#trying to draw her face and hair consistently from different angles will always be a struggle but im def getting there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mimi-cee-hq · 3 years

Text

A Genuine Mess - Atsumu x f!reader

Pairing: Atsumu x f!reader

Summary: Atsumu insults you, the quietest girl in his class. But as he gets to know you, your few words often leave him blushing.

Genre, etc.: Tooth rotting fluff, Atsumu is a dork in love but still consistent with his canon character, reader is quiet but not timid

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: I wanted to try a different personality for the reader as well as taking one of Atsumu's negative character traits and flipping it on its head :) This was fun to write. Hehehe.

Words: 1.9k

*****

"What? She's here for me?" said Atsumu. He pressed his lips together to hide the smile forming on his lips. As he attempted to walk to the gym doors as normally as possible, Aran tilted his head while Osamu wore an amusing smirk.

Atsumu leaned on the frame of the gym doors. "What'd ya want?" he asked you, trying to be as smooth as possible. His voice didn't reveal his usual arrogance and was unexpectedly gentle.

"Could I see your hand?" you asked him with a quiet but direct tone.

When he held his hand out in front of you, you delicately turned it over, palm faced down, and positioned his fingers one by one. You didn't notice him gripping the side of his jersey in his other hand, trying to keep it together every time your fingers grazed his skin. You let go of his hand to pull out your phone and angled it to get a good shot of his hand.

Click.

"Thank you Atsumu-san," you told him, putting your phone away and leaving the gym.

Atsumu returned to the court, not even able to hide the childish grin from his teammates anymore. Some widened their eyes and others dropped their jaws as they witnessed the entire scene.

"So when did you start liking her?" Suna asked him.

"I don't like her," Atsumu adamantly responded.

A laugh escaped Osamu's lips and Atsumu told him to shut up. He hated that his twin knew exactly why he was acting like this.

*****

"Well that looks ugly."

Seated at your desk, you looked up from your sketch to see Atsumu's scrunched up nose. It didn't take long for it to disappear. Osamu whacked him on the head for insulting the quietest girl in class two and quite possibly their whole year.

"Sorry about this jerk," Osamu told you. "He doesn't have a filter."

But when he started to drag Atsumu away from you, they heard the rare sound of your voice.

"Miya-san," you said.

They both turned around but after looking at each other, they assumed you were referring to your classmate Atsumu.

"Why does it look ugly?"

"Ha?" Atsumu gawked at you. He scratched the back of his head. "I dunno. The shoulders just looked gross"–he got whacked on the head again–"Hey!" He glared at Osamu.

After they bickered for a bit, they turned their attention back to you, but you were already facing your desk, immersed in your sketch. Osamu raised an eyebrow at Atsumu, expecting him to know what that was all about, but he only shrugged his shoulders, not having a clue either.

The next time Atsumu heard your voice was when you came to see him at his desk.

"Ha? What's this?" he asked.

In front of him, you had placed another sketch. You didn't say a word but looked at him as if you were expecting some sort of comment.

Atsumu raised an eyebrow but looked at the sketch anyway.

"What's wrong with this dude's hand?" he asked as he squinted at the drawing, holding your sketchbook up to his eyes. "It looks like it's dislocated or something."

The classmate beside him shot his eyes open. He then looked up at you to see your reaction.

"Thank you," you told Atsumu with a little nod before returning to your desk. Those were the only words you had for Atsumu and they had left him and his classmate speechless.

Atsumu's eyes lit up the third time you came to his desk.

"Which one looks the worst?" you asked him, showing him three different sketches.

"This one," he said, pointing to the one in the middle. "There's no way a person could have hair like that."

You ignored his comment and asked him again which one looked worse. He still chose the middle one, saying the expression reminded him too much of his brother.

You gave him a nod as thanks and as he watched you return to your desk, there was a small uptick at the corner of his mouth, gazing at you gathering your pencils together and continuing your progress.

Over the next couple of weeks, he watched you from afar as you drew doodles during class when you should've been paying attention. He wondered if he should actually write notes from the lesson in case you needed them. Maybe he'd pass them to you the next time you showed him your artwork.

But you hadn't made a trip to his desk during the next two weeks. Why did you stop coming? So when you left the classroom, he quickly opened the sketchbook that was left on your desk and went through it page by page, curious to see what you'd been drawing this whole time. As he flipped through the pages, he saw how your drawings had gradually improved. He couldn't help but smile at your growth as an artist.

"Miya-san."

He jumped at your voice and snapped the book shut. He fumbled over his words. "I wasn't looking! It just fell and I picked it up from the ground!" he told you. "When I put it back on yer desk it just happened t' be like that!"

He then saw an expression he had never seen on your face. Your brows were furrowed and your lips turned into a frown. You let out a deep breath. "Miya-san, you're free to look through my sketchbook, but please don't lie to me."

His eyes widened before he lowered them to stare at the classroom floor. Shoulders sagging, he told you in a hushed voice, "I'm sorry." He sighed and dragged his feet back towards his desk. But just when he was about to pull out his chair, he heard your soft voice.

"Miya-san," you said, looking directly at him when he turned to you. "Like I said, you can come and look at it whenever you want."

Atsumu pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a stupid grin on his face. But his eyes betrayed his attempt as they crinkled and turned into crescents, elated at your offer.

*****

Over the next several weeks, Atsumu used any excuse he could to chat with you at your desk before he finally settled on talking to you about anything and everything. He tried to get to know you, asking you questions, but your answers were short and simple, not knowing how else to respond.

However, Atsumu shamelessly continued to talk about himself, his brother, the team, and whatever else was on his mind that day. You always nodded and listened with a smile.

"I think she's just being nice to you," commented Osamu.

"She's never stopped me," Atsumu replied with a huff, crossing his arms, which only resulted in Osamu shaking his head.

Without looking up from your sketch, you told him, "I like hearing him talk."

Osamu's eyes grew at your response but when he glanced over at his twin, Atsumu's ears and cheeks had turned red.

"Oh?" the silver haired twin said with a sly grin. "You're blushing 'Tsumu."

"No I'm not!" Atsumu said after clearing his throat and turning his head away. Osamu was about to tease him when instead, you said something that deepened his blush.

"It's cute."

Osamu's jaw dropped. Atsumu froze at your comment before deciding to put his face down on your desk, burying it into his arms.

As you and Atsumu got to know each other, he learned that you were still close with your friends from middle school. They were there for you, always supporting you and your passion for art. But when you asked them what they thought about your drawings, they had always said they looked good. You were grateful for them but you couldn't tell if they were just being nice.

"So is that why you asked me about yer drawings?" Atsumu noted. You confirmed it with a nod and he looked at you with longing eyes and a soft smile.

You caught him off-guard when you took a photo of him. "Your expression was interesting just now," you told him. "I want to use it as reference."

Atsumu blushed and covered the lower half of his face. He muttered something through his hands that you didn't quite catch.

"Hm?" you asked.

"Y-you can use me as reference any time."

You took him up on his offer. You'd often snap pictures of him, casually pulling out your phone when you'd find an interesting expression on his face. You even came to see him at practice when you wanted to practice drawing some hands. He often wondered what you noticed about him when you used him as reference, what expressions you saw in him.

One day after classes had ended and volleyball practice was cancelled, he sat at the other side of your desk as you switched to a different drawing pencil from your set. What did you see when you looked at him? His eyes? His nose? His lips?

His hand rose next to your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. When you looked up at him from your drawing, he pulled his hand back, suddenly realizing what he was doing.

He bit his lip, scolding himself for doing that to you. You called his name and his attention was back on you.

"Why did you stop?" you asked.

Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach, not at all expecting those words. Looking at you through his eyelashes, he saw you directly looking back at him. Were you serious?

Somehow getting the courage to make a move, he drew his hand toward you and gently cupped your cheek. He bent over your desk and brought his lips near yours, stopping midway as if waiting for permission to follow through. You leaned in a little closer and he closed the gap, feeling your soft lips against his.

Pulling back, his eyes studied your face for some sort of reaction. He bit his lip, doubting if that was what you wanted. Perhaps he didn't do a good job or you had changed your mind after the kiss.

What if you were just doing this for reference?

He searched your eyes for an answer, not knowing that you saw the insecurity in his.

"I liked it, Atsumu."

His eyes grew. He was both delighted and flustered, not believing that he got to kiss you, that you'd accept a kiss from someone like him. He hugged you and placed a kiss on your forehead, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.

*****

"Guys! I have a girlfriend!" Atsumu declared, storming into the gym the next day. They all raised their brows when they saw who was holding his hand.

"Are you serious?" asked Aran.

"It's probably fake," Suna commented.

"He must have bribed her or something," Osamu added.

"All of ya just shut up!" Atsumu yelled at them as they all gave him a skeptical look. He sighed and dropped his shoulders as he held your hand.

They snickered and teased him, but when there was a silent pause in the air, they heard your voice for the first time.

"I like him," you told his team. Your voice was quiet but they heard every word. They freaked out, gawking at the two of you, an unlikely pair.

Atsumu turned his face away because his cheeks went red again. Your words, more often than not, caused him to be up in a fluster.

*****

I hope you enjoyed it.

I couldn't help but have Suna say it was fake for all my "A Glimpse of Yellow" readers. lolll.

If you liked this one, you might like one of these:

1) my Tendou one-shot (timid!reader)

2) my Sakusa one-shot (where he gets a crush on exchange student!reader)

3) my Kyoutani one-shot (another unexpected pairing)

And I want to shamelessly throw in my Suna chaptered fic (fake dating) just because it's my current series. lol.

I also have a Google form for my taglist if any of you are interested in it.

#miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #atsumu scenarios #miya atsumu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fanfic #atsumu fanfic #hihqnetwork #animehorizons #angelwalker’s virtues

704 notes · View notes

uramichislefttiddie · 3 years

Text

Blue lock random head cannons (:

||Contains: Meguru Bachira, Yoichi Isagi, Rensuke Kunigami||

||Warnings: fluff if anything||

Meguru Bachira

No matter if you have long or short hair, he will always want to style your hair for you wether that ranges from dying it to just simply tying it up or curling it etc. However most of the time he will want you to style his hair after he’s done yours, he especially loves the feeling of your fingers messing with his hair. If your sat down doing something always expect for Bachira to rest his head in your lap waiting for you to comb through his hair with your fingers and if you still haven’t done so he will start messing with your fingers hoping you get the message.

It was a late Saturday evening around the time dusk was settling into the day, the orange shade breaking through the pristine glass of the window that rested behind you and Bachira. You had been playing (choice of game) for the past few hours as Bachira was eating about the 3rd can of pineapple trying his hardest to not spill any of the juice anywhere as he fine well knew you’d make him clean it up and at that moment he’d like to avoid cleaning at all costs. You had started to slowly become bored, the silence now finally getting to you. As you turned your head to look at Bachira he was still stuffing his face full of pineapple. No matter what he always had that bright smile that had entranced you from the first day you both had set eyes upon one another.

“Bachira that’s the last can, you’ll make yourself sick soon!” He slightly turned his head in your direction, cheeks puffed with a small grin accompanying his face. You turned back to your game making a new goal of at least finishing this one level before doing anything else. After awhile still having not accomplished the goal you soon felt a slight weight on your lap, Bachira was staring up at you waiting for you to realise what he was wanting. You had known for awhile now that combing his hair was the easiest way to get him asleep. However you were very fixated on doing this one level and to your knowledge you had failed to realise Bachira was wanting attention.

Just as soon as you were about to compete the one level you had been struggling on a soft hand had grabbed at yours removing it off the controller and resulting in you dying once more.

“The hell Bachira! What was that for?” You hadn’t meant to shout at him but it was during the moment after all day you were so close to finishing what you had been wanting to finish.

“Ah, sorry y/n I forgot you were playing that, I’m really sorry!” You could tell he was sorry as he was looking at your with saddened eyes.

“Eh, it’s alright just please ask me next time that’s all you need to do.” You gave him a small smile as you laid his head back onto your lap and started to massage his head as he slowly closed his eyes soon falling to a soft slumber.

Yoichi isagi

Isagi is very skilled in art, at the beginning of your relationship he had a small sketch book he would carry about and inside that book unbeknownst to you was little doodling’s of you at different angles and at different locations you two would go together so he could remember these moments. After awhile being in the relationship he asked could he draw you to which you agreed and ever since than he loves drawing you when he has the spare time.

It had been about 5 month’s since you and isagi started dating, you was both sat down in the grass watching the sunset, both of you were occupying yourselves with things that interested you both, art being isagi’s. for awhile now you you felt as if someone kept looking at you, but you didn’t want to suspect that straight away.

“Hey…y/n can i- wait never mind it doesn’t matter.” Spoke a soft voice from next to you, you looked to the direction the voice came from and tilted your head in a confused state.

“What is it Isagi?” You gave him a soft, reassuring smile. He opened his mouth hesitantly and looked anywhere except from you. “Hey you can tell me you know?”

“It’s just I was gonna, well, ask if I could draw you?” You started to giggle slightly and looked at him. “Of course you can Isagi, you don’t need to ask me!” Isagi turned away shyly recounting all the times he’s done a quick sketch of you previously. He quickly smiled at you and turned around to grab ahold of his bigger sketch book and a few different pencils. He soon started to sketch you making sure to take into account all of the details on your face. About 20 minutes later he tucked the rest of the equipment into a small backpack and closed the sketch book, you turned a confused look to him wondering why he isn’t showing you, soon enough Isagi had caught onto your puzzled face. “Oh I’m going to give it to you on your birthday alongside with many more things!” He said with much enthusiasm and a big smile with puppy dog eyes. “But my birthday isn’t for a few more months!” You whined at him. He let out a laugh and shuffled to you and gave you a quick kiss. “Yeah exactly it gives me more time to make it the best for you!”

Rensuke kunigami

So in his trivia section is said the last time he cried was when watching E.T, so whenever you two end up watching movies he always hides the disc for E.T as he doesn’t want you to know he cries at the movie. To him he feels as if he has this certain image he needs to uphold. If you were to ever ask about if he has the disc for E.T he’d straight away make an excuse wether it’s believable or not like one time he made the excuse that “he dropped it in soup and it stained the disc” You had to just play along and believe him obviously.

As you walked back into the living room with hands full, consisting off a bowl of popcorn and two drinks of your choice, kunigami was across the room frantically searching for something within the pile of dvds he had in a glass shelf. “Hey kunigami, you alright over there?” You had questionably asked in his direction whilst placing down the products onto the oak table resting infront of the rather large couch. “Oh uh I was just trying to re arrange the dvds so it’s easier for you to choose one!” He quickly explained whilst scratching the back of his head and giving you a not so reassuring look. You decided to just ignore him and carry on setting up the movie night layout. Kunigami was starting to walk up the stairs making you even more confused with his behaviour. “Hey where you off to, your acting quite odd?” He halted in place and slowly turned around to face you with a surprised look plastered across his face. “Uh just going to the toilet quickly.” He carried on walking upstairs leaving you to pick out a film to watch. As you sauntered over to the shelf’s you started to scan looking for one specific you had been meaning to watch for awhile now, no matter how much you looked you could just not find it despite remembering seeing the dvd many of times.

Footsteps were heard behind you followed by two arms wrapping around your figure. “You found one to watch yet.” You soon started to piece things together and turned to him with a snark on your face. “Yeah where did you put E.T too kunigami? I know you have it so don’t pretend you don’t.” As soon as those words left your mouth his face dropped of colour and eyes went big. “Oh I…yeah I accidentally sat on it the other day and broke it in half, sorry y/n.” You started laughing and playfully pushed him making him look at you confused. “No need to hide the fact you’ve hid it, your sister already told me about the time you cried whilst watching it kunigami!” He stared at you for what seemed like hours but soon enough he let out a laugh and his cheeks accompanying a bright red tint. “Hey I told her to keep that a secret damn it!” He looked at you for a second than went running back upstairs and bringing down the dvd and waving it about in your direction. One second you had seen kunigami walking down the stairs than within a blink of an eye he had fell on the stairs laughing as he did so. “Well…here it is!” You ran over to him making sure he wasn’t hurt but not being able to hold in the laughter that was wanting to escape. “Hey if you cry, I’ll be right there!” You said almost mockingly. He whipped his head to you with an unamused look. “haha very funny but keep this between us! I don’t want no one else to know this.” You gave him one more look before walking over to slot in the disc for E.T to start playing, as you went to go lay down on the couch you turned to look at kunigami who was still situated at the bottom of the stairs where his fall had ended at. “Oh yeah thank you for the help!” He shouted whilst laughing, you soon laughing back.

#blue lock #anime #rensuke kunigami #yoichi isagi #bachira meguru #blue lock x reader #x reader #anime x reader #anime x y/n #anime x you #anime x gender neutral reader #manga x reader #anime / manga

107 notes · View notes

gureishi · 3 years

Text

blue sky, falling star

Here is the first fic I wrote for the @mysme-rbb! It’s pretty different from anything I’ve written before, and I’m really excited to share it. I had such a wonderful time collaborating with AlyValery, who made this beautiful artwork. Check out her post here.

one

Zen falls in love with her first. For him, it is like leaping into cool, clear water.

There is something about her, from the first time he speaks to her (and she is just words on a screen then, voiceless and non-corporeal): something about her reels him in, makes his heart eel fizzy. It is only when she’s in his home, though—sitting so calmly on his couch, hands clasped neatly in her lap—that he realizes just how deep underwater he has fallen.

“Sorry,” he says to her—and for what? For his small, underground apartment, when she deserves a palace? For bringing her here, or for the danger he didn’t know she was in, or for the strange thickness he feels in the space between them?

She shakes her head, and a lock of hair falls into her eyes. She brushes it away with careful fingers and Zen feels that his heart is trying to fight its way out of his chest.

“You’re like my knight in shining armor right now,” she says—and in spite of it all, she speaks with a certainty that makes his head spin. For his whole life, he has been searching for the sort of sureness that seems to radiate off her. He feels dizzy as he sits beside her—leaving space between them, still (because she feels untouchable to him—because she is too wonderful for this world).

“That’s me,” he says, giving her his best attempt at his usual sparkling smile. He wonders if she can sense how nervous she makes him.

“It’s okay,” she says, patting the space beside her. “You can sit next to me, silly.” She knows: he sees it written in the resplendent smile on her face. Zen feels his cheeks flush. It’s never been like this before: he has worked so hard to learn how to smile, and change the timbre of his voice, and angle his head just right so the light bounces off his jaw. He is not used to being caught off guard. Ah, but he finds it impossible to pretend when she’s around: he is rubbed raw, like she has stripped him of his skin, leaving him utterly exposed.

“If you want me to, babe,” he says—but he knows that his voice is stiff and he can feel the way his body tingles as he shifts closer to her.

“Hey,” she says. She peeks up at him from underneath her lashes and there is a determined look in her eyes. A moment passes in which the world outside the window could burn to the ground and Zen wouldn’t see. She takes his hand.

And this is it: this is the moment. Oh god, he thinks. I’m done for.

She’s smiling up at him, tilting her head to the side to draw his attention to their intertwined fingers—as though he needed a reminder.

“Is this okay?” she asks him. He realizes he’s staring at her—is afraid, for a moment, that he looks like a fool, that she’ll toss her head and laugh that heart-stirring laugh and take her hand back. She doesn’t, of course.

He squeezes her hand. Finds he can breathe underwater.

