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darkmacadamien · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023, No. 1: Swooning + "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Sam rarely tackles during training, mostly because he wishes to avoid injuring his teammates. He knows how to throw a clean tackle, mind you, where his feet hit nothing but the ball, but accidents do happen, even in the world of professional football. So, most of the time, it's not really worth the risk.

But when it comes to Jamie Tartt… as per usual, he is proving to be the exception.

Sam is rarely like this— vindictive and needlessly aggressive. Hatred is not an emotion that comes naturally to him. And Sam knows that, in some ways, his current behavior is no better than Jamie's had been a year ago, because for all his faults, Jamie never got physical with anyone on the team besides Roy, and even then, Roy always initiated it.

But Sam can't help it. Maybe it's because the rest of the team is egging him on, clapping him on the back every time Jamie hits the ground. Or, perhaps, it's the silence from his coaches, who may not wholeheartedly approve but who are also pointedly averting their eyes. Or, he wonders, maybe it's because Jamie has taken every single tackle without a word of protest. Each time Sam sweeps his feet out from underneath him, Jamie springs back up without any of his usual theatrics, a determined tilt to his mouth.

In the back of his mind, where his most shameful thoughts live, it makes Sam a little angry, that he can't evoke a response out of Jamie like Jamie can out of him. He yearns for a hint of unease, or irritation, for Jamie to lash out and prove that he hasn't changed, that he's still the awful individual that made Sam question everything about himself last season.

Of course, things like these are never so simple; Jamie Tartt is such an expert at getting underneath other people's skin because he himself is largely unshakeable. Besides that, Jamie is unlikely to slip up while he's in such a precarious position with the rest of the team because, like all football players, he works better under pressure. So, in lieu of forcing Jamie into an embarrassing breakdown in the middle of training, Sam channels his frustrations into making sure Jamie spends more time flat on his back than he does standing.

And if Sam continues to take Jamie down harder and harder as training progresses, who will say anything to him? Jamie deserves a bit of rough handling, as he is sure everyone here would agree.

So when Sam sees another opportunity for a tackle, he doesn’t hesitate; he chases Jamie across the pitch at full tilt and throws his entire body into it, going straight for Jamie's ankles, completely disregarding the ball. Except this time, Jamie sees it coming (mostly because Sam had made no effort to pretend he was doing anything else), and he tries to dodge, twisting his hips sideways to avoid the sweeping arc of Sam's legs. He miscalculates minutely, feet slipping on muddy ground, and instead of clearing the tackle, his shin bone comes into direct contact with the toe of Sam's boot.

It's a hard collision, a product of Jamie's speed and Sam's weight, and it sends a wave of agony down Sam's toes through the arch of his foot.

Jamie yelps and goes flying, clipping his temple on the ground before he has time to catch himself with his hands. Sam winces at the audible thump, feeling the sticky beginnings of guilt growing in his abdomen. He can only imagine how badly that must've hurt Jamie; directly hitting bone is always painful, and though Sam doubts that he'd broken anything, there would be a nasty bruise. Jamie would be walking with a limp for several days, at the very least.

Coach Lasso blows his whistle, signaling a pause in training, and begins jogging across the field, Coaches Beard and Nate hot on his heels.

Sam stands up, ignoring his protesting foot, and shuffles over to his teammate, thrusting a hand out to help him up.

"Jamie," he says, "I am very sorry. Are you alright?"

Now that Sam can properly look at him, he notes that Jamie had landed in a very awkward position, with half of his face buried in soft grass and one arm tucked completely underneath him. More alarmingly, however:

He's not moving.

"Jamie?" Sam tries again, his voice pitching up in worry.

The coaches finally make it over to where Jamie is crumpled on the ground, and the rest of the team, sensing that something is amiss, follows closely behind, forming a loose circle around their downed player.

"What seems to be the problem here, fellows?" Coach Lasso asks, resting his hands carefully on his hips.

“Coach Lasso, I—” But Sam is unable to force the words past his frozen lips.

"Coach," Isaac barks. "He's not moving."

"Oh, man," Coach Lasso says, and kneels next to Jamie, turning him over. Half of his face is coated in soil, and his eyes are half-lidded, flickering intermittently.

"Hey, buddy," Coach Lasso says. "Can you hear me?"

No response. Jamie’s chest is still rising steadily, Sam is grateful to see, but it’s clear that the tumble had knocked him completely unconscious.

Sam begins to feel sick. Suddenly, he wonders why he thought this had been such a good idea.

"Oh, man," Coach Lasso repeats. "Hey, uh, Will? You mind grabbing the doctor right quick? Tell him we sort of have an emergency going down on the field right now."

Will takes off sprinting across the field, dropping the case of water bottles midway in his haste to reach the tunnel.

The pitch settles into silence while they wait for Will to return with the doctor. Coach Lasso brushes back the hair that had fallen into Jamie’s face in the fall, an odd tenderness to the motion.

"Maybe he's faking it," Colin suggests shakily.

As if summoned, Jamie suddenly jackknifes up from the ground, nearly knocking his forehead into Coach Lasso's. It frightens Colin nearly half-to-death, who jumps so hard he bumps both him and Isaac to the ground.

"Oh, thank god," Coach Lasso says. He snaps his fingers a few times in front of Jamie's eyes. From Sam’s viewpoint, they appear to be severely out of focus; his pupils are so large that only a small sliver of his iris is visible. "You with us, buddy? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Fourteen," Jamie moans, before turning over and vomiting onto the pitch. It’s mostly dry heaving, with hardly anything coming up, but it sounds and looks painful. Sam’s stomach cramps in sympathy.

“Not quite, kiddo,” Coach Lasso says, grimacing as he runs a hand soothingly along Jamie’s spine. Will arrives with the doctor a moment later, who kneels down on Jamie’s other side, carefully avoiding the puddle of sick.

“Hello, love,” she says. “Do me a favor, eh? Can you follow my finger?”

She holds her index finger up, tapping it a few times with her thumb to catch Jamie’s attention, before she carefully moves it to the left, and then to the right. Jamie’s eyes remain stubbornly unfocused, staring straight ahead.

“Yeah, that’s a concussion. Can someone help me get him to the treatment room?”

Sam finds himself volunteering before he can think twice. “I will do it,” he says.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Coach Lasso says, his voice carefully neutral. He’s peering at Sam through his aviators, and Sam feels frozen by his gaze.

Though he doesn’t explicitly say it, Sam understands what is being implied perfectly. You’re the reason he’s like this.

Coach Lasso would never say that directly, of course—likely, he’d instead turn it into a very confusing life lesson, mixed with a personal anecdote that doesn’t exactly align with the current situation.

It leaves a nasty taste on Sam’s tongue, but not because he feels slighted; it’s because Coach Lasso is correct. “I will ensure he comes to no further harm,” Sam promises and squeezes between Coach Lasso and Jamie to hook an arm around his waist and hoist him up.

Jamie moans in protest, his knees buckling, and the doctor swoops in on his other side, catching him underneath his arms. “Alright then,” she says. “Let’s get going.”

The hobble to the treatment room is difficult and stilted, with Jamie limping and dizzy, but they make it, depositing Jamie gently on an examination table.

The doctor begins rifling through one of the many cabinets for elastic bandages to wrap and ice Jamie’s shin, and Sam steps back to hover awkwardly by the doorway. The doctor curses. “Looks like we’re all out of wrapping tape,” she says. “Keep an eye on him for a moment, will you?” she asks Sam, but she leaves the room before he can respond.

Not that he would’ve said no, of course.

Sam shuffles further into the room and uses the brief lapse in silence to take a closer look at Jamie, noticing for the first time his gaunt cheeks and the bags underneath his eyes. He looks much slimmer than Sam remembers, especially in his face and upper body. This could perhaps be attributed to his sudden departure from Manchester City and thus a subsequent lack of training, but Jamie had never struck Sam as an individual who deviated far from his workout plan. Furthermore, during his brief stint on Lust Conquers All, Jamie had looked as healthy as ever, with tan skin and broad muscles.

A far cry from the pale and drawn individual sitting in front of Sam now, though that had not been so long ago.

He looks awful. He’s looked awful ever since he rejoined the team, Sam realizes, now that anger is no longer clouding his judgment. Jamie Tartt had always been so much larger than life that Sam often forgot that, like everyone else, he was only flesh and blood.

The Jamie sitting in front of him is not the same Jamie that had taken great pleasure in pointing out all of Sam’s flaws. This Jamie seems like he would hardly take pleasure in anything at all.

Sam looks at Jamie, worn down and ragged, and wonders when he became the kind of person to kick someone while they were already down.

“Jamie,” Sam says, and Jamie flinches at the mention of his name. It sends a spear through Sam’s heart.

“I owe you an apology,” Sam tells him.

Jamie staunchly avoids his gaze, staring at a point on the floor instead. “S’alright,” he mumbles, picking at his cuticles. “Deserved it anyways. I was a prick t’you.”

“No, it is not alright. Though I am angry, and frustrated, I should have never resorted to physical violence.”

A muscle in Jamie’s jaw clenches. “I was a prick,” he repeats. “’Sides, it’s nothing I ain’t used to. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Sam gets the distinct feeling Jamie did not mean to say that last part, judging by the way he clenches his eyes shut. Sam wisely chooses to ignore it, filing the information away carefully for later.

“Even so, my actions were unacceptable. One wrong does not excuse another. I am truly sorry, Jamie.”

“All good, man,” Jamie says, kicking his feet. “M’sorry, too. For being such a dick last season, and relegating Richmond, like.”

Jamie sounds genuinely reticent, though he looks like a guilty child who’d been caught with his hand stuck down the cookie jar. It’s oddly endearing, Sam finds. He holds out a hand to Jamie as a peace offering.

Jamie takes it hesitantly and finally looks up to meet Sam’s eyes. “Thank you, my friend,” Sam tells him, and shakes his hand firmly. Jamie smiles, a small and shy thing, and it strikes Sam that he’d never seen Jamie smile like this before. It warms Sam’s heart, that Jamie would trust him with something so rare.

They stay there for a moment, basking in the easy silence, before Jamie’s face abruptly turns pale green. “Bucket, bucket, bucket,” he groans. Sam drops his hand like it’s on fire. “Oh, yes, of course,” he says, stumbling across the room to grab the trash bin, and he barely manages to shove it underneath Jamie’s chin before he’s vomiting again. Jamie spits some excess bile out of his mouth, coughing and spluttering, and rests his forehead on the edge of the bin clutched in his lap.

“You’re kind of scary sometimes, Obisanya,” Jamie says, sounding miserable.

Sam laughs at the absurdity of the statement. “You must be the only person who has ever told me that,” he tells Jamie.

“No, I’m serious,” Jamie whines. “You’re like those little fuzzballs that turn into monsters when you feed them after midnight.”

“Jamie, are you calling me a gremlin?”

“No!” Jamie immediately protests, before his face twists up in thought. “Well, yeah, actually.”

Sam cracks a grin, amused, and suddenly they’re both dissolving into a fit of laughter, Jamie clutching his midriff and Sam leaning on Jamie’s shoulder for balance.

Perhaps Jamie coming back had not been such a bad thing, after all.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #swooning #“how many fingers am I holding up?”#ted lasso #fic #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #concussion #early season 2

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spiders-hth-is-an-outlier · 2 years

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Look, not to be excessively cranky, but after reading more commentary on Normal Marital Hatred, I am if anything more annoyed by it and by the patronizing attitude of the people defending this particular frame on relationship conflict.

No, I do not believe that I am somehow above or immune to negative feelings. No, I do not have trauma, religious or otherwise, that makes me pathologically resistant to the word hatred.

My issue is that words mean things, and in order to survive and function as social creatures, it is IMPERATIVE that we know how to distinguish an emotional response to a situation of conflict or stress from an attitude toward someone else's being and personhood. We're really bad at this right now -- frighteningly bad. I just don't have the time to tote up all the ways that an inability or unwillingness to understand anger, and even harm, as distinct from hatred is fucking over our very real need to find community and solidarity in the face of serious challenges to our future.

The cycle of pushing against other people and then realignment with them is, YES, OBVIOUSLY, normal and healthy. Learning how to manage those different points on the cycle is exactly what being emotionally skillful is all about. The guy's probably a really good couple's therapist. Whatever.

But like, fucking step one in managing your emotions around conflict with your partner is: DO NOT normalize the thought "I hate this person." No, you fucking don't. You don't. You don't "hate them temporarily," you're angry at something they are doing or saying to you. The difference between these things isn't trivial. The difference is everything.

There's no upside to letting the framing of "I do not like this person I'm stuck with" to take root in your brain. That's never a part of healthy and productive conflict with your partner -- and I say this without shaming anyone! We all have thoughts that are not healthy and not productive. I guess in the largest possible sense that's "normal," in that all kinds of shitty patterns are statistically common.

But no, people with good or even adequate emotional regulation do not leap automatically from "I'm angry and frustrated" to "I hate this person for making me feel angry and frustrated." That's not only two different thoughts, that has to remain two different thoughts if you want to have relationships -- with lovers or friends or family or neighbors or anyone at all -- that aren't hopelessly locked into enmity and blame.

Everyone will make you feel angry and frustrated. If you let yourself hate all of them and tell yourself it's normal, you will be a person who's endlessly mired in grudges and bitterness about the awfulness of the people around you. It's a terrible way to be, and embracing it (it comes and goes! It's really just extreme dislike!) as an inevitable part of having conflict is genuinely terrible advice.

I don't understand how any relationship of any kind can possibly survive without the ability to look at someone and think "this person that I love is pissing me off so much right now." That is THE relationship skill. That ability to know who they really are to you even when your current emotional state is pushing you further away from them -- if you don't have that, you don't have anything. And I think trying to skip that step and going forward from "this feeling must be because I hate them" is just very doomed and bad. You have to get back on the same side to cope with the conflict. You have to manage The Cycle as people who have a shared vested interest in protecting the love you have for each other.

Giving yourself permission to freely self-talk about how you hate them is just so, so unhelpful and toxic to the well-being of a partnership. No, it doesn't make you a Terrible Person, but it does make you a person who is fucking up and damaging the relationship. Sometimes thoughts are things that you have to reframe, and that means changing your languaging around the emotional reactions you're having. This psychologist's choice to affirm the languaging of hatred instead of helping people reframe is symptomatic, in my humble opinion, of a culture that's completely lost the plot on how to take responsibility for one's own negative emotions.

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roanniom · 2 years

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Shy! Reader having a crush on sackler and him trading her

Not sure if I’m just reading this wrong, but I was confused so I’m interpreting this as Shy!reader has a crush on Sackler and he reciprocated - hope that’s ok?

~*~

You’re working in wardrobe as a dresser for a regrettably awful play. Truly terrible. The only redeemable part of the experience has been the fact that it allowed you to meet Adam Sackler.

Adam Sackler - the obnoxiously tall, obnoxiously loud, obnoxiously charming brute who often stalked into the closet of a wardrobe room that you’d been relegated to, spitting expletives and nonsense, often followed by wolffish laughter.

Adam Sackler who has taken to stopping by before rehearsals and after rehearsals and during breaks in between. He mainly speaks at you while you listen. Tells you how the scenes are developing. How his costar is an idiot and the director is a dunce. But you also hear how passionate he is about acting. Hear about his hopes for his next project. About his dreams for the future.

He does ask you about your own hopes and dreams. He praises your costumes and it makes your shy little heart feel like bursting. He’s so earnest when he tells you, emphatically, that he’s very glad to work with you. That he’s happy to have a friend like you on this shit show of a production.

“Friend.” The word stabs you like a knife. But you patch up the emotional wound with fake smiles and busyness. And suddenly the opening night performance had come and gone in the blink of an eye. And you find yourself at the opening night party for cast and crew, getting shitfaced to try and add more adhesive to the metaphorical bandaid of just how find you are.

That’s how you find yourself blabbing to Jan, the techie with a heart of gold. Similarly shy, Jan has worked with you on countless projects and has become something of a sounding board for you in the Sackler department. Sequestered in the back of the bar as the party rages on you blurt out how Sackler called you a friend and how he’ll probably never see you as more and how that’s such a shame because you want to make out with his stupid, perfect, loud mouth.

A loud mouth which is uncharacteristically quiet as he stands just within earshot of your declaration, having stopped short in his search for you when he was able to hear the nature of your ramblings. He shuffles back into the crowd and you don’t see him for the rest of the night.

In fact you don’t see him till curtains after the show the following day. He finds you, like he so often has, under a pile of clothing in need of washing, pressing, and steaming. You smile up at him, completely unaware of you inadvertent admission from the night before.

After checking to make sure nobody is coming down the hall, Sackler closes your door. Which is surprising because he’s never done that before. He gently takes the garments from your arms and places them carefully on the work bench behind you. Then he looks you deep in the eyes. It takes all of your courage not to look away from the intensity of his gaze but somehow you manage (we won’t talk about how your hands start shaking).

“Kid…I didn’t know you were into me.”

Your jaw drops open and you stammer, immediately scrambling to avoid the thing you were most afraid of - facing his lack of interest.

“I don’t - I’m not sure what you - i-it’s not like…”

Before you can stutter out any further incoherence, Sackler is caging you in, causing you to press back into the work bench. His dinner plate hands come up to cup your face and suddenly his mouth is on yours. Warm and soft. Kind and grounding.

When he pulls away you’re sure you must look as dazed as you feel, but thankfully Sackler has a goofy grin spreading across his own face.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for weeks, kid, I just couldn’t get a fucking read on you!”

Sackler will soon come to learn that you’re only really quiet when you’re shy, and you’re only really shy when you don’t know where you stand yet with a person. Soon you’ll find yourself screaming Sackler’s name in his bed and he won’t be able to remember a time before your voice rang in his ears and your hands graced his skin.

But things are still just getting started. So you reach up and grab Sackler by the collar if his shirt, pulling him down for another kiss.

~*~

Damn that went longer than intended.

Tiny tag list!: @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @maybe-your-left @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady

#adam sacker/reader #Adam Sackler x reader #adam sackler/reader #adam sackler/you #adam sackler x you #Adam Sackler fluff #writing #roanniom

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ratingtheframe · 3 years

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10 Films to watch this Valentine’s Day if you’re single as hell.

If anyone or anything is making you feel worthless on the Capitalist Holiday that is Valentine’s Day because you’re single AF, then don’t fret because it means one of two things;

You’re happy enough with yourself to not need anyone else.

You’re allergic to people.

Though mine is both the former and the latter, I can still get down to a good romance movie now and again. Now I’m not talking about those horrendous rom coms that Netflix seems to be churning out every damn minute, but those emotionally invested, earthy and well written dramas that has you ugly crying into your bathrobe for 17 minutes straight (me at the end of Her.). Here is a compiled list of some of the best romance films I’ve seen over the years and how each one doesn’t showcase an abundance of clichés and brands them as “acts of love”.

A Star is Born (2018 or 1953, take your pick)

I’ve found that both the 1953 version of A Star is Born with Judy Garland and the 2018 newer version to be a perfect and well rounded love story. What makes this love story so fierce is the vulnerabilities and downfall of its characters, which even though there are many sad moments, it perpetuates and strengthens the acts of love shown in the film. Both versions are similar in that they follow a woman who’s rise to fame as a performer becomes overshadowed by her jealous partner, who is also a notable celebrity. In the 2018 version starring Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper, Gaga’s character Ally is helped by a country singer, Jackson Maine to become a successful singer and icon amongst the music industry. As she rises, Jackson falls and the character dynamics and intensity between them is a fitting love story. I was thoroughly bawling at the end and I guarantee you will too as Lady Gaga’s rendition of Love Again was the true scene stealer of the film.

