#so naturally the first post i make is this

[pathologicalreid]

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x y/n #margot's requests

[grison-in-space]

I'm genuinely sorry, I was really tired and couldn't think of the word that mad pride movements use. I'm new to all of this. I thought you would be more open to it because you've reblogged from radical leftists (anarchists and communists both) within the past couple of weeks and they're all for Veganism afaik. The argument that all brains are different but equal and should be treated the exact same is a primary aspect of mad pride from my understanding, and that speaks to me about animals just having different brains, and that they don't deserve to be exploited and killed for us just because they're different. I'm not spamming people with it, but I was inspired by an ask by a nonvegan and started asking popular bloggers why they weren't vegan to open up conversation and potentially change people's views on animals. If I've made you uncomfortable I'm sorry, though I admit I'm really confused by your standpoint. You do know that the only reason communism hasn't succeeded is because of America? Anyway, sorry again, I'm also autistic and I didn't mean to dismiss your legitimate dietary needs. Can I recommend acti-vegan's posts? While I understand that you can't go vegan, perhaps their blog will at least help you understand our points, they're much more well-written than my asks and they have plenty of legitimate science resources at hand. Thanks for listening, I'll take your advice into account. I'm not trying to not listen, it's just frustrating because so many people say they get it but they don't change, and if they truly got it they would, you know?

Okay, I get that you didn't mean to be offensive, and fuck knows I shouldn't throw stones when it comes to forgetting specific words. (This happens to me fairly frequently; it's a thing.)

The argument that all brains are different but equal and should be treated the exact same is a primary aspect of mad pride from my understanding, and that speaks to me about animals just having different brains, and that they don't deserve to be exploited and killed for us just because they're different.

So yesterday I actually wrote out and then deleted a whole paragraph to the effect of "part of my deep, deep frustration with animal rights activism hooks into my commitment to the phrase 'nothing about us without us,' because I frequently see the same kinds of emotional projection without making the effort to listen to animals on their own terms from animal rights activism groups."

The first thing I need to make clear to you is that this--veganism and animal rights activism (ARA) more generally--is not new to me. I am in my mid-thirties and I have never had a job of any kind that did not revolve around animals in some way, I've spent time in rescue spaces and vets and universities, I'm queer and I have spent most of my life in leftish progressive circles, so it's kind of hard to miss.

Essentially, you are proselytizing to me as if you were a newly baptized evangelical convinced I had never heard of Jesus, because if only I had heard and understood his holy word, I would be converted instantly to his light! It's not any less irritating when the belief system isn't explicitly a religion.

More under the cut, because this one is long.

Disclaimer one: Veganism isn't synonymous with ARA ideology, but it's deeply entangled with it, and ARA ideology drives the movement of veganism as a (theoretically non-religious) ethical decision. And I object very strongly to the framework imposed by ARA activists. When I say I am not vegan, I am saying that I have considered the ethical framework that underpins veganism as an ethics movement and I have deliberately rejected it.

The second piece of context you should know that when I talk about being a behavioral ecologist, I mean that I'm a researcher who works on animals and that my framework is rooted in trying to understand animals in their own natural ecological context, without necessarily comparing them to humans. There's a lot of ways to study animal behavior you might run into, including attempts to understand universal principles of behavior that transcend species (animal cognition) and attempts to understand how to better treat animals in human care (animal welfare). You know Temple Grandin? Temple Grandin is an ethologist (the field that gave rise to behavioral ecology, also focused on animals within their species context) who worked on animal welfare (finding ways to make slaughterhouses less stressful to livestock, among other things).

Third point: my profession also means is that I work directly with animals--in my case, currently mice--and that I do not think research with animal subjects is wrong as long as all efforts are made to ensure maximal welfare and enrichment for the animals involved. This is another major bone of contention politically between my entire field and ARA groups, and you should know that I have also spent my entire professional career under the shadow of, well, people who care strongly enough about those ideas to invade my workspace and potentially seize my animals and "free" them into a world they do not have the tools to survive in.

So there's where I am coming from. Let's get back to what you're saying. Here, I'll quote again in case you have the same crappy short-term memory I do.

The argument that all brains are different but equal and should be treated the exact same is a primary aspect of mad pride from my understanding, and that speaks to me about animals just having different brains, and that they don't deserve to be exploited and killed for us just because they're different.

Point the first: Even within humans, I don't think that all brains should be treated the exact same. Especially in a disability context! After all, what is an accommodation if not an agreement to treat someone differently because they need certain things to access a space? Accommodations by definition fly in the face of this "treating everyone the same" understanding of fairness. I think all (human) brains are equally valuable, and I think all brains are worthy of respect, but I do not think that it's wise or kind of me to assert that everyone should be treated in the same way. For one thing, I teach students. If there's one thing teaching has taught me, it's that a good teacher is constantly assessing and adjusting their instruction to meet students where they're at, identify failures of understanding, and keep the attention of the classroom.

Point the second: animals do have different brains from humans. That does not mean that animals are inferior, but it does mean that they are alien. There's a philosophy paper, Nagel, What Does It Mean to Be a Bat, that you might find illuminating on this front. Essentially, the point of the paper is that animals have their own experiences and sensory umwelts that differ profoundly enough from humans' that we cannot know what it is like to be a different species without experiencing life as one, and therefore we must be terribly careful not to project our own realities onto theirs. That is, our imagination cannot tell us what a bat values and what it experiences. That is why we have to use careful evidence to understand what an animal is thinking, without relying on our ability to identify with and comprehend that animal. I have watched ARA groups deliberately encourage people to shut their reasoning brains off and emotionally identify themselves with animals without considering within-species context for twenty years. This is a mainstream tactic. It is not an isolated event and for that reason alone I would be opposed to them.

Point the third: there is a definite tendency in lots of people to care deeply and intensely about both animals and people who are seen as "lesser" in status--children, poor people, disabled people, etc--just as long as those groups never contradict the good feelings that come from the helper's own assessment of themselves and their actions. In humans, when the "needy" point out that some forms of help are actually harmful, the backlash is often swift and vicious. This is why animals are such an appealing target of support and intervention. They can't speak back and say "in fact, you are projecting my love of this frilly pink tutu onto me, and I think it's uncomfortable and prevents me from walking." They can't say "I kind of like it better when I don't have to worry about getting hit by a car, actually?"

(By the way: this is also why it's offensive to compare disabled people to animals, because this is generally done at least in part to silence the voices of disabled people speaking for our selves and our communities. We have access to language, and we use it, thank you.)

All forms of animal welfare intervention going right back to the founding of the first RSPCA have been incredibly prone to being hijacked by classist, racist, and otherwise bigoted impulses. This is because animals offer an innocent face for defense that conveniently cannot criticize the actions taken by their champions, and they therefore provide a great excuse for actions taken against marginalized members of human society. Think about the very first campaign the RSPCA ever did, which was banning using dogs as draft animals: a use that is not inherently harmful to dogs, which many dogs actively enjoy, but also one that was specifically used by poor Londoners and which in fact immediately resulted in a great butchery of the dogs that Londoners could no longer afford to feed rather than allowing poor people and their dogs to continue working together. No one was, of course, challenging the particular uses of dogs or any other animal favored by the wealthy. This kind of thing is so, so, so common. Obviously it doesn't mean that all interventions to prioritize animal welfare are inherently bigoted, but it does mean that we have to be critical about our choice of challenges.

On top of everything, the animal rights activist movement's obsession with "exploitation" is a function of the idea that humans are sinful or otherwise Bad in how we interact with animals by definition. For example, take the chicken rescue near me that is so obsessed with the possibility that some human somewhere might benefit from an animal in their care that they implant every hen they adopt out with hormonal implants such that the hens no longer lay eggs--a function that is normally a natural byproduct of a chicken's reproductive system, fertilized or not. A mutualistic relationship involves both parties benefiting, and that is the case for an awful lot of human relationships with animals. In general, the idea that associating with animals is a thing that can only harm animals rather than being a trade between two species to enrich one another is all over these groups. It's just so myopically focused on human shame that it prevents practical interventions that might benefit everyone, and often promotes interventions that don't directly benefit animals but sure do make humans miserable. For example, this kind of thinking is why groups like PETA are absolutely awful at effectively rescuing unwanted dogs and cats: they think pets living in "bondage" with humans are an essentially sad outcome, rather than one that might be mutually enjoyed by all parties.

I'm tired and my meds haven't kicked in, so I'm not currently going to handle the communism thing except to point out that while the US absolutely did destabilize a number of leftist regimes in South America and Africa, Russia and China between them have certainly not treated their own people kindly, either (and more so their own client-nations, as with the former members of the USSR). Please do some reading about the Holodomor and Lysenko in Russia (and frankly all of the details of Stalin's regime) and the Cultural Revolution in China in particular. Khmer Rouge might be worth looking into, too. I am not saying the US's hands are clean, you understand, because they are not; they're as steeped in red as anyone else's. What I am saying is that for people living on the ground, communist revolutions have this nasty habit of turning into bloodbaths and arbitrary slaughters. Do not let your distaste for the US's bloodsoaked imperialism (which, yes, is and was bad) let you fall into the trap of becoming a tankie.

And if you don't know what a tankie is, you really, really should take some time to learn.

#animal welfare #just #don't do this #when someone says “no” #please fucking listen #there's another essay in me somewhere on the painfully obvious sublimated dynamics picked up from Christianity all over this movement #but I do actually have work to do today including that ventral pallidum post I have been poking at

[changbunnies]

Slow Bloom, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Inexperienced!Changbin x Experienced Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: fluff and smut with a lil plot <3 a tiny bit of angst during the build up but it doesn't last long at all!

♡ Word Count: 8.5k

♡ Summary: In which a misunderstanding while cuddling leads to discovering exactly how Changbin feels about you.

♡ Smut Warnings: not intended to have overt dom/sub dynamics but i may have written bin a bit subby lol oops, references to porn watching, kinda pervy bin?, his lack of experience is not outright stated to the reader as it is implied that they already know, nipple play, thigh grinding / humping, fingering (f rec), protected piv

♡ Notes: so quite a few ppl showed interest in an inexperienced binnie fic after i posted my inexperienced chan fic and i am here to deliver <3 this was also the perfect break from the longer, more plot heavy fics i've been working on as this took a lot less mental effort :') i hope you enjoy this while waiting for those!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There aren't many things in life that make Changbin nervous. 

He navigates the world with security and confidence, sure of himself and in the actions he takes. He can speak in tense or awkward situations with relative ease, nerves never eat him up in social settings, and he's never afraid to speak his mind or do what he wishes to. 

But then there's you. You, while laying in bed next to him with an arm draped over his body and one of your legs tucked between his, make him extremely, effortlessly nervous.

It wasn't always this way; at least, not as far as he can remember. You've been friends since forever, and closeness such as this is par for the course. He's used to impromptu sleepovers, to you making yourself comfy in his space, tossing your belongings to the floor without a care before you take over his bed. 

He's used to cuddling while watching tv, to squeezing each other into tight hugs, to limbs tangled under blankets. He's used to the lingering smell of your shampoo mixed with perfume, used to the feeling of your breath tickling his skin when you pull him close, to the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips. 

He's used to it, and it doesn't affect him; or so he thought.

Somewhere along the line, something within him shifted. Whether the reason lies with you or with himself, he doesn't entirely know. What he does know is that he no longer sees you the same way he did when you were growing up together. And it wasn't until that shift occurred that he realized maybe "your friend" isn't the only thing he wants to be. 

Maybe it's a natural, gradual progression from where you both began, a shift in desire brought on by new maturity and life experience. Maybe you've been this radiant and beautiful since the very first day you met, but he was too young and oblivious to realize it then. 

Maybe it's because of that strange, sharp and twisting feeling in his gut every time he sees you with a new partner. If it wasn't for you showing interest in other people, would he have ever realized at all that what he feels for you transcends what he feels in his other friendships? 

While he loves his other friends, he doesn't get jealous when they bring a new partner around, or talk about their love life to him. He doesn't spend every night lying awake thinking about them, nor does he wonder what it'd be like to kiss them. He doesn't dream about seeing their bare skin, or about touching them, about them touching him.

He doesn't imagine their tongue lavishing over him, or of returning the favor to them. He doesn't fantasize about them in dirty, naughty scenarios, during his private moments in bed or in the shower. You occupy his every thought, to the point that even while watching porn he has to close his eyes and imagine it's you making those sounds instead, replacing the scene before him with a mental image of you and him together. 

That's what makes Changbin especially nervous right now. You're cuddled up to him, as you always are when you spend the night at his place, but he can't get his brain to please shut the fuck up and stop pushing him to the brink of embarrassing himself. 

He needs to stop thinking about the placement of your hand on his stomach, just above his waistband. He can't linger on the fact that your tits are pressed against him while you hug him, or about how pleasant the soft, content sighs that leave you sound to his ears.

If he thinks about any of it, he'll get hard- and that'll easily be the most mortifying moment of his life, because you would definitely notice with the way your leg is snaked between his and resting between his thighs. It's moments like this when he misses the days of innocence- when cuddling with you like this didn't feel quite so intimate.

He makes a conscious effort to focus harder on the tv in front of you both, playing some sitcom he has long since stopped paying attention to. He guesses the jokes are landing if your occasional giggles are any sign, but if you asked his opinion on anything going on he wouldn't be able to answer. Changbin has never been the type of person who was easily able to divide his attention, but God, does he fucking try.

Because if you realize he's getting hard, and you feel it, there are very few scenarios he can imagine where you're okay with it. And if you decide to question him on it, he'd be done for- because there's no way he'd be able to outright deny his attraction to you. Playing it off would feel too much like lying, and this is not the kind of scenario he imagines when he thinks about the way he'll admit his feelings to you.

You've noticed since the beginning that his body has been tense; you've been cuddling since you were young, and you're more than familiar with how he feels when he's relaxed. It's almost amazing how someone so muscular can still feel so soft when their body is at rest- and right now you can't help but notice that he feels very far from soft. 

You tried to ignore it and focus on the show you're watching, and it worked for some time, but the longer he stays tense the more you can't help but wonder if you've been bothering him lately. It's become a growing pattern- you touch Changbin, in some ways small and menial like a passing tap to his arm as you slip past him in the kitchen, or large, in which you hug him tight and envelop him with your entire body.

Either way, the reaction is the same; he instantly tenses. You're not sure if he intends to do so, or if it's an unconscious reaction he doesn't even realize he's doing, but it hasn't gone unnoticed by you. The two of you have always been a match when it comes to being clingy and affectionate, but maybe that isn't the kind of attention he wants to get from you anymore. 

Are you being overbearing? Did you unintentionally do something wrong? Maybe he wants to distance himself from you but is just either too nice or too scared to say it out loud and hurt your feelings. 

When you tilt your head to look at him, his cheeks are pinker than they were just moments ago, with his gaze fixed solely on the tv. You're sure he can feel you looking at him, but he doesn't turn his head to meet your eyes. You want to believe he's just really engrossed in the show, but you can't help but doubt it. You know him, and you're certain that for whatever reason, he's avoiding your gaze. 

"Am I bothering you?" you ask abruptly, and perhaps a bit more vulnerable than you would've liked. Not that you can help it, really; you just really care about Changbin, and you can't stand not knowing if you've done something to upset him or make him want to separate himself from you. You have to know, because you can't stand it any longer. 

"What? No, I- what?" Changbin finally looks at you, furrowed brows peeking out between strands of his long, messy curls. You didn't expect him to be so surprised by your question; admittedly, it is sudden, but this has been building for weeks hasn't it? You thought he'd be relieved that you're bringing it up first so that he doesn't have to.

You've never been happier to be wrong, or to see such genuine confusion on his face. Thank God. "Sorry, I just.. You've been acting different lately, and I thought that maybe it was because I did something wrong," you explain, following it with a small, awkward laugh.

Really, you're relieved; at the same time however, you do feel a bit embarrassed and silly to have been questioning what's been happening with him now that he's so clearly taken aback. You jumped to conclusions and got a bit ahead of yourself, it’s true- but.. If that’s not it, then what is it?

Surely there’s a reason- his behavior wouldn’t have changed if everything is really the same as it's always been. If nothing's wrong, why does he tense up every time you try to act affectionate with him? Why does he hesitate to meet your gaze when he never had a problem doing so before? Why does it always feel like he's putting distance between you? 

Changbin swallows, you notice- a nervous response that you guess is from putting him on the spot. Because if it's not what you've been thinking, you need to be provided with another explanation- an explanation that only he can offer you. He needs to clear up this misunderstanding if he doesn't want you to wrongfully think you've done wrong by him, but what can he say that also omits the truth he isn't ready to admit? 

His cheeks grow pinker, and you can tell he's struggling to find words- something you'd typically never expect to see in your charismatic best friend. You've untangled yourself from him enough to lift yourself up, weight propped up by your elbow while you look directly in his eyes. He's slightly beneath you at this angle, eyes having to travel up to meet your own, and again he swallows. 

He's so fucked. There's nothing he can say right now other than "I really fucking like you and being this close to you all the time is making me crazy."

But he can't actually say that. Changbin wants his confession to come with a grand, romantic gesture. He wants to say the sweetest, more perfect words he can come up with. He wants to be a man of action, someone as cool as they are sincere, someone who can make you swoon with suave, but genuine effort. Admitting his feelings to you now, like this, would be the furthest thing from charming, or cool, or perfect. 

As if all of that wasn't enough, now he has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander down to look at your chest- because he's been chubbing up since the moment you started cuddling, and if he catches a glimpse of your cleavage now, he's done for. It feels vaguely pathetic to be this affected by you when you don't even realize you're doing it to him. 

Changbin's eyes act against the purposeful efforts of his brain and travel to your chest, met overtly with the sight of your breasts pressed together. Fuck. He looks back up to your face quickly, hoping you haven't noticed where his eyes wandered. He wishes he could reach between your bodies and discreetly adjust his pants to hide his growing erection, but he can't, and God help him, you're going to notice any second now. 

And you're looking at him so sweetly and earnestly, patient and caring, totally unaware of what you're doing to him and what his actual struggle is. He wants to clear everything up, doesn't want you to feel like the fault of what he's going through lies with you, he wants to answer every question you have, he really does- but he's found himself in a vicious cycle. 

Trying not to think about the position you're both in, of how pretty you are looking down at him, or of your chest that he can't seem to ignore despite how badly he needs to focus on anything else just makes him dwell on it even more. The more he tries not to, the more space it takes up in his mind, until it's entirely clouded, preventing him from conjuring a thought worthy of being spoken to you. 

Fuck thinking of an excuse or explanation, he can't think of anything other than your tits being so close to his face. He wants nothing more than to kiss them, to feel your fingers running through his hair as he sticks his tongue out to lick your nipples, has thought about squeezing them between his palms so many times. 

So can he offer you a reasonable enough excuse that hides the truth of the matter? Absolutely fucking not- not when all he can think about is how you'd feel and taste. "Changbin?" your questioning voice snaps him out of it, looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights behind his thick rimmed glasses. 

He looks guilty, face entirely flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears. And you're convinced now that he was trying to spare your feelings, and was stuck on finding the right way to break it to you. He didn't know what to say, and was trying so desperately to think of something that wouldn't crush you.

He can see the hurt wash over you, and he opens his mouth, ready to blurt out anything in a futile attempt at damage control, but you're already speaking before he even gets the chance to try. "You don't have to spare my feelings, you can be honest, just tell me-" you say as you start to push yourself away from him, very clearly misunderstanding the situation that's been unfolding. 

Before he can even begin to figure out if he should be relieved or devastated by your incorrect assumptions hiding what he feels, the process of moving your leg from between his causes him to let out a gasp that takes you both by surprise. You feel it- his semi-hard erection brushes against your leg as you attempt to move it out from between his thighs. 

"Oh," is suddenly all you can manage to say. Is Changbin attracted to you..? Is that why for months he's slowly but surely become so different in your presence? When you look back to him, he's covered his face with his hands over his glasses, his pouty bottom lip quivering in what you can only assume to be mortification over his body betraying him. 

The question now is, is this simply a physical reaction to being close or something more than that? Would it happen to him no matter who was pressed against him, or is it you in particular that causes his body to react this way? You won't know until he tells you, but you hope more than anything he wants you as much as you've always wanted him.