Zen always knows what to say. But here, on his too-small couch, in his too-small apartment, he doesn’t have the words—doesn’t know how to tell her that his heart, and his head, and his whole life belong to her; ah, but the sparkle in her eyes tells him that she already knows.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course it is.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

two

Yoosung can’t sleep. It’s something about the way the stars are shining outside his window: too close, like he could stick out his hand and pull them from the sky. He’s never wanted to believe the adage that lost loved ones look down on us from the stars—it’s too sad, he thinks, to leave behind your friends on earth and exist forever in the night sky, all alone. He doesn’t want to end up stationed in the sky for living people to gaze at as they philosophize about life; he wants to be right here, where it’s warm and he’s real and he can hold the people he loves in his arms.

The people he loves.

Normally, he’d give up on sleep—throw a blanket over his shoulders and open his game, where there would be friends waiting for him: strangers who know him just well enough to ask how he’s doing but not well enough to really listen to the answer. He used to think this sort of relationship was safe—natural—ideal.

But he doesn’t think that way anymore.

He calls her, instead.

She answers right away, and she can’t have been sleeping, because her voice sounds too clear.

“You’re still awake?” he laughs, and she giggles. He wishes she were beside him, head on his shoulder as he looks out through the smudged glass window.

“So are you,” she says.

Yoosung tells her about the stars. He tells her that the stars he sees are really in the past—that they’re long gone—that the past and present live together in the sky. A voice in the back of his mind tells him that he’s being dramatic again—that he’s wasting her time, her precious sleep, with these thoughts.

But she doesn’t think so.

“I’m looking out my window now too,” she tells him. “I wonder if the stars will carry my message to you.”

Yoosung finds that he’s smiling. He tucks his knees up to his chest, wiggles closer to the window—puts a palm on the glass, thinks again that perhaps he could catch a star in his hand if he just reached far enough.

“What’s your message for me?” he asks. His heart races.

“I’m going to tell the stars,” she says. She whispers something, and he hears her exhale, like she’s blowing on a dandelion—scattering her words into the night sky.

“Not fair!” he says. “I wanted to hear the message, too!”

“You will,” she tells him. “Just wait.”

So he waits, hand on the glass, listening to the sound of her breathing through the phone. He counts her breaths: one, two, three… He wonders how it would feel to fall asleep to this beautiful sound; he hopes, with all his heart, that one day he will find out.

One of the stars seems to glimmer brighter, catching his eye. It’s getting bigger, he thinks—moving closer to him. And perhaps it’s his imagination (too active, he’s been told) or just a projection made by his desperate heart, but he feels a warmth wash over him—like stepping outside and lifting his face to the sky on a bright summer day.

“Did you get it?” she whispers. His heart feels shimmery, like she’s taken it in both her hands and sworn to keep it safe.

“Yes,” he whispers back. “I feel it.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

three

Jaehee is never afraid—but today, she is terrified.

The key digs into her palm and she clutches it—too tight—in her sweaty, shaky hand. She can’t remember the last time she felt this way—like her stomach is tied in a knot. As a child, perhaps, squeezing her pencil, waiting for a test to start—never as an adult; never like this.

Oh, and she is every bit as beautiful as Jaehee had imagined. When she was just a voice over the phone, Jaehee felt so much safer to say what she felt (even if what she said was such a tiny bit of what she really meant). But now she has a body, and a face, and these perfect, confident eyes, and Jaehee is certain she is going to lose her nerve.

Do it, she tells herself. Do it now.

“Will you be my partner?” she asks—and her voice sounds so much quieter than it did in her imagination. And in spite of everything that’s been said, Jaehee half-expects her to shake her head, declining the offer with a perfect, polite smile. Why would she uproot her whole life, after all, for a woman she’s known for just a few days?

Jaehee hardly dares even think beyond this: about the question she’s really asking; about the answer she really wants.

“Yes,” she says. Ah, and she says it with such conviction: like she’s simply been waiting to be asked. Jaehee feels like a thousand tiny little fires have ignited inside her chest. She holds out the key with a trembling hand. This is it, she thinks: the moment to tell the truth. And by my partner, of course, I mean…

She opens her mouth but the words are stuck in her throat. She hates herself for it: she is strong, she thinks. She can go to work with clear eyes after a sleepless night; she can defend herself with her bare hands. But this—the you are my everything, the I want you, the please be mine—it is impossible.

The key is gone—she has slipped it from Jaehee’s hand with remarkable deftness—and she is moving closer, closer, and Jaehee is frozen in place as soft arms encircle her. She smells like the first buds of spring.

“I mean—” Jaehee tries to say, feeling that the world has turned sideways.

“I know,” she whispers. And there is an intimacy in her tone of voice that Jaehee has never heard before: the ballroom around them dissolves, and they could be in bed together, or on a plane carrying them thousands of miles away, or in a void consisting of nothing but their voices and breaths and bodies and hearts. “I know what you mean.”

“Do you?”

She doesn’t say anything, but she shifts in Jaehee’s arms, and Jaehee realizes what she’s going to do right before she does it. She tilts her head and—and—with almost unbearable tenderness, brushes her lips against the corner of Jaehee’s jaw.

The sideways world rights itself. The air hums. The stars fall from the heavens.

“Friends don’t kiss each other like that,” she whispers, and her breath on Jaehee’s ear sends sparks shooting down her spine. “Right?”

Jaehee gathers her breath, the fragmented shards of her courage.

“No,” she murmurs. “They don’t.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

four

It is a cool April day, and the trees seem to sing a song of impending summer.

She gets home late that night. Her mother, who is seated beside her in the car, is telling her a story she can’t quite follow—some friend of the family got some score on some test, and apparently this means that her mother is now disappointed in her. She sighs heavily; her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she leaves it alone, reluctant to get in more trouble than she seems to be in already.

The car pulls into the driveway.

“You need to make sure you get some sleep tonight, okay?” her mother says—and her voice sounds far away, like it’s coming from underwater.

“I still have a lot of studying to do,” she says, feeling stubborn. And it’s true that she has studying to do, but it is true, too, that it is almost midnight—the right time to start over again tonight, if she wants to.

And she does: oh, to slip back into that world where she is beloved and everyone’s salvation is at her fingertips.

Her mother looks back, halfway to the door; she’s still sitting in the passenger seat, shoulders hunched, one hand unconsciously cupping the phone inside her pocket.

“Are you coming inside?” her mother asks. She opens the passenger side door; the night air is biting on her bare arms.

“Yeah,” she tells her. “Yeah, just a minute.”

And her mother is walking ahead; tugging open the front door (too forcefully), keys jangling in her hand (too loud). She pauses in the garden; tilts her face up to see the sky.

Her muscles feel stiff and sore from nights of poring over books, eyes aching as she tries to make out the letters that swim around on the page. She feels like she’s been running a marathon barefoot, gasping as she struggles to keep up.

In another universe, though, she is already at the finish line. In another universe, she has the power to mend broken hearts, soothe fears, save lives.

Are you out there? she asks the empty night sky.

A star falls.

Oh: and it feels like an answer. She pulls her phone out of her pocket: midnight exactly. Phone in one hand, she lays her other hand over her heart.

She makes a wish.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

five

It is when the car door shuts behind her that Jumin realizes he is no longer afraid.

For ages, he has been on the very edge of the abyss of solitude. It would have been so easy, he thinks, to bury himself in that gaping emptiness where no one could reach him—to fall deeper and deeper until he was untouchable.

But she wrapped a rope around his waist and said if you’re going, I’m going too. He knows that she felt it: the peril of standing on the edge; the understanding that one wrong move would have catapulted them both over the cliff—hidden them away together where no one could find them. She knew; she could have run away at any time.

She didn’t.

And now he is alone in the garage, and the car that’s carrying her away from him is fading into the distance, and—for perhaps the very first time in his life—he has no doubt that she will come back.

He’s always believed that leaving means never returning—that once someone is gone, they are gone forever. But she has driven away, and he finds that he doesn’t feel scared.

He calls her, of course—almost without thinking, fingers pressing the buttons before he’s realizing what he’s doing. She laughs as she answers.

“Did you miss me already?” she asks. Her voice is weightless; he realizes that it’s been days since he’s heard her voice without actually standing beside her. She feels so much less tangible now that she is just a voice over a phone again—and still, he does not feel afraid.

“I did,” he tells her. “I miss you so much.”

Honesty: so bright it almost burns him.

He tells her that he wants to grow into a more mature man for her, and she listens—and it is this, perhaps, that he loves the most. She doesn’t offer him platitudes, as the people around him have done his whole life: she doesn’t say oh, but you’re fine the way you are; she doesn’t dismiss him or diminish him or paint him a false picture of the way his world should be.

She listens.

She tells him that she’s glad to have met him and he knows that she means it.

Her voice, Jumin thinks, is like crisp autumn air; he wonders if he’s ever been truly honest with anyone before.

“There’s something I want to say to you right now,” he says. He finds that he needs to know how the words will taste in his mouth—needs to know if he’s capable of saying them at all.

“What is it?” she asks, and he smiles because he can tell she already knows.

He’s not standing on a cliff anymore, staring down into the abyss. Before he realized what she was doing, she led him away—guided him to this new place, where he is warm and his feet are on solid ground.

“I love you,” he tells her. It tastes like sweet chocolate on his tongue; it is the truest thing he’s ever said.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

six

It is far too late to turn back by the time Saeyoung looks at her sleeping face and realizes the magnitude of what he has done.

He is driving on an empty road that seems to stretch ahead infinitely. It is the space between him and his other half—and the distance separating them is measurable for the first time in so many years. She has fallen asleep in the passenger seat, his jacket spread over her lap, her face perfectly serene. Her lips form a tiny, placid smile—as though she’s content to be walking into fire with him. As though she doesn’t have any doubts.

I am a monster, he thinks (not for the first time). What sort of despicable person lets a someone like her get entangled in their nightmare? She shines so bright that his heart aches.

She wakes (of course she does), and he drags his eyes from her face back to the road, pretending not to see. He wonders if there is still time to deposit her somewhere safe, to leave his heart in her care as he goes on alone.

If anything were to happen to her, that would be the end of him. He’s sure of it.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, keeping his voice light. But she knows better, of course—sees through him the way she always has. She frowns and leans over to brush his arm with her fingers; his whole body shivers at her touch and he is ashamed, knowing she can tell.

“What’s wrong?” she asks him. He gives her his most convincing smile, but he knows it’s lopsided on his face. What has happened to him? She has shattered all his defenses; she has plunged headfirst into the dark pit of his fears.

“Nothing,” he says; and she makes that clicking noise with her tongue that always disarms him, almost like she’s saying shhhh, now tell the truth. “I shouldn’t have brought you,” he says (hating the way his voice sounds, like he might just burst into tears).

She sighs.

“Do I have to tell you again all the reasons why you’re wrong?” Her sternness makes him smile—he can’t help it. He glances at her and her eyes are hard, glittering like the afternoon sun on the windshield.

“Please do,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse. She shifts, sitting cross-legged, tucking her arms into the sleeves of his jacket. She’s so cute like this he’s afraid his heart will burst.

“I’m going to help you,” she tells him firmly. “You may be the smartest person in the whole world, but you’re no good at staying calm.”

She’s right, of course—he never has been.

“You’ll do your best work with me beside you,” she says. “You get us in and I’ll keep us safe. If you want to save him, you need me there, too.”

Saeyoung’s hands—normally so steady, because he’s trained them to be that way—shake as he grips the steering wheel.

“I’ve never really cared about staying safe,” he tells her. She huffs, frustrated, refusing to let him wallow. And then she reaches for him, brushing his hair off his forehead; though her fingers are cool, he feels that she’s set his whole body on fire.

“Too bad,” she says. “I care about keeping you safe, Seven.”

Oh, and that name feels hateful to him when she says it: he can hardly stand the thought of her believing, even for a moment, any of the hundreds of thousands of lies he’s told. He wants her to see him for who he really is.

“Thank you,” he murmurs; she smiles, a hand on his knee, and he feels that she is the brightest star in all the galaxies.

It’s time, he thinks.

When they make it out alive (and in that moment, he decides that they will)—whether it is today, or tomorrow, or the next day—he is going to tell her his real name. Because Seven is a conglomerate of pretense and brightly-colored lies; because Saeyoung is a version of himself that he’s hardly dared to dream about: a person who’s loving, and honest, and good.

He can become that person, he thinks, for her. He wants to.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

seven

It is May. She counts on her fingers the number of exams she has left, feeling the shivering promise of time passing on her very skin. She can see to the end of the long, dark tunnel now: the delightful hollowness of summer afternoons, the wonder of falling asleep at night without a thousand anxieties dancing around on her pillow. She sees, too, the plane she will board in the fall—the one that will carry her far away from here.

She sits at her desk, notecards stacked perilously high around her. Her phone buzzes; she checks it. Her head pounds.

“You aren’t playing that game, are you?”

Her mother’s voice from the doorway is harsh and she jumps, upsetting a pile of papers covered in nearly incomprehensible scrawl. She feels tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she snaps, throwing her phone onto her unmade bed.

“Just checking,” her mother says stiffly. She buries her head in her arms.

I wish they could see me now, she thinks wildly. Her room is a mess; there are dark circles under her eyes; she hasn’t brushed her hair. This house is a pressure cooker: the looming stacks of notes, and her mother’s stern voice, and the calendar of exams taped above her desk. She can’t see straight anymore.

It is a sense of control, she thinks, that she needs. Here, she has none at all: every moment of her day is monitored, every ounce of her energy expended to prepare for these tests that feel meaningless—that will earn her numbers on a page and a ticket out of her hometown.

But in the other universe, she is strong, and she is confident. Perhaps most important of all: she is cherished.

And they are cherished, she thinks; she wishes she could tell them as much.

Do you know? she thinks at them—hard as she can, heart racing, knowing it is foolish (wanting to believe, anyway). Do you know how much you mean to me?

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

eight

When Jihyun wakes in the small, sterile room, the moon has risen, and the first thing he thinks of is her face.

In his mind’s eye, he pictures her as he saw her last: slipping from the room with a determined smile, waving as if to reassure him that he’d see her soon. Groggily, he tries to think: this was hours ago, of course, and it must be evening now. His body feels heavy; he tries to open his eyes, and finds that he can’t.

He lifts a hand to his face, feeling like he’s moving through thick liquid. Ah: there is a bandage over his eyes. He can feel it now: stiff and scratchy against his closed eyelids.

From somewhere in the room (which he can no longer picture clearly), he hears a quiet voice.

“V? Are you awake?

It’s her—and he is somewhat surprised by the way his heart races. He didn’t expect her to wait with him this whole time—he didn’t realize that she was nearby.

“I’m awake,” he says—and his voice sounds strange to him, like it’s coming from someone else. He hears a rustling—someone is moving closer to the bed. Oh, and he catches a whiff of her scent; he’s never been able to quite place it, but it is absolutely intoxicating: like a garden he walked through once, long ago—or perhaps a flower that only grows in another world.

“I’m going to call the nurse,” she says. She is so close that he can feel her breath on his face. He reaches out—catches her hand.

“Wait just a moment?” he asks. He wonders if she can hear his heart.

How strange, he thinks. He is barely awake, and yet his heart is racing as though he’s just run a hundred miles.

“They said it went really well,” she says. He doesn’t miss the anxiety in her voice; he wonders how many hours she’s been here, watching him sleep.

“You didn’t have to wait with me,” he says.

“Of course I did.”

Jihyun realizes that he is still holding her hand. His head feels so foggy from the medicine that made him sleep, but his body is waking up now, and he’s painfully conscious of how small her hand is in his—tiny and almost unbearably tender. He wishes he could kiss every one of her sweet fingertips; he wishes he could see her face.

“Thank you,” he says. He means thank you for staying here with me—here in this room that smells strongly of disinfectant—but he means so much more than that, too. She sighs in the way he’s often heard her sigh: like she wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. He wouldn’t mind if she did.

“How do you feel?” she asks instead. She’s being careful, tiptoeing around him; he’s not sure how to tell her that she doesn’t need to.

“A little tired,” he admits. “But otherwise I feel well.” He hesitates. “Better than usual, actually.”

She laughs quietly; he feels he might do anything—anything in the world—just to hear that laugh again.

“You’re so strong,” she tells him, squeezing his hand. She is the one who is strong, he thinks.

There’s a noise in the distance: a gentle knock on the door. The doctor is coming back, he supposes; suddenly, he feels not at all strong. He holds her hand tighter—finds that he doesn’t want her to go.

“Will you wait for me?” he asks, despising the way his voice sounds. He does not sound like a man who is worthy of her attention—he knows he is not a man who deserves to be waited for.

But she holds his hand to her cheek, and her skin is so warm. Jihyun wonders if she understands what he is really asking: not stay with me now but wait until I become someone who can love you the way you deserve.

“Of course I’ll wait for you,” she says. She speaks slowly: each word seems to hold enormous weight.

She knows, he thinks, exactly what he means.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

nine

Hand-in-hand, they look up at the sky.

Saeran sees the endless expanse of freedom extending in all directions around him, and feels that she is the very center of it all.

“Are you nervous?” she asks. He laughs; just moments before, he had felt that way—when he was typing (fingers aching as they fell into their habitual pattern of worrying over the keys—eyes burning and throat itching as he tried to breathe the cabin’s stale air). But now that he is outside—and she is standing beside him—he feels that he has the power to do anything: to run till his feet give out; to see his brother again; to build a life for himself.

“Not anymore,” he says. She moves closer, her arm brushing against his, and he turns to press his lips to her hairline. She squirms at his side, making a delightful sort of purring sound; Saeran feels that he could hold onto her from now until forever and it wouldn’t be enough.

He breathes in the mountain air: it smells like pine and grass and wind. He’s never felt like this before—like he is as strong as the earth itself.

“I’m happy,” she tells him. He feels her eyes on him and turns; oh, and she’s more beautiful than the sky, he thinks, brighter and more expansive than any fantasy his fevered mind could have dreamed up.

“What are you happy about?” he asks. She takes his other hand; he wonders if she knows that he wants to scoop up the whole world in his arms and lay it at her feet.

“I’m happy you’re here with me,” she tells him. “I’m happy that you’re free. I’m happy that you’re smiling the way you are right now.”

He is smiling, he realizes; he feels almost as if he could levitate off the ground. As if he could become the wind. As if he could cross into another universe to hold onto her heart.

“I love you,” he tells her, because it’s all he can think about. She catapults herself into his arms and he laughs, holding her close.

“I love you so much,” she says. “I just want…”

He knows. He brushes through her hair with his fingers, thrilled by the way she sighs as she snuggles closer. This is it, he thinks: the feeling of freefall that he has been seeking (and running from) all his life. The rhythm of her breathing against his chest ties him to the earth; he feels an absolute certainty in the sublime power of the universe.

Over her head, he looks at the sky. The clouds whisper to him: she’s here, they seem to say. She is. She is.

Her body feels so solid in his arms, so real; and her love for him shimmers in the air all around him.

“Thank you,” Saeran whispers into her soft, sweet skin, “for being under the same sky.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

ten

Summer comes.

She finishes her tests—bids goodbye to her friends and family—is startled by how much she cries.

She boards the plane with her ticket crushed in her sweaty hand. She sits by the window, palm against the glass, staring hard into the clouds.

In the distance, she can see the city she’s leaving behind: the buildings blur into the mist, and she is crying again. For years, she’s waited to run away from this place—now, it feels so strange to be leaving it behind. She pictures her room in her old house: the books stacked in neat piles now, the clothes laundered and folded into her suitcase, the bed made. She wishes she could pull out her phone and open the door to the other world—the one that’s offered her greater clarity than anything she’s ever felt in her own.

