death it’s a little tough to analyse properly. while the captain’s life absolutely features missed opportunities and it’s fair share of tragedy, hope and growth (which seems to be the theme of this post) abounds in equal measure. the captain may not be alive, but we DO get to see him growing and having a relatively happy existence, that for the most part seems to be getting even better as he learns to open up and be himself unapologetically- that doesn’t feel like BYG to me.

while writng this, it’s just occured to me that death really is a second chance for most of the ghosts, especially with the introduction of alison. from mary learning to read, to thomas finding modern music, they’ve all been given the chance explore things they never could have while they were alive, and hopefully grow enough to one day be sucked off move on.

in conclusion,

i love the captain very much and i hope his arc lives up to the standards it’s set so far. i don’t know where to put this in this post, but i’d alo like to say i LOVE how in Perfect Day, the captain wasn’t used as an educational experienced for fanny at all. i am very tired of people expecting me to be the walking talking homophobe educator and rehabilitator, so the fact that it’s alison and the other ghosts that call fanny out while the captain just gets to have fun with the wedding organisation made me very happy.

here’s a few other cap posts that i’ve done:

the captain’s arc if adam and the film crew stayed

a possible cap coming out

the captain backstory headcanon

if you’ve read this far,

thank you!

also check out @alex-ghosts-corner , this post inspired me very much to write this

#i subluxed all my fingers and wrists doing this but worth it #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts headcanon #bbc ghosts analysis #the captain #caphavers #the captain x havers #ben willbond #lgbt representation #lgbt rep #queer media #lgbt media

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dvrlingrenjun · 3 years

Text

MATCHMAKER ⚯͛

genre: fluff, hogwarts au, winter themed, kind-of soulmate au (not really).

paring: gryffindor!jisung x house-neutral!reader (gender neutral? idk) ft. hufflepuff!chenle & mentions of stray kids felix but doesn't have a huge role.

summary: chenle trying to play cupid for you and jisung was awful, but his efforts weren't in vain.

warnings: mentions of food (honeydukes), chenle dipping like every 5 seconds idk

wc: >1.6k

rose’s notes: hello! like to start off by, this imagine doesnt have too many details about hogwarts. so i hope people who haven't read/watched harry potter understands mostly everything :> secondly, my secret santa is @dreamiehrs ! ah i'm sorry jenna it's a day late ;-; i hope you like this small imagine nonetheless. and lastly, thank you @yongiefilms for stressing, staying up with me to finish both of our works, and proofreading. couldn't do anything without you bitch <3

the soulmate thing i tried was: "when you kiss your soulmate for the first time your entire body glows" but a confession instead (ง •̀_•́)ง

to be honest, you didn’t know what your relationship with park jisung. it was confusing to say the least. one week he would watch the stars with you in the astronomy tower and hold your hand while running away from mr. filch’s wrath for staying up too late. but the next week he acts as if he was annoyed by your presence.

unfortunately for chenle, he was both of your best friends since year one. he was stuck in the middle of this unfortunate situation, hearing both of you rant about each other simultaneously. the endless conversations started to get to chenle’s head to where he could no longer focus on one thing for too long, debating with himself on the matters between the two of you. he desperately wanted the whole problem to be solved already, simply wishing for the two of you to finally be together.

so chenle had come up with an idea for you two to finally confess to each other. to play cupid and so he did. what he planned.

his plan started when you three planned to go to hogsmeade. so here you are, outside of honeydukes, sitting on one of the benches. it wasn't snowing yet but all of the leaves had fallen down the trees. you and chenle were bantering about whether or not every flavor beans were awful or not. while jisung focused on his pink coconut ice, paying no attention to the two of you. chenle sighs giving up on the mini argument, when a certain blonde guy caught his eye.

it was like a lightbulb turned on in his head, chenle found a way to leave the two of you alone. the plan starts now. chenle thought.

chenle stands up from the bench all three of you were previously sitting in. he calls out felix's name hurriedly, the older boy turning around just in time to wait for him.

chenle starts putting away his belongings including his every flavor beans you two recently argued about, and speaks.

“hey i need to work on a partner project with felix, i'll head out first. see you guys at charms class.” he waves goodbye at both of you before jogging to felix.

you blink, not knowing what to do. turning around to jisung, who still was focusing on the pink coconut ice. you opened your mouth to talk but ultimately decided not to, assuming that he isn't in the mood to converse with you. you turned away from the light brown hair boy, opting to eat your chocoballs in the awkward silence instead. much to chenle’s disliking.

seeing how the first time, flaking on you and jisung didn't work, chenle tried the same tactic one more time. this time, you three were at the library, you sitting next to jisung since chenle insists on having the free chair next to him. you were studying subjects like arithmancy and some other subjects you guys weren't the best at. when changing subjects to potions was when chenle said he would go to the restroom, he never came back. making jisung had no choice but to ask you questions about magical properties of some numbers he was having trouble with.

you were done with chenle’s shenanigans. looking for your best friend through the corridors, you finally caught sight of him walking through the courtyard talking to felix. the older noticed you walking towards chenle, wanting to give you two some privacy. he said his farewells to chenle and a nod towards you as an acknowledgment, walking away after.

