#it's very messy and complex and exactly the sort of thing I want to see explored in a video games cartoon

[crepesuzette2023]

So whats like the general consensus about Stu and John? Do we think they ever messed around or not?

Ooooh, I won't burn and scar my typing fingers on anything like "general consensus," and my cop-out answer is: depends on who you ask. I mean, if you're living in a world where 'a man being with a woman' = straight, or 'a man who never came out unequivocally as queer' = straight, then John and Stu very much never messed around, and, more importantly, didn't feel the desire to.

But I think if you look at it with an open mind, without being afraid of the possibility, you'll see it's more likely they did than that they didn't.

First, you have John, with his life-long romantic idea of being in love with your creative partner (see: his comments on Yoko and Paul)—an idea that fits Stu seamlessly, and perhaps even started with him. In the Hunter Davies bio, John (in '67) calls Stu Paul's predecessor in the 'my trusted partner in art' role.

There is also this conversation with Stu's girlfriend, Astrid Kircherr, as related by Backbeat director Iain Softley:

Paying tribute to Astrid this week, film director Iain Softley revealed her moving words from his interviews with her when he made 1994 movie Backbeat about her and Stuart’s romance.

They hint at a complex relationship between her, Stuart and John. She said it was only after Stuart died that she and John “took a load of pills” and talked for 12 hours about “all the things on our minds about Stuart”. “‘He was jealous when Klaus and I fancied Stuart more, and took him home and left John out,” she told Iain.

“He told me he really loved Stuart, but was afraid of the feeling.”

Iain adds: “I think she thought he meant as a friend, I don’t think there was any suggestion they were in a relationship. But Stuart had always been John’s best friend, they shared a flat in Liverpool. John would write to Stuart as ‘Jesus Christ to John the Baptist’, in the sense Stuart was showing him the way. He looked up to him.

“There was a sense John didn’t want Stuart taken away from him, he didn’t want Stuart to stay in Hamburg.

“At the same time he was very fond of Astrid, but I think there was a conflict there.”

If John was afraid of the feeling, then I'm thinking he felt something that, at the time, and probably still today, was a scary thing to feel. I'll leave it at that.

Also, they were, what? 18, 19, 20 years old? At that age, odds are you do fool around, even if you regret it afterwards. Nothing wrong with that.

Look at this picture of Stu (r.) with Astrid and Astrid's ex, Klaus Voormann. Klaus, who later said he and Astrid didn't work as a couple because she wanted him to be exactly like her image of him, and whose marriage (to a woman) was a platonic marriage of convenience, according to himself. We have now reached the beautiful stage of come onnn! "Straight" was at the party, but so were many others. These relationships were messy! That's awesome!

And how do we feel about John feeling up Gene Vincent, while Paul and George look on knowingly, and Pete Best blanks out? We feel joyous and unsurprised.

A word about Paul vs. Stu, since we're (sort of) at it.

It's possible (what an understatement) to think of their rivalry as sexual rivalry. This is, once more, hinted at in Backbeat, where Stu is more or less giving away John to Paul.

And yet. I think it was more than that. I think everyone, back then, was fighting for more than a bed-partner. They were fighting for their future, for a life unlike their parents'. Paul was fighting for the band, Stu was fighting for John to join him on his artist's way (even giving 'rock'n'roll' a try), and John..

John was, on the one hand, the person either of the others felt he needed in order to realize his dream. But on the other hand, he was the least decided of the three. He may have perceived that, within the trio, he had the fewest fall-back options: Stu had his obvious, much-mentored artistic talent. Paul had a possible academic future bwxt to his musical talent, plus a clear determination to make it in music. John had talent in spades, but perhaps less of a clear-cut idea of where and how to apply it. So he tried keeping both of them close...?

With fun scenes like these as a result:

John sure is feeling campy/cuddly, while Paul is incandescent with rage. A hot look for both of them.

In the end, we don't know if they ever did fool around. My usual reply in those cases is: I hope they did, if they both wanted it. I hope it was good.

I need to check out this book:

John and Paul look happy.

#asks #Stuart Sutcliffe #John Lennon #Astrid Kircherr #Paul McCartney #Backbeat #Iain Softley #mclennon #lenncliffe #it's just handy to fuck your best friend #until it isn't

[the-bi-space-ace]

Hey so I just read your mini essay on the complexity of Crosshair’s beliefs and experiences with loyalty (rip my heart out, why don’t you), and I’m curious about your insights into Hunter’s personality, because out of all of them, he’s the most difficult for me to get a read on. Like, he cares about Omega and the squad, but do we actually see much of his personality beyond the caregiver?

To me he doesn’t show emotional clarity/steadfastness like Wrecker, or loyalty like Crosshair, or duty like Echo, and ambition like Tech. He generally takes things in quietly and seems to have become more indecisive as the show progresses (which makes sense cuz the batch suddenly went from a 100% success rate on missions to “everything that can go wrong does go wrong”). But I want to know Hunter better!! What are your thoughts and opinions?

Hi! I'm sorry it took me so long to reply. I just really wanted to think it through and post something in depth. I’m glad you read the Crosshair post (even if it did rip your heart out, I’m so sorry <3). To be completely honest with you I had no idea what to say about Hunter at first but I’ve given it a few days to think and I actually have a few things that I want to discuss.

Caveat that when I watch The Bad Batch I’m not usually focused on Hunter. Primarily because I just connect with the personalities of the rest of the batch more. There’s no problem with connecting with certain characters more than others, it is just personal preference 😊

Regardless, I have some thoughts, and I am genuinely so excited to talk about this after giving it a few days to think about what my full opinion is.

With the caveat in mind I have some opinions on Hunter that fuel my own viewpoint on his character and how I tend to write him in my own fanfics. To me Hunter has always been very… closed. Even in the Clone Wars he tends to stand back, be silent, only really speaking to give orders, question plans, or occasionally make fun of the rest of the 99. Despite the batch’s tendency to disregard orders and regulation (for better or for worse) Hunter has always thrived under direct understanding of where he stands. That’s why he works well with people like Cody and Rex. They give him clear… not exactly direction but something similar. He understands the rules. He knows how to break them. When the rules change with Order 66 he is thrust into something uncomfortable and instead of taking the problem and tackling it he just doesn’t do that. I am certainly not the first to point out that Hunter is avoidant. He always was.

He lets the batch get into fights and he doesn’t step in until he absolutely needs to. He doesn’t jump to defend immediately - typically, although there are exceptions.

(The way he defends Crosshair from Howzer in S3 E6 comes to mind. I’m still tossing that moment around as a repair attempt tbh. They’ve fought and hashed out some of the messy bits and now they are quietly proving to each other that they’re willing to patch things up.)

He lets his squad sort things out on their own and when it gets out of hand he’ll step in. Hell, I think the best example of this is actually when Rex punches Crosshair. Hunter never actually steps into that fight and I think it is partially because of this avoidant tendency. (The rest maybe because he knew Crosshair bit off more than he could chew and he was willing to let a swift right hook teach that lesson.) We actually see Wrecker step up to defend the squad more than Hunter does. This makes sense to me - Wrecker is big and intimidating and Crosshair and Tech tend to be mouthy. Hunter might be the sergeant of this squad but he certainly isn’t the sole protector nor should he be. (Hunter is still protective - the clones we meet tend to be - just not in the exact ways the rest of them are.)

This avoidance is why we see him ignore the Crosshair situation and latch onto giving Omega a normal life. I am not going to pretend that I like the way he ignores this situation but he reacted exactly how I expected him to. He was thrust into the unknown and without the proper rules he ended up throwing all of his attention onto one thing he felt like he could control. I’ve known plenty of people who do that. Hell, I’ve done that. That doesn’t mean it is the healthiest way to deal with pain or loss or grief. It’s a coping mechanism.

Once he’s sure it’s the chip controlling Crosshair he really latches onto this idea that if they just take the chip out then everything will be fine and dandy. In the same way that Crosshair latches onto this idea that if the batch just joins the empire that they can be whole again.

They’re both wrong.

You can tell he’s really internalized this idea of taking out the chip and everything fixing itself and when that dream is shattered he continues to disappear inside of himself. When things aren’t as simple as taking the chip out to bring Crosshair home he’s angry that suddenly this is more than just a simple fix and he doesn’t know where he stands anymore. There’s anger and hurt directed at him and the rest of the batch and he gets defensive because he thinks there shouldn’t be. He gets increasingly angry and much more confrontational than we’ve seen him be with Crosshair so far. Another worldview shattered, another chip in his already fragile armor, another reason to be fucking pissed. His anger at Crosshair finally pushed him into action, away from avoidance. Is it healthy? Still no. But none of them are really experts at coping. At least he’s letting it out. At least it is in the open. At least we are seeing his emotions bubble over onto the surface. That is what makes me personally interested. Those messy, painful, unhelpful emotions wreacking havoc and making things worse.

We see Hunter buckle down and let his anger fester. I think he continues to do that all the way through season 2 and his conflict with Echo isn’t helping. I have an entire post somewhere in my drafts about Echo and Hunter’s joint leadership but I’ll boil it down to a few points to focus them on Hunter.

Hunter needs a second in command especially now. He isn’t at his best as a leader and maybe that’s not really what the batch needs right now. The GAR is gone. Their lives are upside down. He needs support but he won’t ask for it - stubborn as hell he is. That’s why Echo really helps. I rewatched the seasons specifically to focus on Echo and I think we can see signs of his and Hunter’s joint leadership from the very beginning even before Hunter needs him for support. In a world of uncertainty you need someone to hold on to, someone to help make decisions. His conflict with Echo in season two is just making him more unsteady. The prospect of losing someone else and losing his voice of reason is wearing on him and it only gets worse as time goes on. Sure, he knows they can get by without Echo around but I don’t think he wants that. He was leaning on Echo and once they started disagreeing he realized that maybe he was going to either have to open himself up to relying on everyone else or close up again.

I’d wager that he chose the latter for the most part.

Hunter doesn’t like relying on others. He has this big idea in his head that he’s meant to be the one who has it down but… come on. None of us can do that. I’ve seen a lot of people compare Hunter to an oldest sibling and as the youngest of four I’m not sure I really have much insight into that particular notion but as the sibling who took on the greatest responsibilities in my home I feel this tug of responsibility to the detriment of yourself and others and I see you, Hunter. I see you and you need to stop.

Maybe that’s why I get so frustrated with Hunter in particular. I want him to grow out of this. I want him to change and develop and be angry and show his care more often. That’s part of why I loved S3 E5 so much. Hunter got fucking pissed. He was angry and he let it out and he shoved Crosshair and he showed just how badly he was hurt by everything. Fuck I love that. This is what I wanted to see. Finally he’s forgetting to keep it together and in front of Crosshair he is finally willing to lose his temper. Something really tells me that they used to lose their temper at each other because it was safe to. They clearly don’t know how to talk about their emotions and sort it out like many of us know or learn to - that will hopefully come with time and maturity - but they sure did know how to yell and use their strength against each other. So they fight. And they hurt each other. Then they make up and move forward because what else are they meant to do? They’re going to forgive each other. It’s how it always is - a given.

Hunter’s relationship to loyalty is not anywhere near the same as Crosshair’s but all of the batch end up having some relationship with it one way or another. There’s an excellent post floating around tumblr somewhere and I couldn’t find it to save my life (if you know what I’m talking about and can find the post feel free to link it somewhere) but it says something about how eventually the batch is going to embody the idea that they ‘don’t leave their own behind’ because they simply haven’t remained true to that sentiment yet - through lack of choice or active avoidance. They’ve repeated it a few times and yet the sentiment feels flat as they keep having to leave members of their squad behind or let them walk away themselves. Eventually they’re going to have to prove this sentiment and only then do I really think the show’s true theme can be accomplished.

I want to touch briefly on Hunter’s relationship to touch because I think it comes into play here (and it is admittedly one of my favorite things about him.) He uses touch a lot more than I think we give him credit for. Yes he’s closed off emotionally and he’s not great at talking but he does use touch a lot. He uses it with Echo for reassurance and as a factor to convince him of things often. A plan Echo doesn’t like? Shoulder touch. Echo is still new and Hunter is telling him he’ll get used to things? Shoulder touch. Saying goodbye, serious chat, acknowledging his worries? Touch touch touch. This man doesn’t always know how to use his words but he’s good at putting what he means into a physical reminder. What does the touch say? Loads of things. That he’s there, that what he is saying is not meant to hurt, that he’s pissed, that he’s listening. He does it with Wrecker and Omega and - thinking of their fight - Crosshair but I can’t actually think of an instance where he uses touch with Tech. I could have just missed it so let me know if there are scenes where he does this. He’s relied on physical reminders for so long that maybe words just… aren’t what he uses to communicate. You can feel the way his mood shifts when him and Echo are disagreeing by the way he moves him physically. It’s really those moments that I feel Hunter shines most because those moments are where he feels most open as a character - at least from my perspective.

I use his relationship to touch when I write him and, specifically, when that touch is rejected, what does that feel like for him? When I write him I look at it from a perspective of how he interacts with the world and what he thinks he can give to it. When his most comfortable form of communication - that shoulder touch we all tease about - is rejected and he can’t rely on that anymore what does that look like? Could just be the fact that I lean very heavily towards touch as a form of communication and repair but I focus on it a lot and it deserves a mention while talking about Hunter.

In truth, Hunter is hard for me. I see the avoidance, I see the anger, I see his pain, and yet I still have this feeling that I don’t really see him. What does Hunter really want? Because we’ve only ever seen him talk about what he wants to do for other people. But what motivates Hunter? We can say that it’s keeping his people safe or that it’s settling down or even just boil it down to Omega but what is actually under the surface there? For everyone else I can pretty much pinpoint what it is that motivates them but Hunter is a blank area for me. He says what motivates him but I am much more inclined to believe there is something else really eating at him underneath it all. I also want to suggest that maybe he hides behind doing things for other people to avoid feeling selfish. If he’s doing all of this to protect his squad then he’s not doing all of this because he wants to and it’s not a selfish decision. While I don’t think finding somewhere safe to settle down is selfish I get the feeling that maybe Hunter thinks it is for him specifically. Like he is not allowed to but maybe if it’s about everyone else then it’s fine. It’s always ‘Omega deserves better’ and ‘you betrayed us.’ Never ‘this is what I want and this is how I feel.’

Crosshair’s value system is very strict and at times harsh and unmoving. Echo has a sense of duty and protection that is strong enough to push him into action. Wrecker is motivated by the thrill of things but also by supporting his loved ones. Tech is curious and intelligent, seeking out new experiences and an interest in preservation. But what is Hunter’s motivation aside from ‘settle down’? That’s a goal, sure, but I’m not sure it’s really the right word to place on what he really wants deep down outside of what he wants for other people. I’m not sure I really know the answer to that question.

To make a long post even longer I’d like to see what Hunter wants when it is not connected to his service to other people. What is it that fuels him? Is it the serene calmness of safety that he craves? Being free from worry? Is it the freedom to make choices that he never would have gotten in the GAR? I’m almost inclined to say it’s a bit of everything but I still don’t really know and I would love to actually hear what people think the baseline motivator is for him personally.

#the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb season 3 #tbb spoilers #sorry this is so long I had too much fun and got carried away

[thunderpetal]

So, I love hearing about why favorites are favorites! Why are Wind and Time your die-for favs?

THANK you for the ask <3

For Wind, I think I first played Wind Waker exactly when I joined the LU fandom properly, and oh my god, I LOVE Wind Waker. It genuinely had such a big impact on me on the first playthrough (and does to this day), and I was still going through all the emotions when I was reading LU and starting to engage with the fandom.

Wind has such a good story in Wind Waker, and I could write an essay about it tbh but I'll save it for another time. I also absolutely adore how he is written in the comic; I think it's perfect. He has the immaturity you'd expect from a 13 year old boy, such as not always being the most tactful, jumping straight into situations without Fully considering them, and having some quite strong almost black-and-white opinions on complicated topics (see the Kings of Hyrule comic). But you can also leverage all of those criticisms at the other boys who are supposedly older and wiser than Wind LOL. What makes him great is how his younger age and strong personality also give him a completely different point of view. Despite having gone through a certain amount of shit on his journeys, he's still optimistic and hopeful for the future and he's fiercely passionate in protecting those he loves... What can I say. He's just a good lad. I honesty feel this messy collection of words doesn't even do him justice.

As for Time, it's sort of opposite reasons? The story of his games and his outlook on life is a bit darker than Wind's. Time has been through so much, and was a broken man for a while... and yet he is the one who has the happily married, domestic life a lot of the boys deep down want. He made it! And it's just so wonderful to see a character like that, one hardened by his experiences but still able to get a happy ending.

And yet. The potential to angst him is still tremendous. We have the Hero's Shade, which many speculate could mean he dies when the kid(s) he has with Malon are still very young. There's the Fierce Deity Mask. The Ocarina of Time. His negative opinions about the Master Sword and the bitterness he's still holding onto. Not to mention all the stuff he went through in the past and has recovered from but you could still explore... Even though Time has this happy life now, he's still such a great complex character to break into. God writing this just reminded me of the massive Time Analysis Glau (Glaucus_Atlanticus) wrote. I don't know where to find it anymore though :(

One last thing as well is that Time and Wind's interactions are also great. I think Time sees a lot of himself in Wind; Wind was forced to defeat Ganondorf young, just like him. But UNLIKE him, Wind hasn't lost everything. He didn't lose his childhood, he has a family, he doesn't have to say goodbye to his home forever. And Wind is obviously doing a lot better in many ways than Time probably was aged 12/13, which is pretty self-explanatory as to why (TERMINA). And seeing that makes Time very happy, it's clear from the way Time interacts with Wind in the comic. But there is still angst potential with Time being the hero who 'abandoned' Wind's world... it's good shit!

To cut a long story shit they're both great and I need to write more fics of them both.

#jay talks #asks #linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe dot txt #lu wind #lu time #i care them both deeply #this could have been SO much longer #but i refrained

[beanghostprincess]

They've been drinking for a while, and Usopp, surprisingly, isn't drunk enough to handle what's happening. Usually, he's the first one to not be able to stand, but for some reason, he has decided to control himself a little bit today. First mistake, he thinks.

Because Sanji is clingier than usual. And Usopp isn't really bothered by that, exactly, he's now used to Sanji laying his head down on his lap while he plays with the sniper's undone, messy hair. And not exclusively when they're drunk. They're just like that, now. Apparently? Usopp isn't sure how their relationship has reached this point, but he would never be bothered by his crush stroking his hair with a lovesick smile. He would have to be stupid for that to happen.

And he's the stupidest man alive.

Usopp feels his heart aching every time his eyes meet blue, and he can't help but fake a smile whenever Sanji grins at him. They're partying on the ship just because Luffy said so. Because pirates don't really need a reason to do this sort of thing. And the others are too far forgotten on the other side of the deck for Sanji to give a fuck about them seeing him like this. Usually, the cook's caresses are hidden from the rest. Usually, whenever he acts like this, he tries hard for people not to see. As if he didn't want them to know he feels something for Usopp.