But she can’t, of course—not here. And at the end of this long plane ride will be another airport—and a car ride—and then the university she worked so hard to get into: the promise of a future that’s shimmering and full.

She holds her phone—powered off—in both hands. Here in the sky, she feels she could be in any world at all: her past, or her future, or their world, which still shines in her heart (perhaps brightest of all).

I’m okay, she thinks—and she knows that she is. She has confidence in the future she’s building for herself—in the person she’s becoming—in her own little corner of the universe.

She hopes that they know this. Their world feels both far away and wonderfully, impossibly close: inside her and all around her. She hopes that they are okay, too; that they are eating; that they are taking care.

Oh, she thinks—realizes, in a moment of sky blue clarity. I’m not going back.

She is moving on—as she always knew she would. And they knew too, of course. They must have.

But…

I love you, she thinks—thinks it hard, phone in her hands, face pressed against the window, eyes reflecting the faces she thinks she sees in the clouds. I love you all.

From her universe to theirs—connected only by lines of code and fervent feelings and a wish made on a falling star—she hopes (wishes, prays) that her message reaches them.

The clouds shift: love, love, love, they seem to say. The plane carries her higher. The sky stretches around her in all directions: infinite. Expanding.

They feel her.

She knows it.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

@currentlyprocrastinating @thesirenwashere @ultrasupernini @cro0kedme @otomefoxystar @dawn-skies06 @nad-zeta @hunterelys @pamakali @strwbryflvr @bootiful-face @mammonprotectionsquad @firelordtsuki @rebeckathefloof @stehkotori @what-imfabulous-acceptit @saphyhowl @ryuu-no-aneki @pinkdiamondsrose @wayward-bumblebee @otomaticallyobsessed @delfffi-lc

#mystic messenger #mysmerbb #mysme-rbb #zen #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #jumin han #saeyoung choi #jihyun kim #saeran choi #alyvalery

110 notes · View notes

absynthe--minded · 3 years

Note

Could I beg something about your “Aragorn’s Upsetting Haircut” headcanon? No pressure of course!!

(this is going to be presented in more than one installment, but I couldn’t resist sharing! a few things: this fic is consistent with the rest of my personal canon, and it draws upon the headcanon that Aragorn and Arwen married by elvish standards upon Cerin Amroth but still consider themselves betrothed by Mannish standards.)

When Arwen came down into the Valley again, the Sun was low in the sky, hovering just above the tops of the Chithaeglir and casting long shadows across the trees and the river below. She could tell, immediately, when she crossed their borders, passing through the wards easily. There was Song here, bound into the rock and the roots of the mountains, curling about her and pulling the weariness from her body. Celeg seemed easier too, slowing from a trot to a walk; she knew he could feel the change just as surely as she did. Come home, the Song whispered, threads of melody pulling her along the path toward the gleaming lights of her home. Come home, and be healed of your pains.

It would be easy - too easy - to slip the bounds of her body and bone, to cast herself upon the shadows and ride the winds down to her own bedroom window. The thought was tempting, and even more tempting when she considered the ache in her hip that hadn’t ceased since the skirmishes three weeks past had left her with a deep and ugly wound.

Her lord father had sent her out in search of four hobbits and - perhaps - her betrothed, her secret husband, all wandering in the wilds while ulaer pursued them. She was not alone, though she had departed first, weeks before the others. It was foresight that had driven her father to speak with her, and foresight that pushed her to saddle Celeg and leave Imladris under cover of darkness. Glorfindel had been the next to leave, far later, keeping close to the Road, traveling westward and anticipating that the servants of Sauron would not have left it far behind. Last were her brothers, abandoning their errantry, making for what Men called the Angle where Mitheithel and Bruinen met and merged. It had been her lot to travel north, and north she had gone, albeit in a disjointed, somewhat defiant fashion, moving from the Ettenmoors to the North Downs and then at last down to Sarn Ford and the Dúnedain she knew would be there.

Her guess had been that her betrothed, if he was with the hobbits, had met them at that border of the Shire, and had accompanied them up the Greenway to Bree before striking out into the wilderness. None of her travels had given any sign of him, and so it was in frustration and defeat that she had come to the encampment, seeking some tidings that might guide her, and found it in disarray.

Aragorn had been there - days past, departing after a disastrous attack by the ulaer that had left three men dead and four wounded, with Halbarad trying valiantly to maintain order and hold the border. He had left in a great haste, as if fleeing from their enemies, saying only that he was making for Bree. He was followed shortly after by Mithrandir, who had come and gone from the Shire like a grey cloud blown back and forth by a storm. It had been her aim to seek them out, and offer her strength in song and sword against the darkness.

Fate had not been so kind.

Sarn Ford had been attacked a second time while she was there, the enemies assailing it now flesh and blood. There were still evil Men who dwelt in the North and recalled the name of Angmar, and their blades were as formidable now as they had been in centuries past. Her voice had been needed, the night and the river turning upon the would-be intruders and her ancestress’s blood sparking in her veins to claim the borders, but she was no true soldier for all her skill with a blade, and her body was ruled by the limits of the Incarnates. The fighting had reached her, while she stood thigh-deep in rushing water and twined her words through its echoes of long-ago music, and someone now-dead had plunged a dagger into her hip. The wound would have been fatal if not for Halbarad, who had pulled her back from the thick of the battle and seared it closed with the flat of a pan from the smoldering cooking-fire before she could bleed out. She had not ceased her singing, and her assailant found himself dragged beneath the surface of the Baranduin and drowned.

Two days were all she could spare, one to recover what strength she might and another to force her legs to obey her will. Halbarad had begged her to stay - what wrath their Chieftain might bring down upon them, he’d said, if his Lady died in the wilds when they might have saved her! But she was Lúthien’s heir, and would not be kept from his side, and no words would hold her in obligation. Celeg, for his part, was uninjured, having been kept from the fighting by his own good sense, and he gladly bore her northward a second time.

That had been twenty-one days ago, and each day had been fruitless and empty. She searched through the North Downs again, and the Weather Hills, and the Coldfells, growing more and more desperate with each setting Sun. She could feel the ulaer on the move, dreaming of their horses’ hooves thundering over the hard-packed ground of the Road even as she slept, and she could not ignore the fear rising in her like a spike that sought to pierce her heart. Her betrothed was a valiant man, and canny, and careful, but there were terrors that sought him out unlike any he had faced before, and the hobbits were almost certainly inexperienced travelers.

At last, she had been forced to admit defeat. The year was truly turning cold, and her food had been exhausted, and it had been nigh on two mortal months since her departure. She had hoped that whatever tenuous thread bound her to Aragorn would have led her to him, but the world was dark now, shielded by evil mists that clouded her thought and her heart, and the closed wound on her hip had begun to fester beneath its scar. So it was to home she had turned, leaving the fells behind her, coming back down into Imladris from the north. She had not slept in three days, blind almost to all beyond her body.

A fine daughter I am, she thought as Celeg made his way down the ridge, careful and steady. A fine wife, for that matter. But daughters of Lúthien did not pout, and they certainly did not cry from exhaustion.

The Valley was unusually quiet this afternoon. As always, the Bruinen sang, and the birds welcomed her, but her own folk were strangely absent on the pathways and in the trees. The wards still stood, so she knew there had not been some calamity, and there was no whisper of a siege on the air - it felt almost as if Tarnin Austa had arrived a second time in the same year, and all who dwelt within their borders had come into the house proper to celebrate.

Or to mourn, she thought, and made a face and refused to dwell on that fear.

The stables were just as quiet as the rest of Imladris, and she was able to dismount and lead Celeg back to his stall in peace. The great black gelding had borne her without complaint through the long weeks, and yet she could see in his ears and the swish of his tail that he was glad to be home.

“I know,” she murmured, opening the door and stepping inside, watching him look at her expectantly. “You’ll get a full grooming, I promise.” And then it’s a long bath for me, and a visit to my father regarding my hip.

“Allow me, my lady,” a second voice said, cutting through the silence. She flinched, shrinking back against her horse for half a heartbeat - it had been days on end since she’d heard another’s voice, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how detached from herself she had become. But she knew that voice, and shock and surprise were quick to take the place of fear.

“Glorfindel?” she asked, peering over the door to see her father’s captain leaning against a post. He was standing in another stall directly across from her, alongside Asfaloth, who was contentedly making short work of some hay. “You - !” Dismay stopped her, silencing her joy. There was only one reason he would have returned after so short a time away - he, too, had failed.

“I?” the ellon asked, raising an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“You didn’t find them,” she said. “You’ve the same tale to tell as I.”

His face grew serious and yet lost none of its joy, and he opened the door to Asfaloth’s stall and stepped out of it, closing the latch behind him.

“No, my lady,” he told her, eyes shining as he spoke. “I’ve a different tale.”

“What?” she asked, motionless, unable to look away from him. She could see now that he was dressed for merrymaking and revelry, clad in bright scarlet and deep blue, his tunic gleaming with passing thread and his hair braided through with well-placed gems. “But - I found nothing, and surely I would have known if - !” If he were slain, if he lay dead, if the ulaer claimed him for their number…

“My lady,” Glorfindel said, one hand reaching out and taking her gloved one carefully. “I found him in the hills, and I have brought him home.”

Tears filled her eyes, and she sat down hard, sinking to the floor of the stable as her hip protested and relief flooded every inch of her body.

#absynthe's fanfiction #lord of the rings #tolkien #aragorn #arwen #nikosheba

94 notes · View notes

blancamz · 3 years

Text

“It’s Over Isn’t It” Reanimation progress

Honestly one of my favourite parts about animating is posting the WIPs online. Here’s the step-by-step of how I went about doing my reanimation for the end section of “It’s Over Isn’t It” from the Steven Universe episode Mr. Greg.

1) Idea and Prep

I was flicking through Steven Universe: Art & Origins. I think at the time I must’ve been between jobs or bored or something, because it came into my head to do a bit of animation based on the pilot style SU. I’ve always been quite fond of the pilot style, especially Pearl’s David Bowie / LaRoux look. The little tux design by Hellen Jo was quite snazzy as well, so I decided to have a go at doing a segment of “It’s Over Isn’t It”, using these designs.

I traced the turnaround from the book in Clip Studio Paint and approximated Jo’s design to it. At first I had the colour turnaround, but did the low-colour turnaround with the heads to give me a better idea of where the lines are and proportions of the body. I also get a clip of “It’s Over Isn’t It” and trim it down to the section I want to do.

This is a long one so strap in.

2) Sketch Pass

I’ll be using gifs that show the first 100-130 frames of the animation, because the full segment is 22 seconds long.

Very very loose animation of what I’m going to be doing with this segment, done in Adobe Animate. I have a video of the real segment in the corner of the stage and audio in the timeline, and closely reference them for layout and acting.

I’ve decided I want to go really nuts with the animation. Lots of angles on her face, smooth movement, secondary animation / follow-through on her various clothing elements. Technically her earring’s supposed to be on the other side but I want to animate that flailing around dangit, so I change it so it faces the camera.

3) Rough Pass

I tidy up the rough I did somewhat. It’s still very rough, but Pearl is better proportioned and the motion is more complete. I get a better idea of how she moves by focusing on drawing keys (the most important drawings) and breakdowns (drawings that help you figure out the motion a little bit, without full animation). I have Pearl, her suit, ruffles and earring on separate layers so I can turn things on and off or lower their opacity as needed.

4) Tiedowns

At some point between the rough and tie-down phase I realized that I’d been animating at 30fps instead of 25fps like I’d meant to, so I had to end up shifting all the roughs I’d been doing. Bad news: having to wrestle with getting the timings I’d so carefully planned out in the rough to still look good. Good news: I have to animate and clean up 5 fewer frames per second, so that’s 110 fewer drawings to worry about. Yussssss. For reference, the above clip has now gone from 132 frames to 107.

During the tiedown phase, I go over the roughs and more carefully try to match the proportions in the turnaround. I keep a flattened version of the first frame of animation to use as reference thoughout to prevent morphing. Sometimes when you’re animating, things will get bigger or small as you re-draw them, so it’s good to have a base drawing to refer back to and make the sizes stay consistent.

At this point I’m way more aware of reasons behind the big design change for Pearl between the pilot and the show. She’s so dang skinny and tall with that extra poof of hair up top that she’s really annoying to frame up. If you want to keep all of her in the frame, there’s going to be tons of empty space.

I also find that my turnaround isn’t enough reference for Pearl’s awkwardly-shaped head. I snap me a bunch of screenshots of pearl’s head from different angles and collate them into a big sheet.

5) Inbetweening

Inbetweening, aka filling out all the gaps in the timeline between the keys and breakdowns. If you’ve done your keys and BD’s well, inbetweening can be a pretty straight-forward.

But I’ve got like a million bits of secondary animation to content with, which means this still takes a significant amount of time. The hair and ruffles have to move a little later than the rest of the body, and some parts of the ruffles have to move at a different rate from the rest. I’m trying to animate like there’s wind since Pearl’s on top of a tall building. I keep animating until it feels good enough.

This is what my timeline and stage look like in Animate by this point. The animation is mostly on 2s, with some 1s, 3s and 4s thrown in when needed.

6) Cleanup and Colour

I did the cleanup in Toon Boom Harmony. As a program, I like it was more than Animate, even though it isn’t without it’s flaws. But it’s also really dang expensive. Fortunately, by this point I’d been working on the upcoming Deadendia series for Netflix. What with the pandemic, we were working from home and the studio gave me a license for Toon Boom. So I exported my frames from Animate, put ‘em in TB and started cleaning up.

I’ve found that cleanup is something that’s often offloaded to new or less experienced artists at studios because blah it’s just tracing the rough animation. But you’ve got good cleanup and bad cleanup, and a good cleanup artist will compensate for flaws in volume and have a good, clear and natural line.

I’m not terribly fond of doing cleanup myself. I feel I tend to end up rushing, which leads to sloppy work. I tried really hard to keep up a standard here.

7) Comping

a.k.a. Compositing, the final layering of the various elements before exporting a film. Another stage I don’t quite care for because of its nuances. Also drawing backgrounds.

I admit that I’m not very good at drawing backgrounds or environments. I tried to do the one for the second shot of this animation, since it was acutally really important. In shots 1 and 3, you don’t really see the ground or even the railing that Pearl is leaning on, but 2 is a wide shot. My first attempts at it were unfortunate. Fortunately my husband @joe-sparrow is both good at backgrounds and good at imitating the style and colour palette of the show. He volunteered to do the BGs and I accepted. See mine vs. his:

So yeah, get me some nice backgrounds, put the animation on top, then fiddle with a couple of elements in the comp to give things a little bit more depth. During this stage, errors that had happened during the animation progress that I hoped would just go away became annoyingly obvious, so there was a fair bit of going back to fix them.

So that’s how I done made this animation. I started April 2018 and posted in on January 1st 2021, so that’s over 1.5 years it took me to do these 22 seconds of animation. However, I wasn’t working on it continuously through that time. Sometimes I’d be working on it every day, other times I’d not touch it for weeks or months at a time. It really depended on how busy or whatever I was at the time. I think if I’d been working on it non-stop, it still would’ve taken me at least like 2-3 months to finish it.

If you made it to the end of this post, I hope you found all this information interesting.

Happy drawing.

It’s over, isn’t it.

#animation #wip #art #Flash #toon boom #fanart #steven universe #pearl

156 notes · View notes

warlockfemale · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday @jovialjuggernaut-draws I am so sorry that this is so late!

Bruce’s colors have always been muted.

He knows because he was told by a doctor after one of many tests. His parents had both smiled widely and told him just what an exciting thing it was. How he had a soulmate out there someplace and waxed poetry about just the sort of things Bruce would notice once he’d found them. He is one of the 30% of the world with someone made just for him that would be found out once his skin touched theirs.

What they hadn’t told him was how only 6% of the world consisted of people with soulmates that had one one another. What would have devastated Bruce once became a relief because he wasn’t destroying another’s life by making them step into the darkness with him. He was happy to date around and allow whoever had been burdened with him to go on with their own life.

And now he was staring in shock into eyes greener than anything Bruce had ever seen before in his life.

“Shit.”

“Shit!” Edward Nygma agreed. He stepped back, cleared his throat, and swiveled around. “Girls! I’ve changed my mind!” Bruce’s mind had frozen into a blue screen so all he could do was stare at the green clad (god is this how so many people usually saw the world?) trio stride out. As if Edward had an important dinner date he was almost late to while Bruce’s entire worldview was trying to stop tilting. He was sure the entire gala was staring at him or Edward at that point, wondering just what Gotham’s most popular billionaire had done to put the robbery to an end so fast.

“Bruce? You doing ok?” Hands started patting him all over. “Bruce? You’re looking really pale here.”

Shit.

* * * *

Bruce wasn’t brooding. He was analyzing the situation from all angles after debriefing it in the batcave to all persons that might get affected. Dick still refused to answer his phone so Bruce asked Wally to tell his son to check the text. Jason apparently thought there was nothing to worry about (and started laughing) and Alfred seemed less concerned about Bruce’s soulmate being a criminal and more worried about how Bruce was reacting.

Bruce wasn’t brooding and to prove it he went to answer the door soon as the bell rang.

“Delivery for a Mr. Wayne!” Nina Damfino grunted as she shoved a heavy green wrapped box into Bruce’s arms. Unlikely to be an explosive since she’d delivered it and Bruce doubted he could get away with chucking the thing away onto the lawn. So he regrettably started unwrapping the thing; hoping that Edward was watching and wincing at the unnecessary mess made of the custom paper. Taking a deep breath (and hoping that Riddler hadn’t somehow bribed Ivy into giving up some pollen) Bruce opened the box.

What. The. Fuck.

Those were Bruce’s statues. The ones depleting Zal and Rudabeh, stolen from the museum they had been on loan to years ago.

Bruce slammed the door shut in Nina’s face.

* * * *

Of course someone had noticed what was going on. Bruce hadn’t been able to stop himself from gawking at just how many different colors the world had now. Or maybe Riddler had bragged to the entire city about it. Either way Bruce was suddenly bombarded with reporters from the society page. One of them had the gall to ask when the wedding was.

“I have a preteen son,” had been Bruce’s statement hoping that could clear things up. “He is my first priority.”

In hindsight that might have been the wrong thing to say.

* * * *

“So I’ve changed the rules a little. My riddles will lead you to criminals and this time they won’t be me!” Jason was practically vibrating in place from mirth as Bruce stared fixedly at the letter laying on the table. Gordon was giving Bruce A Look.

“Word on the street is something happened at the Wayne gala.”

“Hrrn.”

“Riddler donated back some of the art he stole. Wrapped with a bow.” And with a two sheeted riddle that pretty much translated into one giant insult that the museum’s director was still trying to puzzle out. Jason had thought the entire thing was great after the director’s snub at the “newest Wayne charity case”.

“I heard.” The wall really needed to be repainted.

“Batman I need to know if this is going to explode into something I’ll need to worry about.” That had been Dick’s exact words when he’d come into the cave last night.

“I’m looking into it.” Alfred had already started to make pointed remarks about manners and facing life’s problems. “Now ‘You don’t have to look for a night on the lawn’-”

* * * *

“You know Riddler tried to bribe me into sharing information about you today at the library.” Jason tilted his chair back onto the back legs as if he had not just nearly given Bruce a heart attack with his words. “Don’t worry, I held out for a triple scoop sundae before letting him know your favorite color.”

