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buzzykrueger · 3 years

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When Gon’s anger becomes a protective mechanism for Killua

IMPORTANT: The text is long, plus, I do not support Gon hate. He’s a human being and a kid, so don’t worry, none of my analysis will put him as a monster.

You know the theory that one of the reasons Gon shuts Killua out from Pitou’s fight, besides proving himself and erasing his guilt, is also to keep Killua safe? I didn’t understand at first, but I kinda agree with that now.

Remember the “YES I AM AN IDIOT” iconic scene, Greed Island arc?

Let’s talk about that and link it all.

They’ve spent half of the chapter 158 arguing because Gon kept insisting on meeting this “Chrollo Lucilfer” person inside the game, while Killua was trying to be logical, saying that this person wouldn’t clarify their reasons only by asking them. Killua eventually gives in, and after Gon uses the card, they travel to met not Chrollo, but Hisoka, who asks if they went all that way just to ask him a question (implying how dumb it was).

Gon says that’s pretty much their reason and Killua kept teasing Gon on his dumb choice.

But after some ping-pong teasing between them, the reason Gon was being stubborn is, actually, a concern that lights up on his mind with memories of his journey to rescue Killua from Kukuroo Mountain. Even blushing, Gon says that he was reminded of Gotoh’s words and was worried that both of them were being deceived.

Gotoh’s words were, exactly:

Be careful. And protect Killua.

This also adds to the character analysis - one that is very on point - that Gon being outgoing doesn’t mean he puts depth to analyzing his feelings. He speaks his mind, the problem is not to talk per se - but to put effort into understand his intentions behind those actions. He could say he was worried about them, but he doesn’t, because he speaks first and doesn’t think through what he feels. He’s yes outgoing, but impulsive, and very immersive into acting first, think later - or even thinking only when questioned, because it didn’t even crossed his mind. That’s why we see him talking but yet... it’s hard to know what is happening inside him aside from Killua’s common inner monologues. But maybe protecting Killua it’s so natural that he doesn’t even bother to explain. To think that he keeps Gotoh’s words and even mentions it after all this time, such a nice and gentle touch of how much he respects his bond with Killua.

Now, let’s get back to the CAA events. Specifically chapter 222.

A very shocked and distressed Gon was learning through Kite's attacks, but not to defend himself or parry. His painful attempts were all leading to dodge the punches and faints, so he could give puppet Kite a hug, and an apology.

Yes, he said terrible things to Killua - and of course wanting to protect him wasn’t the only reason. But he knew from the moment they first met Pitou, that they were dangerous. He wanted to deal with that alone, because it was “his mess”, so he shouldn’t endanger his most beloved one.

We know that this is a turning point for Gon’s development in this arc, because it is the moment where his resolve becomes tainted with all the guilt he is facing. It’s when he starts to lose himself, and Killua knows that, probably, nothing he says or do will convince Gon otherwise.

But what contrasts with the well-known harsh words towards his best friend, is that he never meant to exclude Killua from the whole situation. That's why he says "OUR fault".

Then, right after, he addresses Killua directly. Visibly starting to lose himself, he takes the responsibility to prove he's strong to fix it, but I think that due to his communication pattern, he might also mean that he’s want to fix it without endangering who he wanted to fight by his side under normal circumstances.

It’s an act that can hold both guilt and protection. He addresses only that one person in the room because he needs Killua to know that this isn't a normal situation, and that's why he can't bring him to this fight. It isn’t normal because someone dear to him got hurt really bad. It isn’t normal because his best friend, someone who would not think before putting his life at risk for Gon, shouldn’t endanger himself to the point he could face the same destiny, specially because this is Gon’s way to show he cares. Again, Gon just speaks his mind without much thought, with his intentions between the lines. His effort to put his feelings into words mixed with the suffering he is handling are, on his mind, overwhelming enough - but still he cared to speak directly to Killua. Could this be, again, another demonstration of not-so-well-thought feelings spoken with the first words that come to his mouth?

Wouldn’t make sense, after all of those demonstrations of Gon’s behavior when someone is endangered and he desperately wants to take control of the situation because he thinks this is the best way to protect them and to be useful, and with that, deserving of their company?

As Gon's communication is both simple (in words) and complex (behind the words), since he doesn't think through his feelings and he’s a stubborn child, it makes hard for others to catch his intentions, specially if they're already struggling to understand that they are not a burden. Because Killua’s mindset on making friends also includes the need to feel useful, just like Gon’s, but expressed through different means - and by being casted away fro Gon’s decision and later saving the boy in order to push him forward once again to his goal (alone this time), Killua thinks Gon has cut ties with him. as he couldn’t play a helpful role within Gon’s life anymore. So, this is how he reaches the rejective conclusion.

But the connection that I'm trying to make is that even thought Gon’s words were awful as the boy himself recognized, I truly believe Gon still wouldn't want Killua to fight even if he knew how his friend felt. But not because he rejected Killua or meant to cut ties with his “no longer useful” best friend.

Because Gon has stated already: Killua doesn’t have to earn his friendship.

Those harsh words during the Palace Invasion were an attempt to regain control of the situation, prove his worth in the middle of a mental chaos that he wasn’t ready to face. But still, what if he kept reminding himself that he must protect his best friend in the entire world and just couldn’t find a better way to say it? Because he knows Killua is capable of self-sacrificing, Gon tried to stop him before, and Pitou is terribly strong. If it’s hard for him to translate his feelings when he is calm and collected, the extreme condition he found himself dragged in would’ve just made this communication face more obstacles. Fighting his own pain - another thing he couldn’t translate for the sake of his own mental health - led to the words to come out like they were: heartbreaking.

So, I’m not saying that it was solely to protect Killua, but I think that makes sense for Gon’s character. And again, I don’t think he would agree that Killua would fight what he thinks it’s his battle alone. But, with his mind cleared and the right questions, he would've given Killua an answer. He would say that this is not about taking Killua out of the special place Gon has put him, but about Gon taking the the responsibility based on what he thinks it’s best for everyone. His feelings, either protective or hurtful, are only explained when he’s asked, because action speaks volume for him and he needs this trigger question to make him translate his intentions.

Just like in the Hunter Exam, he only tells Kurapika about how he felt with Hisoka because he questioned.

And in the Yorknew Arc, Gon didn’t let Killua hurt himself and was really trying to understand how the other boy felt. Gon doesn't communicate well but not because he rejects his feelings, and still, he cares about others’ feelings too. He was just literally out of his mind. So yeah, I think he cared for Killua safety, and if after all this time he made a connection between his stubborn acts and Gotoh’s words, it’s because - on his mind - these words and thoughts never leave his head. He’s constantly worrying about Killua, in his own way. But he couldn't explain something that he didn't put a second thought even for himself to understand. And it's not the first time, he acts very similar in these mentioned situations.

What all these stubborn oriented situations that I’ve mentioned, except for the one regarding Hisoka, have in common? He wanted to protect Killua.

He was undeniably wrong in saying those words to Killua, but it’s something acknowledged by himself already. He IS, by his nature, a protective kid, and under normal circumstances, Killua would be allowed to fight by his side because it has to be him. If it’s not going to be him, it won’t be anyone else. He can’t risk to lose him for something that he feels overly responsible. His words were rooted in pain, but the moment he addresses Killua that he would fight alone - a moment recollected by the latter in the hospital scene - shows respect for the one he has just lost, Kite, and the one he doesn’t want to lose.

Killua is the one who never left him, never discredited him and is irreplaceable. Killua is the first thing that comes up to his mind when thinking about meeting Ging. Who would have thought that Gon’s mind would reach so far into memories and hold so deeply someone’s words like Gotoh’s?

He was selfish. But it’s a childish selfishness, built on such empty expectations about himself that he ends up forcing on others what he believes that is the right thing to do, in order to keep others safe, no matter how bad he hurts his body... because when it comes to protect those he care, he loses respect on his self-care due to this low self-esteem of his. So, he didn’t ask Killua to “please, let me fight alone”, because he’s decided to not drag Killua into a fight he knows he might lose, and then Killua couldn’t be protected.

And makes sense, again, that Killua couldn’t read between these lines, because he also blames himself for everything that happened, and thinks his feelings and desires would only keep in Gon’s way - that’s why those words hit him so deeply, but the thing that hurts him the most was the sole fact that Gon fought alone. He can’t help but compare to the dodgeball, and like Gon, Killua has his own unhealthy patterns: since he only knows love through pain, when he’s prevented from getting hurt against his will, he fails to understand it as an act of love.

The bond they’ve established while playing Greed Island was expressed through dozens of symbolisms already well discussed among the fandom (Killua’s badge, the rainbow diamond, the famous line during the dodgeball game). And I don’t doubt that their encounter with Pitou held traces of the same protective pattern, but messed up by Gon’s internal struggle.

For the times Gon showed concern before, we can mention more expressive moments like the whole Zoldyck arc, when they were escaping from the Troupe, when Tzeseguerra said he’d endangered Killua or even when Killua got caught by some spell, etc, or we can even analyze his body language. Like here:

Before the date, Gon is indirectly protecting Killua in here, through his body language (Killua entered the room first, but Gon puts himself between them):

And after the date, while being punished for hurting her feelings, Gon screams at Palm when she tried to stab Killua, probably implying that he was observing and only interveins when she tries to hurt anyone other than himself - because he is, again, being stubborn and taking all the blame and control in order to redeem his actions and prove his capacity to fix things. I think it’s possible that Gon talked to her about Killua off curtains, or at least made an agreement about not involving Killua in her madness, but it it’s open to interpretation.

So, yeah, I can’t help but link everything to his pattern. He responds to the fear of losing those he loves with the same impactful devotion that is given to him, but it is so impactful that fails vocabulary and second thoughts. He knows Killua will be the first to risk his life if something happens or to prevent Gon from getting hurt during his tasks. Killua tends to sacrifice a lot and never complains while doing it, so I think it’s pretty much plausible that even when he can’t express himself at all, he’s worrying about Killua in the corner of his mind. Sometimes, just before our eyes.

Anyways, I love re-reading Greed Island arc and linking to their development through CAA because pretty much anything they do, they’re doing together, and they were bonding so beautifully. Their relationship was never so well-detailed before, but mostly for us, when they didn’t get much time to put in the balance how rushed their training was, and how fast they got attached to the point they can’t even stop thinking about each other while distant.

They look at each other like this:

They inspire this kind of reaction from others:

And there’s this one... nothing big, I just love it hahahaha

They’re in love each others’ top priority. It’s not impossible that Gon took Killua’s safety into matter, but his mind and words failed him, as he himself acknowledges that the only explanation to say those things to Killua is that “he doesn’t know what he was thinking”. Because, under normal circumstances, just like about letting Killua fight by his side, he would NEVER hurt Killua’s feelings. He IS protective. He didn’t have to rescue Killua from his own home - since Killua left for himself - but he still does it, instead of sticking to his main journey. And did not budge until Killua was safe by his side.

It’s a badly worded protection, because he doesn’t even know self-protection and puts action before everything. To figure a better way out of this pattern, he will now have plenty of time to find new ways to protect Killua and himself from the flaws of their dynamic. Their emotional attachment didn’t grow as fast as their fighting skills, but it doesn’t mean Gon is a monster, was malicious towards Killua or wanted to break his heart. I don’t even think he would reject Killua, but would explain the reason behind his decision in a reassuring way.

And finally, it’s so symbolic how Gotoh died and got replaced by a Kiriko - the same creature that translates Gon’s perceptiveness and how the boys are close. This way, they are still linked by Gotoh’s words through someone that mimics Gotoh’s appearance and also understands their relationship like the long gone butler. His words will never die.

And not to mention... how shoujo and romantic it is that Gon remembers the promise he made to Gotoh before he takes Killua with him? It is almost like a marriage proposal. That he didn’t forget, not even after all this time.

Do I think he would’ve change his mind on letting Killua fight? Not at all, and Killua couldn’t change his mind even if he begged, at least not without some patient mental work. This is Gon’s mindset on protecting someone. But like that time in Greed Island, under normal circumstances, Gon would’ve ease Killua’s worries directly or indirectly after some talking. And of course, it is not his job to guess Killua’s feelings, communication must be a two-way path. Killua waited for too long, and at that point, Gon was too lost in his grief and wasn’t able to measure his words. But I truly believe that, deep inside his mind, those words and that promise were still there, waiting to resonate if necessary.

And as @gallyl added so perfectly: Killua is alive and well, grieving on the hospital’s bench, trying to get a grip of everything he just experienced. Decided to give Gon a second chance, he’s now able to understand this message of love Gon has left for him: there’s so much he can do in life, that Gon simply doesn’t want him to die because Killua’s whole life was surrounded by death - and Killua’s greatest wish was to live like a normal kid. And this speaks louder to Gon than having Killua to himself in death. A love that is not selfish, and does not envy. Killua’s life is validated, and in return, he saves Gon and his sister, the ones he loves the most, and validate back their right to exist, to grow, to try again. Unconditional love. At first, he’s hurt and demands an apology. But it’s Alluka who reminds him of how love must be free to give and to receive - he should let his heart open for whenever Gon is ready to reach him again.

But now, the apology will matter.

And this is absurdly romantic. Not every sacrifice ends up in dying together to prove a relationship. They’ve made promises similar to marital vows, and not everything happened like they wanted, but they made clear to us that they’re not done with each other - as they refuse to say goodbye, and keep grammatical constructions like “for a while”, indicating a break, an interlude.

Their song is still playing, and their promises still exist as their split was never mentioned as something definitive, because preventing the other one to get physically hurt on your behalf and taking some time to think before you take the risk to accidentally emotionally hurt them too are both ways to show protection. Ways that they’re learning now, two boys who think they should get hurt to love and be loved.

#hxh #greed island #character analysis #meta #gon freecss #killua #killugon #chimera ant arc

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librapjmx · 3 years

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remember, my love | o1

summary: after a car accident the love of your life loses his memory. you’re deciding to keep shut about your relationship and make him remember your relationship on his own. somehow, you start to regret not telling him in first place

member: hoseok x reader

"Accidents sometimes affect a patient's mind so much that they either lose their memory or remember things very faintly."

You took a deep breath at the words of the doctor while squeezing the hand of Hoseok's mother from behind. She was sitting on the chair and you stood behind her, comforting her in the doctor's consulting room. You bit your lip as your gaze dropped to his father's place who was sitting next to his wife.

"Medically, this state is called retrograde amnesia. Patients like them lead a normal life, but they can't remember their past..." he stopped mid-sentence as he took a deep breath preparing on how to tell you, "That's just what happened to your son."

"Doctor, please just tell us what he has!" Hosoek's mother sobbed in pain.

The doctor bit his lower lip as he took a pen to play along. Indeed, he was slightly nervous and was worried about your reactions but as a doctor, he must tell you even if it's the worst news he can give to you.

"He lost his memory."

The whole world stopped right in front of you and your smile dropped. The smile which was caused by Hoseok's eyes moving and opening while you held his hand tightly. Just as he pecked his eyes open you ran up to the doctor, yelling out of happiness. It's insane how fast one's emotions can change by single words. Your vision became blurry and you stepped back, your back hitting the wall behind you.

"He doesn't remember me? His parents? His sister? Anyone?" You mumbled, your hand reaching out to the chair in front of you. You felt yourself getting dizzy as you supported yourself on the chair from not passing out.

"With great difficulty, we have convinced him that you are his family." He added, trying to make you all feel slightly better.

"Doctor, when will he regain his memory?" His sister Dawon asked, sounding extremely calm which was slightly penetrating. The day you told her about his accident she went crazy and threw all the things around her in anger and sorrow. She was crying her eyeballs out and now, she was calm which made you worry about her.

"It might take days, months or even years or maybe he will never regain his memory at all. He might have to spend a lifetime in this state. Nothing can be said for sure." The doctor was switching gazes between you four.

"We do try to make patients regain their memory by reminding them of past incidents. But you must be careful. Keep in mind that the slightest bit of pressure on his mind can drive him insane! He could suffer a brain hemorrhage. He could even die!" His tone was deadly serious, and he didn't mind telling you this ugly truth to protect his patient.

You closed your eyes as you let the tears fall, making you feel the pain even harder. You felt like it was your fault.

"If possible, take him to a place where his memories lay. His hometown, anywhere. Try to remind him of any old incidents." Suddenly, the doctor laid his eyes on you. Your heart jumped in fear as you realized that you were part of his past. You would be part of his future as well but now that you're not even in his past you must be a part of his present. But, can you tell him that you are his girlfriend? Would it cause damage? You didn't want to cause more harm and damage than he already had to go through.

"When will he be discharged?" You asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"He still has to recover fully but it will take at least two to three days." He nodded. You all left the office with sad expressions written all over your faces. In front of Hoseok's door, his best friend Namjoon waited. Once you made eye contact with Namjoon you smiled faintly. Before Hoseok's mother went in you held her back.

You thought deeply about this and weren't sure if you had to or if it was a decision you made abruptly. No matter what, you wanted him to be healthy and happy again even if his happiness excluded you.

"I don't want to tell him that I'm his girlfriend. Not now." You said, looking at the ground. You felt Namjoon's gaze on you as Hoseok's mother nodded, wanting to see her son as soon as possible. Indeed, you knew that this was the last thing she had to worry about now. No matter how much his parents like you, their son is more precious than anything else in this world. You knew that they are accepting and tolerant of your decision and that they never ask why. As for now, it was important for you to keep them shut about your relationship. The two of them went in and you looked up into the questioning gazes of Dawon and Namjoon.

"What are you doing? How can you not tell him something important like that?" Dawon furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"You two shared five years together, you can't just erase those memories just because he can't remember." Namjoon stood up from the chair on which he was sitting on.

"I won't erase them," you assured him and turned around to the door as you looked through the small window, seeing him trying to smile at his parents, "I don't want to pressure him in spending time with me. For him, a stranger. I don't want him to come to our shared flat and make him sleep next to a person which he has no feelings or connections with." You felt your throat burning as you wanted to cry out all the pain.

"Bullshit!" Dawon exclaimed and grabbed your shoulder to turn you around.

"Hoseok was head over heels for you! He won't forget the love of his life and the girl he wanted to propose to if it weren't for that fucking accident!" Her voice was quiet hoarse as if she was about to break down. Your heart dropped as you remembered the night where his accident happened.

He called you, telling you that he wanted to meet you badly. You were working and happy that your shift was ending in a couple of hours. If it weren't for you to ask him to pick you up, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Perhaps, the two of you would be snuggling up to each other. Now, you knew why he was so nervous when he called you. At the same time, he sounded so happy and joyful. If it weren't for that accident you two would've made plans for your marriage.

He wanted to propose ...

You started to chuckle loudly, in between sobs and cries, not sure how to feel about this whole situation right now. You turned around to the window, your hands reaching out to him but only touching the cold glass of the window. He shouldn't be lying there. You bit your lip as your gaze landed on your hand, examining the ring finger where his proposal ring should be lying on. The ache in your heart was indescribable. You wanted to cry, but no tears left your eyes. Instead, you started smiling widely as you turned around to Namjoon and Dawon.

"I don't know what destiny decided. If we are really meant for each other or not." You looked at Dawon, "Hoseok has lost his memory and since I and his love for me are part of his memory, he will most likely forget about me as well." Biting your lip, you furrowed your eyebrows.