“what? planning?” chenle asked innocently after his coughing fit was over.

“oh you know, the one where you ditch jisung and i multiple times.” you deadpanned, letting go of chenle’s shoulder.

you shook your head, giving up interrogating the boy, as long as whatever chenle’s planning isn't hurting anyone. then you don't care, you suppose.

a few days have gone by and winter break was emerging, making chenle’s matchmaking plans come to a halt for now.

it was christmas eve morning when you woke up to a loud knock on your bedroom door. you muttered a soft ‘coming!’ before getting off of your cozy bed. thinking it was one of your family members wanting for you to wake up early again. opening the door, you hissed at the person,

“what do you want.” your eyelids closing on themselves from being just woken up.

jisung raises his arm in defense, “easy there tiger, i just wanted to hang out with you during christmas eve.”

knowing that all familiar voice, you shut the door. there was no way you would allow for jisung to see you like this. you didn't bother looking for your hair brush, as you started to untangle the knots in your hair, while looking at a mirror to see if you looked okay.

jisung continued what he was going to say, even if a door was in the way. “i asked chenle to come with me to jump you but he was busy spending time with family. oh yeah i already asked your family to go out and they agreed.” jisung added.

“okay! i’ll go get ready.” you spoke before looking at your wardrobe, thinking what you should wear.

when you wore the clothing to your liking, you finally decided to open your door, wearing some heavy clothes for the snow. you saw jisung waiting out there with his muggle phone at hand.

you and jisung headed to the front door, seeing family members in the living room. you said your goodbyes to your family and left on your way to…

“wait jisung, where are we going?” you asked, looking ahead at the small snowflakes lightly falling down.

“we’re going to an ice-skating rink! how does that sound?” jisung eye-smiled, moving his head slightly to the beat of the christmas songs playing in the background.

“oh that sounds fun!” you liked the idea of ice skating with park jisung.

feeling a sudden breeze, you shoved your hands down your pockets, even though you wore really warm clothing it still was just as cold, the harsh wind biting against your not so exposed skin

seeing you shivering, he stopped walking and reached inside the paper bag you noticed earlier.

“here, i was going to give this to you once we got to the ice-skating rink but i think you would like this now.” jisung pulls his hand out and gives you white mittens that have a cute snowman on one of the corners of the wool. you grabbed the mittens, looking at how adorable the mittens are.

“oh thank you!” you smiled, putting on the mittens. carrying onto the ice skating rink.

when you two reached the rink, you grabbed your respective shoe sizes and finally got to the ice. holding onto jisung’s arm to stabilize yourself,

“did i mention i have never gone ice skating?” you brought up.

"no, but it's okay. you can hold onto me.” jisung offered.

you nodded taking the offer, fixated on trying not to slip on the slippery ice. everything was going well so far with some minor hiccups, until you felt a small dip in the ice making you plummet to the cold hard ice.

of course with you holding onto jisung, you brought jisung down with you. jisung catching himself on top of you.

“ah.” jisung blushed mumbling, he stared into your eyes, noticing how close your faces are.

you and jisung laid there, the both of you being absorbed into the situation. you saw the sparkles in his eyes. something in your gut tells you to confess right now. right there. and so you do.

“i like you,” you breathed out, you felt like you were glowing, you felt like nothing can stop you. “i like you so much, park jisung.”

you and jisung finally became a happy couple after the ice skating rink incident. at the end of the holiday break, you walked hand-in-hand with jisung to station 9⅓ heading back to hogwarts. you two met chenle on the train, he smiles widely noticing the skinship between you and jisung.

“so did my matchmaking skills pay off?” chenle asked, moving his pet owl to the side of the booth.

blush paints jisung’s cheeks, trying to deny chenle’s statement. “absolutely not.”

but chenle knew they had and so did jisung and you.

#neoculturechristmas #nct-writers #dreamwritersnet #nct dream imagines #nct imagines #park jisung imagines #nct park jisung #nct dream jisung #nct jisung #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios

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odyssey-owl · 3 years

Text

Like A Crime, Chapter 2

The extremely delayed chapter that has been sitting in my drafts for who knows how long. Here is the link to the first chapter in case you haven't read it yet or would like to get caught up. Hope you all enjoy!

Tasha read over the case file for the third time. It was the smallest case file she had ever seen. A singular page lay on her desk, the words printed about halfway down the front side.

Monica Stone.

Gender- Female.

Age- 33.

Family- Unknown.

Affiliation- Andromeda Corporation.

Incrimination- Sabotage for and against Novacom Industry. Espionage. Property damage. Robbery. Identity theft.

Monica's picture was included with the case file. Tasha looked into her light brown eyes again and began to analyze her expression. Tasha thought she saw pain in her eyes, and possibly a sense of regret. Before Tasha could ponder this further, she was interrupted by a knocking sound from her office door.

"Come in," Tasha projected, and spun around to face the door.

Jason walked into the room and perched on the edge of her desk. He held a copy of the file in his hand and gestured to the written text. "The case file's wrong, you know. Monica has a brother."

Tasha looked up at Jason. "How did you know that?"