Call me by your name (2017)

I have an incredible bias towards this film and it has nothing to do with the film’s context or characters or even Timothée Chalamet The reason why I feel so connected to this film and proclaim it as my favourite film of all time is because of when I watched the film. It’s almost like seeing a film about a political event right after it's happened; you have this rush and connection towards something that’s actually affected you in the real world. I had the same feeling with Call me by your name after going through a rough and confusing patch whilst trying to get over someone I thought I truly loved. Turns out I didn’t (thank god) and yet Call me your name was almost like a shoulder to cry on. It’s a film that’s taught me to love and love hard but most importantly, not beat yourself up or try to distinguish the pain felt by true love. If you haven’t been fortunate to catch this beauty of a film, it follows two men, Elio (Timothée Chalamet) and Oliver (Armie Hammer) and their brief relationship in the summer of 1983 in Northern Italy. 17 year old Elio lives with his parents and his father (Michael Stuhlbarg) is a scholar who invites students from outside the country for the summer in hope of passing on his wisdom to them. This is when Oliver arrives, a handsome twenty something American who becomes the infatuation of Elio.

I’ll never forget the first time I heard the monologue that Elio’s father gave his son at the end, explaining to Elio why he shouldn’t feel embarrassed by the pain he felt after loving Oliver:

“We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster, that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste”

That, ladies and gentlemen and all in between, is what love is.

Her. (2013)

Once again, another film about love that had a profound effect on me because of when I watched it. Her. follows the story of Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) and his search for a story using an A.I to help him write. However, after getting to know this A.I named Samantha (Scarlett Johansson) and hearing the way she adapts and shows emotions, he soon falls in love with it. Some may deem this as rather sad (which it is) but I think it speaks to bigger constructs like internet dating and letting go of people you loved thus diminishing the fantasy and world you created for the two of you. This part of the film got to me a stark way as I felt the pain of letting go of not only a person, but a fantasy, just like Theodore had to do in letting his past partners go. Her. is truly beautiful, with some great production design, cinematography and acting.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

The absolute queen of love stories would be Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire, a film about the romance between two women in the late 18th Century. Definitely not a narrative you see every day or one that’s been painted in such a way (pun intended). Marianne (Noémie Merlant) is commissioned to paint the beautiful and stubborn Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) and the portrait is to be gifted to a suitor of Héloïse’s from Milan. But instead of getting the painting done and sending it off, Marianne and Héloïse unexpectedly fall for one another at a subtle and well timed pace that had me gawping at the screen the entire way through. Slow, sensual and moving is Portrait of a Lady on Fire and I would definitely say is one of the best LGBTQ plus films ever made to date.

Broke Back Mountain (2005)

Ang Lee scooped up a BAFTA, Golden Globe and Oscar for his direction on his adapted screenplay of Brokeback Mountain. Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) form a romantic bond after shepherding alone together on the side of a mountain. Once their time herding sheep comes to a close and they return back to their respective lives, it's clear that their bond is stronger than they had anticipated. They live in constant fear of their relationship becoming apparent to those around them, which leaves one of them taking matters into their own hands. A controversial yet extremely successful film of its time, Brokeback Mountain does a fabulous job of showcasing the consequences and despair of love using two of Hollywood’s finest actors.

Carol (2013)

It’s difficult to fully appreciate LGBTQ plus films set in the past as they mostly focus on the persecution of homosexuals as opposed to the love they wish to express. However, this was pretty accurate of the time and it's only very recently that we have begun to accept one another’s sexualities and genders fully so much that we play these stories out on screen without the persecution part. Carol is a film directed by Todd Haynes and stars Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett. I found them to be an extremely intense pairing whilst they unravelled as their characters on screen. Therese (Rooney Mara) works in the toy department of a department store when one day she lays eyes upon Carol Aird, a beautiful and elegant married woman who becomes the infatuation of Therese. Therese throws all caution to the wind in order to be closer to Carol and because of this and the 1950s society they live in, their relationship is doomed from the beginning. I was in complete awe of the way Carol had been shot and created into this sensual and rich drama set in the 1950s. From the costumes, to the lighting to the acting, everything about Carol held weight to it showcasing the devotion of a truly talented director.

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind (2004)

Usually I’d pass on a Charlie Kaufman film, seeing as they make no sense, however I felt that it was time I delved into this cult classic starring Kate Winslet, Jim Carrey, Kirsten Dunst, Mark Ruffalo and Elijah Wood. It’s a really well made film with a clear and distinct message to it that’s represented in some phenomenal filmmaking techniques. The plot line of this film follows a man trying to erase a past lover and his memories of her get wiped away physically before your eyes on screen. It made me wish that I could do the same with people I’ve liked in the past, but the contradictory of this would be the trauma of eventually ending up with someone you had already met in another life. I haven’t experienced a break up nor felt the pain of one, though I could judge that this film tells that experience really well.

Moonlight (2016)

Moonlight is one of few films that I would genuinely worship if it were a religion. It's also one of the films that I outwardly shame people for not having seen, as it is truly a masterpiece and film lover’s film. Deep, emotionally connected, colourful, harsh, moving and eye opening, this film takes you on an emotional rollercoaster through the eyes of Chiron and the three stages of his life that have carved out his essence as a human being. Not only that, but he falls in love with another boy at his school, and when he does, he’s hurt rather badly. Literally. Moonlight is the definition of profundity and was awarded the top prize of Best Picture at the 2017 Academy Awards.

Loving (2016)

When I think of a truthful and honest testament of love, the film Loving comes to mind which is a fitting title for such a delicate yet strong story. The film is based on a true story of an interracial couple, Richard and Mildred (Joel Edgerton and Ruth Negga) being banned from Virginia in the 1950s for choosing to be together. If that ain’t a true sacrifice of love, then I don’t know what is. Choosing someone you love over your own home is an unfathomable thing and certainly shows the strength that this couple had in facing the judgements of others whilst remaining emotionally truthful to themselves.

The Shape of Water (2017)

The Shape of Water is a strange yet enlightening love story between Eliza, a deaf woman (Sally Hawkins) and a creature being tested on in a laboratory. Awards season went mental for this back in 2018, winning four of the THIRTEEN Oscars it was nominated for. I would categorize it as quite the niche film and wouldn’t usually think that such a film could be garnered with Oscar success. However everyone who worked on this film really pulled out the stops in creating an entire new world and perspective that has many layers to it, as well as an abundance of conflict and dynamics for audiences to lull over. The relationship between Eliza and the feared swamp monster that’s being cruelly tested in the laboratories where she works, is heartfelt and honest, which is strange seeing as Eliza’s virtually in love with a monster. The casting in this was outlandish yet it really worked as all actors in this melded well into the story as their prospective characters. It also has one of the most touching endings to a film I’ve ever seen.

And there you have it, ten Romance films for you to enjoy this Valentine’s Day. Watch them all at once, or maybe just watch one. Whether you watch it alone or with someone, it doesn’t really matter!

Lots of love

Ang x

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suntrastar · 4 years

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sink or swim

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

summary: you first meet ransom when meg drags you along to a party. everything somehow spirals from there.

warnings: swearing, smut (but like very vague smut, nothing super explicit), ransom’s general assholery

word count: 9.3k

author’s note: i hate ransom drysdale! he is a shit character! if he existed irl i would whoop his ass with NO hesitation. but i still wrote this fic because ... a bitch gets thirsty okay?? okay. and ik this is very long BUT a lot of it is dialogue so it should flow pretty fast!!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!! ily now enjoy!!! you can also read this on ao3 :)

There’s something fun about being somewhere where no one wants you, and then something shameful.

Meg isn’t touching you, but as she drags you around her famous grandfather’s mansion in search of people to bother, it feels like she has you on an invisible leash, fastened tight over your neck. To keep you tethered to her- like a fucking dog.

The leash hurts like it is not made of plastic or metal but instead two hands squeezing tight, wringing you dry, choking you harder and harder and bruising you purple with no remorse.

Now, she’s debating political theory with her douchebag fuck of an uncle, who almost hits you once- almost hits you twice with his cane while waving it around as he quotes Fox News-

Their voices rise. You’re the only one that flinches.

Standing awkwardly on the edge, you wonder why you are the only guest at this terrible party that looks so lost. Meg gives you a covert this-is-total-bullshit glance, and a small, pained, rehearsed smile, both of which you have to return- that’s the real reason you’re here, after all- and her uncle rants on, wholly oblivious.

You look past them both, to where one man stands by himself.

He’s leaning against the far wall, and while Meg retaliates with some of her favorite words, including audacity and bigoted and problematic, you take a sudden, intense interest in the wallpaper pattern, sweeping your eyes over the span of it, looking over the man just once.

He is staring right back at you.

All it takes is his eyes- he’s just staring, but you’re absolutely embarrassed.

He looks rich, with too much product in his hair and a coat that looks like it cost more than your rent, with loafers that expose an uncomfortable amount of ankle and an expression that morphs into something wolfish as he starts towards you-

Before you can think, he’s joined your little circle- Meg prefers standing, so of course, everyone stands- and smiles when she glares at him.

He isn’t looking at you anymore.

“So,” he interrupts, and his voice is so dark, “what riveting political topic are we debating tonight?”

You should call an Uber. Why did you accept Meg’s offer of a ride?

“Ransom,” Meg says sweetly, “could you just, like, fucking not?”

This is supposed to be a Christmas party, but none of these people seem to be in the Christmas spirit. Including her uncle, with his stuffy sweater set and clunky-as-hell shoes. He sputters something about young people and their profanity, and then hastily leaves.

Without thinking, you breathe out a heavy sigh of relief.

The man smiles wider. Unfortunately, it makes him look very handsome.

”Ouch,” he says lightly, to Meg, and turns to you.

A shiver runs down your spine.

You hate him immediately.

“Who are you?” he asks.

For whatever reason, the question makes Meg scoff. She shakes her head at you- a warning. Her hair flounces with the movement.

Because she doesn’t want you to, you give him your name. And then add, because your name alone seems like a title too stripped down, “I’m Meg’s friend.”

It’s hard to convince yourself to be polite, when you don’t like how he’s been looking at you- with his eyes narrowed and brown furrowed and lips parted. He gives an insufferable nod.

“Right,” he says. “The one she’s been showing off all evening.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Ransom-” Meg starts, and suddenly you are so angry, at this man for confirming what you thought was all in your head, at Meg for suddenly swooping in to save you, like she’s been waiting for it-

“I guess,” you say, and smile a little, and regret everything.

“That’s pathetic,” he says, and looks at you kindly.

Apparently, Meg is the only one allowed to be self-righteous in her annoyance, or anger, or any other mildly passionate emotion. She doesn’t return your covert this-is-total-bullshit glance.

So you fend for yourself.

“Well, so is this fucking party, so-”

He interrupts you with a laugh.

It’s loud and arrogant and mirthless, and you’ll climb out of a window, find a way to walk through the walls, if it means that you’ll escape it.

“I’m just joking,” he says, pursing his lips, and the hands on your neck, ever-present, nearly crush the breath out of you. “Don’t get your panties all in a twist.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh,” you say, and instead of replying, he just looks at you.

He looks at you slowly, like he has nothing better to do, like he has time to waste. You can smell him- some cologne that’s spicy, and expensive, and Meg is staring at you in shock, like you’ve committed a crime.

But she’s quiet.

“I’m Ransom,” he says, and raises his hands to make little air quotes, which is weirdly adorable in a way that you hate, “Meg’s ‘asshole cousin’”

“Weird name,” you say.

You’ve changed your mind- you’re not even going to attempt to be nice.

For a second, he looks furious.

It’s attractive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Anyways, I’m about to ditch. Do you want a ride?”

How does he know you came here with Meg?

He was staring at you from the wall-

From his butterscotch-colored coat with its awful, ostensible lapels, he pulls out his car keys. The BMW logo flashes silver and blue, clashing against the gold of his pinky ring, clinking against the metal as he twirls the key ring around his finger-

For a second, you think that he’s about to toss the keys across the room and command you to fetch.

“Um,” you say, uncertainly, irritated with your own restraint, “Thanks, but Meg will-”

“Meg will what?”

He’s mocking you, and there is no one to come to your rescue.

Hesitantly, like she has to think twice about it, Meg opens her mouth to say something. What is her problem? What is your problem? Why are you treating her like she is your saving grace?

You talk before she gets the chance. “Okay, yeah. A ride would be great.”

***

Ransom offers because he likes your face.

You’re better-looking than the girls that Meg usually brings along to these parties, or maybe his standards have fallen- he isn't sure. Does it really matter? Even though he’s been looking at you all night, even though he’s positively thrilled to have you in his car, he’s not going to try anything.

There’s something desperate in your eyes that compels him against it.

You inhale sharply when he turns left.

“You forgot your turn signal,” you say, and he kind of likes how you chastise him, not angrily or even upset, but just exasperated-

How is someone like you friends with someone like Meg?

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, and the tired glare you give him is enough to make his entire week.

Now that he thinks about it, his mother is always on his case about things like this- compassion and civility and basic human decency, and how he lacks it all, but what about now? He’s taking a miserable girl to her home, simply from the goodness of his own heart, with no strings attached.

This is such a good deed- this is like charity.

His mother is also always telling him that he’s severely, almost clinically narcissistic.

He definitely is, but again, does it matter?

“So, what do you think about my family?” he asks, making a big, dramatic show of using his turn signal before swerving right, feeling too pleased when you smile.

He steals a glance at your knees and somehow feels guilty.

He’ll have to do something about that.

“They’re pretty... lively,” you say hesitantly, and he’s suddenly hating the dark, this stupid fucking night- he’d like to see you better.

“Lively,” he repeats, and barks out a laugh. “They’re fucking crazy.”

You laugh, too, a real one- off-kilter, and too loud- none of that artificial shit he heard at the party. Nothing meant to please.

“I was definitely thinking that,” you say. He catches you looking at his hands, but boldly, you don’t look away. “I just didn’t want to be rude.”

“Now you’re worried about being rude?”

“I’m in a car with a strange guy I’ve never met before, so yeah.”

You’re smiling but look uncomfortable, and then afraid.

All bark and no bite- you’ve been talking all this talk, when really, he realizes, you’re so washed-out, so faint, like the bare sliver of moon out in the sky, the same weak moon he’s been cursing out. The same stars, too- you are just as scattered.

You look pretty.

“Are you scared?”

He keeps his eyes on the road because he thinks you’ll snap at him if he doesn’t. Not like anyone drives out here anyway- not like he can’t pay off a ticket or two or five-

“Should I be?”

There is something so delicious about this moment, with you starting to worry- he can’t look at the road anymore, not when he can watch your throat bob as you swallow instead, and it still feels so violating, but so good.

“Nope,” he says, and you startle when you hear him say it, and he has to bite his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “No need.”

“Great,” you say, and go quiet.

When he pulls up to your apartment complex, not too far from where he lives, he holds his mouth in check. He could say so many things right now, but for you, he restrains himself.

You have your bag in hand, seatbelt off. From the streetlight, the planes of your face look waxy yellow.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say.

Your hand is on the door handle, nails glittering. He can’t make out the color of the polish.

While looking at it, a sudden urge overcomes him.

And he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he wants to, so bad. It’s borderline frantic, the desire- it’s necessary and all-important and crucial, for him and his basic peace of mind, and maybe for you, too-

Who is he to deny himself?

“Wait,” he says, even though the door is open and you have half of yourself out the door.

The cold is slowly seeping in, bone-chilling.

You wait.

“Let me just,” he says, and can’t bring himself to say anything else.

He reaches out for your waxen face with one hand and presses it firmly against your cheek.

Under his touch, you shiver. He fans out his fingers to hold you better.

Your eyes are wide. He thinks you look a bit horrified- horrified with yourself for not resisting, maybe.

But he closes his eyes as he leans in, so it doesn’t matter.

He turns your head for you, a bit forcefully. You don’t protest.

He kisses your cheek.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, you’re staring at him with your mouth in a perfect circle.

“Uh,” you say, and suddenly look away and out into the night, and it makes him angry, even though it should be flattering, “Merry Christmas.”

***

You don’t think about Ransom as much as he probably would have wanted- life picks up too fast.

In the last days of the year, Meg calls you and texts you and even goes so far as to send a few emails, but finally, you seem to have found the self-respect to not respond- consider that ridiculously wealthy bridge burned.

In January, your brother leaves to study for a semester abroad. All the walls in your small apartment are suddenly looming, standing high over you, standing empty. You try to shove off the loneliness by studying harder, by staying distracted.

In February, you have the same dream nearly every night- you’re sitting outside on a porch in the sun and for some reason there’s a bird on your head, and in your lap there’s a clock whose hands don’t work, and you’re wearing a heavy necklace made of gold links that jingle, and you’re so happy.

Does the bird count as company?

In early March, while you’re watering your plants, your phone rings with an unknown number.

You shouldn’t pick up unknown numbers.

You pick up.

“Hello?”

“Remember me?”

His voice nearly gives you whiplash.

It’s dark and harsh, faceless and yet as arrogant as ever.

“Hi, Ransom,” you say, and think of the night in the car for the first time since, think of how he gripped your face so hard that his ring left an imprint. “How the hell do you have my number?”

“Meg gave it to me,” he says smugly. “She says hi.”

You wonder what Meg thinks you did to her. It’s obviously something bad, something terrible, if she so willingly gave your number to this pretty-faced, pretty-voiced, ugly-coat-wearing asshole-

“Awesome,” you say plainly. You don’t want to talk about her. “Do you, like, need something, or-”

“I want to take you out,” he says.

You laugh and your grip on your pitcher slips, sloshing water over the edge.

“You’re joking.”

He is, right?

He takes an impatient breath that, for some reason, sounds inappropriate. “I’m serious.”

“Ransom,” you say, slowly, “I don’t even know you.”

“Then get to know me,” he says testily, and you can perfectly picture him, sitting in some colossal brownstone his parents bought him, while a butler daintily dabs the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “Tonight.”

You’ve overwatered your marigolds.

Has his voice really swept you this far away?

“No,” you say, and shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “No fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “You have anything better to do?”

You don’t, but you take a deep breath and prepare yourself to lie-

“I’ll treat you good,” he suddenly says, and his voice is low and sticky-sweet, dripping with honey. “I promise.”

He says it in a way that makes your knees weak.

You physically have to sit down- he knows how to get what he wants.

Could you actually do this?

Could you go out on a date with a crude, pretentious, trust-fund piece of trash, who probably thinks you’re easy, who’s only calling you because he’s bored, who has already subtly insulted you twice in this conversation alone-

-who got your number from his cousin that you both decidedly dislike, who kissed your cheek like you were pretty in the dark of the night, in his cold car?

“Fine,�� you say. “Take me out.”

***

He doesn’t tell you that you look nice- he just stares.

There is something predatory in his eyes.

You’re out on a Wednesday night with a bad man, wasting your time, trying to get something out of nothing, smiling a fake smile when he orders you a drink you don’t like, already irritated with him, and trying too hard to stop looking at his face.

How are you actually interested?