"If our love is meant to be then I'm sure that fate will bring us together again. If I really have a special place in his heart he will remember me. I'm sure he will. But I want him to decide at the end." You clarified, sounding determined about your decision.

"But what if..." Namjoon started but you shut him off by holding out your hand and shaking your head. You knew that if anything goes wrong and he doesn't love you again, you must let him go.

"Just please accept my decision for now. I don't want to pressure him. I just want him to fall in love with me again and not being forced to love me just because we tell him that I'm his girlfriend." The two of them nodded quite frustrated because they didn't want you to suffer from heartbreak if life chooses a different direction for him.

You turned around again and opened the door, going into the nursing room. He heard someone entering the room and investigated your direction. His eyes lit up and you smiled softly at him which he tried to return.

"Hey, Hoseok" Dawon waved her hands at him and took his hands in hers. She grinned widely at him, her eyes were red from crying as she looked at his face.

"Dawon" He breathed out and for a slight moment you thought that he regained his memory, but you remembered the doctor saying that they convinced him of who his family is. She wrapped her fragile arms around his neck as she hugged him wholeheartedly. Slowly, she leaned back and stepped back, letting him get to know you and Namjoon.

"Hoseok, that's Namjoon. Your best friend." Namjoon didn't know what to do and he felt slightly embarrassed about his behavior. After all, it's really his best friend. Nonetheless, Hoseok gave Namjoon a wide smile in return as he nodded. Once his eyes land on you, his smile dropped, and he cleared his throat. Everyone had their gazes on you and waited for your answer, curiously.

"I'm Y/N ..." you mumbled, feeling the tears coming up and your throat burning from holding them back, "We're friends." He just nodded and tried to smile which didn't happen at all. You felt his stare not leaving your direction and you hoped that he tried to remember you. Little did you know that it wasn't happening.

"I, I will leave now. I'll visit you tomorrow again." You reached out your hand for Hoseok to shake it, but he remained confused. When he realized your gesture he hesitantly grabbed it. His warmth was giving you the relaxing feeling which he always gave you. When you came home from work, a little affection and skinship would be enough to calm your senses. Now, you had to start to relax on your own. Now, you had to get used to deal with situations on your own.

"I'll drop you at home," Namjoon said and you nodded, saying your goodbyes to his parents.

You and Namjoon left the hospital quietly, not talking to each other while hopping into his car. He grabbed the steering wheel firmly as he focused on the road. The thought of his best friend losing his memory, was a miserable feeling. He felt powerless and hoped for his best friend to recover as soon as possible. To remember the old times, their childhood and their friendship.

"He will be okay..." you assured him, trying to calm him down since you felt him being tense overall. He chuckled, the sorrow was written in his cracking voice.

"I hope so."

Somehow, you felt a little selfish. Of course, the first thing you want is Hoseok to regain his memory. Nonetheless, it was an awful accident and he was lucky to survive. Him living is more important than him loving you. If he takes his breath, in and out, you'll be able to love him. You'll be able to see him anytime you want to.

"We have to be there for him, no matter what. We must help him regain his memory and remember all the beautiful moments we all shared together. He always made sure to give us hope and now, it's our turn to give him hope in recovering." You said, seeing your shared house with Hoseok from your angle.

"He is so lucky to have you..." Namjoon breathed out after he stopped the car in front of your flat.

"To be honest, I'm lucky to have him." You smiled at Namjoon, thanking him for dropping you home. You got out of the car and waved to him as he drove off.

Taking a deep breath, you turned around, slowly. You started at your door, approaching it while you remembered the time you agreed in moving together. He was so joyous and gleeful that he started looking for a flat. You left it for him to decide because you trusted his taste and eventually you started loving the one he chooses. You opened the door and felt the warmth surrounding your body as soon as you stepped a foot in your home.

Your shared home.

"Did you pack all of your belongings?" Namjoon asked through the phone speaker, you could hear the hurry in his voice.

"Yes, I'm waiting for you." You said as he assured you that he would be picking you up in less than 20 minutes.

You weren't going on a holiday trip or on a business trip. You were leaving with Hoseok and his family to his hometown. Gwangju.

A couple days after his recovery, Hoseok's father decided to leave for his hometown in hope to have him regain his memory again. Gwangju is where his childhood lays and where his memories began. You pretty much knew everything about him but no details about his past life, you didn't ask him because you didn't think his past was necessary at all since you loved the present Hoseok.

Of course, you wanted to help him regain his memories and on the top of that, you couldn't let him go all alone since you had a mission. The mission, to make him love you again. Love ...

Your phone vibrated, signaling you to come out to leave. Namjoon and you drove separately from the Jung family. The distance from Seoul to Gwangju was far that's why you booked tickets to fly for less than an hour to his hometown.

"You got everything?" Namjoon asked while he helped you put the suitcases in the luggage space. You nodded, smiling widely at him.

"Have you ever been to Gwangju?" Namjoon asked, focusing on the road in front of him.

"Before his parents moved to Seoul we went there a few times. But the last time was probably two years ago." You stared at your fingers which were laying on your lap while you played with them.

"Are you worried?" He asked, noticing the tension between you two. You and Namjoon were good friends since you started dating Hoseok. He always supported you two and helped you to get along with each other. Even when both of your had arguments and didn't talk to each other, he made sure to bring both of you together. He always was a helping hand, as a friend for you and as a brother for Hoseok. That's why you hoped for the two of them to get used to each other again.

"I'm fine." You lied. You weren't fine at all. Not when Hoseok was suffering and forgetting about his past.

You got out of the car and took your luggage before you went to the airport to meet the others at the check-in. From behind you saw Hoseok and his sister talking to each other. He was laughing at something she said. Something in your stomach started twirling at the sight of his expressions, the way he laughed wholeheartedly at her. After the day where the doctor told you that he is suffering from amnesia, you made sure to visit him as long as he had to be hospitalized. You tried to keep the contact, calling him and asking how he was. Just like two strangers. After they decided to leave Seoul for Gwangju, you left everything behind and agreed in accompanying them. That was a good way to spend time with him.

You greeted his parents after Namjoon and you gave the check-in your luggage and took your boarding pass. Turning around to Dawon, you wrapped your arms around her and hugged her tightly.

"I'm glad you will accompany us." She whispered into your ear and leaned back.

You turned to Hoseok, smiling at him while he gave you a wide smile. He didn't change at all. He was always so warm and gentle towards other people.

"Destination: Gwangju. All passengers on Korean Air must go to the gate. The plane will begin boarding in 10 minutes." The woman called out from the speakers and all of you gathered around the departures lounge to find the right gate, written on your boarding pass.

After getting on the plane you sat down, right next to Namjoon who was on the side of the window. When you turned your head to look behind you, you saw Hoseok sitting right behind you, on the other side. He was next to his sister and stared down at the phone, swiping left and right. Probably looking at some pictures. Your eyes meet Dawon's who started mouthing some words. You furrowed your eyebrows, not understanding what she was referring to. Then she started pointing towards your seat and hers. You observed the people next to you, signaling yourself that she was referring to you and wanted to switch seats. You shook your head hesitantly, but she stood up.

"Y/N, let's switch seats, I have to talk to Namjoon!" She lied, passing by Hoseok and running up to you. You shook your head, but she grabbed your arms as she helped you up. Once you were on your feet, she pushed you to sit down, giving the confused Namjoon a wide smile.

"The passengers are asked to sit down and take their seatbelts on. Ready for takeoff!" The speaker said, and you had no other chance than to sit down next to Hoseok who was just as confused as Namjoon. You sighed, letting yourself fall into the seat while putting on your seatbelt.

"As a friend, you're not that happy to be able to sit next to me..." Hoseok chuckled, concentrating on the seatbelt.

"No, it's not like that. It's just-" you stopped mid-sentence, trying to think of a good answer. To be honest, you didn't know why you were afraid of facing him- "It's just that I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"Nah, I'm good." He clarified, staring into your eyes with a huge grin, "We're friends after all."

Friends.

You nodded, smiling a little at him. You had to get easier next to him, simply calmer and more comfortable. After all, he still was the man whom you love. It felt strange to not be able to hold his hands or kiss him whenever you want.

"Y/N?" Ah, the way he said your name was music to your ears.

"Hm?"

"Can you tell me something about us?" He plainly asked, not hesitating. As much as you were afraid of this question, you waited for it to come out. That day was today. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you turned around to him.

"Us?" Oh, I could tell you so much about us.

He nodded. You didn't want to lie to him so much and maybe your real encounter would help him to remember even the slightest bit. The only lie he will think of a truth as is you being his "friend".

"We," Using the pronoun to specify the two of you and reassuring that there is something between you to, means a lot to you, "As if it was planned by fate." You started, thinking back to the time where you left the huge building in which you were working in.

Walking up to the coffee shop in which you were always spending your lunch break. You were working on in a radio show as a radio presenter in 'iwishradio'. It was a tough week since a huge scandal broke down and with that two actors got married and you tried everything to get them to your radio show for more quotas and listeners.

Once you entered the shop, you were greeted by the part-time worker Yunji who was a high-school senior, trying to earn money for her college entry. You smiled at her, stopping behind a man who was ordering his coffee. You looked up at his head from behind. He seemed to be very tall that's why you stepped aside to have a look at the sweets they were selling along with the coffee.

"That's 5,000 Won, Mister," Yunji said, pushing the buttons on the cash register and waiting for the man to pay.

When it took too long you decided to side eye the man who was touching his chest and went through his jacket. You looked up and stared up at him, wondering what the issue was. He let out an embarrassed chuckle.

"Where is my purse-" he grabbed into his pockets, not finding anything- "I'm sure I've brought it with myself..." His head turned to the side, noticing that someone stood by. At that moment, his blood rushed up to his cheeks, shading it in a soft pink as his eyes met your confused ones.

"Ah, excuse me, please go on until I find my purse." He stuttered in a small panicky voice.

You bowed slightly, thanking him for letting you get your coffee.

"Yunji, I'll take the Americano as always." You said, turning around to the man who was still struggling to find his purse. You pulled out your own purse and turned around to Yunji, handing her money.

"Can you take the Misters coffee on me?" You asked, handing her more money to pay the coffee of the struggling man. You turned around to the man and smiled, "It once happened to me as well, so don't worry about it."

He bowed his head and smiled softly, slightly embarrassed "Thank you. Please let me pay you back-" you cut him off, reaching for the two coffee cups and handing him one- "Don't worry about it. It's okay, it's on me."

He grabbed the coffee, biting his lip as he felt himself getting even more awkward.

You looked at your wrist, checking the time, "I have to leave already! Enjoy your coffee, Mister!" You took off, realizing that you had an interview ahead which you couldn't attend late. Once you reached the building you ran up the stairs of the huge building, reaching the presenters' room. You took a sip of your coffee as you sat down on your chair, placing the earbuds on your ears. You stared at your director, waiting for their signal for your start.

He had a wide grin on his face, enjoying the story you told him.

"That's it?" He asked when you stopped telling him about the rest. You swallowed hard because after that it wasn't fate who brought you together. It was the choice of you two over time, but you didn't know how to tell him that in a non-romantic way.

The next day was a cold winter day. It wasn't snowing but rather was it outstandingly windy and the sky was dark and grey as if it was about to rain on the first day of February. Showing you that winter is slowly disappearing. You pressed your coat tightly against your chest as you entered the coffee shop.

"The same?" Yunji as you gave her a slight nod, rubbing your hands together. Just as you wanted to pay her, someone reached out to the cashier and handed her the money. A shadow appeared next to you and you looked to your side. That's when you noticed the man from yesterday. Your mouth dropped as you wanted to say something.

"It's on me today." He smiled, taking the cup of coffee to hand it to you. You smiled as you gladly accepted his repay.

"Thanks." Nodding, you went up to an empty chair next to the huge window, watching the people passing by. Slowly, you started nipping at your coffee as you examined the sky, getting a feeling that it will rain any minute soon.

You were brought back to reality once you heard a chair being pulled back and the man from earlier sitting down in front of you.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned back, "Excuse me?" You mumbled, not sure of what he wanted from you.

"It's sad to see people sitting alone, I like to accompany them-" he clarified, bringing his coffee up to his mouth as he stared out the window to watch the people.

You opened your mouth but closed it right away, not knowing what to say. It was a gentle move of him and talking down to that would be no good, so you let it slide. You had a cheeky smile plastered on your face as you looked out the window, not wanting him to see your smile.

"Oh," your eyes widened in confusion as the first raindrops fell on the window, "Isn't it too soon to rain already?" you questioned, sighing. How will you be able to walk in the rain without getting wet?

"Then, I will get going first," you said, standing up. When you reach the building, you had to make sure to get plenty of time to dry. You said your goodbye to Yunji as you stood in front of the entry, wondering how you will reach your destiny.

"Why did you make it rain now?" You looked up at the sky, obviously talking to God in your sorrow. You didn't want to get wet but still, you had to appear on time.

"Okay. Close your eyes and run!" You mumbled to yourself. Just as you wanted to shut your eyes, you saw an umbrella opening in front of you. You winced since you were startled by the sudden move. Once you looked up, you saw the man from earlier holding an umbrella above you.

"Where are you heading to? I will accompany you." He said, staring straight into your eyes. He sure was a head taller than you.

"Ah, Mister, you really don't have to do that-" he cut you off.

"You will be soaked in water if you don't take the chance to reach your destiny dryly." He had a huge grin on his lips as watched you biting your lower lip.

"Iwishradio station." You swallowed hard as you turned your head, embarrassed to look into his eyes since his face was too close for your pleasure. He nodded as the two of you left for your workplace.

"Are you working there?" He asked and you nodded.

"I'm a radio presenter of iwishradio." You added and his eyes lit up.

"Oh! Are you perhaps Y/F/N?" Your name left his lips so casually and you felt how your heart jumped at his excitement. You nodded.

"I love your format. The interview, your topics, it's so entertaining and nice to listen to your decent voice." He started praising your show and you felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment.

"Thank you for listening..." you mumbled in a soft voice.

You reached the building fast and you wondered if you were at your workplace this fast as well or if it was the illusion of time passing fast.

"Thank you for your company. In the shop and until here..." you bowed slightly.

He pulled out his hand before you left, "Hoseok. Jung Hoseok." Your eyes landed on his hand as you hesitantly reached out for it. His warm hands surrounded yours, giving you a soft feeling of affection and warmth on this cold day. His gently squeeze was giving you the feeling that this wouldn't be your last encounter.

You looked out the window and observed the breathtaking view of Gwangju as the plane was making itself ready to land.

"After that, we met often in the coffee shop and eventually we became friends." You brought a cut to your beginning, shorting it down to more than a half and changing it. Once he will remember you will make sure that he will remember the genuine rest himself. Until then the rest of your encounter must be kept a secret. After that greeting and after you two exchanging names your story began, not as friends but as more.

"You must be a really good friend." You heard Hoseok mumbling. You turned your head to look at him in confusion.

"What?"

"I mean..." his gaze dropped down on his fingers, "Thank you!" He declared, looking up into your eyes, "Thank you for coming all the way to my hometown only to help me to regain my memories. I must've been a lucky person to have friends like you and Namjoon." He said with a note of relief, a huge smile plastered on his face. You returned his smile, holding yourself back from hugging him. Turning your head to the window, you watched how the plane landed on its gate.

You left the airport after taking your luggage and waiting for a taxi. Hoseok's family wanted you to stay in their old apartment together with them. You insisted on renting a good and cheap place, but they disapproved that's why you and Namjoon followed their taxi. While you and Dawon would be sharing a room, Namjoon and Hoseok would share a room together. How you wished to be in Namjoon's position.

Once you settled down, you started unpacking your items. Dawon decided to take Hoseok out so she could show him a little around. You cleaned your room and helped Dawon with her luggage. At that moment, someone knocked lightly on the door.

"Yes?" You called out, your eyes on the clothes which you were folding and putting into the wardrobe.

You turned around as you heard the person falling on the mattress which was lying on the ground. Namjoon took a deep breath as if he was relieved to finish his room up.

"What's up?" you giggled, concentrating on your clothes.

"I finished." You saw from the corner of your eye that he turned his body into your direction while supporting his head with his hand. "So, what's your plan?" He questioned. You furrowed your eyebrows as you turned around.

"Plan? What plan?" You asked.

"The 'Make Hoseok Fall In Love With Me Again'-Plan" He pointed out, showing you the question marks with his fingers.

You bit your lip and put the last clothing into the wardrobe before turning around and sitting down in front of him.

"I actually have no idea." You remarked, groaning loudly as you let your back touch the wall behind you.

"You're a genius Y/N." He suggestively eyed you in a mocking way.

"I know right!" You replied with a huge mark of sarcasm. He sighed as he sat up straight to look into your eyes.

"How about you spend some time with him? Alone. You and him?" It didn't feel like a statement, more like a question which he wanted to get answered.

"I'm afraid-"you admitted.

"Of what?"

"I'm afraid to face the reality." You whispered, looking blankly into the emptiness.

"What reality? Y/N, you have to face it, to find the reality!" He encouraged and of course you knew that he was right. You were in a long and deep relationship with Hoseok and you're afraid that he wouldn't remember your past at all. You were afraid of him not loving you, but your mission was to make him love you again and that's why you had to fight. Fight for his love.

"You're right Namjoon! I really have to do it." You said and stood up.

"Where are you going?" He asked you as you chuckled.

"I'm hungry, you're coming with me?" He was a little startled but stood up and followed you.

After finishing your meal, you waited for Hoseok and his sister to arrive since it was pretty late already. Tomorrow would be your day, you thought. The doorbell rang, and you ran up to the door, greeting the siblings who entered the house with a grin plastered on their faces.

"You're late." Hoseok's mother stated, looking at the time.

"We caught up with someone," Dawon said and sat down next to her mother. Dawon's mother furrowed her eyebrows as she waited for Dawon to speak.

"Kim Chaeyeong? Do you remember her?" She asked. Mrs. Jung narrowed her eyes as she tried to come up with a picture of a face, fitting to the name. Once she remembered, her eyes lit up.

"Kim Chaeyeong? Hoseok's high school friend?" She said with conviction and Dawon nodded.

"And guess what?" She looked at Hoseok who approached his mother slowly, "Hoseok remembered her!" She beamed as his mother stared at Hoseok, eyes filling with tears. Never in her life would she believe that Hoseok would start doing progress in such a small amount of time. She was proud of him.

"I just remembered her as a person in my life, but I really don't remember what we did in the past or any other memories with her, to be honest," Hoseok admitted, turning around to look at Namjoon and you with a smile. You were happy about his small progress but couldn't help but feel a little unimportant and agonized at his first memory which was way back when you met him. You never heard of that name in your life, so you thought that she wasn't important at all. Hoseok would've told you about her if they were still friends even today.

"Ah Dawon, you're tiring my son. Let him rest a little, yeah?" She playfully hit her daughter's shoulder as she grabbed Hoseok's hand, squeezing it firmly.

"I'm tired, to be honest." He admitted, stretching his arms.

"Let's sleep then. Tomorrow will be a better day!" Dawon clapped in her hands as she ran up to you and grabbed your arm to guide you to your room. Once she entered the room, her jaw dropped down.

"Ah, my sister-in-law is such a gracious human being. I'm lucky!" She wrapped her arms around you before she threw herself on the mattress.