“Jason, he's a dangerous criminal!”

“Eh I grew up with worse.” Bruce breathed in deep trying not to let Jason see just how troubled that fact always made him. Jason usually said things like that off hand, just another fact about the world. The sky was blue, Selina liked to steal things, and Jason’s childhood until now had consisted of trying to survive. “His eyes aren’t mean. And you’re soulmates.”

“I cannot tell you how little that reassures me,” Jason grinned and tipped his chair back into place the little brat. Bruce ruffled the boy’s hair as punishment earning a fake glare and slap at his hands. “But really Jason, you need to stay safe.”

“Uh huh. Think I could take on the Riddler.” Not reassuring. “I also made sure to be in sight of Barbie at all times.” Much more reassuring since Bruce had personally seen Barbra flip two grown men over her head at once. Another grin, bigger this time. More of a smirk that had Bruce raising an eyebrow. “I also told him that you liked flowers.”

“Jay lad please tell me-”

“Sir there seems to have been a delivery for you.” Alfred’s face was carefully blank, a sure sign of just what Bruce was going to find at the door. “If you do not mind.”

“Don’t worry!” Jason called out happily as Bruce stared in disbelief at the sudden garden now growing on his steps. “I made sure Ivy wouldn’t be out for blood!”

* * * *

“Ah detective!” Edward’s green suit might as well been the only spark of color in the diner as Bruce entered it. As pressed and clean as always while the man himself gave a small toast with his coffee cup. “Glad you could make it! And you solved my riddle! Very good!”

“Riddler.” Bruce sat down at the diner bar taking in Edward’s appearance. “What is it now?”

“Is that any way to talk to your new partner?”

“If you think this game-”

“Oh please,” Edward waved his hand like a magician retrieving their rabbit. “You might think Bruce’s secret is safe but I am a genius. He’s helped fund the Justice League.” Edward leaned in, eyes darting around the near empty diner as his voice lowered. “He’s funding you. I have to play on the side of angels for the only one in the universe that can understand me?” He stood up, throwing cash upon the bar and a grim smile on his face. “Now let’s get to chasing down those criminals. Quick crime question. Who was the biggest thief in history?”

Bruce stared at him, then the newspaper resting under Edward’s coffee cup. “Atlas News? Where is this going?” Edward’s face lit up, eyes gleaming as he didn’t even bother trying to hide his utter delight.

“The game, my dear Watson, is afoot!”

“Awwww.” Nightwing cooed into the communicator from his perch as Edward stumbled out the door. It was not adorable, Bruce reminded himself sternly, for a grown man to go scampering out the way that Edward did with such a look of utter pride on his face for having “bested” Batman. They both had a job to do and he was yet convinced that Edward wasn’t just trying to play another game. “Just for the record. Batgirl says you’re an emotionally repressed coward.”

Batman never sighed. In public.

* * * *

“Why hello there Mr. Wayne. Fancy seeing you um… here. At home. Working in your study.” Sometimes it was easy to forget that Riddler’s over extravagant self praise and mocking towards others covered up a socially awkward man. Alfred’s rather pointed eyebrow raise before the butler closed the door let Bruce know just how little the household held his own social skills. Perfect match Jason had cackled madly last night. One never shuts up and the other just grunts.

“I have a secret.” Bruce managed to grind out as he stared at the area above Edward’s ear. He could do this, he’d managed to disarm a bomb with Firefly setting things on fire last month. He has given this speech several times into the mirror and once to Alfred. “It is a rather large one and will affect any… relationship that I may have.” Bruce chanced a look at Edward’s face and was slightly alarmed to see the man’s lip’s twitching. “You deserve to know and if this makes you decide that a-”

“Unless your secret is that you’re Batman I don’t expect-” Edward trailed off as he stared at Bruce’s face. The green clad man’s face went blank as Bruce went through all the contingency plans for when this went bad. “You’re Batman?” Edward burst out laughing, hands flying to the desk to keep himself upright as his body shook hard. Bruce’s hand flew up to sturdy the man just to be swatted away. “I knew it!”

“You couldn’t have known I was-”

“No, no. Not that. Well, somewhat.” Edward’s eyes really were a bright green, brighter than any other color as he bent forward to give a quick peck to Bruce’s lips, one thumb rising up to trace the small scar on the corner. “I always knew you were the only one who got me.”

#riddlebat #riddler #batman #bruce wayne #edward nygma #batman fanfiction

30 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Round Them Up II. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: canon typical violence, drug mention, kidnapping, gaslighting, previous not sfw mention, and manipulation. word count: 3.4k. part I.

All things that fester in the dark will one day be brought into the light.

Giorno’s unsure when he first heard this sentiment expressed. Maybe it was when he was passing by a mother scolding her child on the street, or from a missionary of the Church passing on their doctrine. This legalistic jargon never resonated with him. Why fear the judgement of a heavenly being that you didn’t believe to exist? As he makes his way through winding halls, this is the thought that plagues him the most. This concept of judgement. He can’t recall a time where the thoughts and opinions of others held a tangible weight. It’s inconsequential. Almost all others are inconsequential. What has mattered most to him is sticking to his ideals, his dream, not what onlookers may whisper behind closed doors. Yet now he can’t stand the thought of you thinking less of him.

Keen eyes stay focused on the butterfly in front of him. The butterflies wings flutter, gliding to the area you’re being held captive. You’re alive. Here, somewhere in this dilapidated building. Giorno’s familiar with the rhythm of your life energy, and is confident that his Stand sensed you. How beautiful a thing it is. It pulsates, like the strings of a harp being strummed, his chest swelling with adoration whenever he feels it. He keeps checking. Those who sought to hurt you are dropping like flies, Giorno noting that the life energy he felt upon arriving is diminishing. Courtesy of Mista, if he were to guess. Gold Experience Requiem has been primed for usage as well.

He comes to a halt when the butterfly insists on a single set of doors. This must be the room you’re in. Giorno takes a deep breath, steadying himself, hearing hushed whispers coming from inside. That accident… undoubtedly, this group is from Northern Italy. The moment he opens these doors, there is but one thing that’ll be for certain. His Stand’s power is absolute. Already, unfortunate guards who he happened upon earlier, have sent to a hellish limbo of his making. A fate that they’ll never come to understand. Everyone who took part in this plan will meet a similar demise.

What worries him most… is how you’ll look at him when it’s all said and done. How much information has Enzo’s men given you? Did you believe all that they said? There must be numerous questions plaguing your mind regardless, having had no idea what being involved with Giorno Giovanna truly meant. He knew there’d be a day where he could no longer hide the truth as he had for months now. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. It was going to be on his terms, an easy to digest version custom made for you. Wetting his lips, he pushes open the door, casting all reservations aside. When the time comes, he’ll know what to do. The proper words have always come to him, like whispers from the divine.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting here.

Wherever this place is -- somewhere far away from Naples, is all you know -- has boarded up windows. From how empty your stomach is feeling, you can safely assume it’s around dinner time. You’ve never felt so sore, your wrists and ankles tied in an uncomfortable position. More information is what you need now. Listening to your surroundings has become second only to breathing. It’s at times difficult to pick through the accents you’re unfamiliar with, the terminology in use not making it easier. These people live in a world completely different from yours, and they speak of a Giorno Giovanna you’ve never heard of.

The consistent story is that they want to spite him somehow. That this is an act of retribution. How did your precious GioGio earn the ire of these men, to the point of driving them to kidnap a civilian? He’s gotten mixed up with the wrong people. Is that all this is? Your throat feels tighter as time goes on, sweat perspiring on your skin, and chest heaving with every labored breath. The anxiety that’s been provoked within you refuses to release its vice-like grip. You want to be strong. In the car ride earlier, the man who spoke to you did so in a demeaning fashion. Dumbing down his words and treating you like a fool. Being weak here is not an option.

So who do you place your hope in? The police? Your own strength? Giorno? There’s no way of being certain. From how tight the ropes are against your skin, squirming out of them is a hopeless endeavor. Not to mention the soldatos around you carry concealed weapons. They’ve been tracking your every movement in between chatting with the other men in the room. You don’t want to succumb to the pits of despair, desperately clinging to the possibility of getting out of this somehow. The injury you sustained from the previous escape attempt is making it even harder, the pain in your wrist ebbing and flowing. It’s likely broken or sprained. Pulling an escape off in a situation like this just seems impossible.

You hang your head down, eyes incapable of focusing on your lap in this dimly lit room. It’s difficult to believe that just this afternoon things had been so different. That you had been completely oblivious to the underbelly of society, blissfully thinking about your date for tonight. Whatever Giorno’s association with these men are, he’s surely noticed your absence, and must have informed the police by now. If he hasn’t picked up on it yet, your family or friends have had to. A shaky sigh leaves your lips, earning a pointed glare from the man next to you. He looks at you as if you’re nothing but a pest.

“Stop moving so much, bischero,” he wrinkles his nose, glowering down at you. “Any more suspicious movement and I’ll tighten your restraints. Just sit there like you’re supposed to.”

Cheeks set ablaze, you nod your head, not trusting your voice to form the proper words. Never before have you felt such a stirring sense of hatred in your heart for another. You have done nothing to be treated like this, living your life as a good citizen. The thought of harming someone has never arisen in your mind until now, wanting nothing more than to prove these men wrong. That you’re not the weakling they so obviously believe you to be. You sweep over the area in the most inconspicuous way possible. Five men are all in the same room as you, two standing near the door and the other three by the chair you’re restrained to. The only way out of this room is through that set of doors.

There is nothing you can do now. This is what you decide. No miracle will give you the strength necessary to get out of here.

Every second passes by slower than the last, tension in the room thick enough to cut through with a knife. That’s when you notice something is different than your initial arrival. The casual banter between the men have ceased, their bodies noticeably tenser, despite what must be their superior ordering them to remain calm. When you listen closely, you hear a faint commotion outside. It’s a piercing sound that takes a moment to recognize. Is that… gunfire? It doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard in the movies, the shots coming in sets of six. Your kidnappers draw their own weapons from inside their coats, readying themselves.

The man who has been standing next to you goes to whisper in the ears of the others, who in turn secure different angles in the room. You don’t want to get your hopes up for nothing... but is it possible that law enforcement is coming to rescue you? Adrenaline pumps through your veins at the thought. The throbbing pain of your wrist is drowned out, your vigor restoring. Everyone present in this room -- including you -- is waiting for something. Someone. Whether it’s friend or foe is yet to be discovered. You’re on pins and needles, gaze locked onto the guarded door with bated breath.

Nothing happened like you envisioned it.

The door, to the disbelief of the others, opens as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Amidst the brewing chaos, you spot an unmistakable flash of golden hair. You could recognize that sight anywhere. It belongs to someone you’ve grown to care for greatly, someone who you didn’t know as much as you thought you did. Still, relief floods into your heart, washing away the previous despair. It’s the sound of guns cocking that brings you back from this potential cloud nine. You’re still in danger. That means he’s in danger too.

Driven by emotion rather than logic, you yell out to him, hoping it might prevent a bloody fate. “Giorno! They have guns!”

Your desperate plea is too late. You know this, and still you pray that it might have any impact. The men in the room fire without holding anything back, all in the direction of the door, the loud noise causing your ears to ring like funeral bells. Though you’re still undecided on your feelings for all that Giorno has been involved with in secret, the thought of him bloodied and falling lifeless to the ground is too much to bear. There’s no way he can survive this onslaught of bullets. This is going to kill him. He’s going to die, trying to save you—

“[First].”

He’s in front of you.

His face is so close, you can feel his warm breath against your tear stricken cheeks. You smell his musky cologne, feel his silky hair against his face, see the light in his emerald eyes. Giorno’s lips part, words leaving them, that you’re too dazed to pick up on. Blinking once, you look around your surroundings as he works to free you from your restraints. This has to be a dream, a final cruel prank before you enter the next life.

“GioGio,” your voice croaks, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I don’t— I don’t understand, what is happening?”

All that you’re able to gather is that this is the room you’ve been in for hours. The earth tones of the wall, the crumbling ceiling, boarded up windows, and concrete floor are undeniably the same. There’s rustling behind you, your weakened limbs being freed and falling limp. You gasp as he touches your wounded wrist. There’s a stinging sensation, and then the pain alleviates. Testing out the formerly wounded appendage, you notice the bruises from before are gone. Your skin is a normal complexion, instead of the discolored bruises from before.

It feels like your grip on reality is slipping through loose fingers. Pinching your side does nothing, as you don’t wake from a dream like you wish. This is reality. It’s as if the only people in the world are you and him. That doesn’t make sense, there were five other men here, literal seconds ago. How any of this is possible is beyond you. They were firing at Giorno, who is here in the flesh, not a single wound in sight.

“I know you must have a lot of questions,” Giorno’s voice is soothing as it always has been. You still flinch when he speaks up, a mannerism that he doesn’t miss. “I’ll answer all of them to the best of my ability. For now, we need to get you somewhere safe. You can agree with that, right?”

He’s picking and choosing his words with the utmost care. You can still notice this in your mentally exhausted state. There’s no point in arguing, you’ll feel sick should you remain here any longer. “Ah… yes.”

“Can you walk?” Giorno’s giving you a once over. He must be inspecting you for further injury. You nod your head, standing up on shaky legs. The relief of being in Giorno’s presence is fleeting. You don’t want to dwell on it, not here, but the underlying anxiety he brings can’t be shaken. He’s standing by your side, composed as ever. You wonder how you actually know about him. Everyone in relationships is bound to have their own secrets, aspects of them they’re unwilling to share. This is on another level entirely. Being too close to him now doesn’t bring the sense of security it should, and you find yourself on guard.

He places a hand to your shaking side in what’s meant to be a soothing act. “There’s no reason to hide if you can’t.”

“I said I’m fine.” Your tone comes out harsher than you intended. Giorno pauses, looking into your eyes, as if thinking. Conceding to your wishes, he retracts his hand, and leads you to the door. The walk through the building is silent, neither of you making attempts to speak. There isn’t anyone around other than the two of you. Where are all the others you saw on the way here? It’s not that you care for the wellbeing of your kidnappers, but the mystery of their ambiguous fate stays on your mind. How did Giorno have the confidence to face an armed force by himself? There’s no way he’s operating on his own. Not that anything has made sense lately.

The poorly insulated building allows for the occasional breeze to slip through the cracks in the walls. It takes your breath away, and you wrap your arms around yourself to ward off the cold. Giorno is quick to take notice, and sheds his blazer without asking. Warmth envelopes you as he places it over your shivering shoulders. It’s a gesture that would’ve sent your heart racing, but no longer feels right. You want to trust him, to believe that he’s the man you fell in love with. That’s why it hurts even more. To think that all this time, you were being deceived. As pressing as these concerns are, getting home is what takes top priority in your mind. The rest can wait for later.

Walking out the same way you came in, you spot the line of cars that drove you here. All of them are eerily empty. There’s one new car present that you recognize as belonging to Giorno. He’s surprised you in the past by picking you up from work with this car, your coworkers always asking nosy questions about your mysterious lover. Now that you’re reflecting on it, maybe you should’ve been asking more questions too. The source of his wealth was an occasional topic -- that you unfortunately felt was too rude to keep asking about -- and he never gave clear answers. His charm blinded you, and led you into a false sense of security.

You realize that you’re no longer alone with Giorno. There’s a man wearing an odd hat and an outfit with clashing patterns, and another with an equally strange hole covered ensemble. They straighten up their posture when you come into their sight, or more specifically, when Giorno does. From how Giorno’s body language remains neutral, they must be with him. You probably don’t even want to know their relation to one another. The one wearing a hat is brandishing a gun that’s hard to miss, a revolver to be exact. With what meager information you have, you can safely assume that was the source of gunshots you heard earlier. Now that your earlier bloodlust for your captors has faded, your stomach churns at the thought of what must’ve happened. The person you’re staring at notices your intent staring. He shifts his body to keep the weapon out of sight, not that it means anything now.

“Let’s get you back home.” With an arm around your lower back, he leads you to the parked car. Giorno opens the door for you to the backseat, and slides in after you. The partition is put up from whoever is driving for a false sense of privacy. For the second time today, you find yourself unwittingly in the backseat of a car, having more questions than answers. That has to be a new record. The engine purrs to life, and you’re on the road once more.

Now that the opportunity to learn more about what the fuck just happened to you is here, you’re having difficulty figuring out where to start the interrogation. It doesn’t help that your anxiety has been given new life. Giorno, who you’ve always found a serene person, is the source of your newfound dread. At least he’s kind enough to let you gather your bearings.

“Earlier, those... people,” you take a deep breath, hands shaking relentlessly. “The way that they were talking about you made it sound like you did something to them.”

You surprise yourself by gathering the strength to look him in the eyes. He returns your gaze with a similar intensity, inadvertently testing you to say what you’ve wanted to all along. “Giorno Giovanna… just who are you, exactly? And why should I even believe you?”

There’s no immediate response. Despite the physical closeness, you’ve never felt so far away from him. It reinstates the fear that, no matter how well you believe to know someone, they could always be lying. That the truth is what they want it to be. Giorno taking his time to respond makes him appear guilty before your eyes.

“You’ve been through a series of traumatizing events. Before I explain anything, you should rest,” he glances down at his watch. “It’ll be a few hours before we get home.”

So he is trying to avoid it. Pursing your lips together, you shoot him a displeased look. “No. Tell me now. I deserve that much after all I endured, don’t I?”

“You’re right. My apologies.”

Giorno leans back in the leather seats of the car and crosses his legs. It’s unfortunate how now of all times you’re reminded of memories shared here. The times the two of you would tumble into the back, becoming intimate with one another, exploring each other’s bodies with mutual trust. Now there is a frigidity in your interactions. You’ve been torn from your blissful ignorance.

“Those men were seeking revenge like you gathered,” he begins to explain. “I lead a coalition that prevents the sale of drugs on the streets. You saw yourself what levels they’re willing to stoop to, didn’t you? This was meant to be a last ditch effort. To use you as a bargaining chip to renegotiate the terms we established months ago, so they could flood the streets with drugs once more.”

The words seem truthful enough, yet you still have your reservations. “You lead a coalition...? Is it like, a government position? I don’t understand that.”

“Precisely. I can’t go too deep into it for that very reason, [First],” he places his hand over yours, and you let him. “Please, let me continue to protect you. Now that you’ve been involved with me... I’m afraid something like today could happen again.”

It makes sense more sense than you care to admit. That doesn’t mean you want to accept it. What choice do you have? They struck in the middle of the day, at a public mall. Next time, you might not be so lucky as to have this outcome. You’re not sure if you could even sleep soundly at night after what you’ve gone through, knowing every moment might be your last. Your body feels heavy, and the blood drains from your face. Giorno came to you, saved you, how can you continue to doubt him? He put his life on the line for your sake. Who is to say those men earlier weren’t lying as a final act of cruelty? Bottom lip quivering, you squeeze his hand tightly, not that he seems to mind.

“GioGio... I’m sorry. I’ve been awful to you,” you sniffle, wiping away at your tears. “I was scared... I didn’t know what to do, if they’d hurt me, god, if they’d kill me--”

“I know, I know.” He beckons you to his chest and you gladly accept the offer. The expensive fabric rubs against your cheek, and you openly sob against him. Giorno takes a moment to steel himself, before wrapping his arms around you. He’s never been the best when it came to physical affection, you noticed it never came naturally to him. You can’t bring yourself to care any longer. The comfort and security of being here with him is too good to pass on.