You tell him that you’re in medical school.

“Really,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you. “You don’t strike me as that kind of girl.”

Underneath the table, you clench your hands for some sense of control, but still feel like you’re spinning. “What kind of girl?”

“Smart,” he says, and picks up his drink. The glass sweats beads of condensation, wetting the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t know you were smart.”

You shouldn’t dignify his flimsy insult with a response- he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, trying to make you roll your eyes or scowl or shiver. He wants you unsettled.

But the moral high ground is, unfortunately, too high.

“And I didn’t know that you’re such a terrible date.”

His teeth gleam white when he smiles. He knows.

He knows that he can say whatever the hell he wants, because he has money, and those eyes, and that insufferably nice rich-boy hair, and that sweater with its charmingly frayed hems, and that voice- he has everything, and then some, and he’s about to have you, too, if he keeps on looking at you like he already does.

“You’re so sweet,” he says.

“Fuck off.”

He winks and you could cry, you’re so fucking bothered-

You’re not usually this uptight, but he has you so drastically wound up that every little thing he does, even how he’s sitting- body sprawled, manspreading- is fire licking up on your skin, scorching-hot and ruining you with no remorse, like you have done something to deserve it.

When his eyes trail down, from your eyes to your mouth to your neck to below, you are so acutely aware of wanting him that you feel guilty. Like it’s a crime.

***

You don’t seem like the type of girl to fuck on the first date.

So, of course, Ransom tries to fuck on the first date.

As you stand outside the restaurant, in your dress and strappy sandals, you look so tense that he wants to laugh.

He can’t help it, because this whole thing you have going on- this weariness you approach everything with, this attitude- is so funny. Maybe, in any other situation, it would be irritating, but he’s been so bored lately that it’s stirring.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asks, quietly, taking a step closer to you so that at this very moment, under the waning sun, you should be able to just lean up and kiss him-

You blink slowly and keep your silence.

This is fucking tedious.

This should be so easy- all he has to do is settle his hands somewhere soft and let time pass, and then before he knows it you’re there and under and begging. But he can’t bring himself to touch you just yet, not when his head is calling you pathetic, and his heart calls you-

His heart just calls you.

You start to answer, and then hesitate. All five stages of grief flicker over your face at once- denial to acceptance in the same breath.

“Sure,” you say, unevenly, desperately-

When you step inside his house, your eyes go wide. As you take it in- the decor, the windows, the excess, he locks the door behind him and takes you in.

You step further inside, and he thinks of where it would be best, but then your eyes crease as you smile- it’s impossible to wait when your smile looks like that- and so he backs you right into the closest wall, cups your face with both of his hands and kisses you.

He kisses you and you curl your hands over his shoulders and immediately kiss back, and he is taken aback and delighted.

And he knew- the entire time at dinner when you were making eyes at him like you couldn’t believe that you were actually sitting there, present in that moment- he knew that secretly, you’re a freak. He knew it- he knows it.

He hopes it.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispers, right into your mouth, when your heart has been beating right into his for a while, “Let me fuck you right here.”

You bite his lip.

He takes a hand away from your face and reaches under your dress fast, rucking it all the way up your thighs, trailing up to touch you-

“Fuck,” you gasp, and arch your back up against the wall, and he grips you a little tighter-

He presses a finger into you- pushing aside your underwear and, good grief, you’re already wet- harshly, and pulls away from your mouth, so he can watch your face.

The lines creasing your forehead look like poetry.

He thinks he likes you. It’s a shame he had to meet you through Meg- it would be nice if he had met you somewhere else, on his own.

That way, he’d be able to waltz in one day, to another insipid family gathering, with you tucked under his arm. You, with your promise of a medical degree and your strappy sandals, and your iron grip on his shoulders and your drawn out breath of a moan-

The looks on their faces would be priceless.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and he’s a little irritated at how cracked his voice sounds, but it’s the right thing to say- you swear again and he picks up his pace, pressing hard on your clit. “If you’ll be good to me.”

“I’ll-” you say, and you’re actually stuttering, and breaking out into a lovely sweat, still forced back into the wall with his hand and body. He leans closer, so he can’t tell where you and him and the wall start and end. “I’ll be- fuck, Ransom-”

You still have your arms wrapped around him, like an embrace. He keeps one hand between your thighs, your dress pooling over his arm like water, and uses his other to work at his belt buckle.

This is also funny- you stay exactly how you are, even though at that moment, there is nothing holding you back.

***

The world is begging for you to consider your actions.

But you don’t. You know that when he offers, you’ll meet him again.

It should be too late. You’re exhausted, from a day full of lectures and an evening spent in a lab, working as a professor’s research assistant, and then studying for a few hours in the library- all you really want to do is sleep.

But then he calls.

The night is suddenly brimming with possibility, and you’ve never been more awake.

On a whim, Ransom suggests ice cream, and because you can’t bring yourself to deny him, you end up at a place that you would never go for- where everything is handmade and served in thick paper cups with multicolored plastic spoons, but he pays, because of his stupid ego or fragile masculinity or whatever the hell, so you don’t care.

He stands next to you as you order, and his shoulder keeps on brushing into yours. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. In the glass shield that the tubs of ice cream sit behind, you’re both reflected, your body warped and tall, his body warped and taller. In the glass, his eyes meet yours.

The tension is strong- it’s only a matter of time.

Your heart flutters.

When you sit, he bumps his knees against yours- you’re sure it’s on purpose, now, but you don’t say anything. What even is there to say?

That you like it?

When he digs into his ice cream, the plastic spoon- a green one- snaps in his hand.

And because you’re so caught up in your own ridiculous thoughts, before he can go back up to get another, you pull your own from your mouth- a pink one- and offer it to him.

The proposition makes him smile.

Why does he smile like that? Each movement, each twitch of muscle is so perfectly detached and coordinated- it’s violent.

But he still takes the spoon from you gently, with a soft hand.

He’s too pretty to be mean, you think, but against any type of judgement- not just the better kind- you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You let yourself laugh and he scowls.

“This place sucks,” he says, like he isn’t the one who chose it.

He adjusts the womens’ scarf he’s always wearing, carefully arranging it over himself so it looks like it was carelessly thrown on. The blue in the paisley print brings out his eyes- it makes him look so stupidly hot that you start to get angry.

You just shrug. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

He puts your spoon in his mouth and looks at you.

Again, the night ends at his place- this time on an actual bed, because you ask for it, and you think he likes how you look when you ask for things in the current state state you’re in-

He fucks you in the dark, and swears into your ear, and is not kind or soft in any way, but after he finishes, he takes the time to kiss the spot in between your breasts, and you think that maybe he isn’t entirely horrible. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, and his mouth is always hot.

You leave without a word.

***

He takes you out this time, in a real, urgent show of wealth- he picks you up in his fancy car, takes you to a fancy restaurant where the numbers next to the fancy menu items are all appalling, where he spends the whole time making these awful, unfunny innuendos that still manage to rile you up, because they’re coming from his mouth-

On the way back, while waiting at a stoplight, you take a deep breath and brace yourself before looking at him.

He really is gorgeous- all lazy grace and harsh angles. The light colors his face red, red in his eyes and in the plane of his cheekbone and in the slope of his mouth- like a beautiful warning sign. His hands are carelessly draped over the steering wheel and, despite the warning, you reach out and trace a finger over his knuckles.

His whole body jerks.

You quickly draw your hand back.

“What?” he asks sharply. He’s staring at you like you’re crazy.

You don’t know why this is suddenly so fucking embarrassing, all you did was touch him- but you suddenly feel terrible, and-

“Nothing,” you say, with the same tone, and whip your head away from him to the window, where you smolder in the dark and furiously stare at nothing.

The light turns green. He takes his foot off the break and all but slams it on the gas pedal, driving as atrociously as ever, looking over at you for a split second when you don’t protest. The blood rushing in your ears is too loud for you to think- you can’t form any words.

Once it subsides, marginally, you add, “Sorry.”

His jaw tenses.

You look back over at him, at his ring, and imagine it pressing into your neck.

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” he suddenly asks- suddenly demands, with a blazing authority that makes your stomach do flips.

You don’t know what answer he wants. “Um, one time I snuck out of-“

“Let’s do something crazier.”

On an abandoned road, he pulls over, and then you’re under him in the backseat- doing something crazier.

You might have some type of psychic tendencies, because his ring presses heavy into your neck as he pushes himself inside you, starting at a bruising pace, and then he says your name in the dark, and he looks so beautifully flushed, startling when you grab his hair, laughing when your hand accidentally skims his thigh, smiling when you come-

You wish you had the resolve to put an end to this.

You wish you could stay when it’s over.

***

You don’t like his house.

It’s not the brownstone you imagined, but rather a huge, minimalistic box, with too many windows and spotless paint and modern wood fixtures. Ransom has all of these customary rich-person things, including stately furniture and eclectic art pieces and tall shelves stuffed with books, but owning any actual personality has escaped him.

Standing in his house feels like standing in an empty room- it’s all so apathetic.

Still, you show up when he calls.

You haven’t done anything this bad before.

But there’s a first time for everything, right? First time for enjoying bruises and biting and an unwavering grip on your neck or hips or waist or thighs, first time leaving something so intense so awkwardly.

Each time is worse than the last, with the awkwardness spiraling, accruing beyond reason, and each time you struggle with what to say- even now, you just do your best to stay quiet as you start to get up, reaching for your clothes-

Ransom drapes a heavy arm over you before you have the chance.

“You can stay,” he says flippantly, and then shifts to pull you close to him, so that you are suddenly lying bare-backed against his chest, so that his sweat-slick body and heartbeat imprints itself on your skin.

Is he asking?

You crane your head over your shoulder to get a look at him.

He returns your stare like he’s been waiting for it.

His face is still flushed pink and a lock of hair hangs low over his forehead, and if you were any braver, you would comb a hand through it, gently, with no real intentions. He’s breathtaking. Even the new, foreign purple under his eyes is a sight- pretty like something you would want to kiss.

“You want me to stay?”

He rolls his eyes and tilts his head back. You would lick the sweat from the divots of his neck, if he asked you to.

“Or leave, if you want. I could care less.”

He cares

You know it because his grip is unwavering, because the terseness in his eyes is enough to make you look away.

Eventually, you settle a hand over his arm and try your best not to tremble. Ransom mumbles something under your breath- you can’t make any of it out, but you don’t ask him to repeat it, for the fear that it’ll upset this fragile bedroom balance you’ve so painstakingly built yourself into-

He wants you to stay.

“Are you okay?” you ask, because you don’t think he is.

He inhales. You feel his chest against you; it’s shaky. You wonder, for a second, about who he might actually be, underneath the arrogance and egotism and constant need to be an asshole- is he someone you could like without feeling bad about it?

“Yeah,” he says, and throws his other arm over you, so that he is holding you. “Why?”

There isn’t a genuine bone in this man’s body, but he genuinely sounds confused.

It’s possible that you’re the one who isn’t okay.

“Because,” you say, and take a great leap of faith- holding your bare heart in your hands, you turn to face him.

You’re fully exposed and subjected to his gaze- it’s nearly eviscerating. His eyes dip down to your chest and something like insecurity flares in your chest. It’s awful and terrible and you urgently want to kiss him on the lips.

He always kisses you first. You don’t know if you have it in you to kiss him yet.

You wouldn’t ever try, in case you don’t.

“You look kind of tired,” you say, and his eyes bore into you with a sinking weight, threatening to drown. One of his hands finds a blooming bruise on your skin and lightly presses. He doesn’t react when you wince. The action is still kind- almost tender.

He sighs, and it is such a delicate breath, fanning hot over your skin.

“I’m not tired,” he says, almost childishly.

You might be overstepping. But you don’t even know where the lines have been drawn.

“Okay,” you say, and because you would not dare kiss his lips, you lean close and kiss his jaw instead.

He startles and then gives you a crooked, lazy smile. He is everything good, you think- for this one moment. Pretty and soft-handed and made of glass and honey and all other lovely things.

You tuck your head in the crook of his neck and wrap an arm over his, tight, so he knows you are there, and hope for the best.

***

In your spare moments, you’re always thinking.

Ransom knows this because of how you look when you do it- your brow furrows and your eyes go glassy, and you frown with an intensity that he has never seen on anyone else.

It happens when you finish a sentence, when you have no response for him, when he is still talking but you’ve stopped listening. When you think it’s quiet.

It never happens during sex- is it pathetic to take pride in that?

As he stands in your apartment for the first time ever, you look like you’re in near-despair, like your thoughts are wreaking havoc on your mind, destructive and distressing. You wear basketball shorts and a college sweatshirt and glasses.

He didn’t know you wore glasses, and that you looked like this in them- he’s been missing out.

“Hi,” you say, and stare at him with troubled eyes.

Your apartment is so small. He almost feels claustrophobic, standing in here. When was the last time he willingly stood somewhere so small?

The lengths he’ll go to, for…

For you, he supposes.

“Hi,” he says, and wonders, also for the first time ever, what it is that you’re always thinking. “Why do you have so many plants?”

On the windowsill, with even spacing in between, sits an entire row of glass jars housing plants- all singular flower stems, some budding, some in bloom. The petals of a marigold brush against the window, orange against the grey outside. It’s cute, he absently thinks, in a struggling, shabby type of way.

“It’s just something I do for fun,” you say, sounding irritated. “Like, a hobby.”

Infringing on the living room space is a small table, cluttered with textbooks and pens and an open laptop with its screen dark.

It still baffles him that you’re smart.

“So,” you start, and cross your arms over your chest. He feels kind of offended, because he’s just realized that he really only knows a handful of things about you, and even that handful is sparse, slipping through his fingers. “Why’d you want to see me?”

He called on impulse.

He’s just- he’s in what someone could call a mood, where he hates everything and has the intense desire to ruin something, and while he was thinking of how to fix it- beyond just getting wasted- he thought of you.

And when he called, you were sounding so tired and so he even said he could just meet you here, so you wouldn’t have to drive, so you could squeeze in a few more minutes of studying before he inevitably invades your mind-

Easily, he deflects. Nearby, there’s a hallway with two doors, one of which is tightly closed shut.

“What’s in there?” he asks, and points towards it.

You relax, slightly.

He wants to gather you up in his arms, but he doesn’t know for whose sake- his or yours?

“That’s my brother’s room,” you say, and your shoulders slump, and he resists the urge to pull you upright, and the urge to gawk. Brother? “He lives with me. But he’s studying abroad this semester.”

“Where?”

“Prague.”

He nods. This is a stiff, perfect, shocking distraction. “Nice city.”

You nod distantly and head back to the table to put your things away.

“Yeah,” you say, after too long of a pause, as you start to cap pens and set them aside. You look at him as you do it, and so you miss a few times, accidentally drawing dark lines of ink all over your fingers. “I’m glad he got to go. When we were kids, he was obsessed with wanting to travel- he had this entire map in our room, and he would draw stars over every country he wanted to visit, and there were, like, a hundred of them, and he could list every single one, in the exact order he wanted to visit, and he could even list the capitals- I’m sorry. You probably don’t care about any of this.”

He doesn’t.

Or, he shouldn’t, but your eyes are clearer, and as you neatly stack your textbooks in an order only known to you, he is almost intrigued.

He’s longing for you- when you are right there.

He feels like a person outside of himself, when you look at him and smile tiredly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

There’s a cheesy ‘90s horror movie you find after a few minutes of channel surfing, complete with terrible special effects and edited-out profanity. The days are longer, now, and to stop the sun from casting a glare over the screen, you close all the blinds. It adds to the atmosphere, you say lightly, fully phased out of whatever just possessed you, and his hands are so itchy- itching to do something.

He sits. Patience is a virtue, but he is not virtuous, and so when you sit next to him and bring your knees to your chest, making yourself small, he goes to-

Something in his stomach stops him.

It’s butterflies- is he actually nervous?

This is so fucking infuriating.

You’ve got him trapped in some type of pain-and-power-play, some type of unassuming purgatory, and all he can bring himself to do is lightly brush a hand against your shoulder. You smile at his touch and his heart fucking breaks.

As the second boy in the friend group gets murdered onscreen, you close your eyes and duck your head into your knees.

“Tell me when it’s over,” you say, voice muffled.

“Scaredy-cat,” he says, even though this is no time for jokes.

You crack one eye open, looking only at him, and give him the finger.

Come here, he almost demands. The butterflies protest- he holds his tongue.

The dance continues. When the sun sets, everything darkens, settling into a dim blue. You look like something out of a painting. Faintly sad, unusually serene. The skin around your eyes has smoothened- you’ve stopped thinking so hard and he can suddenly breathe easier because of it-

And then there’s a jumpscare, and he shouts, “Jesus!”

The murderer has broken down a door, and all of the remaining characters are screaming, and you burst out laughing.

He’s in the middle of a crisis, and you’re laughing.

You lean into him as you laugh, with your head turned away from the screen and your eyes open, looking at him so fondly that he suddenly feels violated, and you let your shoulder brush against his.

“Scaredy-cat” you tease, and it’s absolutely now or never-

You’re making him weak- it takes too much time and effort for him to draw an arm over you.

You don’t flinch, but he is sure that you can hear his heart beating dangerously fast, without abandon, like it's trying to break free of his ribcage. He almost gasps when you come even closer and lightly kiss his cheek, wrapping your arms around him, and his head is just saying yes yes yes-

Your mouth goes over his ear, lips ghosting over skin. He waits, more scared than he’s ever been in his entire life, for what you have to say.

***

So this is Ransom’s deep, dark, ugly secret.

He likes to be cuddled.

If it were anyone else, you would laugh.

But it’s Ransom, and so you just take it in stride, as part of his extremely fucked-up psyche that is probably a result of a hundred things he’ll never tell you- childhood trauma and neglect and the consequences that come with having more money than you need or deserve.

He’s always talking, always talking shit, always talking over you and over everyone else, and you realize, one day, that he really only is treading water- he’s only focused on staying afloat, speaking whatever he wants, but never actually saying anything.

He’s responsible for his faults, of course. But still, when he smiles in low light or curls his hands over yours so viciously, you don’t know if you should leave, or if you should just stay and pity him quietly.

You’re starting to like him too much to even care.

He starts coming around more. And he actually stays, and starts leaving pieces of himself behind. He has a toothbrush next to yours and a phone charger on his side of the bed and imported, undoubtedly expensive snacks in the kitchen.

He leaves clothes, too- you wash them with yours and keep them, neatly folded, in your closet.

On a warm day in May, he meets you at a cafe.

He does most of the talking, like always. It’s been months, already, but you still find it difficult to start conversations.

You still have trouble telling him certain things without feeling like you have to defend yourself, and he still rarely deviates from being a total dick, even when you hold him or have his head in your lap, when you make him laugh or when you kiss him.

Or when you put your hands in the sleeves of his sweaters and rub your palms against his forearms, because he’s always running warm and your hands are always cold.

He always acts like it annoys him, jumps when your hands meet his skin- but you know he secretly likes it, because whenever you’re done he pulls the hems all the way over his hands and looks at you with something amazed in his eyes.

With the weather warming up, he’s ditched the sweaters and taken to wearing these awful fucking short-sleeved button-downs, all unnecessarily tight and showing way too much collarbone. He’s making you sweat.

“You’re staring,” he says, and smiles, self-satisfied.

You bring your straw to your lips and shake your head. “I’m not.”