The sniper knows there's something between them. Sanji does too. It's just something hard to accept when the cook seems like he's going to throw up whenever somebody sees him with Usopp. With a man.

And, you know, the sniper feels selfish for wanting to ask more from Sanji. But he wishes- He sometimes wishes they could be more than this. He wishes Sanji acted this way around others too, not only when he has chugged like five glasses of wine and a couple of shots of whisky.

Sanji keeps playing with a strand of his hair, and Usopp is lost in his thoughts when the cook speaks. "Did you know I love your hair? It's- It's pretty."

Usopp can only laugh, but Sanji's soft voice makes him want to die. "I know. You've told me already." Like five seconds ago.

The cook nods, as if he was trying to understand a very complex situation. And then his laughter fills the little corner they're at. "I guess I just..." Then Sanji looks up, and his laughter turns into a trembling sigh. "You're beautiful, ma moitié."

Usopp feels like crying. He can't- He can't do this right now. "Sanji-" He tries to warn him. Because he knows what comes next. He knows what's going to happen and he knows the cook will act like nothing is going on the next day. Usopp can't have that. "I think we should-"

But the cook turns his head around and rests it closer to Usopp's chest as quickly as he can. Scared. Hugging him. Placing both of his arms around Usopp, with the fear he might go away. He buries his face there, and his insecure, drunken voice is muffled by the embrace. "Don't leave me." Usopp holds back the urge to hug him back, his hands shaking on either side of his body. "Don't- Please. I'm sorry." His voice breaks. He's begging, and Usopp has always been too weak to deny him these nights. "I think-"

He can't deal with this.

"Sanji, please." He tries to push him away, but Sanji keeps holding onto him with a strength he only uses with Usopp when it comes to never letting him go. The strength of two thousand men and the passion of a broken heart. Usopp feels his throat closing with every word. "Don't do this to me."

"I'm in love with you."

Usopp gives up after hearing that, because there's no going back from this. He lets Sanji hug him through the night, whispering sweet nothings that carry the weight of the world on Usopp's shoulders, and placing tender kisses on his skin that probably taste horribly to alcohol.

The sniper gives him this night, too, saying it's the last one before they actually talk things out properly.

But he knows it's a lie.

#i am heavily projecting on sanji yes #he's a mess and he's just like me and i am very sad #i'm sorry usopp i love you i know it hurts sanji is confused and has internalized homophobia #i was in an angsty mood and i would apologize but i'm not sorry so #one piece #black leg sanji #sanuso #usopp

[seaside-apothecary]

Beginner friendly protection jar spell

Hello, I hope you’re all doing well today. In this Post I will be going over a very simple 3 ingredient protection spell jar. This can made with everything you have in your house, particularly your kitchen. Let’s get into shall we?

For this spell you will need:

2 protective herbs and 1 protective ingredients. What is the difference in this case? Your protective herbs will be, as the name suggests, some kind of protective herb you can find in basically any green witch or kitchen witch book. Your protective ingredient will be something sharp (PLEASE BE CAREFUL, don’t hurt yourself) this can be nails, screws, sharp rocks, toothpick broken in half, thorns, glass, etc.

A jar of some kind, it can be whatever size you want. I picked a small jar I could hold in my palm, because I enjoy working with that size more.

(Optional) if you have the resources to do this option, you can add an extra oomph to your spell. Don’t worry if you don’t, your spell will still work and be a good protection spell. Protection crystal chips and clear quartz chips. You can use something like black tourmaline, amethyst, onyx, smokey quartz, carnelian chips, etc. for a protective energy. And clear quartz to amplify the energies of all the ingredients we are putting in our spell.

Steps:

Step 1. Cleanse your space and gather your ingredients. This can be done by incense, I prefer this way. But, you can use water, salt, bells, sound, or even clap your hands in a circle or just yell. Do whatever feel right for you and what amount of time feels right for you. I usually only do this for a few minutes. Gather your ingredients, make a checklist of what you need, so that you won’t be stepping out of your protection bubble and you won’t be leaving your spell alone.

Step 2. Put up protection. I will sit down and ground myself, asking the earth to give me energy to use in a protective bubble. I do this for about 5 minutes maybe more if I feel like it. I will also do some sort of crystals grid of protection, it might be complex one time or simple another. For the purpose of this spell to be simple and beginner friendly, you can just do an energetic protection and it will work just as fine. But, if you have crystals, try out a crystal grid. You never know you might enjoy doing them.

Step 3. DIVINATION AND JOURNAL. I can not emphasize this enough. Do divination before every spell, even if it is to ask if you should add something or take away something. I usually ask, if it a good idea to do this spell, what will happen if I do this spell, should I add something, should I take something away, should I rethink this spell? Doing this will help you understand where you stand with not only your spiritual team, but the universe and the ingredients you are working with. In my belief ingredients might not want to be used for that particular spell at that time, because they have their own souls. I’ve never had a protection spell backfire on me, but I have had them just not work. Asking divination can save a lot of pain and trial to find out what you did wrong or why it won’t work. Also, please Journal. This will help you in the long run, because if you deviate from the spell you wrote down you can then later see exactly how you deviated. I have a messy spell book where I write my spell down, highlight things, take notes, and change things before I put them in my nice book of shadows. In this time if you feel like you need to redo your protection, please do.

Step 4. Set up your ingredients and get to spell-working. I like to set up my ingredients in order of what I will be using what when, I set up my spell book by me so I can always go back back to it. I then cleanse my jar and lid or cork of my jar. I will then start adding my ingredients. I start by holding then in my hands, either cleanse them with smoke, sound, water, etc. I like to visual like all the energy that is in right then that does not fit the intention of protection out.

Next, you will have to charge them somehow. You can charge them with smoke, sound, energy, moonlight, etc. I use my own energy I will cup it in my hands and visualize my energy going into it with a protective intent. I will sometimes even whisper what I want it to do while doing this.

Now to building your spell. I start with my sharp ingredient, if you are using toothpicks cut or break in half so one side in flat/semi flat. If you are using screws, nails, broken glass, sharp rocks, toothpicks put them in with their point going upwards. This is because you are essentially creating a sharp barrier that will pierce, stab, and/or scare away any negativity or non beneficial things away from you. If you are using thorns, I don’t try to set them pointing up. Instead, visualize throned vines wrapping around you in the shape of a bubble. Not wrapping to your body, but creating an enclosed space around you.

Next, start adding in your herbs. My jar had a little left over olive oil that I couldn’t wash out. If you have something like that, charge it with protective energy. Now add in your protective herbs, you can use basil, bay, anise, cumin, dill, fennel, garlic, grass, mint, pine, oak, onion, pepper, rice, sage, etc. It just needs to be a protective herb. You can probably find some of these in your spice cabinet. Tip: use plants you find in your yard or outside in your neighborhood (please be safe and don’t gather from somewhere that is dangerous or illegal), using stuff around your yard or house will put some protection on your house, but in my experience will be a stronger spell because I have more a connection with the spell’s ingredients.

Step 5. Add your herbs to cover your sharp ingredient somehow, you want the sharp ingredient to be as hidden as possible. While doing this imagine you are hidden and your sharp barrier is hidden as well. Add in the rest of your herbs, at this point you can add in the crystal chips as well. If you are little more advanced, I like to add my hair or nail clipping into the jar, something that will degrade of time, to have the protection tag locked to me. Do not do this as a beginner, because you might not have other protections set up and it is, in my experience, more difficult to dismantle when you need to get rid or refresh the spell.

Step 6. Cap the spell, no need for wax or anything of the sort if you do not wish to or can’t add it. Now you are going to sit for about 5 minutes or longer and push your energetic intention into the spell. Really charge it with your energy. And don’t be discouraged if you keep feeling interrupted or feel like you can’t sit that long. I couldn’t sit that long uninterrupted in the beginning either. If you can’t sit that long, you can’t sit that long. And interruptions happen, I stutter with my incantations, get distracted by animals or bugs, and use herbs I spill while making my spells. That does not make you less of a witch.

Step 7. Divination. Before you finish and dismantle your area do another divination. Ask questions like, what can you tell me about this completed spell, should I have done more, if so, what could I have done better or more of, if not, what did I do the best? Something that will give you critiques for your next spell or the next time you do this spell.

Step 8. Dismantle your space, if it applies clear crystals and while doing this imagine your protective barrier coming down. Then ground yourself again, thank the earth for the protection it offered, and maybe even offer a little bit of your energy as thanks if you want to/ can.

Step 9. Get a snack, hydrate, and relax. Congratulations if this was your first spell! Make sure to reward yourself, even if you think it didn’t work. You learned something, you deserve a reward! If it is not your first spell. Congratulations! You finished another spell! You also deserve a reward!

Happy crafting, and remember to rest after your spell work! Blessed be!

#witchblr #beginner witch #witchcraft #baby witch #basic magick #protection magic #pagan #beginner witchcraft #magick #protection magick #protection spell

[deadendtracks]

Because it feels like recently I’ve heard so much from the shippers: Tommy/Grace

LOLOL I have written so much about them.

If I'm super brutally honest? That relationship would have gone just as bad as Lizzie/Tommy went, for very different reasons.

And though of course Tommy would play a role, a lot of those reasons would be Grace herself. Her ability to compartmentalize and lie to herself and disregard the consequences of her own actions is an important part of her character that is often ignored. She's never had to face the consequences of her actions because she's rich, basically. And Tommy never has had that luxury, and it was bound to end in conflict of some sort. Their understanding of the world and their experiences are so drastically different, but Grace doesn't appreciate that on any level, where I think Tommy's pretty aware of it.

She was never shown to come to any kind of terms with how she'd betrayed Tommy or the impact it had had on him or his family. She doesn't seem to consider that this might be why he didn't tell her about the Russia business at first, for instance.

Her attitude in s1 towards Small Heath and the people there -- where Tommy grew up -- was classist and terrible, and she appeared to see Tommy as an exception, which is a dangerous way to look at someone from a very different and far less privileged social group from you. This stuck with her through s3, so it didn't seem to be modulated by time or getting to know him and his family better. She's not angry at her family for showing up in uniform to their wedding, she's angry that Tommy's upset about it. For example.

And contrary to shipper wisdom I don't think she'd have been able to deal with Tommy's trauma in the slightest. He's having a full on panic attack in their son's nursery and she more or less just reminds him that his duty is to keep them safe and that he's failing at it (that's implied, but it's there). She doesn't ask him what's wrong or try to comfort him. She wants the situation to go away, and doesn't want to know anything about it.

Part of this is definitely a reaction to s1 -- her line in s2 about how she doesn't need to carry a gun anymore is important. She doesn't need to because she was done with all of that after she got revenge for her father's death and realized it was hollow. But unlike Tommy, she can just return to the life she knew before, to the safety of wealth.

Of course Tommy contributes to all of this -- he absolutely wished to assimilate into the upper classes well before he fell in love with Grace, his own class issues are deeply internalized, etc. But he also chose his family over her once, and I have to wonder if he actually ever put together what she did to Freddie, you know?

This is all coming across as if I hate Grace, and I don't! I really like her character, I just think she tends to be idealized in fandom, which contributes to people thinking she's flat and boring, funnily enough. She's actually more complex even in s2-3 than people tend to acknowledge; you just have to look beyond the badass spy romantic trope idea people pinned on her in s1 and actually see what actions and choices she takes and what they mean about her as a person.

I would really liked to have watched their marriage blow up, because though they definitely loved each other, they never had a chance to face the kind of adversity that would have inevitably come in that marriage, under those circumstances.

And I could see someone writing it in a way where they both grow and get through it, sure. But that would probably have to be in a situation without all the other external stressors we see on the show, so idk. I'm not against that idea, but what I'm really interested in is how the relationship would have been strained due to those differences and pressures.

This will probably all be taken as evidence I'm a Grace hater and hate Grace/Tommy, but this is exactly the kinds of thing I find messy and interesting and why I love Lizzie/Tommy in s5-6, and the fanon version of this ship bores me to tears.

#i could probably write another 400 pages sorry this got long #if you look at grace as a rich girl everything makes a lot more sense #tommy wasn't wrong about her exactly

[sparrowmoss]

god that post got me thinkin. its 2:30 am and even on the top of my game i am bad at making connections and really understanding the Why, Exactly, of things i think, but. there are a bunch of things that i dont like the canon treatment of and/or the fandom treatment of. very few that are both. but the top of that list is emma

i think that in canon dean was not messed up enough about that. there was absolutely a consent issue there and they Almost touched on that in canon but didnt quite get there. i forgot emma’s mother’s name but that woman had sex with dean and dean implied they used a condom or other form of protection but that woman then would have had to sabotage whatever contraception was used because she was in it with the express purpose of getting pregnant and having a kid, which dean did not know about or consent to. and then his basically adult daughter shows up three days later and tries to psychologically manipulate him into caring about her so that she can kill him. and then when sam threatens her she again tries to manipulate dean into feeling protective of her. how could that not fuck him up!!!

but. since coming back to tumblr fandom. i have seen multiple people really like… Really into the idea that dean would try to bring emma back to life and fans. Wanting that. Wanting dean to bring emma back and feel all familial and fatherly and loving toward her. and i find that so fucking bizarre and i truly hate it

this is a kid born of, honestly, sexual assault, who manipulated him and tried to kill him and manipulated him again. he was a sperm donor. an unwitting and unconsenting sperm donor. he literally said to CROWLEY that family doesnt end in blood but it doesnt start there either. i dont understand why anyone would think dean would do anything to try to bring her back??? or want to raise her as his, like, traditional family relationship daughter??? its so bizarre to me that there are fans who not only want this but think its in character for him

and this isnt really related but i also hate it when fandom wants claire to be cas’s daughter and wants jack and claire to be siblings. yes cas cares about claire and claire cares about him, but he is Using Her Father’s Corpse as a hand puppet. like. What?????? in reality i dont think she thinks it’s that bad, and neither do i, but like. she had a dad. she had a father. and cas’s relationship to her can be caring but i do not for a moment think he could or should replace her father just because he is in the guy’s used car of a body. i can see her seeing cas as like, her dad’s sort-of-long-lost-twin, her sort-of-uncle, and jack her sort-of-cousin, but never ever her father???

its just… one of the things that i love about supernatural is the emphasis on found family, and i know that between varying writers and producers and directors that message sometimes fluctuates and gets lost and blood relations get prioritized, but overall there is a pretty clear emphasis on non-traditional family structures, found family, loving people who are There For You rather than just because they contributed biological material to you, and again, Non Traditional Family Structures, so its kind of frustrating to see a lot of fans like… toss that all out and base everything on blood relations and try to sort everyone into neatly categorized traditional family roles. like. cas and claire can care about each other without seeing each other as father and daughter. dean can be kinda fucked up about emma’s entire existence without wanting her back and without wanting to have her as his daughter. its much more complex and honestly more beautiful when its messy and weird and maybe unfamiliar. it doesnt have to be a very common and easily recognizable dynamic to be valuable and full of love and caring

#this is so long aorry i will go to sleep #supernatural /

[the7thcrow]

600 degrees

~

pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

summary: you can’t cook. like, really can’t cook. good thing your cute neighbour is here to help clean up the mess.

word count: 5.1k

genre: neighbours au. strangers to lovers. the fluffiest of fluff, slightly suggestive.

warnings: a make-out session, bad humour, minho being a twat of a roommate, and tooth-rotting fluff.

rating: 14+

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, it’s so much more wholesome and fluffy than what i usually write, but I'm pretty happy about it. don’t by shy to send me an ask or leave a comment. anything you have to say, I would love to hear. :)

...

..

.

“Fine. Since you won’t come, at least enlighten me on how you plan to keep yourself busy?” Minho asks, casually leaning against your kitchen island. He stares at you, with that familiar condescending smirk you’ve seen far too many times.

“I don’t know,” you state, rolling your eyes. Rising to your feet, you head over to your shared refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Sangria out of the fridge. “But I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“You know, if you want to drink, you could at least do it at the party.” Minho approaches you from behind, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “It’s a lot less sad that way.”

You slap his hand away, letting out a frustrated groan at the laughter he lets out from his own joke. “I get out plenty, quit acting like I’m some lonely cat lady,” you say, grabbing your favourite wine glass from the cupboard. “I like parties, I just don’t like Jisung’s parties. They always get way out of hand.”

“But Y/N,” Minho wines, picking up your freshly poured glass and taking a sip, earning himself a glare. “I never said you were a cat lady, just the lonely part.”

At that you snatch the glass away from his hands. Not wanting to deal with this torment any longer, you walk back to your comfortable, worn-in spot on the couch.

“You know I’m right,” he says, continuing despite the fact you begin to turn up the volume of the television. “And the only way you’re going to change that is by accompanying me to Jisung’s loud, out of hand parties.”

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows. “Somehow, I doubt my soulmate associates himself with Han Jisung.”

“Well that can’t be right, because I associate myself with Han Jisung?”

“Shut up, Minho.”

Your roommate snickers to himself as he opens the fridge, taking a quick glance at everything - or for a better term, lack of anything - inside. “What are you even going to eat? There’s nothing leftover from last night.”

“I’ll make something,” you say. Frankly, you had expected the outburst of laughter, but that didn’t do anything to simmer down your growing annoyance.

“Make something?” Minho laughs, giving you an incredulous stare. “Y/N, I’ve lived with you for two years and I don’t think I’ve seen you cook anything once.”

“Hey, I can cook,” you return, wrinkling your nose. “But why would I, when I have you to do it for me?”

At this, it’s Minho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I take that back. I don’t want you to come, have fun curling up on the couch alone with your three cats.”

“They’re literally yours.”

“Whatever,” he says, opening your front door. “Just don’t burn the apartment down, alright?”

As he closes the door, you flip him off. At first, you aren’t sure if he saw, but you’re given your answer as his laughter echoes down the hallway, fading as he walks further away.

You scowl. Of course you can cook. Well, at the very least, well enough to make a meal for one on a saturday night. Minho didn’t know what he was talking about.

Minho. Your best friend and roommate for the last two years. Man, does the guy have a way of pushing your buttons. You love him, of course. In the weird, bickering, just short of volatile friendship sort of way the two of you had developed.

Still, you can’t deny that even with his painfully irritable nature, he is still a good friend. No matter how many times you say no, he always offers to take you anywhere he goes. He pushes you out of your comfort zone. He’s there to console you when a date goes bad, or you failed a test you studied hard for. He makes all his meals for two, just because he doesn’t want you to live solely off shitty take-out.

He’s your rock. Your platonic other half. Your closest companion.