“Let’s get you home. I’ll take care of everything, so leave it all to me.”

246 notes · View notes

felassan · 3 years

Text

Thoughts on Dark Fortress #1

(This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

NB, my thoughts on the first pages that came out in the preview are collected here [spoilers at link], so I won’t repeat myself.

Okay here we go :D I’ve posted up my fav panels but always want a space where I can burble at length.. (I’m late in posting this bc recently for the last few days I’ve been obsessing over politics in my country as it’s the run-up to election time.. I haven’t read anyone elses’ thoughts on it either so I could be behind on prevailing speculation or whats known or something) The preview pages ended at the panel when Aaron says “Vaea is right”, so that’s where I’m beginning.

I can’t put my finger on why but I really like the “don’t tell me I’ve had too much to drink” panel showing a Tevinter street. It’s a neat blend of “Tevinter is advanced relative to much of the rest of known Thedas, but also ominous, but also a place where people live and go about their lives, and also not going too heavy on the cyberpunk angle”. I dig the composition ‘leading’ the eye up the street and the consistency with the recently-seen DA4 materials that have red lighting in Tevinter buildings, similar building shapes etc. ig I’m pretty obsessed with the idea of the DA4 PC & party walking up streets like these.

I wonder how Aaron felt witnessing Tractus’ drunken scenes in the pub :(

Tractus’ attitude towards the barman here shows the influence and power Magisters wield in Tevinter, and the fear of them common among the mundane populace

digging the Tevinter-y motifs & design of the bartop, bar shelving etc. it feels like thought went into it

I’d watch a spinoff show or read a story where Marius and Ser Aaron have to team up in order to achieve something

Vaea is so badass and agile! I appreciate that the shot of her up high was tasteful and didn’t like, weirdly contort her body, have a weird leering angle or emphasize things in that way comic art often does for women at moments like these

so in Tevinter, lamps give off red light (seen in the bar scene). are the windowpanes themselves also red?

good thinking Vaea grabbing the staff. great sense of snappiness and motion in this panel. her landing reminds me of squirrels doing the superhero pose landing actually :)

tfw you and a dog burst out of a wardrobe

Tractus recognizing Fenris, it seems - did they encounter each other when Tractus was young, or does he just know of him (distinctive markings and all that)? if the former, I have a feeling we might get a flashback scene to that time in a future issue

cutting to look at Francesca when Tractus talks about Fenris murdering his father is GENIUS. look at the sadness on her face here; “you murdered your father” is exactly what she’s been telling herself and struggling with all this time

nice to see staff-less magic in action

Tractus seems to have drawn power from the red orb set in his staff. he reaches out to it and it responds by glowing and the staff moving, but he wasn’t doing a Jedi ‘use my Jedi powers to make my thrown lightsaber [staff] return to my hand’, as you might expect, he was instead charging up and drawing magical energy/power from it [the orb], as seen by the red light in his hand in the next panel. this reinforces my earlier wonderings that the red orb is notable and that there’s some connection between it and his red eyes. later in the panel when he’s trying to cast on the floor his eyes seem lit up (altho it could just be lighting & dramatic effect)

I wonder if Fenris thinks of Anders and Justice when Tractus says “justice”. There was once a mage in Fenris’ life who was really focused on justice..

the combat scenes are beautifully drawn, thought out and colored

Fenris’ lines here are really metal, badass and impactful. I could hear Gideon Emery’s voice in my head as I read these bits - the word choice of “hounded” helps with that I think, it immediately recalls Fenris talking with anger about how Hadriana denied his meals and hounded his sleep. they nail how Fenris speaks, the pattern and words he tends to use, etc

PHASING POWERS in action!! this is very cool to see, this ability of his didn’t get touched on much at all in DA2 outside of combat or a few scenes

I enjoy the contrast between the red and blue glows

Fenris is understandably merciless

“Perhaps if you had it carved into you” feels like foreshadowing for the ‘red wraith’

:( the reminder that the very thing Fenris struggles with feelings of hate and fear towards is carved into his skin for the rest of time and always will be

Vaea is brave to step in, standing up for what she believes is right and also re-centering focus on the critical mission at hand

;___; Autumn helping keep Tractus on the ground. she is such a good girl. she Help

“You’re lucky the mabari is here” - having Fenris in a dark light here relative to the rest of the panel is nicely symbolic

oh shit!! some plot advancement in terms of the ongoing story of the wider world. The Antaam have now reached Neromenian!! the invasion is progressing further and further into Tevinter. how far will it have come by the time of DA4? will there be an active war front not far from Minrathous? I appreciate the comics from this team a lot, here and there they push forward the ‘story of Thedas’ not just the story of the comic’s focus. also, I like that the Qunari soldiers here aren’t clones of one another but all look different. different hairstyles, sizes/bodies, clothes

love how our group work together, everyone has a strength and a role to play, the teamwork, the delegation, they’re like a DA basegame party or a D&D party

the way Fenris’ hand and arm glow in this sequence has been drawn/colored is smart - calling to mind the image of blue veins running through someone’s arm or below the skin on the backs of their hands

Fenris has surely picked up Fereldan sayings from Hawke.. stop .. my heart ;__;

the Fenris/Autumn exchange

this is so intense.. why do I get the feeling that Fenris has used this sort of torture technique before in his hunting and extermination of Danarius’ adult children campaign and/or his hunting of slavers as the BW with Shirallas campaign. it feels like he has done this sort of thing before in the time post-Kirkwall. I like that they didn’t hold back with a bit of gore here and there in this issue (phasing a hand and then solidifying it inside someone’s body, the Qunari attack portion in the street etc), while at the same time not being excessive with it.

this miniseries so far has good pacing, things moving along nicely and not being too slow or meandering

it’s smart having Tractus’ explanation of how to get in stay off-screen to the reader while we follow Francesca calling the alarm. It means we get to find out as we watch them infiltrate

omg those puncture wounds from his talons

when Fenris is about to kill Tractus after he tells him what he wanted to know, I’m strongly reminded of how he promised to let Hadriana go then killed her anyway, regardless of player choice. he has his ruthless streak and it feels like a callback. and before, when he was standing over Tractus when he was on the floor, echoes that scene in A Bitter Pill when he stands over Hadriana on the ground, who also reached for her staff

Tractus pale with bloodloss and fear

lmao @ Fran and Autumn’s faces when they walk in on this scene

Fenris listening to Vaea is nicely consistent with his character too imo - there are times in DA2 when Hawke can be like “Fenris no don’t do the Thing” and he doesn’t do the Thing

I have missed the way Fenris’ nose bridge crinkles when he’s angry

I wonder what the consequences of leaving Tractus alive will be. [tv announcer voice] FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON DARK FORTRESS

so the ritual will only take minutes to complete huh 👀

wow Neromenian has truly fallen, reeducation of the people of Tevinter continues as in Three Trees to Midnight in TN

explaining that they are speaking in Qunlat is a nice immersive touch and shows attention to detail of the lore of the world

bobbly-shoulders Qunari, Legolas hair Qunari, septum piercing Qunari, bobbly-brow Qunari, undercut Qunari. I wonder if the shoulder and brow protrusions are aspects we’ll see in the Qunaris’ latest design in DA4?

poor Tractus can’t catch a break lol. it has Not been Tractus’ day

Karasten: an infantry field commander

bit of Tevinter lampshading, lil fourth wall break with “This land and its obsession with magic. There is always a forbidden ritual with them” hhhhhh

Ringwraith on a horse moment at the end there

strong ending, can’t wait for next month weww.. 👀

#dragon age #bioware #dark fortress spoilers #dark fortress spoiler #spoilers #spoiler #fenris #the Fenaissance #dragon age: dark fortress spoilers #dragon age: dark fortress spoiler #video games #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #gore cw #blood cw

34 notes · View notes

simplyclockwork · 4 years

Note

I am a huge fan of your writing. I would love a post season 4 fic where we see John and Rosie move back to 221b. Sherlock has an accident and breaks an arm and a leg. As he is wondering how he will take care of himself John turns up to collect him from hospital like its the most natural thing in World that he will take care of Sherlock. The focus is John wanting a chance to redeem himself. Happy Johnlock ending please. I’m over 18. Smut optional!

----

Hi, anon! Thanks for your patience with me filling the prompt. Hopefully, you like what I’ve written :) Please feel free to send a prompt anytime!

You can also read your prompt on Ao3 here. The rest of the fill is below the page break.

----

It’s only been a couple of weeks since John moved back to Baker Street, with his few belongings and infant-daughter in tow. Sherlock is still adjusting, and so is John, while Rosie bounces about the place like a tennis ball. She provides a perfect distraction, a much-needed buffer between John and Sherlock, who are still trying to find their way back to something considered normalcy.

Whatever their new normalcy is, Sherlock doesn’t know. He just hopes they find it soon because the unresolved tension hovering over 221B is starting to drive him mad.

Things are different. Better than they were before when John… well, that was before, and this is now. Sherlock tries not to dwell on their brief tilt into insanity. Mary, the aquarium, Culverton Smith, Eurus and Sherrinford. Each has taken a toll on Sherlock in one way or another. Things are different. John works at the clinic more often than he joins Sherlock on cases. He has a daughter to provide for, and his evening spent in a well with chains around his ankles has made him somewhat skittish.

Sherlock can’t blame him, not when he feels a little skittish himself—but he’s the world’s only consulting detective. It’s him, or it’s no one, and he’s got a bit of life left in him yet. Casework feels strange without John at his side, but John hasn’t been there in any consistent capacity since Sherlock returned from the dead, so he adjusts.

Sherlock’s had more madness than most, more than enough for several lifetimes. These days, Sherlock tires more easily. Moves a little slower, reacts a little later. Retirement is a word he starts to hear more often, echoing in his Mind Palace and staring back at him from the bathroom mirror when he pokes at the new wrinkles in his face and as he tugs at the silvered hairs appearing at his temples with increasing frequency.

It is pure irony that on the day Sherlock decides to slow down on the more challenging cases, to focus on fours and sixes and the life he hopes to build with John and Rosie, he has an accident.

The case is a straightforward kidnapping that Sherlock solves in minutes. The kidnapee, a young woman in her 30s, named Alice Forbes, is taken from her London flat by an ex-boyfriend. Sherlock leads Lestrade and his team to an old building with a decommissioned lift. Narrow and festooned with disturbed cobwebs, the shaft is dark and accessible with a rusted but sturdy-looking ladder.

In hindsight, Sherlock should have known it was too easy. Should have waited, should have let Lestrade’s men go before him. But, true to his impatient nature, he is the first to rush down the ladder.

And he’s the first to fall when one of the rungs, eaten through by rust and time, gives way beneath his hand, sending him to the bottom of the lift shaft. The fall isn’t far enough to kill him, but it is far enough to break bone, and Sherlock winces at the double crack he hears before agony and fire spill through his left arm and right leg. A cross-body break, of all things, arm trapped beneath him and leg striking a cable at the wrong angle.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade’s voice reaches him from above, invisible in the dark, and Sherlock clenches his teeth to resist the urge to scream.

Definitely multiple breaks, he can tell. Nothing hurts like a break, and right now, Sherlock is ablaze.

“Don’t climb down,” he manages to reply, voice wavering and strained with pain. “One of the rungs broke. Could be others.”

“Fuck,” comes the reply from above. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock squints in the dark, wetting his dry lips with his tongue as he takes stock of his body. At least the two breaks, possibly a mild concussion, and sweat rising on his brow. Shock. “No,” he finally says, swallowing around the taste of bile. “I need an ambulance.

Lestrade spits another short curse. “With how much you hate going to the A&E, I take it that it’s bad?”

“Rather bad,” Sherlock replies, trying for humour and just sounding weak and ragged. “I believe I’m going into shock.”

Instead of answering, Lestrade starts barking orders. Setting his temple carefully against something cold and metal, Sherlock blinks in the dark and takes in his surroundings. A shape shivers and sags against the wall of the lift shaft not far from where he lies. Given Alice’s lack of response to the shouting, he’s not confident she is anything like okay. Only the constant shivering tells him she’s still alive, and he clears his throat before shouting, “Make that two ambulances.” Swallowing, Sherlock sucks in a breath at a ripple of agony from his leg and adds, “I found Alice. Alive, but not conscious.”

“Got it,” Lestrade calls back. A light shines down, and Sherlock squints. He can’t make out Lestrade’s face, and likely the DI can’t see him either, but the beam from the torch is a point of light in the dark, and Sherlock fixates on it. “We’re gonna get you out, alright?”

“That would be preferred,” Sherlock replies, trying for venom and only sounding tired.

A rope snaps down next to his head. Tossed from above, it hangs in the air with a silent expectancy. Staring at it, Sherlock hopes Lestrade doesn’t expect him to climb up the offering. When it begins to shake and wiggle, he knows someone must be climbing down. A small, shaky sigh escaping his lips, Sherlock tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, though whether the comfort is for his benefit or Alice’s, he doesn’t know.

As his mind begins to darken and drift, he feels a pang of guilt for not letting John know where he’d be today. Sherlock has time for one last passing thought of how he’ll manage with two broken limbs, whether or not John will even bother to visit him at the hospital, and if this little stunt will shatter the tenuous connection between them before everything fades away.

***

The faint drone of voices draws Sherlock out of his head, and he opens his eyes to bright lights and white coats. He blinks, squints and blinks again, waiting for his vision to clear. When it finally does, he finds a young woman standing over him with a small smile.

“Hello, Mister Holmes,” she greets, and Sherlock blinks once more before she introduces herself. “I’m Doctor Seif.”

“Hello,” he replies, his voice rough. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Concussion?”

Doctor Seif nods in sympathy. “Mild, but enough to knock you out. You came in and out of it until we set your leg, then we lost you for a bit from the pain.” She pats his shoulder with a gentle hand. “Your left humerus is broken, but not severe enough for a cast. So we’ve done a splint, but your leg will need a cast.” Moving to set his chart down, she pauses and turns back, adding, “We called your brother—he was listed as your emergency contact. We spoke to his aide, and she said he would be here once he finishes with a meeting.”

Sherlock waves a hand, dismissing both her words and the faint pang he feels at the reminder that John is no longer his emergency contact. “He’ll turn up. Always does, just like a bad penny.” Doctor Seif laughs.

“I have two older sisters. I know just how you feel.” Tapping his chart, she tilts her head. “Now, let’s get you fixed up and out of here, shall we?”

Sherlock’s smile is small and strained, but an attempt nonetheless. “Certainly.”

***

The cast is bulky, and his arm aches in the splint, his pain barely impacted by the basic painkillers. But Sherlock refused anything stronger, and he grits his teeth hard against the discomfort as a nurse helps him into the protocol-dictated wheelchair. Doctor Seif stands next to him with a script in her hand for prescription refills. She hands both the slip of paper and a crutch to Sherlock once he’s seated.

“Let me know if anything changes or you experience worsening pain or signs of infection,” she says, waiting for Sherlock’s tired nod. “Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few weeks to evaluate the arm. Good evening, Mister Holmes.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock says in a quiet voice. He is exhausted, his body heavy with fatigue and faded adrenaline. He tilts his head toward the nurse, who begins wheeling him out of the room and down the hall.

They make it only a few feet before footsteps sound behind them, and a panting voice calls out, “Sherlock!”

The man pushing his chair pauses, and Sherlock turns his head to see John trotting down the hall toward them. Bemused, Sherlock glances at the nurse, who shrugs. He turns his attention back to John, who pulls up in front of them with a sigh.

“Sorry,” he gasps, straightening with his hands on his hips as he pulls in a loud inhale. “Took me a bit to get Rosie to her babysitter’s, then there was traffic, and…” John shakes his head. “But nevermind that, I’m here now.”

Sherlock stares up at him. “You’re… here?” he repeats, confused. John’s brow furrows, first with confusion, then with understanding.

“Of course I’m here. Greg called me, then Mycroft.” His frown deepens. “Was surprised to hear he’s your emergency contact.”

Sherlock’s eyes dart away, and he doesn’t reply.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse cuts in, his voice reluctant, “but I need the chair, so if I can wheel you outside…”

“Yeah, of course,” John says, picking up where the words trail off. “I can take it from there.”

The three of them continue down the hall, the nurse pushing Sherlock in the chair with John at his side. They walk in silence, with Sherlock darting quick, bemused looks at John from the corner of his eye. John either doesn’t notice or pretends not to, and Sherlock is grateful for whichever it is.

Once outside, the nurse stops, and Sherlock starts wrestling with the crutch, the chair, his own body until John quietly murmurs, “Can I help?”

Sherlock pauses and glances up at him before nodding once, a stiff jerk of his head. Something like relief and gratitude passes over John’s face, there and gone too quickly to verify. Before Sherlock can take the opportunity to study him, John moves around to his side, the one without a splinted arm, and loops his hand gently around Sherlock’s torso. John helps him onto his uncasted foot, slips the crutch in place, and keeps close as Sherlock tests out a little hop forward. He is clumsy and awkward but mobile and shuffles along slowly. John stays close, helping where he can, one hand resting light and ready on the small of Sherlock’s back.

When Sherlock finally raises his head, coaxed forward by John’s quiet voice, he sees a silver car and freezes. John almost bumps into him and stops just in time, steadying Sherlock.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head to look at Sherlock’s face.

Brow furrowed, Sherlock blinks at the car. “You bought a car?”

“Yeah, last week,” John says, relief in his expression. “Easier with Rosie, you know? And paying less rent, well, I thought…” he shrugs, letting the words trail off.

Wordlessly, Sherlock nods and lets John lead him off the curb and toward the car. John opens the door and coaxes Sherlock to drape his uninjured arm around his neck, helping him scoot down into the passenger seat.

Once John is next to him, sitting behind the wheel and waiting for Sherlock to finish getting settled, he doesn’t seem to know where to look. When he, at last, opens his mouth to speak, he and Sherlock talk over one another.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

They both go silent and still, staring at one another. Blowing a loud exhale out through pursed lips, John breaks the standoff first.

“First off, I’m glad you’re relatively okay, considering.” Sherlock braces himself for the angry words, the dressing-down. But John just looks at him with a small, tentative smile, and Sherlock stares as John quietly says, “And of course I came.” He clears his throat, eyes darting to the windshield before they return to Sherlock’s questioning face. “I know things have been… well. I know it’s not like it was before, but I… I want to try.” Swallowing hard enough to make his throat bob, John looks at Sherlock with a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes. “I know I have no right to ask for it, but I want a chance to show you things are different.” Hands clenching slowly inward then outward in his lap, John’s voice drops. “I want to show you that I’ve changed.”

“John…” Sherlock starts, only to find he doesn’t have any more words. John seems to understand, a slight smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“I want to redeem myself, Sherlock,” he says and holds up a hand to silence the protests he can no doubt see rising on Sherlock’s lips. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing to make up for because we both know that’s not true.” The small smile fades, and he reaches out to slip his fingers over Sherlock’s where Sherlock’s hand rests on the centre console. It’s unexpected and entirely welcome, and Sherlock blinks down at their hands before looking up at John. “I’m here because we’re a team.” His eyebrows twitch upward, and he adds, “Just the two of us, right? Against the world?” His smile is small and hopeful, and Sherlock feels a rush of warmth at the sight and the words.

“Of course, John,” he replies, nodding. “Just the two of us. And Rosie.”