He knows that you can’t help it- he is always so gorgeous. He’s infuriatingly pretty.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, and nudges your foot under the table, voice suddenly low, and it’s like, holy shit-

You bring your drink down and lean over the table, careful to avoid knocking anything over, and kiss him quickly.

He tastes like bitter coffee.

You’re sad, all of a sudden.

When you settle back in your seat, you clear your throat like nothing happened. You want to lean in again and button up the rest of his shirt, and kiss him again. You want to come so close that your noses touch, and then yell at him, just for being him.

He looks appalled

“What was that for?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever done this.

“No reason,” you say. “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like it,” he repeats, and it’s like the same reaction from the night at the stoplight, and you realize-

He’s dumbstruck.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it disappears. He sets his jaw like he’s about to get up and leave. You try not to scowl, even though you feel like you’re drifting, tide carrying you away, sand clean and smooth on where your body once was-

It gets to you.

“Can I not just kiss you?” you snap harshly, glaring at him with a ferocity you don’t think he’s ever seen.

It’s inevitable- the result of months of frustration. You can only suppress yourself for so long. Why, you want to ask, why are you not entitled to him the way he is to you and everything else? Can you not ask for him so wholly?

He flinches.

Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire, flinches.

It brings a small sliver of satisfaction with it. There’s some nerve you’ve struck, and the discontent on his face is steadily growing-

You pay it no mind, drinking the rest of your iced coffee in calm silence.

Outside, the day is vaguely summery, where the sun is out and strong, but still too cold in the shade. You stare past his head, towards the door. How quickly can you leave?

“You can,” he says quietly, when you’re rising to throw your cup in the trash. “Whenever you want.”

His eyelashes are so long- they command a moment of attention all on their own when he blinks- soft and slow and gazing at you from underneath them. You wonder if he is doing this for the same reason you are. If he’s lonely, too.

When was the last time you had the dream with the bird?

You smirk. “Whenever?”

He is forlorn.

You like him better in the spring.

“Whenever.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, and make your voice low, since two can play at that game.

He considerably perks up.

***

When you wake up, he’s still in your bed.

Lately, he’s been spending more time at your place than his. You think that all those windows are finally starting to get to him.

Ransom always holds you fiercely in his sleep. You break free as gently as you can and take him in for a brief moment- you like how he looks when he’s asleep. Unconcerned, chest rising slow with each breath, hair splayed over the pillow in nearly every direction. He almost looks innocent.

You get up quietly, even though there’s no chance he’ll stir- he sleeps like the dead.

Daylight filters through the blinds in white-yellow streams, dappling him golden.

You almost take a picture, but regretfully leave the room for other tasks- you stretch and water your plants and check your email, and then sit down at the table to Skype your brother.

He picks up fast.

“Hey!” you say, and at once feel so much relief, to see his grainy, smiling face on your laptop screen.

Europe has done him good- he’s grown out his hair, and his skin is glowing, and he looks so happy.

He tells you about what he’s been doing lately, studying architecture. It makes you so proud, this fact alone- that unlike you, he can do whatever he wants and doesn’t have the looming promises of debt and academic burnout and crushing, ever-present stress hovering over his shoulders. It is so good to see him, and you are so grateful that he can be who he wants to be, do what he wants to do-

“Holy shit, who is that?”

He’s looking past you. You turn around and almost jump-

Ransom stands in the kitchen, shirtless and rummaging through the cupboards. He waves at you.

You would think that someone like Ransom would exclusively sleep in, like, silk pajama sets, or something, but at least he’s in sweatpants- however low-rise they might be, however loosely knotted the drawstring is. It’s better than nothing, at least- what if he had walked out in nothing?

When you turn back to the screen, you catch a glimpse of yourself in your camera feed- you look absolutely mortified.

You are absolutely mortified. This is the start of what can only be a nightmare.

“Are you dating that guy?” your brother asks incredulously. He’s still staring at Ransom with his jaw hanging loose. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” you say forcefully, without thinking. “That’s, um... “

Hopelessly, you gesture back towards him, trying to come up with the words. Nothing feels right in your mouth- every title you can come up with is too consequential, too heavy.

“...That’s Ransom.”

“Weird name,” your brother says, and grins.

You take a breath that feels more like a gasp. “I know.”

“Hey,” Ransom says, from the back, and continues to loudly open and close the cupboards- what the fuck is he even looking for? You don’t keep enough shit in there to warrant this much noise- he’s doing this for theatrics.

“I think I’m going to go,” you say loudly. “Love you.”

“Bye,” your brother says, and he’s grinning stupidly, like a madman.

You disconnect and feel like you might faint.

Not your boyfriend, right?

“Was that your brother?” Ransom asks, casually, finally finding what he was looking for- two mugs. There is no way that he didn’t come across them earlier.

“Yeah- yes,” you say shakily. It feels like someone has filled your brain with fizzy water.

There’s a few boys your brother has met over the years, but you’ve always been careful. Because an introduction is like making a statement- it’s like saying that this person you’re with is important enough to you that they’re going to overlap, exist in more than just one part of your life.

But Ransom is a catastrophe of a person- you can barely handle him as he is. How could you ever have him as anything more?

He goes through the cupboards, again, and finds a box of teabags. “The one studying abroad?”

“I only have one brother,” you snap.

“Okay,” he says, totally unbothered, surprising you. He’s not a morning person in the slightest- why is he being so cordial? “Where do you keep your kettle?”

“Second cupboard on the right,” you say, and bury your head in your hands.

He looks at you. He is so many things, but never kind, until now. His hair, in its adorable bedhead, flops over his eyes. Before, it was only almost, but now, you think, he looks completely innocent, like the type of guy you could give kisses without feeling nervous, the type of guy you wouldn’t deny as your boyfriend.

What is wrong with him?

What is wrong with you?

At the end of the day, he’s always there- you’re exclusive, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough to deserve a title?

He finds the kettle, and then sifts through the box. He sorts through different flavors with a gentle precision you’ve never seen before- is this really him? Is he the type of person that is gentle and precise?

The uneven smattering of blue-black bruises on your thighs say no.

You’re so confused that your head hurts.

“None of these flavors are any good,” Ransom says, and shakes his head. His hair shines in the morning light. “Earl Grey- who the hell drinks Earl Grey?”

“Don’t insult my tea like that,” you say, and he looks back at you and gives you a brilliant flash of a smile.

If he’s bothered at all by your denial, he never brings it up.

*** He’s too far gone.

He’s in freefall, feeling weak- he’s fucking succumbed.

To you. To your comebacks and the world-weary gaze you have of everything, to your nonsensical collection of plants and your painfully unattractive basketball shorts, to the way you laugh too loud and too little, to the way you say his name, where he can never tell if you’re happy with him or exasperated-

It’s wrong.

But, he thinks, so are all of these other things, like drugs and alcohol and blowing money on shit he doesn’t need- and you make him feel better than any of those things ever have, so why should anybody have a problem with it? A week goes by after you tell your brother that he isn’t your boyfriend- and it doesn’t bother him, because he’s never wanted that title in the first place, never has- but it obviously bothers you.

You’re disappointed in yourself, because you think you’re supposed to be better than him, because you’re so smart and he is so terrible.

He hopes that that’s not how you actually think. It hurts him to0 much to even consider it, and so he doesn’t, and so he thinks of how to keep his hold on you, and then he thinks of why he even wants to-

The truth is too apparent to deny.

After a week, he calls.

***

He’s very slow.

Not tired- just consumed with the sudden need to savor things. When you let yourself into his arms, Ransom treats you like you’re fragile.

“What’s up with you?” you ask, and as he stares, your voice reduces to something small. You go timid when his eyes are on yours, he realizes, and the thought sends a thrill through his body- he slowly rocks you, to calm himself.

Your shirt is off and you wear a bra with a small lace trim- not racy, but very cute- and he just keeps on staring.

Wow, he thinks. He fucked up good.

“Nothing,” he says, and moves one hand from your waist- he has you in his lap, straddling him- up to the top of your neck. He trails down and over to your collarbone, hooking a finger into your bra strap.

You laugh, breathy and indecent.

He lifts it, subtly, and you whine, and he bites back his own.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, and kisses your neck. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Ransom,” you gasp, with your hands splayed over his back. He slowly skims his hand over, to your back, feeling every little thing, dip and contour and curve, everything- and then unhooks it, and you are bared to him and he is breathless.

He takes you by the shoulders and twists, to bring you down, to pin you against the bed. Your comforter is dark blue, like ocean water.

Your eyes are endless, like ocean water.

“Are you upset about something?”

Your chest rises and falls and he almost reaches for the waistband of your underwear, but stops himself. He presses a wet kiss to one of your breasts, and you arch into his mouth. He feels like you know every single secret of his, when he has told you none.

You know by accident that he’s ticklish. That’s it.

“I’m not,” he says. “I promise.”

He bends low to kiss down the length of your body, repositions his hands to hold your waist. He thinks that this is more intense- it is just his mouth and your skin and the sound of your breath hitching.

He still has it put together, remarkably well- unfathomably well.

“I feel like there’s something you’re- ah- not telling me, honey.”

That does it.

He grips your waist harder, in the way he knows you always like, so that tomorrow he will be able to retrace his steps, follow the blue-

“Say that again,” he says, and presses a soft kiss over you- even through your underwear, with its delicate lace trim, he can feel how wet and wanting and ready you are for him.

“Say- fuck- say what?”

Your hand flails, for a second, before you thread it through his hair, and yank. It hurts, pleasantly.

He hooks his fingers into your waistband and shimmies it down your thighs, and you instinctively spread your legs. He puts his mouth to your slit, slicker than he imagined, and the heady arousal rushing through his mind- and everywhere else- is nearly enough to make him forget what you even said-

He is quite possibly drunk off of you alone, and he wants to slap himself, and, like, press you so close into him that you forget your way out.

With the spare glow of one lamp, you look like you’re made of gold.

He breaks away from you for a terrible moment to strip, and with one hand he teases your clit, and with the other he pumps himself, hard, once, twice, three times in anticipation-

“Don’t make me ask again,” he says, and comes back up to cup your face once more, and slips his hand back down into you at the same time, with his cock hard against your thigh- this is all quite slippery- the game you’re playing at and the risk he’s trying to take-

“Honey,” you say, and you’re smiling deliriously, but shakily. “Honey honey honey.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, and his voice, in a moment of terrible, vulnerable, unspeakable betrayal, cracks.

“Good,” you say, but your voice is all wobbly as he lines himself up and roughly pushes into you, holding you a little tighter to keep you steady. “You deserve it.”

He kisses you openmouthed, with his teeth scraping- it’s rough and jarring, the way you always take it. Against his mouth, you swear incoherently, stringing together a litany of curses with his name thrown in between, and goddamn him- it makes him smile.

He wastes no time- he can’t be patient any longer, not when he has you under him like this, and so he goes fast, snapping into you at a bruising pace and keeping his mouth close, and rubbing at your clit, to overstimulate you and make everything faster, harsher, more immediate-

When you come you always say his name, thickly with gravel in your voice, and gasp like the breath has been stolen from your lungs. This time, when you are so far gone that he thinks you’re beyond the realms of sound, and sight, too, with your eyes tightly screwed shut, he says it, for the sake of himself.

“I think I love you-”

310 notes · View notes

come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//general dating headcannons//

Characters: Daishou Suguru/ Kita Shinsuke/ Yamaguchi Tadashi

Warnings: i don’t think any??

Word Count: 2K (~650 a piece)

Notes: i am soft for kita shinsuke. that is all.

Daishou Suguru

He’s a top tier boyfriend and no one is allowed to tell me otherwise

He is a first-class WEENIE for his s/o and would genuinely do anything for them

But noooo y’all hate him smh

Daishou is the kind of person who puts every important date of your relationship in his phone. He is never missing your anniversary or your birthday or any other important relationship dates.

He’s a good morning/good night texter too. I know that everyone thinks he’s an asshole, but after being broken up with for focusing too much on a club, he doesn’t want you to feel like he only cares about volleyball. If he’s going to be busy for a few hours, he’s going to tell you so you don’t think he’s just flat out ignoring you

I promise, he will let you do anything to him if you just ask. Want to try to curl his hair? Cool, just please don’t burn him. You want to pluck his eyebrows? Go ahead. He doesn’t mind. Did you see this really cute nail design that you want to try? Suguru already has his hand held out towards you so you can practice.

He’s not telling anyone that he does all of this so willingly though. He has to maintain some essence of coolness

Literally the whole volleyball team knows that he’s a total simp, so idk who the hell he thinks he’s hiding it from

His love language is quality time, so as long as he’s with you, he’s perfectly content. Daishou will happily just sit next to you for hours, sending each other memes or stupid tiktoks.

When it comes to actually going out on dates, he’s really simple. He likes picnics in the park or taking hikes or going stargazing. It feels very intimate to him and allows a certain degree of vulnerability that can’t be found anywhere else.

You guys went stargazing on your first date and he brought you flowers and the two of you shared snacks it was all very cute and there was no way that you weren’t going to go on a second date with him

Speaking of flowers-

One time you made him mad over something really stupid and he brought you some flowers as a partial apology for him being overdramatic, but the card just said “fuck you” in really pretty lettering, but there was a really small, “but also, I love you” on the other side.

The two of you pick up random hobbies together? For no other reason than the two of you spend an awful lot of time just sitting at each other's house? So, you decided to do something other than just sit on your phones for h o u r s

You’ve made those giant arm-knitted blankets together. One time, you tried to make soap, but it didn’t smell good so that hobby got scrapped. You’ve tried to learn how to roller skate together, but Daishou almost broke his arm so you thought maybe something less dangerous like puzzles. But, those got old really fast.

Please for the love of god run your hand over his arms. He will be putty in your hands. He loves it so much.

Better yet? Put your hands on his biceps when he kisses you and he’s a happy boy. His arms are the feature that he’s most proud of, so knowing that you like them too is a big boost to his ego.

He has two main nicknames for you smh. When he’s teasing or just being a little shit, he calls you sweetheart. If he actually wants to be affectionate, Daishou calls you babygirl.

He’ll pull you into his lap and pepper your face in kisses while telling you, “I love you, babygirl, you know that?”

If you call him ‘Sugu’ or just ‘ru’ he may actually die right there. It just plucks something in his heart that sends him to cloud-9.

Suguru really is a fantastic boyfriend who just wants you to be happy ;-; He wants you to smile and laugh and be comfortable around him, because he’s here for the long-haul. When Daishou falls in love, he falls hard

Kita Shinsuke

An absolute sweetheart

He’s going to take care of you so good

Kita for sure walked straight up to you and asked you on a date. He gave zero fucks. Nerves? Kita has never heard of them before. If you reject him, you reject him. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.

You met his grandmother really early into the relationship because she’s really important to Kita, so he needed to know that she approved of you before fully committing to a relationship with you.

But, I promise, she loves you and now that Kita is finally dating someone, she’s going to pester him about wedding plans once he comes home from your date. She doesn’t care that this is only the second date. She wants to see her grandson married.

Kita genuinely loves domestic life? Please please please come over and cook with him. If you offer to help him with the dishes, he may propose right there. Okay not literally but you know what i mean. Come over on Saturdays for laundry and gardening.

I should mention that dating Kita isn’t always chores and housework, but even when it is, it really doesn’t feel like it? The two of you joke around, definitely throwing dirt at one another while you’re pulling weeds in the garden or flicking water at him while doing the dishes.

He’s an “acts of service” kind of person. Little things like having your favorite snacks in the cabinets for when you come over or turning the heat up before you get there so it’ll be warm because he knows you get gold. You left your math binder at his house once, so he took the time to put all of the loose papers where he knew you would’ve wanted them.

If you’re a person who gets periods, he has pads and extra painkillers stocked in the bathroom cabinet.

Please note that Kita has zero shame in buying you period products. You need tampons? Okay. What size and what brand? Do you want anything else? He can get some snacks while he’s at the store too. You can say no and he’s going to pick up a package of pizza rolls anyway. He knows you well enough that you’ll say no, but only tell him that you're hungry the minute he gets home. He’s played this game before. He knows.

It makes his grandmother so proud, seeing him love and care so wholeheartedly for another person that isn’t related to him. She just knows that he’ll make an excellent husband to you one day

She cares about you just as much as he does. Kita mentioned that you weren’t feeling well once, and she packed up a bunch of leftovers and some tea for him to take over to you, pretty much telling him not to come back until you were feeling well again.

Kita doesn’t beat around the bush, so if he has something he wants to tell you, he’s just going to say it. Communication is really important to him and he believes that it’s the key to a healthy and happy relationship.

But, because of this, it took him a while to say I love you. He didn’t want to just say it, you know? He wanted to genuinely mean it. He believes that that phrase gets tossed around too easily. So, it was a few months before he actually said it, but you knew that he was serious when he did.

He likes to kiss the top of your head. If you’re tall, he enjoys kisses to your temple just as much.

I 10/10 recommend a Kita. He would love you wholeheartedly and, don’t tell his grandmother, he really does want to spend the rest of his life with you.

Yamaguchi Tadashi

Another absolute sweetheart of a boyfriend oml

But, I promise that you’re probably going to have to make the first move if you want anything to come from this.

He’s just so shy and nervous when talking to people that he finds cute ;-;

Although, there is a chance that Tsukishima told him to get over himself and just ask you out.

“It’s not that big of a deal. If they say no, you move on.”

Shut up, Tsukki.

Yamaguchi really likes to hold your hand. It’s really grounding for him, so if he’s ever starting to get panicked, he’ll reach for your hand.

Before every game, he has to hold your hand and he’ll squeeze it three times before he has to go. So, if he starts to panic during the game, he has a fresh memory of the feeling of your hand in his.

Yamaguchi lets you wear his jacket during games ;-; He didn’t even think about it as something to show you off as his, he was just worried that you might get chilly in the stands, so he offered for you to take it.

But, now he’s obsessed with how cute you look with his jacket around your shoulders that he’s letting you hold onto it whenever he gets the opportunity.

Study dates study dates study dates

The two of you will either go to a cafe or a library and claim a table and just hang out and do homework together. If you’re struggling with something, he’ll walk you through it. He moved his chair close to yours so that your knees just barely brushed against one another.

He loves to bring you little gifts. If he sees something in a shop that reminds him of you or if he thinks you might like it, he’ll buy it and give it to you the next time he sees you.

He usually doesn’t like nicknames? He'd rather just be called by his actual name, but something about you calling him ‘dashi’ just feels right and he really likes it.

Tadashi has a lot of insecurities, especially in the start of your relationship with him. He doesn’t understand why you’re so willing to be with him?? He’s just a bundle of nerves and he’s convinced that you could do so much better than him, but yet you still stay with him?

It took him a really long time to get comfortable with the idea of being in a relationship and realize that you weren’t going to just dump him because you really got to know him, but when he does get comfortable, it’s like he’s a totally new person. His nervous laughter actually becomes more full and free and he smiles a lot wider. He isn’t afraid to tease you and he’s a lot more open about his emotions.

Tsukki is the first one to really notice just how good you are for Yamaguchi. Tadashi isn’t super open with anyone but him, at least, until you came along and gave Tadashi another person that he could connect with and feel comfortable around.

Tadashi loves it when you play with the hair at the base of his neck. It feels so comforting and he would love to just fall asleep right there with your fingers in his hair. Everytime you play with his hair, his head immediately goes to your shoulder and he’ll wrap his arms around your midsection and tell you that he loves you.