Which means you are going to prove him wrong, and then rub it in his face as much as you possibly can. Of course, because that’s what friends are for.

~~~~

Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Or, at the very least, it was going to be exceedingly more difficult now that your apartment was full of smoke.

Covering your nose with one hand, you take the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. If you can even call them that, as they now held a far closer resemblance to that of hockey pucks. Both in looks, and what you could assume in taste, as well.

Okay, you know chocolate chip cookies don’t really count as a decent meal, but they are the only thing you remember how to cook from when you lived at home. Or maybe you didn’t remember, based on the tray of failure sitting in front of you.

Then, to make matters even worse, your fire alarm starts going off.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Now you are going to have to go to the front desk, let them know everything is okay.

Maybe Minho was right, you should’ve just went to Jisung’s stupid party and eaten something there. Putting all the other painful aspects of Han’s parties aside, Felix was his roommate, so the horderves were always excellent.

They were better than your hockey puck cookies, anyway.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, you open your apartment door, prepared to get a rough scolding from the lady working the front desk. However, you are surprised to find a man standing in front of you, his hand in the air, as if he were about to knock.

“Hi,” he says, awkwardly putting his hand back down at his side. He has messy platinum blonde hair, and soft eyes. He’s cute, and the realization quickly makes you recognize him.

“You’re my neighbor,” you say, pointing a finger at him. It’s not until he doesn’t respond immediately that you realize it was a strange thing to say. Obviously, he knows he’s your neighbor, and he might be a little offended you didn’t recognize him immediately.

Then again, the two of you had never really talked before. Everytime you would pass each other in the hall, he’d always give a polite nod and continue walking. Sometimes you’d try to say hello, or start a small conversation, but he always disappeared quickly. It had gotten to the point where you assumed he had some strange, unwarranted grudge against you.

So, it was safe to say that you were more than just a little surprised to find him at your door.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Are you okay? I thought I smelt something burning, and then I heard the fire alarm go off.” He asks, peeking behind you into your apartment, seeing if he can catch sight of any flames.

Instead, his eyes land on your tray of butchered cookies, and he… smirks?

“Oh,” he says, attempting to hide the smile growing on his face. “Having some cooking trouble?”

You stare at him for a moment, watching as his lips pursed together, stifling a chuckle. “Are you...” you begin, your jaw dropping slightly. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he looks down at you, finally letting his grin free. “I would never.”

“Yeah, okay,” you frown, already not enjoying that sarcastic look on his face. You thought you’d be able to avoid that humiliating look considering Minho wasn’t here, but apparently not.

 “As you can see, it’s nothing. So if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, attempting to move past him. “I need to go get my neck rung by the lady at the front desk,” However, he doesn’t budge from his place in your door frame. You cast him a glare, which only makes his smile grow wider.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go let her know,” he says, already turning to walk down the hall. You open your mouth to object, but he casts a glance over his shoulder, snickering. “You focus on cleaning up whatever those black lumps were supposed to be.”

You stand in your doorway, dumbfounded as your neighbor disappears down the complex staircase. Who did this guy think he was, openly laughing at your current predicament? Sure, if the roles were reversed, there’s no doubt that you would do the same. But that isn’t the point.

No. The point is that you are not impressed by the audacity of this stranger, and you are going to make sure that this distaste is known.

Grumbling to yourself, you dump the still smoking cookies in the trash can. It’s a shame, really. You’d thought you were doing so well, too. You thought this would be your chance to prove Minho wrong. Minho. Oh, he would be having an absolute hay day if he were here right now, and the thought only makes your scowl deepen.

“Well,” your neighbor calls from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. He reappears in the open door frame, sticking his neck inside, but not fully crossing the threshold into your apartment. “She’s not thrilled, but the alarm didn’t trigger the main system’s sprinklers, so you’re good.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

The man smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you trying to make anyway?”

An embarrassed blush casts itself over your cheeks. “Chocolate chip cookies,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

He lets out a burst of laughter, smiling widely. You can’t help but notice that he had a cute smile, dimples on both of his cheeks, eyes crinkled. Not that you were looking. Not that you cared, obviously.

“How’d you manage to mess up chocolate chip cookies that badly?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “You tell me.” You gesture towards the oven. Your neighbor smirks, walking inside your apartment. He bends down in front of your oven, before taking a look inside.

“Well, nothing seems to be wrong in there…” he starts, before glancing up at the set temperature. “Oh,” he states, before looking back at you, his eyes full of pity. “Oh boy.”

“What?” You ask defensively.

“The temperature. You forgot to convert it from celsius to fahrenheit. See?” He says, leaning away from the oven to give you a closer look. “So you thought you were cooking them at 350 degrees fahrenheit, when in reality they were at over 600 degrees.”

“Oh my god,” you say, smacking your palm against your forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know,” the guy shrugs. “You could have burnt your apartment down, so I’d consider it a win. You’re lucky I got here on time.”

You cast him a scowl, although you can’t seem to relinquish the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. You know damn well you wouldn’t have started a fire, and that the man showing up really didn’t stop anything but an uncomfortable conversation with the front lady. You are also sure that he is fully aware of this too, which makes your smirk grow wider. Alright, you’ll play along.

“Right, what ever would I do without you?” you say sarcastically, causing your neighbor to playfully roll his eyes. He leans against your kitchen counter, relaxing slightly.

“Does my saviour have a name?” You ask, opening the fridge to take a look at what’s inside. You feel your stomach rumble, taking a glance at the clock to see that it was already past 9:00.

“It’s Chris,” he smiles, leaning over your shoulder. “So what are you going to eat, now that you’ve successfully butchered the easiest recipe known to man?”

“Hey!” You snipe. “That is certainly not the easiest recipe known to man.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris says, putting his hands up in defense. “Maybe not the easiest, but it’s definitely up there. But putting that aside, what are you going to eat? Because I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fridge so empty.”

You want to quip back at him, but he’s right. Minho usually does the grocery shopping, but because of Jisung’s party tonight he wasn’t planning on cooking anything.

“Good question,” you sigh, closing the refrigerator door before leaning your back against it. “Maybe I’ll just order some take out. I don’t think my pride can handle another failure.”

Chris smiles. “Or, I have an idea,” he says, his eyes glinting. He heads over to your apartment door, and for a moment you worry that he’s leaving.

No, you’re not worried. You’re curious. That’s all. You were curious whether or not he was leaving, nothing more.

When Chris returns, he has his arms full of ingredients. Spinach, penne, tomato sauce, cream, a variety of spices. The list goes on, and he stumbles slightly, almost dropping the surplus of food onto your kitchen floor. Imagining the mess, you rush over to help him, placing the load of groceries onto the counter.

“I don’t know if you couldn’t tell before,” you say, motioning to your overflowing counter. “But I really can’t cook. I have no clue what to do with any of this.”

“That’s no problem,” Chris smiles, already separating the food into different groups. “I’ll help you.”

“No, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, waving your hands in protest. You step in front of him, squeezing yourself between his chest and the kitchen counter, preventing him from reaching any of the ingredients. “You’ve already dealt with the desk lady for me, and brought over all these groceries. You’ve done more than enough.”

He smiles, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and effortlessly moving you to the side. “Why would I bring you these groceries if I knew you couldn’t do anything with them?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let me help you.”

You sigh in defeat, ignoring the way your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. “Alright,” you say, grabbing Minho’s cutting board from the cupboard. “Let’s do this, then.”

~~~~

An hour later, you find yourself sitting on top of your kitchen counter, Chris stationed by the stove working on the pasta sauce. You had genuinely tried to help in the beginning, you really did. But after Chris criticized your (awful) cutting technique, and said he didn’t exactly trust you to do anything else, you gave up.

Besides, you don’t have a problem watching him work. Over the last hour, you’ve come to learn that Chris is an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Moving from place to place, adding spices by intuition and nothing more. This wasn’t something you could have managed to make yourself in a million years, and it’s obvious that if you tried to assist him right now, you’d only get in the way.

Of course, you’ve learned a lot more about Chris in the last hour than just that. Where he grew up, his hobbies, what he was currently studying at the university. Music theory, as you’d learned. As cool as it sounded, Han had managed to tarnish your image of music majors, but you suppose you could give Chris a chance.

“It’s almost done,” Chris says, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

“Thank God, I’m starving,” you reply, leaping off the counter to stand beside him.

“What, no ‘thank you, Chris?’ No, ‘what ever would I have done without you, Chris?’” He mocks offence, placing a hand on his heart.

“It’s not even done yet. I’ll thank you after I try it, I promise.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’re only thankful if you like it. I see how it is,” Chris says, crossing his arms in front of himself, pouting his lower lip slightly.

“Guess so,” you say, crossing your own arms mockingly. Chris smiles, those cute little dimples of his dancing across his cheeks.

Then you feel it, that little jump of your heart. The faintest skip of a beat that you’d familiarized yourself with over the last hour. That little hint of anticipation that makes you decide that you are, even if only slightly, a bit interested in Chris.

After all, he’s funny and sweet. Can carry a conversation well, and to understate it, undeniably easy on the eyes. That’s more than enough to give him a chance.

Most of all, however, you like that little flare between the two of you. The sarcasm, the banter. It doesn’t feel the same as when Minho does it, slightly condescending and done purely to harbour your annoyance. No, this is different. It is a challenge. He wants you to quip back, to push further. To make him smirk, or laugh, or roll his eyes.

“Alright, fine then,” he says, taking the large wooden spoon and scooping up some of the pasta sauce. “Tell me if this is up to par, your majesty.”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to take the spoon, or let him hold it for you as you take a bite. You decide to take the gamble, gently moving your lips around the spoon, tasting the sauce. You glance up at Chris, a small look of surprise on his face. However, you don’t miss the flash of something behind his eyes. The faintest hint of affection, interest.

The sauce itself is delicious. A perfect blend of tomato, basil and cream. You hum contently, giving him a thumbs up.

“Chris, this is amazing,” you praise, admiring the small blush that sprinkles his cheeks.

“It’s really nothing,” he says, diverting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, shyly.

“No, seriously,” you say, taking the spoon from his hand and scooping some of the sauce up yourself. “Try it.” You hold the spoon out in front of him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. Your gaze remains firm. A challenge.

Hesitantly, he takes the bite, not breaking eye contact as he does so. You stare at him, watching the way his lips move around the spoon, the intensity of his gaze. The action itself should be innocent, yet you feel a warmth rise to your cheeks.

Chris swallows, taking his lips off the spoon. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The spark between you two being brought alight.

You swallow hard. “So?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, it’s good. Very good,” he says back, his voice low and raspy. He goes to take the spoon from you, and his hand lingers a moment, his thumb trailing the skin of your knuckles.

You feel yourself lean in slightly, fully prepared to take the leap, when suddenly he breaks away from you, eagerly taking a few steps back. He looks away, placing a hand on his face, as if he were ashamed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re seeing someone, we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry,” he babbles, completely turning away from you.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Seeing someone? Where the hell could he have possibly gotten that idea?

“Seeing someone?” You ask, incredulously voicing your thoughts. You grab him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

Chris still refuses to meet your eyes, instead focusing intently on the wall behind you. “The guy that lives here- Minho - aren’t you two?”

“Minho?” You gape, contorting your face in a look of pure disgust. “Ew, gross! No! Believe me, I am not dating Minho, I’d genuinely rather stick this spoon in my eye,” you exclaim, lifting up the utensil.

At that Chris finally looks at you, wearing his own look of pure confusion. “Wait, really? But whenever I hear you guys out in the hall, the two of you are always so… flirty.”

“Flirty?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “If by flirty you mean he teases me literally every god damn second of every day, then yeah sure, I guess. But believe me, there is absolutely nothing romantic about that. Not in the least.”

Chris shakes his head, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “Wow. I am such an idiot,” he sighs, a rediscovered lightness to his tone.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “Anyone could make that mistake, I guess. It’s really no big-”

“No, it’s not just that,” he cuts you off. “That’s why I’ve never talked to you before now.”

“You never talked to me because you thought that me and Minho were dating?” You ask, slightly confused. Even if you were dating, you didn’t see why that would stop him from starting a conversation with you. “Why?”

“Well,” he sighs, his cheeks reddening further. “I thought you were pretty, and based on the way you always quipped back at him, clever and funny as well. I don’t know, it just felt wrong to try and build a friendship with you, knowing how I already felt a little....”  

You smirk, drawing yourself slightly closer to him. “A little what?”

His smile transforms itself from embarrassed to a sly grin of his own. “A little into you, I guess.”

“It really is a shame,” you shrug, trying to hide the excitement building in your chest. “Because here I was, thinking my cute neighbor had some irrational grudge against me.”

Chris leans in, so the two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the strong fragrance of his cologne. Sharp with lemon zest and mint.

“We could always make up for lost time, you know,” he says, his eyes flashing with mischief.

That is all the invitation you need to break the space between the two of you. You press Chris’ lips against your own, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other along the line of his jaw. His lips are soft, you notice. Tender in the slow rhythm the two of you develop.

He runs his hands up along your figure. One of them finding itself locked in your hair, the other placed firmly on the curve of your lower back. Gently, he leads the two of you away from the stove, placing you so that your back is pressed up against the kitchen counter.

You run your hand down along his chest, reveling in the groan he let’s out as your fingers trail down his lower abdomen. The sound is electricity pulsing through you, charging the room and igniting the atmosphere around the two of you.

His lips leave yours, trailing your jaw before making their way down your neck. Each individual kiss is slow and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine. You take a deep breath to stable yourself, and it does not go unnoticed.

Chris smirks, shifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with desire. “You know, if we keep this up, the pasta sauce is going to burn,” he says, letting his fingers trail along your collarbone.

“Let it,” you shrug. “I wasn’t hungry anyways.”

Chris laughs at this, leaning forward so his face brushes the crook of your neck. “Yeah, right,” he says, allowing his lips to dust your skin. Suddenly, he bites down, not enough to break through the skin, but certainly enough to leave a small mark.  

You laugh, running your hands in his hair, half-heartedly pulling him off of your neck. “Hey! That hurt,” you exclaim, only half serious.

“Sorry,” he grins, before crashing his lips into yours once again. The pace between the two of you is much faster now, each kiss more passionate. More promising. Your desire rings through you, clouding your mind in a hazy fog of lust. It is dizzying, just how much you want him at this moment.

You're certain he feels the same way, given in how tightly he grips your thigh, his breath ragged every time you break apart. It is messy. Greedy. The two of you so deeply wanting more. More of each other.

You’re about to ask if he wants to move this to the bedroom, when suddenly the apartment door swings open. It’s almost comical, how quickly you and Chris break apart, springing to opposite ends of the kitchen.

“I hate to say it, but you were right,” Minho calls as he walks inside, not yet glancing up from his phone screen. “Shit got out of hand. Someone managed to break the pool table, don’t even ask how, I don’t know either. Almost gave Felix an aneurysm. I swear the kid was about to cry, poor guy. Han had to shut everything down. So you really didn’t miss out on-” Minho stops as he sees Chris, a confused yet bemused expression crossing his face.

“Oh, hey Chan,” he says, causing you to give Chris a look.

“A nickname,” Chris mouths to you, as discreetly as he possibly can.

“What are you doing over here?” Minho asks him, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He has that smug smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him.

“Oh, well…” Chris starts, casting you a glance. “Y/N made some food, and there was too much of it, so she invited me over.”

“Really?” Minho asks, caught off guard. He walks past you and Chris, staring at the pasta and sauce currently sitting on the oven burners. “You’re saying Y/N made this?”

“Well, yeah?” Chris says, feigning confusion. “Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why?”

You have to stop yourself from laughing, looking at the expression of utter bewilderment on Minho’s face. Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes, before sighing.

“Well then, I guess you proved me wrong on two things tonight, Y/N,” he says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he begins to scoop some of the penne into his dish.

“Oh, you said there was a lot,” Minho responds, raising one eyebrow. “Can I not have some?”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you say, still slightly flustered by the abruptness of his entrance. Minho finishes filling his bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. As he begins to eat, the room is filled with a rather tense silence. You and Chris share an awkward look, unsure of what to do next.

Minho looks up from his dish, glancing between the two of you.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his bowl and standing up from his chair. “I’m going to go eat this in my room. Have fun you two.”

Before you can say anything, Minho disappears around the corner, down the hallway leading to his room. You turn back towards Chris. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“He’s a bit of a mood-killer, huh?” You say, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, offering him one.

Chris nods in thanks as he takes the bowl from your hands. “Just a little bit,” he laughs, beginning to scoop some of the pasta into both of your dishes.

The two of you take a seat at your counter, spending the meal talking and laughing. Nothing else, the moment has passed, but that doesn’t bother you. You enjoy Chris’ presence. His quick humour and thoughtful conversation.

It really is something that you could get used to, you decide.

After you’re done eating, you walk Chris over to the door, handing him his surplus of spice bottles and leftover spinach.

“Thank you for doing all this, seriously. The food was delicious, you’re seriously gifted. And also, thank you for covering for me, I really didn’t feel like listening to Minho die laughing over the burnt cookies,” you admit.

“It’s no problem, really,” Chris smiles. He shifts all the spices over to his right arm, letting his free hand fall down to his side. Softly, he takes your hand in his, letting your fingers intertwine.

“Listen,” he continues, shyly looking up from your hands to meet your eyes. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, you’re welcome to come over for a proper dinner. You know, so I can show you what I can actually make when it’s not a last minute attempt at salvaging a meal.”

You smile a goofy, genuine grin. “That sounds good to me,” you say. Hesitantly, you lean forwards, planting a soft, innocent kiss on his lips.

As you break apart, he hums contently. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks for today. You made my night, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.” You watch as he walks over to his apartment door, which is of course, only a few meters away from your own. When he disappears into his own apartment, you sigh, closing your own door behind you. You lean against the frame, letting out a shaky breath, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve held any genuine interest in someone, you feel almost giddy.

That is until you see Minho, leaning against the corner of the kitchen wall, watching you with his cheshire smirk.

“Dinner tomorrow, huh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen and scooping himself the last of the pasta.

“What about it?” You retort, not giving in to that pestering look in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be good, considering Chan clearly made this,” Minho says, shoveling some of the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard.

“Save it, the lady at the front desk told me you almost set the apartment on fire,” Minho laughs as you pour the wine.

You let out a groan, handing him his glass. “God dammit.”

“Don’t blame her though,” he smiles, leaning back and taking a sip. “I wouldn’t have believed you could have cooked that anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Had me fooled for a second there though,” he says, patting you on the head. “But more importantly, you like Chan huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Nice hickey, by the way,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows.

You pull up the collar of your shirt, casting him a glare. “Okay, maybe I do,” you shrug. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he replies, before taking a second to think. “Just please don’t fuck him or anything tomorrow. Walls are thin.”

You laugh, taking your glass of wine and flopping yourself back down on the living room couch.

“Shut up, Minho.”

~

thanks for reading loves <3

#stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids bang chan #skz bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan neighbour au #bang chan x y/n #skz neighbour au #stray kids neighbour au #skz fanfiction #skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan #skz #stray kids

[actualbird]

Oh god!

I really love the poly headcanons they are so sweet.... (or don't but that's part of it and i think the tot boys+MC deserve all the love the world has to give).

But, liking it or not, our 4 beloved boys are kinda complicated (that's what makes them perfect). Plus I never thought about how people get in poly relationships. So i was thinking, how do you think they all get into a polyrelationship together?