This time, John’s smile is firm and confident, his laugh pleased and just a little surprised. His fingers curl between Sherlock’s knuckles with gentle but firm pressure. “Just the two of us and Rosie,” he agrees. His eyes glitter, and Sherlock’s lips twitch upward in quiet acceptance.

When John starts the car and guides them out of the parking lot, their fingers stay slotted together on the centre console.

#johnlock #ficlet #prompt #simplyclockwork #Anonymous

79 notes · View notes

nsheetee · 4 years

Text

Physics Teacher!Doyoung x Art Teacher!Reader

Genre: High School Teacher AU, Enemies to Lovers AU || fluff, slightly crack-ish

Summary: Doyoung is ecstatic to start working at his first job in Neo City High School... until he runs into you, the eccentric new art teacher that quickly gets under his skin. When you and Doyoung are forced to chaperone the Valentine’s Day dance, you have to put all of your differences aside in the name of stopping high schoolers from grinding on each other and protecting the fruit punch from being spiked.

Word Count: 3k

a/n: happy birthday to the bunny prince! I hope your bday is filled with love, and cheers to the future! also, I hope everyone enjoys reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

doyoung loves school

always did: as a child, in high school, and in college

he honestly loved to learn and was studious, his parents always bragged about his grades and long high school resume filled from top to bottom with achievements and scholarships

but doyoung was glad to finally hold his college diploma in his hand, marking the end of his student days and signaling the beginning of his professional career

as a high school teacher

many of his friends warned him that teaching in a high school would be draining, that it would kill doyoung’s spirit within the first school year

doyoung didn’t listen, his friends have never been teachers so what could they know?

he walked into his very own classroom on teacher prep day, a few days before the actual first day of school

he breathed in the musty smell of old carpet and the sharp tang of dry erase markers

ah, yes, perfect

doyoung neatly arranged his desk; his favorite fountain pen had to be exactly 10cm from his computer keyboard and the computer monitor had to be facing up at a 19 degree angle so doyoung wouldn’t have a double chin while looking at the screen

yes, he did use his trusty ruler and protractor to measure it all out, and then neatly placed them into the top drawer of his desk

doyoung has always been tidy, very articulate and precise

what else would you expect from a man who studied math and physics for five years?

just before leaving his room to meet with his boss, the principal, he’s startled by a knock on his door

you stand at the entrance to his classroom, a bright smile on your face and your hands clasped in front of you as you bounce on your toes

your outfit consists of a long, dark orange skirt that nearly touched the floor and teased the sandals that are strapped to your feet

you wore a bright yellow shirt with a short blue scarf wrapped around your neck, some wooden jewelry laying on the scarf and also dangling from your ears

doyoung is sure his mouth is open in disbelief but he can’t seem to regain enough control over his face to hide his surprised and mortified expression

“hi! you’re kim doyoung, right? the new physics teacher? I’m Y/N.” your voice is chipper and bright

“are you in the correct place, ma’am? this is neo city high school.” doyoung asks

you tilt your head slightly, wondering why he’s asking such a question

“oh!” you exclaim, moving your wooden necklace and blue scarf out of the way to show doyoung your teacher badge, “I’m a new teacher this year, just like you! I thought I would come say hi.”

doyoung is sure his mouth is, once again, slacked open

looking down at himself, he sees a very big contrast in what you look like and what he looks like

doyoung wears a crisp white shirt that’s buttoned all the way up, a blue tie around his collar and his own teacher badge perfectly centered in the middle of his chest

he ironed his slacks this morning and even shined his shoes

is this not the dress code for teachers at NCHS?

he’s sure he read the dress code section of the teacher’s manual, stating that professional attire is required

but as he watches you dance into his classroom from his desk chair, skirt swinging around your legs, curious eyes glancing all over his room... he’s not sure what to do

should he tell his superiors?

he doesn’t get to think much before you sigh and close your eyes, holding out your arms on either side of you as if you can feel some nonexistent wind pass by you

“wow, you have such a nice classroom. the windows and the view, I wish my classroom was open like this.”

“may I ask... what class you teach?”

“art”

doyoung immediately does not like you

maybe he’s a bit biased (okay, very biased) but he has never liked art

the atmosphere of an art class is not his cup of tea

why are there no written rules for art?

why was he always instructed to “paint with your heart and soul, not your brain”?

why did his high school art teacher scold him for drawing the golden ratio for every single assignment if there are no rules!?

it’s the only C doyoung ever received and, yes, he’s still salty about it

“oh. my. goodness.” doyoung is pulled out of his path down memory lane by your exclamation

you stride over to his desk, finding a seat next to his computer and accidentally moving it with your hip

doyoung gasps when his perfect 19 degree angle is ruined, and his hands come up to grip the hair at the back of his head when you pick up his favorite fountain pen, turning it over in your fingers

“uh...” doyoung trails off, not sure how to politely tell you to get away from his stuff

“I love this pen!” you exclaim, “this is a Monteverde, isn’t it? wow, I never expected anyone else to appreciate good quality pens, especially not physics teachers.”

your comment flies over doyoung’s head, he can only focus on how you keep annoyingly clicking the pen and randomly drawing on his clean sticky notes that he placed exactly 17cm from the edge of his desk

in what feels like only seconds to doyoung, you draw an intricate lily on a sticky note and stick it to his computer monitor

haphazardly dropping the pen back onto his desk, you hop off and wave at your fellow co-worker as you walk out of the room

doyoung can only stare at the mess you left behind; you were only in his classroom for a total of three minutes and yet, it looks like a litter of puppies were let loose

doyoung’s distaste for you didn’t end there

once school started, he could see the increasing amount of students that absolutely loved you and your art classes

he heard about how you walk around in flip flops and sandals, even when the temperature started to drop outside

he heard about your habit of humming jazz while painting, tapping your foot and bobbing your head along to your own music

he over heard students talking about how you’ve never once worn the same set of jewelry, and betting on how many different sets you actually have

doyoung isn’t sure why he’s so intrigued by you; you have absolutely nothing in common and doyoung doesn’t understand your eccentric way of living

but the universe keeps pulling you to each other

for example, how you both come to school at the same time, punching in for work on the same minute, awkwardly giving your “good morning’s” to each other before you go to your respective classrooms

or how you both have your break during 3rd period, and go to the teacher’s work room in the office to grab a cup of coffee and whatever delicious pastries the office ladies brought in that day

even when you both run the after school clubs (doyoung helps run the robotics club, you help run the art club) you’d somehow bump into each other despite the club rooms being on opposite sides of the school

other than the first day you met, doyoung has no reason to be angry with you

but he is, for some reason he can’t get you off of his mind, and it’s infuriating

maybe doyoung is infuriated because you don’t seem to be affected by his presence in the same way that he’s affected by yours

he always pushes that thought out of his mind, but today, when you’re both called to the home economics room, it’s more apparent than usual

you’re already talking to mr. lee when doyoung walks in, your smiling face and comfortable posture with your co-worker makes that fire in his stomach ignite, and he just wants this to be over with as quickly as possible

“ah, doyoung you’re here, great! I have a favor to ask both of you” mr. lee, or ten as you both know him, rests his elbows on the desk and clasps his hands in front of him, “I need you two to chaperone the valentine’s day dance tonight”

“there’s a valentine’s day dance tonight?” doyoung asks and ten sends him a deadpanned look

“yes? it’s been on the morning announcements everyday this week”

doyoung crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks away, a bit embarrassed that he’s been caught not listening to the mandatory morning announcements

(doyoung always wears crisp dress shirts to work, and you about die when his arms bulge through the shirt with his actions, his chest seeming to stretch wider than the ocean and shoulders looking as solid as a rock)

(maybe you gulp a bit, and maybe you try not to pant at the sight, also)

“didn’t you tell me that you and principal moon usually chaperone the valentine’s day dance?” you ask, moving your attention away from doyoung’s chest and turning to ten

“yes, we do, but this year mr. moon’s wife surprised him with a dinner date and he says he can’t let her down”

“and why can’t you chaperone?”

“my cat went into labor”

you and doyoung look at ten with dead stares, trying to comprehend ten’s words

ten scoffs and rolls his eyes, slamming his palm down onto his desk

“well? is no one going to congratulate me? I’m going to be a grandpa by the end of tonight!”

“congrats...” you mumble out, “but I’m sorry, I can’t chaperone tonight.” you try to quickly think up of a valid excuse as to why, but nothing of value comes to mind

“yeah, neither can I” doyoung speaks up, turning around to walk out of the room

“wait” ten speaks up, making doyoung turn back to face both of you, “if I remember correctly, I covered for both of you when you couldn’t show up to the bi-yearly meeting last month. you both owe me, and this is how you’ll repay.”

you and doyoung visibly sulk in your spots

it’s true, ten did cover for you when you couldn’t go to that important meeting, and by the look on doyoung’s face, it looks like ten has him trapped, too

so that’s how you and doyoung end up at the gym after school, watching the student council committee set up all the decorations and the dj set up his equipment on stage

the theme is “love under the sea”

doyoung cringes when he saw the banner reveal over the front of the gym, and you can’t help but wince at the overused theme

the decorations are lovely, though; different shades of blue lights glow from the the ceiling and cast a blue hue to everyone below, the stage is covered in blue tinsel and large balloon figures of seashells, crabs, and mermaids

even the drink and snack tables have underwater themed cookies and chips, with large bowls of blue fruit punch centered on every table

so far, chaperoning is easy; you and doyoung have to make sure no one gets hurt and that there’s enough helium for the hundreds of balloons that were blown up and are currently rolling around on the floor

but then, students start to arrive

ten assured you and doyoung earlier that no more than 100 students would show up the whole night; groups of people would come in and out for the three hours that the dance would be going on

but of course, tonight is the night that everyone decides to come to the dance

although the student council is having the time of their lives with the amount of money they’re receiving in ticket profits, yours and doyoung’s eyes bulge at how over 100 hundred students are already waiting in line to enter the gym

“wait, wait” you run towards a group of girls who just paid for their tickets, “you have to take your shoes off before going in”

“why?” they give you an almost disgusted look, and you entertain the fact that you have to look up at them to look them in the eyes

“your heels could scrap the gym floor, please take them off” you look down at the girls’ shoes, confused on how they can balance on such tiny leverages

“but, it’s part of my outfit” you give the girls one long, hard, blank stare until they roll their eyes and step out of the heels, immediately shortening themselves by four inches and walking away

doyoung’s night also doesn’t start out smoothly....

he walks into the boy’s bathroom, hoping to relieve himself before the dance actually got underway, but instead is frightened by a pair of students playing tonsil hockey against the urinals

“mr. kim!” they shout and doyoung covers his eyes and turns away, for some reason feeling like he’s in the wrong even though the public restroom is not supposed to be used for making out

“the dance started 10 minutes ago and you’re already doing that!” doyoung shouts and the students apologize, heads bowed as they scurry out the door

about an hour into the dance, you and doyoung finally find each other through the chaos of the school gym

“either ten lied to us or today is just an anomaly; there has to be at least 300 students here right now” doyoung tries to speak over the music, but you still have to lean in to hear him

“we need to call other teachers to come help, it can’t just be the two of us here.” you reply, but doyoung barely pays attention

you face is leaning into his, but your sporadic eyes and looking somewhere else

the blue hues of the lights shine off of your cheekbones and permeate through your hair

doyoung thinks you look good in blue, and he could keep looking at you for a while longer

until something behind you catches his eye

“oh, no...” doyoung trails off, and you look turn around

in the middle of the dance floor, right in front of the dj’s speakers, a swarm of students gather around and you can faintly see through the dim lights of the gym that a grind circle ensues

“oh, no...” you mimic doyoung as the group of students “dance” to the music, almost gyrating and squirming against their partners

it’s almost too painful and awkward to watch

doyoung makes the first move to separate the circle, trying to push his way through, the swarm of students stick together like a group of flamingos; they’re so congested that it would be easier to move through a vat of molasses

the teens stick to each other in their dance moves and you feel sorry for doyoung who tries to yell “no hands on knees. I said DO NOT PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR KNEES” at the crowd, the music swallowing him up

as you watch on, your eyes latch onto a group of guys who surround one of the drink and snack tables

you would’ve overlooked them, but the way they’re suspiciously eyeing their surroundings makes you curious

you walk closer, only to see one of the guys carrying a shiny flask, holding it upside down over a punch bowl

“woah, woah, woah, what do you think you’re doing?” you call out as you march closer, frightening the group of students

“nothing, we’re just getting a drink.” maybe if you didn’t see them pour alcohol into the punch bowl earlier, you would be fooled by their lies, but you give them a disappointed look

“really? that’s why you have a flask on you?” you ask the student with the alcohol, and all of their eyes widen into dinner plates

the night only erupts into more chaos after that

you and doyoung never have enough time to stop and call ten or any other teacher to come help you, too busy dealing with teenage antics

at one point in the night, “under the sea” plays, and you and doyoung are pulled into a conga line of students as they travel around the gym, and someone from the yearbook committee snaps a picture on a polaroid camera

as the night comes to a close, students leave to go home and the gym floor becomes visible once again

you sit against the wall, holding the polaroid in your hand and silently smiling at yours and doyoung’s surprised expressions, his hands on your shoulders and a bad, red flash in both of your eyes, only adding to the candidness of the whole scene

doyoung slides down next to you and hands you a cup of the spiked punch, which you had moved to a different room after you reprimanded the boys who spiked it

“for me?” you ask as you accept the cup

“yeah, I think we both deserve it for dealing with tonight” you and doyoung do a silent cheers and hit your plastic cups together before downing all the punch

“wow,” you cough a bit, placing a hand over your mouth “high schoolers don’t play around, huh” you look at the cup, wondering exactly how much alcohol was in it before setting it down on the floor, deciding not to think to much about it

the dj was hired from 7pm to 10pm, and although doyoung’s watch says it’s 9:57pm, the dj still plays songs even though only you and doyoung are here to listen to them

“this is for the chaperones tonight,” the dj suddenly speaks into his microphone, “you guys did a good job.”

a slow song starts to play, you and doyoung don’t recognize it, but doyoung laughs awkwardly at how you’re both put on the spot, even if there’s no one here to witness it

“well, let’s dance, doie.” you stand up and hold out your hand to him

maybe it’s the energy and confidence from the alcohol, or maybe this is something doyoung has always wanted to do, but he takes your hand and guides you to the dance floor

your hands rest on his shoulders and you try not to feel giddy at the thought of finally getting to feel them after looking on from the distance for so long

you blush at your own thoughts, or maybe because of doyoung’s hands traveling around your hips and pulling you closer to him

for a minute, you and doyoung just sway a bit

the music is nice and the blue hue from the lights makes doyoung’s eyes and skin shine, you can’t pull yourself away from him

“you know, I’ve actually never been to a school dance before.” you don’t know what possesses you to say it out loud, but doyoung’s eyes widen at your words

“me, too.”

at that moment, doyoung realizes that maybe you two do have something in common

and as you lean your head against his collarbone, humming the already familiar melody of your first song of your first school dance ever

doyoung knows he doesn’t mind getting to know the parts of you that aren’t that similar to him

it’ll be worth it

285 notes · View notes

amayamiyaki · 4 years

Text

Title: Frosting

Characters/Pairing: Minato/Sakura

Rating: General

Frosting

Sakura always gets up just as the first rays of light break through the curtains.

She likes to bask in the warmth of their bedsheets, slowly fighting off the remaining vestiges of sleep. Then, once she’s gathered her bearings, she sits up immediately, lifts her hands into the air and stretches out her back, rolls her shoulders; then she ruffles her hair and sighs softly before slipping out of bed. She’ll go to the bathroom, take a shower. On even days she goes for a run, on odd ones she dives straight into her work so she can close up the bakery by dinner.

It’s a routine Minato knows well. He’s watched her do it numerous times in the past four years because he always wakes up when she slips out of his arms.

But when she gets up this time, there’s something different. Actually, he thinks as he pushes his rubs the heel of his palm into his eyelids, everything is different.

It’s still dark out, first of all. The curtains are drawn but there’s no sunlight spilling through the translucent material, and the hum of passing commuters aren’t as prominent as it normally is. He hears the shower, but the storming of the showerhead only lasts half as long as it usually would and she’s humming when she saunters back into their room. He pretends he’s still asleep because he can’t figure out what would possess his already-early-rising fiancee to get up even earlier, but knowing she’s there with nothing but a towel draped around her flushed frame and water droplets trailing down her neck, makes Minato’s belly undulate.

She’s still humming when she gets dressed, and then he hears the door close. He hears the chime of the oven turning on and the opening of cabinets, the closing of their brand new fridge, so he assumes breakfast is what’s got her up and moving. Because when she comes across a new recipe, she needs to perfect it.

So he doesn’t think anything of it when he hears her swearing to herself. He assumes she measured something wrong and is dumping out the dry mixture in her bowl. He doesn’t wonder what she’s up to when she starts humming again and her mixer purrs. Then the oven shuts and he figures she’s on the right track. He just hopes she’ll let him be her taste tester.

And so he waits a little longer, hoping to get a few more minutes in before he finally detangles himself from the comforters. By then, the scent of vanilla has filled the apartment and his stomach is growling, and he can hear Sakura’s mixer whirring to life again.

When he enters the kitchen, she’s hard at work, adjusting the consistency of the buttercream in her mixer. The counter is coated in a layer of flour and her fingerprints litter the handle of the fridge, and from this angle, he can see her nose scrunched up in concentration.

“Ah, Minato,” She hums, when he entraps her waist with his arms. She leans into his chest, tilts her head to the side so he can press his lips to her temple but remains focused on the swirl of frosting she’s drawing on a cupcake. “Did I wake you?”

“You did,” He admits.

“I’m sorry,” She says as she moves onto another cupcake. “I didn’t mean to wake you so early on your day off. I know how tired you were last night. I just found this new cupcake recipe and—” She pauses, lacing her fingers with his and bringing his hand to her lips. “Well, you know I just had to try it.”

He loosens his grip on her so she can turn to face him, and leans down for a proper kiss. “It’s okay, as long as I get to eat some of these.” He gestures to the twenty-four cupcakes on the counter, At least half of them are topped with a mountain of pink frosting, while the other half is swirled with blue.

He takes both cupcakes and examines the colors dotted on their faces intently, “Are they different flavors?”

“Pink has a strawberry and creme filling,” She answers. “Blue has a cinnamon buttercream filling. I found the recipe on pinterest."

He sets the pink cupcake back into her hands, swiping a lick of frosting from it with a smile. Sakura laughs, shaking her head, but takes a lick of her own. “Predictable,” She teases.

“You made a lot of cupcakes for a trial run,” He muses, fingers idly tugging on the wrapper surrounding his little cake.

“I’m going to take some to Ino and Karin. I've for some for your brother, too.” She says, eyes still focused on him. “They’ll want to be the first ones to know.”

Acknowledgment rumbles in his chest, but then her words register a moment later and his brows furrow. "Know what?"

Her smile stretches into something a little more excited, revealing pearly teeth. She doesn't elaborate, just gestures to the cupcake he's holding with the tipping of her chin. Curious, Minato brings the treat closer, but sees nothing particularly interesting, so he turns the cupcake around to the unpeeled part of the wrapper.

"April 12th," he reads, twisting his wrist to continue. "We're expect—" His eyes dart back up to Sakura, who's nibbling at her lower lip in an attempt at containing her grin. "Are we? Expecting?"

Her enthusiastic nod makes Minato's chest tighten, and he moves so quickly, Sakura nearly drops her own cupcake. She squeals and laughs as he takes her into his arms, kissing her so passionately, she can't breathe.