You will never go a day without Tadashi telling you that he loves you and that you’re absolutely incredible. He finds something to compliment you on every single day because he just wants you to know that you’re loved and, while yes, he does find you absolutely beautiful, sometimes it’s nice to be complimented on things other than physical appearance and that’s where Yamaguchi really shines.

{Taglist: @moncymonce @nicka-nell @celosiiaa @lovinnoya and my fellow daishou suguru simp @kuronekomama}

251 notes · View notes

algernoninwonderland · 3 years

Note

Yeah, no. Wonder Egg Priority is pedo-pandering suffering-porn written by and for men who want stories about how girls kill themselves for stupid reasons because they're controlled by their emotions.

Hi to you too, Anon!

I appreciate your using an anon, this is very courageous of you and it’ll definitely make this conversation much easier to have in depth with you personally (seriously, though, couldn’t you have shot me a DM? Consider doing so now)

I’ll try to address all of your points.

“It’s a story about how girls kill themselves for stupid reasons because they’re controlled by their emotions”

It’s a story that isn’t over yet. It’s a really short show, a single cour, and it isn’t over yet. You can make inferences, and so can I, but the show hasn’t reached its conclusion, we’ll have to wait a couple more episodes for that. If WEP fumbles the bag and doesn’t stick its landing, you’ll have been right. Except... I don’t think the show’s writing and directing choices are there to make us think, “look how dumb and stupid these stupid emotional characters are for killing themselves.” Why do you think that? Is the show making the case that these characters should be feeling different things and that they’re idiots who deserve what’s happening to them because they let their emotions get the better of them, and also, weird gender essentialism? (see that’s when knowing who you are and being able to talk to you comes in handy, because we can exchange ideas and points of view and maybe come to a mutual understanding). I don’t think you’re sincerely engaging with the show and what it’s trying to do here.

“it’s p*do-pandering suffering-pron”

Is it nonce-pandering stuff though? Anime has a deeply-ingrained nonce problem. Japan has a deeply-ingrained nonce problem. Nonces are bad and shouldn’t be given a platform to spread nonce imagery because that’d be awful. When nonce stuff is present in a work, it should be pointed out and denounced for what it is. I’m glad we seem to be agreeing on that.

Now, Anon, is WEP made to titillate nonces, are the people making WEP nonces? I must say I tend to avoid shows that give me nonce vibes, and WEP doesn’t give me these vibes, but perhaps you and I see different things in this show. Here’s what I think. The characters who are teenagers sometimes behave childishly, the character design makes them cute and KyoAni-like, but is that nonce-pandering? No, of course, that alone wouldn’t make you think that. You’d need creative decisions that have the nonce audience feel hot and bothered. Are these directing decisions there? Is there iffy fanservice in WEP? I only watched each episode once and I can’t say I recall that happening in a recurring fashion or at all? Is it about teenage characters wearing relaxed indoors clothes that real teenagers would wear indoors to relax? I don’t see the nonce-ness in that. There’s that one leg shot in one episode but it seems like it’s an isolated incident, and more like general anime bs than purposefully nonce stuff, plus it’s very much in-character. I didn’t like it, but is that nonce-pandering? Is it the fact that these characters sometimes discuss sex and have sexual encounters? Boy have I got some news about what allo teenagers sometimes talk about and go through. (it’s not like the anime isn’t not telling us something about that either) I don’t think the directing and the writing turns its characters into sexual objects or portrays them as mini-adults, you aren’t meant to feel hot and bothered by these moments. (If you could point out what you think is nonce-ness in WEP so we can discuss that without being vague, I’d be happy to have this conversation with you, Anon)

If there’s nonce-ness in WEP that is meant to be appealing to nonces, it flew right past me. Maybe it’s really well-hidden. Maybe I’ve been distracted by the plot and the symbolism. But you aren’t meant to think that the nonce character is a good guy, ever? He’s not physically monstrous but he clearly gives off awful vibes and that’s a deliberate artistic choice, and each and every scene he is in doesn’t portray what he does as good and acceptable. Have we been watching the same show? As I’ve said, I’ll rewatch the entire show once it’s over to have a better, more complete appreciation of it. (and hearing your more complete perspective on that would have been really useful, Anon, again, please DM me if you really want to talk)

WEP has a lot of its characters suffering, yes, undeniably. Is their suffering the main draw of the story? (I don’t think so) Are you supposed to feel some kind of pleasure seeing the girls hurt like that? (I don’t think so either) Is the main draw to the show the fact that there’s blood and girls who get hurt? (You guessed it, I don’t think so). Is this a show about endless suffering and girls getting punished for being girls? (Maybe there’s more to it than that?) The violence is spectacular, it is part of the spectacle. What is the function of suffering in WEP? Is this suffering literal or metaphorical? Who causes that suffering? Is there a point being made about that? I’d like to have this conversation again when the show is over to be able to give you a definitive answer. I wouldn’t say that this is suffering pron at all.

“All of that is written BY and FOR men”

The Anime industry still is, for the most part, a sausage fest when it comes to high ranking positions, that is art directors, lead writers and overall directors. That’s something that still needs to change, and to change quickly. If that’s part of the point you’re trying to make, I agree with you on that wholeheartedly. It is a shame, because there are tons of really talented women in anime, writers and directors who aren’t Naoko Yamada, Sayo Yamamoto and Mari Okada, who aren’t given the opportunity to make more shows and to have leading roles that would allow for different creative directions. And WEP would perhaps be a very different show if women were occupying the lead creative roles. So far, Maiko Kobayashi has been the only woman directing an episode of WEP.

Yes, WEP’s lead writer is a man. Yes, it’s unclear what he’s trying to do with that weird gender essentialism stuff, if that’s on purpose to make a point later on or if that’s him being disappointing. But also he’s been writing for decades now and here’s pretty experienced and he’s been able to reach many kinds of audiences over his career? He’s not incompetent is what I’m saying.

You know what show was written by and directed by men and is rightfully hailed as a feminist masterpiece? That’s right, Utena. It’s not perfect by any means, but many women found themselves resonating with Utena and it’s an excellent show (and my personal favourite). It has two girls as the lead characters, and many other characters being girls too. I feel like the manga by Chiho Saito on which the anime is based isn’t nearly as progressive as the show, it has fewer things to say about gender, cycles of abuse and oppression than the anime (once again, written by men) had.

Does this mean that men should be the only ones telling these stories? No, of course not. Does that mean we should run away from any and all productions that have girls as the lead characters when it’s written and directed by men? Also no. Does that mean that women are inherently incapable of making very regressive awful garbage set in a school setting with teenage girls as the lead characters? No, obviously.

WEP’s creative team being almost strictly men is certainly disappointing, but is this, in and as of itself, a disqualifying factor that makes it being a good show impossible? Not in my mind, no. Does it make it trickier, considering the topics the show attempts to tackle? Undeniably. Does it mean it’s an ontologically doomed project? No.

Is the show made with an audience of adult men in mind? I… Don’t feel like it is? Are there signs of that in the creative process and in the finished product? Are there smexy figures being sold, or articles in anime magazines, or official art explicitly pandering to an audience of adult men?

There’s a really interesting conversation to be had about this, but you’ve given me very little to work with here, Anon. I’m not going to do the job for you and find arguments and examples to accommodate your vision. You expect me to make sense of the thirty-two words you’ve written and find things that support these thirty-two words so that I can refute your point in good faith later on.

You’ll have to do that first part yourself. You’ll have to do a bit more than thirty-two words.

You say a handful of words and you expect people to give very thorough answers. You raise a few vague points and then run away.

That’s not exactly brave or a show of intellectual honesty now is it, Anon? Surely, you are better than that.

My DMs are open, if you really want us to have this conversation, just send me a message, if you don’t, maybe don’t send me anonymous asks again?

#wonder egg priority #wep #weird asks #seriously though anon #anime

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handweavers · 3 years

Text

i think in some ways i'm still mourning who i could have become if a million awful things hadn't happened to me, if i'd stayed on the trajectory i was on in elementary school and the things i could have done in that life before i became extremely mentally ill and traumatized, even though i would like to say that i'm over that now i find myself still getting a bit angry like a child (internally) when faced with the reality of people who have never experienced anything genuinely traumatic in their lives and have generally had a very normal and typical life up to this point and then frustrated with myself for still feeling that way. it's also just inherently a false narrative, the idea that i could have been xyz instead of abc, because 1) there's actually no way to know and 2) there is no point or value in thinking this way, it's not productive or helpful. in truth, most of my life has been highly unconventional and atypical and will continue to be so because i'm just not made for 9-5 jobs or academia or whatever, and the more i try to pigeonhole myself into the mainstream capitalist idea of "normal ways to have a life" the more i am actively self-harming. my brain is wired in a way where these things are excrutiatingly difficult and actually prevent me from having the energy and motivation to be productive and achieve a feeling of peace and accomplishment in my own way and on my own terms, and that isn't something shameful or embarassing nor does it indicate that i lack value or am undeserving of respect. it is not a moral failing to be emotionally, physically, mentally incompatible with mainstream capitalist life and its demands. there is no "better" self to long for, only a present self to nurture and approach with compassion. thinking about rudy francisco's "i am still learning to love the parts of me that no one claps for" and every poem written about looking at yourself the way you would your oldest closest friend and caring for your emotions and body and life with the same level of tenderness and love

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malfoymania · 3 years

Text

LOYALTIES | 4 | D.M

masterlist

CHAPTER FOUR

LILY KINGSLEY

The next morning when I wake up, I feel the sting of sleeplessness in my eyes. It took me hours to get to sleep, and once I did all I could dream about was Malfoy.

I slowly get ready for the day, not bothering with any makeup. Nothing is going to cover these bags even if tried. I slip on my robe and grab my wand before collecting the books I needed for todays classes. My first period was a new class that I hadn't yet been to since the start of the term: Potions with Professor Snape.

When i'm heading down the stairs into the common room, I hear the clatter of voices that fill me with dread.

"Morning Slytherdor! I'm surprised you still live in these dorms" Blaise shouts, earning a laugh from the rest of the boys. I don't respond but just huff in disgust and carry on down the stairs.

"I know, it's a shame they don't just put her in Gryffindor. No one wants her here anyway." Golye adds.

If I said their words didn't hurt me I'd be lying. Yes, i've never actually wanted to be in Slytherin, however my father was in this house and I have never actually done or said anything to hurt anyone. I swallow back the lump in my throat and head to breakfast, trying to ignore the immature giggles from behind me.

"Morning" Harry smiles as I take a seat next to him. Hermione and Ron are sat opposite, tucking into what looked like egg on toast.

"Bloody hell Lily, did you sleep last night? You look awful" Ron asks, mouth full of food.

"Wow thanks Ron, you look lovely too" I grimace, grabbing a slice of toast from the centre of the table for myself.

"What's up Lils?" Harry asks quietly, but both Ron and Hermione are listening.

"Malfoy's what's up" I mumble.

"Is be bothering you?" Hermione pushes, getting slightly angry at the possibility of him making me upset.

"He always bothers me, but it's as if he's trying one hundred times harder to make my life hell this year and it's only Wednesday."

I proceed to tell them about what happened last night. How he cornered me and called me by my first name. How he threatened me with his new prefect position and whispered in my ear. Harry and Hermione couldn't believe it. Ron however, lets out a laugh and nearly spits toast everywhere.

"Sounds like there's some sexual tension there if you ask me" He grins. I scoff and so does Hermione.

"Well nobody asked you Ronald" she seethes, giving him a glare to which Ron raises his hands up in surrender.

"It was not sexual tension. I loathe the boy. Everything that comes out of his stupid mouth makes me want to vomit." I roll my eyes and continue to eat but I have a horrible feeling deep down that Ron might be right. Sure, Draco Malfoy is the school bully, the asshole. But he's also the school fitty. He's gorgeous.

"Well I say you take the high road Lily, carry on ignoring him and you'll be fine" Hermione says, and I nod in agreement. I just need to stay away from him and keep myself to myself.

That plan didn't last long.

We're stood in a huddle at the back of Snape's class as he seats us for the next academic year, and he puts me next to none other than Draco Malfoy. Why wouldn't he? Out of all the students in the class he seats me next to him. It would be crazy to think I could have been seated next to anyone else.

"Ignore Goyle, he doesn't know what he's talking about." Draco interrupts my thoughts.

"What?" I snap, not wanting to have a conversation at this moment in time.

"Earlier. It was kind of mean." I look at him to see if he's joking, but to my surprise it doesn't seem like he is.

"Since when did you care about what people say about me?" I retort, looking back down to avoid his stare.

"I don't" he quickly answers. "But I thought it was uncalled for that's all."

I don't respond. Mostly because I don't want to but partly because I don't know how to. I glance over at Harry who sends me a sympathetic look. Lucky bastard got seated next to Cho Chang, and we all know how Harry feels about Cho Chang. I raise my eyebrows back at him, directing my gaze to Cho and then back to him with a smirk. He blushes immensely and shakes his head before turning back around looking down at his desk.

"Potter got a crush then?" Malfoy asks, making me scoff.

"Gutted it's not on you?" I quip back, making him scowl.

"Shut up Kingsley. You think you're so funny."

"I know i'm funny." I respond.

"You're full of shit." He grumbles, opening the pages of his book. "I hate how you have an answer to everything."

"I hate how you have to comment on everything." I say, still not looking at him.

"You're a bitch."

"You're an asshol-"

"Good morning class. I will be your Potions teacher this year. Misbehaviour will not be tolerated." Snaps begins, putting a stop to mine and Draco's bickering session. "Turn to page 412."

We spend the lesson mainly in silence. Snape's lessons are often in silence, which isn't a bad thing considering who i'm sat next to.

When the class is dismissed I gather my things and leave the room as quickly as possible, trying to not spark another spat with Malfoy. Harry meets me by the door and we head off to our next class together.

The day continues as normal. Each lesson we slowly get back into the routine of school life and quickly forget about the real world back at home. I make a mental note to owl my dad this evening and let him know that i'm okay. He worries, and I promised him i'd keep in touch like I always do.

"How's your dad Lily?" Neville asks over dinner.

"He's fine thanks. Busy with work like always." I respond.

"Does he think Lord Voldemort's back?" Luna asks with pure curiosity. I try to swallow the food I just put in my mouth, but it goes down slowly and painfully.

"He um- yes he does." I say quietly, not wanting many people to hear.

"He can't say anything just yet though Luna, or he'll loose his job in the Ministry" Hermione adds, saving me from answering.

My father works along side the Minister of Magic, gaining his position there a few years after my mother passed away. He always told me how mum would have wanted to carry on making good in the world, so he's doing his best to do it for her.

"Well any way that we can help, let us know" she smiles, turning back towards her food. I look at Harry and I know he can tell what I'm thinking. He sighs and nods, giving us the all clear to start recruiting students to learn defensive spells. I look at Hermione and I can tell she's trying so hard not to combust on the spot, and i'm mirroring her actions too.

"Never mind her dad, I want to know how potions with Malfoy went" Ron grins, taking a mouthful of food.

"Why do you care so much?" I ask, annoyed at his constant obsession with the topic.

"Why have you gone so red?" He fires back. I immediately look away and touch my face.

"I haven't" is all I manage to respond with. "Besides, I spent the whole lesson arguing with him."

Thankfully the topic changes, and I finish my meal in peace. We manage to create a list of people who would be willing to join Harry's lessons and discuss where we will hold them. A productive meal time if you ask me.

After a few more hours of planning and discussing, I say my farewells and head back to the Slytherin common room just before curfew.

I'd prepared myself to be greeted by Malfoy yet again, but tonight there was no sign of him. I sigh in relief and lay on the sofa in the empty common room. I barely ever spend time in here, and when I do it's almost always empty. I don't have many friends in Slytherin. My roommates are okay, but they don't speak to me much. They're usually too wrapped up in their own conversations to even notice I'm there.

"Potions was fun." I hear from the doorway. I don't bother looking. I know exactly who it is.

"What do you want Malfoy?" I huff, closing my eyes to try and block him out.

"I'm having a conversation with you. What's wrong with that?" He responds, making his way over to where i'm lay.

"What is going on Malfoy? You hate me, and I hate you. What's with the sudden spark of interest?" I ask, now opening my eyes to see him peering over from the behind the sofa.

"You don't hate me Kingsley. I see the way you act around me. You don't know what to say half the time" he smirks. He's full of shit.

"I don't know what to say because you're a cocky, arrogant prick who thinks he can get whatever or whoever he wants. You're awful behaviour leaves me speechless" I scoff. He leans forward on the back of the sofa, so he's closer to me.

"Don't flatter yourself Lily. I would never want someone like you."

That's when my hand reaches up and smacks him right against the face. The sound of his skin against my hand echos around the common room, haunting me once I realise what I've done.

"Don't ever talk to me like that again Malfoy" I growl, the emotion laced within it clear that i'm holding back tears. I'm fucking furious, and I cry when i'm furious.

"Lily-"

"Don't call me that name. You don't deserve to" I snap, getting up and leaving towards my dorm, no longer being able to hold back the tears.

I hate Draco Malfoy, but what I hate even more is the fact that he's all I can think about.

hey! thanks so much for all the support so far! it really means a lot☺️ let me know what you think so far in the comments!! there may be some draco and lily action in the next chapter ...👀

#draco x reader #draco imagine #draco x you #draco smut #draco malfoy imagine #dracotok #draco #draco malfoy #harry potter #tom felton imagine #tom felton #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction

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project-ohagi · 4 years

Text

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader {Fantasy AU}

Buy me a coffee!! <3

Crimson.

A most enchanting crimson. That was the sight awaiting your rest-deprived eyes, as they dipped in and out of the mountain springs connecting the queendom of the faeries to this mortal coil. Had you happened upon a particularly beautiful fairy, or were you perhaps still dreaming? There were so many emotions swimming amid those starry pools...anger, mystification, irritation, suspicion, even a hint of nervosity. But only a hint. It was innocent, it was vulnerable, and it certainly didn't match what he chose to display. Actually, it reminded of the children who made merry in the castle's courtyard; the ones who weaved flowers into crowns and were excited for you to read to them tales of faraway lands, of dragons and masters, of mages and knights.

Well, if this man who knelt before you belonged to the plane of reality, and wasn't a tempting illusion...might you have been transported into one such tale? You reached out a hand, almost unwittingly, to ghost your fingers across his skin. It was pale and smooth. He made no effort to cease your actions, instead watching, as if an astral projection, as your fingers wandered the entirety of his face. His nose scrunched in mock disgust, lips silently begging to be claimed.

How could a seemingly small and fragile woman incite such a fierce reaction within him? He didn't understand, but he wanted to.

And then, a seraphic voice called, to snap him from a pleasant reverie. It took a few seconds to realise that you were its origin. "Um...my apologies - I must be disturbing you! B-But...may I ask...where exactly am I?"

"...My land." He grunted, after some careful consideration.

Was your ignorance genuine, or a mere deception? No-one arrived at Bakugou's territory without the intention to usurp him, or to slaughter him alongside the countless dragons who inhabited the land. But...would a frail-looking girl be selected for such a dangerous task? It was unlikely - though the possibility couldn't be discounted, for safety's sake.