Jason sighed and flattened his copy of the file onto Tasha's desk. "I met Monica several years ago in Alaska." Jason ran his hand through his short brown hair before continuing. "I was assigned to do missions work there with an intern named Paula. I didn't know it at the time, but the real Paula was redirected by the missions board, and Monica Stone took her place. By the time I figured everything out, Monica was gone."

Tasha looked at the case file again. Identity theft. Robbery. She looked back at Jason.

"She made a fool of me, Tasha. She manipulated me. She stole valuable information that had been entrusted to me. I have never felt so disappointed with myself." Jason's gaze dropped to the floor. Tasha rarely saw him look so ashamed. Jason voice dropped to a whisper. "And the worst part is, Tasha, I fell in love with her." His voice cracked. Tasha glanced up and noticed that Jason's eyes had begun to water. Jason blinked several times, and suddenly those emotions had vanished as quickly as they came. He stood up from the desk to face Tasha. He spoke directly to her, and his tone was intent and clear.

"Whatever you do, don't let her get in your head. You're smart, Tasha, and I can't let her do the same thing to you that she did to me."

Jason started to walk out of the office. He turned back quickly and glanced at Tasha.

"Good luck."

Tasha gave him a thin smile as the sound of his footsteps receded. She looked back at the photo and thought about what Jason said. I can't let her do the same thing to you that she did to me.

Tasha took a deep breath, stood up, and grabbed her prison uniform off the desk. She walked out of her office, her stiletto heels tapping down the agency hallway.

Click, click, click. Stop. Turn.

Tasha walked into the ladies restroom. She opened a stall door and changed into her mission disguise. After exiting the stall, she turned to look at herself in the bathroom mirror. A thin, long face and brown eyes stared back at her. Tasha looked down at the prison jumpsuit and ran her fingers over the embroidered name tag. The black thread stood out from the faded orange color of the jumpsuit. After taking another look at herself in the mirror, Tasha went back into the bathroom stall to change. The prison uniform was replaced with her usual white blouse under a gray suit jacket, and a matching gray skirt. Tasha neatly folded the prison uniform in her arms, and walked back to her office.

Click, click, click.

Tasha didn't know exactly how she would accomplish her mission. She didn't know much about her subject or how she could prepare herself from being manipulated. She knew one thing, though. The agency was depending on her, and she couldn't let them down.

#adventures in odyssey #aio #tasha forbes #monica stone #jason whittaker #odyssey owl like a crime #odyssey owl writes

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googledocsdyke · 3 years

Note

same anon as the re: reservoir dogs one

also i was rewatching s2e11 playthings today (the episode where sam jokes abt dean overcompensating and jensen plays dean Like That) and it just made me realize how true it is that dean is constantly performing while sam isn't. it's always dean making jokes toward sam that are supposed to be emasculating. yes miss my brother has a doll collection haha isn't that crazy but i'm not like that. and sam just reacts by rolling his eyes and playing along. if sam had made the same joke about dean dean would absolutely lose it.

dean is constantly projecting his own gender onto sam. he keeps citing towards sam and sam doesn't play along. dean is constantly engaged in wink wink nudge nudge Wouldn't It Be Weird If A Man Had A Doll Collection. Sammy Paint That Guy's Back Purple You're Good With A Brush. by emasculating sam he's proving how stable his masculinity is. by emasculating sam he's proving how instable his masculinity is /because/ he feels the need to do that.

(side note: "emasculating" is obvs like... a bad term i am Solely using it in an academic way to describe dean winchester's gender brain)

EXACTLY fucking exactly! dean is engaged in this constant like....... striving to both performatively utter a Particular Kind Of Gendering for himself and cite the "inverse" of that gendering towards sam. and it NEVER works! and it ALWAYS falls flat at dean's expense. and yet he ALWAYS tries again because that is like.... the way he copes with his internal anxieties around emasculation. and it's like a bizarre funhouse mirror sitcom joke because How many times have we seen some version of that exact scene! spn writers insane for this

it's like tangential but god thinking about 11x04 baby when he returns to the car and finds sam with that girl in the back and engages in this kind of playful condescending "congratulations on finally losing your virginity" banter. determined to produce sam, albeit jokingly, as this kind of untouched inexperienced counterpoint to his own supposed heterosexual prowess. but like. the fucking thing is. by this point we haven't seen dean sleep with a woman onscreen for at LEAST a season, and that's only if you count demon dean. and sam gets the girl in the backseat of the impala and dean just gets this..... vague negative space around whatever he did last night. like we hear him groan and say "mistakes were made" but it's such an insanely opaque statement detached from any like gleeful masculine heterosexual "success". like sam gets the girl without trying to prove anything and dean, who ALWAYS has something to prove, instantly emasculates sam for........ sleeping with a woman but like. Why do you need to do that dean.

#creds as always to ziz lesbianyuugi for parsing thru 11.04 with me last night #anonymous #answered #dean studies #your brain is very enormous thank u for this

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

Nb model Steve? Maybe Billy is a photographer who's known for his artsy and alternative photos and Steve is an up and coming model who has to deal with a lot of misgendering in the industry? But Billy is one of the first photographers who really respects their pronouns and what he's comfortable wearing

Read on Ao3

Steve didn’t know what to expect when they got on location.