(I really have no idea of how that would happen)

hi, two anons!! im glad you guys liked my nxx team polycule stuff!! i'll answer these in one go, my "headcanon" (in quotes because i think this kinda turned into a character analysis/minific of sorts HAHA) being what first anon asked, How They Get Together.

heads up, wc of this is 1.9k words long so buckle up for a bit of a read jfsjdfkjbf

because first anon, youre right!!! the boys are stupendously complicated which i love so so much but canon has also shown us clearly that each of the boys' quirks and habits and tendencies causes a lot of (mostly played for laughs) friction. the bickering, the backhanded insults, the "im the best one here" preening contests. theyre all SOOOO RIDICULOUS and it is hilarious but yep! the boys r complex!! and that means this beautiful ship, imo, has a lot of phases to get to the actual romantic relationship bit.

how they get together, in my opinion, starts because of mc.

not in the sense that she matchmakes them all, but like.

phase 1 of the nxx team polycule is this:

through being in love with her (which we all know the boys 100% are), each of the boys come to terms with their own flaws and weaknesses. it's very apparent to me in all the story thus far that these boys are flawed as hell, it's very compelling but even more compelling to me is how all of them also do intense mental gymnastics to Not Confront Those Flaws. like, marius is a dickbag always teasing and toeing the line of insincerity, vyn is a controlling mf who always tries to sway situations to his benefit, artem is so repressed to the point that he has genuine trouble with emotions, luke is a self sacrificial bastard and also a huge hypocrite about how no, actually, hes the only one that should be hiding his pain and being dishonest, no dishonesty from other people!! in the beginning of the story, all the boys have their flaws and seem to have just kinda...not addressed how those flaws are harming them and the people around them.

and then mc rolls around and they all fall in love with her. and she sees those flaws and she doesnt let them slide. she challenges the boys in her own ways to see another side of the situation, to acknowledge what theyre doing. she doesnt want to get rid of flaws, thats impossible and also not cool. she just has this beautiful hope for like, all of humanity, that goodness can prevail with the right work. so when she sees her beloved nxx boys, she believes that for them as well.

which leads to phase 2 of the nxx team polycule:

the boys, more aware of themselves, become more aware of each other.

they werent Unaware of the others of course. it's just that they didnt like...truly connect on a personal level just yet. they saw the other teammembers with their emotional armor and flaws and saw a wall that wasnt worth looking past.

but after mc makes them realize that hey, flaws arent the end of the world actually, it's alright and the person behind them may just be worth it, the boys like. end up understanding the others. A LOT OF THIS BIT IS UNINTENTIONAL, ON THEIR PARTS KJDSBFS. like they stumble into understanding each other by accident, they didnt plan it, but over the course of nxx investigations, it's inevitable that they end up seeing the depths of the others. i delve into this a little bit in my fanfic "filler eps of the lost gold" where the boys are just going thru their actions and then trip over another boy's fears or desires and through that, gain a deeper understanding mutually.

and with understanding, sometimes, comes trust.

phase 3 of the nxx team polycule goes like this:

everybody in this team, whether they like it or not, whether they know it or not, has a heart that wants to give love so desperately.

marius lives in a world full of snakes so he cant have his heart on his sleeve for his own protection. vyn wants to be seen as perfect and the heart is inherently messy so he holds it back. artem for a very very long time was focused on work and success and achievement that he neglected his heart. and luke has been giving love all his life in a sense but in a way thats hidden.

all these tendencies that are brought upon their life circumstances results in this: they want to love honestly but they havent been able to do this

until mc. and all of them want to push back whatever fears or patterns their life has instilled in them because they see her and see somebody so unwaveringly good that all their hearts begin giving love to her to make her happy and to make themselves happy as well.

but heres the thing. the boys dont just see mc. by this point, they have connected and understood and come to trust each other as well, and the consequence of that is that They Can See Each Other Now Too, Truly.

and heres the thing. all of the boys are unwaveringly good as well.

one by one, each of the boys realize that what they feel for the other boys in the team starts to...change. yeah theyre all friends, they pick on each other a lot of the time, but the bedrock of the relationship is solid and strong now. but when marius is with luke, marius sees a light inside of luke so bright that he seems unaware that he gives off. when artem is with vyn, artem sees a goodness inside of vyn that hesitates to make itself obvious and known because vyn is scared of getting hurt thanks to it. all of them see the other and their goodness and, unbidden, their hearts want to give love to each other as well.

and because theyre all a bit stupid in their own way theyre like, huh, weird! wonder why this feeling is so familiar! and yet i cant seem to name it...and then they all independently compare these feeling with the feelings they have for mc, a feeling they do know the name of, and theyre like.

WAIT.

THESE FEELINGS ARE...VERY BASICALLY EXACTLY WHAT I FEEL FOR MC.

which only means one thing: theyve fallen in love with everybody else

marius: //goes to his studio to Think and sees that a bunch of his recent art actually had little crumbs of these feelings already, etched into the brushstrokes and scenes. has an emotional crisis about it

vyn: //records a 1 hour long entry in his audio diary to examine and gain control of his feelings but by the end of the hour all he knows is that he wants to hold these people and be held by them

artem: //quite literally just bluescreens, artem.exe has stopped working, sits at his study and slowly, slowly, thunks his head down onto his desk, valiantly trying to ignore the fast pulse of his heart

luke: //manically vents about it to peanut who, by virtue of being a bird, doesnt get it. just keeps talking at peanut to get a grasp of it all and then lies down on the floor, overwhelmed

mc, sitting in her apartment watching some netflix: ...why do i inexplicably feel as if something very, very important has just happened?

phase 4 of the nxx team polycule is basically:

pining: extreme difficulty level

because pining is already hard when ur pining for one person. what more for an additional 3 more people. and those additional 3 more people are pining back.

and all these boys are SOOOO OBVIOUS with their romantic feelings, in their own special way. the way they show their affection to mc starts to bleed into their interactions with the others and everybody can CLEARLY SEE WHAT IS GOING ON, LOL, but also all the boys are too chickenshit to confront it, because if they confront it, what will even happen??? being in love with each other, all of them, thats going to be such a complicated fucking relationship, holy shit. it's 2030, yeah, being a polyamorous group relationship isnt completely unheard of, but sue them, theyre scared.

but mc (who i forgot to mention already knows of the boys' romantic feelings for her, shes just hasnt made a move yet on any of them because SHES IN LOVE WITH ALL OF THEM AS WELL and shes been trying to figure out how the hell to make that work, she cant bear to choose just one of them, she'd be heartbroken over leaving the rest of them behind) sees that the nxx investigation team is now all pining for each other FULLY and she kinda wants to laugh when she realizes whats going on because like, what are the chances? that this would happen? that they all found each other and their feelings fell into just the right place for nobody to be left behind?

theyre all scared, she can tell. and she is as well, she wont lie.

but shes always had a belief that goodness can prevail with the right work.

and love is one of the greatest goods out there.

phase 5 of the nxx team polycule:

It's Time For Communication, Baby!!!!!

the exact scenes of how this happens is a bit vague to me. it could go two ways: mc going to each of the boys independently to talk about feelings, hers about everybodys and his about everybodys as well. OR they have a fucking meeting about it all together and artem literally schedules it in his google calendar, or something.

either way, they like, actually talk about this. starts casual, maybe over a chill date, maybe over dinner at a nice restaurant, maybe over a walk in the park as the sun is starting to set. but where ever it happens, the end result is the same: a heart is laid out bare and it is taken in gentle, grateful hands.

marius: OKAY, NOW THAT THE FEELINGS ARE OUT OF THE WAY, CAN I PLEASE KISS ONE OR ALL OF YOU, PLEASE, IVE BEEN WANTING TO KISS U GUYS FOR FOREVER

vyn, laughing fondly: has anybody ever told you patience is a virtue? we quite literally just talked it all out.

marius: //needy whining noises

artem, embarrassed: ive...never kissed anybody before

luke, embarrassed but trying to play it Cool: ....same here

mc: kissing is great, you two will love it!

marius: awesome, awesome, so is ANYBODY going to give me a go ahead or WHAT????

phase 6 of the nxx team polycule:

i dont want to say it's happily ever after, once they all get together. thats not really realistic.

they all have their quirks and tendencies and habits. and those will inevitable clash against each other. theyll have their arguments, theyll get upset, theyll sulk and be angry, sometimes. but also...

theyll see each other smile and feel like their love shining so brightly. theyll reach out for another's hand and be held in such a way that makes them think that their heart is in a safe place. theyll love each other and theyll put in the work to continue loving each other. because goodness will prevail.

and they all see each other as the most good people in the world.

so whatever happens, theyll get through it together.

#tears of themis #vyn richter #marius von hagen #tears of themis rosa #artem wing

[hrwinter]

Lena placing a pair of glasses on a pillow and making out with it pretending it’s Kara

Lena’s not always this drunk. Well. Lena hasn’t historically imbibed this much after the age of 26, but her mother’s been arrested and her best friend is a liar, so what else is there to do other than look for an answer at the bottom of a very large bottle of scotch.

She’s been to three upscale bars and restaurants with Andrea, both of them reverting to their messy boarding school days almost instantaneously after the third glass, giggling in the corner and overtly hitting on men and women by sending them pretentious $24 cocktails.

But there’s still a dark streak in all the buffoonery. Lena can’t stop searching for blue eyes on the face of every blonde or broad shoulders under the lapels of every Armani jacket. She hates herself for it. And she hates Kara Danvers. Or Kara Zor-El, whatever the fuck.

Lena is pissed.

She takes another moody sip of scotch while some stock broker continues to shoot his shot (why do they all talk the same? why do they all feel the need to explain how money works to her, a billionaire?) and Andrea’s laughing and laughing at a woman far too loudly, her finger tips sloshing the edge of a martini she absolutely doesn’t need. While the man goes on about blue chip stocks, earnings per share, dividends (kill her), Lena’s eyeing the restroom.

No one would miss her if she ducked out. She could have a car here in minutes. Hell, Andrea would probably appreciate the attention of both parties at the same time. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d finagled a twosome into a threesome.

But that means going home. It means gazing at the dark sky from the cold enclave of her penthouse balcony. It means seeing the downturned photo frame, glass smashed, but still not thrown away.

God damn Kara. She stays.

She doesn’t go home with the man, and Andrea doesn’t go home with the woman. They don’t all go home together. But she and Andrea do go to another bar, and after that, an after hours bar. Then, by some misfortune of a higher power, they end up at a bratwurst stand at 4 AM with a horde of college kids. College children.

“Someone threw up just there,” Lena points at the pavement.

“Oh, don’t be such a snob!” Andrea shrieks into the night, grasping at Lena’s elbow and toying with a necklace Lena knows to cost more than a tricked out Vespa. Lena may be glassy-eyed, there may even be two of Andrea, but she can still spot irony.

“I’m starving. And I haven’t had one of these in yeaaarrrsss,” Andrea elongates as they move up a few paces in line. “Remember when we’d sneak into town and grift old men for drinks? That hot dog stand just outside of Hawthorne’s? I’ve been desperate for one.”

Lena wants to complain more, but it does smell good. And by the time they have bratwursts fisted in hand and are leaning against a nearby brick wall with the rest of the infants, Lena’s not feeling all that bad. It might be the best thing she’s ever tasted in her life. God, this might be the best she’s ever felt in her life. Numb, blitzed out of her mind, somewhere closer to nineteen sheets to the wind than three, she’s no longer a Luthor, no longer a simpering fool to a Super’s lies, not a CEO or a disappointment or even a person. She’s just a presence existing on this curb, eating a bratwurst.

“I’m having an out of body experience,” she tells Andrea with half her mouth full and still swallowing.

“That good, huh?” Andrea has mustard on her chin.

“I want another.”

Lena glances up, and her visions tunnels. Her existence is whittled down even further, to its basest instinct. She’s become the singular pursuit of a thousand more calories, of another bratwurst. Lena surges into the street, the stand a beacon of light in the darkness.

But several things happen at once. There’s a screech of tires, the smash of metal, what feels like getting hit with a brick wall and then being shot out of a circus canon.

Lena finds herself throwing up on the pavement on the other side of the road, and Kara fucking Danvers yelling at a motorist. The guy has gotten out of his car, hood dented and engine smoking.

“You smashed my car!”

“You almost hit a woman! You could’ve killed her!”

“She just bolted into the street, that’s not my fault!”

“PEDESTRIANS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY!” Kara shouts back.

“Hey!” Lena slurs, having regained her dignity by wiping her mouth clean of vomit. It’s called class.

Both the guy and Kara turn to look at her, but her eyes are trained on Kara.

“I don’t need your help,” she tells her with a point of her finger.

This feels very witty. The pinnacle of sass. So what if she’s lost a heel at some point and may have missed a bit of vomit in her hair. She’s the one in control.

The guy’s eyes narrow.

“Are you blind or something? Didn’t your mom teach you to look both ways before you walk into the street?”

At the mention of Lena’s mother, her eyes narrow, she sways dangerously.

“You’re fired.”

“What?” the guy rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this.” He whips out his cell phone. “You’ve got insurance right?”

“Um, yeah,” Kara hands him a card, but she’s quick to come to Lena’s side, to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. Lena tries to wiggle away from it like a petulant child.

“Stop it!”

Kara ignores her.

“Lena, I didn’t want to say it around him,” Kara cups a blocking hand over her mouth and points at the guy so he can’t see.

It’s so adorable and infuriating.

She stage whispers, “But you were jaywalking! And you could’ve been hit by a car. What’re you even doing out here?”

Lena rolls her eyes so hard, she might’ve just incurred permanent damage.

“I’m an adult, Supergirl, and I don’t need an escort--”

Lena’s very mature tirade is interrupted by Andrea crossing the street, mouth still wide open and staring. The look she’s giving Kara is distinctly not platonic, and the look she’s giving Lena is one of deepest intrigue. Her eyes scan the pair of them, their body language, the way Kara’s hand is still on Lena’s shoulder (hadn’t she shaken that off?), and smirks.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Lena could kill her.

“Be quiet, Drea!”

Andrea dissolves into snorts, and Kara glances between the two of them, a look of recognition passing over her face. Now Lena wants to hurl herself into traffic for real.

Kara opens her mouth to speak, but Lena waves a hand in front of her nose.

“Just--everyone shut up and take me home.”

And the route Lena wants to be taken home is clear when she swats at Kara’s (firm) bicep (to push her away, of course), and that swat accidentally turns into a posessive squeeze.

“Oh, can I come, too?” Andrea purrs, and Kara’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“No!” Lena barks at her.

“Fine, fine! Call me tomorrow!” Andrea waves, and like some sort of rich superpower, she’s already getting into the back of a sleek black car.

“Okay, Lena,” Kara hushes against her head. It’s too soft and caring, and Lena wants to push her away. But she doesn’t. (Mainly because standing is feeling like quite a complex task, and she doesn’t have the balance for it.)

“This’ll only take a second.” 

Then, Lena’s wrapped in a warm and solid embrace. It’s nice... before everything blurs, and she has the distinct desire to vomit again.

She never wants another bratwurst.

In the very next moment, she’s being gingerly placed on her balcony, and Lena’s surging out of Kara’s grasp and pressing her face against the cold glass of her balcony sliding door. It feels amazing, calming her stomach down by degrees.

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh,” Lena says. Maybe she’d been doing that for a bit too long.

She runs her hands over the glass in an attempt to open the door, heavily petting various keypads and biometric scanners. Nothing happens. She scratches at the glass like a raccoon desperate to be inside.

“Um, isn’t it over there?” Kara indicates a different keypad to the left.

“I don’t need your help!” Lena shouts before following her instructions exactly. The door opens. She grumbles inside.

Unaware and uncaring, Lena starts undressing in her living room the very moment she’s crossed the threshhold, discarding her shirt, her skirt this way and that. There’s a gasp behind her and another suspicious super speeding sound, but she ignores Kara. She paces into her bedroom to strip off her bra and grab an oversized shirt. After, she spread eagles on her bed.

“I, um, brought you a glass of water.”

Lena cracks an eye open, takes in the sight of Kara standing at her bedside, nervous and uncertain, glass of water extended between them like some sort of peace offering.

She groans loudly and sits up to snatch it from her, water sloshing onto her bare legs. She doesn’t register it, draining it dry, glaring at Kara over the edge of the glass the entire time.

The Super pulls at her fingers.

“What’re you doing here?” Lena rasps, rolling the empty glass onto her exquisite and overpriced comforter.

“You were in trouble, Lena.”

“You don’t care about me.”

“Yes, I do.”

Lena scoffs, completely undignified, a sound appropriate for an elementary school playground. She does it again because it feels good. Kara’s eyebrows pinch.

Lena swivels at the waist and plucks her reading glasses off her bedside table. She places them over one of her giant, California King-sized pillows.

“Oh, Kara, there you are!” she says, squeezing it’s sides together like she’s cupping its cheeks. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you in a pair of glasses!”

Kara’s brows furrow deeper, not amused.

“How did I not see that the kindness, the sincerity, the insistence that I was not just another Luthor was a total act!” she continues to talk to it.

“It wasn’t an act--”

Lena brings the pillow close in her arms.

“Stopping by to bring me lunch, complimentary puff pieces, spin class, game nights. You’re so sweeeeeet,” she elongates, squeezing the pillow tight. “And beautiful. You know what you deserve? A kiss.”

Surely, this bit has spiraled out of Lena’s control. This entire night has. And were she sober enough to realize it, she’d catch herself before this next part. But she’s not and she’s wasted. And this pillow is the Kara she used to know, the Kara Lena used to pine for unconditionally, fantasizing what it might be like to just, lean over and...

She loses her balance as she places a wet one just under the glasses of her pillowcase and falls over on top of it. Incidentally, it’s the perfect size for snuggling, just like Kara herself, and her eyes flutter closed, warm and content.

“I’ll--I’ll go,” she hears a voice say.

“Kara?” Lena mumbles, face down in her pillow and not long for this world.

“Yeah?”

“I lo--I mean, I hate you.”

Kara sighs.

“I love you too, Lena.”

#supercorp #hr's askhole #tumblr prompt #ficlet #god i was like #thisll be short #1800 words later #pillowcorp endgame

[wandsandwheezes]

Assassini | G.W

Warnings // 3.5k // SMUT 18+, Sex, knife play, assassins, murder, attempted assassination??, contracts, ownership, breath play, begging.

A/N // Hi I am literally obsessed with assassins creed that is the only thing that prompted me to want to write this. this is not by any means my best work i just couldnt get the idea out of my head. that is all. thank you @gcdric​ for helping me as historically accurate as possible. 

Your chest heaved as you stepped through the opening double doors and into a stunning reception area; rolling stone walls and a beautiful glass ceiling that showcased the fantastic hues of the Florentine sunset. You knew what you had to do, after all you would have never taken on the task if it didn’t fall within your capabilities. You rubbed your hands together before smoothing out your dress, you felt a fool coming to a high-class party on your own, knowing that the image of a stunning and well presented lady such as yourself standing on her own was sure to cause a scene among men, but with such an important target you couldn’t afford to be chasing around or keeping a date in tow; there was simply too much to lose. 