But that's okay, because Minato tastes like buttercream and sunshine.

#naruto fluff #naruto fanfiction #minato namikaze #sakura haruno #minato x sakura #minasaku #fluff #alternate au #same age au

34 notes · View notes

hapuriainen · 3 years

Text

Hapuriainen's Animation & Comics & Games of 2020

It is again time for the annual compilation!

Manga:

Attack on Titan

I'm so sad this is so close to end... It's been my main thing for a few years now. Eren definitely didn't take the route I expected but I still find this consistent with his character and a bold and interesting move from the author.

(My notes say I also finished the jr high spin-off manga but it's not worth talking about)

Awards given: Best Side Girl (I still like Gabi, haters gonna hate), Best Boy (ditto Eren)

One Piece, My Hero Academia My interest in OP is still at an all-time low and I'm just waiting for the arc to end. There are so many characters and I have little idea what their deal is, Carrot hasn't been interesting in ages and currently Yamato is the only character I care for. Same for HeroAca; at least the excruciatingly long action scene is finally over.

Undead Unluck New Jump series! I think the main duo have a really good dynamic, but they're pretty much the only thing I care about and I'm very lost with what the plot is actually supposed to be about.

Majin Tantei Nougami Neuro

I like detective stories so here's one from the Assassination Classroom creator! The detective stuff itself could get rather nonsensical and as the story progressed more and more fantasy elements were added, but the titular character was entertaining enough to keep me interested. The viewpoint character was refreshingly (for a Jump series) a girl and her dynamic with Neuro (an ordinary schoolgirl and an arrogant amoral troll demon) was great.

Awards given: Best non-romantic relationship (Neuro & Yako)

Spy x Family

Super fun and the characters are cute! The main couple has such great chemistry and in general I enjoy following characters who are really competent at their job. Not surprised that this has become hugely popular.

Awards given: Best romance (it is rare to get me to ship anything but the main couple here is just so cute)

Delicious in Dungeon

This manga has amazing character design and the author clearly loves to play around with it, like by drawing each character as each other's races, or making clones of everyone but each clone is a little different so you can guess which is the real one with the characters, and there's so much thought put to the outfits too. And then there's of course all the worldbuilding around how an RPG dungeon and the creatures in it could work, but it's presented simply enough that the story is still easy to follow. I also like the upbeat atmosphere; maybe I could get a bit more emotionally involved if there was more drama, but I still really like this as it is.

Awards given: Best character designs

Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou

Reread one of my favourite manga ever and it's still just as good. I love how the manga still has a positive vibe to it, under it there is the quiet melancholy of a world that is close to ending. And it's wonderful how uninterested the story is answering any of the worldbuilding questions it sets up.

Beastars

This was incredibly interesting in how it presented an animal society where the carnivore-herbivore differences couldn't be just explained away with "the differences don't really exist", and the story looks at this from so many different angles. Pairs really well with Zootopia for a completely different approach. Louis was a really interesting character with how he publicly managed to appear as if he was a good candidate to be the next ambassador for the peace between the animals but was actually very cold and broken inside, and I really liked his breakdown moment. The ending was pretty meh though.

Awards given: Best Side Boy (Louis)

Kannagi

This one has really cute character designs but apart from that it's a pretty generic harem story. Except for the twist that the main girl already had been involved with a boy which caused otaku to shred their manga or whatever. I believe I would have enjoyed this more if it finished back when it went to hiatus since at this point it didn't do much for me.

Witch Hat Atelier

The main girl is the kind of heroic, friendly, plucky goody-two-shoes protagonist I really don't like but apart from that this is a great manga. I love the art, and the way the magic works is really well set up but also easy to understand. Great outfits too!

Anime:

This year I learned that in order to clear stuff from your anime watch list you need to actually watch anime. So unexpectedly I think I watched a lot more different series than usual.

Attack on Titan

It was my plan to watch seasons 1-3 before jumping on board with the last one, and of course I dragged my feet for the entire year and had to marathon the whole thing in autumn. I still prefer the manga, but the anime does have great colours, soundtrack and voice acting and some of the action scenes were amazing. But I really hate what they did to Historia in season 3... The final season has been excellent so far and I can't wait for the big scene in the next episode.

Awards given: Best OP (all the Linked Horizon ones)

Ouran High School Host Club

Haruhi continues to be one of the best girls in the anime and manga industry ever with her confident and no-nonsense attitude, and Tamaki's oblivious and overflowing friendliness makes for a great counterpart to her. And the opening theme is so darn catchy.

Awards given: Best Girl (Haruhi)

Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann Finally managed to watch this. I love the iconic character designs and all the chaotic energy. Kamina for best bro. I've never cared for mecha, the girls were nice but the writing around them sucked and the second half wasn't as strong as the first one, but still a good package overall.

Awards given: Best ED (don't care for the song that much but Simon looks somehow really cool in the second ending)

Haibane Renmei

Another one that had been on the watch list for years. A lovely quiet and contemplative show. Visuals were rather dull though but maybe it's better for a show like this that the characters didn't have bubblegum pink hair.

Digimon Adventure 2020

This started promising but has since lost steam. I really like how different the story is from the original Digimon Adventure, and compared to Precure it's super nice how not every episode has the exact same structure, and the cast has different roles and regularly gets split up instead of shoehorning everyone into every conflict. But on the other hand the characters feel way more samey and flat, and the original "kids want to return to their home from the Digital World" plot was a lot more personal than the current one about global crises and prophecy jargon. And some of the action scenes last way too long.

Awards given: Worst side boy (Agumon and his evolutions, it is of course expected that he'd get a lot of screen time but I'm so over how much he's constantly pushed in your face in the franchise)

Shuumatsu Nani Shitemasu ka? Isogashii Desu ka? Sukutte Moratte Ii Desu ka?

This wasn't afwul but still left me kind of cold. I think the character designs were a problem here, in general I'm used to brightly coloured anime characters but this was trying to be a very serious story about child soldiers who know they're going to die young. But when they were colour-coded and always wore the same clothes (and mostly had pretty generic animu girl personalities) they felt so artificial which made it harder to get into the drama. Nice OP song.

Yashahime

Inuyasha was my first show after really getting into anime so I was super hyped for any kind of new content. So far this has unfortunately been rather dull since I'm not particularly interested in either of Sesshoumaru's daughters, and the way the show treats the absence of the old cast is annoying. Just either show them or make it clear we're not supposed to care about them, now it's just annoying how their disappearance is treated as a mystery but the three heroines know barely anything about their heritage and don't even seem interested in learning either. But I'll watch this to the end for Moroha.

Kaitou Tenshi Twin Angels, Twin Angel Break, Pretear, Happy Seven, Healin' Good Precure

Watched a lot of magical girl stuff this year too, these being shows that play the tropes straight. The Twin Angel seasons had different flaws but were otherwise watchable aside from the awful Twin Angel Break heroine. Pretear had surprisingly nice character writing and I feel I would really have liked this if I saw it at an earlier part of my anime hobby experience but now it doesn't feel so special any more. Healin' Good Precure has been rather dull.

I also watched a bunch of Precure movies, out of which only the Star Twinkle Precure one was actually good, and the Spring Carnival crossover movie was also good in an absurd way, while the rest ranged from awful to somewhat decent.

Awards given: Worst girl (Meguru - Twin Angel Break), Biggest WTF (Happy Seven suddenly going from monster of the week shenaningans to alien mass destruction weapons)

Concrete Revolutio, Myriad Colors Phantom World, Re:Creators

Also some anime where the magical girl was a side character. Concrete Revolutio was an unpleasant mess with nice visuals, Myriad Colors was a pretty boring otaku high school harem thing and the magical girl episode was also rather bland, and Re:Creators had a lot of potential with the "anime characters come to our world" setting but the result was somewhat uneven. Re:Creators had the best magical girl out of these three.

Awards given: Worst non-romantic relationship, Worst side girl (Setsuna from Re:creators, with the main boy) not really an awful character on her own, but the writing around her was pretty bad, let's also give Worst Boy for the said main boy

Nausicaa

I watched the first half of the movie over a decade ago and didn't manage to finish until now. After seeing so many other Ghibli movies this didn't do much for me, but the animation and nature were still beautiful.

Western:

Most Popular Girls in School

The newer seasons didn't reach the heights of the earlier ones but there's still something entertaining about a very raunchy Barbie doll stop motion show. Also pairs well with the Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse for a fun but more child friendly Barbie experience.

Frozen 2

I'm wondering if these really are the only Western piece of media I consumed this year? I certainly didn't go to movies after March. Anyway, like the previous film I had major problems with the plot and characters (I don't think Elsa's story was set up properly, Kristoff's sub-plot feels like an afterthought when he doesn't factor to Anna's sub-plot at all, Olaf is annoying, too much Lore) but ultimately I still had a good time. I like the costume design, the idea for Elsa's arc is fine, the songs are great and there were plenty of good scenes too, and the lullaby was beautiful. I'd say that like the original Frozen this was patched together from perfectly serviceable pieces that didn't quite work combined.

Awards given: Worst romance (not the pairing itself but the way Kristoff x Anna was written)

Games:

Animal Crossing Pocket Camp

Early this year I just decided not to open this app for the daily money-grubbing grind and haven't touched it since. I'm free!

Animal Crossing New Horizons

However the daily grind continues here! It's been way more enjoyable, primarily due to lacking the microtransactions/limited time item angle and also for being so much more customisable. And the nature is so pretty... But I've reached a point where even this has started to feel kind of stale.

Super Mario Odyssey

My first Mario game since Super Mario World so of course I'm blown away by everything. I like how colourful and welcoming the worlds were, Cappy was a surprisingly enjoyable sidekick/mascot and also the game was easy enough and had a simple linear plot so it was far easier to approach than Zelda BotW which is still on hold.

Plans for 2021

Actually play Zelda BotW

Maybe finally Evangelion?

Finally finish the mostly disappointing Digimon Adventure tri

Various magical girl sequels and remakes

8 notes · View notes

ezmarie · 3 years

Text

hi! can i request a haikyuu match up please! thank you so much i really appreciate it but if you can’t do it for whatever reason it’s totally fine! i hope you’ve eaten and drank some water ❤️ have a good day/night

name and stuff : sofi, straight but flexible , she her

star sign mbti and hogwarts: scorpio sun, pisces rising. infp! , slytherin

personality thingzz: kinder, wise ish, sarcastic and i joke a lot, i overthink things badly and my anxiety gets the best of me, i’m insecure sometimes and real cocky/sassy other times, it’s hard to let people in, i always give my all, i’m talkative with the people i care about, sorta creative i like people who are different and don’t quite fit the standards,

hobbies: i like dressing up and fashion , i like to draw and write, i wanna learn to ballroom dance and dance in general, i like exercising and cooking too!

appearance: i’ve got sharp eyes but a softer face otherwise, i’m latina i’m 5’2, 115 lbs smaller waist and wide hips, i’ve got long straight brown hair and black eyes i’m learning to love myself slowly ! :D

music taste: ateez, monsta x, nct and exo bath- offonoff, fall-crush, dayfly-dean, text me-Dpr live, arctic monkeys, the neighborhood, the weekend, keshi, hopeless romantic music is my favorite! and more sexy songs too lol

playlist name: i’ve fallen in love (again) have fun :,)

what i want in a partner: someone who can match my energy, someone who’ll get along with my family, a gentle person, “i’d slap someone without hesitation but i’d give it all to you,” type person, someone who’ll let me be vulnerable, let’s me hold their hands and hug them, someone protective

extras: i’m ok with jealousy and will let me cheer them up and care for them, i’d like to be the one to say things like “you’re so pretty and amazing, you’re so amazing i love you so much you have no idea how much you mean to me”, cute photo shoots and fashionable outfits

ahh thank you so much!!! 🤧

Hiiii! And yes you can definitely have a matchup that first part was so sweet and adorable🥺 I ship you with....tendou!!

ok you guys would be so sweet and funny yet so chaotic at the same time ( the chaos is mostly from him but you like to join in too abhsh). he loves your sarcastic and joking side so much, no like he seriously adores it. you both are always throwing sarcasm at eachother and you can always expect the other to match and come back with the exact same energy. you both would find the humor in everything and you would definitely be the funny/fun couple and everyone knows it. seriously i just know you two would make everything fun and i feel like that’s just one reason why you two get along so well. you both are just so happy with eachother and there’s never a dull moment which both of you appreciate immensely. he’s always wanted someone to match his energy and fun kind of personality and so have you, which is another example of a perfect match since you won’t have to feel like you’re holding back any part of you in fear of judgment. tendo is literally the LAST person that would judge you for basically anything, trust me. he thinks your cocky and sassy side is so adorable and he always tries to push your buttons to get you to throw some sass at him since it’s not really a consistent thing. but oh boy, when you do, it just becomes a huge mess full of sass, sarcasm, joking insults, and cocky remarks (all in good fun of course😌). no but he loves when those sides of you come out because he loves the real authentic you and one of his biggest things is that he wants you to feel comfortable with him in your relationship, and you showing your real personality is a huge sign for him that your comfortable.

this boy knows ALL about insecurities so he understands 100% your issues with overthinking and all that. when he noticed certain things you said or did that reminded him of himself when he was insecure, he got so sad i can’t even explain it. the last thing he wants is for you to feel the way he did so it break his heart when you do. he make sure he does EVERYTHING in his power to potentially help you with those problems. he finds out the things that make you happy and give them to you to lift your spirits or get your mind off things for a while on anxious or bad days. he knows what to do when your feeling especially anxious and overwhelmed with deprecating thoughts certain days and does certain techniques/takes advice he learned will help, and just tries things that helped him in hopes it will do the same with you. he praises and compliments you ALL the time anyways whether your insecure or not, so because you are it just multiplied by about 100x. there always thought out 100% genuine compliments too, you can tell, which just makes it a million times more sweet. he just loves you sososo much and will try anything to help you love yourself because he honestly sees 0 flaws about you and can’t physically even imagine you hating yourself. however he will be totally understanding and thoughtful nonetheless. (also, he would be ECSTATIC when you start youre journey of loving yourself, like he doesn’t care how slow the process is as long as your on your way to feeling actually okay with yourself he’s incredibly happy.

the description of your wants in a partner match him SO WELL which is one one the many reasons i think you two are amazing together. as i’ve said before you two can always expect the other to match each others energy and will let you both feel ok with being yourselves. i just know that most families would literally adore tendo and he would adore them too. like he’s SUCH a sweet and respectful guy and he’s hilarious, what’s not to like from a parents standpoint? and he gets along with basically everyone so he would love you family 100% as long as they’re not toxic (which i’m sure they aren’t so that’s not a problem 😌). yes he’s crazy and chaotic on the outside but we all know he’s a soft and gentle little sweetheart on the inside. like he just wants some love and will treat you with such care and gentleness it’s adorable. that whole “i’ll slap someone” quote thing matches him so well i can’t- like think about it, he would no doubt smack a bitch if they ever messed with you (or anyone he cares about but more so you) but with you he gives his whole heart and soul into you and your relationship. being disloyal is just not in his programming, sorry not sorry. he will always let you be vulnerable and would make sure he never breaks your trust in any way. he knows how hard it is to open up and show your vulnerability so he wants to make sure you feel comfortable and safe and most importantly, understood. physical touch you say? hugs and hand holding? oh my GOD sign this touch starved bby up. he wants physical affection so badly since he was stripped of it as a child and throughout the rest of his life so be prepared to be smothered with affection once he knows you enjoy it. i don’t even have to say anything about how you like people who don’t necessarily fit the standards,like that’s completely him, being different is basically his whole thing. lastly, he will always be protective of you because he scared you’ll get hurt or he’ll get abandoned again. he just loves you so much and wants you to feel safe at all times so protecting you is the way to go.

scenarios with the two of you:

• so tendo is NOT used to compliments or anyone loving him or anything like that so he gets so flustered that occurs. one time you kept saying how much you love him and how he means the world to you, how amazing and beautiful he is, and things such as that and he literally malfunctioned. he got so lovey dovey with you and the happiness he felt was just- yeah it was an overflow. he loves when you compliment him like that and gets incredibly giddy and blushy when you do it’s vv cute🥺

• this is one of my headcannons for him anyways and i think it fits you rlly well. tendo would always randomly ballroom dance with you no matter where you are. like he would walk up to you and get down and like kiss your hand to pretend to be a gentleman. you two would start dancing and he would do all these spins and twirls and would pretend to drop you just to see you laugh. he also does that thing where he places your feet on top of his and kinda wobbles side to side ya know? i can’t really explain it but yeah😔😌

•OMG he would LOVE dressing up with you!! on free days he would raid your closet and randomly pick clothes and you two would have fake fashion shows and would “walk the runway” for eachother (by runway i mean living room carpet ahhdhs) he would always pick the dumbest combination of clothes but would always somehow make them look good?? idk he always could pull them off and it’s so funny. also he’s the best person to take pics with because he would be hyping you up the whole time, like he would be screaming how hot you are while in a super uncomfortable position to get a good pic angle ABHD-

AHDHS i hope you liked this IT TOOK SO LONG IM SO SORRY😭 i ended up writing a lot but this was so fun to get back into writing after a while and this was such a cute matchup i couldn’t help it😔

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu matchups #tendou #tendou satori #Petals ✿#submission

5 notes · View notes

arinaco · 4 years

Text

The story of Pidge or Dark Youth as the main character

Translated and edited by @Nadezhda932

First warning: Plance

Second warning: before reading this meta, I strongly advise you to read the previous metas about Lance and Pidge. Because I won’t repeat the thoughts expressed there, but I will refer to them.

Not so long ago (at the time of writing), a 200th Let’s Voltron podcast took place, where the voicers gathered together and remembered the glorious past when they voiced the series together. And Bex – the voice of Pidge – remembered Plance and compared it to a wonderful little garden. Naturally, this led to the beginning of the discussion, where we analyzed the characters and their interaction with each other. And the idea came up to try to pull the Pidge storyline on Heroine’s Journey. Well, I mean to try to check whether there are those necessary components in her story that allow us to say that yes, this is the real Heroine’s Journey. And, to my pleasure, I suddenly realized that the story arc of Pidge really suits these requirements, and it’s even more interesting in its nuances than the Journey of Allura. Why? Because Allura has a classic story – a girl must become more confident in herself, go against society, save her prince, defeat the evil queen, etc.. Pidge… her situation is the opposite. And I’ll try to explain why.

I’ll begin by describing how the attempt to “pull” the story into the stages of the journey actually takes place. To do this, you need to determine that the storyline of the character doesn’t consist of separate episodes, but has a single common outline that runs through the series, and find several important components in this outline:

A) The drawback of the main character, preventing her from gaining inner balance and harmony;

B) The lowest point of the Journey. The moment when the heroine realizes this shortcoming and begins her work to fix it.

These two things also make it possible to determine what becomes an imaginary reward for a heroine and what becomes a real reward, and thus we begin to perceive individual scenes with the heroine as a single construct – a story about self-digging, which is the Heroine’s Journey.

And the main drawback of Pidge is not only her egoism, because there are a lot of happy egoists in life. The main disadvantage of Pidge is the zero ability for social interaction that developed as a result of this egoism.

As well as an absolute lack of understanding of what is “criminal liability”.