They loved being a model, felt so comfortable in front of a camera, had even gotten to do some runway work for New York Fashion Week this year.

But the issue, is that they only get work as a male model, where they’re expected to be hyper masculine and all macho.

It’s the fucking worst.

But their agent had gotten them this shoot, promised that it wouldn’t be like the last one, or the one before that, or the one before that.

They took a deep breath before entering the building.

“Hi, Steve Harrington, checking in.” The woman smiled at them, tapping on her phone.

“Great, let’s take you through to hair and makeup. Mr. Hargrove will want to speak with you before you begin.” She led Steve through to the warehouse.

Steve had never worked with Billy Hargrove before, but his name preceded him. He was known for beautiful shoots with models way beyond Steve’s recognition and caliber. Shooting campaigns for high end designers.

“So, I was never informed what campaign this is for.”

“This is for Mr. Hargrove’s personal portfolio. He chooses to freelance various projects he believes in.”

“Wait so, this is like, just for him?” She pulled Steve aside.

“He’s putting together an art book, but do not tell anyone you heard that. He’s going to announce it in a few months. Limited run, all that. You’ll be getting a share. He feels paying models is extremely important.” Steve just nodded, they’re eyes big.

“Sorry, how did I end up on this project?”

“Oh, Mr. Hargrove is a fan of your work. Asked for you by name.”

Steve was in hair and make up now, being ushered into a tall chair. The woman, probably Mr. Hargrove’s assistant, took off again.

Steve closed their eyes, figured they would be getting a light foundation, maybe some contour to sharpen their jaw, that kinda thing.

They zoned out, just let the makeup artists do their work.

“Steve Harrington. Good to meet you.” Steve opened their eyes, was met with The Billy Hargrove.

“Mr. Hargrove, it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve a very big fan of your work, especially on the most recent Dior campaign, those images were beautiful.”

“Oh, call me Billy. And I loved your work with Jonathan Byers. I think that was about three years ago, now? I’ve been trying to make arrangements to work with you since those were published.”

Steve furrowed their brows. Those pictures featured Steve in a lot of makeup, and lingerie in most of them. Billy was studying their face.

“Have you done their hair yet?” Steve’s eyes were wide.

That was the first time they hadn’t been misgendered on a job.

“No, Mr. Hargrove.”

“If you can make it look like they just have it now, I like the kinda of, wild thing that’s happening. And maybe make the gold a little bolder. I really like the look.”

Steve hadn’t washed their hair in a few days, usually the hair artists would wash it before they began anyway.

Billy smiled at them one last time before leaving again, and Steve got a look at themself in the mirror.

Their eye makeup was a pretty ballet pink, gold glitter packed onto their eyelids. Their face was contoured to look feminine, the way the did their own makeup.

When they finished with hair and makeup, they met Billy in wardrobe.

He was flicking through a rack of clothes.

“Hey! You look great.” Steve flushed.

“So, what are you comfortable in? I’m looking to explore humanity in all forms. I’m working with artists that inspire me through their realities. You’re pretty much the top of that list.”

“Wait, I’m not following.”

“Your gender identity and expression, the way you wear your body in the most authentic way possible. I’ve seen your work. Those images with Byers are so beautiful, so much moreso than anything else I’ve seen of yours. Your confidence exuded through the image more than anything I’ve ever seen. It was inspiring.”

“So, you’re gonna let me do this my way?”

“Of course. I’m showcasing you, whatever that means.” Steve nodded at him once.

They began rifling through the clothes, making a pile of things they liked, what they thought would look good with the makeup.

“And I’m pretty much comfortable with anything.” Billy raised one eyebrow.

“Nudity?”

“If you want.”

“Could that cause you any dysphoria, though?” Steve blinked at him.

“Jesus, that’s the first time I’ve ever been asked that on a shoot.” Billy’s smile slipped.

“Seriously?” Steve shrugged. “Not even with Byers?”

“Well, I mean, that doesn’t count. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I was just getting into modelling, and him into photography, so that was kind of to build up both of our portfolios at the time. I did my own hair, makeup and costuming.” Billy raised one eyebrow.

“But apart from working with a close friend, you’ve never been asked about dysphoria.” Billy said it as a statement, like he was trying to wrap his head around the idea.

“And it’s funny, because I usually get dysphoric in menswear shoots, but most people hire me as a male model.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Steve.” They shrugged.

“It is what it is. Not a lot of gender noncomforming or just straight up not cis models in the mainstream. There’s a few, don’t get me wrong, but not many, and very few household names. I just figured I need to be versatile for now, and eventually, I’ll have enough of career I can start making demands. Taking up space.”

“Still, it sucks that you gotta pick and choose like that. You should be able to just, do what you want.”

“That’s easy to say, mister photographer.” Billy smiled bashfully. “Look, thank you for taking time to research me and know what I’m all about. This experience has already been a lot better than most of my other shoots.” Billy clapped them on the shoulder.

“Hey, you’re my muse. I’m just excited to be working with you. I’ll leave you to get changed, we’ve got some wardrobe assistants standing by if you need help.” He swept out of the curtained off area.