"Your land? Are you perhaps the king here? Ah, what should I call 'here'? And, please pardon the intrusion! I-I'm not certain myself how I wound up on the forest floor. Not - not in foreign land, at least. I remember talking to the elves...oh, my goodness! I must have succumbed to sleep. How foolish of me! Father always warned against sleeping in the forest! Oh...what if there is a changeling replacing me right now, in the castle? What am I to do?"

"Quit mumbling. It's annoying." Those four words immediately flustered you, but he continued. "...You don't know how you got here? And...what's that about a castle? You royalty or something?"

With a quick gesture of affirmation, you replied, "My father is King (K/n)...not an awfully nice man, but saying anything more could be considered treason. Rest assured, he is not above executing one of his own."

Bakugou's expression soured. "That's fucked up."

Yours erupted in shock and awe. "T-That word...you use it? Is it not too vulgar?"

"Hah? Do I look like a gentleman, to you? Sorry Princess, but I curse as and when I like." He puffed out his chest, secretly hoping that you might compliment his muscles.

"'Princess'?" You gazed forlornly at the dress you wore. "This is your land. I'm no princess here."

You didn't wish to offend this man, especially not when the spears and swords you anticipated weren't being pointed at your throat. Bakugou's tongue was sharp, his responses crude and unrefined. Despite this...there was a warm aura emanating from him. And, from the way he started patrolling the length of the cave (as you soon recognised it), he was focused, protective. Even as the idle conversation whiled away the hours, even though he never really abandoned your side (whether this was due to doubt or care, you remained oblivious), he made a point of checking and re-checking, for any anomaly. When the western wind targeted you quite harshly, Bakugou forfeited his fur-lined cape. He draped it over you, grumbling all the while.

Though, your keen eyes caught the faintest of shivers, and before he could protest, you wrapped the cape around your bodies, snuggling into him. Bakugou's heart fluttered. His mind was failing to comprehend this new feeling, this sense of...home, and the sudden need, no - urge to provide and cherish. The small breaths against his chest, the hair tickling his skin...

Bakugou had little experience with human women. Until your arrival, the dragons were his only companions. Well, maybe the merchants (Ashido and Kaminari) could be classified as such? Definitely not that wannabe-knight, Deku, nor the fully-fledged knight, Iida, nor the Mage, Uraraka...

What if you were special? His pair - his mate? During your slumber, in the absence of any words, any reason for being here...he guessed either a fairy, a witch or a succubus, for your breed. But faeries were blessed with wings, and witches never ventured without their brooms. As for a succubus...you seemed too easily-flustered. The disbelief still permeated his mind. You, a creature of such ethereal beauty, were human? Like him? It was a simple mistake, to imagine you as something greater. His fixation had been instant. He knew what he wanted. Whether it would prove to be love, or some other, unfamiliar emotion...well, he wasn't renowned for patience, but...this was surely something to cultivate, something that required natural growth and progression.

Hopefully, your departure wouldn't be swift. Hopefully it would be messy, complicated, and eventually you would realise your true home: right here, by Bakugou's side. Together, you would spin a tale of love and devotion for the ages. Hopefully. If you didn't choose to leave.

If you left, if this feeling faded...what dreadful emptiness might consume him? He wondered about your interests, relatives (were you betrothed?), friends, future plans...he needed to sync your dreams and passions. You were perfect for him, so he needed to be perfect for you! This was his final, grumpy thought, before sleep lured him closer, closer, closer...

The morning brought forth a barrage of questions and quandaries, like: where the fuck were you? And: when had you abdicated his side? "Shit! Fuck! Shit! DEKUUU!"

"Hm?" Hearing the commotion, you poked your head around the corner.

"Who is 'Deku'?"

"Tch. Nobody. Where were you? When did you leave? Why didn't you wake me? You could've been hurt!" He scolded, loathing the slight wince caused by his raised voice. "...Sorry. I was just...urgh, nevermind!...Did you cut your dress?"

Sure enough, the distasteful garment (distasteful only because he wished to rip it off your body), once trailing on the ground, now settled just above your knees. "Yes! I would rather something shorter, anyway. Um...did I...does it not look..."

"It's better. If it's long, you'll just trip over stuff..." There lay a subtle blush upon his cheeks.

It went unnoticed. "Oh, thank you! I was hoping for practical and cute! And, um...I shouldn't intrude on you for too long, but perhaps I can be useful? I can cook...although that is probably all I can do."

"'Cause you'll wanna go home soon, I guess."

You laughed the most glorious melody. "That place is not my home."

Bakugou couldn't allow the silence to fester, lest this golden opportunity be wasted. "I can find work for ya. The dragons always need feeding...I can cook and clean, so don't fuss over that."

"B-But...I should repay you somehow!" Your whining flipped a switch in his heart.

I can think of a million reparations, but I can't say a single one of them...God, was I always this useless?

He groaned. "Like I said, I'll find something. You just...stay here for now. I'll go and catch breakfast, since I couldn't do that last night."

"I'm so sorry!"

While you wallowed in undeserved shame and guilt, Bakugou rejoiced at the memory of your conversation - all the monologuing, that transitioned into stumbles and stutters when you spoke for an extended time...the housewife air surrounding you (definitely a product of Bakugou's delusion), the way you smiled and laughed...It was ecstasy, Heaven, warmth! It was everything, and so, so much more! It was pure...

He started collecting little trinkets alongside the food - things he thought you might appreciate. Gifts, if you will. He imagined you smiling brighter, wider than before. He imagined receiving a kiss, whether a shy peck or a fiery lip-lock. He imagined decorating your neck with a dragon's teeth necklace, and showing off your bond to the world. If you would...accept him, accept everything about him, then...bliss would rain upon his heart forevermore.

She'll be my mate. She has to be! I won't let her be with anyone else...! I'll lay my claim soon enough, just you wait!

[Word Count: 1452]

#bnha #bnha bakugou #fantasy au #katsuki bakugou x reader #my hero academia imagines #my hero academia x reader #bnha bakugou x reader

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ghoste-catte · 3 years

Note

multiples of 3 ✌🏼-sgmdrcklee

@sagemoderocklee you’re really trying to kill me lol

This got long as heck so I’m throwing it behind a cut. Read on for answers and fic recs! (Mostly the fic recs)

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

This is a tough one to answer for me generally because I tend to spit words onto the page and once I have written them I no longer remember writing them. And 2020 has stretched on so long that as I’m looking at some of the stuff I wrote in the beginning of this year, I hardly remember what’s even in it. I think at one point someone (@goblin-draws maybe?) mentioned a line in Sleeptalk with Me where the innkeeper calls Kankuro “chubby boy”, and I was like “Oh ... did I write that? Yeah, sounds like something I’d have someone say to Kankuro ...”

It might be easier to talk about this in other terms. One of the scenes I worked the hardest on this year was the fight scene in Chapter 3 of Skeleton Key. The original draft of the scene was a lot shorter, and a lot of the backstory for Misaki’s revenge quest was elided. The scene as originally written was clunky, confusing, and as my lovely wife/beta put it sounded “like a Naruto villain” was doing the dialogue, when previously she’d found Misaki sinister and intriguing. Which wasn’t what I wanted. I basically entirely overhauled the scene and re-wrote it several times. I wouldn’t call it a ‘favorite’ scene (I hate writing fight scenes generally; having chosen to immerse myself in a fandom about ninja where much of the drama comes from battle is my eternal regret), but it is a scene that I put a lot of effort into, and I’m moderately satisfied with the improved product that resulted.

6. least popular fic this year

By far my least popular fic by kudos ever is Pitch Perfect. Which makes complete sense to me. It’s a fic where I’ve written 2 characters who are men in canon as cis women, which pushes a lot of uncomfortable buttons for a lot of people. It contains F/F smut, which is something that a lot of people who choose to read GaaLee probably aren’t out there looking for. And people comment and kudos less on smutfics, I assume because they don’t want their username attached to porn or because they’re embarrassed (which I totally get, no shame there). It’s a modern AU with a sports twist, and AUs are often less popular than canonverse in my experience. I will say though that it has a surprisingly high number of private bookmarks compared to other fics with comparable hit and kudos counts. So I assume people are just a bit more shy because the premise is so ‘out there’. I will say as far as my fics go, it’s one of my personal favorites and probably one of the most intimate and true-to-life things I’ve written? So it actually is a little comforting to know that something so vulnerable has relatively little attention.

9. longest wip of the year

If we’re going based on stuff that’s partially published but not complete, my Gaara-adopts-Shinki fic On My Way Home is my longest in-progress fic at just over 20k words, although technically I started it in 2019. It will probably end up being right around 40-50k when it’s complete, which might end up situating it as my longest fic ever?

12. favorite character to write about this year

Okay, this is an easy one. I love writing Kankuro. I think he is hilarious. He is the devil on my shoulder and a creature of pure id, and every time I write a line of dialogue for him it’s the summation of my rudest thoughts about a situation put in the crudest possible terms. If there were a megaphone directly from my unfiltered brain giving running commentary, that would be Kankuro.

15. something you learned this year

I have learned SO much this year! This is only my 2nd year properly ‘focusing’ on writing fic and investing any substantial time into it. I think the biggest thing I have learned, though, is how to overcome a lot of my self-consciousness about writing stories with NSFW elements in them. Starting out, I was so extremely shy and mortified about writing fic at all, much less things like hugging or (god forbid!) kissing. So taking on the smut prompts I took this year and really buckling down on learning to write the mechanics and emotions of sex has been a massive learning experience. (And sorry, by the way, if I haven’t gotten to a prompt you sent me in January yet. I do intend to write all of them eventually!)

18. current number of WIPs

Ah. The call-out question. My general fic process is idea -> outline -> wip -> edit -> ready to post (where the final draft sits in my docs until I gin up the courage to actually post it). So skipping fics that are just “ideas” on the big mega-list, I have 3 fics in the “outline” stage, 13 fics in the partially written “wip” stage, 1 fic in the “editing” stage, and 2 that are complete but yet-to-be-posted. So, like, 19 total in the offing. (The “ideas” list is even worse lol.)

21. most memorable comment/review

This is such a difficult question because every single comment I get makes me do a little dance for joy. That’s not an exaggeration btw I really sit there and like bounce around in my seat for a moment before I open the Ao3 email. I am not an especially emotive person irl, but there have been times I’ve been brought near tears by comments. I’ll also occasionally show them to my wife like !! look at this nice thing this person said !! and she’s indulgent enough to actually read them. There have been a couple comments that have really stuck with me, that I starred in my inbox and return to frequently, but I don’t want to bring attention to someone else without their permission. I will say there was one person recently who mentioned (not in the comments on one of my fics) that they had found someone who does physical binding of fanfiction and they were about to ask my permission to do that, but then the person who does the binding only does certain ships that she likes ... so that, just, absolutely floored me. The idea that someone might actual want a physical copy of my stupid little ninja fanfictions is, like, so truly immense and completely overwhelming?

24. favorite fic you read this year

You can’t make me pick just one!! (For reference, I have bookmarked right around 180 fics in the past year, and that’s not including fics that I just read, really enjoyed, but didn’t think I could ‘handle’ a second time around.) So, skipping over the ones that AREN’T Naruto ... here is a brief sampling of some faves:

Silica by deepestbluest (rated E, GaaLee, ShikaTema, and Kankiba) - An absolute emotional powerhouse of a fic that manages to skillfully interweave three complex relationship dynamics, satisfactorily resolve them, and give you ALL the sandsibs feels in just over 10k words.

Childhood Not-Friends (series) by MegaWallflower (rated G, KakaGai) - @megawallflower is a KakaGai god for good reason. Absolutely adorable relationship development fics (five of them!) with the premise that Kakashi thinks he and Gai have been dating since they were kids ... Gai just hasn’t been clued into it yet. These stories will give you heart-eyes.

The Bright Side by gidget_goes (rated T, GaaLee) - This is the Buffy AU I never knew I needed, because I’ve never seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But truly you don’t need any Buffy knowledge to enjoy this fic. @gidget-goes command of imagery is masterful, and the way they manage to snap from snark to tugging at your heartstrings is awe-inspiring. Gaara breaks my heart in this. And did I mention Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat? Because Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat.

Nature vs. Nurture by Bidiza (rated T, GaaLee) - So introspective and so poetic. This looks like a WIP but it’s actually multiple oneshots, although by the end of the second one you’ll be dying for the rest of the promised series.

I’m a Fool to Want You by BeelieveRosemarie (rated M, GaaLee) - Turns out @tuttiefruttiegaalee isn’t just an amazing artist, they’re a writer, too! Slow-dancing that will break your heart. Listen to the Frank Sinatra song while you read this for extra tear-jerking effect.

Let Love be Known (series) by TenTomatoes (rated G, GaaLee) - This is the twist on the arranged marriage trope and Beauty and the Beast that I didn’t realize this fandom was missing. I’m absolutely obsessed with their concept of Gaara as the Beast

I Could Be by LilacNoctua (rated T, GaaLee) - I know I big up @lilac-writes Worthwhile series a lot (deservedly so, because it’s so good it makes you look at the series and go “Why the fuck didn’t Kishimoto make this canon exactly like this?”), but this story made me absolutely die between the butterflies in my stomach and how hard I was laughing. There’s one line--you’ll know it when you read it--that absolutely bowls me over every time I re-read this.

And Then Continue by EgregiousDerp (rated E, GaaLee) - Obviously I’m biased because this was a gift, but @egregiousderp writes some of the the best characterized porn I’ve ever read. You will read this and go “Wow! This is exactly how it would happen!” It’s such a tender, beautiful exploration of Gaara’s insecurities and a very real feeling first time, for all its soft edges.

Cake by citronelle (rated E, KanKiba) - I don’t even know what to say about this one other than ... phew, this is extremely well written, extremely hot, and extremely in character. Just read it. I promise it’s worth it.

Saudade by YumKiwiDelicious (rated M, GaaLee) - I’ve run around reccing this to just about every person on the face of the earth at this point. If you’re in the GaaLee Discord you probably saw everyone salivating over every new update of this fic and with good reason. The twists and turns of this fic will have you on the edge of your seat, second guessing every single moment. And it will break your heart in the meantime. What more could you want?

the love potion commotion by floating_cats (rated T, NejiSasu with background GaaLee) - One of those fics where you wish the author’s sense of humor was your own. So many hilarious moments in this story, and it brought me a new appreciation for a ship I never would have even considered.

Finger Lickin’ Good by whazzername (rated E, GaaLee) - Whazz is another one of those authors where I literally want to rec every single thing she’s ever written, she’s just that good. (Speaking of which, if you haven’t read Fools Rush In and its sequel Degrees of Separation, you’re missing out on the best possible Metal origin story of all time. Don’t deprive yourself of this.) But this story is just ... so incredibly in character for a situation that reads like crack. It’s handled with the utmost straight-facedness and it’s so. freakin’. good.

heart lines by winterberry_holly (rated M, NejiTen and GaaLee) - I don’t even have the words to describe how perfect this fic is. It’s a truly beautiful exploration of Tenten’s relationship with her palmistry hobby and with the people in her life. My heart ached with every single line.

Standing on Ceremony by kuroashi (rated E, GaaLee) - This is just ... such a beautiful wedding story. So lovely, like getting the best possible warm hug from someone you love. If that love one was slightly strange and socially inept, because, well. It’s still Gaara doing Gaara-things. @baphometsss is another one of those authors whose handling of smut scenes is so stupendous it makes me wildly jealous.

Thrall by RokiRiot (rated T, GaaLee) - Idiots-to-lovers with a magic AU twist! This is such a wonderful story, and Gaara’s internal monologue is absolutely amazing. And Lee is Deaf in this fic, which I never ever get to see and which absolutely made my entire day/week/month/life.

Make-Out Consequences by LuxaLucifer (rated M, KakaGai with background canon Boruto ships) - I laughed so hard reading this that I had to take a breather to stop crying. That’s not an exaggeration. The characterization in this fic is impeccable and the humor is to die for. Naruto’s buffoonery truly shines here, and the author’s wit is just beyond anything I could even properly summarize. Hysterical. A++.

Thirteen Strokes by Luna_Lee (rated T, GaaLee) - Again, like, if you aren’t reading literally everything @sagemoderocklee writes, are you even really a GaaLee fan? But this fic is beyond even for one of Eeri’s incredibly excellent writings. The worldbuilding in this, the cultural notes, the imagery ... it’s all so lush and so fulfilling and so beautiful. It’s a story about love and it’s a story that you can tell has love poured into every single line. I can’t recommend it enough.

Checkmate by shadowstrangle (rated G, GaaLee) - The pettiness vibes ... this is so funny. Such a cute story and I love Gaara’s sense of humor here. Not a lot of writers give him a sense of humor, but I love how @shadowstrangle gives him a slightly odd, slightly left-of-center take on humor that still manages to be so funny.

To Court a Village by FanFictionEngineer (rated G, GaaLee) - Another one where my bias is perhaps slightly obvious, but the premise of this fic is amazing. I love cultural misunderstandings, and the idea of Lee trying his hardest to court Gaara ineptly is just so perfect.

affliction of feeling by theformerone (rated E, SakuHina) - One of those ships that it would never have occurred to me to seek out but that absolutely works with how the author’s set it up. The dynamics here are delicious. It’s so rare to find good F/F porn but this is one of them for sure.

Tried and Tested by twentysomething (Rated M, KakaIru with background canon Boruto ships and GaaLee) - Iruka’s narration in this story is just incredible. I haven’t laughed this hard reading a fic in ages. And the concept alone (that Naruto can’t be promoted to Hokage until he passes his chuunin exams ... as an adult ... and Sasuke gets dragged along for the ride) is just brilliant. Amazing concept, amazingly executed.

a fireside waltz by winterberry_holly (rated M, GaaLee) - I really tried not to rec a single author more than once here but for this one I had to. I got about halfway through this fic and immediately started running around ringing the town crier bell like READ THIS FIC! READ THIS FIC! An absolutely smoldering Regency AU with such beautiful, intimate dance scenes. My heart was racing every single time their fingers brushed. If you don’t read anything else on this list, at the very least read this.

27. favorite fanfic author of the year

I really can’t pick just one. I am lucky enough that @egregiousderp passes me her drafts under the table before (or without) publishing, and getting to read those is a private treat of unparalleled proportions. Some of my favorite things I’ve read this year I can’t even rec because they’re her unpublished stuff.

30. favorite fandom to read fic from this year

This is gonna come off strange because I just wrote such a long Naruto reclist, but I recently watched What We Do in the Shadows, and found an incredibly talented group of authors in that fandom with really amazingly good dialogue and narrative voice. I also read a lot of fic for the new It movies (even though I couldn’t watch the 2nd one for ~reasons~), and damn if there isn’t a talented crop of authors in that fandom, too. And finally with ATLA making its way onto Netflix, I had the chance to start watching that for the first time and found a ton of really good fic there as well!

fanfic end of the year asks!

#answered #ask meme #sagemoderocklee #Anonymous

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schoolmascotbyday · 3 years

Photo

BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? “Frederick.”

Surname? “Frederickson.”

Middle names? “Flamarion.”

Nicknames? “Fred, Freddie, Dumbass, Knuckle Head, Idiot, Mr. Fred, Lizard Guy, Fredzilla… Fredzilla totally counts.”

Date of birth? “I was born on August 15th of 1997.”

Age? “I am twenty three years young.”

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? “Six foot even.”

Weight? “140 or something. Don’t body shame me.”