The idea that he may view you romantically is not something you ever allowed yourself to consider a possibility, but oh, how you've wanted it. Changbin has always been perfect to you; a gentleman in all aspects, attentive, considerate, thoughtful, your very best friend. You always thought you'd be lucky if someone like him were to love you, and you always held your partners to the standard he showed you. 

You thought that even if you couldn't have Changbin, you could at least have someone like him; and while no one ever made you feel the way he does, disappointing you in one way or another, you still tried. Perhaps it was unfair, as no one can compare to Changbin, but if he wants you then you'll take him in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Even when it wasn't entirely conscious to you, your heart has always belonged to him. 

He flinches when you call his name again; your tone is soft, but he's still afraid to meet your gaze and discover what kind of expression is on your face. He thinks he'll die if he sees anything even remotely resembling disgust or anger. He cares about you so much, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if you lost your trust in him because of this. 

You reach for his hands, and despite his nerves threatening to eat him alive for perhaps the first time in his life, he lets you take his hands away from his face. The apprehension in his eyes is clear, though there's a flash of relief when he can see that you're not upset with him. "I'm sorry, really," he blurts out quickly, feeling like he should apologize even if you aren't going to chastise him for getting hard simply from being close to you. 

“Does this happen a lot when we..?” you ask, watching as his blush spreads down his neck while he hesitantly nods. You’ve never seen him so red and shy before- and honestly, you like it. You’ve always considered Changbin to be cute, but this is cute on an entirely different level. You hope this won’t be the only time you get to see him this way. But before that can happen, you have a more pressing question to ask him.

"Do you want me to help you?" is the next question to leave you, and fucking hell, does that send him reeling. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re even asking him so casually. And while it isn’t the way he pictured something happening between you after his many months of pining, he could never say no to you- he's been obsessively thinking about you all this time, how could he say anything but yes?

Still, he hesitates regardless; not because he's unsure about continuing, or because he doesn't want to, but because what if it means different things for the two of you? For Changbin, it'd be everything. You're the only person he's ever liked this much, he might even be in love with you, and he doesn't think he'd be able to recover from having a casual fling with you. He'd never be able to go back to before and pretend he doesn't feel as much for you as he does.

"If you say no, we can pretend this never happened," you assure him when you see the nervous hesitance in his eyes. It's not what you'd want to hear, but he deserves to be offered an out if he needs it; because as much as you want him, you don't want him to feel stuck and uncomfortable. And then you continue, hoping more than anything that he shares the sentiment of your next words, "But I think you should know, I really like you, Binnie. And I'll be really happy if you say yes." 

With your admission, all his doubts and fears are cleared in an instant. Really, that's all he needed to hear to be sure what he plans to say next is the right thing to say to you. It's not how he ever intended to ask you this question, but he’d never dream of passing up the opportunity presented to him- the opportunity to be yours, and for you to be his in turn. "If I say yes, will you be my girlfriend?"

He’s smiling, sweet and cute as he asks, and it makes you smile too- because this is much more like the Changbin you know and love. He giggles when you accept, and as the word "boyfriend" leaves you in reference to him, absolutely giddy to finally be yours. Maybe this is better than the way he always pictured it would happen; because this is more organically you, what is more natural to your dynamic and the care you have for each other.

Leaning down, you softly press your lips to his, and even just a gesture so small is enough to spread goosebumps over his skin. It's so soft, slow, every sensation lingering even as you pull away to take a breath before kissing him again. No kiss he's ever had before compares to how it feels to kiss you; he doesn't think he's ever felt as positively electric as he does right now.

Is it normal for every touch of your lips to make him tremble so much? And his heart is already beating so fast, thumping loudly against his chest with each additional kiss and tracing touch of your fingers over his body. Down his arms, over his chest, underneath his shirt and across his stomach- all of it adds to the sparks in his veins. 

His hands explore you too- eager, and a bit clumsy, but you find his enthusiasm infectious. He's so perfectly warm and soft, and you can't resist the urge to squeeze him in your hands- his soft tummy, his love handles, his defined pecs; you squeeze everywhere your hands can reach. Changbin lets out a soft, surprised squeak the first time, but he quickly grows used to it, and finds himself mimicking the way you touch him. 

He starts with the leg not tucked between his thighs, hand trailing up and down the length of it before he squeezes. Then he moves on to your hips before traveling to your backside, then your waist, and finally your breasts. Even just feeling them over your clothes excites him beyond words, eager and happy to be touching you like he's dreamed of so many times before.

He likes the pleased hums and sighs you let out almost more than he likes the act of squeezing you in his palms, each sound just as pretty and soft as you are. He shivers when he feels your tongue swipe across his bottom lip, and he eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue slipping inside his mouth and swirling around his own makes him practically vibrate with desire for more.

Changbin follows you when you start to pull away from the kiss, eyes remaining closed for several seconds before he finally opens them to look at you. His pretty lips, still wet and parted, turn into a pout when you've gone further than he can still reach. His pout vanishes, however, when you start to pull up your shirt, and it makes you giggle; he really is just so cute. 

You weren't wearing a bra beneath your shirt- you never do when you're relaxing before going to bed, even at Changbin's place. You always felt comfortable enough around him that you didn't feel like you had to sacrifice your comfort during your sleepovers, assured in the fact that he'd always be respectful towards you even if he happened to notice.

And while you're comfortable and confident, there's still a certain tinge of nervousness that bubbles up in the back of your mind that comes from being exposed to his eyes now. Tits are pretty- doesn't matter who they're on, or what shape they're in, they always look good; but it's almost funny how simply showing them to the person you like so much makes you nervous regardless of this fact.

You're not ashamed to say you've slept with a lot of people, and that a majority of said people have seen you completely bare- but there's none you've ever liked quite as much or in the same way that you like Changbin. It makes it more intimate somehow, so real, and you suppose that's the part that makes you nervous.

But oh, how his gaze fills your stomach with butterflies- because you don't think anyone's ever looked at you the way he is right now, with eyes sparkling in awe as he takes the sight of you in. He looks at you with pure wonder and adoration, in a way that is as sweet as it is full of lust and desire.

In his eyes, you may as well be one of the 7 wonders of the world- something worthy of reverence and worship. He'd do it if you'd let him- worship you until the sky itself falls and everything around the two of you crumbles. He'll show you in any way he can, with every kiss and every touch, that you always have been and always will be the only one for him.

"Can- Can I touch them? Please?" he asks, polite, sweet, and full of hope that you won't deny him. It's a little funny, considering how just moments ago he was touching you all over- but it's sweet too, how considerate he's trying to be now that you're bare before him despite how eager and worked up he is.

And really, you'd never dream of denying him anything- but you do have a request of your own to make too. "If you take your shirt off for me first," you tell him, fingers ghosting over his torso, "I want to touch you too, want to see every inch of you."

"Oh," he blinks, his cock that has been semi-hard for the better part of an hour stiffening more as it twitches in response to your words. "Yeah- yeah, of course, want you to touch me too," he finally breathes, wasting no time in lifting his back off the bed to pull his shirt up and over his head.

You giggle at the urgency in which he gets his shirt off, and he smiles back at you when he falls back against the bed. He knows he's eager and excitable, and he has no shame in showing it- he's wanted you way too much and for way too long to act like this is just a typical Saturday night for him.

Even if he makes a fool of himself, he'll be happy and it'll be worth it- because it's you he's doing it for, doing it with, and that's all he's ever needed. "You're so cute, Binnie," you tell him, and he smiles brighter, cutely scrunching his nose that way you love so much, and does whenever he's truly happy.

His hands reach for you first, cupping your breasts with an adorable pout of concentration and determination on his face. He's careful with his squeezes, well aware of how strong his grip can be and not wanting at all to hurt you. He rubs over your nipples with his thumbs, and then between his fingers, licking his lips as he watches them get hard enough to gently roll them.

He looks to you for approval, blinking up at you with hope for praise and affirmation that you like it, that he's doing it right. It makes you want to coo at him- but you resist, and simply reach your hand to his cheek, stroking it with your thumb as you instruct him to keep going. He all but melts into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm and closing his eyes for just a moment to relish in it before he continues.

Changbin sticks his tongue out next, watching you carefully as he brings it to one of your pebbled nipples. You meet him halfway so he doesn't have to strain his neck from lifting it off the pillow, leaning closer to his face as you move your hand to thread your fingers through his curls.

His eyes stay on you as he alternates between where he licks, one of his hands always playing with the nipple that his mouth isn't giving attention to. The moan you let out when he sucks one into his mouth makes his cock throb, and truly, he's never felt as blessed as he does right now, with one of his many fantasies finally becoming a reality.

Still, he's thirsty for more- he wants to feel you everywhere, to hear your pretty voice sing him praises, to become so absorbed in each other's pleasure that everything else in the world fall away. He wants to envelop you with his body, he wants your touch to consume him, he wants you to both be equally messy and dirty and engrossed in bliss.

"Touch me now, please, anywhere, want you to," he pleads after releasing your nipple from his mouth with a small pop. His face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, dark eyes soft and pleading behind his glasses, lips wet and hair a mess- you don't think you've ever seen anything more perfect and alluring than this.

It makes you want to dote on him, and you'll do just that- especially if it's something he wants as badly as you. "Anything for you," you oblige, giving him a quick, sweet peck to the top of his head before your hands are once again traveling over his body. You scoot down just enough to be able to reach his neck, pressing kisses beneath his ear before trailing them down.

Changbin intended to keep playing with your chest as you touched him, but he quickly loses focus, sucking in a breath and eyes fluttering closed as your tongue presses against his sweet spot. It's almost overwhelming for him- your hands squeezing the thick muscle of his arms and pecs while you tongue dotes on him, body squirming when your teeth lightly graze over the sensitive skin near his pulse point.

Similar to when you first squeezed him in your hands earlier, another squeak of surprise escapes him when you brush your thumbs over his exposed nipples- you guess no one's ever done that to him before. You hesitate a moment before repeating the action, wanting first to make sure it's something he's open to experiencing again. He's biting his lip and looking at you not with apprehension like you half expected to see, but curiosity and excitement.

So you do it again, and he gasps, back arching off the bed as his teeth sink further into his bottom lip. Fuck, he never thought he'd be so sensitive there- and he whines from deep in his throat when you comment on it. "You're so sensitive, Bin," you whisper in near awe, and he's half tempted to cover his mouth with his hand to suppress the moan you threaten to bring out of him with your soft fingers.

His cock is the hardest he thinks it's possibly ever been. You can feel it prodding against your thigh, and poor Changbin, he's so worked up and eager for stimulation that he can't help but grind it against you as you continue to rub his nipples between your fingers. In a different scenario, it'd be the bed or his own hand he'd be helplessly rutting against- but your thigh is all he has access to.

It makes him feel positively dirty, naughty, but he can't stop- even when the friction from the fabric of his clothes overwhelms him, his hips don't stop moving against you. You look down between your bodies, watch the wet patch on his pants grow as he continues to rut against your thigh.

You want to take one of his nipples into your mouth, but you don't want him to lose the friction against you- so you bend carefully, conscious of keeping your leg pressed against him between his thighs as you wrap your lips around the nipple easiest for you to reach. He whimpers- a high pitched sound you never expected to hear from him as you swirl your tongue around his hardened nipple.

"Fuck, oh fuck, oh my god-" Changbin whines, bringing up his hands to once again cover his heated face. It's so embarrassing- how good it feels, how loud he's being, how he just can't seem to stop himself from seeking the delicious friction your thigh provides him. Overwhelming too, how close he is to cumming already, his body taut and high strung.

His hips begin to stutter, sweat steadily building on his brow, his stomach clenching as he tries his best to hold back the inevitable. "Are you close, Binnie? Gonna cum just like this?" you release his nipple from your mouth to ask him sweetly. Against your expectations, he quickly shakes his head- as if fighting against himself before he lowers his hands and looks at you with glassy eyes.

"Don't- don't want to," he tells you after another obscene whine, "wanna fuck you first, don't wanna cum until I fuck you." The way he looks at you as he says it makes your heart jolt and stomach twist. Messy hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, pouty bottom lip swollen and red, eyes pleading and desperate.

God, he's fucking cute- positively delectable. You'll have to save eating him for next time, though; right now, you just want to give him everything he asks for. "You want to fuck me?" you ask him, reaching your hand down to dip under the waistband of his pants and underwear. It's sticky and wet, pre-cum smeared all over the inside of the fabric.

He keens, nodding eagerly as he squirms beneath the touch of your soft, warm hand. It's such a contrast from the prior sensation, but just as equally overwhelming. You stroke him slowly; just enough to keep him worked up, but not enough to make him cum. His eyes are fluttering closed, hands twisting the sheets beneath him, hips jolting up to meet your strokes.

"You're so thick, Binnie," you tell him, and he throbs from the compliment, whining almost helplessly. It's true too- you're not just saying it to make him feel good. It's not the longest you've ever held, but it's definitely the thickest- you can't even wrap your hand entirely around it. "Think you can help me get ready to take it?" you ask, needing to suppress the urge to giggle when he enthusiastically nods.

"Anything! I'll do anything for you, anything you need," he babbles, and you thank him with a sweet kiss that he happily returns. He whines when you stop touching him and pry yourself away, hips chasing your touch even though he's the one who wanted you to stop- his body just can't help it.

He watches breathlessly as you stand from the bed, sliding your thumbs into the waistband of your pajamas and slowly pulling them down along with your panties. He decides to follow your lead, scrambling to lift himself from the bed and pull the rest of his clothes off in one quick motion.

Both bare, you take a moment to stare at one another. You get a better view of Changbin's drooling cock, while he finally gets a glimpse at your pussy- and fuck, is it the prettiest thing he's ever seen. How did he get so fucking lucky?

You come back to the bed, and instead of letting you crawl back on top of him, Changbin gently guides you to the side of him and onto your back. You spread your legs for him once you're comfortable, and he props himself up on his elbow, looking down at your body, so gorgeous and perfect.

He isn't well practiced, so he mimics the actions taken in one of his favorite, more intimate porn videos. He starts with kissing you, slow but messy, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. His hand travels down the length of your torso, and he can't help but gasp and break away from the kiss when he reaches your core, and your arousal coats his fingers.

"Oh my god, do you- do you always get this wet?" he asks, almost mesmerized by how effortlessly his fingers glide between your folds. "Only for you," you answer; you don't know if he believes it, but it's true. The only other times you've ever gotten this soaked were in the privacy of your bedroom, when you touched yourself with Changbin's image at the forefront of your imagination.

He continues to rub his fingers up and down between your folds until his fingers are completely coated, and only then does he finally ask, "Can I.. is- is it okay to put my fingers inside?" He blushes when you smile at him and nod, spreading your legs further apart while telling him exactly what he wants to hear. "Yeah, please, I want you to."

He presses the tips of his fingers to your hole before he slowly pushes one inside, watching in breathlessly awe as it disappears inside your warm, wet heat. You're so slick that it slides in and out easily, and soon enough you're instructing him to add another, and then one more, to which he easily obliges.

He can't decide where he wants to look more; between your legs, where his fingers thrust steadily in and out of you, or to your face, beautifully contorted in pleasure- so he ends up alternating between both. "Is this- is it good for you?" he asks the next time he looks at your face, desperate to perform well for you.

If there's anything he can do better, anything he needs to do differently, he needs to know- he'll follow any instruction you give him in a heartbeat. "Your fingers- when they're all the way inside, can you curl them for me, please?" you ask, and he's immediately doing exactly as you tell him, curling his fingers right against your sweet spot.

"Like this?" he asks, sliding his fingers out and quickly pushing them back inside, curling them to hit your spot, and then pulling them back out to repeat the motion. You let out whines and breathless moans, voice quickly growing shakier and shakier as you try to keep talking him through it.

"Y-Yeah, just like that, keep- keep going just like that," you tell him, voice unsteady between your whimpers and moans, but it's easily the prettiest sounds Changbin's ever heard- he just knows he'll become addicted to them.

He's addicted to everything about you, really- all of it is so captivating. The sounds you cry out, as well as the ones coming from between your legs as his fingers thrust in and out of you. He's mesmerized by how your thighs tremble and twitch when he picks up his pace, by the rapid rise and fall of your chest, by the way your eyes roll back as he drives you closer to sweet release.

"Bin, Binnie- 'm so close, just need- need a little more," you tell him between quick, shaky breaths. "Tell me," Changbin requests, slowing down the motion of his fingers just enough for you to be able to speak with more ease, "tell me what you need."

"Here, touch me here," you instruct, reaching your hand down to point him to your puffy, neglected clit. "With your thumb," you add after you show him, and he nods, pressing his thumb to your clit as he resumes the previous, quick motion of his fingers inside you.

He can feel you clench tighter around his fingers, while the sounds that escape you soon pick up in volume. Your thighs squeeze together and limit the motion of his hand, so he sticks to simply curling his fingers while rubbing your clit with his thumb. It only takes a few more strokes of his thumb to have your back arching off the bed, his name coming out in a choked sob.

Changbin doesn't slip his fingers out of you right away, instead keeping them inside until your breathing starts to steady and your thighs relax. "Was it.. did I do okay?" he asks after you've caught your breath, and God, the way you smile at him- he's sure he's never seen anything more radiant.

"You were perfect," you answer, leaning up to wrap your arms around him and pull him into a kiss. "So perfect, felt so good," you continue between pressing kisses to his lips, "want you now." A shiver is sent straight down his spine; is this finally, really going to happen after so many nights spent hoping for it? “Do you have protection?” you ask after pulling away, and he pouts as he considers it.

He did have some, but.. how long has it been since the last time he had sex? He’s not confident he even remembers where he put them last; it hasn’t really been something pressing on his mind considering he discovered casual flings weren’t really his thing, and he thought the only person he wanted to have sex with, you, was unavailable.

“Uh, I think so! ..maybe?” he mumbles as he crawls over to his nightstand and starts haphazardly shoving things aside while searching through it. You giggle as you sit up and crawl over yourself, deciding to help him look for one in his messy drawer. “Ah, there’s one!” you point to where you see the corner of a packet sticking out from under the book you’re pretty sure he’s been reading on and off for like, 6 months now. 

“Thank God,” you hear him mutter under his breath as he lifts the book up to grab it, and you giggle again; you don’t think there’ll ever be a time you don’t find him endlessly adorable. It wouldn't have been a big deal if he didn’t have one, of course, as you usually carried around spares in your bag, but there was something really endearing about his urgency to find one.

He’s pretty sure that the condoms expiration date hasn’t passed, but he still checks first regardless- better to be safe than sorry, and all. “All good?” you ask as you watch him check it over, and smile when he crawls back to you and plants a giddy kiss to your lips.

“Yep! All good,” he smiles, settling himself between your legs after you rest back against the bed. He’s honestly pretty nervous, but his joy to be with someone he loves so much does wonders for distracting his brain from the fear of not performing to some imaginary standard of perfection in bed.

Changbin stops when it’s time to open the condom, staring at it for a moment as if considering what to do. You’re about to ask him if he needs help, but he ends up speaking again before you can. “Uh, I know tearing it open with my teeth is sexy or whatever, but I think I’d fuck it up so I’m not gonna do that,” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. Your silly boy. 

“Don’t worry, you’re already plenty sexy without doing stuff like that,” you tell him. “Am I?” he asks, another cute smile spreading on his lips when you nod, and confirm that he’s very sexy. Cute too, you tell him, easily the cutest person in the whole world. And his eyes crinkle and nose scrunches in the way you love again as he giggles. 

What amazing duality your boyfriend has; so strong and intimidating in physique, but with the softest, sweetest personality you’ve ever known anyone to have. He’s so perfect. 

He rips open the packet with his hands, and the condom slips from his fingers when he first pulls it out, but he thankfully manages to catch it before it falls on you, or the bed. "My bad," he says with a shy, slightly awkward laugh; maybe he's more nervous than he initially thought.

He's suddenly extremely conscious of how fast his heart is beating, and of the tremble in his hands. "Want me to help?" you ask, smiling at him sweetly when he timidly nods. "Ah, yeah, if you don't mind," he mutters, and you quickly sit back up, placing your hands over his.

"Keep this one here," you instruct as you bring his hand to the base of his cock to hold in place and keep still. "And then we're gonna roll it down, like this," you guide the hand holding the condom to the tip of his cock, helping him spread it smoothly down his length with your fingers atop his.