Steve decided to begin with a light blue slip dress, matching silk panties.

They had help getting into the gold chunky heels, and made a bit of a show of walking those few feet to set.

Billy was staring darkly.

“You look beautiful.” Steve grinned at him, taking a seat on the white settee.

Billy was very easy to work with.

He let Steve take some liberties, try a few things out, and would direct from there, telling Steve how to adjust their body.

Steve felt in control, felt beautiful and confident.

Steve had taken off the slip, was posing in just the blue panties, now sitting on a windowsill, the New York skyline behind them.

Steve stood up, and dropped the little panties, kicking them away. Billy nodded, still looking behind the camera.

“Beautiful, Steve.”

They stood in nothing but the heels, had been given a piece of fabric to drape around their body, or not if they so pleased. Steve held it aloft, looking at the camera with their best bitchy I’m above you look.

Billy had them do the same with six other outfits, slowly strip out of them throughout the shoot.

The set was closed, only a handful of people in the room with them as Steve languished around.

Billy nearly lost his damn mind at an image of Steve, their back to the camera, in nothing but red pumps, sitting in a middle split on the windowsill.

“You’re a fucking genius, Stevie. Gorgeous!”

It was hours before the shoot had finished, and Steve was given a plush robe and a latte.

“Steve.” Billy jerked his head towards the table in the corner, Billy’s cameras and laptop sitting on top of it.

Billy pulled another chair up to the table, let Steve sit on the first one.

“I just want to go over the shoot with you. You can pick the shots you like the most, and we can see which ones are right for my project. I’m publishing an art book. I’m sure Miranda already told you, she tells fucking everyone.” He had loaded the images from the day onto the laptop.

They clicked through them, sitting just the two of them, everyone already having left for home.

“Oh, wow.” Billy had stopped on an image of Steve with the large piece of gauzy fabric. It was draped over their shoulder, put hung to the floor, doing nothing to cover their body. “Look at your face. This is what I was taking about. The confidence, you just exude don’t fuck with me energy. It’s beautiful.”

Billy would often do that, point out minute details in Steve’s body language or facial expressions and explain the ways they were captivating.

And it made Steve feel captivating.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Steve was far too aware of how close Billy’s face was to theirs.

“I really felt it today. Thank you.”

“You are ethereal. I’m not kidding.” Billy’s eyes flicked down to their lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Steve sighed when Billy kissed them, just a light press of his lips to theirs.

“I’d like to see you again. Cook you dinner? Or take you out? You pick.” Steve sat back.

“Like a date?”

“Yes.”

“You wanna date me?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you wanted to work with me?”

“I wanted to work with you because you are so beautiful it’s inspiring. I want to date you because on top of all that, you’re kind, and sweet, and driven.”

“Um, yeah, then. I’ll go on a date with you.” Billy beamed. “But I don’t put out on the first date, and just because you photographed me naked does not mean you get to fuck me anytime soon.”

“Oh, of course.” He looked serious. It made Steve melt a little.

“And I’d love it if you cooked for me.”

“Then my place. Friday. Seven o’clock. Wear something nice. I may not be able to resist photographing you.”

“Yeah, yeah, Sweet Talker. I’m allergic to bell peppers and I think mushrooms are gross, so steer clear.”

“Drat. There goes my idea for mushroom stuffed bell peppers.”

“Darn. Looks like we can’t go out, then.” Billy laughed.

“I’ll text you my address. And my house will be properly de-mushroom and bell peppered for you.” Steve smiled.

“I appreciate it.”

#yikes writes #lemon zest #steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #nonbinary!steve #nonbinary steve harrington #nonbinary!steve harrington #nonbinary steve #nb steve harrington #nb steve #nb!steve #nb!steve harrington

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thoughtsonargentdawn · 3 years

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On the limits of “IC =/= OOC”

Hello everyone, with a busy time dealing with the gradual loosening of lockdown here, working with the rest of the team on the other blog and just a general inertia for philosophising its been quite quiet lately i’ll admit. However this is a big one not covered yet here. You’ve probably all seen this bandied about like some cure all to woes and the like yes? Used by the wrong people for the wrong reasons too no doubt. To start let me be clear, the separation of character and player is non-negotiable, there cannot be “role” playing without it by dictionary definition. If you are not playing a “role” you cannot be role-playing. That said this is also used as a shield by many players on Argent Dawn to effectively hide behind their own personal beliefs and project them onto their own character. Now I won’t condemn people for doing this, we all leave a bit of ourselves on the character, most of us aren’t professional writers after all! The issue stems from when the character stops being a “character” and becomes a “conduit” for the player to pursue whatever weird ideas they have offline in a safer online environment. Most times these are completely inoffensive and sometimes even beneficial for the player in the long term - here I am referring to those who suffer from gender dysphoria exploring non-binary or otherwise a different gender to their assigned sex at birth - and no reasonable person has an issue with this either from my own extensive experiences and talks with others. The problem of a “conduit” is when they’re used by players to engage in destructive or repugnant fantasies, ones that can lead to harm for other players around them. For example let us take the stereotypical human male paladin - sometimes dressed in green, sometimes dressed in red, and even sometimes in blue - who lecherously pursues women for the purpose of “breeding”, they claim “oh but it’s my character’s nature to do this.” really now? Being a rapey creepo is integral to your character, and singling out “younger” looking female characters for “recruitment” is how this is done? Objective nonsense, lets be fair. They are lacking the stimulation from real life and the abundant 18+ video websites out there clearly aren’t enough for their niche fetishes to be satiated. This is what it boils down to, people who for whatever reason or another in their offline lives - exceedingly so this last year unfortunately - find a lack of fulfilment in dead end jobs, they feel disempowered, weak. They may even suffer from mental health issues - your mental health is not an excuse to harm others, mind - and thus turn to their online fantasy world to soothe their aches and pains.