The word sister-in-law was making your heart flutter. You still pulled your index-finger in front of your lips to shush her. "Shh, he will hear!" You whispered and laid down yourself. Dawon didn't even change her clothes nor did she remove her make-up. Indeed, she was tired, and you didn't want to make a feel even more tired. You jumped into your pajamas and stared at the ceiling.

"Dawon?" You voiced in a casual tone.

"Hm?" You noticed that she was already half asleep.

"Who is Chaeyeong?" You asked her as you heard her shifting.

"Just an old high-school friend of Hoseok" She mumbled, her face facing the pillow, swallowing the words which left her mouth, "Don't worry. They're just frie-" she couldn't finish her sentence since she fell asleep, snoring softly. You giggled as you stood up to grab yourself a glass of water.

"Hoseok?" You asked, a little startled once you entered the kitchen. He was looking out for something in the fridge.

"Y/N? Why are you still awake?" He questioned, closing the fridge.

"I wanted to grab a glass of water." You smiled, going up to the small cupboard to get yourself a cup. "What about you?"

"I, I was hungry." He scratched his neck a little flustered about his answer. You chuckled slightly, remembering how he always went up to the fridge to grab a late-night snack. You nipped on the glass of water.

"Should, should I prepare something for you?" You asked hesitantly but he shook his hands in front of you.

"No, I, I will do it myself-"He started but you cut him off.

"It's not like I prepare food for you the first time at this hour..." You accidentally spluttered.

"Excuse me?" He surely was confused about your words. Your eyes widened as you realized what you've just said.

"I, I mean we're friends. Of course, I prepared meals for you, as well as for Namjoon and other friends and family who mean a lot to me." You're such a fool Y/N.

He chuckled, being really overwhelmed by your decent behavior. You turned around as you grabbed some ingredients to cook for a single person. He was quiet, and you made him some ramen which was the fastest and easiest meal you could prepare, to leave immediately. As if you two were strangers, you tried to make yourself feel easier and comfortable around him without getting flustered at all.

"Thank you, Y/N!" He sat down, grabbing the chopsticks.

"Enjoy your meal!" You mumbled, smiling softly at him which he returned.

Before you left, you turned around again. "Hoseok?"

"Hm?"

"Can you perhaps leave an empty space in your busy schedule-" You looked up into his eyes –" For me?" Biting your lip, you waited for his answer. He giggled softly.

"With pleasure." He breathed out, smiling widely at you.

"Thank you!" The huge grin on your face wasn't leaving as you went back into your room, lying down on the mattress.

Everything will be fine ...

The next morning you woke up to Dawon, throwing her clothes from one side to the other side of the room. Just as you wanted to sit up straight, you were thrown by a cloth on your face. Wincing at the sudden darkness, you sighed as you grabbed the cloth and threw it back to Dawon.

"What are you doing this early?" You rubbed your eyes after you looked at the time which showed 7am.

"The earlier one wakes up, the better the day gets." She pointed out as you stood up.

"Bullshit! My day was never good when I woke up at 6am for school!" You clarified and scratched your back, bending down a little. You narrowed your eyes, trying to get used to the light which surrounded you as you fully concentrated on the scratch on your back.

"Morning girls!" You heard Hoseok's voice from behind you, making you jump from his sudden appearance. You felt the heat rising and your cheeks redden. Normally, you wouldn't think about it and start being your casual self next to him but now, you two were only friends who try to build up their relationship.

"M-Morning!" You greeted him, but he was already gone. You heard soft laughter from behind you and turned around to Dawon who was hiding her face from laughing too much.

"What's so funny?" You asked, stepping closer to her.

"Well, you two don't feel like a normal couple-"you cut her off, throwing your hands in the air.

"Well, excuse me. My boyfriend lost his memory." She shook her head at your statement and turned around to look for a nice outfit.

"Yah! The yellow shirt in your hand is mine!" You called out before leaving the room to take a warm shower and changing into some nice and comfy clothes.

The breakfast table was surrounded by every family member, enjoying their meal comfortably. You sat down next to Mrs. Jung as you started eating. Nobody talked while eating, making the comfortable enjoyment turn into an awkward atmosphere. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Just as you wanted to stand up, Hoseok held out his hand, stopping you.

"It's probably Chaeyeong. She wanted to hang out with me-" He put the last bit in his mouth before leaving the table.

You licked your lips as you pressed them together, watching his empty seat. Your gaze went to Namjoon, noticing the confusion in his expressions.

That's exactly how all the other days went by. It was either Hoseok spending time with Chaeyong or Chaeyong with him. He was barely home and forgot about his promise. Even though you asked him about the empty space, he promised to spend time with you the next day. On the next day, he was again busy with his high-school friend. If this was helping him to regain his memory, then you didn't want to stop him. He was getting happier and each day he remembered the old times in Gwangju and you hoped for him to remember the past in Seoul, so you would appear again. The woman he wanted to propose to.

One day you went into his room and leaned on the doorframe. He was texting on his phone, smiling widely at the screen.

"Hoseok?" You mumbled, approaching him slowly.

He looked up and lifted his eyebrows.

"Can I take you away tomorrow?" You asked and waited for his answer. Little did you know that he would cancel. Just as you wanted to turn around, he chuckled.

"Sure thing!" Your eyes widened.

"Oh, ok!" you exclaimed and turned around.

Finally, a day where the two of you could spend some time together. It wasn't as if you two never talked to each other within these days. He was still coming home, and you shared funny and joyful moments. Watching series and dramas and even playing games with each other but not just the two of you. It was always another family member of him who joined in. His promise was an opportunity to let you two be alone.

You prepared a picnic-date and told Namjoon to prepare beforehand. He woke up early and went to the park to create a beautiful atmosphere while you picked your outfit. Today was a nice weather and a warm day. That's why you decided to wear a spring dress. Casual but cute and it was Hoseok's favorite dress on you. A white dress with the purple pattern. He knocked on your door and you turned around.

He stopped in astonishment, staring at you as if he was thinking about something. You stood in front of him, quietly, not trying to break his thoughts or the memories connected with this dress. He furrowed his eyebrows and had a soft smile plastered on his face. Just as you wanted to ask him what he thought about, he shook his head.

"C'mon!" He exclaimed and turned around again.

You'll remember me Hoseok. You'll remember us!

He took the bicycle and hopped on it. You sat behind him and hesitantly wrapped your arms around his stomach. Slowly, you let your head lean on his shoulder as you remembered the times the two of you bicycled together. Sometimes he was picking you up with his bicycle from work and the other days you were admiring the view. After telling him the destination he drove off.

"So Hoseok, I hope you like picnicking!" You exclaimed from behind and heard a soft giggle from his lips.

"I love that" he chuckled and from behind you saw the set picnic. To be honest, if it weren't for the help of Namjoon then you wouldn't be able to do that all.

You hopped off the bicycle and led him to the small picnic-blanket, opening the casket and pulling out small meals you've prepared. Actually, you didn't feel like eating at all, but you just wanted his company. He let out a deep sigh as he let himself fall on the blanket, lying down as he watched the sky.

"Such a beautiful sight... at those time I really am thankful to be alive" he mumbled and smiled as you watched him admiringly. You lied down, your faces next to each other even though your bodies looked into opposite directions. Indeed, it was so astonishing and beautiful.

"Look at these birds, leaving their hometown and moving in a new direction to start a new life, a new journey at their new place..." you mumbled, examine the sky as you pointed at the birds which you were referring to.

"And a new story..." Hoseok added and you turned your head to look at him, a wide smile plastered on your face. "Like mine." Your smile dropped faintly as you cleared your throat. His eyes weren't leaving the sky, "After losing my memory, I am also moving in a new direction. I sometimes wonder what my past was like. Was it better than what I have now? Or did I lose something precious?" He chuckled, turning his head to you, "And then, I laugh it off. What is lost, is not coming back. And what I have, I don't want to lose."

He was looking deep into your soul and you were hoping that with the last part he meant you.

"Sometimes the past doesn't return. What's left are our memories. And if there is lying someone precious in your memories, then I'm sure they'll return to your life." You assured him, hoping to give him a signal for a memory in his past which both of you shared.

You two stood in the position of only staring at each other until the grumbling of his stomach broke the eye contact. The atmosphere filled with soft giggles from you two and he stood up straight. He turned around to look at you as a chuckle left his lips before he spoke.

"I guess it's time to eat."

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

Text

“QUEER”

First of all, let’s clear up a common misconception. Queer does not just mean gay. It’s an umbrella term for an identity which deviates from society’s perceived norm: heterosexual, or straight. Queer can refer to sexualities — gay, bisexual, pansexual, — or it can refer to being gender-queer; i.e, any label that deviates from the perceived gender norm: the binaries, male and female.

“Queer” is a reclaimed slur.

If you do not fall under the umbrella of queerness, it is safe to assume that you cannot use it. At all.

I am bisexual.

This means I experience attraction to plural genders. Pansexual also works fine. For the difference between bisexual and pansexual — see here:

Being bisexual isn’t easy. I went through similar hardships to gay women: I experienced attraction to women and was scared of what this meant for me, in such an oppressively homophobic society.

I am not saying being bisexual is harder than being gay, nor the inverse. But my experiences are distinctly bisexual, not gay.

Without further ado, here are the 3 things I’ve found to be the hardest about being queer, but not gay (enough).

#1: Finding My Place

Or, not being queer enough

I always knew I wasn’t straight, but I didn’t know what I was. Up until recently, I was still questioning. This didn’t feel enough to join groups or conversations with LGBT+ folk, let alone go to pride. Was I even LGBT if I was never L, G, B, or T?

I am still yet to attend a pride, even though I identify (fairly confidently) as bisexual. I am in a relationship with a man. This is (problematically) known as a “straight-passing relationship” and makes me feel even more undeserving of a place at pride.

This has been upsetting to me at times. But for others, it can be outright devastating. Growing up and needing support, but feeling like you’re ‘not gay enough’ to ask for it? So many young people are being left alone and afraid. Finding others like you is vital to figuring out who you are. Likewise, finding spaces which are safe and inclusive is vital for anyone, regardless of their sexuality or gender identity. A friend of mine happens to be a transgender man, and he summed up the issue perfectly:

“One thing that I keep noticing is how all hangout spots are “gay bars”, or (far less common) “lesbian bars”. I’m a straight man, so I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be there, but hanging out at regular bars is still too much of a gamble, so I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

It goes without saying that gay folk aren’t always safe in these spaces, as seen by the homophobic attack on the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, in 2016. Bigotry hurts the entire LGBT+ community. Bigotry doesn’t stop to ask whether you identify as gay or otherwise queer before it pulls the trigger.

But the LGBT+ community itself is much more welcoming to those who “pick a side” and just come out as gay, already. The infighting is inexplicable when one looks to attacks such as that in Orlando: bigots don’t care which letter you are in the acronym. So why does gatekeeping exist when we need to be strong in the face of intolerance when fragmentation only makes us weaker? Who are we helping by continuing to exclude identities from the discussion?

#2: Myths and Misconceptions

Well, it stands to reason that if bisexuals are what they seem in TV and movies, why would anyone want to make them feel included? They’re “greedy” and inauthentic. They’re attention-seeking, not to mention their propensity for threesomes. Now, I haven’t been in a wild orgy yet, but it seems like it will only be a matter of time before I follow my natural path.

Straight men, in particular, need to own up to their assumption that bisexual women are down for a threesome. The thing is, we are. But not with you, you big ASSUMER.

Infidelity

All jokes aside, the stereotyping of bisexuals is not only hurtful, but leads to difficulties finding and maintaining relationships.

As I came to terms with my bisexuality, I also had to accept that I might never be fully trusted by my partner, regardless of their gender or sexuality. I was shocked when my partner reacted to my coming out with the equivalent of a shrug — so much so, that I burst into tears of gratitude that my soul-bearing moment hadn’t been met with slut-shaming or assumptions of disloyalty. Nothing has changed. If anything, our bond is even stronger for me having been more authentic after coming out.

But cruelty came from elsewhere: when I came out, I was told that my partner was to be pitied, either because I’m gay and in denial, or bound to cheat on him. The main consequence of such attitudes has been the crippling fear of coming out to my partner. It saddens me that I felt so relieved when he accepted me for being who I am, and loving him just the same as I always have.

This outcome is not the case for many couples, with straight folk worried that their bisexual partner will realise they’re gay and just leave them. This fear of abandonment comes from a place of ignorance. When the media presents bisexuality as a steppingstone on the way to “picking a team”, it’s no wonder that people struggle to trust their queer partners.

Other Queer Myths

The myth that all trans folk medically transition invalidates those who choose not to do so, and let’s not forget the ignorant jeers that it's all just a mental illness. Asexual folk battle the stereotype that they can never have a relationship and shall forever remain a virgin (because what an awful thing that would be, right?) And pansexuals… well, at the lighter end, they’re asked if they have sex with cooking utensils. But often, they’re erased as irrelevant because “we already have the label bisexual”.

This brings us onto the third and final difficulty that comes with queer folk who aren’t easily categorizable as gay: erasure.

#3: Erasure

Erasure refers to the denial of an identity’s existence or its validity as a label.

Non-binary folk face ongoing and loud claims that they simply do not exist. This is despite the historical and scientific evidence to the contrary. Plus, the most important evidence — them, existing. Asexual folk are told they simply have not found the right person yet, or that they are just afraid of sex. Demi-sexual folk are told “everyone feels like that, unless they’re just sleeping around!”. And bisexuals are dismissed as simply being in denial that they’re gay.

Monosexuality & The Gender Binary

Our culture is so built on monosexuality (being solely attracted to one gender — for instance, gay or straight). Monosexuality is reinforced through everything from marriage to dating apps, the media to what we teach in schools. People cannot fathom that someone might want to experience more than one gender in their lifetime.

The binary models of sex and gender are also deeply ingrained. These rigid belief systems combined are to blame for our inability to accept that bisexuals do not need to “pick a side”. I was paralysed by fear for 17 years because I found girls attractive and that might mean I’m gay, because bisexuals are just gays who haven’t realised they’re gay yet.

Bierasure

Bierasure is dangerous, firstly because it leads a child to have to internalise both biphobia and homophobia. For instance, I had to work through being taught to hate gayness, whilst being taught that any attraction to non-male genders made me gay.

Women were cute, and so I was gay, and this meant I was disgusting.

My own mother told me this. She also told me that something has “gone wrong in the womb” for a child to be gay. (Well, Mum, I’ve got some bad news about your womb!)And she, like any bigot, extended this theory to anyone who experiences same-sex attractions — anyone queer. This is another reason why bi-erasure is perilous. Whether you’re a gay, cis-male or a demi-bisexual, trans woman… if your parents will kick you out for being gay, they will likely kick you out for being any sort of queer.

If we deny the bigotry that bisexuals undergo, we will continue to suffer. It won’t just go away. It will fester, with bisexuals having no one they can go to who believes them. And thus:

Erasure Kills

Bullying and suicide rates of queer-but-not-gay people continue to sky-rocket. We must direct funding, support and compassion to every queer individual, as they are all vulnerable to discrimination and bullying. The problem is being left to fester. This is in part because bigots treat all queer labels as just ‘gay’, deeming them equally unworthy. This is how far erasure can go.

Conclusion

Earlier on, I stated that my experiences are distinctly bisexual. The same applies to any queer identity.

Emphasising our differing paths and struggles is important to avoid the aforementioned erasure of already less visible groups. But this does not mean that the LGBT+ community should be fragmented by these differences.

If we can unite in our hope to live authentically and love freely, we will be stronger against bigotry. We are fighting enough intolerance from without: there is no need to create more from within.

So out of everything, what’s the hardest part about being bisexual?

It’s the fact that nobody knows it’s this hard.

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years

Text

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part ii.

word count: 9.2k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he’s a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. if you’re here i imagine you know exactly what he’s about.

notes: hello! it has been a hot minute since i updated, but i promise i am not dead. i just went on a real vacation and juggling two longfic projects at once is (surprise) very time consuming! but i am here with chapter two. it's a lot of roman pretending not to be jealous when he's actually seething inside (we love to see it), as well as a few little drops of intrigue. yes, i know, i TOO wanted an entire longfic about roman and varya just making out between dramatic proclamations of their violent devotion for each other, but alas, alack.

special thank you to my beta @starcrier who of course helped me proof a good portion of this, and is eternally my cheerleader and the loml, as well as @shallow-gravy who put her eyes on the very very rough draft of this when i wanted to bash my head into the top of the desk a-la-roman's theatrics. without you this chapter would not have happened!

and thank you to everyone who has read this so far! carry your throne was truly my baby and so getting to write a sequel for it is the most incredible feeling. your support means the world to me. <3

Roman did not like sharing his things.

It was perpetually difficult enough to have let Varya waltz around the club so that she might have happily enjoyed being lavished attention on (attention that was, to be kept in mind, not his)—but watching a stranger, an interloper from her past, indulge himself in her, that was excruciating. Because that’s what it was, in the end; less about his girl enjoying herself and more about people enjoying her, realizing they would never have her, that she would always be his.

So as Irina took the twins back upstairs and Roman ushered her back into the throng of partygoers, he did so with intent; Roman watched Varya wind her way from person to person, lingering at their friend Dorian—dutiful member of the press always content to show her in a good light—before she and Maxim connected.

Roman watched them. He watched the way Maxim beamed at her, the way he ducked his head to hear her say something. He laughed and rocked back on his heels a little, and when Varya brought the glass to her lips, Roman saw it—saw Maxim’s eyes dart down to her mouth, their ascent short-lived as he busied his hand with sweeping a stray curl from her face. Maxim seemed very comfortable touching Varya, he thought. Men were never comfortable touching Varya. They were either—he had found, at least—aware of her proclivity for having hands cut off or (what he could only argue was the most correct deterrent) understanding of the simple politeness that came with not putting your hands on another man’s woman.

More than anyone, Roman appreciated having the things which others could not, so that he could be envied: but this?

This was treasonous. Poisonous. Heretical. Not in my fucking house.

Puzzling yet was Varya’s willingness to let her childhood friend conduct himself in such a way. She was a greedy thing, his girl; he knew that she so loved the attention, preening and glowing under the adoration. Greedy and hungry for love. Had she always been so active a participant in the act of touching, of being touched? Even by a stranger?

Not a stranger, he reminded himself tartly. Childhood friend, the man whose father she killed. That’s two fathers now, in her ledger—her own and someone else’s. And petulantly, he thought it a bit unsettling that it was a bond he could never have with her—dear old dad was already dead as a fucking doornail, wasn’t he? No chance Varya would want to ice him for Roman a second time.

He had determined to swallow his pride (impressive, gracious, generous) and make his way over when Dorian swept in; Dorian, preening and wrapping his arms around Varya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and making the noisy announcement, “Stealing her away, thank you!” just before he steered her past Maxim. There, the crowd shifted and scooted out of the way to reveal the birthday cake getting wheeled out on its little tray, decorated in gem tones and sparklers.

The determination to close the distance between himself and their newfound associate did not abate, even with Dorian’s well-timed interjection. As he wove through the crowd of milling partygoers, accepting compliments on his good work, he waited until he got within a foot or two of Maxim to stop. Everyone was applauding the cake. Everyone was having a great time looking at the expensive cake glimmering under the oh-so-obnoxious chandelier, but mostly he thought they were applauding his wife.