If it were anyone else, he might feel embarrassed or a little ashamed over needing help, and for needing to be guided like this with something he feels most guys his age already have perfected. But with you, it just feels sweet and intimate; he can tell there's no judgment, and you're not going to make fun of him for not quite knowing how best to do things.

He's safe with you. And he's glad that out of all the billions of people in the world that he could've met, befriended, and then fallen in love with, that it was you.

You lay back against the bed after Changbin thanks you for your help with a kiss, but you notice he still looks nervous, so you hold up your hand to offer it to him. He smiles as he takes it in his, and you give him a reassuring squeeze after he intertwines his fingers with yours. He uses his other hand to align himself with your hole, and takes a breath before starting to finally push himself inside.

You both squeeze each other’s hand; Changbin because fuck, it already feels so good even with just the tip inside, and you because even with 3 of his fingers prepping you for his cock, it’s still a stretch. He’s pushing inside slowly, and it’s thankfully to both your benefit- because he’d definitely cum if he didn’t, and you’re sure there’d be a sting if he pushed it all in at once.

He whimpers as he bottoms out, his hand still squeezing yours as he tries desperately to ground himself. “God, you feel so good, can’t- can’t believe how tight you are, oh my god,” he whines, absolutely sure that if it wasn’t for the condom he would’ve cum from the very moment he felt your walls squeezing around him.

“You’re big,” you reply breathlessly, reaching your free hand up to the back of his neck to pull him down, closer to you, “so fucking big, feel so full.” “Fuck, don’t say that, I’ll cum-” he groans, and you can feel his cock twitch and throb, as if it to confirm to you he means it. A kiss is the only apology you offer now that his lips are in reach of yours, and he lets go of your hand to prop himself up on his elbows.

He rests his forehead against yours when he pulls away, and slowly, he starts to pull out. “Gonna- gonna fuck you now,” he breathes, pulling out almost completely before slowly pushing back inside, “gonna, oh- fuck, gonna make you feel good too, promise.” You bite your lip, muffling a whine as he continues to build his slow, but steady pace. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked slowly by anyone, but fuck, it feels good.

You hold his face in your hands, kissing him deep and messy, with your tongue shoved as far into his mouth as it’ll go. You’re both panting by the time one of you pulls away, and oh, when he looks at you- his heart feels like it could stop right then and there. You’re so beautiful, he’s so in love with you, and the way you look at him so full of tenderness and adoration makes his head spin. 

He buries his head into your neck as he starts to fuck you faster, genuinely afraid that he’ll cry if he looks in your eyes any longer. You wrap your arms around him, clinging to his body as you start to roll your hips to meet his thrusts and help him to hit your spot. He moans your name, one of his hands snaking underneath your body to pull you even closer.

You’re pressed to him, chest to chest, bodies hot and sweaty. His face feels unbearably hot, and when he lifts his face from your neck, the lenses of his glasses have almost completely fogged over. “Bin, oh my goodness,” you giggle as you reach up to take his glasses off for him, and he giggles too, though it’s quickly cut off by another moan. 

It’s easy to tell that he’s getting close, and it really comes as no surprise- he’s been so hard for so long now, and he purposely staved off his orgasm just for this moment. His thrusts become more desperate, the throbbing of his cock more constant as he squeezes and holds you tighter. His pace isn’t perfect and his thrusts aren’t precise enough, he knows, but he hopes he’s still doing well enough to at least uphold his promise to make you feel just as good as he does. 

He can feel you trying to snake your dominant hand between your bodies, and he pulls away from you enough to make it easier for you once he realizes what you’re trying to do. He tries to watch, but the very moment your fingers start to rub your clit, you clench around him and it makes his eyes roll back as he moans. 

Changbin whimpers when you moan his name, hips stuttering and thrusts becoming erratic. “C-Close, oh my god, ‘m so close,” he whines, begrudgingly letting you go so he can dig his fingers into the mattress instead so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you. His knuckles quickly turn white, and though it makes him emotional to do, he looks you in the eye.

It’s now that it really sets in just how much Changbin cares about you. There’s no one else he’d ever do this with, no one in the world he wants more than he wants you, and you can see it in the way he looks down at you. His furrowed brows and watery eyes, his bottom lip that trembles, the desperate, almost pathetic cries of your name. He lets you see his most vulnerable self, because he trusts you and loves you. 

You reach to his face, cupping his face in your hand to guide him down to you. He thinks you’re going to kiss him, and you are close enough to, as he's able to feel your breath against his lips. But you don’t- instead you whisper words that make his world tilt on its axis, a loud, desperate moan escaping from deep in his chest as he cums.

"I love you.”

He fills the condom with long, thick and sticky spurts, his entire body trembling. In turn, it only takes a few more strokes of your fingers to cum again, your eyes rolling back as the white hot pleasure licks over every inch of your skin. Changbin collapses first, careful to fall in a way that won’t completely smother you beneath him. 

He pulls out slowly after he catches his breath, and then carefully removes the condom from his softening length. He leans over your body to toss it in the trash bin near his bed before he falls back down next to you, and wraps an arm around you to pull you closer. You end up in the same cuddling position you were in at the start of the night, with Changbin half on his back, and you with an arm thrown over his body and leg tucked between his.

You’re naked this time, there’s an “Are you still there?” pop up on the tv that’s since gone ignored, and you told Changbin you love him. So it’s better, he thinks; everything about where you are now is better. “I love you too,” he finally says, and you giggle, scooching up so you can kiss him. “Took you long enough to say it back,” you say, and he giggles too, happy beyond words to finally have everything he’s ever wished for.

network tags: @skzstarnet @ksmutsociety additional tag: @bookobsessedfreak

#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

[paranorahjones]

Love and Attraction in My Adventures with Superman

As someone who has never been particularly drawn by superhero media, I wasn't really sure what to expect when I first started watching My Adventures with Superman about a week ago. I had seen a few posts here on Tumblr that had piqued my interest, but all I really knew about it was that it was well-loved and had an art style that I knew I liked.

I absolutely did not expect to fall head over heels for the show entirely, or to be moved to tears multiple times by the wildly sweet, revolutionary relationship between this adaptation's Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

I say "revolutionary" because this romance touches on a lot of things that I feel are lacking in most modern portrayals of romance, and it handles them masterfully.

Most of what I reference/talk about in this post will focus on the first four episodes of season one (with a particular focus on the fourth episode, Let's Go to Ivo Tower, You Say) , because they are my favorite episodes and I think I can communicate what I want to by pulling mainly from those episodes. But I will be pulling bits and pieces from the whole series so consider yourself spoiler-warned.

The main point is this: I absolutely adore the way that physical attraction and emotional attraction are balanced between Clark and Lois.

The fact that this is possible comes from how well-crafted the dynamic is between the two of them; Lois' raw passion and energy inspires confidence and a mutual passion in Clark, and Clark's gentleness and kind heart inspire a tenderness in Lois that she was never given an outlet to show or receive. From this dynamic, a wealth of physical and emotional intimacy is naturally born. But never in the series do the two aspects of attraction feel out of balance; rather, they play off each other effortlessly. When one is brought into focus, the other quickly follows.

From the first episode and onward, it's obvious that Clark and Lois are awed by each other's physical appearance. Lois outright describes Clark as "beautiful" (which, if you saw one of my earlier posts from not too long ago, is something that makes me so incredibly happy to see in mainstream media).

To be fair, she doesn't say that to his face and says it in a moment of extreme frustration. But I still count it.

Anyways.

Upon seeing Lois for the first time, Clark is practically frozen in wonder for a good few seconds.

Lois, too, experiences this initial moment of attraction and almost immediately makes contact, with a playful punch to Clark's chest as he holds the door open for her.

This is a detail I really love, because first of all wow, I aspire to have her level of confidence. But also, it becomes clear early on in the series that Lois expresses herself very physically. She has no qualms regarding physical affection. Clark, on the other hand, is much more reserved and, at first, generally only initiates contact after an invitation from Lois, or after enough time has passed in their friendship for him to know that Lois is very physical and wouldn't have a problem with it.

There is also an immediate emphasis on Clark's concern for Lois' physical well-being. Take a sip of water every time Clark asks Lois if she's okay just in the first episode alone and you will be well hydrated.

Later on in this first episode, while trying to infiltrate a warehouse, Lois confidently asks Clark to boost her up to a window so she can get inside the building. Clark is immediately flustered, showing how much he feels out of his depth even with physical contact that, on the surface, would have no romantic connotations. (But to be fair, Lois is asking him to put his hands around her waist and lift her up when they literally just met like maybe six hours ago. I would be flustered too.)

And when Lois loses her balance and Clark effortlessly catches her, his first response (after blushing, of course) is to ask her:

Even in moments where the romantic tension is thick enough to cut with a knife and Clark clearly knows it, his first priority is to make sure she's okay.

And thus begins one of the strongest underlying themes throughout the whole building-up of their relationship, which is trust.

I'm gonna jump ahead now to the scene that inspired this whole post: the stairwell scene in episode four.

A basic rundown: Clark, Lois, and Jimmy are given an assignment to attend a tech unveiling for the city's top investors at Amazotech headquarters. Lois, naturally, ignores the parameters of the assignment and tries to use it as an opportunity to expose corruption in the city and get her stop-the-presses story. Clark very reluctantly follows her lead, believing that she will get herself into trouble . . . until Dr. Ivo, head of Amazotech, makes a few rude comments about Lois' appearance (Lois doesn't hear these, only Clark). This deeply irritates Clark and prompts him into revealing how much he knows about Dr. Ivo's corrupt business dealings, in an attempt to intimidate the truth out of Dr. Ivo, who responds by having Clark thrown out of the building and into a pile of garbage in an adjacent alleyway. Lois comes to find Clark (who is unhurt) and teases him about whether or not she should let him back in the building, since he didn't follow the assignment. Clark jokes that he doesn't even meet the dress code anymore, revealing that his suit jacket was torn as he was tossed out of the building.

Lois then reveals that she came prepared for this, and tells Clark to "take it off."

Clark immediately becomes flustered again and begins stammering as Lois pulls him back into the building by his jacket, continuing to tease him.

It's in these moments, as you can see, that the lighting of the scene changes. As soon as Lois says "take it off", everything is bathed in a rosy light. This happens frequently between these two; often, when we the audience are seeing one of these characters through the perspective of the other, the lighting takes on a very dreamy quality. This will come up again momentarily.

As Lois and Clark ascend the stairs, Lois removes her jacket and pulls a sewing kit from her pocket, admitting that she carries one on her because she herself has torn a lot of her clothing on her escapades.

The two then sit down on the stairs, and Clark removes his jacket. The lighting changes again, and we see Clark from Lois' eyes. It's clear by the dreamy lighting and the way that Lois blushes and involuntarily chokes out a "Wow . . ." that she is once again awed by him and deeply attracted to him on a physical level.

And this scene represents so much about their growing dynamic. It honestly has me floored.

But before I explain fully, I have to go on a tangent about my beloved Clark.

Throughout the beginning of the series, I believe Clark shows several signs that indicate that he is insecure about his physical appearance. Which you wouldn't expect, right? I mean, look at him. He's objectively a dreamboat. He was designed to be that way.

But at this stage of knowing so little about where he really came from or who he is, I think Clark struggles with not having a way to explain his physique. He admits that he wasn't an athlete in school; he was in the chess club. He doesn't work out as an adult. And yet he has the muscles of a bodybuilder. But, like so many other aspects of himself, he doesn't have a way to explain it. This causes a disconnect in how he sees himself physically; he likely feels as though he doesn't deserve his naturally impressive physique. And you could argue that he even does his best to hide it. As a civilian, he generally wears bulky, layered clothing like sweatshirts and sweaters. He slouches and carries himself in a very inward direction; his shoulders are often forward and his arms close to his sides, as if he is habitually attempting to make himself smaller.

This is one thing that brought me to tears when I saw it. The idea that a person can feel insecure about having physical attributes that would normally be seen as positive (and that they can't explain and/or feel that they don't deserve) is not very well-explored in media, but it is experienced by quite a few people, myself being one of them. But often in the real world when someone attempts to express this kind of insecurity, they are shut down and mocked and told to "be grateful" for what they have because others would envy them. Which I can say from personal experience is unbelievably damaging to a person's self image. So seeing this possibly be represented in Clark Kent himself was incredibly moving to me.

But back to the scene itself.

In the most recent gif above, this is the most vulnerable Lois has seen Clark thus far. What I think is so beautiful is the way that she invites him into this vulnerability by making herself vulnerable first.

Rewind a bit. Outside the building, Lois tells Clark to take his jacket off. Not a big deal, right? It's not like he's not wearing an undershirt. But Clark becomes flustered, not outright expressing that he's uncomfortable with this, but certainly indicating that he's not exactly at ease with it either.

Next we see them climbing up the stairs, and as they do so, Lois removes her own jacket and reveals her bare back to Clark in the process.

I believe this was incredibly intentional. This scene would have carried a very different tone if Lois' outfit was revealing in any other way. But the fact that her back is exposed symbolizes that she trusts him, in a physical and emotional sense. It's like when my cat Penny rolls on her back and exposes her fluffy tummy. Lois revealing this part of herself was her saying "I trust you, I feel safe with you, and I'll be vulnerable with you if you'll be vulnerable with me."

And only after that does Clark remove his jacket.

Because there is the factor of attraction at play, there is a lot of blushing and stammering going on in the beginning of this scene. These are two incredibly attractive people who are incredibly attracted to each other, after all. But immediately after the initial romantic tension, there is emotional vulnerability as well. Lois confides in Clark about her relationship with her dad, and the crippling self-doubt that she has kept very close to her chest. Clark jumps to reassure her in earnest, telling her that she has "changed his life for the better, in every possible way."

And that is what I meant at the beginning of the post when I mentioned balance.

Every moment of physical attraction in this series is followed by or harmonized with a moment of emotional vulnerability. Clark and Lois both invite each other deeper into each aspect of connection, and thus their relationship builds in an incredibly natural and beautiful way.

At this point, I think this post is about five miles long as the crow scrolls and I should probably stop now before all my thoughts run away with me. I could go on forever about the impact that this series and these characters have had on me, though. I will forever be grateful to the creators for giving us such an incredible series, and such a beautiful romance.

#I DID IT #I WROTE THE ESSAY #I EVEN MADE GIFS FOR IT #this was genuinely so fun #this post has been cooking in my brain for the last four days and i'm so glad i was finally about to pen it down #anyways #i hope you enjoyed my brain dump about these wonderful wonderful characters #i love them so very much #my adventures with superman #maws #maws spoilers #clark kent #lois lane #dc #dcu #superman #superman and lois #clois #you know what im pinning this post #it was so much fun to write and i always want to be able to go back to it without having to search

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

An Analysis of SPY × Family Chapter 99

Manga spoilers, and a very long post ahead!

I'd like to preface this with saying that all of this is my own analysis, and I'm not very smart at these things, so take this with a grain of salt!

This chapter was extremely heavy: with Henry realising his feelings for Martha, and how it echoed the main theme of this story: how war destroys relationships and how innocent civilians are forced to enlist out of fear for their families' safety.

The chapter starts off, continuing off the cliffhanger of the last chapter— it turns out to be a false alarm, but Martha leaves her feelings for Henry unsaid.

She begins writing letters to Henry, and they keep a regular correspondence to substitute for their tea parties--

The war continues to grow dire, and Martha's squad hasn't been given any combat training, yet, they're forced to go to the front lines, under the pretext of "serving your country" and "keeping your family safe".

Henry is obviously shocked and scared for Martha when he finds out she's on the front lines, but we never get to hear his thoughts with the introduction of this fucking bitch-

🤓☝️ lookin ass--

In this chapter, we get to see Donovan's own ideals, which are shown through his argument in the debate. Interestingly, Donovan is almost the same age as Demetrius is in the present-day. (At least, that's what I'm assuming-- Henry mentions being in charge of the middle schoolers, and Demetrius is a middle-schooler.)

He claims,

I have a couple of thoughts about this. First,

"I know that solving differences with dialogue and weapons is ideal". The phrasing of this is interesting, because it kind of sounds like he doesn't believe in that-- he just knows that solving differences with diplomacy instead of war is 'ideal', but does he really believe in that? I don't think he does-- and, his own definition of 'peace' is definitely... ambiguous. What does he think 'peace' is? Subjugating other countries with his own power?

He already has a strange concept of humanity and other humans' own ideals-- he believes that, at our core natures, human beings are liars. That the only thing we're capable of is war and destruction.

This is also very similar to his own ideals that we see in modern-day. He doesn't care about either of his sons, as he says, they are essentially strangers to him. And, you might have raised them (though with Donovan, "raised" is a stretch), you might be their own father, according to him, he will never truly know his sons. Which is why he doesn't even attempt to understand them. His own ignorance for human nature and for others around him is really what makes him a failure of a father-- we are never truly born "knowing" others. Yet, every day, we make an attempt to learn the people we care about-- and isn't that a little of what love is? Take the Forgers-- they are three strangers to each other, each concealing their own natures from the others. They're all liars, and yet, they're making an effort to heal; they're learning to love and they're learning to learn about the people around them, the people they care about.

This is his flawed ideology. In his world, humans are strangers-- humans are nothing to each other, they're always hiding their true intentions from each other. Humans can't be trusted-- humans don't trust each other, which is why war and destruction and pain is all humanity is capable of.

But it's really not. SxF's message is of how three strangers--- three orphans of a war they were forced to partake in--- come together and form a home. Yes, they are liars, yes, they're hiding their true intentions, but they're making a home for themselves, a home where one can be safe, where a young girl, who's experienced horrors no child should, can feel safe and in her mother's arms.

Which is why I think Donovan's ideology is so flawed--- and how beats of it echo in the modern-day SxF story, especially when Twilight meets him.

Yes, by mere dialogue, reaching a mutual understanding is idealistic, but the most important thing is to not stop seeking to understand each other.

Humans are flawed, humans are selfish, humans are kind--- there's a debate on whether, intrinsically, humans are good or bad. We're all given different cards to play with, but really, it's up to us to decide on our faith in humanity.

It seems like Donovan has a wholly negative view on humans--- we can never know each other's true intentions, and it's with this doubt that humans wage wars--- it's with this doubt that humans lie and kill and cause destruction.

It's because of this doubt that Desmond is planning a war himself.

Martha writes Henry a letter, and she talks about a dream where all the students are holding hands, circling Henry. She can't join them because her hands are filthy--- maybe it's guilt? Maybe she's feeling guilty, maybe she feels like she can't join the others because her hands are stained with blood.

She's scared. She's regretting joining the front lines. Her only solace is the letters from him. The only way he knows she's alive is the letters from her.

I feel like another story would have taken a turn, making Henry regret his own feelings for Martha because the war had torn them apart. Instead, Henry realises his own feelings and his own wants too late-- and it becomes the last letter he gets from her.

It feels like an extra gut punch, as in the beginning Martha was embarrassed to call him "beloved", but now, he's calling her beloved, and he misses her so much. He cares for her so much, and doesn't know how she is.

All he can think is---

His hands are stained with ink. The nib of his pen is almost breaking. Ink is bleeding onto the page. In Martha's dream, her hands are stained with blood due to her desire to protect Henry and her country. In Henry's reality, his hands are stained with ink due to his desire for Martha to come back, be with him again. The Soldier and the Scholar, each trapped in their own Hell.

Henry finds out that Martha's squad has been killed. Their lives were a "sacrifice" for their country. This is blatant propaganda, and, he feels they're sullying her memory by mythologizing her; by using her life, using her death as a way to snare more students into a violent and hopeless and painful battle.

He speaks out. He's punished.

He's been brutalised so much, that he needs to wear a monocle.

We learn more about Donovan's and Henry's own ideals. Donovan gives up on people who've disappointed him-- people who he deems as fools. Henry doesn't believe in that. He believes that everybody deserves to not be given up on--- every body deserves a person in their own corner.

Towards the end of the chapter, Henry's forced into a marriage by his father, believing it's "for the best", because the soldier he was waiting for never came back to him.

We cut to "Somewhere near the East-West border", to a home with a fireplace. Martha is just opening her eyes, and is severely injured.

This definitely isn't a safehouse or military barracks or a military hospital.

A home with a family, or at least a person, with a fireplace and a chopping block for firewood.

This place is also near the sea,

which makes me think it's somewhere near the south. (If I'm remembering the map correctly).

Edit: The map is faithful to irl Germany, which means the sea is to the north, not the south. Sorry for the discrepancy before!