These players are simply not roleplaying, by definition they are not playing a role they are inserting themselves into the sleeve of an online persona to fantasise about things they cannot have. Overbearing, culty like guild leader with a massive ego and tendency to shit on their “lessers?” - probably works a low paid, long hour underappreciated job either in retail, clerical, delivery/logistics or hospitality - especially restaurants - and feels the need to have a group of loyalists telling them how important and great they are to deal with the crushing pain.

Immaculate and charismatic human male paladin chad chasing females of every race and acting very creepy around them? Probably a lack of confidence offline, perhaps social anxiety and a feeling of worthlessness, likely raised a misogynistic culture as well. Over-powered, can’t be defeated super fighters with anime-level reflexes Or always right archmages at age 16? Likely someone who feels weak in their life, either through abuse or a sense of underachievement, they’re seeking to feel better by playing something powerful. Weirdly overly obsessing about race or religion in a universe where the notion of “race” is about as dumb as trying to class a dolphin and a cow as the same? Do they insert odd phrases that look like they were taken off /pol/ or reddit? Probably someone who has been either radicalised or someone living in an insecure environment, looking for an -other- to redirect their worries onto.

These are just some of the examples i can offer. In general a good way to check if someone is roleplaying or simply playing an avatar of themselves is to see how they react to something unexpected or perhaps unpleasant to their character. If they react neutrally and go along with it, or accept what is happening then they are likely playing a character. An avatar however will likely recoil in shock and disgust and declare “how dare you harm my character without my permission.” in a very indignant and weirdly personal manner, as if you were attacking the player. A certain cinematic universe on Argent Dawn love to mock these people as “second life roleplayers” - ironically failing to look in the mirror themselves - and the appellation is quite fitting, they would get far more out of such a game than this one.

#argent dawn eu #World of Warcraft #roleplaying #self-insert #mary sue #gary stu #fetishism #strange

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moody-bloosh · 4 years

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mirror, mirror (Illuso)

for some reason, i was in a bit of a fairy tale mood. so here’s my take on snow white ~! fem!reader too btw im sorry i couldn’t make it gender neutral :( here’s one of the passion projects I’ve been working on since last year <3 <3 I hope you all like it!

tagging @a-nonnie-mousse bc she’s the only other illuso stan i personally know <3

content warning: yandere, manipulation, mind break, homicide, gore

As the newest addition to the king’s harem, the latest flower in his blooming garden, you knew you should be thankful for the opportunity. For someone like you born the second daughter of some countryside lord, a spot in the king’s harem meant comfort, riches, and if you were so inclined, power.

But for the sweet and simple you, you were already happy to be allowed such a privilege. There was no greater honor than to serve the king, you believed. Besides, some part of you marveled over how romantic it was. Innocently, you imagined that perhaps in the palace, the king would show you the love and affection you’d only known of in passing, just like the ones you were so fond of reading about in your books.

And so even though it pained you to uproot yourself from your home, the only world you had ever known. You had taken the king’s outstretched hand and agreed to be his newest concubine.

On your first day in the harem, the king gifts you with a mirror. A large ornate, full length mirror inlaid with pearls and gold. How it had filled your heart with so much love and adoration, you’d never had such finery back at home.

Oh, if only you’d known that this was common practice for the king.

If only you were a little wiser to the nuances of the palace.

If only you had known better, you would have tried harder to seduce the king. You would have worked even harder to try and secure allies. But you did not know any better. You were the second daughter of a countryside lord and you were not wise at all to the politics that brewed in court.

Before you knew it you were painfully alone. Seeing that the king was beginning to tire of you, the other concubines took it upon themselves to curry favor with him again. Pushed to the side, alone, isolated, you yearned for your home and yet you could not return.

You were the king’s concubine now and you were his property.

You had nobody in this painfully beautiful palace. Consigning yourself to a slow and silent decay, you decided to keep to yourself. Your heart too fragile to keep up with courtly intrigue and the painful words of the other concubines.

All you had now were your books. Your books and your beautiful mirror.

One lonely afternoon, you were lying in bed, reading when you heard the most peculiar thing. A distinctly male voice sounded through your room. Too youthful, too deep to be the king’s. You froze, fearful of an intruder. You held the book close to your chest, a makeshift weapon as you looked around your room.

Your room looked painfully ordinary. Looking here and there for any sign of an intruder, you hesitantly walked around your room.

“Over here~”

You froze immediately.

D-did the mirror just talk?!