So, Roman clapped. He clapped, because the cake was out and the sparklers were fizzing and popping prettily, dancing golden light across his wife’s delighted face. He clapped, because everyone else was clapping, too. He clapped, and he flashed an all-teeth smile at Varya from over the top off the elaborately decorated cake (tasteful, not gaudy, of course).

Over the fizzing and popping, and without taking his eyes off of Varya, he said to Maxim, “Did you fuck my wife?”

Maxim clapped. He clapped, too, and he stood there for a moment and blinked a few times and replied, “What?” His accent was thicker than Varya’s, and thicker than Ilarion’s had been.

“You speak English, don’t you?” Roman snipped, his words and perhaps some of his annoyance masked by the party chatter. Varya shrieked delightedly when Dorian dabbed frosting on her nose. “I asked if you’ve fucked my wife?”

The blonde cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently grateful that the attention had gone from clapping now to cutting the cake. In the corner of his eye, Roman could see Zsasz lurking—watching, keeping an eye, making sure he didn’t need to intervene on Roman’s behalf. Always a good man.

“No, Mr. Sionis,” Maxim replied, talking over the din of music and laughter.

Good, Roman thought. And then: “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Fuck,” Roman bit out, “my wife?”

Maxim barked out a laugh. He looked caught off-guard by the question—like maybe he wasn’t sure if Roman was asking to threaten or offering to join their marital bed—and then he said, “You have put me in an uncomfortable position. If I say no, I am insulting my childhood friend. If I say yes, I am insulting my new boss.”

There was something about this that flared a little spike of victory in Roman’s chest. Yes, that was right—he was Maxim’s new boss. And Maxim should be nervous about pissing him off, shouldn’t he?

“But,” the blonde plunged on, “I imagine having something that other people want feels good, does it not?”

His eyes narrowed. He smiled thinly. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Yeah,” he agreed, “it sure fucking does.”

There was a moment where it looked as though the other man was going to say something, his mouth opening but no words coming out, brows knitting together at the center of his forehead; but then silk and warm stretches of skin were filling up Roman’s vision, Varya having swept around to come to him, eyes bright. They’d only been at the party for a little while, but already his fingers were itching—he wanted, having stood by idly while greedy hands brushed against his Varya, and it was time to erase them all, he reasoned. Wipe her clean of them as best he knew how.

Still, she had not looked so happy in a while, he thought. Varya always beamed around the twins, practically glowing radioactive from the inside out, but it had been a long time since he’d seen her so delighted without them in her arms. And surely, this was a testament to his doing—his meticulous, flawless planning, regardless of whatever wrench Maxim Kuznetsov was trying to throw. Yes, Roman thought, he had done exceptionally, in this as in all things.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, “are you playing nice?”

“I’m always nice, kitten,” he demurred, sliding his arms around her waist and nosing the hair at her temple automatically. Every time she came around, the gravitational pull was inevitable—hands on, hands on, hands on, making sure everybody knew exactly who she belonged to. “But you can ask your little friend, if you’re worried I’ve hurt his feelings.”

He said, you can ask, but he kissed her after he said it, purring against her mouth and keeping her otherwise preoccupied; when she did pull away, still encircled in his arms, she smoothed her hand along the exposed skin of his sternum and looked inquisitively at Maxim.

Roman mimicked the tilt of her head. The blonde regarded him for a moment, and then Varya, and then smiled.

“Your husband is very accommodating, Varushka,” he told her, shrugging as if to say, and what else would he be? “I have never met a man like him.”

He felt his mouth downturn—Varushka, the same pet name Ilarion had used with her. It was one thing to accept that his wife’s twin brother would always be held in high regard in her memory, that he’d had to endure the Varushkas and the closeness that they had shared that purposefully, intimately excluded him.

“That’s because there’s nobody like me,” Roman idled, despite the venom thrumming in his veins. He was cool. He was cool and fine and totally cool. Varya hummed and planted a kiss against the slope of his jaw; her nose brushed the hollow of his throat, more than content to remain there.

But even though their exchange remained pleasant, for a second, the blonde Russian regarded him with the same deadpan, venomous gaze that Ilarion had so often. It was so close to the way his wife’s twin had looked at him, in fact, that the disdain which had been almost exclusively reserved for Ilarion himself now prickled up the back of his throat like a bile—instinctual, muscle memory.

He had seen the same look crossing the faces of the men from St. Petersburg, flown all the way to Gotham to meet their new pakhan, as Varya had put it: disdain. We’re not for you, those fleeting glances said, despite the acknowledgment in all other things that they were. What do we want with some American gangster?

He was vaguely aware of Varya and Maxim saying something, exchanging words, but their voices had dulled to the cartoonish wah wah wah of an old-time cartoon, with Varya’s occasional laugh vibrating against his sternum. Maxim waved a hand dramatically. There was ink, there; he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d been too busy inspecting the man’s stupid fucking face, trying to find the lip of his mask somewhere in there. False fucking face, that’s all it was.

And yet: Roman could not help but feel a little burn of intrigue at the sight of the inked Cyrillic letters on the back of the man’s hand.

“—stairs, my darling?”

Varya’s voice bled through the dull static that had overtaken his mind. He glanced at her, reaching up and tracing the slope of her jaw with his thumb, his other fingers splaying along the spine of her neck. Obediently, her chin tilted. She was complacent like this—docile, even; he could have snapped her neck if he wanted, dug his nails into that warm, dusky skin and watched the blood well, and she would have let him—so much so that he wondered at it for a moment. All of his hard work, all of his tempering, cupped right there in his hand; she was his.

Rather than admit to having checked out of their conversation, Roman pressed the pad of a gloved thumb against her lower lip and deferred, “Whatever you want, kitten.”

Briefly, the thought that he had agreed to let Maxim into his loft occurred. Oh, what a dreadful thought.

“Then it’s settled,” she replied. “You can stay while the party goes on, of course, Maxi.”

Maxim lifted his head, regarding them with a gaze that was no longer venomous, but playful. “Of course.”

“And you’ll leave the address of where you’re staying with Armazd?”

“If you want it, I will.” He cocked his head, smiling politely. “Goodnight, the both of you. I am happy to finally put a face to the name Roman Sionis.”

What the fuck is it with these people, he thought wearily, and with no absence of annoyance. This is just how it had been before—everyone saying things beneath the things they were saying, layers and layers and layers, piling up over each other. Didn’t any of these stupid fucking gun dogs say anything exactly the way it was?

“Yes,” Roman agreed, “I bet you are.”

With great purpose—and having determined that Varya was quite done with the evening—he planted his hands on her hips and turned her, steering her towards the doors which exited out of the club and into the hallway housing the elevator. It was her birthday, after all; there was nothing he could do except whatever it was she wanted.

“Goodnight, Maxim,” he said over his shoulder, steering the brunette in his grasp toward the door. A distressed ugh! sounded to his left, and he turned to see Dorian glaring at him accusingly.

“You get her all the time, Roman,” the journalist announced. “Surely you can spare her for a little longer?”

“Afraid I can’t,” he replied over his shoulder, squeezing Varya’s hip when she stifled her laughter. “You see Dorian, close to a year ago, Varya and I decided that we had plenty of other uses for cake to be explored on our birthdays—”

Another disgusted sound came, but it was too late; Roman was already nudging Varya through the doors to the hallway, and down to the elevator. Once the door clicked shut behind them, it was quiet; it was the one area of the building where it seemed like the air conditioning didn’t quite reach, having so many accesses to the outside, and so the air already felt a little humid and muggy.

“Oh, we forgot the cake,” Varya pouted, trailing ahead of him. She’d collected the hem of her silk dress loosely in one hand, keeping it from the floor as she wandered to the elevator to push the button. The neon red of the Exit sign cut across one side of her, illuminating her in half crimson and half shadow. It reminded him of the night he’d come back to the loft to find her covered in another man’s blood, kitchen knife in hand.

And mine, he thought. Varya Astakhova, the gem of St. Petersburg, only living heir to the Astakhov gun-running fortune, his wife.

“Darling,” she purred, breaking him out of his thoughts, “are you going to just stand there all night?”

“Maybe,” he replied idly. “Maybe I will just stand here all night and stare at my wife, hm? Who would stop me?”

“Well, certainly not me,” she demurred, turning to look at him fully now. “But you can hardly kiss me from there. And what am I suppose to do, go without cake and without your hands on me?”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Roman thought about the way Maxim had looked at him—just for that tiny split second—all of the disdain and venom welling in his gaze before it was wiped away. Your husband is very accommodating, I’ve never met a man like him. And that fucking tattoo on his hand. It nagged at him, dragged his attention away from the very, very delicious task at hand.

“Roman?”

“You go,” he announced. “I’ll be up in just a minute.”

A plush, ruby lower lip pouted out. Roman sidled over to the elevator, planting a gloved hand on the doorway so that the doors wouldn’t close, and she prompted, “What could you have possibly forgotten when all you need is right here?”

“You are most spectacular,” Roman agreed, reaching up and twisting a curl around his finger. “But it’s just a quick thing. Don’t worry that pretty head, kitten. I’ll be up in no time, and you had better—”

When he leaned in, their noses brushed; Varya hooked her fingers in the space between the buttons of his collared shirt and tugged a little, playfully, humming sweetly.

“—have this dress off,” he finished, voice pitching low and warm, “by the time I get up there.”

“And what if I don’t?” The cloying, saccharine tone of her voice belied the little spark of rebellion in her words. Roman made a pleasant sound against her mouth, a humid warmth plunging down his spine when she closed the tiny space between them to kiss him; it was entirely unhurried, and on instinct his free hand went to the small of her back, pulling her more flush against him as her lips parted prettily beneath his to sigh.

He said into the kiss, “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

“Is it a test?” Roman felt her smile. “I love tests.”

“Get upstairs,” he growled, unable to resist a final kiss. “Wicked thing.”

Varya did pull back, reluctantly and with a dramatic, long sigh. She’d always had a thing for the dramatics. “Fine, I will go upstairs all alone,” she drawled. “Don’t keep me waiting, Romy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He stepped back, dropping his hand from the elevator door and turning around to head back to the club. The party was still in full swing; people wouldn’t even begin to start leaving for another few hours, patiently and dutifully babysat by Armazd and Zsasz (well, mostly Armazd—Zsasz was not good at being ‘patient’ or ‘dutiful’ if it didn’t include face-carving). It was like having three nannies on payroll, instead of just the one.

The door swung shut behind him. People chattered brightly over the music, lingering around tables in clustered groups. He could see at least half a dozen mobsters and their families, associates of Varya’s from overseas, socialites she had charmed and wealthy businessmen determined to get into their good graces before the weapons chokehold came into full effect.

But there was only one man he wanted to see.

Dorian Young had been smitten with Varya since the moment they’d met, through Roman—and since then, they’d been nearly inseparable. Dorian had even done her the kindness of writing Ilarion a flattering obituary. It would have been annoying, if Roman considered Dorian a threat in the least. He did not.

“Dorian,” he barked out, catching the brunette’s attention. He smiled, full-teeth and as charmingly as he could. “Buddy-mine. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Dorian arched a brow loftily. “A favor outside of the eternal wisdom of Gotham’s madonna, Roman? How scandalous. You know I can’t resist a special in.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Roman adjusted one of his gloves absently, glancing around the room before inclining his head and taking a few steps outside of the cluster of milling partygoers. He didn’t have many concerns about being overheard, given the noise level, but it was better safe than sorry. “You have access to certain records, don’t you?”

Now two perfectly-manicured brows arched upward before Dorian cleared his throat, dark eyes fluttering in a bat at innocence.

“I’m a journalist, Roman,” he intoned somberly. “If someone were to give me access to records that were anything but public, it would be a grave and disgusting infringement on the American Privacy—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, shut the fuck up,” Roman interjected, waving his hand. “I don’t give a shit about that. How about this: you don’t use the records you aren’t able to access, and you don’t dig up literally everything you can on Maxim Kuznetsov.”

“The ex-boyfriend?” Dorian tsked his tongue. “Roman, green is not your color.”

“Hey? Dorian? Don’t be a fucking moron.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well just say you’ll do it.”

“You mean,” Dorian amended, “that I won’t.”

Roman let out an exasperated noise, clapping a hand onto the man’s shoulder and giving him a little jostle that was meant to convey he wished that he could instead be strangling him in that moment. Varya would have been upset if he did. Dorian flashed him a pearly grin.

“Consider it done. Or not-done, as the case may be.” He took a swig of his drink, sucking his teeth. “Anything I should be on the look-out for?”

“Any red flags. Suspicious shopping behavior. Outgoing calls to private numbers. He’ll likely have two separate phones—one burner, one not.” Roman dropped his hand from Dorian’s shoulder. “Armazd will have his address, if you want to get that from him before you leave tonight. And—one more thing.”

The journalist looked at him expectantly, waiting.

“Not a word,” he continued. “To anyone. But especially not to Varya.”

“If you’re sure,” Dorian ventured.

“The surest.”

It was when he turned to depart the party—for real, this time; he was tired of waiting to unwrap his wife—that Dorian said, “Roman?”

A deep, calming breath. I need Dorian, he reminded himself, and V’s fond of him. Roman pulled another one-eighty. “Yes, Dorian, beloved of my wife?”

“How is Varya?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, really?”

The question was not one that Roman had anticipated. Why would she be anything other than great, glowing, in love with her life? Sure, the last year had been full of turmoil—but they had come out of it fine. Better than fine. Roman had gotten everything he had wanted, and Varya—well, much the same, hadn’t she?

Dorian’s prying reminded him of the way Varya’s body had stilled, the way her expression had hardened, that dark, wild look slipping into her eyes when the lights in the club had blinked on to reveal the surprise party. She’d looked frigid, the softness wiped clean from her in that split moment.

“She’s fine,” Roman replied after a minute. “I mean—she’s great. What do you mean?”

“I can’t get a good read on her. You know,” Dorian pointed out. “And she did watch her supposed-to-be-dead daddy unload a round into her twin brother while she was drugged to the gills on ketamine.”

Well, when you put it like that, Roman thought dryly.

“Some of us, Dorian,” he said primly, “are able to rise above our trials and tribulations and come out better, hm?”

The journalist smiled. He didn’t looked swayed by Roman’s words, but eventually he said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I find out anything.”

“Good man.”

It was only a few minutes from the club’s main floor up to the loft, but those few minutes felt like an eternity; stretching out, impossibly long and endless in front of him. Varya’s birthday was supposed to have been a problem-less occasion, and now he had several problems lining themselves up in front of them. Chiefly, Kuznetsov. And the rest of them, too, but mostly Maxim.

Roman tugged the gloves from his hands and shrugged the suit jacket from his shoulders as the doors to the loft slid open, the gentle ding announcing his arrival. Faintly, he could hear the classical music that Varya favored to play in the twins’ room as they slept; there would be a little speaker on the table closest to her side of the bed, so that she could rouse the second either of them needed her, but they were good babies, like she’d said; it was rare when they didn’t sleep through the night.

He tossed the articles he’d disrobed from onto the long dining table as he passed, nudging the door to the bedroom open.

“Ah,” he sighed, eyes roaming expanses of warm, dusky skin exposed to him as Varya lay stretched out on the bed, “I see we went with behaving tonight?”

“I told you,” she replied demurely, “I love a good test. I can hardly resist the challenge.” Her eyes glittered playfully, and she propped herself up on her elbows, the silk of her underclothes rustling in a way that beckoned him—his hands, his mouth. “You didn’t bring any cake up?”

A quick laugh billowed out of Roman as he sidled over, stepping out of his shoes before climbing onto the bed. “It’s vanilla, you know. Not chocolate. It would have been sacrilege, in memory of our first big fight.”

“Was it chocolate?”

“Oh, yes,” he told her gravely. “I’d never forget. Don’t you remember? You were a terrible brat to me, and then you didn’t speak to me for a week, and then you showed up with a cake—”

“Terrible brat?” She laughed, feigning insult. “On my birthday, no less.”

He grinned. Leaning down, he pressed a leisurely, open-mouthed kiss to the top of her sternum, hooking one hand in the crook of her knee to yank her down the bed so that she was more firmly under him, eliciting a playful little shriek out of her before he tugged the tie of her robe loose.

“Your birthday, yet here I am, unwrapping a present,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the slope of her jaw. He rumbled, pleased, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know.”

Varya made a sweet little sound. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Roman kissed down the pillar of her throat, dragging his tongue over a faded love-bite bruise. He’d need to renew that. “Especially when you put on that dress. Admittedly, I am a bit disappointed—I was looking forward to cutting it off of you if you misbehaved.”

“For someone who spent all day thinking about me,” she murmured coyly, “you certainly spent long enough coming up here.”

Roman paused in what he was doing—his fingers hooked in the top hem of her underwear, scandalous things that they were—and glanced up at her. He was trying to gauge where she was actually at, emotionally, but true to what Dorian had said, it was almost impossible to get a read on her.

“It’s just business, baby,” he replied.

“Oh. Of course.”

“You see? I told you not to worry about it.”

“Yes,” Varya agreed, “what would I know of business?”

Roman groaned, pressing his forehead to the smooth plane of her sternum. The scent of her jasmine perfume washed over him, and even though he was this close to indulging himself (which he, above all others, deserved the most), he knew Varya wouldn’t let go of the conversation so easily.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. He let the fabric of her underwear snap back into place against her hip bone, sliding down her body to kiss down her abdomen. “Focus on enjoying your birthday,” he added, “and let your man worry about everything else, hm?”

Varya’s lashes fluttered lightly, eyes watching him hungrily as he worked his way lower and lower still.

“Ambitious,” she murmured, “to think that I will let go of it so easily.”

“Well,” Roman replied against her skin, “I suppose it’s lucky that I love tests, too. And I always—”

The thin, silky fabric of her underwear made the most delicious sound as it ripped, tearing satisfyingly. Varya made a soft, sweet sound, and he glanced back up at her.

“—pass with flying colors.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In his experience, Roman found that the best time to approach Varya about things was first thing in the morning. If he was exerting any amount of true self-awareness, of course, he would have acknowledged that “approaching” Varya about anything was not about the time of day, but rather how it was done—a skill Roman thought he had only honed in their short time together.

It was nearly ten; they’d roused late, thanks to the previous evening’s festivities—including an after-hours indulgence that Roman was more than pleased to drag out— and now Varya was chatting conversationally with Zsasz, who provided minimal noises between mouthfuls of food. It was as though her annoyance from the previous night had faded with the glow of morning, which left only the bones that Roman had left to pick.

Therefore, in a show of good faith, he let the chatter carry on for a little while before he decided to Broach(TM).

“So,” he said, sitting in his usual spot at the head breakfast table, “Maxim is funny.”

To his right, the brunette hummed and idly stirred her coffee. The gentle clink-clink of her spoon against the side of the mug was almost soothing; little creature comforts Roman hadn’t realized very often that he truly liked.

“I don’t remember you ever mentioning him,” Roman continued casually.

“I do not like to talk about boring things.” Varya’s brow was furrowed, lips pressing into a little line as she read the newspaper. “Pass me the cream, my love?”

She was feigning disinterest, but he thought she might have been listening more closely than she let on; one wolfish little ear swiveled in his direction, always.