I'm thinking someone rescued Martha while she was injured, and brought her to their place to rest and recuperate--- which is why she's presumed dead, and why Henry wasn't ever given closure.

The next chapter is no doubt going to be explosive--- the 100th chapter. I feel like this arc will segue into something bigger, something more heart-wrenching and painful (I don't know how that's possible, but I trust Endo-sensei.)

---

Thank you for making this far and reading this whole thing! I hope you enjoyed, and I hope I wasn't annoying with my hatred for Donovan lol.

Also, on a more light-hearted note, I explained the plot of SxF to my dad, and he's intrigued and wants to read the manga. I'm planning on showing him the first ep of the anime, to see if he likes it. I feel like he will.

#spy x family #sxf #spy x family manga #sxf manga #spy x family manga spoilers #sxf manga spoilers #spy x family chapter 99 #sxf chapter 99 #spy x family chapter 99 spoilers #sxf chapter 99 spoilers #henry henderson #martha marriott #donovan desmond #damian desmond #demetrius desmond #loid forger #agent twilight

[honeytae]

this was originally supposed to be very soft…oops! :)

the first half is inspired by a dream i had about jimin that literally had me waking up in tears + the second half is inspired by ‘thinking bout you’ by ariana grande which happened to come on shuffle play a few mins later. voilà!

genre: angst, fluff, smut

wc: 3.8k

warnings: moderate angst (eludes to enl*stment), a lot of tears, language, looots of kissing, making out, grinding, oral activities, and unprotected sex (don’t). explicit description of sexual acts: minors dni.

jimin wakes with a deeply wounded sound that could be described as the world’s most dramatic grunt.

he absolutely hates waking up alone. everyone knows he’s a natural cuddler, born to hold others and be held.

ideally, by you.

blinking harshly against the afternoon sun streaming through the window, jimin stretches his arm out to your side of the bed, huffing when he comes across cold sheets.

he blows another deep breath out of his mouth as he rolls over to check the time, slowly breaking out of his post-nap haze.

“good morning, sleepy head.”

jimin perks up at the sound of your voice. on cue, you step through the doorway, looking equally sleepy while clutching your favorite mug.

you shuffle across the bedroom, smiling fondly at the man as his legs kick out and ruffle the sheets when he sits up.

“you left me,” he juts out his bottom lip, reaching for you impatiently as you lower yourself onto the mattress.

“i’m sorry, babe,” you pout back, directing your eyes to the mug by way of explanation, “i woke up with a craving for chai tea,” you continue, handing the mug over as you settle in next to him.

“well, i woke up with a craving for you,” he quips, sassily raising the mug to his lips as you lovingly roll your eyes at him.

he makes a satisfied hum as he swallows the sweet tea, showing his enthusiasm with a bob of his head.

pressing his lips together, he hands the mug back to you, watching as you take another sip before leaning over to set it down on the nightstand.

when you sit back against the pillows and look at jimin, you feel a rush of warmth spread through your chest. you aren’t entirely used to seeing him right here, next to you, so content.

there have been so many times when you sat up at night thinking about him, worrying about him, craving him, all while he was more distant than he had ever been throughout your relationship. and this wasn’t even by his design.

it makes you emotional, the way he easily nestles into your side, the way his hand gravitates to yours, and the gentle concern in his eyes as he watches your own well up with tears.

“hey,” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “what is it, angel?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours as he searches your eyes, hoping for a clue while he gives you the time to gather yourself enough to speak.

“i just can’t believe you’re here,” you eventually say, much quieter than you intended. “and i’m so happy,” you emphasize. your heart sinks when jimin’s eyes mirror your own, glistening with unshed tears.

your exchange of emotion is wordless for a long moment, as you are addressing the obvious. you are here, together, but only for now. you are happy and content, but only for now. and as much as you try to combat your pessimism, you are a realist at heart.

in a few days, jimin will inevitably leave again.

your hands pull towards his crumpling face like a magnet, cupping his jaw and swiping your thumbs along his soft cheeks when the salty drops descend down his skin, leaning forward to press your lips to his wobbly pair.

“i miss you so much,” he sniffs, eyebrows furrowing as he takes notice of your now wet cheeks, “i always miss you,” he chokes on a sob, the sound pulling on all your heartstrings and delivering a swift punch to the gut.

it makes you want to cry even more watching him be so upset, desperately trying to push the lump in your throat away for the sake of your limited time together. you fail miserably, letting your head fall onto his shoulder as more tears break free.

“please don’t cry,” you sob in return, “not about this. it’s okay, baby,” the latter part of your statement is muffled as jimin pulls you closer to crush you in his arms, nestling his head into your neck as his back still shakes with unsteady breaths.

“please don’t cry,” you reiterate with a sniffle of your own, looping your arms around his back as you both dig deeper into the embrace.

“then you don’t cry! it breaks my heart,” he pouts, squeezing your hand again as he presses a chaste kiss to your chin, a contented sigh leaving him when you turn your face to kiss him.

your lips meld together sweetly, sharing one, two, three, soft kisses full of the taste of salt from your combined tears.

you pull back and allow your tired head to fall onto his shoulder again, jimin placing his head on yours with another soft sigh.

“fuck,” he tsks after a quiet moment, turning his face to look at you with swollen eyes.

you chuckle humorlessly, stretching your neck to gingerly press your lips to the drying tear trails on his face. the apples of his cheeks appear as you do so, eyes creasing as he grins down at you.

“i’m sorry for being depressing. i swear i had fun plans when i first came in here,” you sigh, smiling when jimin smushes your cheeks together with his hand and pecks the damp skin with his lips, as you did him.

“don’t be sorry. this has been a lot,” he frowns, “and we needed the cry.”

you hum in agreement, turning onto your side and settling deeper into his chest as his fingers soothingly dance along your shoulder.

“i love you so much,” he murmurs, hand tracing down to rub calming circles into your back.

it doesn't matter how often you hear jimin say that he loves you; you have determined that your heart will nearly combust every time.

so you grin like a fool and hoist yourself up onto your elbows, hands settling on his bare chest. your eyes fondly dance along his features, from his sparkling eyes to his adorable button nose, to the perfect puffy pillows he has for lips.

“i love you so much,” you trace his skin, running your thumb along the ridges in his abdomen. “this is new,” you comment on his physique with a quirked brow, jimin’s face breaking into a big, beautiful smile as he laughs shyly.

“wow,” you carry on, and embarrassed, he waves you off, which only encourages you to amp up the act.

“what, you want me to ignore this? i mean, i’ve never seen an eight pack before!” you exclaim, grinning when you see that he’s now totally flushed pink, both from the way your nail traces down his happy trail and your praise.

“stop it,” he whines, “you’re torturing me. come up here,” he gestures, patting his thighs. you lift a leg to straddle his waist, lowering yourself to sit on his hips.

it’s instinctive and effortless, the way you fall down onto his chest. the way his hands travel down your lower back to rest on your ass, sinking his fingers into the flesh with what could only be described as a sigh of relief.

resting your face in the juncture between his chest and neck, you pucker your lips on the skin there, then move over to the column of his throat to do the same, and down to his collarbone. his breath catches in his throat when you open your mouth against him, hissing a breath through his teeth when you drag your tongue along the skin.

“sensitive,” you tease as you pick your head up, the smirk falling right off your face as he lifts his hand and delivers a sharp smack to your ass. you inhale a sharp gasp as a hot wave of arousal washes over you, and the mood change in the room is instantaneous.

jimin’s mouth actively seeks yours like a moth to a flame, lips colliding in a mess of teeth and tongue that has you keening for more. you moan into each other's mouths as he fondles your ass, sneaking a finger down between your legs to rub you through your dampening shorts.

the thought of jimin being unreachable again was constant worry gnawing at you. but for now, you are rested, reunited, and so, so in love.

and frankly, more than a little needy.

your tongues lazily tangle together as jimin traces his hands up your body, settling on your stomach and caressing the skin. you could almost laugh at the contradiction between the gentle circles he’s rubbing into your tummy versus the way he’s currently sucking on your tongue.

when you can no longer ignore the burning in your lungs, you lift yourself from his mouth, jimin swiftly taking the opportunity to lift your t-shirt over your head and chuck it across the room.

he stares at your bare chest with a deep groan, cupping your breasts and gently squeezing the tissue in his hands.

“fucking love it when you don’t wear a bra,” he says, tweaking your nipples between skilled thumbs.

“yeah? wanna burn all my bras?” you smirk, jaw falling slack when he dips forward to close his mouth around your nipple. he sucks on the aching nub until you’re whining his name, breaking away for only a moment to answer you.

“happily,” he simpers, switching to your other neglected breast. he encourages you with open palms on the small of your waist when you arch your back and push your chest further into him.

he pops off your chest with a shaky breath as your hips instinctively grind down on his lap, an airy whine erupting from the back of your throat at the feeling of his bulge poking into you.

“fuck, baby, just like that,” jimin instructs with a soft moan, laying back against the pillows as his hands move to support your gyrating hips.

lowering yourself so your face hovers above his, you support yourself using the pillow beneath his head as you begin slowly rocking your hips along the tent in his boxers, back and forth, back and forth.

the friction is making you feel dizzy, rubbing you in all the right spots.

plus, the eye contact isn’t helping your case at all. jimin’s half-shut eyelids send a stronger pulse between your legs. all you can concentrate on is chasing the pleasure you feel right now, taking jimin’s short breaths as confirmation that you two are in the same boat.

“jimin, baby,” you breathe, reluctantly stilling your hips, “i really could cum right now and that scares me.”

your mouth twitches into a grin when he lets out a belly laugh in response, moving his hands up and down your back to help bring you back to earth.

“me too,” he chuckles, “it’s only slightly humiliating,” he says as he kisses your shoulder, his head easily falling back onto the pillows as you meet his lips again.

jimin moans into your mouth as your other hand suddenly slips into his boxer shorts, wrapping your fingers around the base of him and closing your hand around him to squeeze his shaft. his eyes shift to look at your hand down his pants, but close as soon as you swipe your thumb across his tip.

you’re dragging your hand up and down on him, tracing your smallest finger over the dull pulse shooting up his cock. low whines are leaving his lips, his hand grasping your side when you quicken your pace.

“oh god,” he rasps, “you have to stop, baby.”

when you continue your actions with a pout, he leans forward to press his lips to the wrinkle temporarily formed in your chin.

“but i wanna make you feel good,” you say. you still allow him to fully sit up, dropping his cock with a reluctant sigh.

“well, i wanna make you feel good too. do we have a deal?,” he grins as he takes hold of your ankles and pulls you toward the end of the bed, your eagerness showing in the way you shimmy out of your shorts and underwear in one go. you chuck said items across the room, jimin immediately sinking to his knees on the floor.

you shudder as he starts pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, obviously teasing as you push your hips impatiently toward him.

“baby, please,” you beg, and he seems to get the message. placing his hands underneath your calves, he lifts your legs and guides them over his shoulders.

as you look down at him devilishly smiling between your thighs, you think that he would give the cheshire cat a run for his money.

when his mouth finally meets the area begging for his attention most, you let out a broken cry of his name, fisting the sheets beside you as he languidly strokes his tongue through the arousal spilling from you.

“hmmh,” he moans into you, making you shudder from the vibration, knees going weak as he circles your clit with a pointed tongue.

your vision goes black once you feel one of his fingers circling your entrance, pushing its way in after you let out a garbled plea to the ceiling. he thrusts with one finger then adds another, hooking them to rub your sweet spot.

you feel a rush of heat rise in your cheeks at his actions, clenching the sheets with a whine as you start rocking your hips to fuck yourself onto his fingers.

“oh fuck, oh fuck! baby,” you whine, letting a hand sneak down to settle on his head, gripping his hair and tugging just how he likes.

it’s only been a few minutes and you can feel that you’re embarrassingly close, especially with the way jimin tauntingly drags his fingers just right along your walls, hitting your g spot with each pointed thrust of his hand. the pressure keeps building, electricity rippling through your lower abdomen as he hits your cervix.

“i-i’m gonna cum,” you stutter, jimin throwing an arm over your stomach to stop your writhing, holding you in place as he dips down to essentially make out with your clit.

and then the band snaps, time slows, and you’re falling, falling, falling.

when your vision comes back, jimin is above you, running his hands up and down your now sore leg muscles.

you reach out to place your hand on his shoulder, squeezing the muscle then bringing your palm around to cup the back of his neck.

“oh my god, i love you,” you breathe, chest still stuttering from your high.

“i love you more,” he coos, bringing his hand up to your hair, carefully smoothing it away from your face with his fingers.

it’s quiet for a moment as your head slows its spinning. jimin’s dark pupils pull you back to earth, glittering with your reflection.

“you okay, my love?” he murmurs softly, shifting his hand so he can swipe his thumb over your cheek. his appendage moves when you bob your head in response, flashing him a tired grin.

“never been better,” you confirm, “ready for round two?”

jimin crinkles his nose in amusement, dipping down to eagerly meet your lips. sighs and moans pass between you as he licks into your mouth, the taste of you rubbing off onto your tongue.

you pull him in tighter to you, jimin’s hips thrusting into yours in pursuit of stimulation. you buck your hips up to meet his, the lazy pace of your grind far from satisfying your need.

“fuck me, baby, please,” you break apart from the kiss with a whine, tracing your hands down his body to slip your fingers beneath his waistband once again.

this time, jimin eagerly straightens up, pushing his shorts down his legs and tossing them aside. his length slaps up against his stomach, and oh my god, you think, he’s so hard it looks like it hurts.

“on your side, baby,” he says with a soft pat to your ass, erupting into giggles when you all too enthusiastically flip over, leaving him to bounce on the bed beside you.

you eagerly settle back into his chest as he spoons you from behind, his arm wrapping around your torso to pull you as close to him as he can. you can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat pressing into your back, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“i love that this is the only time you’re the big spoon,” you tease, gasping when he lifts your leg and slides his cock through your wet folds.

as much as you like to tease jimin, you find that you like the end result of him shutting you up much better.

“fuck,” you whisper as he bumps his tip into your swollen clit, needily rocking your hips back to slide along his length.

“jimin, please,” you beg, and you don’t even recognize your own voice. you sound desperate, and with anyone else you would feel embarrassed. but it’s jimin, who doesn’t miss a beat and instead leaves a wet smack of his lips on your shoulder, lining his cock up with your entrance and pushing the tip inside of you.

“oh,” you blow a breath through clenched teeth at the intrusion, fingers digging into the pillow beside your head as pleasure spreads through your core already.

jimin grunts as he shifts his hips forward to inch inside, pulling back and thrusting more of himself into you. he curses as you squeeze him, letting his face fall into your neck.

a moan erupts from your chest as he bottoms out, while jimin blows out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“fuck, so good. you’re so good for me,” he moans, sounding entirely delirious as he feels you wrapped around him like this for the first time in months.

he leans down to pepper kisses over your cheeks as he waits for you to adjust to him, pressing one last kiss to the side of your head as you nod for him to go.

“you sure?” he asks, chuckling when you try to thrust your hips onto him yourself. he follows your movements, gently pulling back and easily sinking into your entrance.

“fuck, yes, i’m sure,” you moan breathlessly.

jimin is increasingly vocal as your walls clamp down around him, sucking him in each time he pulls out. he’s panting and repeating your name like a mantra, and you aren’t faring much better.

“jimin, make it hurt,” you cry out, muffled into the pillow you’ve buried your face into.

he bends your knee up further to spread you wider for him and picks up his pace, thighs clapping against your ass deliciously. the bed springs are crying out for help, the headboard banging against the wall as he carries you to the brink of another orgasm.

“baby, i’m close,” you whimper.

jimin moans gibberish in response, a sure sign that he’s almost there, too. you clench your muscles down on him, causing the flurry of noises from his mouth to increase.

the ball of heat is growing within your core, sweat beading on your forehead. you reach your arm behind you to hook around jimin’s neck, turning your head to face jimin. and that’s really what does it.

he looks destroyed, eyes closed and eyebrows scrunched together. his mouth is hanging open, his chest visibly rising and falling as he rapidly thrusts into you, chasing ultimate relief.

you’re suddenly thrown into another orgasm, the feeling of your walls spasming around jimin’s cock giving him the final push he needs.

you watch with dazed eyes as he quickly pulls out and strokes his cock in his hand, warm ropes of cum spurting from his tip to your ass, some drops landing on your lower back.

jimin breathes heavily behind you, and while it’s tempting to cuddle you back to sleep, he begins to shuffle off the bed.

“noooo,” you whine in complaint, reaching out for him with a limp arm.

“i’ll be right back,” he coos, leaning over to kiss each of your knuckles before standing up and leaving you in the room.

he comes back minutes later with a cloth in one hand and a glass of water in the other. after passing the glass to you, he climbs back into bed and swipes the wet fabric over your backside.

once he’s deemed you clean, he tosses the rag onto his other clothes littering the floor, and settles back into the mess of sheets and pillows. he reaches out to help as you turn your weak body around so you’re facing him, arms looping around his neck.

the air in the room is thick, an aspect confirmed by the distant sound of the air conditioner clicking on. nonetheless, you bury yourself into jimin’s neck, smiling when you feel the drag of his bottom lip against your ear as he collects himself from a yawn.

you’re almost drifting off when you hear his voice, but you’ve missed what he said. you hum in an unspoken request for him to repeat himself, straightening up to show him you’re listening.

he takes a breath, then pauses for a moment. you can hear that he’s debating something in his head, and just as you’re about to try to encourage him, he comes out with a rare statement.

“can i tell you a secret?”

your interest is piqued by his request, opening your eyes with an eager nod.

jimin hates secrets, so he tends to tell you everything. some may say he overshares; you, however, would disagree.

“‘course,” is all you can manage, completely spent as numb fingers search to interlock with his own.

“when this is all over,” he starts, tracing his thumb along your knuckles and stopping at your fourth finger, “i’m gonna marry you.”

your breath hitches in your throat, eyes widening as you search for any hint of teasing in his features.

what you find instead is a gentle gleam in his eye, pupils staring into your soul as he glows from the inside out. he looks as if a weight has been lifted from him, and you wonder how long he’d been thinking about this before he gained the courage to put it out there.

you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, covering your face with open palms as you break out into a giddy grin.

“you can’t just say that,” you laugh, allowing him to pull your body up and over him so that you’re lying on his chest.

“well, for now, i’m just saying it,” he retorts, “but i fully plan on being your husband for as long as you let me.”

you run your fingers across his pecs as you let his words soak in, nuzzling your cheek into his chest with increasingly misty eyes.

“i’d really like that.”

#ahh i’m sorry in advance🥴 #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #park jimin fanfiction #park jimin x reader #park jimin fluff #park jimin smut #park jimin angst #jimin fanfiction #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin angst #fanfiction #fluff #smut #angst

[visualtaehyun]

Love Sea 🌊 is here and I'm being so normal about it! Entirely normal! Totally didn't already write half an essay on pronoun predictions back when the intro trailer came out or anything haha...

This is gonna be a bit meandering because it's partly my chronological notes and partly me trying to gather similar things into one category so please excuse the chaotic nature of this post lol

Disclaimer: not a native Thai speaker, still learning 🙏

Overworked secretary Mook is already my favorite 😂 She's adorable and clumsy and clearly thinks way too much! The way she frustratedly strikes through 'high voice' on her 30-step-script/plan I LOVE HER

Sidenote: I see why Vi and Rak are besties, she's such a schemester omg ViMook are gonna be an excellent side couple! It's also such a delight to see Aya in a completely different role from Wa in Wedding Plan. :>

Back to Mook's desk though- We know that BossNoeul are gonna have a cameo as themselves during the book fair Mook mentions on the phone because we've seen them with the "Boy Next World" novel in the trailer-

So let's take a look at Rak's manuscripts:

1) "Love Sand" - which is the novel that Connor and his boyfriend Khom, played by Pentor in Love Sea, are from! 2) "Test Love" - specifically, the illustration looks to be from the special novel and the middle couple, Ryu and Sun. We know them from Wedding Plan because none other than Forth, who plays Palm in Love Sea, played Sun:

Since I'm talking about him already- Palm saying ขอนั่งนะ /khaaw nang na/ (= Can I sit?) as he's literally already gettin comfy?? djshshjs this kid is so- fucking- nonchalant? overly casual? (in his speech too) it's hilarious! Also, I'm not sure if he's the best or the worst wingman ever lmao

แล้วถ้าเกิดที่นี่มีดีสุดแค่เนี้ย พี่ก็ไม่อยากได้ที่เหลือเหมือนกัน /laaeo thaa geert thee nee mee dee soot kaae niia, phi gaaw mai yaak dai thee leuua meuuan gan/ = If the best this place has to offer is just this then I don't want the rest either. -> I love and appreciate MMY's translator but it's entirely implication if he means the drink, the bar or Mahasamut

When Mut asked if Connor's talking about a person or dog and Connor said Rak is more like a cat which he'll see once he meets him, Mut texted:

/khun Connor phuut meuuan pom rap liiang laaeo/ = You say that like I've already adopted him/agreed to raise him.