Build? “I guess I’d be a mesomorph.”

Hair color? “It’s blond-ish.”

Hair style? “Medium length. Sometimes it is straight, sometimes it has luscious waves.”

Eye color? “Grue. (That means green-blue.)”

Eye shape? “They’re kind of squinty, whatever you call that.”

Glasses or contact lenses? “No sir!”

Distinguishing facial features? “I have a big nose.”

Which facial feature is most prominent? “My nose.”

Which bodily feature is most prominent? “My chest.”

Other distinguishing features? “My hair. If you see my hair, you know it’s me.”

Skin? “White. Disturbingly white. I should get more sun…”

Hands? “Big.”

Make up? “I don’t understand how people wear makeup everyday. It’s hard. It would take me hours to not look like a clown. I wore eye shadow for the pride parade, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Scars? “Nothing too noticeable.”

Birthmarks? “Nada!”

Tattoos? “None, but I think one day I’ll get a big monster on my entire back .”

Physical handicaps? “I don’t have any.”

Type of clothes? “Worn out.”

How do you wear your clothes? “Too long.”

What are your feet like? “Also big. My socks are dirty. So are my shoes. There’s a hole in my favorite pair, and the bottom is coming off…”

Race / Ethnicity? “Caucasian.”

Mannerisms? “I am overexciteable and it shows.”

Are you in good health? “I keep forgetting to make a doctor’s appointment. Actually, I just don’t wanna do it by myself. But probably.”

Do you have any disabilities? “Fortunately no!”

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do you overuse? “I think I just shout too often.”

Do they you a catchphrase? “I say whoa-ho-ho a lot. Is that a catchphrase? Or should I have said that for my overused word and/or phrase?”

Are you more optimistic or pessimistic? “Optimistic!”

Are you introverted or extroverted? “Extroverted.”

Do you ever put on airs? “I turn the AC on a lot.”

What bad habits do you have? “Sometimes I chew with my mouth open and I stay up too late and I ramble and I don’t eat healthy foods and get obsessed with entertainment and I don’t blink enough when I’m playing video games and I choose being lazy over being productive and, oh, yeah, run-on sentences.”

What makes you laugh out loud? “A lot of things. I laugh all the time.”

How do you display affection? “Bear hugs and hair ruffles.”

Mental handicaps? “I don’t give myself time to be sad.”

How do you want to be seen by others? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How do you see yourself? “Helpful, loving, loyal, genuine, fun!”

How are you seen by others? “I don’t worry about it too much.”

Strongest character trait? “I care so much.”

Weakest character trait? “I care too much.”

How competitive are you? “I can be kind of competitive, but I don’t trash talk or anything.”

Do you make snap judgements or take time to consider? “It depends on the situation, but I usually make snap judgements.”

How do you react to praise? “A lot of thank you!s and beaming.”

How do you react to criticism? “I don’t usually let it get to me, I try to be better.”

What is your greatest fear? “Losing another person I love.”

What are your biggest secrets? “Sometimes I say I know what I’m doing when I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Shh.”

What is your philosophy of life? “Life is short, have fun.”

When was the last time you cried? “I don’t remember. A long time ago.”

What haunts you? “Losing Tadashi. Not being able to save him.”

What are your political views? “I’m probably a liberal.”

What will you stand up for? “Anyone that needs me to stand up for them.”

Who do you quote? “My friends. They’re so smart.”

Are you indoorsy or outdoorsy? “Indoorsy.”

What is your sinful little habit? “Buying a lot of merch. A lot of merch.”

What sense do you most rely on? “Definitely not common. Hearing.”

How do you treat people better than you? “I try to learn from them!”

How do you treat people worse than you? “I try to teach them!”

What quality do you most value in a friend? “Genuineness.”

What do you consider an overrated virtue? “Chastity.”

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? “I think I’d like to be smarter. Just a little bit, just enough to understand half of the things my friends talked about.”

What is your obsession? “Manga, comic books, video games.”

What are your pet peeves? “Being rushed, people being mean, being ignored.”

What are your idiosyncrasies? “I talk too fast.”

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is your family big or small? Who does it consist of? “Small. It’s just me, my dad, my mom and Heathcliff — the butler.”

What is your perception of family? “They’re supposed to be loving and accepting.”

Do you have siblings? Older or younger? “No. I think that would’ve been nice, though.”

Describe your best friend. “I have five, and they’re the best friends in the whole world. Tadashi isn’t here anymore, but he’s still one of my best friends. They’re all smart and unique and I love being around them.”

Ideal best friend? “Anyone who can be themselves around me.”

Describe your other friends. “Most of them are online.”

Describe your acquaintances. “I don’t have acquaintances, just friends.”

Do you have any pets? “I have a bunch of fish in my saltwater aquarium!”

Who are your natural allies? “Hm, Haven.”

Who are your surprising allies? “The rest of our friends.”

PAST AND FUTURE

What were you like as a baby? As a child? “Loud, wild, energetic, friendly.”

Did you grow up rich or poor? “Rich.”

Did you grow up nurtured or neglected? “I don’t want to say my parents neglected me…”

What is the most offensive thing you ever said? “I don’t even know of anything I’ve thought that was offensive.”

What is your greatest achievement? “My current grades.”

What was your first kiss like? “Quick and nervous.”

What is the worst thing you did to someone you loved? “I didn’t save Tadashi.”

What are your ambitions? “I want to write comics that people want to read.”

What advice would you give your younger self? “Enjoy being a kid while you can!”

What smells remind you of your childhood? “Freshly cut grass, pancakes, steak.”

What was your childhood ambition? “To be a superhero.”

What is your best childhood memory?

What is your worst childhood memory? “The birthday my dad told me they’d be home in time for, but missed. They didn’t come home for another week, and I’m pretty sure he forgot about it completely, because the handwriting on the card that ‘came in the mail’ looked an awful lot like Heathcliff’s.”

Did you have an imaginary childhood friend? “A few.”

When was the last time you were crushed with disappointment? “Sometime last month.”

What past act are you most ashamed of? “Shame is not an emotion I know.”

What past act are you most proud of? “Beating Dark Souls (Demons Souls).”

Has anyone ever saved your life? “Probably.”

Strongest childhood memory? “The day I broke my arm falling out of a tree.”

LOVE

Do you believe in love at first sight? “Why not?”

Are you in a relationship? “Nope.”

How do you behave in a relationship? “Like myself. I’m an affectionate guy.”

When did you last have sex? “It’s been about five months, probably.”

What sort of sex do you have? “All sorts.”

Have you ever been in love? “I fall in love all the time.”

Have you ever had your heart broken? “My heart broke when Tadashi… when I lost my friend.”

CONFLICT

How do you respond to a threat? “Just shrug and say ‘bring it’.”

Are you most likely to fight with your fists or your tongue? “I don’t like fighting, but I’ll do what a situation calls for.”

What is your kryptonite? “Funko Pops.”

If you could only save one thing from your burning house, what would it be? “My fish.”

How do you perceive strangers? “50/50. Could be friends, could be villains.”

What do you love to hate? “Cliffhangers and hard to beat games.”

What are your phobias? “Death.”

What is your choice of weapon? “Depends on the game I’m playing.”

What living person do you most despise? “I don’t despise anyone.”

Have you ever been bullied or teased? “I’ve been teased, but it doesn’t bother me much.”

Where do you go when you’re angry? “The kitchen to get a snack. The only time I get angry is when a game is being really frustrating.”

Who are your enemies and why? “I don’t have any, but maybe one day I will be a true crime fighter and I will.”

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is your current job? “Sign spinning.”

What do you think about your current job? “I love it. I don’t need the money, I just like bringing in more business to the local shops and showing off my skills!”

What are some of your past jobs? “I’ve never had to work.”

What are your hobbies? “Sign flipping, gaming, writing and drawing, reading comics, binging anime, practicing guitar, coming up with new costume ideas.”

Educational background? “I didn’t do so hot in high school, but I’m in college now.”

Intelligence level? “You could say I’m a selective learner.”

Do you have any specialist training? “I wish! That would be so cool!”

Do you have a natural talent for something? “I want to say my sign spinning is a natural talent — I kind of just picked it up one day and realized I was good at it. Also, super-hearing, headlights and flame throwing.”

Do you play a sport? Are you any good? “I’m not much of a sports guy.”

What is your socioeconomic status? “Ask someone who knows what that means.”

FAVORITES

What is your favorite animal? “Maybe lizards.”

Which animal do you dislike the most? “I don’t dislike any animals.”

What place would you most like to visit? “I’d like to go on a family vacation someday. I don’t really care where we go.”

What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? “The ending of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood.”

What is your favorite song? “You’d laugh.”

Music, art, reading preferred? “Reading mixed with art.”

What is your favorite color? “Blue. No, orange. No, green! Yellow! I don’t know! There’s too many colors!”

What is your password? “FredzillaRulesTheWorld.”

Favorite food: “Changes too often to really say.”

What is your favorite work of art? “Death Note.”

Who is your favorite artist? “My dad. He counts, right?”

What is your favorite day of the week? “Sunday.”

POSSESSIONS

What is in your fridge? “A whole lot of ingredients I’ll never use and probably some I can’t pronounce.”

What is on your bedside table? “A lot of junk. I should clean that off...”

What is in your car? “Phone charger, aux chord, a half eaten bag of barbecue chips, stick of deodorant, loose change, hair ties.”

What is in your bin? “It’s empty. I have a butler.”

What is in your purse or wallet? “A group picture with my friends, money, a few different bank cards, a condom, more loose change.”

What is in your pockets? “My keys and my cell phone.”

What is your most treasured possession? “All of my pictures with my friends. I wouldn’t trade them for the world. You never know when you won’t be able to take another one...”

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? “I’m sure Tadashi is somewhere looking out for me right now.”

Do you believe in the afterlife? “Yes.”

What are your religious views? “Loosely Christian.”

What do you think heaven is? “A place where everyone is happy and free and there’s no pain. And you can play games all day.”

What do you think hell is? “Sad and lonely.”

Are you superstitious? “A little bit.”

What would you like to be reincarnated as? “A fire breathing dragon!”

How would you like to die? “In a way that matters. If I’m going to die, I’d like to save someone while I’m doing it.”

What is your spirit animal? “Probably iguanas or something.”

What is your zodiac sign? “Leo.”

VALUES

What do you think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? “Torture.”

What is your view of ‘freedom’? “Pretty much how my life is now. I can do what I want, when I want --- for the most part.”

When did you last lie? “It’s been a long time. I don’t lie unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

What’s your view of lying? “It can be easily avoided. Just be honest.”

When did you last make a promise? “I can’t remember.”

Did you keep or break your last promise? “I’m sure I kept it, I don’t make promises unless I plan to do something about it.”

DAILY LIFE

What are your eating habits? “Questionable.”

Do you have any allergies? “I’m allergic to assholes!”

Describe your home. “It’s big. Real big. The yard is big and freshly cut. There’s not a blimp of imperfection until you get to my room, then it becomes a randomized mess.”

Are your minimalist or a clutter hoarder? “Hoarder.”

What do you do first thing on a weekday morning? “Turn my alarm off.”

What do you do on a Sunday afternoon? “Relax. Wait for my dad to call.”

What do you do on a Friday night? “Stay up late gaming.”

What is your soft drink of choice? “Mountain Dew.”

What is your alcoholic drink of choice? “Just beer is fine.”

MISCELLANEOUS

What or who would you dress up as for Halloween? “Oh, I love Halloween! I go all out! I’ll dress as another superhero this year, or maybe a villain to spice it up!”

Are you comfortable with technology? “I love technology.”

If you could save one person, who would it be? “Tadashi. I wish I could’ve saved Tadashi.”

If you could call one person for help, who would it be? “Haven, she always knows what to do.”

What is your greatest extravagance? “All the merch in my room, or my tank.”

What is your greatest regret? “Not doing anything to help my friend.”

What is your perception of redemption? “Putting someone else before yourself. If you do that, if you selflessly risk your own life or needs or wants for another person, you’re obviously redeemed.”

What would you do if you won the lottery? “Donate it all to charity.”

What is your favorite fairytale? “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

What fairytale do you hate? “I don’t hate any fairytales. People put a lot of hard work into their stories and I respect that.”

Do you believe in happy endings? “I do.”

What is your idea of perfect happiness? “Living every day how you want to live it.”

What would you ask a fortune teller? “I’d give my opportunity to someone else. I don’t need anything answered.”

If you could travel through time, where would you go? “Back to save Tadashi or die trying.”

What sport do you excel at? “Is flame throwing a sport?”

What sport do you suck at? “Soccer. I get confused and score for the other team. Every. single. time.”

If you could have a superpower, what would you choose? “All of them! Fire breath, x-ray vision, flying, rocket fists, gravity manipulation, invisibility, walking through walls, the ability to teleport through people’s phones so if they needed me I’d be right there... yeah, all of them!”

#yes i gave him my birthday what of it #this one took me a hot minute whew #walttasks #tasks.

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throughthewwods · 3 years

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100 Days of Productivity 🏖 . Day 32

💙 Had a session with my counselor..

coincidentally he too brought up the concept of awe. He recommended this book to me that sounds like a Christian metaphysics blend. He also suggested Eckert. Both of these wrinkles my nose, but it be contradictory for me to say, “ i’ve already done everything I personally know how to do. I want more directive counseling” then reject the direction/possibilities because at a glance it’s outside my comfort zones/worldview.

💚 went for a jog with pup

🐾 GSD training

💙 read more of Mansfield Park

💙talked to an old friend

📚 figured out how to pull my participants’ descriptives

📚 worked on my presentation more..

I have to keep reminding myself that I only need a C on this to secure my A- in the class. This does not need to be the most amazing presentation I’ve ever composed.. it just needs to be done.

📚 got some questions answered

🧡 got a lot of positive feedback on my scholarship letter.

🧡 got that letter of rec from my department Chair for grad school and the scholarship

It’s one thing to get into grad school. Then there’s paying for it..

Looks like everything is pretty much ready to go. Only thing left for me to do is finish up my presentation, get my final grade changed and be officially done with my bachelors finally.l send in my petition, my letters of rec, my résumé, my caseworker supporting letter.. and.. hope for the best.

😅

Finally got to read one of the letters of red from my trauma professor. Her words were so touching I teared up. I felt so.. recognized and supported in a way I don’t think anyone has ever expressed to me. I printed it up for my office space.

Kiddo offers to cook lunch, so I could keep working on my presentation, which was thoughtful of her. I get the original Full House going and she serves up perfectly seasoned scrambled eggs with buttered toast.. I’m not even sure that I knew how to make toast well when I was 10 😆

My neighbor quite pleased with herself, announces to me that she and her husband knowing flew on vacation with Covid. 🤮

My mother called hysterical that one of her many cats passed away. It’s hard. I know if it were anyone else I would be more compassionate, but with her it’s my egg donor calling me to console her about the loss of one of the many things that was more important than my well-being my entire life.. Quite literally, her pets have always been a higher priority than her own daughter or granddaughter for that matter. I tried to be nice at first, disingenuine as it may be, but I lost my patience after a half hour or so of her theatrics and guilt tripping me for not also being emotional, shaming me for not joining in crisis . It was when she accused me of having animosity towards the animals that I was finally blunt then stopped myself.. Cold, but still restrained, I urged her to call one of her friends I talk to my grandmother in the very next room or a hotline to vent to, but that I was not the person for this conversation. And.. that’s the best I can do. Afterwards I felt lousy, drained by the resentment I wish I did feel toward her and all her continued choices. I’m so much happier when we don’t talk.

But.. life carries on 🤷🏻‍♀️

The good thing is I hopped off the phone before letting myself get completely depleted and I was still able to be productive after

#journal #my writing #writing #motherhood #parenting #100 days of productivity #studystudystudy #positivemindset #generational trauma #toxic parents #grad student #grad school #covid

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sondepoch · 4 years

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XXIII: Saeran's Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

When it came to formalwear, you'd only ever seen Saeran in his black suit, back at the Mint Eye.

And he, your usual believers' robes and the magenta dresses that Rika had forced you to wear.

As such, it was a pleasant surprise for the two of you to see each other the morning of the RFA party—Saeran, in a white tuxedo selected by Saeyoung, and you, in a delicate (f/c) dress that hung at your knees.

"You look beautiful, princess." Saeran pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as soon as the two of you stepped out of the car. He'd been eyeing you since you slipped the dress on, but had evidently held back in all your haste to arrive at the party. Now that the three of you were here, though, he seemed to pay no mind to the venue, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

"Your suit," You mumbled into Saeran's lips, eyes closed and unable to hold back a smile. "You look perfect in it."

If he heard your compliment, though, Saeran made no indication of such, ignoring even his brother's pleas for the three of you to come on and get inside already.

Finally, when you were breathless (and just a little needy) from the kiss, he released you.

"All right, let's go."

As you followed the twins into the party hall, you couldn't help but sigh at Saeran's inexplicable ability to kiss you as if he'd never kissed you before, and then act completely normal the next moment, as if nothing had happened.

He really doesn't know what he does to me, you realized with an amused smile. Though that only makes him more precious.

You entered the party hall, listening absentmindedly to Saeyoung's chatter as he talked to you about the previous parties that had been hosted. In truth, you didn't care much. All that mattered was the present, and the fact that this party hosted would directly help everyone who had been touched by the Mint Eye's distorted ways.

After this party, everything would go back to normal.

Everything.

All the believers and disciples would disband, find new paths to take in society. Rika herself was apparently under the care of V himself, and would also be given a chance to heal from the wounds she'd inflicted upon herself and others. And, perhaps most importantly, you and Saeran would finally be able to continue your relationship in peace. The Mint Eye would be a thing of the past, leaving only an unbound future for you to march into.

"Ah! Saeran, (Y/N), you made it!" You turned to see the calm smile of V. "I hope you'll both stay til the end of the party. I have a small surprise planned at the end that I'm sure you'll both enjoy."

"Saeyoung has decided that he won't leave until even the party cleanup has finished, so we'll definitely be here a while." You smiled warmly at the man who, somewhat inadvertently, had helped free you from your old life.

"That's good to hear. How have the two of you been faring in Saeyoung's bunker?"

The next few hours passed like that. Small chatter with the various guests, Saeran pulling you off to the side every now and then to whisper in your ear or to kiss you, Saeyoung pulling you two back into a new conversation.

When you escaped to the bathroom, you ran into MC, who seemed rather uncomfortable to be caught alone in your presence, especially now that she knew the full story about everything that had happened. She was by no means kind in her words, but her halfhearted "We should talk sometime" seemed like an unspoken offer to make amends. It wasn't anything tangible, but you suspected that, if things continued down that route, there might come a day when the two of you would be acquaintances. Maybe even friends.

You had the pleasure of meeting the people Saeyoung worked with at the RFA: from Yoosung, the blonde college student (who you learned was Rika's cousin) to Jumin, the executive corporate heir of some company that you recognized the name of from your orphanage days.

"V, isn't it time you began the final event?" A man named 'Zen' asked.

"Ah, you're right." V smiled and bowed his head lightly. "I hope you'll all excuse me."

Before he could go, though, Jumin spoke up.

"Truly, V? You're positive that you want to sell your pictures for this event?" The black-haired man seemed skeptical, and for good reason. You'd heard from Saeyoung that V's pictures were sought after in the industry, and selling them at this specific event (noble as the cause was) might not have been the best decision for the man's career.