He did as she asked. “He has an interesting tattoo on his hand.”

“I did not notice.”

“No?”

Varya finally tilted her head to look at him, dark eyes inquisitive. She didn’t ask what it was she was thinking, not right away; instead, she waited, did that thing where she let him sit in silence, maybe in the hopes that he’d fill it with his own chatter. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t stupid.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, setting the paper down and resting her chin in her hand as she gazed at him, “won’t you just ask me what you want to ask me?”

There was no room to stop the irritated noise that came out of him at her words. He scoffed and settled more comfortably in his chair, lifting his chin a little and watching her.

“Or we can play the little game,” she acquiesced, as though she were speaking to a particularly tedious child. “You don’t really care about Maxim’s tattoo. You just care what I think of him.” She fluttered her lashes. “Hm?”

“No,” he replied tartly. “I’m curious about the tattoo.” He paused. “And also what you think of him.”

“I think he is boring.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

A smile curved her mouth, delicate and fine a gesture as gossamer spread across those soft, Renaissance-features. That painting of her that had been done in the ballroom of the Astakhov mansion was still around somewhere, wasn’t it? Not that he needed a painting when he had the real thing, but maybe he’d hang it in the foyer, as a reminder to anyone who just happened to pass by.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Roman continued idly, “this man of yours—”

“My man, is he?”

“—is just one more obstacle to getting what I wanted. How do you think he’s going to react when he finds out that you put his daddy in the ground?”

“If,” Varya replied. “And what do you mean, obstacle?”

Another scoff came out of him. “Varya,” he chided, voice welling with a patronizing tone, warm and buttery, “come now.”

“Roman,” she replied. Her tone mimicked his. “Explain it to me like I am five.”

“I know the oh-so-omniscient lords of St. Petersburg and Moscow are dragging their fucking feet because they don’t like me.”

“You are trying too hard.” She settled back, dipping a bit of cream into her coffee and stirring again. Clink-clink. It offered him no comfort now; it had become a way for Varya to dismiss him. Don’t you see, Roman, how busy I am? “They are like cats. If you try too hard to gain their affections, they will balk and bolt. They hate being coddled, except by a woman. It’s terribly outdated, but what can you do?”

“I’m—” A sharp, incredulous noise came out of him. “I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to the lot of them!”

“You see? That is already too much.”

“Well, I don’t want them to like me,” he managed out, feeling the bubbling frustration rising up in him. “I couldn’t give a shit if they like me or not. I want them to accept that leadership is changing hands and they have a new boss to answer to, now.” He leaned forward, forearms rested on the table. “And I know Daddy Astakhov liked to brand his things, hm? So what’s Maxim’s tattoo mean?”

Varya leaned forward, too. “I do not know,” she replied evenly, “and I wish you would stop bringing that man up in my presence.”

“I can’t very well erase him from the conversation completely when I’m inheriting his business.”

“My,” she snapped out viciously, suddenly, “you are inheriting my business, Roman.”

It was just a split second. It was only a split second of venom welling up in her expression, suddenly so wicked that not even Roman was shielded from it; it was worse, now, than it had been before. Those times he’d seen the switch inside of her flip had been under great duress. Was this duress to her, now?

Women, Roman thought, watching her smooth dark hair from her face and collect herself. Perhaps motherhood had not made her soft, but rather emotionally volatile. He couldn’t afford to look more hysterical than his wife, so he waited—with great patience and grace, he thought—for her. She cinched the silk robe at her waist more snugly.

“You know that I am happy to do so,” she continued, as though she’d not just bitten his head off in front of Zsasz, “and that I have no problem with it. I just want...” Now, her voice trailed off, and she skimmed the pad of her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup before she picked up the newspaper again, as well as the red-ink ballpoint to her right. “I want it done right, that is all. And if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

A buzzing sound vibrated from the marble hallway leader to the elevator. Roman was waiting for Varya to issue her apology (which she was certainly going to do), and Varya wasn’t looking up from the newspaper.

“Who could be coming so early?” his wife idled, spurring on that molten-hot frustration inside of him as she continued to avoid the topic at hand. “Not someone you called on, Romy?”

The buzzer was the last thing that Roman wanted to think about, let alone deal with. He had much more on his mind; Varya’s elegant dodge of his questions, and—most importantly—her blatant dismissal of his concerns about their current timeline. She was all well and peachy over there, wasn’t she, drinking her coffee and reading her paper and not doing him the courtesy of looking at him?

She had always been a needler, Roman reasoned; she had always had a wild, stubborn streak in her. He’d watched her sit and push Ilarion’s buttons for an entire dinner, once, just to see him get to the edge of snapping at her. She was good at it. He liked it about her, liked watching her do it; might have even made a past-time out of the whole sport of it. How quickly can my little viper unravel a man? Place your bets, gentlemen, time ends when the idiot’s screaming his fucking head off in a public place.

And he would have been foolish to think that she never did it to him.

“Zsasz,” she said, without looking up from the paper, “be a darling and get that, won’t you?”

Zsasz, who had been sitting at the far end of the table watching all of this unfold the way a man might watch a trainwreck happen, moved to come to a stand. Roman barked out, “Stay,” and the movements stilled considerably, immediately. It was satisfying, at least, in an exchange which had been everything but up until then. He turned his gaze to the brunette on his right.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he said tersely. He gestured to Zsasz. “Sit.”

The blonde did. Roman could feel Victor’s eyes darting between them.

“Oh, darling, you are spoiling my morning.” Varya set the newspaper down on the table and smoothed it out primly, the thin paper edges fluttering between her fingers. “Why would you ever say such a silly thing?”

“Varya.”

“Surely you do not mean to.”

“V,” he snapped.

“Well, I do not know what you want me to say,” she replied after a minute, leaning back in her chair to finally look at him. “My father never deigned to share his operations with me. It was always ‘what a tedious child you are, Varvara’ this, and ‘since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved’ that. I mean, the man spent most of my life quoting Machiavelli at me. Do you think he told me what all of his little art projects meant?” She shrugged, picking her newspaper up again, ignoring the second sound of the buzzer. “You could just ask.”

The irritation spiked high and hot in his throat. Of course, he could just ask. Of course, he could, but he was the fucking boss, which meant doing things like asking an employee what a stupid fucking tattoo meant were below him. He replied tersely, “Why don’t you figure it out for me? Clerical work and employee management is your forte, after all.”

Varya hummed. It was a prim, musing hm, the sound she made when he’d said something she found to be particularly annoying. “If you wanted me to personally manage Maxim,” she demurred, glancing at him through dark, sooty lashes, “you only had to say.”

Somehow sensing this particular phrasing was not going to go over well with Roman (it wasn’t), Zsasz said, “Can I buzz ‘em up?”

“Yes,” Varya replied.

“No,” Roman insisted.

“Romy, there’s a guest.”

“I’m not through with you,” he snapped.

“I’m gonna buzz ‘em up,” Zsasz announced.

Roman felt the frustrated note rising in his throat, strangling it before it could quite make its way out of him. His jaw set; his eyes followed Zsasz on his way out of the main room and toward the elevator to—presumably—let up their guest (intruder). He drummed his fingers against the top of the dining table and said, “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?”

“Darling.” Varya leaned forward, elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and cradling her chin atop them. She looked awfully pleased with herself, the little snake, that gigantic stone sitting on her finger. “If I knew what the tattoo meant, I would just tell you. Why not? I could tell you what the word is, but that is hardly ever what the tattoo actually means.”

Darling, she said, as though she hadn’t just snapped her teeth at him moments before. Roman sucked his teeth. Yes, it was very reasonable, he thought; Nikita had always cherished his son over his daughter, had always anticipated Ilarion taking over the business, as Varya had framed it—and even once, Ilarion had confirmed himself. He wanted you and only you, Ilya, and that’s why you couldn’t look at him when he died. That’s what she’d said, and the memory of that night—of Varya, needling the person she was closest to in the world, weaned from venom and taking so much pleasure from inflicting it on someone else—reminded him that there was still much about his wife left to be unearthed.

And it would be an unearthing. Roman had no doubt that it would be a graveyard he would be turning over, full of skeletons—not just a closet.

From the other room, the sound of an infant’s cry drifted down the hall. Varya’s gaze flickered to the space over Roman’s shoulder, behind him, and she came to a stand.

“I will ask, if you would like me to,” she told him, coming around the table and smoothing her hand along his shoulder in what was supposed to be a peace-making gesture. “But I don’t think there is a reason to bother yourself with the detail.”

He felt his mouth press into a thin line. Fine, he thought, fine, the tattoo isn’t a big deal. But what about everything else? “This is all taking a long time, V.”

“I know.” She paused, and then softened a little, all of her button-pushing and needling having dissipated for the moment; Varya leaned down and kissed his temple, and then the top of his cheekbone. “These things take patience, you know. It is not just a—used car business we are inheriting. There are processes, formalities, the like. The men have to know they can trust you.” She paused, tilting her head and regarding him with dark, inquisitive eyes. “You just have to trust me, Romy.”

Roman sighed. I do, he thought, turning his head to look at her. Don’t I?

Of course, he did. She was his wife, the mother of his children—and Roman hadn’t even wanted kids, not really. Not until he realized how much they, by proxy, made Varya belong to him. There was nothing quite so devoted as carrying someone’s child, was there? So yes; he did trust her, in the same capacity at which he supposed a man trusted a relatively-domesticated panther on a chain. Maybe just a smidge more than that. But enough to expect she’d bite off someone else’s hand, and not his.

“Fine,” is what he said, and the word still came out a little petulant. “I will. I do.” Reaching up, he snagged her wrist when she started to pull away, keeping her in place. She watched him expectantly.

When he didn’t say anything—just watched her, gauging her—she prompted playfully, “Are you going to scold me?”

Roman pressed the pad of his thumb to the pulse point on her wrist. His eyes narrowed. “I ought to, vicious girl. You just can’t resist pushing a button when you see it, can you?”

Her pulse jumped pleasantly under warm skin, whether by the term vicious girl or his touch, he didn’t know. It seemed that storminess had passed as soon as it had arrived; and though she hadn’t yet uttered the words I’m sorry, he almost preferred her like this. Coy.

“You would be bored, otherwise.” Her eyes glittered, mischievous. “Don’t you think?”

His fingers stayed curled around her wrist, but she didn’t try and pull away. Watching the flutter of her eyelashes, the way the corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile, he felt nearly won over. How tedious, Roman thought, that even when he was irritated with her, he found her endearing. That’s amore.

“Don’t goad me,” he warned, and Varya smiled dreamily at him.

“I love you,” is what she replied, and then leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let’s never fight again.”

He dropped his grip from her wrist and she stepped around his chair, the silk of her robe fluttering behind her as she started to the sound of babbling infants. The one or two cries that had roused her initially had melted down into baby-chat. Roman was reminded, once again, that they had a nanny on the payroll for seemingly no reason.

“Varya,” he called, taking the newspaper from where she’d left it on the table, “I mean it.”

Her voice drifted from down the hall: “Of course, Romy.”

The sound of the nursery door opening echoed, and then Varya’s voice; saccharine-sweet, honeyed and muffled by distance. He glanced over the front of the newspaper, but it was impossible to focus on the words—what did they matter, anyway? He didn’t give a fuck about what was going on in Gotham. He had bigger fish to fry. Bigger, Russian, potentially radioactive amalgams of different fish that seemed to be stalling on a deal that should have been up and done with already. Not to mention, one of those fish breaking off of the nightmare-fish and showing up, unannounced, sporting tattoos likely administered to him by Nikita Astakhov himself?

These things take patience.

Roman suppressed a scoff. Like he didn’t have patience. He’d been the most patient. Varya had dragged her feet for about a month after they’d put Ilarion in the ground, but after that, things had typically moved fast—the engagement, the twins. Everything except the thing Roman had been waiting for since the beginning. Of course, he’d never anticipated inheriting the business himself and had only gone into the whole thing wanting an exclusive deal, but now he knew better. He knew what was owed to him. He knew what belonged to him.

The elevator door down the main hall dinged. Roman didn’t bother stifling the sigh that wanted to come out of him; it was only ten in the morning, who could possibly need him and for what? He pushed the chair back from the table and came to a stand, sucking his teeth and prepping what he thought could only be the tranquil expression of a man ready to murder before Maxim stepped inside.

He blinked. The tranquility fled his face. Zsasz trailed in after him, looking uneasy. There was something about his expression that didn’t sit right with Roman, the hard lines of the blonde’s face setting him even further on edge. Would his suffering never end?

“Oh, Maximillian,” he greeted, keeping his voice the pinnacle of lazily annoyed. “Clocking in for work a little early, aren’t we? Over-achieving?”

“I am an early riser,” the blonde acquiesced. He looked genuinely apologetic, the fuckhead, in Dolce & Gabbana, no less. “I hope I did not disturb you.”

“A big wager to make, first day on the job.” Roman trailed Zsasz with his eyes, watching the blonde pace around the far end of the table. What had gotten into him since he’d gone to buzz their guest up? Idly, he sat back down at the table, resuming to glance over the words of the newspaper he couldn’t have given two shits about.

And he said nothing. He instead enjoyed, immensely, the act of letting Maxim stand there in silent uncertainty. It was probably almost a full minute before Maxim cleared his throat, prompting Roman to set his newspaper down with a sigh, as though it were very troubling that he had to stop this thing he didn’t even want to do.

“If you’re here to play catch-up with Varya, she’s busy today,” he deadpanned, turning his gaze reluctantly to where Maxim stood. “And every other day. Generally, I think it would be safe to assume she’s much too preoccupied to assist with whatever problems you might have; that type of work is beneath her now, you know.”

“I am sure being a mother and wife is more than enough to keep her busy,” Maxim agreed soberly.

“And transitioning the business in my name,” Roman replied pointedly.

The blonde shrugged, smiling a little. “Of course.”

He felt his eyes narrow. He leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers while his elbows rested on the armrests of the chair. It was impossible to figure out what it was about Maxim that Varya might have liked; the man was painfully well-mannered and non-confrontational, which Roman knew wasn’t her style at all.

Never mind that Varya had not once said that there was a romantic interaction between them. That didn’t matter. He knew how men looked at his wife, and Maxim had been a little too comfortable touching her for there to have been nothing at all.

“But, I did not come here to speak to Varya,” the Russian continued, taking a few steps toward the table. “I actually came here to speak to you, Roman.”

Roman blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“I wanted to come and see if you were free today,” Maxim elaborated casually. “I was Nikita’s man. Now, I am yours. It only seems right I get to know you better.” He gestured with his hand. “I know you have more than enough help around here, and I was tied up in Turkey before, but...”

Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line. He saw no trace of yesterday’s venom in Maxim’s face, no indication that he was trying to be sarcastic or pull some kind of joke. Instead, Maxim’s face looked completely open and earnest.

“You’re here to ask me on a fucking lunch date,” he began, “and not Varya?”

“Varya,” the blonde replied demurely, “is not my boss.”

Huh, Roman thought. He swept his gaze over Maxim scathingly, and then looked at Zsasz, who remained unreadable. Well, wasn’t that just the most unhelpful thing? It did feel nice to hear Maxim say it, even if Roman would rather see him crying or begging or bleeding out.

“I’m busy today,” he replied after a moment, turning his attention back to Maxim. “But you can swing by the—”

“Maxim.” It was Varya’s voice. Roman turned to look at her. There was no baby in tow. This wouldn’t have been unusual, if Maxim had been a stranger; she tended to keep the twins as far out of reach of people she did not know as much as possible, nested away for safety. But Maxim had been her childhood friend, hadn’t he?

“Good morning,” Maxim greeted her warmly. “I was just asking Roman if he would—”

“I know what you were asking,” Varya interrupted. “You overestimate yourself, showing up to your boss’ home unannounced, don’t you think?”

Maxim looked about as lost as Roman felt; the sensation that he’d stepped into a fever dream very suddenly was washing over him. He looked at Zsasz. The blonde gave a little shrug, as though to say, Why the fuck would I know?

“Varushka,” Maxim ventured after a moment, “you know I did not mean...”

“I don’t know anything at all,” the brunette replied coolly. “You should have called ahead.” She paused, and then added purposefully: “Temka never showed up unannounced.”

Roman found himself in the very strange position of feeling...bad (?) for Maxim, standing there a little helplessly, the poor thing. Varya’s words had gutted him. He could only assume that she was referring to the blonde’s father when she said Temka, by the look on his face, and that—

Oh, you wicked thing, he thought, affection welling up inside of him as he looked at Varya, you know just how to unravel a man. Sticking a salted hot-poker straight into his grief-wound, aren’t you?

“I am sorry,” Maxim said after a minute. “I did not mean to be so thoughtless.”

“The transgression is not mine to forgive.” Varya swept around Roman then, sitting back down in her seat. She looked at him, expectant. “Roman?”

“Me?” he asked.

“It is as Maxim said,” she replied. “You are his boss, not me.”

He waited to see if there was some kind of strange undertow to her words, but he could find none; just Varya waiting, expectantly, for him to excuse Maxim’s showing up without having called ahead. It was odd, and he couldn’t figure out why it was that she was acting like this toward Maxim now—had it been the Varya is not my boss comment? Was she trying to make up for their little spat?

It was commonplace for nothing to be straightforward, with Varya. This was different.

“So,” she continued primly, turning to look at Maxim now, “apologize to your boss.”

“I am—” Maxim stopped, like he didn’t want to do it, drawing Roman’s gaze to him. Quite suddenly, Roman thought he knew exactly what his wife was doing; putting the blonde in a position where he’d have to put good faith behind his words. Varya is not my boss, he’d said, but did that matter if he couldn’t even apologize to Roman?

He finished, more smoothly now, “I am sorry, Roman.”

Roman beamed. “Insolence forgiven,” he replied, all thoughts of his disagreement with Varya gone now. He reached over the table, snagging her hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. “As I was saying—I am busy today, but you are welcome to swing by the club later this evening. Before midnight. We get busiest just before the witching hour.”

Maxim ducked his head. “Of course.”

Varya’s nails skimmed Roman’s palm. She didn’t look up when she said, “Was there something else, Maxim?”

“I do not think so.”

“Then,” she replied sweetly, “have a lovely afternoon.”

A moment stretched where the blonde looked a little unsure, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” and excused himself down the hall. Varya circled something in the newspaper with her red-ink pen, her other hands still interlaced with Roman’s.

“Mr. Zsasz,” she began, “did you let Maxim up?”

Zsasz looked at Roman. “I didn’t,” he replied after a minute. “Armazd did.”

“Hm,” came the reply, even as she noted something in the margins of the paper.

“Were you apologizing for your tantrum, just now?” Roman asked. He would puzzle out why Armazd letting Maxim up was worthy of a hm later. Now, he could see the hint of a smile ticking the corners of Varya’s mouth upward, but she did not sway from whatever it was that had captured her attention in the news of Gotham; instead, she circled something absently.

Varya said, “Did you find it a suitable apology?”

He considered. “Well, I would have liked it better if you’d made him cry.”

“It would have spoiled my appetite,” she demurred, folding the newspaper primly and coming to a stand. “I am taking the twins to the park with Irina. And Zsasz too, if you’ll spare him. I won’t be back until late afternoon.”