And the word เลี้ยง /liiang/ comes up several times then-

This one's subbed as 'take for a walk' but it's actually เลี้ยง /liiang/ again, not that Rak understands a single word anyway when Mut's speaking Southern dialect lmao Sidenote: His dialect isn't even that strong btw, especially compared to some of the folks he interacted with at the beginning of the episode. Mut and Connor are just clearly pulling one over on Rak lmao I couldn't stop laughing at Mut keeping on pulling out the dialect to get on city boy Rak's nerves! Similarly, I love that Rak clearly underestimates Mut at first and thinks he's a huge idiot and country bumpkin, even trying to manipulate Mut with his body, meanwhile Mut plays his part so well 😂

... as well as the cat/pet implication:

He actually said 'brush your fur' lol

Here we've got an idiom that got lost in translation cause it wouldn't make sense:

หลงตัวเอง ผีเจาะปากมาพูด* /lohng dtuua eng. phee jaw bpaak maa phuut/ = So full of yourself/such a narcissist. You sure like hearing yourself talk*. -> *it's an idiom that literally translates to 'a ghost pierced your mouth to make you talk' and describes someone who talks endlessly ผีอะไรมันจะหล่อขนาดนี้คุณ /phee a rai man ja laaw khanaat nee, khun/ = What ghost would be this handsome?

Lastly- the seagull laugh after Rak trips on the beach is so. fucking. funny!

#love sea the series #fortpeat #fort thitipong #peat wasuthorn #aya orapan #vimook #bossnoeul #forth kashane #wedding plan the series #local woman harps on about linguistics #what a good first episode! interesting characters fun introductions gorgeous setting and footage- i missed mmy!

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Hygiene HCs for Matt and Frank!

I’ve been so exhausted because of all the June shenanigans but I found some headcanons I wrote FOREVER ago for my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen so I’m going to share some periodically this month. Here’s the first batch!

how often do they take a shower/bath?

Matt: Daily, if he can. I think the feeling of like dirt and grime would be unbearable for him so has to shower as frequently as possible. (Maybe multiple times a day?)

Frank: Daily, for routine. Routine is very important for him so he does it to keep himself going rather than for comfort.

shower or bath?

Matt: I’m almost positive he canonically doesn’t not have a bathtub so I think he would say shower but I think I could 👏change👏this👏man’s👏life👏 with a great bubble bath and it would be a new love of his. But I think most of the time showers, for time purposes.

Frank: Shower. I do not think you could get this man to sit still for long enough to have a decent bath.

shower/bath in the morning, afternoon or evening?

Matt: I think on his worst sensory days, morning and evening. On an average day, evening (post Devil-ing)

Frank: Morning FOR SURE. Does not like going to bed w damp hair.

do they use specific perfumes?

Matt: Not if he can help it. He might use a subtle perfume (maybe even a soap?) that has a scent he can handle if he’s going somewhere fancy, but most days it would be too much for him.

Frank: I don’t think this is part of his routine, I think he is more about practicality, but if you told him you liked a certain scent he’d worn, I think he’d make an effort to use it more.

do they prefer their shampoos and soaps plain, or do they like to smell like something specific?

Matt: Plain because of his sensory issues. I think IF he chooses a fragrance, he’d go for something very simple and unobtrusive like sandalwood and citrus.

Frank: I think he will use literally anything that he can find but I HC him smelling like leather and amber (deep and spicy)

do they have specific shampoos, conditioners and body wash, or do they go with a 3-in-1?

Matt: A very structured routine with a MINIMUM of 4 separate products.

Frank: 3 in 1. You’ll have to pry the convenience from his cold dead hands

what's their go-to flavor when it comes to toothpaste?

Matt: Natural mint if he can find it

Frank: The strongest mint he can find. He wants to burn his tastebuds off.

#matt murdock #daredevil #frank castle #matt murdock x reader #my writing #the punisher #marvel #mm #fc #charlie cox #matt murdock x you #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle headcanons #matt murdock headcanon #frank castle x reader #marvel's daredevil #marvel daredevil #punisher #the punisher x reader #headcanons

[letruyuread]

Little thoughts about about Twisted Wonderland characters and you (yuu)

Riddle loves having the first slice of tarts, strawberry ones especially. So I think that, for holidays or even if you're just feeling down, he gives you the first slice of his strawberry tart. No explanation, please don't mention it- you'll fluster the poor boy. But it means a lot to him, and he secretly hopes you understand that.

Yes, Ace is a teasing prick, most of the time, anyways. But the second anyone brings up how he might possibly feel for you? Absolute tsundere. Denying it to the high heavens. Insults you a lot, too. "How could I ever like the perfect?! They're so- so-" Yeah, no one's falling for it. Give him time. He'll get comfortable with the idea soon enough, and then you have a whole other problem.

Deuce loves to talk to his mom about you. Rants about you- the incredible magic-less human that stole his heart (No, get out of here Ace-). You don't even care that he used to be a delinquent! How amazing is that? His mom is overjoyed that her son met someone who sounds so nice and keeps trying to give him advice to ask you out. She also tries to convince him to bring you home during break- you're not even dating yet.

Cater, of course, posts about you on his Magicam. It's the usual- oh, they're so pretty today, look my partner gave me food 😍. But there are also things he doesn't post, surprisingly. He doesn't post the picture he took of you, laughing against the sunset. That one's private. Too perfectly you to be seen by everyone. No, that's just a moment for the two of you, he thinks.

Trey loves baking you things, baking with you, but he always finds himself flustered when you bake something for him. He taught you the recipe, he remembers, a few weeks ago, and here you are standing with a small platter of cookies. Some are burnt, some taste a bit salty (you didn't add the oyster sauce... right?) and yet he eats them all and loves them because you made them. For him.

Leona, I think, takes very good care of his hair. It was worse before he came to Night Raven, his attendants tried to take care of it, but he always managed to hide away (he was taking a nap). On the first day, though, Vil couldn't stand such a pretty face with such horrid care and taught Leona a routine. Leona now follows that routine strictly. He takes pride in it, as much as his smarts and strength. You know he's having a bad day when it's unkempt and tangled. You also know how much he trusts you when he teaches you the routine, when he lets you help him with it on those bad days or weeks or maybe months.

Ruggie gives you things. It's always random- a bit of his food, a dandelion in the field, a ribbon floating in the wind. He grew up with little- so naturally, he hoards everything he can get his hands on and keeps it for himself. One day he might need it, or his grandma, or the kids in his neighborhood. He's very protective of his growing stash. So when he gives you these things, it's him telling you that you're part of his family now. Ask for anything, he'll find it. Just like he would for the people back home.

Jack adopts a lot of cacti (I nearly spelled cactuses) with you- very silly, right? A lot of cacti. He waters them appropriately, a strict schedule for each, and keeps them at Ramshackle dorm. You have a whole room for them, very bright from large windows and only tables for the plants to be placed on. It's common in his family that you only have one person, your whole life, to stick by. He's hoping it's you- he's hoping you'll fall for him if he keeps coming around, day by day, taking care of your plant children (plant army).

(oh God there's so many but Im on a roll)

Azul, Azul... Oh boy. He really wants you to make a contact with him. Doesn't matter what kind- you want it, you'll get it (even if you don't agree to his offer, honestly). He always seems to want the same thing, though: (no it's not marriage) a friend. That's what he says, that's not really what's in the contract, though. The exact wording is 'companion.' Someone to talk to, someone to trust. Someone who calls his merform pretty and him intelligent. Someone who doesn't make him feel insecure.

Floyd. What do to with you? He's very touchy. Very touchy. Once, he skipped all his classes and just grabbed onto you, having you carry him around on your back and not letting you go. Yes, he put a spell on himself to make him light as a feather, no one could carry that tall of an eel. He's very clingy and doesn't understand how he feels about you. It confuses him, he has no clue what this is, he just knows he wants to be around you and why shouldn't he be?

Jade knows. You have weekly tea parties. Don't worry, everything's free of charge... Except that, you have to pay for that. Oh, you didn't bring any money? Well, a kiss would do, but... Oh, no, that was a joke. Please don't look so worried. Jade may know what he feels for you, but he's still working out how to deal with it. The twins kind of never thought this would happen.

Kalim is such a sweetheart! Give him all the love in the world, he'll reciprocate tenfold! Whatever you want. He can buy it, if not, his family has the connections to get it, surely. But don't be mistaken- he'll adore you if you make something for him. If he can, he'll always have it on him. Plus, he tries to make stuff for you too! It might look bad, or taste weird, but he's beaming at you and the thought is there!

Please give Jamil a day off. No, really- drag him as far away from Kalim and any responsibility as possible. Do everything. Cook for him, cuddle him, tell him he's amazing and smart and very very cool and it is HIS DAY OFF. Take care of him, please? He needs this. He needs you. He'll do the same for you, if you ever overwork yourself or have a bad day. Trust him, and ask him to trust you.

(I haven't gotten beyond book 4, so I don't know enough about the other characters to feel confident writing them. Maybe Idia, Malleus or Lilia, as I really like them and have done some research on them, but for now this is what I got. Enjoy?)

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #riddle x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #ace x reader #deuce x reader #Trying to get everyone hold on #trey x reader #cater x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #jack howl x reader #azul x reader #floyd x reader #jade x reader #kalim x reader #jamil x reader #God there's so many #I think I did it

[alpydk]

I've had a brainworm (tadpole?) that won't leave my head.

How would Gale's partner (Tav or Origin) react to him unintentionally saying Mystra's name during sex?

I don't think he would say it as his ex, but rather an exclamation ("Oh Gods", "By Mystra", etc).

I know I wouldn't be pleased. 😵‍💫

"By Mystra"

Anon, you are a miracle worked because I loved writing this. Like this is literally smut that I did not cringe my way through or go ugh why... Like I actually sent a quote to someone whilst writing this in a mini celebration of enjoyment. Really so much fun, so thank you. - I will say though it's probably not what you wanted at all. Oops. (Or maybe it is, I'm not a psychic.)

Word count : 1570 - M/E - It's Smut, there's nothing but smut here. I couldn't even angst this fucker up. - Gale x Tav (F)

The evening had gone along as it normally would. Gale and Tav entertained his mother with the local gossip of Waterdeep, fresh tea leaves releasing their aroma into the study, the odd whisper shared between the happily married couple. The sun was now making its leisurely stroll towards the horizon and Tav had now moved onto round two of the game she affectionately liked to call Nimble fingers, ill intent. The first round would be innocent enough, the odd remark about how he looked nice when sat in certain positions or a passing comment about times they had spent alone given with a sultry look. “Oh yes, I remember that tavern, Morena. The detail on the oak bed posts were exquisite. Real craftsmanship.” Round two was based more on the physical aspects of distraction and competition: the lick of a teaspoon after eating dessert, the run of her hand along his thigh under the dinner table, the whisper in his ear of how she seemed to have forgotten her underwear. “Oh, it was nothing Morena, a quick reminder about a certain someone’s birthday.”

These nights were still as enjoyable as they were the first time around a campfire. Hands slipped under robes, concentration lapsing into yearning, travelling companions none the wiser of the exploits taking place. She would make him forget all logic, all reason, all devotion he ever had to his goddess.

He couldn’t get rid of his mother quick enough as he watched Tav lean over the coffee table to collect up the cutlery, her lilac shirt hanging a little lower than suitable and knowingly it was in full view of him. He saw the way her breasts hung against the cloth, the line of her cleavage drawing his gaze without mercy. After so much teasing, he didn’t just want her; he needed her desperately, as if he had been trapped underwater and she was his only source of air to breathe.

As the entrance door of the tower closed, signalling Morena’s exit, Gale was quick to press Tav to the wall of the stairwell; her wrists bound under his firm hand, the other travelling under the fabric of her shirt to place its mark on the previously taunting flesh. His lips found hers with an intensity he refused to hold back on, more eager than his well-mannered nature with his mother had let on. They navigated the stairs up to the tower quickly, a trail of cotton and leather left in their wake.

Heated kisses were placed over naked bodies, his flushed lips along her neck, her wanting hands travelling from his abdomen to his hips. The royal blue sheets of the bed were always the goal, but rarely did they make it there, instead ending up on the daybed or, more often, the scarlet floral rug that lay at the foot of the bed. From there, he would see her lying and waiting, her body moistened and ready for him, her eyes beckoning him with a love he would give himself to again and again. For a thousand nights, he would worship her in so many ways: some nights slowly with a tender caress of her inner thigh, others more playful, a nibble of her shoulder, and the teasing of his fingertips. Within the four walls of the bedroom, he was the one in control; he was the god to a single follower.

He nudged her leg aside with his own, climbing towards her, his urges to take her driving him forward with little thought of anything else. It was as he took her nipple in his mouth, the flick of his tongue creating the unwilling whimper emerge from her, that he felt her hand push him ever so slightly. This was new, a sign of dominance from one who normally welcomed his practiced tongue so openly.

He accepted the reaction, Tav’s hands coming up to his shoulders, rolling him to his back with a tentative push. He lay beneath her, her legs straddled over his hips, her breasts hanging just above his chest. His heart beat with an intensity he only felt as she teased, the devious look in her eyes telling him this wouldn’t be as easy as an impromptu lanceboard match. She held herself above him, the heat of her cunt drawing him in. He craved her touch, yearned to be inside her and have her entirely and yet she watched him, waited for his control to falter as it always did around her.

“Please...” He whispered underneath her. He would not beg, nor would he lower himself to that level of pleading he'd done so long ago, but he would ask if that is what she wanted of him. He would do anything for her if it meant he could show his love for her.

She sunk down onto him, her pace relaxed, her hands sliding their way up his chest. He felt the slow roll of her hips, his own body instinctively retorting with an impatient jolt. She stopped and sat up above him, a disappointed sigh that told him he’d done something wrong.

“My apologies... I... I became too eager-“

She rose and took him again in one quick thrust, a command that she was in charge. Without warning, he let out a deep growl, his self-control slowly unravelling with the growing intensity of her movements. He could feel the way her hand held down his shoulder, the fingernails of the other embedding themselves in the skin of his abdomen. What were once relaxed whines were slowly becoming the sputtered moans of his name through gritted teeth. She was fighting this as much as he was and he could feel the way her body was arching, trying to hold back on a climax that threatened to break through at any moment.

He closed his eyes, the symphony of ecstasy ringing in his ears, his body still accepting her pace despite how much he wished to just grab her and fuck her. He neared his precipice, one he had fallen from so many times with Tav, one he would happily fall from a thousand times more and he parted his lips, the sensation too much to contain. “By Mystra...”

Tav’s movements stopped suddenly, an abrupt silence that took him a moment to register before realising what had happened. She looked down at him with a combination of confusion and offense. “Did you just...?”

He felt the icy chill in the pit of his stomach, his practised tongue letting him down the moment he wasn’t the one in control of the situation. He hadn’t meant it as anything but an exclamation of pleasure, but he knew it was not the most welcome name after all that happened, especially when said in the bedroom. “Tav, I did not mean-“

She broke him off with another quick roll of her hips, a smirk curling upon her reddened lips. “Say it again.”

Gale looked at her with confusion. “Say what exactly?”

Tav bucked against him, an irritable look in her eyes. “Her name. Say it again.”

He was unsure what she meant, the rules of their game changing with each state of play. Lanceboard had been left in the dusty halls of the library; now they played a completely different game of strategy, one where he was but a novice. “Mystra...” he spoke with an uncertainty in his tone.

This time Tav’s movements were gentler, slower, and more deliberate. His head leaned back onto the rug, the red fibres weaving with his brown locks.

“Again,” she commanded.

He obeyed without doubt. “Mystra...”

She smiled, her hands moving from his shoulder down to his hips, her back arching, and pelvis tilting ever so slightly, allowing him to feel her in full. With each jolt he felt his muscles begin to tremble, the goddess’ name gasped through worshipping lips. And yet he prayed not to her but to the goddess that wrapped her thighs around him, the one whose sweat beaded with his own, the one that called his name as her hands found his.

She tightened around him, all control gone, nothing else mattering but the fought off release that now consumed her senses. She let out one guttural cry, only interrupted by the deep thrusts as Gale chased his own orgasm. What had been the Lady of Magic’s name had now become the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Tav sputtered out as wave upon wave of pleasure erupted forth from him, as muscles grew taut and his body buried itself into as far as it possibly could.

She fell limp around him, his arm wrapping around her in a loving embrace as he pulled her onto the floor with him. Their skin glistened with sweat, the air now humid, the only sound being their panted breathing as they regained their composure. The sensation of a light charge brushing against his skin brought him to smile, a devilish knowing of exactly what Tav had done with her control over him. The goddess’ name, spoken in worship, in devotion, would of course have drawn her attention, if only for a moment. He placed a soft kiss on Tav’s forehead, tonight’s game most assuredly her victory.

“With you, I forget my goddess...” She titled her head up to look at him, an almost innocent gaze in her eyes. “I just wanted to make sure that was still the case.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance #pure dirty smut #angst free #you're all a bad influence on my innocent mind #I blame aurora especially for her bulge sitting

[hitlikehammers]

but consider: Steddie, except in the Bridgerton Carriage

for @hbyrde36, @pearynice, and @penny00dreadful—I've been kind of a shitty absent friend lately and I am stupid enough to apparently still think that WRITING SOMETHING FOR PEOPLE is like a gift or something instead of the exact opposite, but you guys seemed to not-hate the snippet of this so...yeah. I'll almost certainly still be an absent friend when this posts, and I do sincerely apologize that, please accept this distraction from that fact and a token of my affection also in advance of S3Pt2 later in the week?

(also: this gets 🔥spicy at the cut bc obviously)

it has a baby epilogue thingy and and a baby sequel thingy (?) if you...wanted that or something I guess also I will assume not unless someone says otherwise okay bye

Eddie throws himself against the seat, may cause the carriage to shift for it, may even startle the horses but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care because he was about to be engaged, he was going to be Lord of a house grander than he can quite fathom and yes all on his own and yes separated from all he knows but that would have included separation from—

Eddie pinches his nose to hold back tears, keep them just to stinging behind his eyes and then growls, throws himself across the cushion because he does that, Eddie learned to pinch his nose against weeping from him and of course the tears are caused now by him, too, by his interference, by his heartlessness, by his cruelty and his scheming to keep Eddie, supposedly his dearest friend, from any form of security or freedom or—

Eddie’s breath hitches: he may be enraged. Perhaps a little heartbroken. But he cannot think such lies about a man he’s held closer than any other in his life, his dearest confidant—his closest, most secret love.

Eddie bites his tongue this time against the tears that are building such pressure and shamefully, foolishly, he traces his lips. That one kiss. That one series of kisses. Just once.

Both wholly inadequate but beyond Eddie’s wildest dreaming.

It’s for tracing the bow of his upper lip, for losing himself in imagination and the single tear he lets slip, it’s for the pounding in his heart for so many more reasons than he has the energy or will to tease out: for all of it.

He misses the shouting until there’s a rapping at the hinges on the door, aimed to rattle. Forceful.

One might even suppose it to be desperate.

Eddie cannot deny curiosity—even in shame and ruin it has always been the root of his nature—and so he takes the fact that the driver stops at all as an omen for the positive, can’t be a threat or a vagabond, and he moves to check but is too slow, the door wrenched open to—

“Eddie.”

Gods be damned.

“I do not wish to speak with you,” Eddie bites out, refuses to make eye contact and focuses on gratitude that he’d already wiped his eyes.

“Please!” and oh.

Oh, but Steve knows Eddie would give him the world. Always has. Cannot deny him when he asks, but:

This isn’t asking. This is pleading.