Bringing your hands up to your mouth to suppress the frightened scream that threatened to tear out of your throat, you considered the mirror once more. It was painfully maddening in its normalcy. Perhaps...perhaps you were just imagining things. Hesitantly, you gently brushed your hand against the mirror’s surface. When nothing happened, you breathed a sigh of relief and your expression softened once more.

Maybe it was all just your imagination.

“That’s a nice expression,” the voice said again, “you look pretty when you smile.”

Your heart falls and your expression falters, as the mirror in front of you reveals a handsome man. With hair tied up in neat pigtails and his eyes seeming to pierce through you, you trembled. Biting back another scream, you found your knees buckling, too frightened of the supernatural happenings.

However, before you could find yourself tumbling down to the floor, you felt strong arms wrap around you, holding you safe and secure. Looking up into the stranger’s eyes you found yourself transfixed by its beauty. Red eyes glittering like precious rubies, full, soft-looking lips curled into a smug smile that sent your heart pattering wildly against your chest.

Illuso smirked.

“See something you like, your highness?”

“I-I...”

You trail off, too confused by the sudden turn of events.

“Hm? A little tongue tied I see, I admit, I do have that effect on people~”

“Y-you... the mirror...”

“Ah yes, it’s an interesting ability isn’t it?”

“Who are you?”

Illuso caressed your cheek tenderly. He drank in your flustered, embarrassed expression. So adorable, so pure. Holding you closer and leaning forward so that his lips were merely inches away from yours, Illuso whispered.

“I can be whatever you want me to be, your highness.”

“T-then...” You said softly, shyly averting your gaze from him.

Illuso hummed. Of course, not even you would be able to resist him. As if considering his words, you took a moment to think before you looked back at him. He was still holding you tightly. Your heart pounded fiercely against your chest as you opened your mouth to tell him your wish.

“Will you be my friend?”

Illuso is true to his words, you find. Soon, the boring days you were trapped in began to be filled with happy memories that you would spend with Illuso. You found yourself smiling more often recently. Some days you would catch yourself smiling as you selected books for you and Illuso to read from the library or you would find yourself thinking of what he might like to have for tea that day.

Naturally, the other residents of the castle begin to take notice of the sudden shift in your behavior. The concubines would gossip, jealous about how you could devour so much snacks by yourself and still retain your lovely figure. Suddenly, they were inviting you to spend time with them, to read with them, to be with them as they went about their sewing. You were pleased to discover that they weren’t as terrible as you had initially thought. Soon enough, you were swept away in tea parties and plays and private viewings at esteemed art galleries.

It made you a little anxious at first to spend so much time with such intimidating noble ladies, you began to ease up around them. Even though at first, you had been loathe to part with Illuso, you found yourself spending less and less time with him. At the very least, you would make time in your evenings to sit with Illuso and tell him about your day. You would apologize that you couldn’t spend as much time with him as you had used to. And though he wasn’t one to openly complain you did take note of his huffy demeanor and promise to make it up to him soon. Sadly, and much to Illuso’s displeasure, you never really were able to keep your promises to him.

Even, the king himself had taken notice of you. Your innocent joy and sweetness reminding him of why he had taken you to be one of his concubines in the first place. That was another thing you needed to be grateful to Illuso for. You had regained the king’s favor. You would cheerfully spin around in front of Illuso showing off the new dresses and the pretty jewelry the king would lavish onto you. You would tell him how happy you were that the king was finally paying attention to you again, blissfully unaware of the jealousy in his eyes.

“It’s all thanks to you, Illuso,” you said to him. “If you hadn’t rescued me from loneliness then I would have spent the rest of my life sulking alone.”

You grasped his hands gently, looking up at him with a sweet smile on your face. You looked at him so adoringly, so reverently. The sight of you, looking at him so lovingly had his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He worried that you would hear it.

“I’m so very grateful for you,” you told him, giving him a small, chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, my dearest friend.”

Something ugly and dark rears its head in Illuso’s heart.

Was that really all you saw him as? A friend?

No. No. He couldn’t accept that. He would not accept that.

You were his Queen, the only bright light in his dark world. And he was your savior, wasn’t he? The reason you had even begun to smile again, the one who had saved you from a dull life.

As you spoke to him about the king, that wretched vile bastard who dared to monopolize your time, he thought long and hard about how he would bring you back into his arms.

All he wanted was for you to be his and only his again.

It is all too easy for Illuso to slink around unnoticed and whisper slanderous words about you to the other concubines. Soon enough they do his job for him, he watches as you are shunned once more. The target of vicious bullying and vitriol. You would quietly tell Illuso all about the horrifying ordeals you were forced to endure. And he would play the part of your every loyal, always understanding friend.

You are the fairest of them all,” Illuso whispers, his tone as sweet as honey, and his touch so inviting.

“They are simply jealous of you, my Queen,” Illuso would say, sweet, comforting, “you know that they are nothing compared to you.”

His red eyes glimmered like rubies as he leaned out of the mirror, his lips coming dangerously close to your own. “I hate to see you so sad...”

“Just say the words your majesty,” he says sweetly. “I’ll take care of them for you.”