“Late? Then you’d better come here, wife.” Roman tugged on her hand, watching her expression warm when he said wife. Once, he might have squinted at loaning Zsasz out to her. Now, he didn’t mind; especially if it gave a peace of mind that she and the twins be that more secure. “So that I can get my fill of you before you’re gone.”

The brunette laughed, letting him tug her down onto his lap. She carded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and brushed their noses together; it was all glowing affection, now, warmth buzzing under her skin.

“Oh, darling, now I want to leave quicker, and more often,” she murmured, “so that you’ll never have your fill of me.”

Roman supposed that was how she’d gotten him in the first place. Hooked him with being inaccessible, with being coveted—as if she had always known he was not a man could resist something considered off-limits—and now that he had her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d seen the way that others looked at her, and by proxy him; with want. With envy. Bruce Wayne could eat shit.

“Roman,” Varya said, “I want you to be careful when you are around Maxim.”

He paused, pulling back to look at her a little. She smoothed her hand over the slope of his collarbone affectionately.

“You are right,” she continued. “When Maxim finds out what I did—if he does—he will be angry about it. He is used to being the right-hand man, you know. Do not...” She glanced down, looking for the words. “Do not give it to him so easily. Make him work for it and prove himself to you.”

Tracing the lines of her expression—soft, concerned—Roman dragged his thumb across her wrist.

“I told you, doll.” He planted an affectionate kiss to her wrist. “Don’t worry about these things. I’ve got it perfectly under control.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I know you do, Romy—”

“Then stop this fussing,” he interjected mildly. “You’re spoiling your very charming apology. You know I love a good public humiliation. Which park are you taking the twins to?”

The dark eyes of his wife swept over his face for a minute, contemplative and impossible to gauge, before she smiled at him warmly.

“The one just a few blocks away. It has the most shade. Mr. Zsasz, won’t you bring the car around?”

And just like that, things were back to normal. Varya swept away to busy herself with getting ready and loading the twins, and Zsasz went to pull the car around, leaving Roman at the table for a rare moment of peace. Soon enough, he’d have all the information he needed from Dorian, and he could well-and-truly mitigate Maxim Kuznetsov as a problem, and everything would be back on track. He could bet money Varya didn’t think he’d had the foresight to dig up information on Maxim—it wasn’t his style to get his hands dirty, but extreme circumstances called for extreme measures.

Roman sighed, quite pleased.

Back to normal.

#spilled ink #f: the land of gods and devils #roman sionis/oc #x: this smile is a loaded gun #c: varya astakhova #c: roman sionis #c: victor zsasz #c: maxim kuznetsov #honorable mention to dorian for being a true homie #birds of prey fic #birds of prey oc #i think uhhhhhhhh yeah i think that's it!#thank you thank you thank you everyone who has even given me a tiny bit of love for this #it's definitely a project that's self-indulgent but !!!!#<3

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chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Leftovers - Part Five - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

Previous parts: Masterlist

Summary: Nadja sneaks the reader to the vampire rave and things go--predictably--sideways. As in, the reader is in danger! Featuring more Nadja/Reader bonding and some snuggling with Nandor. The reader is feeling more and more at home with the vampires and maybe even starting to see the allure of the vamp life...

A/N: Hey guys! Really read the warnings here. This chapter has some serious angst! I Hope you guys enjoy it and thanks forever for commenting and reblogging--it means the world!

Warnings!!: Memory loss, Hypnosis, Drug use, vampire attack, angst, hurt/comfort

---

You’re seated at the top of the stairs resting your chin in your hands and watching the rest of the household bustle around the front hallway as they prepare to leave for the vampire rave. Nadja is dressed in a stunning midnight black gown studded with sparkling gemstones. You decide that you must have dreamed about her promising to take you because she doesn’t even glance in your direction as they start to file out the front door.

Nandor tries to catch your eye from below but you stubbornly turn your head. You don’t know how it’s possible after living here for such a short time but it hurts to be left out. Even Guillermo is tagging along. You’re the only one being excluded and it stings.

Nandor refuses to let you sulk in peace. He walks up the stairs towards you and your treasonous eyes track his progress, drinking in the image of him in his tall boots with the cape flowing out behind him. His legs are long and thick and your fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch him. He stops a few steps down and you finally look up at his face.

“Stop this moping around!” he orders with a whine in his voice. “The whole house smells like sad human.”

“Take me with you, then!” you demand, standing to your feet. For once you’re actually taller than him. “You’re taking Guillermo!”

Nandor shakes his head, “Guillermo is a familiar! They’re off limits to other vampires. You’re just…”

He stops himself from completing the sentence so you do it for him.

“Just...food?” you supply and you’re aggravated to feel tears stinging your eyes.

“Yes!” Nandor blurts, somewhat oblivious to the way your face crumples. “And I’m not going to spend the whole party guarding you from other vampires!”

You retreat back towards your bedroom with a disgusted shake of your head.

“You’re horrible!”

---

“It wasn’t really a punishment, not inviting the human to the rave party,” Nandor sits in a tall-backed armchair and looks into the camera. “I was more worried about another vampire eating her…”

He’s silent for a beat, looking off to the side in contemplation.

“But Nadja is a bad influence! The human is becoming very insolent!”

---

You’re deep into your sulk and watching Netflix on your laptop when a scraping sound from the window interrupts the gloom. You look up but, of course, you can see nothing through the layer of newspaper pasted over the glass panes to keep out sunlight. The scraping starts up again and this time it’s accompanied by the faint sound of something flapping up against the glass.

You creep up to the window, body tense with anticipation, and you slowly peel off a piece of newspaper to peer out into the darkness.

THWACK!

You flinch backwards as a bat flies into the glass, squeaking and flapping its wings to be let inside.

“...the fuck? Are you serious!?”

You’re either about to find out that vampires turning into bats is a real thing...or you’re about to get rabies. You heave the solid window open and the bat glides inside, exploding into a cloud of black vapor and appearing as Nadja, looking cool and completely nonchalant.

“You can turn into a bat!?” you screech, forgetting your foul mood at once.

Nadja flips her wrist at you, “Of course, my cheeky darling. That’s, like, the most basic power for a vampire. Very simple.”

“Wow...” you marvel under your breath, eyes wide with admiration. Could she be any more cool?

“Now, come to my crypt, baby human. I’ve laid something out for you to wear,” she snaps her fingers and turns on her heel, expecting you to follow obediently. Which...you do.

Now that she’s really here to take you to the rave, of course, you’re awash with second thoughts. Maybe Nandor was right...maybe it’s too risky.

“I don’t know, Nadja...won’t it be dangerous? I mean, Laszlo said it’s basically a feeding frenzy, right?” you hate how diffident you sound but--hey--on the other hand you really like being alive.

“Pshh, don’t worry about that, human,” she scoffs. “I won’t let anyone eat you. Besides, most of those humans will be fine. You don’t want to drink too much drug blood. You only take a little sip and then erase their memory.”

You stay silent as she leads you into the crypt. You know from experience how disorienting “a little sip” can feel…

But your qualms fly out the window when Nadja holds up the dress she’s selected for you.

“What do you think, darling? You will look like a real little baby vampire in this…”

It’s a floor-length gown in shimmery black and silver brocade with a high neckline and short sleeves trimmed in lace. It’s like nothing you’ve ever imagined wearing and your mouth drops open in awe. Nadja grins and pushes it into your arms.

“Put it on and then I will do something with your hair. Don’t worry about bloody, stupid Nandor. He’s just being a pig dick because he wants to do sex with you but if he does, it will ruin your blood.”

“Wha--how--?” you choke in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“Oh, sweet, stupid human,” Nadja croons and cups your cheeks in her hands. “Nandor is as obvious as a turkey strutting around and waving his feathers in your face. He smells like desire whenever you are near him. Very distinct, very nauseating. He’s just too dumb to know what to do about it.”

Your shoulders droop. It’s obvious Nandor is interested...it’s just a question of whether he’s more interested in you or your blood. You think you know the answer.

Nadja senses the morose train of your thoughts and she interrupts, “But if he sees you in this? He will tear the hair from his chest in anguish until you let him ravish you! Trust me, girly. I know what I’m talking about.”

---

Nadja tucks your hand into the crook of her elbow and leads you up to the doors at the back of the building. A burly vampire stands before the entrance and holds up a hand as you approach.

“Password?” her voice is deep and gravelly. Goosebumps course over your arms and you tuck yourself closer to Nadja.

Rather than respond verbally, Nadja flashes her fangs which seems to be good enough because you’re beckoned through the door right away. Once inside your senses are immediately overwhelmed. Music pours over you, the bass pulsing through your bones. It’s dark except for the flashes of strobe lights and the neon glow of dancers decked in glow sticks and covered in luminescent body paint. Before you’re even out of the doorway someone lurches up to you with a small tube of paint in their hands and presses a finger to your cheek, drawing a heart on your skin. Nadja shoves them away with a curse.

“Fucking, cheeky human! I should kill him for touching you,” she growls.

You’re too busy taking in the sights and sounds to be perturbed. You just pat her arm and yell over the music, “It’s fine, Nadja!”

The vampire shakes away her annoyance and leans into your ear with a giddy grin, “Let’s party, baby.”

Nadja moves through the throng like a queen, expecting the masses to part before her. And they do. You follow along in her wake feeling a bit like a fraud in your borrowed finery. But you suddenly flash back to your early derby days when you’d been petrified of actually going out and skating in front of a crowd of people. Your sister skater clunked her helmet with yours, spit out her mouth guard and said, “Fake it till you make it!”

You lift your chin and for a moment you imagine what it would be like if you were the predator stalking through the night in search of weak, mortal prey. And suddenly it feels like the crowd is parting for both of you.

“Oooo, this looks like a tasty little morsel!” Nadja exclaims, eyeing a petite girl in her 20′s dressed head-to-toe in blinding neon colors. Nadja glides up to the girl and waves her hand in front of her face as she drawls, “You will come with me into the bathroom.”

You trail after them, not wanting to let Nadja out of your sight knowing that there are other vampires here hunting within the crowd.

Nadja clears the bathroom with a wave of her hand and an imperious command. You stand to the side and watch as she takes the girl in her arms and buries her fangs into her soft neck. It should be shocking and terrible but...you’re not bothered. Why aren’t you bothered? Watching Nadja make her attack is like watching a lioness take down a gazelle. She’s powerful and deadly, yes, but also impressive.

She throws her head back and her blood-stained lips part in a dazed grin. The girl in her arms starts to squirm away and Nadja tightens her hold, drawing the human in with her gaze and speaking just one word, “Forget.”

You watch the girl’s eyes glaze over as Nadja releases her. She stumbles out of the bathroom and back out into the crowd.

“What if another vampire decides to bite her?” you worry. All these people--yourself included--seem suddenly so fragile and vulnerable in the face of a vampire’s power.

“So?” Nadja asks. She’s licking her lips and swaying a little where she stands, obviously feeling the effects of the drug blood.

“So?” you echo. “So...she could...die…”

Saying these words out loud to your vampire roommate sounds suddenly daft.

Nadja snorts and then she’s overcome with giggles. She leans into your side as you make your way back out onto the dance floor.

“My silly human...you feel bad because you’re still human. I get it. But...you’ll understand eventually,” she says the words directly into your ear so as to be heard over the music.

“When we...you know,” she mimics biting you and then puts her own wrist to your mouth. You want to ask her what the hell she’s talking about but she’s suddenly dragging you into the center of the dancers and urging you to dance with her.

The night flies by in a blur of dancing and stalking and drinking. Nadja finds you a “human alcoholic drink” after considerable pouting when you tell her you don’t want to do any party drugs. There are cases of beer and hard cider stacked in one corner and you lose track of how many drinks you have as the evening goes on. You feel pleasantly loose-limbed and giggly. At one point you see Colin feeding off someone in a quiet corner and he sends you friendly wave even as his eyes glow with hungry power. But more and more people pack into the space as the hours go by and it’s so crowded you don’t run into anyone else from the house. You certainly aren’t searching the crowd for a tall, handsome warrior standing head and shoulders over the others.

Certainly not.

Nadja’s just finished feeding from a yummy young man and you’re leaving the bathroom once more when you finally bump into Laszlo.

“My darling, ferocious beast!” Nadja cries, throwing herself at Laszlo, who’s wearing a crown of glow sticks.

Laszlo catches her in his arms and mauls her mouth in a lewd kiss.

“My goodlady wife! At last! Where have you been? I spent twenty minutes fondling a coat rack before I realized it wasn’t you!”

“I’ve been escorting my pet human,” Nadja giggles and reaches out to pat your head. “Cute little human.”

You’re as drunk as you’ve ever been so the insult flies over your head. You rub your face into her palm and smile. Nadja turns back to her husband with a feral snarl and bites into his lips.

“Come and ravish me, husband,” she growls, pulling him back towards the bathroom. She turns to you as an afterthought, “Wait right here, human. This won’t take long.”

“Hey!” Laszlo complains.

They disappear into the bathroom and you’re left standing by the wall riding a wave of happy drunken delirium and watching the glowing colors swirl around you.

---

Something’s wrong. Something bad happened but whenever you try to recall the details your mind goes blank and a headache twinges at your temples.

But you know in your bones that something is wrong.

You can’t bother Nadja and Laszlo while they’re desecrating the bathroom and Colin Robinson is no longer lurking in the corner where you’d seen him. Anyway there’s only one person you want right now. Only one person who can hold you in his strong arms and make you feel safe but you can’t find him in this horrible, pressing crowd. Your face is wet with tears that you don’t even remember crying but now you’re crying again. Big, racking sobs that hurt your throat and you’re shouting his name, trying to be heard over the deafening music.

When you finally spy his broad shoulders under the blood red velvet cape you break into a sprint and collide with his back, wrapping your arms around him and clinging to him without a care in the world for how pitiful you must look.

Nandor stiffens and turns around in your grip. When he finally sees you, your face stained with tears and the collar of your dress torn and soaked in blood, his face darkens and he feels the loose, merry hold of the drug blood leech from his body as fury takes hold.

“Who has done this?” his voice is a low, angry hiss.

You just shake your head and bury it into his chest. You don’t have any answers for him.

“Guillermo!” you hear his voice shouting over your head but you’ve retreated, narrowing the world down to the feel of his arms wrapped around your body. Safe. A faint question stirs at the back of your mind. Are you safe here? With him? But...yes, of course you are.

You’re outside the building now, sitting on top of a stack of wooden pallets with Guillermo and Nandor standing before you. Your mind is still buzzing with alcohol consumption and the heavy, empty echo of hypnosis. Nandor tries to fix your dress. The collar is torn and it gapes open revealing the tops of your breasts. You’d surely be mortified if you weren’t currently retreating into your own psyche. He finally gives up with a huff of annoyance and unclasps his heavy cape, dropping it onto your shoulders and wrapping it securely around you. You clutch the fabric in your shaking hands and pull it tighter. It smells like him.

“I need to know who did this,” Nandor mutters to no one in particular. “I will unleash hell upon them. I will snap their neck and stab them with a thousand stakes. I will--”

“Master,” Guillermo interrupts. “She’s been hypnotized…”

“I can make her remember,” Nandor answers and turns to you with his hand raised in front of your face.

A sudden, intense fear claws up your throat and you grab his hand with both of yours, pushing it away and shrieking, “NO!”

You scramble backwards and nearly fall off the pile of pallets in your desperation to get away. Nandor grabs your shoulders to steady you and you’re shaking under his hands.

“Leave my head alone,” you whisper. Your eyes are wide, haunted and unseeing.

Nandor continues to hold onto you, rubbing circles into your shoulders and whispering nonsense comfort words. When you’ve finally calmed down he moves to raise his hand up once more and Guillermo shouts, “Master!”

“I can make her feel better, Guillermo!” Nandor shouts back. He looks back at you and the defeated slump of your shoulders and growls in frustration. “Fine! Fu-cking guy…”

He gathers you in his arms, tucking the cape more securely around you and bending his knees in preparation for flight.

“We’ll see you at the house, Guillermo,” he calls and then he’s launching you both upward and soaring into the sky.

The abrupt weightlessness is enough to shake you slightly from your stupor and you squeal in fright, clutching onto Nandor’s lapels for dear life.

“We’re flying!” you cry, looking down at the city lights below before screwing your eyes shut in alarm. “Don’t drop me!”

“I’m not going to drop you,” Nandor scoffs but he looks a little chagrined at the memory of his familiar’s fall during such a flight.

You wind your arms around his neck and wrap your legs around his waist, clinging onto him like a koala and periodically shrieking like you’re on a rollercoaster. When he finally touches down on the front steps you’re still attached to him with a death grip.

“We’re home, human,” he murmurs, smoothing his hands over your hair. “You can let go…”

You shake your head against his shoulder and utter a muffled, “No.”

Nandor’s rage over what has been done to you is a simmering fire in his belly but now he also feels something unique: a swelling in his chest that feels like pride. You sought him out for safety and protection...and he wants to take care of you…

He walks upstairs to your bedroom, cradling you in his arms all the way. Once inside he lowers you onto the bed and you finally let your grip on him loosen.

“I’m going to get your bite ointment and some towels to clean your neck,” he whispers and you don’t miss the way his lips curl back from his fangs at the sight of your blood spattered skin. But he ignores the urge to cover the offensive bite with one of his own.

He leaves for a few minutes and when he returns his arms are laden with bath towels and bandages. You sit with your legs dangling over the side of the bed and mutely observe as he tends to the wound with a gentle touch.

His eyes stay on his work and his jaw clenches as he finally breaks the silence, “You disobeyed me, human. And I’m not happy about that.”

He uses a wet face cloth on your neck and shoulder, cleaning away the dried blood before he applies the antibiotic cream. Your head is still spinning and you can’t really say if it’s from the alcohol, the hypnosis, or the terrifying flight, but you don’t have the energy to reply.

He rips open a band-aid wrapper and continues, “But I’m sorry this happened to you. You’re...special to me. And... I’d be very sad if you died.”

Nandor leans back on his heels and you look into his soft gaze. He looks more open and vulnerable than you’ve seen him and you suppose this admission is as close to a declaration of his feelings as you’re going to get from the vampire.

“Thanks, Nandor,” you reply, tugging the edges of his cape around you.

“I’ll leave you to get changed…”

---

Nandor is standing by his open coffin looking a little lost without Guillermo to tuck him in. He turns in a circle and with the faintest exhalation extinguishes all the candles lining the room. He’s just climbing in when you appear in the doorway, dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You hug your arms around you and lean against the door frame not meeting his eyes.

“Hey…” you trail off, unaccountably bashful about your request.

Nandor’s eyes trail down your bare legs before flicking back up to your face.

“Hello, my little one,” he greets you. “Do you need me to tuck you in? Guillermo isn’t back yet…”

Does he think Guillermo tucks you in at night? Oh, has he...ordered his familiar to do so? It’s kind of adorable and your lips tug up in a smile. He’s an ancient, all powerful vampire who needs to be tucked in every night...er, day?

“No, I--” you clear your throat and start over. “Can I sleep in your coffin? I don’t want to be alone…”

An increasingly familiar warmth floods Nandor’s chest and he smiles revealing his razor sharp fangs, which should really be more terrifying to you, but who are you kidding?

“Come, my mortal,” he stretches out his hand and you take it, stepping up into the coffin and settling yourself around him, no longer even pretending that this is anything other than some serious undead snuggling.