“Let me in,” and he’s so breathless, chest heaving, eyes too wide and Eddie can feel them fixed upon him even before he turns to meet them and perhaps he’d been wrong before, to have called the shade of those eyes remarkable, especially when kind.

They are indescribable when, when…

Whatever Steve is now.

Eddie swallows hard, fixes his eyes opposite the door as he moves for Steve to clearly have the space across and diagonal from him to occupy. As far as Eddie can place space between them.

“We will stop at Harrington House first,” and damn but Eddie is proud of the strength, the evenness in his tone when he calls out and the horses take up again.

He prays it will hold when he eventually has to break the silence, and address the reality of the situation he’s in.

“What do you want?”

Strength enough, then.

“Did Lord Alexei propose?”

Eddie cannot help but leave his mouth to drop; his eyes to narrow.

“And exactly what business is that of yours?” because truly. The nerve. The pomposity, the presumption—

“I need to know,” and lord help and forgive him, Eddie cannot write off this man who’s been his friend, but who’s also taught his heart to swell for so many years, now; whose taste on his lips still lingers—

Eddie cannot deny him wholly when his eyes gleam, and his hands tremble. When he looks fit to shake from his skin.

“Did he propose?”

Though: even if Eddie can’t deny him, that doesn’t not require him to make any of it simple, or easy. He is not beholden to shy from the bitter sting of the evening, of the lack of a ring on his fourth finger.

“It is odd, isn’t it?” Eddie huffs a mirthless laugh. “When I asked for your help in finding a husband, I did not realize that also meant you claimed the prerogative to deny me one as well.”

Steve looks near-slapped across the face as he reels back the slightest bit and holy hell, but Eddie cannot even take more than half-a-second’s satisfaction in it, in something sharp in the truth of the consequences in Steve’s callous, thoughtless interference—no, Eddie gets his half-second, and then all he wants is to reach and soothe the wound.

Gods be damned for the heart he has, for the heart that this man’s stolen without knowing—he’d never be so cruel if he was sure how wholly Eddie’s affections were lost upon him—and more tragic yet: stolen, and unquestionably unwanted.

But Steve doesn’t require Eddie’s intervention to compose himself and regroup to the task he’s set himself upon, and his shoulders are squaring again in an instant it seems, leaning once more into Eddie’s space so as to flavor the air Eddie breathes in far too fast—so sweet.

“It is my business because I care about you,” and it is sincere, to be certain, and Eddie will not permit himself to look farther than the words themselves for nonexistent hints and pathetic yearning scraps. He must be grateful. His affections may be undesirable but there is a part of his heart that still may be given to this man in a certain, sensible way and Eddie must appreciate this as enough—

“You cannot marry that man.”

Eddie is the one who reels back this time; he blames this entirely for the lapse in his response, the sharp incredulity that rises in him at the persistent audacity, the sheer presumption—

“He will leave you for his voyaging,” Steve begins in earnest, certain in his tone, but Eddie wastes no time to scoff:

“Says the man who spent months frolicking the continent—”

“And he is far too particular with his, his strawberry varietals,” Steve continues as if Eddie’s said nothing, but there’s a subtle flustering at the edges of each word—he’s not been ignored.

“Cherries, actually,” and Eddie can’t help but prod further, it’s in his nature; “it’s truly remarkable to be so agitated that you can’t even be bothered to be correct—”

“And he is…” Steve cuts Eddie off proper, then, the flustered edge turning half toward desperate, perhaps beseeching:

“He is just not right for you, Eds.”

And Steve has always been a man of action, of resolve once he’s set upon a clarity of conviction. It does sound as if he’s found such a point to lean into and hold.

Just Eddie’s luck that when the issue to hand is his own holy matrimony, it’s merely a point, and involves someone else.

“He did not propose,” Eddie surprises himself for how flat his tone is, because Lord Alexei is witty, reserved in an endearing way, strange perhaps in a different vein to Eddie but: like courts like. He would not have been less than pleasant to grow old attached to.

“In fact,” and here Eddie surprises himself with the tone that escapes him, less anger—though still anger—than it is chiding; “he rejected me because of you.”

Steve’s eyes don’t widen, or drop in some emotion tangential to shame. If they do anything, they grow brighter; intensify.

If anything: Eddie burns with it, and tries like hell to shove it away—because he is angry. He could have lived a quiet life of freedom and cordial camaraderie and as many goddamn cherries as he ever wished to eat. He had a chance, his first and only, and this man saw fit to—

“Because the scene you caused led him to believe you have feelings for me,” Eddie’s indignation, his hurt and his pride and his heartbreak and his anger all coalesce to rear their head again as he narrows his eyes to remind Steve once more:

“An idea so preposterous, I do not know what to do besides laugh,” which Eddie cannot even manage, so the joke may be on him in the end, regardless. It’s the last straw of a sort, though, and he deflates, suddenly bone-weary, and heartsore.

“Now,” he breathes in deep, forces himself to straighten his shoulders and lift up his chin, to have some goddamn dignity: “will you please let us ride home in silence and leave me alone.”

It’s not a question.

“I cannot.”

It is not a question, so of course he doesn’t get a real answer.

“Please,” and Eddie tries to pack a lifetime of friendship into a single word, tries to raise the banner to summon some long-crafted pity if nothing else will suffice.

“I cannot,” Steve leans forward, and his eyes are…other, somehow. A certain glow about them in too little light.

“Because,” and he breathes, and stares, and Eddie’s almost afeared for his well-being when he whispers: “Eddie,” his name like a prayer to a god Eddie’s never known to name, before he may well speak in tongues for how much sense he makes:

“What if I did have feelings for you?”

Eddie…can only blink, and think to feel Steve’s forehead for a fever, and ignore wholesale and entirely the rabbit-beat his heart’s leapt to all at once.

“What?”

Steve stares a bit longer, lets Eddie’s heart really build a momentum, threaten the integrity of his ribcage like it’s a trial to be passed but then Steve sucks in a deep breath and the slightest hint of chest hair peeks out on the inhale and good god—

“I have spent so long trying to feel less,” Steve finally speaks, his voice low and breathy, like maybe his heart’s in a marathon too, but why, when what he says makes no sense:

“Trying to be the kind of man society expects me to be, and for a moment, Eds, for scarcely a moment I thought I had succeeded, for one time in all the failures and disappointments I thought maybe, though it clenched sour in my chest,” Steve rushes out, near trembling, and Eddie…cannot comprehend. He just, he can’t.

“But these past weeks, and more if I’m truthful, have been full of,” he licks those gorgeous lips, struggling, while Eddie struggles for…other reasons: “full of these confounding feelings, like a total inability to stop thinking about you,” he pauses and his glowing gaze drops to Eddie’s mouth, drops a kick to Eddie’s pulse as it trips, as Steve speaks again:

“About that kiss,” and how absurd, that Steve should have any thought of it, this man who’s known more lips than Eddie’s known people, that he might so much as think twice about the most perfect moment in Eddie’s life, that could not have been more than a casual obligation to an old friend from Steve’s view, it was—

“Feelings like dreaming of you when I’m asleep and gods, preferring sleep with all that I am because that is where I might find you,” and it’s so frustrating, because Eddie’s known Steve his entire life. Eddie knows his expressions, his tones, his hidden meanings.

He cannot find the latter. The first two, though, he, they…

There’s no sense, and Eddie’s heartbeat only rises.

“A feeling that is like torture,” and Eddie can agree upon the word, for the ache the pounding of his pulse is demanding, but the tone Steve speaks in is…it borders on reverent.

“A torture,” he repeats, words panted out close, high in his chest; “but one which I cannot, will not, do not want to give up. Not ever.”

And he looks…so honest. And Eddie knows what he sounds like in a lie—there is none here. He also knows what Steve looks like when he thinks he is in love.

This is…very close to that, but also: different. A wanting that Eddie’s never borne witness to before. A fire in it still but something violent, magnificent to the scope it could unleash.

“Please,” this time, Eddie does beg. Because the fire he sees in those eyes—nonsense, all nonsense, he reminds himself—but that fire is starting to spread and he’ll burn inside it wholly if he cannot stop it now:

“Do not say things you do not mean.”

“But I do mean it,” Steve is so quick to correct, to look wounded for being doubted and to look truthful to his bones; “this is everything I have wanted to say to you…for weeks. For longer than weeks.”

“But…” Eddie worries his lip, heart caught up now in his throat, a task to speak around at all but he must, he must.

“Steve, we are friends.”

“Yes, but we…” Steve starts, but then it is as if the glow in him dims, fades, withers before Eddie’s very eyes and it takes all that he is not to whimper at the loss of it.

And then Steve passes a visibly-unsteady hand over his face, between his eyes; pinches the bridge of his nose like he does to keep from—

Oh god, and Eddie loves this man. And he’s caused…

“Forgive me, um,” Steve looks down, anywhere but at Eddie and it’s in the loss that Eddie processes how warm it felt to be beneath that gaze; how cold it feels without. “I do not know what I was thinking,” and his tone is drained of color, deadened leaves before the snow and Eddie’s pounding heart cracks wide and for all that Eddie has labored under his feelings so long, alone in the shadows, his bond with Steve was always one of equals, no matter how much of a lie that spelled to the world around them. They stepped together, side by side. And here, Steve leapt without him, and somehow for him; is tumbling to crash.

Eddie cannot bear it. His heart will shatter in an impact more dear than his own could ever be.

He has to try.

“But I’d very much like to be more than friends,” Eddie exhales, desperate, trembling in every part of him. “So much more.”

Eddie can barely hear anything beyond his heartbeat now, the way his heaving breaths strain the lacing on his patently-unusual shirt, his waistcoat tight for the overtaxed burning in his lungs, in his veins, in his skin, like the blood in him’s turned molten and with every pulse he—

He looks to Steve, whose eyes no longer glow but have turned molten, too, and Eddie’s breath catches as Steve stares at him, incredulous, as if he is the unbelievable one and what nonsen—

Eddie can scarcely believe that he can think, that he can feel anything, for the way he knows his heart to burst wholly when Steve surges in and captures Eddie’s lips: not like their first time. Not even like the way that first time crested toward something: no.

No: this is…

Perhaps he lives still, as his blood still races and his lungs still burn and he rises to meet Steve’s lips yet: oh. Oh, but his heart has burst and whether this is to last, whether this is once and never again, Eddie does not need his heart to be anything but blown and spilled inside his ribs, warm and glimmering in a way he’s never known, alive in a way he’s never felt, and the way they move.

Oh, but how they move like a dance known not to men nor angels, known only to something primordial and wholly other, a secret to their souls alone in the dark and Eddie reaches to cup Steve’s face, trace his hairline and ease him closer, deeper, and wonder at the sweetness of his taste; just how Eddie recalls it, would know it on his deathbed but heated, thicker, stronger now as Steve slides his tongue between Eddie’s lips where Eddie opens, arches into him, body to body until his eyes flutter open and Steve almost seems to feel it, for how his own blink open the same and he pauses, pulls back the slightest bit, Eddie’s hand at the side of his throat now where his pulse thunders into Eddie’s palm, the tumult of the elements themselves in Eddie’s ill-suited hands but now he’s touched the heart of this man, this man, held it in this way Eddie dares to think means something more, and—

Their eyes meet. Steve’s still aflame, but the glow lived again below the inferno and it’s like he marvels, it’s like he sees Eddie as something wholly new yet forever dear, as if he cannot fathom the simplest truth Eddie’s ever known:

All of him, is Steve’s.

Steve’s lips are wet, sloppy, mesmerizing as he gapes, looks upon Eddie like a sculpture or a masterwork somehow and Eddie slides his hands into Steve’s hair the way he’s always dreamt: sinuous and sensual and Eddie may be gaping, mesmerized himself as he fights shaking his head in sheer dumbfound shock because: Steve is real. Steve is full of only truth, here.

Eddie knows what Steve looks like when he believes he is in love.

This look now isn’t merely other. This is, dare he even think it—

This is more.

He watches as Steve’s lips quirk, a punchdrunk giddy sort of thing that Eddie feels himself return because perhaps it is Eddie who’s feverish and delusional but he has never felt this, he has never known this: touch and desire and want in his limbs but returned in equal measure somehow, unthinkable.

And yet.

Steve kisses him, and to kiss through the curve of joy on their mouths is a potent thing, slips down Eddie’s throat and catches in his wild-thrumming pulse, puts the whole of him off balance in the most perfect of ways and Eddie has to balance himself upon Steve’s chest, feels the firm muscle beneath layers but then the pounding muscle at the center ripples out, his heart as unsteady, as affected as Eddie’s own and it’s…it is a miraculous sort of gift, to be in such resonance with someone, anyone—but to spell a symphony, beat for beat, with the person you’ve long given your heart to?

It threatens tears to Eddie’s eyes for reasons that fill his chest but know no name; that transcend words.

And for that moment in time: he can believe if it is wanted, if this is real, if this could possibly be real: to lose his heart in Steve’s chest would be no loss at all, merely a homecoming. To songs made to sing in tandem, close enough to touch.

Their mouths don’t break apart when they gasp, when they moan and pant: they just tip the barest angle fit to breathe and then dive back, but when their hips slide together, hardness prominent at either groin they gasp harder, deeper, and come apart to stare at each other, to try to read universes as much as the simplest questions, the most obvious of assent between eyes alone.

Steve makes his way downward by way of Eddie’s neck, lavishing it with the talents of his lips as he makes quick work of the fastenings on Eddie’s breeches, clear that he must know them well enough on another’s body, practiced, and it maybe lights an ember of jealousy to feel proof in the flesh of Steve’s poorly-veiled breadth of experience, but as Eddie is trembling for the spoils, he can’t acknowledge that flicker of envying for long, not for the sake of the proper fire that alights in him now to the tips of his fingers; not least for how Steve cups his palm so perfect, so exquisitely slipped beneath the heavy weight of Eddie’s manhood, lifts it tenderly in a way Eddie’s never bothered to touch himself, leaves his last two fingers to linger gentle attention for the briefest moments, a whisper of touch against Eddie’s straining sac as he eases Eddie’s full length from his drawers and Eddie’s hardly bare to the free air before he’s gasping, panting hard enough that he suspects a weather eye could pick the shape of his torrenting heartbeat through his skin between his ribs for how it pounds, and how his lungs squeeze it unforgiving to the wall of his chest and—

Steve’s hand upon his cock is transcendent, even without any motion, doing nothing but to touch yet Eddie is greedy. Eddie wishes Steve’s hand could also press to his chest, not least because he fears it could crack under the blatant assault; he trusts Steve to hold his wayward heart where it absolutely must stay at least a little longer, to see out this…this.

Wherever it leads.

As if beckoned by sheer desire, Steve lifts, looks Eddie in the eye and balances himself upon his sternum, rips the lacings fully free and slides his hand skin to skin above Eddie’s heartbeat and holds there, holds there while he teases the exposed slit of him to draw a whimper, only to abandon it and trace the sharp-raised vein below, back and forth as if he plays the strings of a stronger song, as if it’s but an idle whimsy, a pleasant pastime on the way to greater indulgences and Eddie’s gifted a moment to feel undiluted bliss at the sensation, the languid romance near saccharine in the connection of Eddie’sheart bounding unbridled against Steve’s strong, steady palm, so broad and so warm and safe, so so safe and Eddie melts for it, for a whole moment at least before Steve’s stroked the same bulging vein one too many times and Eddie feels himself tense—

And then Steve halts, his hands both still save maybe not, for the one at Eddie’s chest, he watches it shake a little out the corner of his eye, for the force of the blood-beat below or something primal and overcoming in Steve’s own veins; Eddie catches Steve’s eyes, blown full to black now, and strains his neck to kiss the tip of Steve’s finger, the closest part to reach and Steve shivers, and then he’s—

Oh.

Oh, but then, but then it may well mean the end of Eddie Munson because Steve moves his hand to kiss Eddie’s chest one time, enough to trip the heart beneath, and those same lips kiss the tip of his full-flushed cock as Steve glances up, wanton through those lashes and it’s not even in askance, it’s…surveying.

And Eddie feels a tingling pleasure spark through him, to know in that instant how Steve knows him, knew his heart before ever he reached to take where it was offered, knew his mind from the very start, and now needs only glance to check without a single word to speak: his hand never leaves Eddie’s chest.

But his mouth takes in the whole of him.

He spares less than a single thought that he hopes Steve knows what he’s doing—beyond the fact that it feels like nothing less, feels like Steve is truly a god among men beyond even Eddie’s lovesick notions—but if Eddie felt ready to loose himself with mere-perfect touch, the sweet silk of Steve’s mouth, the soft suction just so: Eddie won’t last. He can’t: he’s only a man.

He can glimpse heaven as a gift, perhaps; he can fly to the sun only a moment before he falls.

He does not process Steve preparing to move, too lost to notice, but he cries out, muffles it as best he can but he barely can when a wet finger swirls upon the rough pucker of his untouched hole, where he knows pleasure lies but has never…never made the attempt and yet just the hint, the fact of it so delicate and only just slipped between the cleft of him where Steve eases him up enough to slip a hand behind and circle once before withdrawing because it’s all Eddie needs, all Eddie can stand: it is but one touch. Not even inside him—though now there is another thing he will long for, for all of his days, with all of his being.

But the longing is for later; just now Eddie is coming apart, splitting at the seams.

Falling though, he finds, is an ecstasy of its own, as Eddie sees either the backs of his own eyes, blown beyond redeeming in the spindly trace of delicate-webbed light, or else he finds instead the face of god incomprehensible when he spills, faster than he’d ever hoped he’d manage should he find himself unthinkably in such a position, but harder than he imagines Steve can possibly expect, certainly with a force Steve can’t have predicted save that Eddie can feel his throat work tirelessly, dedicated singlemindedly to not merely taking all that Eddie gives and leaving none to waste like he relishes it, like he craves it with the wholeness of himself somehow—but then further still Steve moves to milking Eddie dry, sucking every third breath in as more a rhythmic excuse to take back in Eddie’s softening, emptying member in turn: insistent. Devoted. Greedy in the most awe-inspiring sense because this man, this man—

This is his wholesale devotion; aimed at Eddie Munson, and him alone.

He barely feels as Steve touches lips to the tip of him, a soft adieu to mirror his brazen hello, and tucks him gently, carefully back into his trousers, slides up Eddie’s chest and, careful once again, laces back his shirt to the neck, one hand pressed to the center of his chest where Eddie’s heart has yet to receive the notice to calm, perhaps because there is no calm, there is only…Steve.

Steve Harrington. Atop him. Adoring him. Hard still for him where his legs are spread now to near straddle Eddie as he tends to him, but never once does he sacrifice Eddie’s pleasure for his own. But Eddie so wants to return the favor.

By then, Steve’s composed Eddie back to something only generally debauched—there’s nothing to be done with the way Eddie imagines the haze in his eyes is drawn in the shape of hearts, pulsating mad and riotous and still disbelieving because how, how did—

Before Eddie can collect his mind as well as Steve’s collected his appearance, before he can plan a way to repay Steve, to ease the low-slung strain caught tight between his legs—before any of it, Steve’s lips are wide against Eddie’s, like he aims to devour but like this, Steve’s tongue can immediately lick into Eddie's mouth, where he's welcome, where Eddie has never tasted himself before but he knows instinctively where he ends and Steve’s savour begins already: he’s had two, admittedly thorough, chances to memorize that flavor, and let the almighty strike him down in his mindless, unthinkable bliss if he’d been fool enough to waste either opportunity to remember every hint, each subtle note of Steven Harrington’s taste upon his teeth, delectable across his soft palate.

It is maybe the certainty of that knowledge, his own devotion, that makes him bold, then, that makes Eddie slide his tongue back and deepen the kiss and revel in Steve's moan before he rocks his hips upward and—

“Oh!” Eddie gasps, breaks away as he hears by pure coincidence, his heartbeat still heady in his ear but it knocks differently, in a wholly different register, than a knock at a door.

Of a carriage.

One that he’s been recently, gloriously defiled in, and where he had been just about to stage a reprise in reverse, and oh, oh Steve’s leaning back in, Steve is no fan of Eddie breaking from his mouth and neither is Eddie, not in the least, but—

“Steve,” Eddie tries to keep his wits but they were scrambled already before Steve pulls at his lip with his teeth and Eddie moans and tries to pull back, a little hazy on the why until Steve pants hoarse:

“What?”