Feeling the cool metal of the dagger sheathed against your thigh brought you back down to reality, your mind had begun to wonder of a life away from the horrors that came with the trade, what it was like to be a trophy wife on the arm of a wealthy man. That was not the life you had been blessed with, instead you spent your days between contracts, taking out whoever you needed to to get the pay, taking your prize gracefully before you were onto the next. People feared your ability to be able to take a life without remorse and without question, that was the reality of who you were; a cold blooded assassin. 

The latest contract had been practically shoved down your throat, only just finishing up business before you were being shipped off to track the next target. No rest for the wicked. You were on your way to the grandest bash of your career, it would be packed with every wealthy man you could think of, every bachelor prancing around trying to find a wife but your eyes were dead set on finding one man - George Weasley. A very wealthy man, but ruthless, known well for the money of his family name but known better by the blood money that kept him feared by many. It was a contract that only a fool would take, failure ended in torture. You were no fool and you would not fail. 

You knew the person who had last attempted the Weasley Contract - not the brightest man but someone who was notorious for getting the job done, it all came as a surprise at the order when the news of his death spread through the halls like wildfire. His tactics were good; sneak past the guards and get him dead in the night, his downfall was that George knew he was coming, waited for him even. You were glad however, that despite taking on the failed contract, you had the element of surprise on your side, nobody suspects a woman, not even George. 

You caught sight of him standing with his hands pressed against the railing as he leaned over the balcony, eyes surveying the room as he spoke to someone standing beside him. George was tall, that much was obvious from the way he towered above most people standing around him, he had a chiselled jaw, dark striking eyes and long messy orange hair. He looked like a god, a pedestal he had placed himself on, and you knew that you had to get closer to him, better yet get him alone. 

You had never once whored yourself out for the sake of a job, your years upon years of training gave you a sharp enough edge that you wouldn't ever need to rely on a feminine touch but tonight was different, the way his eyes scoured the crowd, you knew he was hungry for some female attention and if you had to give in to anyone for the sake of the job, it would be him. 

You wore a beautifully detailed red gown, the corset pulled tight around your waist emphasised your ample breasts, threatening to spill at any moment and left not much to the imagination. Your plan was to catch his eye and you knew this was the dress that would do that. You followed his gaze and placed yourself directly in his line of vision, careful not to make yourself too obvious as to not attract unwanted gazes. When he caught sight of you he swore he could have stopped breathing, you truly were a vision of God. 

He couldn't take his eyes off of you from that moment on and you had to admit that having a lingering male gaze did make your cheeks flush, suddenly feeling stuffy under the many layers of dress. George instructed one of his men, rather curtly, to bring you to him, a task that was handled quickly and with hurry as one of his aides approached you. “Mr Weasley has requested your company.” 

Perfect, everything was going exactly to plan. As you were led up a grand staircase and past the guards that hadn’t even given you a second look. Now that you were on the private balcony, surrounded by members of the Weasley family and their company who were all schmoozing without any care in the world for the hundreds of guests below them, each one hoping they would be lucky enough to get that special invitation. Standing just behind George you were able to see with your own eyes just how much he truly did tower over you. Something inside of you bubbled and you refused to believe that it was anything but pure happiness for your plan going as well as it had. 

“What’s a pretty Lady like you doing here on her own?” He asked smoothly, eyes not falling away from the gaze they held over the bustling crowd. As you looked over the balcony you could see that the room was packed, spotting the way the men flirted with any and every woman they could lay their eyes on, couples falling to the edges of the room in passionate lip locks, uncaring for the vast group of people around them. 

“What makes you think I’m alone?” You quipped back, watching as a smile fell over his lips, finally pulling his eyes away from the crowd to face you. The moment your eyes locked again, this time inches away from him you felt that same bubbling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

“No respectable partner would let their Lady come to a party with her breasts heaving like that, well… not unless the Lady wants to be seen.” His eyes scanned over your upper body before meeting your eyes once again. You weren’t sure why you were holding your breath but the second his knuckle was grazing over your exposed collarbone, brushing your hair over your shoulder, you finally let out a slow, shaky breath. 

“And to think I was just wearing a nice dress.” You sighed comically, turning back to lean your hands against the railing, taking a moment to compose yourself without having to stare into his eyes. Never in George’s life had a woman thought of talking back to him, so having you quip back at him with a tongue as sharp as his own, practically running circles around him in conversation made him even more determined to have you. 

“You’re a quick one, smart I assume, probably raised by men, or at the very least a strong minded woman. A fighter too, you have the shoulders for it, money doesn’t matter to you much from your lack of jewellery- Stop me If I’m wrong.” With every assumption that spilled from his lips, you realised that you had blown your cover, fear immediately building in the pit of your stomach until it reached your eyes. “So what brings you here, If not for a man, what for?”

“Who said I didn’t want a man?” You finally looked back at him, a teasing smile on your lips. You watched his face ease, taking a brave step closer to him as you realised that he truly didn’t have a clue.  You were brave for doing this, letting him see a vulnerable side to you, one that could leave you easily exposed. 

“I’m sure you know who I am, don’t you sweetheart? Yet I haven’t a clue who you are.” He was smooth, able to pull your name from your lips without even a second thought. Perhaps it was a bad idea to lead this way, fearing that a part of you would grow attached to his smile or addicted to his perfect laugh.

“Well, count yourself lucky that you’re up here then, all you’ll find is boys down there.” You weren’t surprised that George was the cocky sort of man, part of you found it endearing that he obviously had some sort of saviour complex about him, figuring that he would selfishly have you to himself and ‘save’ you from being surrounded by the inferior. 

“I’d be luckier alone with you.” You leaned in, whispering just low enough for him to hear. You were feeling brave enough to get suggestive with him, hoping that he would catch your tone and give you some time alone. You felt his hand pressing against the small of your back as he pulled you in closer, your mind wondering as soon as you could breathe in his scent, a part of you forgot why you were truly here as it became drunker off of the male attention. 

All it took was one look from him to his aide and you were being led by him, past his friends and family up another set of stairs. You heard the sounds of chatter, laughter and clinking glasses fade away as you were ushered into a private room, the doors swinging shut behind the two of you, finally realising that you were alone with him. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?” He sighed, pulling at your wrist to tug you into his chest, his hot breath fanning in your neck as you stood pressed against each other, uncaring for the huge amounts of space that the room had to offer. Being so close him made you lose all of your inhibitions and suddenly the contract no longer mattered to you, the one thing that did however, was bedding the man who had you in a trance. In all your years of working contracts, nobody came above the job but now as your lips were inches away from his, George Weasley was more important. 

"I'm here for you." You muttered, hand snaking up to tangle in his long, messy hair, giving the locks a gentle tug that made his eyes darken. Feeling him guide you backwards, taking small steps with him until your back hit a wall. His strong hand travelled its way up your leg, hoping to hitch it up to hook around his hip as he pushed every layer of fabric up so he could get a good look at the gorgeous thighs he wanted wrapped around his head. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his fingers stop over your dagger, pulling it free from where it was held. 

As his eyes surveyed over the intricate detailing of the handle, you couldn't help but avoid his gaze, startled only by the chuckle that fell from his lips. "A mark of the brotherhood… They send you to bed me and leave me vulnerable?" 

You shook your head, watching as he pressed the dull side of the blade against your throat, his commanding eyes forcing you to look at him as he pressed himself closer to you. "They sent you to kill me?" 

He pulled the dagger from your throat, shoving it into your hand as he laughed, pulling away from you, letting the skirt fall back in its place as he turned around to walk away from you and deeper into the room. It was obvious that he wasn't afraid by you, certainly less the prospect of you being able to kill him. You didn't like being underestimated, much less by someone who would be easy for you to kill. You pushed yourself away from the wall coming up behind the man and tackling him to the floor, hips straddled directly over his as you pressed the knife against his throat, watching the way his eyes lit up with surprise, his hands finding your hips to grip onto tightly. 

"I like you, you've got a lot of nerve, probably one of the most gorgeous women I've ever laid my eyes on so tell me what's the contact worth?" He chuckled, hands tugging to grind your hips against his tentatively, watching as you fumbled to keep your thoughts straight. Composing yourself as you ignored the pleasurable feeling of your hips rocking against his, instead pressing the dagger closer to his throat. You were about to respond to his question when he cut you off quickly. 

"Whatever it is I'll double it, hell I'd even triple it under two conditions." He spluttered quickly, hands stilling as he realised that you weren't to be messed with. You cocked your head to the side, pulling the blade from his throat as you considered what he had to say, dragging the tip of your dagger gently over his jawline and down his chest with a sickly sweet smile, the alluring confusion evident in your tone of voice "Conditions?" 

"Condition one, Work for me and I'll pay better than any contract ever could and two, you're mine to have." He suggested, his tone coming across as commanding making it seem like you truly had no choice in the matter but you knew better. 

"I don't belong to anyone, Weasley, especially not someone I work for." You bit back, watching as he laughed softly, hand gripping at your waist as he flipped you over, the dagger clattering against the floor as he pinned your hands down, back pressed firmly against the cold surface, feeling him press his lips to your exposed neck. "You belong to me now, seems a waste of such perfect breasts for you not to be."

"Were you going to whore yourself out for me? That's precious." His lips travelled down, peppering wet kisses along your collarbone as his hands still gripped onto your waist. Any semblance of fight in you disappeared the minute his lips were on your skin, a sick part of you adored how he wanted you but an even sicker part wanted him to take you. 

"Where's the confidence, darling? Not ready to submit to me already, are you?" His voice was thick with arousal, hands finding their way to your hips again as he slowly ground his hips into yours, teasing you ever so slightly as he pushed himself closer to you. Somehow George had managed to shock you into silence, your head filled with nothing but the the image of him fucking you into the morning, not even room to think of a quick remark or retorting comment to quip back at him.

“You’re insufferable.” You breathed out, letting his strong arms pull you off of the floor, hoisting you up on his hips to trap you between the wall and his chest once again, his hand this time was quickly up your skirt once again, feeling the wetness that pooled between your legs that confirmed you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. “And yet you spread your legs for me with ease.”

He didn’t dare tease you any longer, pulling himself free and sinking into you like there was no time to lose. Just when you thought you were full, he had more to give and you were feeling stretched out beyond belief. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he pulled loud moans from you with every deep and slow thrust, the pleasure coursing through you had you rolling your head back which he only took as an invitation for him to wrap his hand around your throat, groaning lowly as his eyes flicked over the way your face contorted with overwhelming pleasure,  “You’re so fucking tight.” 

“George, please.” He hummed at the way your voice came out with the strained begging, feeling pleasure build in the pit of your stomach as you realised the churning movement you had been feeling throughout the evening had been butterflies, the building want and desire for the man who was now fucking you loudly into the wall. 

“I like hearing you beg, what do you need, sweetheart?” He hummed, pressing his lips to your exposed neck, right over where your vocal chords were, feeling the vibrations of your moans flow through his lips, pushing him over the edge to pick up his pace, focused intently on making you cum as he found himself growing addicted to the way you squeezed around him.

“I need to- George, It feels so good.” He shook his head, pulling completely from you, letting your feet drop to the floor as he spun you around so that your chest was pressed to the wall, whines still falling from your lips as his hands were back up your skirt, pulling your hips into the right position to push himself inside you again, this time his hands pulled at the strings of your corset, tightening it to a point where it only added to the pleasure he was making you feel.

“You only get to cum when you ask for it.” With every thrust, it felt as if he was tugging your corset that little bit tighter. Pushing you closer and closer to the release you craved, so desperate for it that the only word that fell from your lips was ‘please’. Not what he wanted to hear. One of his strong hands pulled your hair into his fist, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder, a smirk evident on his lips through the tone he used, “Please, what?”

“Please, I need to cum, George” You whined, hand coming up to wrap around his forearm, nails digging into his skin as his pace picked up finally, the hand still attached to the strings of your corset giving a final tug as you released around him, becoming a mess of spluttering moans for him as he pulled out of you, spinning you around once again to thread his fingers into your hair and pull you into a passionate kiss. 

Something about the way his lips tasted made you never want to pull away, finding yourself chasing his lips as he pulled away to gaze over your features, a smile on his lips as he took in just how beautiful you were, feeling like for a moment he may have truly met his match, watching as your chest heaved while you slowly drank in the high he had given you. “Next time I hope to see these beautiful breasts in all their glory,” 

“Next time? Thought you knew I have to kill you now.” You laughed as his fingers tucked your hair behind your ear, an action that sent a shiver down your spine. You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, head shaking slightly to sway the hair out of his eyes, an action that made you melt at the knees.

“Very funny, now about your first contract.” He spoke quickly, tucking himself away and making himself presentable before pulling you deeper inside of the room, standing you by a large painting, tilting your chin up to avert your gaze to a particular individual, “Know who that man is, angel?” 

You swallowed thickly, eyes gazing over the large, pristine painting, well aware of who he was. The man that had set the contract over George’s head. You nodded at his question, his arm slinking around your waist as he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your ear. “Good, I want information; You tell him I’m dead and find out what his next move is, if you get me that, I’ll know you’re loyal, just for that I’ll pay you more than you’ve ever seen.” 

“George, he’s the one that requested this cont-” You spoke quietly, his hand tugging you closer to his body, a deep sigh falling past his lips, leaving you in silence for a few moments until his warm toned voice spoke up once again.

“I know, and you’re going to find out why, understand?” He sounded genuinely upset, the man who had ordered the hit on him was a close family friend, but yet someone who craved the power that George had. Part of you knew that it wasn’t just Cedric Diggory that wanted him dead but he was the only one with enough money to make the bounty worth it, and yet you had found yourself wound up on his side. “Good girl.” 

Your chest was still heaving as you stepped through the opening double doors, this time hand in hand with the man who you had come here to kill, something had changed in your time alone and you knew that you would be the last person to hurt him. You were running off the high of belonging to someone, a new contract and the willingness to submit. You were George’s new personal weapon, a force that even he didn’t know the true extent of. Better to have you on his side than against him, as good as you felt against him after all. 

taglist //  @starlightweasley​​ @slytherinsunrise​​  @gcdric​​​ @theweasleysredhair​​​ @whiz-bangs78​​​ @pansydaisy​​ @vogueweasley​​​ @vivianweasley​​​​ @feetoffthetablee​​ @thisismynerdyself​​​ @witch-and-a-half​​ @loony-loopy-lupinn​​ @rip-us​​ @hopemalfoyweasley​​ @pigwidgexn​​

#george weasley x reader #george weasley fic #George Weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley angst #harry potter smut #harry potter fic #harry potter writing #Harry potter #Smut #ginger hair

[jonsa101]

Episode 3x14: A Reflection of How Max Stepped Into Love After A Season of Suffering

Gif credit @supagirl

Hey guys! I can’t believe the season finale has come and gone! I think my mind is just taking time to comprehend everything that has happened! Sharpwin is officially canon! As I’m typing this out, it feels strange writing a meta on the other side of things. Since season one, I’ve been writing metas about how these two belong together and making predictions about the trajectory of their relationship. Now, to be on the other side of things where I know longer have to do that because these two are finally together is kinda crazy. I feel so elated!

Now y’all, I’m not going to lie to you, I had a totally different meta planned out and that meta is still in my drafts. I will probably release it because it was a general review of the episode but I thought it was more important that I put this meta out first. When I was watching the finale live, I didn’t love it. I just didn’t. I loved that Max and Helen finally got together at the end of the episode but I had a major issue with how it unfolded. The issue my friends was this scene right here: 

Baby!!! When I tell you this scene TRIGGERED me, it did! Now mind you, I wasn’t upset with Max’s storyline of searching and struggling to take off his wedding ring. It is human nature for Max to still have an emotional attachment to his ring. He’s not still grieving but essentially that ring is the only thing he has left of Georgia and represents a life he once had. Him taking it off was always going to be a monumental moment for Sharpwin and for himself. The issue that I had was Max casually telling Helen that he freaked out about losing his ring!!! To me, after the voicemail he left her, after Helen flew standby and was in a six hour flight to see him, it was an incredibly CALLOUS thing for Max to say. I know Max wasn’t thinking in this moment. I know his intentions were clearly not to hurt her but words matter and him being careless with his was a complete disregard of Helen’s feelings. She was deeply hurt and upset when he said this and rightfully so! I mean just look at her expression here:

Helen’s entire being read like

“I can’t believe you”

And girl same, because neither could I!! He knew he fucked up and he obviously made up for it in the end but y’all when I was watching it live, everything that came after that elevator scene was was tainted for me. I had a hard time believing that Helen would let what he said slide so easily and in the moment, I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of them finally coming together! 😩 In my personal opinion, there were so many other ways that scene could have played out without Max having to literally tell Helen to her face that he was worried about his wedding ring! I know they were trying to build up to the “big moment” where he finally takes his ring off and runs back to Helen’s apartment but man, that moment did not sit right with me in my spirit! It still doesn’t and I don’t think my opinion will ever change on this.

With that said, I’ve now done several rewatches of the finale where I specifically watched the scenes after that awful moment by the elevator. As I’ve had time to reflect, my perspective has changed. I no longer view the moments after the elevator scene as tainted but as something deeply profound and beautiful. Hell, even as I reflect on that scene by the elevator, I still don’t like it, but in a way I understand it in how it relates to Max’s overall journey when it comes to Helen. To me, Max Goodwin is a man who fell deeply in love with Helen in the midst of the most complex situations and a season of him suffering. It’s been deep rooted, complicated and messy from the start and over the past three years we’ve seen Max navigate through the complexities of his feelings for Helen and the circumstances he’s found himself in on our screens. I think when you look at season three finale and specifically the journey of Max finally making a choice to be with Helen, you have to put into context Max’s history and how it influenced what that looked like. So y’all that is exactly what I want to do in this meta so let’s dive in.

One thing I think we need to acknowledge is that, even though as an audience we have loved seeing Max and Helen’s journey unfold, the road has been so TOUGH for them. As Helen said in 3x13, it’s been a fight! Especially for Max. The suffering he has endured over the past three years has been unfathomable and much of his relationship with Helen and his feelings for her have been developed under these traumatic and tragic circumstances. 

At the very beginning of the series, when Max and Helen first meet they clash but it doesn’t last for long. It’s his first day at New Amsterdam and as the new Medical Director, he wants her to stay at the hospital and treat patients instead of doing press tours. Helen on the other hand wants to continue doing press and for the most part ignores his demands for her to return to the hospital. When she finally does return, she does so because she learns that Max has cancer. This bonds them at the onset as Helen is the only person in his life that knows about his diagnosis. As an audience, when we first see them interact, we instantly saw the sparks fly between them. Their chemistry and natural witty banter made us immediately take a look at their relationship and what potential they could have in the future. Though we were shocked by his cancer diagnosis, I think the fun and lightheartedness of Sharpwin’s first interactions really masked how traumatic this must have been for Max. On the first day of his dream job, that he sacrificed his marriage for, he learns that he has cancer while having a baby on the way. Those are the awful circumstances that first bring Max and Helen together. 