"As things stand, this event hasn't raised enough finances to help all those affected by the Mint Eye. If selling my pictures can play a role in sealing this chapter of Rika's past...I'm sure she'll be much better for it."

"You really still want to be with her after everything she did to Saeran and (Y/N)?" Saeyoung's question was fueled more by curiosity than anger, or any past resentment, but it made V stiffen nonetheless.

"I understand that everyone has mixed feelings...but Rika is just as broken as her followers, maybe even more. I...I just want to help her heal. And hopefully, this time, things will be different. She now has the support of her family, after all." V smiled lightly and glanced at Yoosung. Upon hearing the word 'family,' the blonde seemed to burst with energy, his smile doubling in intensity.

As V walked toward the stage, leaving you all, you couldn't help but hear Saeyoung murmur somewhat wistfully, "At least Rika brings Yoosung happiness."

And as much as the woman had wronged you, you couldn't help but agree. The blonde boy seemed to radiate joy—and after being separated from Saeran only to reunite, you would recognize the look in his eye anywhere: bliss. Bliss and relief, at reattaining that which was once lost.

Before you could dwell on the matter further, though, V's clear voice echoed through the room. Instantly, all chatter ceased, and the guests turned their attention upon him.

Well, most guests.

As V politely thanked everyone for attending the party and spoke about the important sponsors, you turned to Saeran.

"How are you feeling?" You kept your voice low so that only he could hear you, knowing how mixed his feelings still were on V and this whole situation.

"Not as bad as I thought things would be. Better, since you're by my side." Saeran smiled softly down at you, pressing a kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but lean into his touch when he laced his fingers in yours.

You wanted to say more, perhaps thank Saeran for even agreeing to come here in the first place with you, but before you could, the sound of cheering erupted all over you.

Oh.

V had begun the auction.

You watched as, all around you, people began bidding for his work. Indeed, you understood why the demand for his pictures was so high. As V unveiled album after album, you began to realize why he was a world-renowned photographer.

"Ah, this collection is one he's been asked to sell countless times. I'm glad he's finally releasing it to the public," Saeyoung murmured from next to you, providing you tidbits of information with each new album.

You watched in awe as four albums were revealed and sold, the first album sold off separately in pieces, but the others bid upon as full sets—and couldn't help but let your breath catch in your throat as each new picture was revealed.

Art.

There was no other way to describe it.

V's camera didn't just capture moments and scenes: he captured emotions.

The first album, Flowers in Laughter, left you shook with its brilliance—breaking down any questions you might have had in mind over V's capabilities.

The second, Myriad Memoir, almost scared you with how much raw emotion it brought forth.

When you saw the third, you almost forgot to breathe: each picture in Glass over Truth seeming to resonate with not just your heart but memories you thought long buried.

And even when your eyes settled over Observing Lies, when you were so confident that nothing else could shake you, your bottom lip trembled as you continued glancing from picture to picture.

You felt your heart rise and fall as each album took you on an emotional rollercoaster, bringing you to lows and highs, showing you sorrow and joy, and the delicate smidgens of hope buried underneath it all.

Truly, you couldn't look at a single one of his pictures and bear to tear your eyes away.

Your heart wouldn't let you.

And that, perhaps, was why when V's final album, was revealed, your entire body felt like it was short-circuiting.

"This album is a product of my most recent work. As many rumors have been circulating, my eyesight is indeed beginning to fail. But it is known that, in my work, I aim to photograph more than what our eyes can see—I photograph what the heart feels, and immortalize it. Which is why, despite my decreasing capabilities of vision, even I am not so blind as to fail to recognize the pure love that these individuals have in their hearts."

V pulled back the curtain that was revealing the final set of pictures, and Saeran's grip over your hand instantly tightened.

"This collection is my most prized work, a culmination of everything I sought to capture when I first decided to be a photographer. I call this album: Where Futures Begin."

Without even formally opening the bidding, people were already shouting numbers—every soul in the room wanting to own this masterpiece collection.

Because no matter how brilliant all V's previous works were, this album put them all to shame. There was no mistaking it: the angles and light and object organization left nothing to the imagination: looking at these pictures, even the biggest fools would have to see what V had managed to capture so beautifully.

You stared in awe.

Each image in the album was filled with the purest emotion: love.

Each image in the album was of you.

You and Saeran, to be specific.

You gazed at the first picture. The two of you were locked in a tight embrace just outside the Mint Eye, seeking not comfort in each others' arms but stability, as if in that time of turmoil the only reliable, unchanging foundation in your lives was each other.

The second image—you didn't even know that V had been present, but looking back it made sense that he would have seen it—was one of where the two of you were in the rain under a single umbrella. At the time, you hadn't even registered that both your outfits were varying shades of grey, but the black-and-white nature of your clothes and the background only made the splashes of color on both your cheeks all the more prominent as you clung to Saeran's sleeve while he gazed down at you adoringly, a rare smile eternalized on his face.

The third, a chaste kiss outside V's apartment when Saeyoung had brought the two of you there to speak with the man. You stared at it in awe, wondering how the image managed to capture the fleetingness of the kiss despite the lasting nature of the picture.

The photographs continued like that, all moments that you had never been aware that V had seen, but captured and developed nonetheless. He had found everything: chaste kisses, abashed glances, sweet laughs, even the wholesome hand-holding that Saeran used to be so averse to.

By some ridiculous miracle, the man had succeeded in photographing the two of you as Saeran kissed you so passionately just outside the party hall this morning, the fast-paced motion all around you only intensifying the intimacy of the moment when you two stood still to lose yourselves in each other. You couldn't help but wonder when V had found the time to develop a picture so last-minute, given that the moment had happened just hours ago, but found yourself shaking your head. The man, as proven by this album, seemed to work wonders.

There was even a picture with Saeyoung, a snapshot of the three of you laughing, and the dispersal of red hair throughout the image told as much a story as it did reveal the varying types of love in your relationship: brotherly, platonic, and—of course—romantic.

You felt a familiar heat rise to your cheeks as the unmistakable feeling bloomed in your chest. No doubt, every person in the room who was gazing upon those pictures was feeling it too.

Love.

And at the back of your mind, you remembered how V had quietly urged you and Saeran to stay—saying that he had a lovely surprise for you two at the end.

Why, this is the best surprise a person could receive.

You found yourself unable to take the smile off your face, the grin only emboldened by Saeyoung's voice joining on the current bidding war that was going on over this album.

"I want it!" He shouted, overly dramatic as usual. You had to force his hand down to get him to listen, but by then, Saeran was egging him on.

The glint of pride in both their eyes as they gazed upon your and Saeran's love immortalized almost prompted you to let the brothers do as they pleased, but you finally found your voice.

"No, guys." You forced them both to look you in the eye amidst all the chaotic bidding. "V called this album Where Futures Begin for a reason."

It was only then that they seemed to recall the album name, and it was then that they understood the meaning of your words.

Where futures begin. But not the future itself.

The album would go home to the house of a wealthy individual, likely one who didn't have the same love in their life as the three of you had in yours'. But that fact wouldn't matter to you. It shouldn't.

Because you had your whole lives ahead of you. Lives that were finally free of the past, no longer rooted in pain or misunderstandings or misery.

This album was V's gift to the three of you. It was a Congratulations! present in advance, commemorating the balance of love that the three of you would be sharing from that day and every day onward. Through thick and thin, that would become the new constant in your lives: the emotion that V had selected when he first saw the way you and Saeran gazed into each others' eyes. Love.

And while others would get to enjoy the sight of where your future together began, you all would have something so much better: the actual future.

At long last, you had finally reached a state where no one else would be able to steal that future away.

No, that future belonged to you, Saeran, and Saeyoung. No others.

A flame ignited in your heart at the thought, fanned by sudden thoughts of having to go through life without either of the boys that you'd grown so dependent on.

Though as you gazed upon their understanding faces and knowing smiles, you realized that there was no need to fear.

These two boys were your future.

Nothing would ever be able to take that away from you.

Fin.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: Wow. It feels so bittersweet, that this (my first series ever) is coming to a close after a total of 29 chapters, but it fills me with happiness that i actually succeeded in getting this done. I'm thankful to you guys for reading this, because I never would have been able to complete this otherwise. Thank you for sticking with me, thank you for commenting, thank you for liking, thank you for reading. It's been such a ride (four whole months!) and while this journey is over, i hope that you'll join me in the next fic :) I hope you enjoyed this series, and I hope that you have an absolutely wonderful day. <3

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

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Surface Breach(1/3)[β]

(A/N: Apologies for the longer-than-usual wait on this one. I went back and forth a LOT on which direction I wanted to take this in. and both the weather and irl things have not been cooperating with my muse. X_X. Anyway, the prompt for this was ‘Ahsoka completely breaking down and Maul comforting her’. Sequel to ‘Pressure Points’, so set about 2-3 years after ROTS with circumstances being closer to canon. Warnings for: Non-consensual abduction, emotional manipulation, possessive behaviour, intrusive thoughts, violent outbursts, violation of physical autonomy/boundaries, mentions of possible body modification/invasion of privacy, major character death and some internalized shame regarding sex and sexual practices. Once again, potentially triggering sections have been marked off with ‘****’. Unbeta’d.)

Ahsoka...drifts for an uncertain amount of time. She gets vague impressions of eating and performing other necessities as if through a thick haze. There’s a...person who helps her with these things. Someone with warm hands(which are very appreciated, wherever she is, it’s cold) and a low, pleasant voice that she could curl up and listen to for hours. Mostly she sleeps, deep and untroubled by nightmares or immediate concerns. When she comes to, there’s an overwhelming grogginess and a slight chemical tang on her tongue that she only gets from prolonged bacta treatment. Not full tank immersion, but there are a fair amount of patches stuck to her skin under the loose robe she’s currently wearing. Peeling them off carefully, she finds that most of the bruising and other marks that covered her body-like a tribute to poor decisions- are either gone or greatly reduced. And she doesn’t feel...sore in any tender places. Kind of a welcome change. Which now brings up the question of Where the kriff am I and how long have I been here?

Ahsoka catalogues her surroundings: Simple bed, storage unit, two doors presumably leading to a refresher and an outside corridor. It’s very...bare. Easily left behind or packed up. Whoever is staying here doesn’t plan to do so for long. She finds her lightsabres, clothes, and armour in the top drawer, and her boots placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Only when she is nearly finished getting dressed does she take out a long, even strip of black fabric. For a moment, she thinks that there must have been an error of some kind, until the memories of her most recent slip-up rush in like floodwater through a broken dam. There’s a hot, tight feeling in her gut that balances precariously between desire and shame. Maul has an obsessive personality. She knows this. So why am I encouraging this disaster by-Ahsoka can’t even finish the thought. It makes her sick. And so very angry. She’d made the mistake of seeking him out for something other than business, and he had flat-out abducted her. Any number of people or her objectives could be in danger right now. Her fingers fumble slightly on her wrist-comm as she checks it for tampering. Still functional. She’ll have to disassemble her equipment later, to ensure there aren’t any tracking chips or other unwelcome additions.

He might have embedded something in me while I was under. It rattles her, not remembering, not knowing what Maul could have done, given the opportunity. And he’s close. Even with apprehension curdling in her veins, she can tell that much. Slipping the blindfold into a pocket, she pulls her boots on and pauses for a moment in front of the door. So. Time to find out whether she’s a prisoner or a...’guest’. It opens seamlessly, and she almost gives a sigh of relief. Until she realizes that it leads directly into his office. Ahsoka steps through into a moderate, dimly-lit space. The glow from the screen of the datapad he’s perusing throws Maul’s left side into sharp relief. “Sit.” No need to guess whom he’s addressing, or that he expects to be obeyed. And as there are no other chairs in the room -besides the one he’s currently occupying-, her options are limited. She folds her arms and prepares to stand her ground, only to find herself pulled forward. There is a struggle, though the distance is so short that by the time she breaks out of his Force grip, she’s already right in front of him. Ever the image of arrogance, he sets the ‘pad down, only now raking his gaze over her body. If it’s just to assess the state of her injuries, she might not mind. As much. Except this is Maul, so his motives are guaranteed to be awful at best and downright terrifying at worst. She takes the opportunity to loom over him, gripping the back of his chair with one hand. “You have one chance. Tell me why in the name of a Hutt’s karking diseased brood pouch you thought any of this was a good idea.” The odds are heavily in favour of him lying, or any facts being filtered through his...particular mindset. There is still a possibility that she can glean some scraps of truth from whatever pile of waste product he presents her with, though.

“You were incapacitated, and your stability is, shall we say...currently less than sound.” He answers, lazily resting the curve of his jaw against one set of knuckles as he sprawls. “I acted as I saw fit.” Even when appearing relaxed, Maul is still a coiled serpent. She can never forget that. “Although I am curious...What you might have done had you woken up alone.” “Gone back to work with a few new bruises.” Ahsoka retorts flatly. Which is true, minus some details. It might have at least given her more motivation to stay away from him; knowing with certainty that she is viewed as a plaything for him to use roughly and toss aside on a whim. If only.

“A poor deflection. Nevertheless...” Maul hooks two fingertips under her chin, pulling her oh-so-gradually towards him as he leans in close. The resulting kiss is unexpectedly gentle. She didn’t think he wanted... But he’s-this is-good. Not hurried or violent. She finds herself angling her head to get a bit more contact, tongue peeking out to tentatively flick at his lower lip. He purrs, and she feels...oddly pleased as the physical connection deepens. Their tongues entwine and slide in a tantalizing dance to the point where she hums. Ahsoka is dizzy from either a lack of oxygen or budding arousal when they pull apart, chest heaving slightly as she takes in some much-needed gulps of air. Still, there has to be a catch.

“Explain why I should allow you to leave, Ahsoka Tano.” Sometimes, she really dislikes being right.

“That’s not something you get to decide.” Ahsoka practically spits in retaliation.

“You ran.” Maul hisses. Like she’d had any other choice. It doesn’t matter if he’s gentle, fucking is just one more way for them to hurt one another. “And avoided direct contact for months only to slink back beaten and exhausted to the point of collapse. I have spent the last four days looking after a husk.” Ahsoka nearly hates the look in his eyes right now. Because he is so very good at pretending to truly care that she almost believes it.“Is martyrdom so much more appealing?” The Dark Side seems to slither over her as he purrs, deceptively pleasant even while it attempts to invade.

**** She sinks into his lap as he tugs her down, thighs parting instinctively under his touch. He fills the space between them with far too much ease. She refuses to urge him to get this over with, already. Bad enough that she wants anything from him in the first place, that trading pain, degradation and cruelty with a monster gets her off at all. Except that it does. Ahsoka had hoped at first that it was just the physical aspect; That finding someone who could bite and claw at her in the right way would satisfy this...twisted craving in her off-time. There had been satisfaction, and a few personal revelations, yet it wasn’t enough. “Rex and I buried the men you killed. So many more innocents are dead, dying or suffering under the syndicate.” Any mention of Satine Kryze or Adi Gallia sticks in her throat. She cannot bear to see his pride over those victims while he’s touching her. “You’ll betray everyone and everything for power or revenge.” What good has it done, pushing herself to the absolute brink to fulfill her duties, all but throwing herself into the arms of strangers? She’s still here, on the receiving end of that searing and inescapable gaze. “And you still don’t get why I can’t stand to look at you when you’re-” Finishing the sentence is impossible, both because she cannot bring herself to say the words and suddenly she cannot stand him, his presence, his touch, any of it.

“I should have just killed you then.” Her shoto is ignited and at his throat in the span of a heartbeat. Maul doesn’t retreat or let go, fingertips pressing bruises into her hips even as he half-bares his teeth in a silent snarl. Taking his head off would be right. The Rebellion needs his resources, not him. Criminals are easily manipulated, and Ahsoka will be free of these urges-The lightsabre is actually burning his skin now. He’s pressing into it, practically inviting-His eyes are-Her mouth is dry. Maul has always been a reminder of who she might have been, and what she might become if she ever loses herself. Everything comes crashing down on her at once, and the next thing she is truly aware of is that her weapon is deactivated and re-holstered, eyes leaking copious amounts of tears. **** He guides her hands to his chest, fingers automatically digging into the material of his vest once he lets go. Her face lowers to rest in the crook between neck and shoulder, breathing stuttered and wracked with quiet sobs while she trembles. Maul doesn’t embrace her. Merely...accommodates her current state of being. The pulse against her lips drops from frantic beats to a measured, steady rhythm. Ahsoka doesn’t want to be like him. Doesn’t want to go further down the path to becoming a desperate, selfish, manic person that would sit back and watch everything burn to ashes.

Her chest is full of broken transparisteel and every breath hurts. The tears are a deluge that take far too long to dry out, and when they do she wants nothing so much as to sleep again; curled around a warm body for comfort and safety. Obviously she can’t do that for a number of reasons, but it would still be nice to have the option. “Does this-” A light brush along her flank. “-mean I am forgiven?”

“No.”

“Good. What I am, my actions...They do not affect who you are, Ahsoka Tano.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not? When the Empire falls, you still intend to bring me to whatever ‘justice’-” Maul scoffs. “-Your reborn Republic sees fit to mete out. Our alliance has always been one of convenience. Physical intimacy does not change that.” “What the Republic will do to you is the least of what you deserve.” Ahsoka states with firm conviction, raising her head to make eye contact once more. “And am I really supposed to believe you’re not going to try and twist this to your own benefit?” “No.” He replies simply, though she can see that eerie, devouring light in his eyes beginning to emerge. “You already know what it is I want from you. And it means nothing if you come to me unwilling and utterly broken.” “Hm. We’ll see how long that stance lasts.” Her response is justifiably skeptical. “I have work to do, so if you could point me in the direction of your hangar...”

“Of course.” Maul lists off directions as well as the model of ship she’ll be ‘borrowing’, her own presumably still hidden where she’d left it. “Close your eyes.” “What are you doing?” “Providing incentive. Return to my side when you are ready.” The pad of his thumb traces her lower lip sensually before he tries to close the remaining distance between their lips, only to have her lean away.

“If you want it that badly, you’ll have to catch me, next time.” She can practically feel the air crackle once the hushed provocation leaves her mouth. If she is to keep succumbing to these desires, it will be on her terms.

“It is not wise to tempt me when you are so close to freedom.” The rasp in his voice and the dilation of his pupils indicate that he is seconds away from pushing her down onto the desk and ravishing her senseless. The thrill of it is enough to make her grind down against him, once.

“Try it. We need to have a talk about boundaries anyway.” Ahsoka smiles, a challenge in her eyes as she loops and ties the blindfold around his left wrist before getting to her feet. “I’ll be in contact.” Maul actually lets her go when she walks away, this time. She feels...better. Not healed or whole, but better than she was. In any case, the work of toppling a tyrannical Empire waits for no one, and she has a lot to catch up on. (A/N: Ahsoka’s still planning to see a med-droid ASAP, since they haven’t had that discussion yet and it’s been thoroughly established that Maul is Bad With Boundaries. I’m sure that most of you can guess what the second part will involve. [I’m predictable that way, lol.] In any case, I will be trying to get my WIPs out sooner and my inbox is still open to all interested parties. Cheers, everyone!)

#maulsoka #recurring tag: Ahsoka needs all the hugs and therapy #(Maul needs the latter as well but good luck getting him there)

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