You aren’t as foolish or as innocent as Illuso thinks. Spending so much time in his company, it was only inevitable that you’d come to be corrupted too. You know full well what Illuso means when he offers to take care of your problem. Your fingers clench, ruining the delicate fabric of the new dress the king had given you. If Illuso notices the conflicted look on your face, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please help me, Illuso.”

Lately, you wake up with tears in your eyes. Every night, Illuso would come to you with a smile on his face. Every morning, a new corpse would be found. Each and every death hangs on your conscience, makes you wash your hands and clean yourself with a little too much vigor. Tensions rise in the palace, the other concubines beg the king to let them leave. Your numbers dwindle and dwindle until only you and a handful of other noble ladies are left.

You are the King’s favorite and you have lasted the longest.

When he crowns you Queen as thanks for your loyalty, you assume that maybe this time you will be happy. You confide in Illuso and as always he nods and tells you that he is happy that you are to be Queen.

When you tell him that you are excited to move into the king’s quarters, he stills. But he does not let any of his unsightly jealousy show. Instead, he digs his nails into his palm, hard enough to draw blood. He keeps up his gentle facade at least until you fall asleep. He watches you sleep, you sleep peacefully for the first time since his killings. He takes in the soft rise and fall of your chest and when you turn over to the other side, he finally makes his move.

Stepping out of the mirror, he softly pads over to you. Caressing your cheek, he leans forward to plant a delicate kiss on your lips, just as he had done every night since he had ascertained his feelings for you.

He thinks, thinks as hard as he can about a way to keep you out of that disgusting king’s clutches. It takes him a moment or two before he understands. Illuso chuckles softly, as the solution comes to him. Painfully simple.

He just had to get rid of the king.

The newest addition to the king’s harem: a sweet girl with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood. She was beautiful, so painfully beautiful you felt physically sick in her presence. When she is introduced to the king, he gives her a mirror.

Almost identical to the one he gave you.

As you are prone to do now, you run to Illuso. You ask him, voice dripping with betrayal and heartbreak how many? Illuso has the gall to look surprised and that breaks you just the slightest bit.

“I know, Illuso. I know I’m not special. Tell me how many concubines have you offered your friendship? Your companionship? Did you give them something more?”

And oh, how quick he is to step out of his mirror and hold you in his strong arms. Blanketing you in a warmth, you were loathe to admit you wanted.

“Only you, my Queen, it’s always been just you.”

“Then why me? Why someone like me?!”

“Because,” and with his free hand, he hooks his index finger under your chin, prompting you to look him in the eye. “You are the fairest of them all.”

The fairest? Really? How stupid did Illuso think you were? You looked so pathetic, so shameful reflected in his eyes. As if scalded by his sincere words, you try to tear your gaze away from his but you find yourself transfixed by him. He was handsome, he could have anyone in the harem. Before you can even say anything else, Illuso kisses you.

And it is sweeter than any wine, more passionate than anything you’ve ever experienced, you close your eyes as you give in to his affections. The kiss is brief but you find that it is enough.

When he caresses your cheek, you can’t help but blush as you lean in to his touch. You’ve never known what it truly meant to be wanted, to be desired. To be loved. You’d never received the love you truly wanted, the love Illuso was so willing to give you.

When he leans in to kiss you, you lean forward to meet him halfway. When his hands begin to rove around, you let him.

You wanted him to give you the love you were so desperate for. And he was kind enough to acquiesce over and over through the night.

Even now, the people still whisper about that dreadful day when the Queen had invited the king and all his concubines to a banquet, how she had given them all beautifully baked apple tarts, how even though she had taken a bite of one of those apple tarts she had survived the deadly poison within them.

No one had dared to oppose you, dissenters were hushed, even people who would whisper insults about you would suddenly be found hanged in the town’s square.

The New Queen is a witch. The New Queen was granted powers by the Devil, himself.

The New Queen is always talking to her mirror.

You were crying again, hysterical and of course, only Illuso could soothe you.

Just as he had wanted.

“It’s so terrible what the peasants call you,” Illuso had murmured softly as you nuzzled closer to him, “they call you the Evil Queen, the Mad Queen, even.”

Illuso sighed as he cupped your tearstained face to wipe away your tears, “oh, if only they knew how lovely you really are.”

You clung to Illuso all the more, you held him as if he was your only hope and in a way he was. You don’t sleep well at night anymore. The images of that gruesome banquet forever imbedded in your mind. How they all retched and vomited blood after taking a bite of the apple tarts, how the king desperately grabbed your neck, trying to take you down with him until Illuso had appeared to slit his throat.

In this horrible, horrible world, you could lean only on Illuso. He was the only one in this world who really loved you, and how fortunate you were to find someone like him.

Illuso cups your cheeks, using the pads of his thumb to wipe away your tears.

So lucky, you were so lucky to find someone like Illuso. Illuso drinks in the devotion, the ardor in your eyes like it is the finest of wines. Smiling as he leans forward to seal a passionate kiss on your lips once more, you are only too desperate to please him.

“My darling, my Queen, my _____. You truly are the fairest of them all.”

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere jjba #yandere x reader #play #side b #illuso x reader #illuso #vento aureo #golden wind #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra

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