As Helen becomes Max’s doctor and he swears her to secrecy about his diagnosis, their friendship and bond grows deeper. His passion and drive to help his patients, reignites Sharpe’s love for medicine again and inspires her to put her patients first. They become vulnerable with each other more than anyone else in their lives. He confides in her about his broken marriage and she tells him that she wants a baby. When he almost dies, she becomes his deputy medical director so that he can focus on his care. All of these moments are significant to them because somewhere along the way they develop feelings for each other. They didn’t plan for it and it’s something neither of them are consciously aware of but unknowingly, they both start to fill a place in each other’s lives that was clearly more than a doctor and patient relationship or a friendship. This “place” wasn’t called out until episode 1x16 were the clairvoyant called out their feelings for each other. When episode 1x17 comes around, after a night of revelations and a scramble to get the power back on in the hospital, Helen decides to step back as his doctor. If she wasn’t aware of her feelings before, in this moment, she’s fully aware of them now. This is an effort to safeguard her heart and set boundaries because the lines of who they are to each other were already so blurred. When she “triages” their relationship Max’s reacts badly and honestly they’re both devastated and are on the verge of tears:

As viewers, we loved this moment but when you peel back the layers of what’s actually going on in this scene, it’s gut-wrenching. The subtext is so clear here yet their situation is so complex and layered. We know for a fact that Max wasn’t trying to lose her in ANY CAPACITY. We also know that in the way he TRULY wanted her he couldn’t have her and Helen knew that too. Not when he was married, had a baby on the way, and fighting cancer at the same time. Y’all that’s hard and profoundly painful when you think about it and it makes this scene all the more tragic. 

When Helen steps back as his doctor, at first Max seems to be handling it well but as his cancer starts to get worse, he completely breaks. Like I said earlier, over the course of his cancer treatment, Helen filled a place in Max’s life that was so much more than just his doctor or his friend. So when he’s dying and no longer has the person he feels deeply for play an active role in his treatment, he lashes out. He’s dealing with a range of emotions he can’t handle or properly process. Things only get worse from there and at the end of season one Georgia and Luna’s life are on the line and Bloom and Helen scramble to save them. When it seems like everyone was able to come out of that traumatic event unscathed, they get into a devastating ambulance crash that changes everything. 

Season 2 brings another level of pain and suffering for Max when he loses his wife after the crash and is thrust into single fatherhood. Not only is he grieving but he’s also dealing with guilt of falling in love with Helen while he was married. The complexities of his feelings is something he struggles with throughout this season and it affects his relationship with Helen. At some points he pushes her away and at others he desperately needs her. Once again, Helen and Max’s relationship is caught up in the most complex of circumstances that is riddled with agony and trauma. 

By time we head into season 3, Max doesn’t even have time to breathe or think about his relationship with Helen because they’re both thrust to the frontlines of the pandemic. 

I bring all of this up again to emphasize that there has never been a time where Max and Helen’s relationship hasn’t been wrapped up in trauma or some sort of suffering. It has always been one thing or another with them. It’s been A LOT and Max has tried to navigate being in love with Helen through his suffering and under these crazy ass circumstances. So after rewatching the finale, the questions that run through my mind are:

How do you step into love when all you’ve known for the past three years has been suffering?

How do you love openly and freely when for so long you’ve emotionally suppressed your feelings for someone because it was “wrong?” 

How do you let go, heal, and move on with your life?

To me, answering these questions is what the season finale for Max was all about. When you’ve suffered so much and endured so much it’s not easy to step into a new chapter in your life that’s hopeful and filled with love and possibilities. For Max, I don’t think in his wildest dreams that he ever imagined that he and Helen would be in a place where they could actually be together. Considering everything they’ve gone through, quite frankly it’s a fucking miracle! So when he actually makes it to the other side and not only SURVIVES but has a chance for happiness, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing. Pursuing/having feelings for Helen from a place that isn’t wrapped up in trauma and tragedy, where there are seemingly no obstacles in his way, is totally and completely new territory for Max. I think he’s clueless in how to do that in the right way and as he navigates through that, naturally there are hiccups.

That’s evident with what he said by the elevator and also in this moment here: 

Max doesn’t have a clue but he wants to make sure that he doesn’t fuck it up because he DESPERATELY wants this! I also think there’s something to be said about how we as human beings can self-sabotage ourselves when we finally have an opportunity to get what we want. Fear, guilt, worthiness usually comes into play with that and I think for Max there was definitely a fear with moving on with his life, guilt of surviving it all and having a chance to be with the woman he’s loved for so long, and a question of if he’s worthy of actually having happiness.

Their walk in my mind perfectly embodies him self sabotaging while also trying to navigate his feelings of desperately wanting to be with her. At the beginning of their walk, you see that at one point he clearly wants to hold Helen’s hand but he doesn’t (I would use a gif here y’all but I literally only have room for 10 😩). I’m focusing my attention on Max here because essentially this whole moment between them is a part of Max’s “mini story” in the episode. The ball has always been in his court and truly what we are witnessing is his journey to step into love because Helen is ready and has been waiting on him. 

The most compelling moment in their walk scene for me was this one: 

I find it strange for Max to walk so far ahead when he was the one who asked her if he could walk with her. My first thought while watching it live was “what is he doing” and I think Helen’s expression reads the same way. After analyzing this for a bit, I genuinely think that’s the point of this scene. Like I said earlier, Max doesn’t know what he’s doing. To be with Helen like this is, where its romantic, peaceful and drama free is probably blowing his mind and he doesn't know how to navigate this. He doesn’t know how to receive this second chance at happiness. 

The internal war of Max stepping into love or allowing fear, guilt, and unworthiness to hold him back becomes all the more evident when they get to Helen’s door: 

He knows he wants to come in. Helen know he wants to come in too. This man literally says goodnight twice and when Helen responds with “you said that,” it perfects this scene. She wants him to come in as well but she’s not going to ask him to. In this moment, she sees his internal struggle and she knows that he has to make the choice himself on whether or not he wants to move on with his life with her.

When he walks away, for a moment that was Max choosing to hold onto the pain and trauma of his past. That was him choosing to hold onto the guilt that was keeping him from healing and moving on. With the suffering he’s been through, it makes sense. In many ways he’s been conditioned to fight, to suffer and to endure. It’s what he’s used to. But praise the lord, he thinks of the moments he just shared with Helen. 

The joy he has with just being in her presence. 

The opportunity he has to freely be with her and have a life with her after loving her for so long.

He is not condemned to a life of suffering. It was only for a season. He’s in love with Helen and wants to be with her. Like hell is he going to let this opportunity at a second chance of love and happiness slip away from him. So guys, he slips off that ring, runs back to Helen’s apartment and makes a choice to step into love. Step into this new, uncharted, chapter of his life with Helen Sharpe. 

Anyway guys! I hope y’all enjoyed this! I might be releasing one more meta but we will see how it goes.

As always feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr and on Twitter @oyindaodewale. Love you guys!

#new amsterdam #Sharpwin #Max Goodwin #Helen Sharpe #Max x Helen #sharpwin meta #new amsterdam meta

[lubdubsworld]

City Lights . ( Namjoon x OC)

Pairing : OC x Kim Namjoon.

Genre : Angst. Romance.

Rating 18 + 

Word Count : 2900

Warnings :  Mature Themes , Explicit Sexual Content . Slow burn. Like slower than a snail.

Summary :

Widowed and destitute, Son Yang Mi leaves the comfort of her small , secluded  fishing village and travels to the intimidating city of Seoul with her young son. She has a plan, one that involves finding a job, getting her son into a good school and building a life for herself.

Now, three years later she has a job , working as a live in house keeper for the Kim family, specifically for the son,  Kim Namjoon, a famous rapper and producer. 

Its a job that puts a roof over her head and she’ll do anything to keep it. 

But fate has other plans.

Chapter 1 ~

Akogare (ah-koh-ga-reh)Often translated directly as a sort of frustrated “yearning”, “desire”, or “longing” .

Seoul in summer was a sight to behold. I blinked back against the bright sunlight, staring out into the stunning skyline of the city as the sun rose over it , and although it was just a little past seven in the morning, the air was warm and invigorating. The mid July sun shone down with no mercy, and there was no trace of the rain that had lashed city just the previous night.

It had been three whole years but the relief that came from breathing fresh air, untainted by the damp musk of fishing trowels and sweaty men, was still unrivalled.

I shook off the feather duster in my hand, moving to carefully clean the wicker woven chairs on the artificial lawn in the balcony. Dusting the entire condo down was a mind numbing exercise in patience, so i tried to get it out of the way, early in the morning when my son was still asleep.

At six years old, Junsu was a bright , happy child. Summer vacation meant days sleeping in and evenings spent frolicking with the other kids in the building and he was content with being alone in our small shared room, reading or playing with his toys while I went about the day’s work.

I glanced at the clock, grimacing.

It was almost eight . And although Mr. Kim wasn’t due back home for another twelve hours, I felt a little jittery and nervous.

Kim Namjoon , renowned rapper, producer, writer , poet and what not. The apartment was his but he was usually on tour, traveling all over the world to promote his book and to perform in sold out stadiums. For an A list celebrity, he was surprisingly humble.

For the past three years, him and his model fiancée  Lee Mina had spent a total of maybe seven months in the condo. They were a sweet couple, or so I’d always thought , a bit formal with each other but clearly in love . Mr. Kim was a kind, soft spoken young man and I’d never heard him raise his voice unless he was in the company of his very dear friends.

Just a little over a week ago , both of them  had left Korea for the States , the tabloids screaming about a luxurious destination wedding in the Caribbean and I had been asked to take a few weeks off . The newly weds wouldn’t be back for quite a while and they would let me know when I had to come back to the condo.

I’d been toying with the idea of visiting my in laws in Gwangyog, maybe even dropping by to see some old friends there but yesterday , Mr. Kim’s mother had given me a call letting me know her son was coming home. 

[ 

The conversation went something like this :

Yang Mi, I hope you haven’t left yet?

No, Ma'am, I haven’t.

Joon-ah is going to be back tomorrow.

Oh, is Ms Lee arriving as well?

No, Just him He’s going to be alone.

Yes, Ma'am.

Please don’t mention anything about Mina or the wedding.

No ma'am of course not.

I’ll drop by later . Cook him something warm and filling. And make sure the house is cleaned well.

Yes, Ma’ am.

]