He turns onto his side and spoons up behind you, snuggling with his face buried into the crook of your neck so he can breathe in your sweet scent. He reaches up to take the handle on the inside of the coffin lid and gently closes it over you both.

“You’re safe now, my mortal,” he breathes, dropping a light kiss on your shoulder.

And...you are. With his arms around you and his comforting weight at your back you feel as if nothing can harm you. Nothing, that is, except maybe for him.

But somehow that doesn’t worry you. You bring your hand up and twine your fingers with his, lifting his hand to your mouth and pressing your lips to his knuckles as your eyes drift shut in exhaustion.

“‘M safe with you, Nandor,” you echo and there are other words, unspoken, that drift through your thoughts as you fall asleep.

---

Tags--let me know if you’d like to be added to the list

@festering-queen @glitterportrait @kandomeresbitch @scuzmunkie @redwoodshadows

#nandor the relentless x reader #nandor the relentless fanfic #nandor the relentless imagine #nandor x reader #nandor fanfic #nandor imagine #wwdits fanfic #wwdits fanfiction #what we do in the shadows fanfiction #kayvan novak

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duketectivecomics · 3 years

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What's your opinion on fans writing Duke with his cousin Jay as his guardian instead of Bruce? I've seen some people talk about not wanting to separate him from his family and preferring to have him raised by his cousin, but it also feels like some people might use that as an excuse to leave him out of the batfam

this got slightly long & esp ranty at the end for my tastes so tl;dr - ive talked guardianship before & stand by that fans can Do What they Want. but fans who exclude Duke from the main batfam can die by my sword </3

so yeah, I’ve talked abt Duke’s guardianship before and I’ll reiterate: while Cousin Jay most recently has custody of Duke, that doesn’t negate the fact that Duke WAS under Bruce’s care for a time. So whether fans choose to follow what’s most recently given by canon or opt to leave him in Wayne Manor, I will not begrudge either of those decisions. DC themselves hasn’t elaborated recently on what the case is (although I wouldn’t be surprised if they soft-retconned Cousin Jay’s role out, by virtue of [whatever current writer] simply forgetting what’s been established), so fandom Can and Will Do What They Want in that regard.

Duke is shown at the end of Batman & the Signal to be regularly visiting his parents. I love the idea of Duke keeping up with his former family members & with the batfam in equal parts & of fics exploring how he balances time btwn all of them. Family has always been a BIG thing for duke!!! And having that family expanded just makes it all the more important now! That’s what I’d LOVE to see from fic authors!

However, if Duke being in Jay’s custody IS being used as a (piss-poor) excuse to leave him out of the batfam-proper or relegate him to an auxiliary role, especially when modern comics place him as ANYWHERE but that. That’s where I’m gonna start throwing hands, lmao

Duke is a Main batfam member at this point. Don’t erase the fact that he HAS been directly taken under Bruce’s (proverbial) wing!!! Don’t erase the fact that the other batkids consider him a sibling!!! If a fan is leaving Duke out of their batfam content at this point, but including every OTHER batkid, its a BAD look and tbh I want nothing to do with them!!!

Tim’s dad was alive for most of his Robin run! Was he ever excluded from the narrative because of that? Babs’ dad is Much more famously alive, and, OH YEAH, she ends up getting included with damn near as much frequency as the Usual Four Boys. Steph wasn’t ever even directly adopted by Bruce, and yet we all agree that she’s DEFINITELY a main batkid now. So there’s no way anyone will ever convince me that Duke isn’t a Main Batkid unless they’re willing to start excluding all of these guys too. (but then again, some ppl just Do Exactly That Anyways bc they only care abt The Four BatBoys™ so...)

Whether its fic or art or WHAT have you, at this point there just... doesn’t feel like there’s much excuse. Duke’s been a legal part of this family since 2016. The greater part of the fandom is at least Casually Aware of him. Theres more and more blogs like mine trying to raise awareness for him and to give yall resources about him where we can. Use them!!! ask questions!!! explore these blogs and these tags!!! and for gods sake INCLUDE DUKE IN YOUR BATFAM CONTENT.

and if you’re afraid of fucking him up like, licherally just read about him fjdlkas; he’s one of the QUICKEST batkids to read for!!!!! and i should know!!!! I’m also actively trying to read for everyone else too!!! (not to toot my own horn but i’m about to start my 90s batfam reading actually so *TOOT TOOT MOTHERFUCKERS*)

like god, i don’t think its asking MUCH asking COMICS fans to READ COMICS lmao. like rco is a resource! overdrive is a resource! trades exist bc buying individual issues CAN get expensive! hell ive been reading mostly using the DCU app bc it HAS been more cost effective than trying to outright buy trades & its easier to navigate than rco! (& i dont have to worry abt pop-ups too!!! which is really nice!)

there’s LOTS of ways to get to know a character and the excuses at this point are either due to laziness &/or racism and either way its a Bad Look. Make An Effort @ batfamdom. he’s one extra boy to read for and he’s one of the FASTER & EASIER ones that you can get into! BECAUSE he’s so new! god just give him a SHOT least holy shit!!!!!!

#duke thomas #asked and answered #anonymous asks #randywrites #today on: Randy Got Big Mad lmao #rco is short hand for read comics online BTW #hashtag use rco like the rest of us #anyways yeah. i started getting HEATED abt this. just!!!!! oof it is NOT that hard to read up on a character SO NEW and with SO FEW comics #(comparatively speaking ofc)#and its not that hard!!! ive been reading for only a few years now and FOR REAL. duke was one of the EASIER characters for me to read for!!!#like the only reason im not making MORE content for him is BC im trying to curate it and bc i write mostly wlw stories so fjdklas;f;adk #im gonna remedy that soon. i should edit that duke n cass snippet ive been working on #i should work on that oracle corps idea that me n someone came up with ahh #just!!!!! respect duke thomas or perish!!!!!!!

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reyna0w0 · 4 years

Text

You’re Here Again 10

✏ todoroki shoto x fem!reader

✏✏ Chapter 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 + 6 + 7 + 8 + 9 + 10 + 11

»»—————————————♡ —————————————««

(Y/N)’s father returned the next morning. The storm was long gone and was replaced by the clear blue sky. They had opened up their store, as usual, made bread and followed the routine. Shoto insisted on helping out however he could but he knew he had to figure something out. He couldn’t stay at their place forever.

The afternoon slump rolled over so the (L/N) family decided it was time to address the issue. Except (Y/N), none of them knew why Shoto came to their house, all drenched. (Y/N)’s mother offered to look after the store while (Y/N) and her father sat Shoto down for a conversation.

“I owe you an explanation. I’m grateful to your wife and daughter didn’t ask me much and accepted me into the house. I’ll tell you everything,” Shoto said to (Y/N)’s father.

(Y/N), sitting beside Shoto, looked at him, and said, “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“Thank you but it’s fine. Your parents should know about it,” Shoto said.

“Take your time. I just want to know a little so I can understand the situation. We just want to help you,” (Y/N)’s father said, calmly.

“Thank you, (L/N)-san,” Shoto replied.

Shoto explained everything to (Y/N)’s father excluding the thing with his mother and his scar. He just told him that his mother wasn’t living in the same house as him.

(Y/N)’s father listened intently, processing the situation at hand and trying to think of a solution. “I understand where you’re coming from. I won’t force you to return but you need to figure this out. I’ll see what I can do, you can stay at our place for the time being. It’s Saturday today so we still have time before school so we can take things one at a time.”

“Thank you so much. How can I repay your kindness?” Shoto asked, genuinely feeling supported by an adult for the first time in his life.

“It’s completely normal to help someone out. Like I always encourage (Y/N) to help people out if she can. So it’s our pleasure. In return, please take care of (Y/N),” (Y/N)’s father said with a kind smile.

“Papa!” (Y/N) said.

“I’ll do my best. I’ll help however I can while I figure things out,” Shoto replied.

(Y/N) didn’t say much and let the two converse. She wanted the best for Shoto. She was really grateful that her parents were so understanding and supportive otherwise she couldn’t have done anything for Shoto. She wanted to be there for him in any way possible.

The conversation continued till (Y/N)’s mother came to the living room and said, “Todoroki-kun, someone is here to see you.”

Shoto expected it to be Hirugami since his father wouldn’t just leave him be. He sighed and stood up, getting ready to sternly tell Hirugami to leave. Shoto walked out of the living room, following (Y/N)’s mother. (Y/N) quickly joined Shoto.

Shoto and (Y/N) walked out of the bakery as that is where (Y/N)’s mother said the person was. Shoto stood dead in his tracks when he saw who it was. (Y/N) bumped against him since she was walking close behind him.

(Y/N) looked at who it was. It was a tall man with crimson hair and turquoise eyes. Exactly like the left side of Shoto’s face. ‘He’s his father, isn’t he?’

The man, Enji, walked up to Shoto and said, “Shoto, can we talk?”

Enji looked like he didn’t get any sleep and seemed rather remorseful. Shoto said harshly, “I’ve got nothing to say to you anymore. How’d you find this place?!”

“I got Hirugami to check around and he saw you here,” Enji replied.

“Please, can we talk?”

Shoto turned to leave but (Y/N) put her hand on his shoulder and said, “At least hear him out, okay? You can decide what to do later.”

Shoto hesitated and then said with a sigh, “Alright since you’re telling me to.”

(Y/N) gave him a worried smile and Shoto turned around, “I’ll listen for a bit.”

“Thank you, Shoto. You too, miss. Thank you for asking him to listen,” Enji said, truly grateful to have Shoto hear him out.

Shoto begrudgingly sat down at the chairs outside the bakery. Fortunately, there weren’t any customers so they wouldn’t bother anyone. (Y/N) went inside to give them privacy. Shoto wished for her to be there but he didn’t want to involve her directly with his father.

The father and son sat in silence for a good bit. Shoto rolled his eyes, not expecting anything from Enji except him trying to drag him back home.

“Shoto...I-”

Enji looked directly at Shoto, bowed his head down, and said, “I’m so sorry, Shoto.”

“I’m sorry?” Shoto said.

“Is that what you’re here for?! A measly apology?!”

“Shoto, I thought about what you said yesterday. I-I didn’t realize that I wasn’t thinking of you...I was only thinking about myself…,” Enji said, quietly.

A sorry state to see him like that because Enji was always loud and confident but the man that sat before Shoto was truly pathetic. Maybe he was truly sorry. Not that apology would erase the trauma he had inflicted upon his family.

“Now you realize? All my life, you controlled every single thing I did. You drove mom crazy and sent her to the hospital. And now you’re sorry?!”

“I know what I did was unforgivable. I won’t ask for your forgiveness or Rei’s but I want the chance to make things right…,” Enji said, strain in his voice.

Shoto spat back, “You think I’ll believe your words? Saying things is easy but actually doing something isn’t that simple. I don’t believe you can change.”

“I don’t expect you to believe me right away but know that I want to change. I spent last night reflecting everything I’ve done and I know I’ve wronged many people. I took the day off today to come to you and apologize.”

“Rei doesn’t want to see me at all so I left her a letter instead. I can’t take back what I’ve done but I want to at least do things right from now on,” Enji said, head still hanging down.

He truly was apologetic for his past actions but only time will tell if it was all bark and no bite or not.

Shoto looked away from Enji, not saying anything else. He felt it was futile and letting out his anger at him didn’t make him feel any better.

“I won’t force you to come home with me but I hope you will understand that you can’t stay at this place forever. I’ll thank this bakery’s owner. Truly, I’m really sorry. I regret how I treated you and your mother.”

Enji stood up to go into the bakery and Shoto didn’t say a word. He couldn’t believe that Enji would feel sorry. Or ever reflect on his own actions. His head was in a mess, he couldn’t really believe anything Enji said. He grew up knowing his father to be a self-centered man who only saw his own ambitions and never cared about anyone. This ‘apology’ from Enji really threw him off. Shoto could never forgive him but a sliver of hope unexpectedly grew in him that Enji would change.

Shoto sighed as (Y/N) walked to him. “You okay?”

“No, not really,” Shoto said with a deep sigh.

“I don’t know what you guys talked about but I know you can get through it. You can talk to me, I’m here for you,” (Y/N) said, softly.

Before Shoto could reply, Enji came out of the bakery. “Goodbye, Shoto, miss (L/N). Your bakery is lovely.”

Enji left and Shoto felt he could breathe again. Shoto turned to (Y/N) and sighed.

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mariaiscrafting · 3 years

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I’m the anon about fanfic and fanart. I just want to say that I’m fine with analysis when they talk about how dnf react to each other when they say or do something but don’t really like how they bring that point into their relationship. It’s one thing to me to say they have a flirty friendship but insisting that they have something more in private bothers me. I always thought that fanfiction and fanart are ways to analyze creators or dynamics so I was curious on what you thought of them. Fans always project things onto creators they like so they make things arolving them. I know you’re worried about how this can strain the content creators and other fandoms, but establishing boundaries is important and it was already addressed by the Dream Team themselves so I don’t see why you have to go out of your way to tell dnf shippers to not to analyze them. I’m not here to hate you but wanting to understand how making a call out post to tell dnf shippers to not to psychoanalizing interactions instead of trying to put more of a distance between yourself and the blogs without putting them down. On Twitter, there was a tweet that misinterpreted Dream and George’s first meeting and Dream corrected them but never condemned them for shipping. He also said in many tweets and said in stream that just how they are and said that fans are allowed to do what they want when it comes to them. Also liking a fan tweet where #Dreamfell was dnf related even though the situation didn’t need to be. Twitter is directly involved with the creators themselves so of course it’s hard to ignore. Even then in Twitter you can still mute words. I’m here for a conversation and not out hate. This is Tumblr where it’s mostly Fandom focused and some dnf shippers like to analyze to project whatever onto them so if we don’t want to see it, asking for a tag so you can block it here. Like #dng long post or just block the analysis tag. We’re all responsible to create our own fandom experience so I don’t want to call fans disgusting when they haven’t done anything wrong since Dream had stated He’s fine with it. I don’t want you to feel excluded in the dnf side of Tumblr since you still find the ship nice, but if you don’t want the long analysis posts since it feels morally wrong to you then we can try to agree on separating the casual and the analytical side of dnf. Your feelings towards dnf blog analysises are valid so your fandom experience should be catered to.

I am actually half delirious while answering this, so Imma keep it short and simple.

I do cater my own tumblr experience to what I want. I do block people who post stuff I don't like so I don't see it in the tags. All your advice is nice, but unnecessary.

I think that I should be allowed to criticize circles that I am in in the hopes that they will approve and shift what they consider the norm. Yes, Dream said that he is okay with shipping and has engaged with it and panders to the audience with it. But to take anyone's green light on any issue involving their personal lives, and to run rampantly with it is still fucked.

And look, I don't think I've properly articulated why I call this behavior disgusting. I want to emphasize that I view it as dehumanizing. To reduce a person's behaviors and tendencies to whatever vicarious romantic gratification you can get from them is an appalling act, devoid of empathy. It exemplifies the commodification of CCs for the audience's sole entertainment and that audience's lack of basic respect for them or acknowledgement that they are real life human beings who function beyond whatever romantic framework you fantasize them in. I keep bringing up this example, I know, but it's what incited this whole discourse for me in the first place, but that analysis of Dream's few seconds of silence as him focusing on George's voice because he's just so in love with him? That analysis, and the overwhelming consensus on that post perfectly exemplify just how dehumanizing this crossing of a line can be. It erases the conceptual space for any other, rational and non-romantic explanation for a few seconds of silence that could have easily been attributed to distraction, a moment to collect his thoughts, etc. It also perfectly exemplifies how, through the overanalysis, shippers force CCs into two-dimensional boxes that best fit their wants, devoid of nuance. In this instance, Dream is not a busy content creator who hasn't streamed very often for the past few months and might be readjusting to consistently talking in front of a live audience, or a young adult with ADHD whose brain jumps from point to point in its search for dopamine, or literally any other kind of human being with multiple characteristics and personality traits influencing his behaviors; he is a prop for our self-idulgent ship. I'm reading way too much into this one example, I know, but I just want to also say that this is like a much higher problem than just one post. I don't care about the content of one fucking post, I care about what that post and the methods of analysis employ imply about the rest of dnf shippers. This community is following behaviors that are concerning, and this is just one example of hundreds that exemplify that.

Projection is fine. Projection is employed in RPF fanfictions, character headcanons, different fanart styles - it's all over the mcyt fandom and I don't have a problem with it. My PROBLEM is with people who act like their analyses of Dream and George and literally any other content creator are actually representative of reality. My problem is with people who don't understand that there is a difference between stanning and creating/consuming fan content for a creator's persona, and theorizing about what that creator's actual character as a real life human being is.

Okay, also, I might just be getting more irritable because it's 2 am and I want to be asleep, but I actually do have a problem with you essentially saying that a preferred solution for me is to simply cut myself off from half the community. Basically, I should just plug my ears and shield my eyes if I see problematic content I am morally against? Fuck off, mate. There are many, many things I choose not to start discourse on and simply block or mute because I don't care enough to try and change it. But dnf shipping is something that I actively engage with, is kind of a significant part of my online presence and experience, and also a way I've made a lot of friends in this community. So yeah, I have a vested interest in making sure it doesn't go down the same, fucked paths I've seen other shipping communities go down, and if that means making a discourse post that makes you uncomfortable, I suggest you block me.

I'm not advocating for this fandom to partition up based on what we all think is right and wrong. I want integration of different ideas, useful discourse, and self-growth. And none of that is solved by creating a separate hashtag

#asks #why did i answer this rn im so tired #also not proofreading this v sorry in advance #discourse #just btw im.prolly not answering any more anons on this line of questioning #if you want to send a public ask or just @ me go ahead and we can beefpublicly #but otherwise nah this is taking up too much of my time and mental fortitude #/neg

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fangirlyah · 4 years

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✦coffee shop visits - Draco Malfoy x Muggle!Reader (part 2)

summary: when things get complicated in draco and astoria’s marriage, a small coffee shop seems to be the solution

word count: 2,768

a/n: I hope you like the new part! I'm planning to do just one more part and then finish the story but it's not confirmed. lots of love!

after that afternoon, y/n's heart was broken and his brother did not collaborate in repairing it.

"you should stop thinking about that guy and his son, it's not good for you" he said, watching his little sister close the curtains of the small shop with a lost look and tearful eyes.

"i know, but it's not that easy"

all her expectations and dreams of months had fallen with the appearance of the brunette woman who had entered the coffee shop on draco’s arm

"if we look on the bright side, he did not look happy being by her side" y/n's sister-in-law appeared from the kitchen taking off her red apron.

"how do you know that, honey?" her husband asked.

"the fact that he was watching you from the moment he arrived until he left even though he had his wife in front of him says something"

y/n did not want to respond, because she would continue to create stupid thoughts that would not happen, he would continue to idealise what a life on the side of draco and scorpius would be like.

that same night, she realised how in love she was with the blond man who had entered the small business months earlier with his son. the man with whom she had shared countless conversations with a coffee in front of her, the man who watched her do her simple job of making coffee and cutting slices of cake for customers.

y/n did not know and will never know but that very night, draco realised how much he was in love with that muggle whose job was to bring smiles to his face and serve coffee. he knew how bad it was, he knew he should not fall in love with anyone other than his wife, but it was impossible. with one look she could knock out half the people of london including himself.

it was only two days after their accidental encounter that draco and scorpius appeared in the coffee shop. wrapped in coats and with reddish noses, it was an image that would take time to eliminate from her thoughts.