And oh. Right. Yes.

“Steve, we are at your house.”

And they both part, spit-slick mouths shiny and bruised as they stare at one another, gasping.

Before Steve huffs, eyes wide , and whines so fucking deliciously:

“Oh, God,” he laments, glancing out the quite-poorly-curtained window. “Could the carriage driver not keep on driving?”

He turns pleading eyes on Eddie who chokes on the bubble of laughter that rises in him—and when Steve loses the battle against his own giggling Eddie’s got no chance, they’re both falling into one another, forehead to forehead and shaking with…joy.

Just such a joy, the sort Eddie’s never felt. Never knew could even be.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” Eddie asks idly, now glancing out toward Steve’s home. “I was not paying much attention to…anything,” Eddie chuckles, tries to process the notion of having paid notice to anything but Steve, and Steve, and Steve, and—

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, cold shooting suddenly through his body because Steve is climbing out, Steve is leaving and Eddie, he, he thought? It had felt so, so real and it’d…Steve hadn’t looked like he looks when he thinks he’s in love, he looked like he really could be—

“Steve?” Eddie fights the way his heart tries to jump anxious to his throat or drop leaden to his shoes, he fights to speak evenly, to ask without fear or audible heartbreak, to trust this man who’s held his heart and still does, and Eddie did the same, was allowed, it can’t have only been him, it—

“Are you coming with me?”

Eddie’s pulse trips. Hard.

“What?” he asks, blinking, lost, but Steve holds out his hand and smiles small but so soft, so fond, so…safe.

Eddie’s heart doesn’t slow but it settles a little. Back toward the space that’s meant for it in his chest.

“Your,” Eddie licks his lips and oh, dear god, he still tastes of Steve, of him-and-Steve; “your family will see me.”

Steve wastes no time rolling his eyes but…but again: so fond.

So far beyond how he looks when he thinks he’s in love, and—

“For God’s sake, Edward Munson,” Steve huffs with a grin as he shakes his arm out at the wrist, beckons Eddie more clearly as he speaks the unthinkable:

“Are you going to marry me or not?”

And Eddie’s jaw drops, and his heart surges again, tries to soar, flutters wild as he doesn’t even think before taking Steve’s hand, and maybe his heart lands there too, and it’s impossible.

Save that Steve’s leading him to his home. Steve’s walking hand in hand in the night. With him.

If it is a dream, Eddie has no desire ever to wake.

read about the morning after here >>>

yes Lord Alexei is a shoutout to this adorable man and his love of cherry Slurpees🍒

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx

divider credits here and here and here

💫 ao3 link here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #bridgerton fusion #this gets 🔥SPICY🔥 at the cut #romance #fluff #friends to lovers #fluff and angst #happy ending #misunderstandings #marriage proposal #first times #virgin eddie #criminally soft #schmoop #dialogue adapted from S3E4 #gift fic #hbyrde36 #pearynice #penny00dreadful #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

[waokevale]

A Clarification to Wormwood's Age (And why he's fully fledged without a shred of doubt)

So, as we all know or have heard some at point, there are still people out there, who think the peculiar lunar plantation is an infant, solely due to the way he speaks, behaves and of conviction that he was literally born yesterday. Which by all means is false.

That's why I'm here to finally dismantle that belief. I'll present you with several compelling arguments of mine based on throughout research I did on his character overall, and if by the end of this post, you'll still hold firm to that same opinion, then I'm afraid that's out of my hands by that point.

If you're willing to stay for the duration of this thesis, and hear me out, I'll be very greatful. And please do listen, so we may not make any more misconceptions as such about him in the future.

I'll be splitting this post into 5 segments, one with additional subcategories.

General Appearance

Behavioral Pattern

Intelligence

Character Interrelations

Canon Information

First of, let's start off with the obvious:

General Appearance

If we're going to interpret his appearance based on human gauge, then physically, compared to actual child characters, Wormwood's design is vastly different.

The easiest way for me to prove that, lies in one of the recent animations: (Swine & Dine), where all the (live) children are gathered in one place, alongside Wormwood and Wes.

Here, you can distinctly pick apart the difference between the three preteen characters, Walter, (who's likely supposed to be a teenager on the younger side; around 13-14), and the last two.

The most obvious difference is the jawline. Wormwood, for one, has a massive jaw, easily rivaling that of Maxwell's (while technically, this feature isn't reserved solely for adults, it is moreso common to see an adult with a define jawline, rather than a child.)

This, alongside his torso being usually depicted as an inverted triangle (at least in the official animations), seem to be features added intentionally somewhere post his release, as he looks much more childlike in his animation video, where he's still technically a sapling per se.

Even Several of Wormwood's skins showcase, that he is in no way meant to be seen in a juvenile way.

The best example of that being his Victorian skin.

Look me dead in the eye and tell me that's a child. That is one of the most indisputable old man portrayals, you can get from an anthropomorphic plant character in media. Do not try and argue, how a child is meant to look like that, because neither of the four actual child characters has a skin, which makes them appear that much significantly older than they actually are.

So what reason would Klei even have to make his skin look so apparently elderly, if they saw him as a child?

More examples of his mature skins could be said for the Roseate and Guest of Honor. While they're not outright elderly, as is the former, the general vibe is similar to that of other adult characters' portraits.

Now that we've compared him to human characters and their characteristics, we should take into consideration what he actually is. Let's remember, that at the end of the day, he's partially a plant organism and partially an inorganic crystal from the moon , certainly he ages much differently than us humans, or even most other constant species for that matter.

I'm pretty sure he was also formed with a fully developed body (since he seemingly bloomed shortly after forming, which is a trait reserved primarily for mature plants)

But then again, appearance alone isn't enough to make one truly adult, is it? Thus we're moving on to:

Behavioral pattern

Few things you'll immediately realize about Wormwood is his alleged naivety, playful nature and seldom use of grammatical correctness. Due to this, many immediately assume that he's a child, which is understandable, but not a good enough reason to make such an assumption.

There are many factors involved in building one's disposition, and in Wormwood's case, there's plenty of reasonable causes for his behavor:

As previously stated, he's quite literally a sentient amalgam of vines, brought to life by a jewel from the moon. His origin far disparates that of any known being, especially a human.

His mind develops much differently than that of an average person. This correlates with the point above (since its a big green gem in his chest and not an actual brain). Plus, he likely hadn't had the chance to have a proper education. While he seems to have picked up on a lot of mannerisms from the pigsfolk in Hamlet, I doubt anyone went out of their way to actually school him.

He's feral. The majority of his upbringing, he likely spent surviving in the jungle. In a way, he reminds me a lot of Tarzan (A human, who grew up raised by a troop of gorillas after his parents were killed. He can communicate with the local wildlife just fine, but deeply struggles understanding and relating to the outsiders; other humans, who one day arrived on his land.) That's likely the reason why Wormwood refers to certain creatures with mimicking the sounds they make. Perhaps he can understand them to a degree, or at least is trying to.

Just because he doesn't speak English, doesn't mean he's slow. It is plausible he speaks a different language, while English doesn't come naturally to him. As is the case with Wolfgang, who has similar speech impediment issues and struggles with saying full sentences, but that's quite literally because English isn't his mother tongue. It's been a running gag that Wolfgang is the embodiment of a European man, and whichever country/countries he might've originated from, it's definitely not the UK. As might be the case for Wormwood and whatever constant language he actually thinks in.

He has certain traits akin to people with autism/Asperger's or ADHD (Nonverbal communication, delayed language development, lacking social cues, sensitive nose, short attention span, hyperactive and somewhat impulsive behavior, wild or overexaggerated movement, struggle with fitting in, little sense of awareness etc.) And I'm speaking from experience with this one, he's quite relatable to me, and many of my friends on the spectrum.

With that let's move on to the third segment.

Intelligence

Just how smart he truly is?

Wormwood isn't regarded for his high intellect, that's for sure, but remember, intelligence isn't defined by just the book smarts society imposes on us. Therefore it doesn't always correspond to a person's age and experience.

Wormwood, while definitely not on a level of a Harvard graduate, is extremely intelligent and a quick learner at that.

Let's digest what we generally know about intelligence and what it really means for Wormwood.

With the main question at hand : What differentiates a child mind from an adults'?

While he certainly shares some personality traits with Webber, their mindsets are rather different.

I'd like to present my point with a simple method.(From that one Quora post, believe it or not, it was the most convenient out of all the theories and tests I found) Dividing that, which is known as thought process into five subcategories, of which are:

Cognitive Development

Life Experience

Responsibility and Independence

Emotional Regulation

Social and Moral Development

So let's start with Cognitive Development/Psychology

(Definition : The process of growth and change in intellectual/mental abilities such as thinking, reasoning and understanding. That includes: the ability to interpret information, verbally communicate ideas, appropriately apply words and gestures to given situations, recognize and differentiate various sounds, comprehend your surroundings, use past experience to resolve current or future problems more efficiently, etc. TLDR: How thought process changes with age ; Talking, hearing, reading, remembering, problem-solving, understanding, You get the point. )

By this point, Wormwood's acquired plenty of general knowledge of the world around him and what to expect from it. (In some cases, he seems to know things without realizing it, or simply wishes to not provide more info of what he's already aware of.)

He is capable of understanding various different things, applying appropriate words to them, when given the chance. He often struggles to properly phrase what he means, but you can still get around to grasp it.

And you know what? He's especially good at deducing things not every character can point out. Here are some of the more obvious to least obvious things he's mentioned:

Leaky teacup - "Can't drink from it"

Beaten Beater - "Hmm... Can't use it"

Start tower kit - "Need to plant it on the water"

Compass- "which way?"

N- "North

S- "South"

E- "East"

W- "West"

NE- "Northeast"

SE- "Southeast"

NW- "Northwest

SW- "Southwest"

(The direction one would seem pointless to add but let's remember that there literally are characters in this game who don't know which way is which cough cough Winona cough)

Clippings - "Can sell this hair"

(the plant understands capitalism 👍)

Winona's GEM-erator (out of fuel) - "Oh. Needs sparky"

Telelocator Focus (missing gem)- "Needs Purple Shiny"

Telelocator Socket (missing gem)- "Where shiny things?"

The Queen of Moon Quay: "Oh...she thinks Night Ball is friend hair?"

(He might know what They are after all)

Ancient chest - "Put stuff in there!"

(One of 4 characters to have an inclining what to do with it)

Greater Gestalt- "Protect"

Hound Corpse (reanimating) - "Coming back"

(He seems the least bit of surprised or disturbed by this, compared to everyone else)

Antlion (upset) - "Oh no. Needs gifts"

(interestingly, no one else seems to mention why the Antlion is upset)

Mysterious Energy- "Seed"

(...?)

Distilled knowledge- "Plant this in funny floor"

(he's the only one to have figured out what to actually do with it)

I think what we all can realize from going through his quotes, is that he's in no way as clueless as he initially seems. He has his moments, but so do the rest of the survivors.

Life Experience, Responsibility and Independence

This plant has lived through a lot, but then again so have the rest, a lot of them have faced countless hardships most of us can't even fathom.

From what we already know, the fandom generally believes he is very naive and trusting, which really isn't the case. The thing is, it's not that he's naive, he may not react especially negatively to a creature or thing because he's used to seeing bizarre things, or because he's not afraid of them, unlike the majority of the survivor cast, who are alien to the constant.

Barring the in-game mechanics which force characters to be competent regardless of their experience, we're going to focus on his reactions to mobs and items that might pose actual threat to him or others, or are considered as questionable by him.

Inflatable Vest - "Safe?"

Shadowcraft plinth - "Scary hands helping?"

Fish steak - "Watch for bones"

Candy Apple - "Careful! Don't eat stick! "

Platapine (sleeping)- "don't wake it"

Sentrypede husk - "Sleeping. Shhh"

Sea Stack - "Oops! Watch out!

Great Tree Root - "Oh! Don't bump into friends!"

Worm hole (open) - "Deep. Dark"

(When deerclops is near) - "Something scary coming!"

Pressure plate - Hmmm...Odd rock"

Dread mite (about to explode) - "Look out!"

Shadow Reaper - "No...Wants to hurt friends!"

Depth Worm (lure) - "Hmm... not safe"

Depth Worm (burrowed) - "something hiding"

Meat bulb - "Careful!"

[The fish quotes in DST + the candy Apple are giving me an image of him saying that to the child characters (and definitely Woodie for the latter)]

Independence-wise, the one thing I especially took notice of, is how much the child characters seek guidance from the adults in the group, mentioning them by their formal titles too. That's especially frequent with Webber, Wurt and Walter, though Wendy rarely does this. On one hand, she claims she considers toys and fun to be behind her, but contradictory, enjoys playing with other children and some of the adults. (Besides we canonically know she's 10-11 years old)

Wormwood isn't known for wanting to seek guidance either. He's sometimes confused about how certain things work, and thus will ask about it, but that's understandable given his predicament. (As someone once mentioned, he's like an extraterrestrial experiencing bits and pieces from 2 different worlds at once)

He doesn't really care to play with toys either, (barring a couple instances, one being Bernie and the others; toys with wheels and Antlion's sand castle. But c'mon I know some of you grown ass adults own toy cars/collectibles or build sandcastles when the opportunity rises, you can't lie to me and say neither of these things are fun.

And besides, adult characters in this game also goof around. There's the whole sand castle building thing in Shipwrecked , which curiously Wormwood doesn't have a strong opinion on.)

But if we were to compare his maturity to other adult characters...

(Wilson) [aside his many, many jokes]: Silk- "It comes from a spider's butt."

(Willow) Portal Exit - "It's fun to watch OTHER people fall on their butts."

(Wolfgang) Coral Nubbin - "Haha. Rock is bald."

(WX-78) Regular Jungle Tree (normal and stump) - "THIS DUMB TREE HAS A DUMB FACE"

(Wickerbottom) Weregoose - "My! What a silly goose!"

(Wigfrid) Plant (ready to be picked) - "Ugh, vegetables. I'm nöt sure what I expected..."

(Woodie) Ghost - "Boo! Ha ha!"

(Winona) Kingly Figure - "It's BUST-ed! Ha!"

(Maxwell) Frazzled Wires - "I might hide those in WX-78's bedroll if I get bored"

(Wortox) [But if we were to pick an example of many] Potato Sack- "Hyuyuyu, wouldn't it be fun to hide inside and give him a scare?"

Yeah, I think he's good.

In this section I don't really have much else to say. He can be cautious, he can be daft. He joggles the braincells alongside the rest of the survivors. But all in all, I would not consider him any more reckless or goofy than either the child or adult characters. Independence wise, while he can absolutely manage just fine on his own, his desire for companionship far outweighs that.

And since we've already talked about maturity, let's move on to:

Emotional Regulation

Despite common belief, Wormwood is not overly emotional. While, yes, he is excitable and easy to impress, he doesn't usually display intense negative emotions, unless something (more often than not wooden) is destroyed, or unless a plant or a creature he likes, suffers. But then again, in those situations, it's logical to display panic, worry and grief. Imagine if your family member or friend suddenly caught on fire and burned before your eyes... Yeah, I bet no one morally adjusted would be the slightest bit of composed in those kinds of situations...

Worse yet, the majority of the Constant is filled with plants, most of whom are his friends, the closest to his kind, beings which display varying amount of sentience...

In actuality, the children, including Wendy, display a shift in emotions much more often than Wormwood does.

Then there's Willow, WX-78, Woodie (birds) and Maxwell, who all have even less emotional stability.

In comparison, I'd say he handles most situations much more maturely and nonchalantly.

Social & Moral Development

Ah yes, the ability to difference right from wrong, morality, patos or however you would call it. Now this one's a little tricky, on one hand, while he may react strongly to a plant's demise, his reaction varies, when it comes to animals and structures. Sometimes, he doesn't really bat an eye, frankly, other times, he displays intense amounts of grief.

I guess that's the definition of selective empathy.

Curiously, he has 2 separate quotes for a pigeon. One from Hamlet, where he seems a lot more distressed when it perishes, and the other, from The Gorge, where he simply states the fact "Oh. Dead."

I'd like to think this was intentional to sort of give him that fading care many of us experience as we grow older.

Here's another example:

[Hamlet] Glowfly (dead) - "(sob)"

[DST, Host of Horrors update] Koalefant Carcass - "Braump...? Not anymore"

Regarding the other survivors; for the most part, he sympathizes with them. Though he doesn't panic much when they die from average constant shenanigans. He knows it's not permanent or consequential.

He does show sympathy, when some of the others' precious belongings get destroyed or damaged.

Winona's Catapult (burnt)- "Fire bad"

Winona's Spotlight (burnt)- "Oh. So sad"

Mighty Gym (burnt)- "Oh... poor muscle man..."

Or in some instances, when a character strongly disapproves of something and he takes notice of that:

Nautipilot - "Robot friend doesn't like Pull Rock"

What's interesting, is that, while he calls many creatures his friends, he specifically avoids calling Maxwell that. He even considers Lucy, Willow and Woodie his friends, which is just... wow. May he harbor a grudge against him for what he did to the other survivors? Something more personal? Or is it moreso related to the fact he's fully siding with the shadows... Most likely the former.

Overall I would say he's definitely more empathetic than not, and one doesn't have to care for every living being after all.

Character Interrelations

Regarding what other characters think of how old he is...

It's debatable, keep in mind, the characters don't have to be fully aware, or can misinterpret his age based on his behavior alone.

Most people just refer to him as "plant", unsurprisingly.

There's characters like Winona, who seem to intentionally downplay his age. Winona in her quotes refers to both Wormwood and Wilson (who's officially in his 30s) as 'bucko' (a lively, young fellow. Or in some cases a friend, or another version of buddy). As for her quotes for Bramble trap and Compost wrap, she refers to Wormwood with the terms 'lil plant fella' and 'little guy'. She pretty much just teases people who are younger than her or seem younger. Or she genuinely believes he's actually that young.

There's plenty instances of people calling him a variation of little, small or sapling, which might just be how they see him. Keep in mind, just because a character may think he's on the younger side, does not mean their interpretation is the absolute firm belief you should uphold.

Then, there's Wolfgang and Wurt, who both firmly believe that he's a grown adult.

(Wolfgang) Generic - "Is leafy green man, %s! Hello!"

Firestarter - "Leafy green man did a fire booboo."

Syrup of Ipecaca - "Will leafy green man be sad if Wolfgang doesn't have a taste?"

(Wolfgang only calls him little once in his quotes, because he calls everyone little, children though, he refers to as very tiny + boy/girl/child, so there's that.)

(Wurt) Attacker - "Ow! You mean old weed!"

You might think; why would I care about what a child and a man who's considered to not be so bright think? Well, my previous point about language barriers explains that. Besides, Wurt is a constant-born creature who builds an entire kingdom in her play style, by no means, is she clueless. She also refers to Deerclops and Antlion as 'She', while most of the other characters use he or it.

What's interesting is that Wickerbottom also tends to avoid referring to him with youthful terms, aside the obvious general one she uses for everyone and everything. If anything, she's more patronizing towards Woodie, Wilson, Winona and Wigfrid. (All of whom are in between their late 20s-40s)

Lastly, we have:

Canon Information

While there isn't much information relating to his age, there are hints in the game canon that explain that.

In the game's compendium, where reside the survivors' profile, backstory and description, three of the four kids have 'young' in their introduction. Barring Walter, who instead has 'boy' which is as much of a youthful term. Wormwood's simply stated as 'an amalgam of vines' not a seedling, sapling nor a young/little plant.

From his backstory, we know that:

"A green gem fell from the moon, landing on an ancient stone monument in the middle of overgrown rubble. Over a long period of time, a vine encircled the gem and eventually formed a humanoid figure sitting on the monument. The figure, Wormwood, opened his eyes and looked at his hands. (...)"

(Now this simply explains, that a lot of time has passed as he was forming, unlike what's shown in his animation, where his body instantly forms.)

There's also this part of his bio.

“Though the circumstances of his creation were unusual at best, Wormwood came into this world full of optimism and curiosity, ready to make new friends and see all that life had to offer. But as time wore on and he experienced the cold sting of rejection, he came to learn what the moon above had always known: Wormwood the Lonesome does not belong here.”

It's implied that a while has passed since his birth. Everyone assumes that he was just created recently and that he doesn't know anything, but as I've shown you previously, he's very perceptive when it matters. He has the knowledge and experience, even insight or a hunch. He is able to determine things others can't. Ever since Hamlet happened, his quotes gradually became somewhat more apathetic towards creatures dying, as opposed to the worry and care he previously displayed.