And that was that.

~~~~~~

It took the better part of the day to finish cleaning and setting up the house . I washed the window slats, changed the sheets, arranged the books that had been left scattered all over his bedroom. The walk-in closet was littered with a bunch of his clothes and I made sure his gym bag was stocked with fresh towels, spare clothes and his favorite head and wrist bands. 

For someone so careful and calculated, he was really quite a messy man. 

i did his laundry, making sure he had ample clothes at least for another two weeks, creasing the handkerchiefs and carefully removing lint from his jackets. 

I also carefully sorted out the feminine clothing from the laundry and from the cupboard, folding them neatly and placing them in the lowest shelf of the closet, where he wouldn’t find them. It wasn’t hard, hiding traces of his fiancee from the condo, because it had never really been her home. other than a few spare pieces of underwear and a couple of t shirts and skirts, there weren’t many articles of clothing belonging to Ms. Lee. 

But I still got rid of the bobby pins and hair ties, the spare lip gloss and mascara.

Junsu spent the entire day in our room, reading and drawing, only venturing out every few hours to grab a snack. I left him with his drawing tab ( a gift from Mr. Kim for his 5th birthday )  and his favorite book, asking the security guard at the end of the hallway to keep an eye on the door, while i went out to buy groceries.

Lots of meat, no sea food, healthy snacks and high protein fiber bars. I stocked up on sauces and bought a fresh batch of eggs, oranges and grapes . Mrs. Kim had sent a large amount of kimchi a few weeks ago and that was still in the pantry.

i stopped for a second, staring around at the almost deserted store. Most of the other housekeepers shopped at the bigger, more exclusive store on the other side of the residential complex. But Mr. Kim had a very selective palette, which meant that I had to be very particular about the brands i bought.

When i came back home at around six, Junsu was on the floor in the living space and i felt my heart jump in panic.

“Baby!! I’ve told you not to come out here when I’m not home!” I protested bleakly and he pouted.

“I need to show you my gift for Mr. Kim!!” He said softly. I smiled moving to put away the groceries and glancing at the clock. It was a little past six. I had to call Yungyu.

“Did you draw him something ? “ I asked curiously, checking to see if the beer shelf was stocked. probably should have done that before going out for the groceries, I thought regretfully.

“Yeah! Look!!” Junsu held his tab out and my heart dropped.

For a six year old, Junsu drew very well. And there was really no mistaking the very obvious wedding scene on the screen.

Oh, Good God.

“ That looks amazing honey.” I said gently. “ But, I heard that Ms Lee isn’t coming over this time..”

Junsu frowned.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. But remember how we spoke about saying the right things? When something upsets someone, we do not bring it up.” I reminded him gently. My son hesitated but nodded.

“Okay. I’m sorry. “ He said softly.

“No baby, its not your fault. It’s just that we want Mr. Kim to be happy right? We don’t wanna upset him...”

He smiled at that.

“When he’s happy, his dimples come out.” He said with a giggle. I laughed.

“yes they do... So let’s try and get those dimples out as often as we can alright? Why don’t you show him that picture you drew of yeontan the other day? He’ll really like that....”

“Okay...but i need to go color it!” Junsu yelled, already running back into our room. I watched him go before reaching for the phone and dialing, Yungyu, the chauffeur.

“Are you on the way here? ” i said briskly.

“Just starting from home...” Yungyu muttered, “ I’m supposed to be on vacation now! Why is he coming back so soon?” 

“Just hurry up !! We can’t keep him waiting!!” I said sharply, before hanging up. 

I made a quick check of all the rooms, filling up water bottles for his gym routine in the morning and stashing them in the fridge before moving to get dinner started. 

i set the water on boil for the stew, before moving to peel cucumbers for the salad. I chopped the cucumber , along with some fresh cherry tomatoes . I watched the water boil, thinly slicing an onion and adding it to the bowl as well. The dressing was pretty simple,  soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey and sesame oil . I sprinkled some sesame seeds on the bowl, used the salad tongs to give the whole thing a nice toss and set it aside. 

I braised the chicken first , peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots to add to the stew . In a few minutes, the rich smell of lightly spiced chicken and garlic and perilla  leaves began filling the kitchen and I turned on the rice cooker as well. 

The door bell rang at six forty and i opened the door to reveal Yungyu. 

I grabbed the keys to the Palisade, handing them over to him.

“Did you hear?” He whispered urgently.

I frowned.

“What?”

“They say Mr. Kim called off the wedding!” He whispered, wide eyed. 

I glared at him.

“Who told you that?” i demanded...

“Seojoon from the gate said-”

“Why don’t you ask Seojoon from the gate to mind his own damn business?” I snapped. 

Yungyu looked suitably chastised. i felt a little bad. Yungyu was still young and curiosity was hardly a sin. 

“His flight lands at eight exactly. Hurry okay?” I said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

He brightened, peering over my shoulder into the house.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked curiously.

“ Painting something for Mr. Kim... Go ahead, hurry up.” I shooed him away, locking the door behind him. I fixed a plate of food for Junsu and sent him to eat, before moving to check on the stew. +

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~` 

By the time eight thirty rolled around I had the table set and ready. I washed my face quickly in the small bath attached to our room , making sure I was dressed well. Junsu wasn’t allowed in the main house unless Mr. Kim specifically asked for him and my son usually stayed in. 

Junsu and I stayed in a bedroom , not large by any means but big enough for a queen sized bed, a table and chair for Junsu and small dresser where I kept a comb and a tube of night cream. I stared at my face, licking my lips as I smoothed my hair out. 

I glanced at the bed. 

Junsu was asleep , having dozed off while coloring his picture and I carefully extracted the tab from under his fingers, moving him around to lay on the soft pillows. I tucked him in gently, brushing the hair off his face. 

“In peace , I will lie down to sleep, for You alone will let me rest in safety.” I whispered gently against his forehead, kissing the soft skin. I felt my lips wobble , a debilitating wave of affection flooding me as the sweet scent of my baby, filled my senses.

 I would die for you, I thought fiercely, kissing him again. 

The sound of the front door opening made me jump. 

Swearing, i smoothed the fabric of my skirt, running to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for picking me up Yungyu, I’m sorry you had to cut short on your vacation.” Mr. Kim’s deep voice filled the hallway and I quickly grabbed a glass, filling it with water and placing it on the dinner tray.

“Not a problem, Sir. “ Yungyu’s cheerful voice responded.

“How are you going home?” Mr. Kim asked. 

“I’ll take the bus.”

A pause and then, 

“Here’s some cash. Get a cab.” 

I could hear the relief in Yungyu’s voice as he let out a , “ Thank you sir.” 

I fixed his plate carefully, the bowl of rice, the bowl of chicken stew, and the salad neatly arranged next to the napkin and the chopsticks. I heard him move across the condo, the sound of his suitcases as he wrestled them towards his bedroom and I frowned. Yungyu should’ve have brought those in for him. 

I finished reheating all of the food and carefully carried the dinner tray to the bedroom. 

Mr. Kim’s bedroom was right at the end of the hallway and the door was open. The full length mirror on the opposite wall showed him sitting on the small couch in his room, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I raised my hand, ready to knock on the wood. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, kicking out at the coffee table with enough force to send the furniture skidding half way across the room. 

I froze in the hallways stunned. 

“You’re such a fucking fool , Namjoon !!” He muttered angrily and I swallowed, turning on my heel and quickly walking back to the kitchen. 

Maybe I ought to wait till he asked for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t ask for dinner. 

I stayed sitting on the floor of the kitchen, waiting and lightly dozing as I heard him talk to his parents on the phone. I heard him open the liquor cabinet in his room, the sound of ice sloshing against glass, the sound of whiskey being poured carefully and i sighed. 

I had to get to bed. It was already a little past eleven. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometime in the night, I woke up sweating.... 

Wondering what woke me up, I blinked groggily, glancing at Junsu. He was still sound asleep. 

Sighing, I climbed out of the bed, carefully making my way to Mr. Kim’s room, peering in carefully. 

He was asleep on the sofa.

I stared at the way his long legs stretched over the armrest, his lean hips twisted to accommodate his broad shoulders on the couch and I winced. He was definitely going to regret that in the morning. 

I stared at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and sighed, moving to take off his shoes carefully. He didn’t stir. 

I grabbed a pillow from the bed, carefully lifting his head and slipping it under. I placed a comforter over his shoulders, pulling it down to cover his legs. 

Force of habit almost made me brush his hair off his forehead but I stopped myself. 

The clock on the wall read three fifty am. God, I was going to feel terrible tomorrow. I carefully tip toed out, shutting the door behind me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I picked the comforter from the floor, carefully folding it and placing it on the bed, before grabbing the empty bottle of whiskey and glass . i could hear the shower running. The curtains were still drawn in and I tugged on the strings to get them to open. Sunlight spilled in through the floor length windows. The bed wasn’t slept in, so I opened the closet to grab a couple of towels, laying them on the bed for him. 

The bathroom door opened and i quickly straightened, wanting to race out of the room but it was too late. Thankfully he was dressed,  a pair of loose sweats and a loose t shirt . He was running a towel through his hair and his face brightened at the sight of me. 

“Yang Mi! You’re here....” He said cheerfully. 

“Good morning sir.” I said softly, offering him a small smile. 

He smiled brightly, hair damp and dimples deep. The white t shirt he had on was almost fully soaked through and he shook his head, sending stray water droplets all over the place, a few landing on my cheeks. 

“I didn’t see you last night...” He said casually, moving to drop the wet towel in the hamper, grabbing one of the fresh ones I’d laid on the bed. 

“I thought you would like your privacy sir, you looked exhausted.” 

He smiled.

“ Thank you for the blanket and the pillow by the way. And the shoes.” 

I bowed quickly.

“I’ll get your breakfast done, sir.” I bowed again before quickly getting out. 

I moved to the kitchen grabbing the oranges I’d got the previous day . Mr. Kim wasn’t fond of traditional korean dishes in the morning. He preferred freshly squeezed juice and toast, sometimes with an omelet perhaps. 

I fixed his breakfast quickly, setting it all in the tray . He was still moving around in the bedroom and I heard him drag his worktable to the windows, which meant he was going to stay in the bedroom. 

Pouring his coffee into a cup, I carefully picked up the breakfast tray , moving to his room slowly. 

I used my foot to knock on the door.

After a pause of a few seconds, 

“Come in Yang Mi!”

I carefully moved to the small table in front of the couch, placing the tray right in front of him. The scent of his body wash, green apple and strawberries, hit me hard. 

“Where’s Junsu?” He asked casually.

“Still asleep sir. It’s Summer so school’s out.” I smiled, grabbing his phone from the table to make space for his tray. 

The phone buzzed just as I was about to place it back down and I blinked.

 Mina calling.......

 I swallowed, not sure what to do, placing the phone down quickly.

“Uh..you have ...” I waved vaguely at the device before bowing again and moving back. 

“close the door on your way out, Yang Mi...” He said gently and I quickly obeyed. 

I moved to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for myself. I stayed leaning over the counter and even through the locked door, I could hear him . 

“Just don’t call me Mina...i don’t want to talk about this!!!” 

I swallowed, glancing out of the window again. It was a bright, clear morning. 

A second later, the door to his bedroom slammed open and he stormed out. I watched him from my spot in the kitchen, his fists clenched as he rushed out to the front door.

The door shut behind him and I exhaled. 

Once I as done with my coffee, I moved to his room to clear the breakfast tray. His phone was still on the table.

It began ringing again just as I left the room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mrs. Kim.” i said respectfully, bowing . She gave me a short smile.

“Where’s Namjoon? I’ve been calling him for the past hour.” She pushed past me into the house and I bit my lips.

“He went out about an hour ago. He left his phone behind.” I explained.

She stopped, sighing. 

“Fine, I’ll wait for him. “ She moved to sit on the couch, glancing around the room. 

“Should I get you something ma'am?” I asked softly and she smiled.

“Get me a glass of lemonade, Yangmi.” She said brusquely and i nodded, running to the kitchen. 

“Did Mina come over?” She called out as I got the lemons out of the cooler.

“No ma'am.” i replied.

“Did she call?” 

  I remembered the phone ringing, how upset it had made Namjoon, how he had stormed out.

“I don’t know ma'am!” I said softly. 

She nodded.

“Okay. You can leave.” She said quietly. i bowed and went back into the kitchen. 

I peered out of the window as I fixed her a glass , and my eyes fell on a familiar figure, coming back in through the front gate. Even from this distance there was no mistaking the long legs and messy blonde hair. 

I bit my lips, mind racing.

 Mrs Kim and her son had a volatile relationship, to say the least. 

And something told me that Mr. Kim was probably not in the right frame of mind to argue with his mother, now. The man was upset but apparently, neither his mother nor his ex fiancée understood that. instead of giving him space they were hounding him. 

I hesitated for a second  before making a quick decision. 

I grabbed the tray with her lemonade and moved to her quickly.

“Thank you.” She said sharply. “ Turn on the Air Conditioner for me, will you?” 

I fumbled with the remote, grabbing his phone from the table , turning it on before moving to the front door and rushing out. 

I almost ran into him as he came out of the elevator , and i jerked back stumbling a bit to stop myself from crashing into his chest. He let out a , ‘ Whoa, “  his hands reaching out to grip my elbows. 

“Careful. What’s wrong?” He asked gently and I swallowed.

“Your mother’s here.” I said quickly, “ Sir.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned. I swallowed.

“You can leave.” I blurted out. “It’s Tuesday. She has her charity work meeting at ten. Its almost nine. She won’t stay long....” 

His eyes met mine, lips parting in surprise. 

“I really can’t meet her now.” He said apologetically.

I nodded.

“Of course, I understand , sir. Just be back in an hour , she’ll be go-”

The elevator buzzed , the doors nearly closing over my shoulders and I flinched. He swore and stuck his arm out to keep it open. 

I stared at him before holding his phone out.

“Here you go sir. “ 

He chuckled taking it from me and shaking his head.

“i feel like a kid, sneaking away from my mom.” His eyes reached mine, twinkling, “ Who would’ve thought the quiet, timid Yang Mi would be my partner in crime. “ 

I didn’t reply, just smiled. 

And then he hesitated. “ Is Junsu awake?”

I blinked.

“Uh...yes sir,...he’s playing in the park downstairs with the other kids.”

“Great... Would you mind if i take him out for ice cream?”

I stared at him. 

“Oh..uh...of course not. Sure.. I mean.. he’ll love that... Sir. Thank you.. You don’t have to -”

“Consider it thank you for helping me with my mother.” He smiled again and i found myself staring at his dimples again. i swallowed. 

“in that case, he loves butter scotch.” I smiled. 

The dimples appeared and i bit my lips. 

“Thank you Yang Mi.” He said slowly. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Finally a hyungline fic !!! ugh... I’ve been wanting to write a Namjoon fic for ages and I really hope you guys will like this one :’( Feedback is much appreciated. 

#namjoon smut #namjoon au #namjoon hot #namjoon fics #namjoon x reader #namjoon fic #bts smut #bts fanfics #bts au #bts fics #houseofddaeng

[makeste]

regarding Best Jeanist, Dabi, and all of that

@kaleswagdragon​ I hope you don’t mind me posting this comment and my response as its own post, seeing as it quickly got out of hand and sort of morphed into a whole entire essay.

anyway, so! you say that it’s a mischaracterization, but it’s really not, though. I mean, props for bringing up the cultural context of Japan, in which the honne-tatemae culture of covering up anything that might lead to any sort of conflict -- even if it means harming an innocent victim in the process -- is a very real issue. so given that, I understand why so many people are interpreting Jeanist’s statement in a “how dare you bring this family shame to light” sort of way. and Caleb’s “dirty laundry” translation doesn’t help, given the “we’re more embarrassed than actually concerned about this” feel of that particular phrase, which he apparently chose just because of the clothing pun without really giving much thought to any other implications.

but in the actual Japanese, the meaning/context is somewhat different. here’s a link to a twitter thread clarifying the original spoiler translation, and breaking down the actual Japanese dialogue.

I think the meaning here is very clearly “you waited until the public’s faith in heroes was already wavering to bring this down on them as a final blow.” if he was simply criticizing Dabi for publicizing the Todoroki family drama, he would have stopped with that first sentence. the two sentences afterward (“you waited until everyone’s faith in heroes was wavering, when the damage would be too great to handle”) make it clear that what he’s actually calling Dabi out for is the way that he basically weaponizes his story into the perfect political tool to finally take down the heroes. which is an observation that we as the readers can verify for ourselves as being true. look at how he so carefully edited the footage of Twice’s death. look at the contrast between the way he acts in the video, compared with the homicidal glee we see from the actual Dabi in real time.

Jeanist is notably the only one who is able to get the same perspective as the readers here, since he’s the only person who’s physically present in Jakku with the real Dabi, but is also able to hear the video being broadcast. meaning that he’s able to hear both video!Dabi’s calm, prerecorded “I’m just a concerned citizen trying to look out for a society being taken advantage of by the ones charged with protecting it” speech, and actual!Dabi’s “hahaha fuck you Endeavor I’m bringing the whole country down even as we speak, well anyway time to kill you all” reality. he alone can see that stark contrast between the concerned whistleblower act Dabi is putting onscreen, versus his true attitude of “I don’t actually give a fuck, I just want to eradicate the heroes and make my dad suffer.” basically, Jeanist is the only one who can see that juxtaposition, and see Dabi’s reveal for what it really is, seeing as Dabi literally spelled it out for Endeavor and the others. and so he’s calling him out on that.

and he’s not wrong to do so. it’s clear that a lot of fans vehemently disagree with this, but being an abuse survivor doesn’t excuse you from having the same obligation as every other human being on the planet to try your best to be a decent person, which at minimum means not going out of your way to hurt other people. I say this as someone who’s experienced abuse, which shouldn’t need to be a disclaimer honestly, but I guess that’s how it is these days. anyways, though, I have, and I know a lot of other people who have as well. it’s a terrible, awful, exceptionally shitty thing to experience, and it affects everyone in different ways. and every single person who goes through something like that deserves help and support and time to heal, and it’s a tragedy and an injustice that Dabi, from what we have seen, never got any of that.

but that doesn’t excuse him from still being held to the same basic standard of “hurting other people is shitty” as everyone else. it doesn’t mean he gets a free pass. it doesn’t mean that anyone who says “hey, Dabi using his trauma as an excuse to murder people is kind of fucked up” is an abuse apologist. and it doesn’t mean Horikoshi is an abuse apologist for writing him that way, for that matter, because guess what? sometimes people who are abused grow up to become abusers. that’s just a fucked-up thing that happens sometimes. and pretending like it doesn’t is ironically not all that different from that whole “sweeping things under the rug” concept you mentioned earlier. it does happen, and I think it’s important to acknowledge that, because acknowledging it is one of the necessary steps to take in fixing it.

this attitude of “if someone was abused they should be absolved of responsibility for their actions” that I’ve seen in some posts is taking the concept of “abuse often has a profound impact on people’s mental health, and that should be taken into consideration before judging them too harshly for behavior that they can’t always necessarily control”, and twisting it into this nice little loophole that people can use to duck accountability whenever it’s convenient. but being abused doesn’t give you the right to abuse other people, is my point. nothing gives somebody the right to do that.

and Dabi is hurting other people. he waited ten years to tell his story specifically because he wanted to use it to make others suffer. and, putting aside the part where he’s trying to engineer the downfall of society as a precursor to the mass destruction he and his pals have planned, he also broadcast the story nationwide without the consent of the other abused parties involved. which I’m not saying he didn’t have the right to do, mind you, because it’s his story as well as theirs, and he has the right to tell it. and the right to make his abuser’s crimes as public as he wants, if that’s what he decides. but it also ignores the question of what his mother and siblings might want, and the fact is that they’re also survivors, and so in theory should have the same right as Dabi to choose their own healing process, and decide exactly how they want their abuser, who like so many abusers is also a close family member, to be held accountable. anyway, but all of that is obviously very, very complicated and I don’t think there’s a clear right or wrong side as far as this part of it all. it’s not a situation where everyone can be happy, which unfortunately is often how it goes.

anyway, I’ve kind of meandered pretty far from my original point now, so my bad. my points are, basically,

(a) I think the linked explanation does show that Jeanist is chiding Dabi for using his trauma in this specifically scheming and destructive way, as opposed to saying “shame on you for not being a good little victim and staying quiet”, which would be a ridiculous thing for Horikoshi, who’s explored the topic of abuse more thoughtfully than any other mangaka I’ve read, to randomly have one of his protagonists say.

and (b) the people calling Dabi out on his shit aren’t all smug victim-blamers who have no sympathy for what he has been through. the latter point (and a lot of this post, actually) isn’t particularly directed at you btw; it’s more of just a general statement brought on by some of the discussion that’s been going on these past few days.

anyways, I actually like that the fandom is talking about all of this! I just think it’s a very complex subject, and an even more complex situation currently in the manga. and ideally, people would try to acknowledge that complexity when discussing it, rather than simply picking a side and doubling down on it no matter what, or shooting down the whole thing as problematic writing just because isn’t a neat and tidy situation where you can simply say “oh, person A is right and person B is wrong, that’s it, end of story.” it’s not, unfortunately. it’s a messy clusterfuck of a topic that’s only going to get messier as this plot continues, so hopefully we can all just sort of brace ourselves for that lol. this is really just the tip of the iceberg, I think.

#bnha 292 #best jeanist #dabi #todoroki touya #bnha meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #long post #I mean we always knew the todoroki plot was going to be like this though #and jeanist had to go and open his big mouth #you brought this on yourself really my man #and now we're dealing with all this discourse I hope you're happy #do us a favor and find out kacchan's hero name for us asap so we can put this all behind us and move on to new discourse my denim friend

[deadendtracks]

2.)All they want from him is to be present. That's far more important to them than his money. If you mean that he knows this and that's exactly why he thinks the latter would be easier, because he doesn't know how to be what they want him to be - like everyone - but he does know how to provide for them, then I can understand. I hope that Ruby making him choose life has helped alter this thinking a bit. If he appears in the film as the same old Tom what was the point in him surviving...

Yes, i do agree with you that is what they want! I'm not sure that's all they want, I really don't, this is very complex.

Ada for example, while not as emotionally dependent on him in the way Arthur is, needs him to be someone he is not and yet judges him for it in a way that i think he finds very painful. She has expectations of him that he feels he cannot meet. She blames him for Ben Younger's death in s5 and says anyone he touches -- and therefore anyone they touch-- is basically tainted or in harm's way. She's as much this as she is supportive of him and attempting to make him understand they love him. She is both these things. And that dichotomy has to be frankly confusing to him.

I think this is also true -- that Tommy doesn't feel like he can give them this presence. His speech in s3 where he says something about how money is all he can give to them for their hearts and their souls really underlines this. i think several scenes with Lizzie this season emphasize this too -- he gets really frustrated when she talks about his flat affect and his talking as if he's watching everything on a screen, because as i think i've mentioned before i don't think he has control over this, it's just his psychological coping mechanism. it's not something he's doing to her deliberately to hurt her.

but yeah that's partially what i mean -- that for him, giving them money is easier, and he'd probably prefer it; at the same time, he then ends up feeling this is all they want from him. it's complex. the dynamic between tommy and his family has always been two-way in its complexity. he's just as fucked up about it as they are about him.