The Holts adored their daughter with blind love, were proud of her mind and indulged in everything, and thereby served her very evil service, because the parents should not only love their child, they should prepare the child for adulthood and set the right moral compass. And, alas, Pidge has serious problems with this. In the series, she appears as a brilliant teenager, but at the same time lagging behind in social development. Not because she’s mentally ill, but because she grew up in an environment where that metaphorical muscle responsible for social skills simply wasn’t trained.

Honestly, there are not so many ideal parents in the series. These are the parents of Hunk and Dayak, who performed a miracle, having managed to raise a mentally healthy person in an environment that clearly didn’t contribute to such a development of events. The classical educational school of ancient Daibazaal showed a real master class, and it’s a pity that the main characters cost only an orientation course.

The Pidge’s storyline isn’t the main one in the series, but it’s important enough to make an integral picture of her behavior if desired. You need to understand that social interactions are not just “hello – bye” or “let’s be friends against a common enemy” – I would even say that in such situations, skill isn’t required. The skill of social interaction is necessary in order to join the society where you’re only a drop in the ocean of people, and to learn how to live in it, avoiding conflicts. This is the ability to please, and the ability to circumvent sharp corners in communication… and this all needs to be learned. A person isn’t born with these skills, they learns them in the family and in society, and … by the age of 14, Pidge didn’t possess these skills. She often behaved rudely with others, if not boorishly, completely ignoring the status of these people, and this can no longer be attributed to a simple straightforwardness of character.

You may ask: where did all this come from? It’s easy to imagine.

Pidge had greenhouse conditions at home. Parents loved and understood each other and pampered their beloved daughter. The brother was much older, and Pidge didn’t have to be jealous or fight with him for a favorite toy. In addition, the Holt family was united by a love of science and lived, as they say, on the same wavelength. The absence of conflicts and acute angles in the family is wonderful, but alas, it doesn’t at all contribute to the ability to solve the conflicts and circumvent acute angles.

Another teacher is the surrounding society. The child looks at this society, observes and begins to repeat. The child tries to communicate, with alternating success, and draws certain conclusions from the result. And the problem of Pidge is that all her conclusions boiled down to the fact that “they love me because I’m special and smarter than all of them.” She considered herself the smartest and didn’t strive at all, not only to observe how others communicate, but also to try to adapt herself to other people. She didn’t hesitate to interrupt the teacher and make her incompetent, although at the age of 14 you can already understand that this is simply ill-mannered. Moreover, judging by the behavior in the classroom, it wasn’t the first time she acted in this way, but which is characteristic – none of those present was imbued with respect for her knowledge. Because social interaction doesn’t work unilaterally. You can demand only for submission, respect or acceptance is always a two-way work.

Pidge didn’t even realize that she was doing something wrong. She sincerely shared knowledge…

…but you must also be able to share knowledge, so as not to make yourself an arrogant pride.

And the problem is that the Holts didn’t attach any importance to this. After all, they also believed that “Katie is just a special and brilliant girl, and this civilians aren’t able to understand her because of their earthliness, but when she enters the Garrison …”. She entered the Garrison, so what? Her environment consisted only of extremely condescending and patient people – Hunk and Lance, and she rejected their friendship at the first meeting.

You see these people for the first time and don’t even want to spend a couple of minutes getting to know each other.

School is that litmus test that shows how the child will get along in society, and you can’t turn a blind eye for the fact that your child isn’t accepted in this micro-society. You need to work, you need to try to understand what’s wrong, and keep in mind that the problem can be not only in evil peers, but also in your own child, who is an innocent angel only for you.

Because a person is a social animal, and we have a psychological need for respect and recognition. While Pidge was a child, she was fine with her parents, brother and dog, but now a new adult life is knocking on the door, where she wants something more. She’s already 14 years old, even though psychologically she’s 11-13 years old, but she’s already a teenager. And she has a completely positive example of a motherly figure – successful professionally and in her personal life, and she probably wants the same for herself.

Nothing prevented Colleen from being both a brilliant scientist and a charming woman at the same time.

Moreover: Mrs. Holt has a short haircut, which means that having long hair is a personal desire of Pidge. Yes, she doesn’t get along with other children, but she tries to wear beautiful dresses and looks after her magnificent hair. She doesn’t say it out loud, but she clearly feels the need to be accepted not just as a child, but also as a young woman.

And she feels upset when she can’t get in contact with peers.

And here your parents won’t help you.

Yes, mother can say a hundred times that you’re beautiful, but this is not the same as the approval of your friends and the attention of the boys. And Pidge had problems with this, because she pushed peers away and couldn’t even get respect from them for her intellect and knowledge, which, with different behavior, could earn the approval of the teacher and admiration from other children. Because social skills in society are like traffic rules in a stream of cars. You can be a brilliant driver, but you will still be cursed by others if you turn without turning on the turn signal, or if you don’t miss a pedestrian.

But to solve a problem, you need to know about its existence. You need to understand that it’s here, and you need to solve it. And since her beloved relatives assured that everything was fine, Pidge didn’t realize what was wrong until she faced the real consequences of her actions. And this is exactly what the Heroine’s Journey tells. Moreover, the Journey of the Dark Heroine, because Pidge is the real Dark Youth, traveling in a group of the main characters of the series.

It’s actually not so difficult to distinguish Dark Youth from Light Youth. You just need to look at what’s the main motive for a person to start a journey. Allura traveled for the desire to become the winner of evil, Lance – for the recognition of loved ones, Pidge… for her selfishness. Yes, because her love for relatives is very selfish, and we can clearly see how she treats the love of her relatives in a consumer way when she easily abandons her mother to regain her “property” – her father and brother.

Look at this poor woman. How she got older, how her hair grew – having lost her children and husband, she even stopped monitoring her appearance. But what does Pidge think about in S7 when they prepare to return to Earth? About how she’ll be punished. She doesn’t think about WHAT her mother experienced during all this time. Sorry, but for some reason I’m not too lazy to call my family at the age of 30 and say that everything is fine. And Pidge isn’t a toddler or even 10 years old to behave in this way.

But if Pidge is Dark Youth, then who is our Light Youth and where is our Animus? And here we get a very interesting point: the fact is that the series forms a whole bunch of heroes, where one character has two Dark Youths at once, and the other has two Light ones.

And these ligaments look like this: Lotor-Allura-Pidge and Allura-Pidge-Lance. Funny huh? A sort of love quadrangle.

In the case of Allura and her Dark Youths, the question arises of contrasting the common good and personal desires. Lotor and Pidge are two opposing sides of personality development that pull Allura like a rope in a competition.

Lotor is not just the Dark Youth of Allura. He’s an allusion to her ideal, to which she aspired. Lotor is not a teenager with personality problems, no, he’s a mature – even old – man. He’s a great diplomat and speaker, he’s polite and ready to compromise with everyone, but he never trusts anyone, because he’s constantly stabbed in the back. He’s ready to sacrifice all desires and affections for the fulfillment of the plan for the salvation of the universe, which he once set for himself. He’s confident in himself, he knows what he’s doing, he calculates everything in advance, but at the same time he improvises very well. An ideal politician and strategist with the most noble intentions. And he’s not a friend of the Alteans, not a commander or a king, but the Holy Savior Lotor. An example to follow, who took the cross upon himself – to atone for the sins of his father – and carried it, pushing aside everything personal for the sake of the greater good. He doesn’t allow himself to be angry at people or become attached to them, because all this can ruin his important mission.

So perfect and lifeless…

This is what Allura’s dream of becoming a ray of light for the universe could turn into. Nothing for yourself – everything for others. A lifeless holy idol who has long forgotten about love and personal wishes. The Alteans with their cult of sacrifice will fully approve it.

And Pidge really turns out to be his complete antipode.

Lotor is old, she’s almost a child. Lotor is polite and eloquent, she’s straightforward and often rude. Lotor doesn’t trust anyone, she completely believes her loved ones. Lotor acts for the common good, Pidge – exclusively for personal purposes. Lotor turned his back on his family, because he considered their actions immoral, Pidge fully and completely supports her family, no matter what happens. They can only be united by confidence in what they’re doing is right, but this is not much in which they agree.

An ancient man who wants to save the universe and a little girl demanding to return her dad.

And this pulls Allura in different directions – the dream of serving others and her own desires. None of it can be put on a pedestal, as the path of Allura is the path to a balance between these two aspirations. In the end, it was for a reason that Lotor reached out to her – the lifeless Saint figure really wanted to feel alive again, to love and trust someone. The savior wanted someone to save him.

Pidge’s parallels appear a little different. They say that all families are equally happy, but each suffers in its own way. And how much Lotor and Pidge differ in the role of Dark Youth, so much in the role of Bright Youth are Lance and Allura alike.

The Red Paladin, which should be Blue, and the Blue Paladin, which should become Red. As brother and sister, they go hand in hand in their insecurity, albeit regarding various aspects of life.

And you know, it's funny when you think that the Blue Lion is the right leg and the Green Lion is the left arm. Indeed, opposites.

I've already written about Lance and Pidge. Here I will say that the question of Lance and Pidge's relationship is a question of selfishness. Lance and Pidge both wanted public acceptance. But if Pidge, in pursuit of her family, abandons the idea of establishing contact with others and achieves her goals through conflict and breaking the rules, then Lance, on the contrary, goes out of his way to achieve what he wants, almost pursuing people in attempts to get attention from them.

Funny contrast: Pidge completely neglects her appearance at the start of her journey, while Lance is the only one on the show who takes the time to look after his appearance even in the middle of a war. Beauty is one of the most affordable ways to gain recognition. And if Pidge refuses even it, then Lance clings to attractiveness with his legs and arms, considering it a measure of a person's level of happiness.

Lance is a very compassionate selfless person, but in pursuit of status, he went against his own nature - he began to consider loved ones from a consumer point of view. And crossing with Pidge on this subject should have made him stop, take a look at himself and what he was doing. Take a look and think about it at last.

On the other hand, Lance is also a subject of interest. This is a childlike innocent affection that Katie developed towards the end of the story. Lance may not be the most attractive man, but he's an open and cheerful person who gave Pidge exactly what she lacked in school - sincere friendship and acceptance with all her flaws. Katie is still quite small in this regard, this is not some kind of serious romantic love, but this is a strong feeling, which over time, over the years, can turn into something more mature.

Having fun with friends is what Katie has dreamed of since school.

He is Pidge's Animus. A person with similar problems, but with the opposite approach to solving them.

It’s interesting that at the beginning of the journey it was Lance who didn’t notice until the last moment that Katie was a girl.

Everything is a little more complicated with Allura: Allura doesn’t appeal primarily to Pidge’s egoism, but to social skills. Yes, the idea of sacrifice is close to Allura as an Altean, and it is opposed to the egoism of the Green Paladin. But the main thing is different: Allura is polite, educated, diplomatic and, in the end, accepted and loved by society as an amazingly beautiful woman. And this is what Pidge would like for herself, without even realizing this need. On the other hand, Allura’s professional skills are forgotten by S8, those around her begin to perceive her only as a pretty alien girl, against the backdrop of the triumph of Pidge, whose ingenious mind is recognized in the professional circle of scientists.

And if Allura in the changed S8 turns into a damsel in distress for a noble knight who will worship her like the Virgin Mary, then Pidge becomes that very caricatured strong and independent woman, only instead of 40 cats she has robots. It’s caricatured, because it’s the image of a woman who declares that she doesn’t need anyone, and then, in longing for human warmth, she turns herself on to a pet in order to sublimate her psychological needs. In the case of Pidge, she builds herself a metal brother. And in ten years she’ll also build a metal lover, why not.

The truth is that a person is happy only when they realize themselves both professionally and personally. There’s a huge number of people who put their lives on the altar of some important mission, but later not so much of them could call themselves happy. On the other hand, there are a lot of women who abandoned their ambitions for the sake of marriage, and then regret it until their death.

So what is it – Pidge’s Heroine Journey? Let’s look at it in stages.

Stage 1 – Separation from the feminine.

Pidge is a teenager of 14 years old. She has problems with her peers, she can’t find a common ground with them, and therefore clings to her family – her cozy mini-world, comfort zone. But here a tragedy occurs: father and brother disappear on an expedition. Pidge finds out that something is unclear in this case, but the father’s authorities refuse to explain the situation, and she decides to find the answers in a not too legal way – secretly, despite all the prohibitions.

Feminine figure and beautifully decorated room…

…all this was left in the past.

This is very symbolic: Pidge leaves her mother alone to experience the tragedy and cuts off her hair – a symbol of her femininity.

Katie is not at all happy to lose her beautiful curls

Stage 2 – Identification with the masculine and gathering of allies

Pidge studies at the Garrison in the company of Hunk and Lance, hiding under the guise of a homely boy. At first she repels them, but since they’re a team, she has to communicate with them. But instead of making friends and learning to communicate, Pidge spends all her efforts looking for information about the family. Meanwhile, she begins to have confidence in Hunk and Lance, finds common interests with them, and gradually these two in her eyes pass from the category of strangers into the category of the ones whom she can even tell her secret.

And when Pidge once again can’t keep her mouth shut…

…it’s Lance who protects her.

Stage 3 – Road of trials, meeting ogres and dragons

Shiro's return and the beginning of their journey. Pidge grabs any lead to find her father and brother, and is even ready to give up everything and everyone for the ghostly opportunity to save the family. On the other hand, one way or another, she begins to become attached to the people around her. True, this attachment is selfish. Pidge worries about the safety of her friends, but she isn't interested in what they grieve and worry about. Her fixation on the family is in stark contrast to the fact that the main leadership backbone of the team - Allura, Shiro, Keith and Koran - are orphans who have no loved ones except for each other and a common cause.

Keith with his desire to save Shiro is certainly disingenuous, but he described Pidge's problem correctly...

Stage 4 – Finding the boon of success

Pidge finds her brother and saves his father. But at what cost? The height of selfishness is to send a person to certain death, without even trying to give him a chance for being rescued. And personally for Pidge, this person is only to blame for the fact that he's not included in the circle of her loved ones - the circle of those whom she considers her "property". But she still gets her way, she saves her family, without any remorse. And then she has fun with friends who have already become family members for her - part of that very micro-world.

And it was during this period that Pidge appeared in the game as the most closed character, fenced off by armor from other people.

And the mess in her room as an indicator that Pidge wasn’t going to invite guests at her place…

Stage 5 – Awakening to feelings of spiritual aridity; death

Homecoming. As people say, be careful of what you wish for. Pidge constantly tried to leave friends and other people behind, in the pursuit of saving the family; as a result, when she returns home, she’s grounded. Now, her circle of loved ones is forcibly composed only of her parents and brother. Moreover, the most annoying thing happens: Lance invites Allura on a date. Lance complained to Hunk for several weeks about being unworthy of Allura, while Hunk listened sympathetically. And there was no one who could interrupt the flow of this whining, because this someone was sitting at home. As a result, Hunk persuades Lance to go out and invite Allura on a date, and she unexpectedly agrees.

And after so many days of isolation, Pidge is free only to find out that Lance is going on a date with Allura. Pidge liked Lance, she even tried to compliment him, although unsuccessfully – and now he sailed away to a beautiful princess, and Pidge could only watch this process.

A scene called “She tried”.

She even helps to arrange this date: to get Allura the dress for which she gives the game – the subject of their common interest with Lance. But that’s where her altruism ends: she doesn’t stand it and decides to follow them, because until the last she hopes that Allura will refuse Lance, but this doesn’t happen.

Yes, Pidge is respected as a scientist, but how much does it mean if the person dear to her, whose attention she values, is now fully devoted to his new girlfriend? You can say as much as you like that they’re a team of paladins, but we know very well that couples are always a little apart, as they feel like spending time together.

And Katie knew perfectly well that now Lance is unlikely to find time to play with her.

Stage 6 – Initiation and Descent to the Goddess

Here’s a difficult moment. The fact is that this moment takes place in S8, in an episode that was originally intended for S7. And I can’t help but wonder if it should have taken place in the earlier version of the script, because according to the logic of the travel, Pidge should have it. This conversation takes place in a dead forest, where Pidge and Allura are left alone at some point, and Pidge, who saw how Allura saved the tree, asks if she can help Olkarion. After this, Katie has to admit that yes – she followed them, and naturally the question of Lance’s feelings will be raised.

Allura is Pidge’s Light Youth. She agreed to a date with Lance out of feeling guilty and out of gratitude for his concern. Her consent is pure sacrifice, altruism. And she admits it while talking to Pidge. That yes, she doesn’t have feelings for him, but he loves her. Remember the first episodes, where Pidge confidently says that a princess in her place would do the same. But now she sees that Allura, on the contrary, is ready to sacrifice the personal for the sake of someone else’s good. And this makes her think, because Lance chose Allura.

Throughout the series, Pidge was not very friendly with the princess. When Allura found out that Pidge was by no means a boy, she was the first to welcome Pidge as a girl, because having only men in her social circle wasn’t very comfortable for a girl. But then Pidge kept in mind only the search for a family and simply didn’t understand that she was offered girlish friendship. But now, in this situation, Katie was the only one to whom Allura entrusted her “female” secret, and the Green Paladin saw her tragedy and in some ways even managed to share it. Pidge saw in her not a rival, but a person who had lost absolutely everything and was ready to sacrifice the little that was left of her.

You know, at the first meeting with the Olkari, Pidge says that she’s very far from nature, she’s closer to technology and robots, to which she doesn’t need to adapt. This can be considered a metaphor for how she pushes living people away from her, how she turns away from a simple human desire to realize herself socially.

And it is very symbolic that the bottom point of the journey occurs precisely in the middle of the dead Olkarion.

Stage 7 – Urgent yearning to reconnect with the feminine

After talking with Allura, Pidge begins to look at the situation in a new light. She’s still upset that Lance is now devoting all his time to his new girlfriend, but now sees him not as an “escaped property”. Now for her he’s a really unhappy guy deserving of support, not ridicule. She generally begins to reconsider her position towards people, although this is a very slow process.

When they leave to celebrate Clear Day, she leaves her family — which she saved with such zeal — for the sake of helping Lance get a present for Allura. For the sake of the opportunity to stay with a loved one and find a gift for his girlfriend. And she sincerely seeks to please Allura, because she really imbued with sympathy for her. And when Lance tells her how useless he feels, Katie tries to support him, inspire, and somehow help him solve the problem of relations with another girl. And for a spoiled egoist, this is a very serious step towards change.

By the way, did you notice that in Clear Day episode there’s not a single scene of the interaction between Pidge and Lance, although Katie knows from somewhere that Allura asked for a present? It was cut out while editing S8.

What kind of torment would you go for friends?

Unfortunately, I can only assume what the next steps should look like, too much has been cut.

We know that Allura will decide to announce to the paladins that she’s going to save Lotor, and perhaps Pidge will be the second after Lance to support her in this. Maybe she will even play a role in ensuring that the conversation between Allura and Lance takes place.

She will be next to Lance after the return of the prodigal prince and will morally support him. Perhaps they will even play the game as they dreamed in their podcasts. They’re still children who are just entering adulthood, and after everything they have experienced, they must find a place for joy.

In addition, Pidge has guilt before Lotor, and after her selfish behavior it’ll be important that she realize this and apologize. In general, this will be a lesson for her: a lesson in acknowledging her wrong, and a lesson in humility. The beginning of a long journey of working on oneself, which will allow Pidge to finally realize herself not only professionally, but also personally. It’ll allow her to stop repelling the world, accept it, and learn to swim with everyone in a single stream of the river called “life”.

After all, green is the color of life. As well as blue.

#voltron #team voltron #VLD #voltron pidge #vld pidge #Pidge #Lance #Allura #lotor

14 notes · View notes