So by the end of this post, are you still inclined to believe he's a child?

Was this completely unnecessary and took far too long to construct? Yes.

Do I regret making this? Nah.

#dst #dst wormwood #don't starve wormwood #don't starve #don't starve together #don't starve thesis #long post #he's a grown ass man #smh #if I see another person saying he's a baby or infantalizing him I swear– #Didn't spend months studying his behavioral pattern (pointlessly ik) for this

[ihatetaxes99]

Alrighty, fun theory time: What if Neito Monoma was actually brain-damaged?

I swear, this isn't a joke post, this is a genuine headcanon/theory I like to consider that possibly explains the... Sharp shift in his behaviour. Of course, it obviously isn't actually canon, I don't think anyone would believe that for a second, but it's an idea I like to ruminate upon. That said, time to elaborate:

It's no secret that when the character of Neito Monoma was introduced during the Sports Festival story arc of the Boku No Hero manga, he was rather different from his later portrayals.

Unless I'm forgetting something, this was the first proper panel introducing Monoma in the series:

As you can see, there were some... Changes later on down the line:

Anyone can tell that something happened here. Anyone who has a basic knowledge of the manga is aware that this second image is not an outlier. Monoma has been consistently portrayed as arrogant, over-the-top and borderline mentally unwell. There's clearly something wrong with this boy, this isn't just a kid being energetic.

Monoma in his initial appearance was clearly a bit underhanded, yes. He was a schemer, a trickster, almost like the heroes' version of Mr. Compress (I had to fit a reference to my G in there somehow) in how he relies on subterfuge and deception over raw strength; None of this translates to the psychopathic brat he became as early as the Training Camp arc. The question is, what happened to cause this? I mean, yeah, there are a few pretty good guesses as to why his personality was retconned out-of-universe (I've always taken an interest in the theory that his insanity was turned up to make Kendo's behaviour towards him seem more justified, somehow, and have her come off as less unlikeable, though there is also the popular theory that Bakugo's popularity had a hand in things as well, which I won't get into here), but that's boring. I am an Autist, and what I want is an in-universe explanation to use as my personal headcanon.

And so, we come to this delightful little panel:

Acquired Brain Injury (ABI) refers to a form of brain injury brought about by physical trauma or other damage caused sometime after birth, as opposed to genetic brain damage. As listed by the Scottish Acquired Brain Injury Network, symptoms of ABI can include:

Reduced motivation.

Reduced ability to initiate activity.

Reduced motivation.

Reduced empathy.

Emotional Lability

Reduced impulse control (i.e. reduced ability to control expression of emotions and behaviour).

Agitation.

Aggressive behaviour.

Impaired judgement.

Socially inappropriate behaviour.

Sexually disinhibited behaviour.

Reduced insight/awareness of the consequences of brain injury and its impact.

Obviously, not all of these symptoms are relevant to Monoma's case, but some - such as emotional lability, reduced impulse control, agitation, aggressive behaviour, impaired judgement and socially inappropriate behaviour - sound very familiar.

In short, it's proven that physical trauma to the head can very much influence and alter a person's personality, resulting in instability. And as we can see from the image, Bakugo very nearly blew Monoma's head off during the climax of the chariot battle. The way that his head snaps back is clearly indicative of receiving some sort of sharp blow.

And that is where the basis of my theory is formed. Neito Monoma starts out his UA career as a somewhat ambitious and devious, but intelligent and well put-together kid. Then, during the Sports Festival, he receives a severe blow to the head from Bakugo. Given the nature of UA's training regiment, it's even possible that he would sustain more injuries off-panel between the end of the Festival and his next appearance at the Training Camp, possibly even developing the situation into Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. And that's not even considering all of the times Kendo has been seen striking him hard enough to knock him out cold. We're also well aware of how lax UA is in regards to their medical care, with a kiss from Recovery Girl and a few days' rest typically being seen as the best way to deal with incidents. In this environment, Monoma's head trauma would go on to manifest itself in more and more personality defects, transforming him over time as his intellectual capabilities were diminished and his aggressive and socially unaware behaviour grew more and more pronounced. It puts a tragic spin on what is essentially a mishandled joke character, holding the lens to UA's negligent behaviour that the manga barely touched in any real depth.

Of course, as I said, obviously none of this is the case. Monoma was rewritten to be a joke after the Sports Festival and that is the long and short of it. There isn't really anything deeper going on there, not intentionally at least. But I like to dream. And I've really grown rather fond of this little headcanon.

#bnha critical #mha #theory #headcanon #monoma neito #neito monoma #class 1b #UA critical

[rogunetocentral]

I dislike when someone tries to retroactively say there was a ship war regarding Rogueneto when it was nothing of the sort. What really happened is that some folks thought Rogueneto was cool and then they got harassed out of fandom spaces by shippers of Rogue's other relationship. The same thing happened to Roguepool, Rogan, and RoguexJohnny fans to a lesser extent. To say there was a war was to imply both sides were on equal footing and equally involved fighting, which again, was not true and still isn’t true.

What I remember happening, first hand, was not being able to discuss Xmen legacy new issues because even insinuating you liked Mike Carey was an offense against nature even if Magneto wasn't even in the new issue with Rogue. I remember not being able to go to Rogue centered websites or forum threads without someone going on a diatribe every 5 posts about how awful Rogueneto was, how awful and sexist their fans were, and Mike Carey was apparently a pervert that needed to be harassed and shit talked on every social media platform including his Facebook page that he still graciously left public for fans to interact with him. I remember when he was forced to make an account on CBR to make his one and only post defending himself from accusations on his person by shippers who called him a supporter of sexual abuse and grooming, an allegation against the comic and writer that they made up 1000%

I remember non-fans of Rogue and Rogueneto getting fed up with the allegations and shipping madness that whenever they did defend Rogueneto from outright lies they were accused of being shippers themselves as a way to invalidate their opinions and perspective as a third-party. I remember there was no war but an onslaught of crazed shipping ruining everyone's enjoyment.

To say there has ever been a shipping war with these characters is to actively erase the one sided harassment and shitty behavior that surrounded that period. Saying, "oh my friend was harassed by Rogueneto fans" is not going to fly tbh, because there was a handful of fans of the ship and I can safely say most of them did not give a fuck about harassing other shippers. They just wanted to ship in peace away from everyone else. If anything the non-shipper readers would be more aggressive than the Rogueneto shippers in fighting, so that needs to be taken up with them.

The fact that it's happening again with x-men 97 should tell you something. Playful jabs between friends is one thing but once again complete and utter meltdowns are happening because Rogueneto gets rare crumbs. I had to see with my own eyes that someone genuinely believed Marvel and the X-Men 97 writers were engaging in psychological warfare because their ship didn't happen in this one thing. The voice actors are put into tight spots because if they say or do anything to make it seem like they enjoy Rogueneto then they'll get harassed. People pulling up the fake groomer allegations from their shipping agenda textbook again to make Rogueneto look bad and guilt people out of liking it. Misogynistic and sexist comments are consistently thrown at Rogue for daring to be genuinely attracted/attached to another man.

There was/is no war in Ba Sing Se. Just a bunch of shipper crybaby nonsense and other comic fans exhausted by it.

#rogueneto #roguneto #random thoughts #Listen I've been around long enough to see how a lot of these bullshit talking points got started #Many MANY of the same shippers are still obsessed with being weird about Rogueneto #I recently saw one of those folks still posting the same exact statements on a comic book form that they did 17 years ago when I was a teen #No war just a schmeer campaign #Always has been and always will be #If Rogue moved on to someone else the same harassment would still follow

[japortalisman]

first off, no hate to this person or any of the people agreeing - at the end of the day, people have different thoughts/interpretations of star wars and its characters, so it's no big deal. but i just wanted to talk about this post/sentiment because i've seen it a lot in the fandom and i'm still new to SW. disclaimer that i'm actively watching TCW at the moment, so take my opinion with a grain of salt

i know most everyone is going to disagree with me on this, but to be kind of blunt, i feel like people like to be purposefully obtuse when it comes to anakin's characterization and it often seems to come from this place of trying to come off like an intellectual ('well *EYE* knew anakin was toxic/evil/a piece of shit the whole time ☝️🤓 ' type energy). i have various thoughts on this and i'm gonna start with the more nitpicky ones and then finish with what i think is the real reason we all disagree

for starters (again, this is just nitpicking) jedi do kill people and it's reasonable to think anakin has killed people prior to the tusken raiders just by nature of his position as a jedi (aggressive negotiations, etc etc). what makes it 'okay' is jedi, by nature of their beliefs, don't commit war crimes by killing the defenseless or innocents. but my point is that killing is already something he's likely done, whereas being a macho toxic fuckboy to his wife is not.

i guess your opinion on this next part of it varies depending on your thoughts when it comes to human nature/morals/whatever, but to ME at least, slaughtering a village because they enslaved and tortured his mother to death is definitely fucked up (because he also took out the innocents), but it's not the exact same thing as being abusive to his wife? like i'm not even trying to debate which one is worse either atp, i'm just saying both things are different and have different pathways of thinking to get to that point. with the tusken raiders, you can clearly see how anakin got there, even if it was wrong, fucked up and arguably evil when it came to the defenseless people he didn't know.

but putting those points aside, i think the main thing we're disagreeing on with the whole TCW characterization vs prequels characterization of anakin is the when of it all. like for ME (you're free to disagree), anakin's behavior of actively hurting padmé when he force choked her in ROTS was SUPPOSED to be 'out of character', and because of that it signaled that he was an evil sith lord that's now too far gone. that was the marker, right behind him killing the younglings. which people also do talk about when they're arguing about this topic:

the difference in thought i'm having from this person is from MY personal perspective, from a story-telling technique/standpoint alone, i just don't like the idea of putting toxicity towards padmé before that marker (what he did in ROTS). it fucks with the whole classic myth type tragedy of it? anidala is supposed to be somewhat idealized even if something like that shouldn't be irl. that's why luke 'redeems' darth vader and brings him back through a mirror of padmé's love for him. we're supposed to recognize vader is a villain, yes, but we're also supposed to take from the story that padmé's love for him was worth it in the end. and that the circumstances of that situation in ROTS (and leading up to ROTS) created the perfect storm to cause anakin to 'fall' and become a sith lord. the tragedy of it is that he WOULD have kept being a good person, without that perfect storm of circumstances (grooming from palpatine, feelings of isolation from parental figures, being heralded as this chosen one, his own arrogance/passion, trauma from how his mother died, force visions plaguing him that he KNEW would come true like with the one of shmi's death, etc).

for ME, as a story, i like that anakin's push into evil is signified by the force choke. the youngling slaughter is definitely like "well, he's gone now", yeah, but when we see him choking the person he was fighting to save? a character we've been personally watching love him the entire movie? that's when we know anakin is lost. so to try and be like 'well, he was just like this all along' undermines that tragedy of this scene that i just talked about. that's why a lot of people don't like some of TCW anakin's characterization. because it undermines that over-arching story. is the prequels-trilogy darth vader story unrealistic to real life? yes, completely. but that star wars story is not supposed to mirror real life. in real life you would not tell luke skywalker to try and save a man who genocided people, destroyed a planet and upheld a dictatorship for one of the most evil men to ever exist. but you have to suspend some of your disbelief in order to enjoy the story. it's just art. and sure, it's 'valid' if you want to accept anakin's TCW version along with some of those scenes people critique. you're free to think he was just toxic and bad all along, but i just think that's a shame and i disagree personally because i don't like what it does with the flow of the story or the work of art that's both trilogies overall. something i think encapsulates it well is this quote written by matthew stover in the ROTS novelization:

"The dark is generous and it is patient and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back. Love is more than a candle. Love can ignite the stars.”

in this situation, the candle was anakin and padmé's love for each other, persisting in their son. and the message wasn't that anakin was toxic and evil all along? it was that their love persisted and it came back in the end because it couldn't be blotted out by evil or death.

you could even delve into the force choke scene deeper? it's really the perfect example of 'a storm of bad circumstances' that make it a tragedy. because no, there's NO excuse for what anakin did and at this point he has slaughtered actual children. him hurting padmé is 'evil'. however, (and i know nuance goes to die on the internet, which is part of why i'm writing this lmfao) from anakin's perspective, padmé had just brought obi-wan to kill him. it's not a justification but it does establish the length padmé had to go to (we as the viewer know she didn’t go to that point, but anakin does not know this) in order for anakin to be 'evil' and toxic with her. he had to think that padmé was actively trying to kill him in order to force choke her. and even AFTER he was burned alive and lost his limbs to obi-wan (someone he saw as a father figure), the first thing he thought when he came to was if padmé was alright. he still loved her. and at this point he still thought she wanted him dead and hated him. it took him thinking padmé wanted him dead and hated him for him to snap enough to force choke her?

so with that in mind, yeah, people are going to view anakin's characterization in regards to her in a specific way. some people prefer that that was his breaking point into evil towards her, because of the story it's attempting to tell with the original movies. and him being this macho man towards her over things smaller than that just doesn't feel organic to what we saw in the prequels and it doesn't seem consistent with the flow of that over-romanticized story being told.

people are free to disagree or not like that over-romanticized story (in fact many people don't? and that's one of the reasons why some people don't mesh with star wars or anidala) but i'm not sure why they're surprised some people don't like that clash of characterization between prequels anakin and TCW anakin. this gets even more complicated when you factor in how people didn't like how anakin was overly romantic and 'simp'-like and even hayden had backlash for his acting and just his existence in the role. so of course when making a cartoon for kids, that younger boys would probably be watching, they would distance themselves a bit from that romance vibe and make it more 'obvious' he's just darth vader

#if you disagree with me then make your own post because you're not gonna change my mind on this #but i'm writing this just because i wanted to get my own thoughts out #and share a perspective that i recognize is not a popular one on here #i honestly don't even think there are many anidalas in general #anyway #anakin #anidala #metas #anakin skywalker #pro anakin skywalker #tagging it as this because i know people will be pissed? but like i recognize he's a villain so #star wars #anakin x padme #anakin x padmé #japortalisman #tcw critical

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: In Which Chilchuck Begrudgingly Has Feelings for his Coworkers, and Kabru Has...Something. He Sure Has Something Going On Over There.

Before we continue, I feel I should clarify 2 things:

I've been trying, ish, to avoid spoilers for this comic, but I've watched through the Golden Country episode and more importantly I'm so bad at not reading spoiler-y but interesting- and insightful-looking analysis. So, much of this commentary isn't wholly original and any particularly genius theories of future events are likely made with actual foreknowledge.

When I said on the first post that I was starting the comic because "I need to know what happens", what I specifically meant was "I need to know how the Laios-Kabru dynamic ends up, and the general geopolitical situation, so I can accurately daydream what sort of tariffs they'll set in the kingdom of which Laios is definitely not going to be the one managing the political, economic, or social minutia." Tariffs are going to be important, okay. They're a key way a nation-state interacts with other nation-states, especially one with rare materials to trade, powerful neighbors who want them, and the natural barrier of an ocean. Truly, every fantasy series ever should be required to have an epilogue or many an additional book/season/etc of a The West Wing-style depiction of day-to-day governance of whatever resulted from the story's climactic finale.

Okay, back to the liveblog.

.

Inch resting. The manga characters, having met the Mad Mage, keep using she/her pronouns for them, where in the anime they used he/him. I assume one of these is just, like, wrong - some translation choice was made before truth was revealed later in the course of publication?

But it makes SENSE that the characters wouldn't necessarily know, at this point! The Mage's appearance is pretty gender-neutral, especially as an elf, an notably gender-ambiguous race. So the characters in the manga picked one guess and stuck with it, and the characters is the very slightly alternate timeline of the anime picked another and stuck with that!

Now: having used they/them throughout this musing and previously he/him because a) the show and b) that's what I saw in fandom, I think I'll switch to referring to the Mage with she/her pronouns now. Because A) that's how the thing I'm reading apparently will be doing it, and B) they still call her "Lord of the Dungeon", which is obviously the greatest gender option of all.

...however, the manga does keep saying "lunatic magician" rather than "Mad Mage" (caps mine), which is a TOTAL failing in drama. Always alliterate, preferably archaically.

.

Orc woman: Ugh, this halffoot sucks. I'll tolerate his company only as a favor to the vegetable guy.

Orc woman after listening to Chilchuck complain about his coworkers for an hour: Nvm, this halffoot is a worthy and loyal friend of the vegetable seller, and I guess those other guys too. He's just emotionally constipated about it.

.

Laios just has these soft little fond smiles sometimes and I? want to hug him?

.

MY MAN IS BACK!! Kabru wink count: 1 this chapter, 4 total [updated as I read]

.

Corpse Retriever: If you don't report us for trying to get you guys killed so we could collect a retrieval fee, we'll let you kill those two of our guys who are already unconscious and collect that fee yourselves. We'll just take 30% of it, for not telling on you.

Kabru, internally: Hm. Well, I'm not king of this dungeon yet, but nonetheless I feel comfortable passing and executing a just judgement upon you for your many known, presumed and planned crimes. Emphasis on 'executing.'

Kabru aloud: I accept!

Kabru: [starts killing them with a classic faint, wide-eyed smile]

What a guy. He's even holding that knife so well. Look, next he's analyzing social trends and acting ruthlessly to adjust them toward the direction of the greater good!

What a guy. Truly this is a "so my type that it's embarrassing" situation.

.

I can't efficiently crop panels to show all this, but favorite parallels in these chapters full of parallels:

Kabru's breakdown of the Touden party is like Laios eagerly explaining and analyzing the behavior and anatomy of monsters (including, though we don't know it yet, calculations for killing them - though we DO see him saying that humans are easy to kill because he knows all the physical weak points!)

The references throughout these two chapters, by Kabru and his party, to the interconnected socioeconomic dynamics of the island and dungeon - the corrupted system fails to check corpse retrievers, the Island Lord as an annoying but necessary bulwark against the Elves, the dungeon growing hungrier as fewer adventurers go down because there's less money and more risk - are so so so like Senshi and Laiois discussing the dungeon biome's ecosystem and food pyramid.

The whole vibe of the party re: their respective weirdo tallman leaders. We watched Team Laios develop this, recently crowned with Chilchuck's near-tearful argument to turn back for a rest, which means we can recognize it when we're dropped into it with Team Kabru: that "this guy is SUCH a goddamn weirdo, but I already followed him into some level of hell, so I'm obviously not turning back now." Kabru's party does think he's weird - "You remember so much about other people that it's creepy." "Why are you enjoying this?" But they're also pitching in on the speculation like Team Touden all hel cook monsters. Compare:

Also!! Something something predisposed beliefs and presumptions of others... This party is so eager to assume the worst of our party, even though our party objectively saved them from perma-death twice, once from ghosts and once from being eaten by fishmen. Chichuck is greedy and bossy, Senshi smells so...notably...that he's judged to be sketchy af... Kabru is trying his best with what info he has, he knows it's not enough to pass a judgement and he wants more, but it's very...uncomfortable? To see this sort of discussion of people we know are great, when we're so used to watching monsters be killed with exquisite understanding and respect.

...I'll chew on that angle of theme more later. Man, you know how, say, what makes the musical Hamilton so good is at its heart it's just like 5-10 leitmotifs that interweave to create every single song? Dungeon Meshi is like that. Hmm a Dungeon Meshical...

.

"Yeah, yeah, we've all heard your weekly lecture about how someone responsible and sociopolitically conscious needs to take the dungeon and the throne or everyone in this region is doomed. None of us can wait to see you flip off the Island Lord to his face. Eat your rations, buddy."

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JUST THE CUTEST, INNOCENTEST, POLITEST, HELPFULEST (WITH NO ULTERIOR MOTIVATIONS WHATSOEVER) YOUNG MAN!! LOOK AT HIS BIG BLUE EYES AND EAGER LITTLE SMILE!

[3 seconds earlier:

I'm obsessed. In the spirit of this comic: I want to eat him with a spoon. I want to take small divots out of him and lick each one carefully off the spoon, luxuriously exploring and enjoying the complex texture and flavor. Like he's a really good pudding. And then I want to see if, if he and Laios kiss, do they both explode in antimatter.

#dm lb #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #kabru of utaya #tagging a specific person in this one because i get. real normal about him. toward the end.