I do think he's on the road to maybe seeing things differently. if you think of this season as one half of a journey, he reached a midpoint at the end of it. i really am convinced that the intention of s7 was to bring him back into relationship with his family in a more balanced way, to put him back in touch with himself and be more present and allow them to care for him and himself to care for them in a more equal way. We won't get that fully, but we may see him further down the road on that journey in the film. That's my guess anyway. Maybe it's just a hope, but I can see the trajectory of it in the past few seasons.

it's been his journey since s1, actually. SK has talked about bringing tommy from the frozen numb nihilism of his post war state through a sort of thawing process, and that this is painful because feeling is coming back. What we've seen is that whole state. Which is hard to watch because it's very messy.

anyway i have a lot of complex feelings about tommy and his relationship with his family and their perceptions of him as well and the simplest way to put it is nobody in that family is perceiving each other very accurately or able to be fully present and accepting of each other.

#sorry this is way more rambling than i wanted it to be but i'm getting tired! #peaky blinders s6 #peaky blinders #peaky blinders spoilers #meta

[saltpepperbeard]

Ravenous ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello hello again lol! A bit weird, huh? I don’t know why exactly I had a sudden surge of motivation, but quite honestly, I’m not mad at it. While the shot I wrote a few days back was a more original idea of sorts, this one was an “anonymous” suggestion. A rather EYEBROW RAISING SUGGESTION™ if you know what I’m saying ha! But for whatever reason, dialogue and ideas started flowing, and here we are! Just couldn’t help but explore Katniss desiring to Spice Things Up a bit. With that being said shjdkhskdls-

Disclaimer: This fic contains NC-17 related material, but y’all been knew. Y’ALL KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO LMAO.

And without further adoooooo...

Ravenous

It’s happening again. Our bedroom seems to rival that of the setting sun, the two dancing and paralleling. Just as the clouds and sky melt into orange, I too, find myself at its mercy. Just as the sun plunges beneath the horizon, so too, do our pelvises atop each other’s. Just as it sets fire to the grasses and trees as it plummets from sight, so too, do our roaming mouths and hands against each other’s bodies.

And just as the sunset is habitual, expected, so is the explosion within. It’s like clockwork. It’s like the mighty star’s journey across the sky. A soft, inviting, and consistent brightness is maintained throughout the day, before utterly exploding into color and passion as ebony surges forth.

The newness and its subsequent excitement must be why it’s so incredibly enticing, so normal in our schedule. To think, I used to be one with the dawn. The coldness, the solitude, and the call for survival...all were my essence. Now though, do I dance and take pleasure in the dusk, flooding with fiery color before all runs dark.

Not that I’m complaining in the slightest. No, I’m a medley of breathy giggles, mewled moans, and messy kisses. The usual, the expected, and the blissful.

So a subsequent shift in the cycle, in the ecstatic repetition, does indeed throw me when it presents.

Losing myself in Peeta each and every night allows my hunger to break free, spilling forth after being locked up for so long. It gnaws, it feasts, and it satisfies, before settling back to a hush, properly quenched. His initial touches, caresses, and kisses do marvels at igniting the starting flames. His following motions and salacious actions work wonders at surging the fire to a roar. And then his sweetness dampens the blaze into finality, into exhausted ashes.

But tonight...Tonight, it’s different. It feels...wrongfully intense.

I am not hungry- I am ravenous. It roars within me as if it’s never been satiated at all. It howls, screams, gnashing for a deeper satisfaction. The area between my legs aches almost painfully so, and the heat surging through my core snarls that it won’t be bested so easily.

Such a sensation almost feels instinctual, animalistic even. And with that notion crossing my mind, an odd picture presents itself within my subconscious. A symbolic representation? Or is it a solution, a suggestion that the deeper confines of my hankering body has pulled up? Either way, it’s bizarre, and subsequently earns a deep blush to my cheeks.

The image of a stag mounting a doe.

It’s something I’ve seen on rare occasion while hunting, a deeply intimate and almost sacred moment birthed from nature’s way. But translating such an intrusive image into our bedroom, into the current situation, and connecting the dots between the symbolism and the craving...

...Oh.

Oh.

My cheeks flush impossibly more so.

What an oddity. Peeta more than satisfies me. He gives me something no one else could possibly come close to offering. He takes me to realms unthinkable, and charts depths once-unexplored. And yet, does my body yearn.

What a foreign desire. I never could have pictured myself in such a position- or...intensely aching for one, rather. With carnal intimacy being so new to me, to the both of us, I never expected my body to erect anything of the sort. But I suppose, the deeper and deeper we traverse in one another, the more and more we’ll unlock. I guess there are still things to be discovered about each other, and complex layers of intimacy waiting to be unlocked...

“...Katniss?”

As if my cheeks couldn’t grow any more fiery.

I must have been quite disconnected, lost in thought and libidinous imagination. My grey eyes rapidly blink to break from the haze, but the desire still careens within. Venturing out from the fog reveals Peeta once more though, his beautiful, bare, handsome form hovering atop me. He too, is flushed, small beads of sweat glistening atop his scarred skin to compliment the fiery sheen within his darkened eyes.

But where there would be normally be a crooked smile, or an agape expression of pleasure, there instead exists confusion, concern.

When our eyes finally meet with clarity, he reaches to softly cup my cheek.

“Hey...” he murmurs, his voice still husky, breathy, “You alright?”

I cannot help but swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to vocalize such a thing? Is it too taboo to ask for? The idea of...Peeta...taking me from behind?

I’m a mess, shutting my eyes and turning my face into his hand, as if to hide myself away.

“Hey...” His voice sounds more concerned, and a bit warmer. Some of the huskiness has disappeared too. And subsequently, a spark of desperation alights within me; perhaps because the hunger screeches at me to maintain heat.

“Sweetheart-”

Softening sentiments are cut off by a carnal kiss, my body piloting me to fight the dip. I lace my hands around the back of his head and pull his stunned form closer, breathily moaning through the connection. When I feel his lips begin to part though, when I practically taste the confused question forming on his tongue...

I know I have no choice. I know it’s now or never. And if I could stare the hunger dead on, if I could address its call and dive into vulnerabilities with Peeta before...

Surely I can do this too. Hopefully.

“Peeta?” I quickly interject.

I expect him to remain close, but just as ferocious desire pilots me, so too does compassionate concern steer him. He leans as far back as he can with my hands laced through his hair, staring with those inquisitive, stunning blues.

“...Katniss?”

“I...I...”

Just as the first time we delighted in one another, my throat threatens to lock up from anxiety, from fear of the unknown. Just as before, I find it horribly difficult to vocalize my wants. But in knowing that soft and concerned stare, in understanding the eyes that expectantly wait, and in feeling far fierier than previous times, I find the strength I need to produce a voice.

“...Can we...try something different?”

Nerves drive me to bite my swollen lip, as if Peeta’s going to react poorly or something equivalent. But as truly expected, he blinks the concern away before the tension visibly melts above me.

“Oh! Yeah, uh...sure,” he murmurs, beginning to smile despite lingering bits of confusion still present in his brows, “Is that why you...?”

“Yes...”

“Oh,” he breathes, chuckling softly before leaning back in for another kiss. He nestles close once more, our bare forms pressing and creating small hints of tantalizing friction. Be it the throbbing within, or the very present feeling of his erection between us, I break the kiss with quickened pants.

Unbothered now, and in a better understanding towards my desperation, he moves to kiss and bite at my neck. My hips and eyes both roll, the intense lust leaving me less bothered by the various noises sounding from my throat.

Peeta too, must be quickly getting tugged back; I feel him twitch before he softly grunts into the tender skin of my collar.

“What would you like?” he huskily whispers, topping off the question by tracing my bone with his tongue.

Between nerves and the sensations he’s dizzying me with, I briskly shake my head.

“Don’t make me say it...” I wheeze.

I feel his mouth turn upwards against my skin, and he chuckles before drawing forth artistry, painting his way up my neck and cheeks with brushing lips.

“Alright...” he says thickly, and I think I can feel him quivering slightly, “Show me then?”

I tense, but catching his stare grounds me. Beyond the drippings of ebony lust and fiery coals, I can see that beautiful understanding, that adoration with zero judgement. It’s what drove me to explore initially, and thus, does it fuel me once more.

My hands come to rest upon his muscular chest, quivering ever so slightly as I give a gesturing push. He follows my direction without hesitation, moving until we’re both sitting up on the bed. Another bout of hesitance grips me, but upon seeing the sight of him, heavily engorged and nearly flush against his stomach, I break through once again.

My stare manages to break to a necessity then, gazing upon his amputated leg with another bite of my lip.

“Your prosthetic...”

I can see his breath catch, watching his chest heave as I momentarily avoid his stare.

“...I need it?” he whispers.

I can only nod, and he thankfully doesn’t press, scurrying off to retrieve and reattach it. I’m piloted once more; my body seizes the opportunity to get into position while he’s not looking. Though my heart pounds something terrible, though trembles alight in my limbs, I roll onto my hands and knees, poised and ready for what I crave.

Peeta’s to my backside now, so I cannot see his reaction to what I’m offering. I can certainly hear it though, as well as almost feel it, the room seemingly spiking in temperature the moment he notices.

“O-oh...”

I tremble in both deep anticipation and tension, still unable to look at him. There’s a bit of pause though, and right when I think I’ve made a mistake, I feel the bed shift with the re-introduction of his weight. My thighs clench something terrible at his presence behind me, and I feel my entire lower half quivering.

Made even worse when Peeta groans my name.

“Katniss...”

The amount of lust is incredible. I could almost rocket myself backwards upon him. It’s wild, and hard to imagine how I wound up in such a position. But through the salaciousness, through the smoke clouding my brain, nerves still manage to peek.

“Is...this okay?” I shakily whisper.

“Yeah...” he breathes, and I nearly run woozy at the sensation of his hands ghosting my curves, “Is this...?”

I almost move beyond my own control, thrusting my hips backward and placing myself into his grasp. It’s his turn to tremble, and he groans yet again.

“God...Katniss...”

I’m his craft once more. His hands grasp me, knead me, squeezing my voluptuous backside as he would when he prepares dough. And just as the touch readies dough for heat, it too, sets me utterly ablaze.

Unbridled moans and mewls sound from my throat at his massage, my legs spreading wider and my back arching further. There’s barely a connection between anxiety and my ravenous core anymore, hunger almost entirely at the helm.

“God...” Peeta moans again, and such a noise pushes me into raw desperation.

“Peeta...” I whimper in a tone so unlike my own, “Peeta...”

We’re on the same plane. He understands immediately. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s just as hungry as I am, made raw by the sight before him.

So he quickly rectifies the situation. I feel the bed shift, before he brings a shaky hand to grasp one of my hips. I’m barely breathing, barely able to process with such deep anticipation. His following words almost don’t reach me, what with the beautifully torturous feeling of his head just barely brushing betwixt my folds.

“Okay...I love you, Katniss...”

I somehow wheeze, somehow manage, those words landing when nothing else can.

“I love you too- AH!”

I’m no stranger to the feeling of Peeta sheathing himself deep within me, to holding him snuggly and tightly in a space reserved just for him. We’ve danced in it and dazzled in each other so much lately that it’s, in fact, almost become something of a second nature.

So it’s definitely strange that just a mere change can have electrifying, incredible effects.

The cry from his entrance was utterly unavoidable; he feels deeper and heavier than ever before. I’m stunned at how different it feels, at the intensity behind it. He’s within familiar grounds, and yet it feels entirely new.

I’m dazed, but my hunger is utterly elated. It sings at the feeling, rejoices, driving me to slide myself backwards against him, swallowing him impossibly deeper.

His groan intersects beautifully with mine, the both of us likely relishing in the sensations. When I dare to ease my hips forward again, I feel Peeta’s other hand reach to grasp. With his hold complete, he pulls me back as he thrusts deeply.

And I already find that I’m quickly losing control, everything working to utterly unravel me.

The strokes, so deep and reaching, quickly earn a stream of incoherence from my hanging mouth. I moan and whimper and grunt a plenty, weaving a tapestry of pleasured nothings.

“Mmm...Oh, God...Peeta...”

There’s also something about this that strangely seems to amplify, something that makes it the most different from our previous sessions: I cannot see him. I cannot see the beautiful, wrenched effort on his visage, nor can I steal the moans from his lips. I cannot latch myself to his tender neck, nor can I run my fingers through his ashy locks.

It’s just the sensation of him within me. Nothing more but his powerful drives and our precious connection.

No wonder it’s so raw, so animalistic indeed.

But perhaps, not mutual.

Where I would expect Peeta to take off, to drive with reckless abandon, he instead remains...oddly consistent with his glides. They’re heavenly, and reaching, but unamplified. In fact, instead of speeding up as expected, he seemingly slows within me.

Such a turn, a difference in the usual chain of events, is enough to whip my head around. It’s my turn to furrow with confusion and concern, squinting through the intense mindfog to finally lay eyes upon him.

Which ends up being a blessing and a curse; the sight of him in such a position is almost enough to send me reeling further. Seeing him kneeling, grasping my hips, panting with reddened cheeks, and disappearing deep within...

A shiver runs up the length of my spine, exiting through my mouth as my voice just barely manages to quiver his name.

“...P-Peeta?”

“I...Um...”

It’s like we’ve switched places, what with him being apprehensive and me existing in a realm of thirst and confusion. Just as before, a cock of the brow and a building question is what spurs the opposite party into explanation.

“I’m...It’s going to sound...cheesy, okay? But I uh...It’s...Different I guess, not being able to...look at your face. Or kiss you. Or...”

He shifts himself a bit as he reaches for my face with a hand, effectively sending himself inward at a deep, torturous angle. It drives me strangely mad, my eyes rolling and my throat resonating with a squeak. It feels so foreign, to be reduced to this. And in my state, in my heightened desperation, I find myself blurting without much control.

“-Keep going.”

He freezes then, inside and out, looking upon me with widened blues. Such an expression mildly grounds me, offering a pang of guilt and a subsequent apology to follow.

“Sorry...” I wheeze, “I...I didn’t mean...If...you’re not...”

I’m a mess with my attempts to breathily stammer. But just as further guilt begins to bud, just as I fear I’ve forced him into an uncomfortable place, he gives such an unexpected and strong jerk of his hips that I yelp into the tense space.

When the shock leaves my system, when the static clears my brain, I’m able to see him beginning to smile once more, a bit more lecherous than before.

“Hmm...You know, different...might not be so bad then...”

“But-”

Again, he tortuously cuts me off, giving another strong jerk and sending me careening.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, looking at him with widened eyes, trembling legs, and a stunned soul.

“Because...” he grunts, softly squeezing and kneading my hips, “You like this, don’t you?”

He shifts then, focusing on slowly feeding himself into my depths, effectively earning a low grunt from his throat. A noise that’s quickly overpowered by my own, an open-mouthed moan as I squirm against the mattress, against his lovely torment.

“Peeta...”

“Yeah? You like it? Hmm, love?” 

My eyes flash at his darkened vocals, followed by a bite of my lip to hush the rolling whimper. Something is most definitely in the air tonight. The sun surely exploded in its descent. We’ve never really been so...raw with each other, so driven and demanding.

But it seems neither of us have any qualms. Even my worry towards pressuring Peeta into an unfavorable session seems to back away, what with his ebony murmurs and expressions so evident. We seem to be re-aligning, re-joining each other on the same plane of passion.

Thus, do I desperately nod, at his complete disposal. I slide myself backwards then, easing until I’m practically touching his pelvis, panting and gritting at the extent of penetration.

“I’ve forever to kiss you..." he whispers.

Please...Please please.

I’m hardly with it enough to question the strangeness behind the newfound begging, simply squirming and existing entirely within the desperate space.

“...But not long enough to pleasure you so...”

Thus, miraculously, do any last bits of wall come tumbling down.

And I’m no longer in our bedroom. I’m within droves of ardent fire. I’m traversing the very surface of our sun. I’m in a place so foreign, a state so delightfully insane, where none have ever brought me before.

All from the sudden, strong, and intense reaches of him deep within.

Oh, how I fall apart. How I deliciously unravel. Being so pent up, so oddly starving, the hunger gorges and instantly sets me alight. Just as it screamed before, I too, find myself vocalizing with such strength.

It’s a medley, an absolutely chaotic medley of passion. Beyond my cries and his grunts, I can hear his pelvis slapping against my back side again and again. Beyond the flashes and shivers in my vision, I can see our bed hammering from the force he’s inflicting. Beyond the heat and pounding stream of blood, I can feel him hitting places so new and intense.

And it’s everything. I love him. I adore him. And I cherish the connection we have, the way we can send each other directly into the heavens. I never could have imagined. Even mere months ago, I never could have imagined.

“Gggh...Katniss!”

His deep grunt coupled with the groan of my name is enough to break me from my overwhelmed thoughts; the dig of his fingers into my hips is enough to ground me completely. I cannot escape the ungodly pleasure now. I am present, and at its full mercy.

And when a thrust hits just so, when a piece of my glass cracks and threatens to shatter, it’s no wonder that my arms fall instantly gelatinous. I cry and toss my head back, sending a rolling ebony wave before my front half descends. I desperately grip the blankets, knotting the fabric with begging grunts and whines.

But it only continues to build, and build, and build, impossibly faster and impossibly deeper. Our souls are tangled, so very tangled, dancing and intertwining and refusing to let go. Naturally, I start to ascend, faster than I ever have before. The fire licks its way up my belly, caressing my jiggling breasts and-

...No, that’s his hand, reaching beneath to knead and massage, emboldened and salacious. My eyes roll something terrible, my hips even more so, more and more of the glass chipping away. He’s snarling, almost yelling; I know he’s so close too. But somehow, just as he always has, Peeta dashes through the chaos and holds me above all.

His wandering hand suddenly juts backwards, racing down my body before fingers find their prized destination. There’s a subsequent bolt of electricity at my core, followed by a heave of tension as cracks spiderweb throughout. I’m on the cliff, on the edge, writhing and seeing it shatter before me...

“Peet-”

The final note of his name shifts into that of a divine keen, elongated and reaching as my wings outstretch. I feel like I’ve never flown so high before. It feels as if though I breach the very reaches of our atmosphere, everything whited out and flashing with a dazzling array of color.

Surely I’m screaming. Surely I’m crying out with such forceful contractions wracking my system. But I can barely breathe, barely process. There’s nothing but this. Nothing but him.

Him- somewhere below, I can hear his desperate groans. He too, yelps like he’s attempting to hold on to the Earth, to stop such a rapid ascent into space. But with a distant, cracking yell, and with another push that drives me even higher, I welcome him into my flying embrace.

I hold onto him so tightly. I fly and dance and marvel in the closeness, in the connection we share. I soar hand in hand, his softness rivaling that of the cloud we pass. Before eventually, inevitability, we must return to a realm more frequented.

I land hard. My form essentially evaporates upon impact. The moment Peeta breaks our connection, the moment he releases my hips, I fall into a heap atop the blankets. It’s no surprise that I’m shivering, nor that I’m weeping, overwhelmed to the warmest, highest degree. I remain on my stomach, limbs sprawled every which way, continuing to pant and ride through the occasional aftershocks.

When the sound of my pounding heart departs from my ears, when I become more aware of my surroundings, I can hear Peeta on the bed behind me, heavily panting all the while. Surely he’s sitting back, likely riding the same lingering effects as I. 

But I need him. After almost selfishly delighting in such pleasures, I miss him. So I turn my head against the blankets, attempting to look in his direction as I reach with a hand.

“P-Peeta?”

Unsurprisingly, he understands. In mere seconds, he heaves himself beside me, flopping down atop the mattress. Though I’m utterly exhausted, and akin to jelly, I hoist myself onto my side and into his arms, our bodies as close as possible without the added element of fire.

And there, I snuggle, I caress, I kiss. I make up for the missed touches. He of course, reciprocates, the both of us tiredly offering all the affection we can muster between our shaking breaths. Soon enough, falling back into our usual patterns, we begin to smile. Then breathlessly giggle. Then speak and whisper sweet nothings through our exhausted exchanges.

“Oh...my God...Oh God...” I wheeze into one of our many kisses.

Peeta snickers a bit then, his hands beginning to softly rub circles against my bare back.

“I don’t...I don’t know what happened...what came over me...” I whisper, shying away to nestle my cheek against his.

He laughs more then, somehow managing to tug me even closer.

“Hooo, well...Whatever it was...I’m glad...I’m glad it did...”

I feel myself blushing, somewhat...shocked by the intensity of my actions. And in considering my behavior, in considering how ferocious the hunger was, it unsurprisingly reminds me of the likely sacrifice Peeta had to make in order to appease. I flush even harder, moving to hide my face against his perspiring shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” I murmur against his sweet skin.

“Hun?”

“I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t...”

I of course, struggle through my words, through my explanation. I’ve never been good at saying something. But my love patiently waits, expectantly waits, continuing to softly rub me through the silence. As usual, his understanding anchors me, and I whimper the truth rather sheepishly.

“It just felt so good, Peeta...”

To my relief, he gives a hard, handsome laugh, rattling our tangled forms.

“That’s all I could ever hope for, sweetheart...” he replies with lingering chuckles, pressing his gentle lips to my dampened hair.

I sigh at the tender contact, but continue to push myself.

“Really though...I’m sorry...I didn’t...want to make you uncomfortable...”

“You didn’t.”

When I huff against his shoulder, he softly tugs me backwards, allowing our stares to connect once more.

“You didn’t, love. Clearly.” He chuckles a bit more, before falling back into his earnest tone. “Like I said, it was just...different, that’s all. I marvel in your beauty, you know.” 

When I scowl at him, at the compliment, he grins even wider.

“And yes, I’m used to seeing your face in this. But thankfully, every inch of you happens to be stunning.”

“Peeta...” I groan, feeling my cheeks flush something terrible beneath his onslaught of tender eloquence. Once more, he laughs, before leaning in to give me a quick kiss.

“I just got to address the less...frequented places,” he continues with a smirk, “Which after tonight, won’t stay that way for long, I’m sure.”

I huff, which again, earns another snicker coupled with a kiss. When we break away however, I find myself staring into those sparkling, warm blues. His expression shifts into something more gentle, more awed, surely catching the earnestness behind my stare. My hands reach up to cup his face, stroking my thumbs against his scarred yet softened skin.

“I did miss this, you know...” I whisper, topping my words off with a kiss to his nose.

“Well, I did say we have forever,” he replies with a growing, crooked grin.

“That’s not long enough for this either...”

I pull him into perhaps the softest, tenderest kiss of the night, one more fitting for the day than the dusk. It’s one I pour all my adoration into, of course having to verbally proclaim it all the same.

“I love you so much...” I murmur against his lips.

Once more, the connection breaks from the strength of his smile, delightfully warming body and soul before the sentiments are returned.

“And I love you...”

There we remain for numerous comfortable beats, continuing to lazily kiss and caress until the last of the sunlight disappears from the night sky. I find myself contemplating what lead to such an explosion, what lead to my desire firing off to such an extreme degree. Of course Peeta would be on the same wavelength, though the grinning question that breaks the silence gets me laughing and shoving his chest.

“You don’t...happen to have further tricks up your sleeve, do you?”

#Everlark #Everlark fic #Everlark fanfiction #Everlark smut #NC-17 #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Mockingjay #thg #...HEEHOO LMAO #There's a parody out there- I think of Naruto? #Where Hokage is like 'Shhhhh...I'm trying to hear the nudity' #AND HONESTLY I FELT THAT JSLKDHLSK #I'm so rusty to this so pls forgive #BUT I TRIED #WE OUT HERE TRYING TM #WE OUT HERE SERVING THAT SPICE #WE OUT HERE TRYING TO WRITE WITH THE BEST OF THEM SHKDJLSHS #also rip katniss in this jskdhsklds #you know she dead #soul went straight to god #PEETA OUT HERE SERVING TM