"well, hello gentlemen" even though y/n's heart was aching, the sight of the little boy in front of the counter was enough to soften her heart.

"hello y/n! guess what we're here for? scorpius' little hands clutched the counter so that he could rise on his toes and get a better look at the girl. draco, however, would not take his eyes off y/n even though she had not raised her eyes at him.

“to drink a cup of hot chocolate, i suppose” her voice was dubious and almost joking as he saw the boy so outraged with her reply.

"no silly, we’re going to take you to the park!” that was the first time she looked into draco's eyes, she saw him with dark circles under his eyes and an expectant face, he was waiting for her answer.

"well, it's a very fun plan but I don't know if I can...'' scorpius couldn't put on a sad face because merida, y/n’s sister-in-law, appeared to his salvation.

"of course you can, there are few customers and you could do a day off"

the child's celebrations were heard as she took off her apron and handed it over to merida with a grateful smile.

if draco had known how beautiful and distracting she would look wrapped in her coats and smiling at his son, he would have planned that outing months ago when the girl was not ashamed to look at him.

his thoughts wandered on the idea that she had feelings for him and that is why she found it so hard to process the fact that he was still married.

although the snow had already almost melted on the streets of england the cold was impossible to bear without at least two or three coats on your body.

scorpius was very excited about his departure. his mother and father never took him to the park because his mother did not like nature very much. according to draco when they went to school she was one of the few people who hardly ever went to the big hogwarts' meadows.

the boy began to run as fast as his legs would take him to the green swings and slides, where there were children already playing.

"come on y/n! come with me!"

and y/n went there with a huge smile on her face.

draco took a seat on a bench with a light layer of snow that would surely wet his clothes but he was too distracted watching his son and the pretty girl running and laughing. draco thought maybe he had never seen his son so excited but he quickly erased the thought.

“look daddy, they are your favourite color!" scorpius shouted as she swung him on the swings because he couldn't on his own. she saw draco's big smile coming to stand where they were, happy to be part of the fun afternoon.

"I see them son. they are very colourful" he noticed y/n’s discomfort of having him so close as he had stood next to her while she moved her son, but he did not move. they had things to resolve and acting like an uncomfortable child would not help.

"this muggles' playgrounds are way more fun!” scorpius was a child and did not know what he was saying, he did not know that not everyone carried a wand to the kindergarten.

y/n thought it was a word he had probably heard on a television programme so she did not care. although if she had seen the face of the child's father when he heard his exclamation, she would have been worried.

the little boy's comment did not get a response as he himself began to speak again, a consequence of his enthusiasm.

"y/n come on, it's your turn!” the little blond boy jumped out of his seat to look at the girl behind him.

"I'm a bit old for these things, scorpius" she looked at the little boy’s pleading face who was standing in front of her as she heard his father's chuckle.

"please?"

a small pout was enough for y/n to sit on the swing next to scorpius. the two of them began to swing, side by side. laughter began to come out of the mouths of all three of them as the other people in the park watched. y/n's hair was loose and in the wind and her face had the biggest smile draco had seen since they had met.

although y/n had agreed to swing, the boy was so excited and happy that he quickly stopped his swing to get y/n and him to another part of the park.

draco followed them a little further back without interfering with their fun.

"you have a very nice family" a man suddenly appeared beside him, he seemed to be in the same position as draco, because of the basket he was holding under his arm and as he was watching some children, very similar to him, and a woman.

"thank you, you too" draco spoke without thinking. ‘why didn't I say that only the child was mine?’ he thought.

"it's funny when you're excluded from the fun at the park, I'm always the one who ends up with the plastic bags and toys" the man added in a comical voice. draco didn't think it was funny but he laughed anyway. "how long have you been married?" the man's hand pointed to y/n as she was sitting on the grass with scorpius running around her.

"a few years..." he felt like a piece of rubbish. first, he was lying, second he was faking a marriage that only existed in his dreams.

"you want me to take a picture of you three together?, you must have a camera with you" at that moment draco wished he had been more involved in the muggle world as he would have had a camera with him.

when draco wanted to answer, a voice exclaimed his name and kicked all the air out of his lungs

"draco! come here!" y/n waved her hand to the place where she and his son were sitting.

"duty calls, it was a pleasure to meet you"

"it was a pleasure" as draco, the man went off by himself to play with his children.

draco came to the place where he was called to meet a smiling y/n sitting on the floor in front of his son who was standing waiting for his arrival.

y/n had spoken to him, she had called him by name provoking thousands of butterflies that a hormonal teenager should be feeling not a 28 year old man.

"daddy come sit here" with his little hands, scorpius sat him down next to y/n, so close that he could feel his legs rubbing against each other and her characteristic aroma. a mixture of coffee, vanilla and sweets that he would find hard to forget.

"scorpius wants to show us something he learned in the kindergarten" his son nodded as he listened to the words y/n, very softly, said to his father. it was almost like a whisper because of their closeness.

"are you ready?!" exclaimed the little boy looking at the adults in front of him. on seeing their smiles, scorpius placed his hands on the ground and made an untidy cartwheel that almost made him lose his balance. despite how awful it had been, both draco and y/n began to applaud as if the cirque du soleil had been presented.

with a smile of satisfaction scorpius ran off to the slides, this time without dragging y/n with him.

draco and y/n were left alone sitting on the cold grass. for a moment an uncomfortable silence had formed which y/n quickly cut through.

"I didn't know you had a wife" she went to the point. she didn't want to be messed around, they were old enough to talk about it in a civilised manner.

"sorry I didn't mention it" even though she looked into his eyes he couldn't.

"a simple comment would have been great" y/n thought she had misinterpreted all those looks, touches and talks. but she was not wrong, draco looked at her, touched her and chatted with her with the same intentions but he had more ties; which she did not know until recently.

"I'm not happy with her” draco was still not looking at her, his eyes were on his son who seemed to have made a friend in the small garden hut.

"I am not going to interfere in your marriage, draco. that you are not happy with your wife is something you must resolve on your own"

"I'm telling you this because-" his sentence was cut off as she stood up from his seat.

"I'm not some kind of entertainment for your failed marriage"

draco wanted to tell him that if anyone was the second course it was his own wife, because he was in love with the beautiful girl who had received them months before in a coffee shop.

he couldn't because y/n had left his side to go and check on scorpius. she left him sitting on the floor, staring at nothing. anyone who had passed by would have thought he was some lonely, sad man; and maybe he was.

the rest of the afternoon they were apart, that was all their interaction. scorpius had spent every corner of the garden dragging y/n with him.

from time to time, draco would look up to see them. his son would explode with happiness and y/n too, or maybe she pretended very well.

suddenly the sun fell and so did scorpius' smile. but that did not last long as y/n invited them to eat a piece of cake at her brother's coffee shop. that made the boy's smile return immediately, he began to run but this time in the direction of the shop.

when the three of them entered, the child radiated joy while the adults did not.

but the smile that scorpius had recovered, on hearing the news that a piece of cake was waiting for him inside the shop, fell slightly as he saw his mother sitting on one of the counter stools, looking towards the door with her purse in hand. her face was serious as always but this time she looked impatient; as if she had been sitting for hours waiting for her husband and son to arrive.

"well, hello..." astoria stood up from her seat and came face to face with the three of them.

"hi mommy" his mother did not even look at him as she was staring at y/n and draco with murderous eyes.

"where did you take my son?" draco's wife looked at him intently. her husband had never been the affectionate type but for some time now he was hardly ever inside the house. he was always there, in the coffee shop. she suspected that he was not just going to have a cup of coffee and seeing him enter with y/n at his side confirmed her suspicions. he was going to see her.

"we went to the park mommy. don't be angry" scorpius' little hand rose to take his mother's hand but astoria took her own violently away before he touched her as she saw the remains of dirt that her son had impregnated. the boy recoiled wrapping his arms around the legs of y/n who grabbed him protectively.

"emm..excuse me but don't treat him like this, he is your son" draco was surprised by y/n's words. the girl's bravery was a new facet he was just getting to know.

"you shut up! you're just a homewrecker" everyone knew that was a lie. their home was already broken long before y/n appeared in their life.

"don't talk to her like that!" now, to y/n's surprise, draco came out to defend her.

it was already seven o'clock in the evening, so the clientele inside the business was few but enough to make some heads turn in their direction.

"this is not the place to do this, i am going to ask you to leave" y/n opened the door inviting them to leave. the first one to leave was astoria, who looked at her with disgust before stepping into the pavement outside the shop. the second one was scorpius, who pulled her down to give y/n a small kiss on her cheek and leave the place. the last one was draco, who came closer and whispered in her ear an apology.

it was only a matter of time before tears came to y/n’s eyes. as soon as she reached her flat, the crying began to overflow her face. it was a mixture of frustration and sadness.

she was sad because she knew she had fallen in love with a man who could never be with her. with a man who was married, unhappily but he was. she had fallen in love with a man who had a beautiful son who had won her heart.

she thought, lying on the sofa in her house, that the marriage of draco and astoria was already miserable before her; but she believed that much of their problems were her fault and that made her sink into her sadness even more. she was ruining the marriage of scorpius' parents and one of her greatest wishes was that the boy could always be happy.

but what she did not know was that in the house of the, if we can call it, family; draco was in the same position as her. lying on a sofa in front of the fire with his son in his lap and his angry wife in the bedroom. scorpius had traces of tears in his eyes, the remains of the tears that had come out because of his parents' screams. astoria had cursed at the cries the day she had married draco, and he had sworn that if it had not been for the pressure of his parents he would never have set foot on the altar.

"dad..." draco watched his son curled up in his lap "why is mommy angry with y/n?" he did not know what to say, scorpius was too young to understand how an arranged marriage worked.

"your mother doesn't like her, she-"

"but y/n is very nice"

his son was right, y/n was very nice. very beautiful. very smart. very brave. she was what he had always wanted. but he was stuck in an unhappy marriage, that he wanted to end soon.

#fanfic #fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x reader #hogwarts #muggle #coffee #harry potter

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tiger-moran · 3 years

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TW gender dysphoria

The dysphoria is hitting pretty hard at the moment and it’s been like... various things setting it off at a low grade recently but I think I know what tipped it yesterday and now I’m just...

bitter

that no matter what cis people may have to deal with, including body issues, they still don’t have to deal with this as well as those, the intrinsic wrongness, which can never be put right. It just can’t. And it’s not fair, it’s so fucking unfair, and I know many trans people are happy with what can be achieved by certain kinds of transitioning and I am happy for them that that is so, but that’s... impossible for me. The things I need to change can’t be changed, science, medicine, they’re not advanced enough; what can be changed is not enough, the end result would be not enough, and so in many ways it would almost certainly make things far worse, not better, and even what can be achieved is realistically unobtainable to me anyway. And this thought is crushing but... there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Also you know what I’m tired of non binary people either generally or non binary people who are attracted to women being lumped in with women, even when it’s meant in a positive way. Like how many WLW blogs have I seen that also include non binary people in general or those attracted to women? Or blogs supposedly for all non binary people that post almost entirely about non binary lesbians? Loads. I get that often it’s meant to be a positive and inclusive thing but it’s just... not, for people like me. It’s just alienating and hugely triggering, basically being lumped in with women, seeing all this positivity for women, lesbian positivity, bi women positivity, on something which supposedly includes me except actually it doesn’t, because I’m not a woman, I am not in any way ‘woman aligned’ and I have no connection at all with ‘womanhood’, my gender is essentially who the fucks know but I can tell you it leans entirely towards the male. So all those even supposed ‘positivity’ blogs just leave me feeling misgendered and erased and like utter shit.

Not to mention most of these blogs actually don’t in any meaningful way accept mspec people, they expect you only to focus on the attraction to women and just at best ignore attraction to men. Meanwhile most MLM blogs seem to be run by fucking truscum who explicitly hate/invalidate/exclude all non binary people, except for some of the MLM blogs which are basically just porn blogs (and how weird is that, that you get more acceptance from many porn blogs than from supposed positivity blogs?).

I’ll delete this post soon I’m sure. If anyone even reads this just... don’t worry about it, I’m not like... actively suicidal or something right now. I’m just talking to myself mostly.

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clementiinefraser · 4 years

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Bonjour/Hi!

First of all, I want to take a second and show appreciation for all of the characters who were set aside or not appreciated enough. I’ve been here since the beginning and I saw them come and go with a heavy heart. There were so many good characters, but they were always left in the shadows. If you’re still around and playing one of those forgotten muses, just know somebody loved them.

I am not being hypocritical. I brought my fair share of negativity and bad behaviours. I joiend with a faceclaim that turned out to be highly problematic and took an awfully long time to change things up like it truly ~mattered~. I did my fair share of bubble roleplay (sometimes it was more like by default than by choice) but I did it and I’m not proud of it but I have the self-awareness to admit it. I chased after faceclaims too. There was a time where I focused on potentially romantic threads and neglected platonic connections. I didn’t participate enough in the events. I didn’t open my mind wide enough to reply to starters that maybe were too out of character for my muses, but still deserved attention. I should have messaged other people.

I should have tried harder. I always promised myself to do this. I was foolish enough to think that replying to one or two open starters would work. I was fooling enough to think that leaving supportive tags under my replies would work. I know now that was stupid. As someone who joined since the true beginning, I should have made new people feel welcome and appreciated instead of focusing on the fact a starter was not fitting my muse enough and without plotting it felt odd to reply. Making new people feel included and appreciated: that was, is and always will be the duty of everyone in a roleplay group.

Still, even when I was not posting, even during my hiatuses, I always kept an eye on the dashboard and I saw those forgotten and set aside characters and read their tasks and starters and interactions. I loved them all. I believe every character in this group deserved to be put on the same pedestal as that very specific handful of special muses that got too much praise for questionable reasons.

I have never stayed in a group for so long. The truth is, I’ve wanted to leave for a while, but I always had reasons to stay. Whether it was because of characters I loved or my own characters I hoped to develop, I could not bring myself to leave just yet. I felt like if I stayed, maybe some issues would get solved and this group would reflect on the ideals it has set for itself. Transparency. Inclusivity. Warmth, and so on. Again, I know for a fact I was not active and I should have devoted more time for this group. I apologize for all of the abandoned threads along the way.

Whether it’s about cliques, bubble roleplay, undeserving praise, unfair treatments, this group has had issues like any other. Except, they never really got resolved. Instead of addressing it publicly, instead of making it clear that the voices of those who had enough courage to call out issues were heard. Instead of openly and sincerely acting on the issues, things were brushed under the rug. An ooc warning every now and then, free passes for a handful of people, sudden unfollows. The issues were not solved, they just kept getting worse.

Granted, I have never gathered enough courage to speak up. I have never gathered enough courage to ring bells. So to all of those who actually did speak up but were silenced, I’m so sorry. But I’m very proud of you still. You deserved so much more. You deserved to be heard, to feel included and to feel appreciated. You gave proof, but you only faced a closed door.

Yes, proof. Multiple people coming out and voicing their worries about similar issues. Multiple people leaving suddenly. This is proof. I completely disagree with using a degree as a justification to why one can pretend they never did anything wrong or take the blame off their shoulders. As I have mentioned quite a few times, I am a historian. I am a full time research assistant. I, too, love a good research assignment. I love searching for proof of a phenomenon. I love understanding said proof, and said phenomenon. And the proof is right here. Nobody can blame their college classes for the fact they refuse to admit their flaws, their mistakes and their lack of judgement or action. If anything, a true researcher would have the reflex to admit they did something wrong, they made a mistake or they have to change their minds because they found out new information that disagree with their belief on a topic. This is part of any scientific methodology. And changing your mind, when you have proof, is not a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of transparency and integrity. Especially when the proof is right before your eyes.

How come nobody came and called out the issues sooner? Maybe it is because no action has truly been taken. Maybe it is because they knew it would be useless. Maybe it is because they felt like nobody cared enough about them and their contribution to the group. Maybe it’s because a minority of people blindly praising an admin team like they could never do wrong speaks louder than a majority of members trying to show something is off.

Serious actions need to be taken. Serious changes need to be made.

As long as nothing is done, I don’t want to be a part of group that claims things they never truly put into action. Cliques, bubble roleplay and worshipping a handful of ships are one thing, but claiming to be diverse while most of your diverse muns and muses are excluded is a whole other story. I stand by the people and the characters of colour who were ignored, set aside or accused of things other people did without consequences.

I wish I could have been more active and given all of you guys the love you deserve.

Thank you to everyone who interacted with Clémentine, Sapphire and Karyanne. Thank you to those who might have supported them from a distance and we never truly talked, ooc or ic. I’m still thankful for this group because I met amazing people and I interacted with amazing characters. I’m still thankful for every interactions or connections, small or big. I’m still thankful because, for a while, it was a safe place and a safe escape. I don’t really have hard feelings against any of you. I’m just disappointed that we’re reached this point.. The fact nothing was, or has ever been, addressed publicly, the fact the pages were updated oh-so quickly like everything needed to be erased, the fact the dash moved back to normal as if nothing happened... This is not being transparent. This is not showing you want to change. This is pretending everything is fine and hoping people forget.

Solutions are still available. Find an admin team who is truly transparent, who believes their members and who is willing to take actions when needed. Yes, I believe changing adminds would be the best solution. The fact that two of them stepped down, probably to avoid taking responsability, is quite suspicious. The one remaining is still a huge part of the problem. Make efforts to be more inclusive. Stop focusing on endgame ships, focus on all of the amazing friendships that could blossom instead. Don’t drop muses because they didn’t find a ship within a week. Don’t facechase. Don’t deny the proof. Now is not the time to ask people for what is wrong with the group, because at this point, it is only rhetorical.

The best solution is to close the group and keep interacting with your ship partners. That way, you can worship the same handful of people and you can be blinded by a few members praising this group and refusing to see the problems. But the thing is, people might join again. They might join because they believed the promises of inclusivity. They might join because nothing was addressed publicly. They might join and face walls if their character is of colour, if their character is different or too original, if their character is not seeking for ships. They might face the same problems as everybody who left.

Lead by example. And, right now, the example you are giving is one of cliques, ships, lack of transparency and borderline racism. We’ll say it like it is.

Still being a part of this group, as it is currently, is being complicit of a narrative that goes beyond cliques and ships being more important than genuine connections. I don’t want to support such a thing.

Until then, I wish everyone well. I truly do! I met amazing people here and whether we still talk or not, I really liked you guys. The creativity, the amazing characters, the everything. There were so many good things, but there are so many bad things too. I don’t want to set the blame on anyone specifically. This is not a witch hunt. If the shoe fits, then you will know. I still wanted to express myself because we all carried a piece of that blame and we all need to acknowledge it and act on it rather than closing our eyes and keep on keeping on like nothing has ever happened. I hope this group changes into a healthy, inclusive and welcoming place where everyone and every characters are loved equally. If it happens, then I will happily join again if I am allowed to (because, well, I’d understand if this statement was too blunt). Or, at least, I will look back on my time here and be happy that changes were finally made.

I know this was long. I needed to take this off my chest. Thank you for the opportunities. Thank you for giving the hope that this could be a different place. Thank you to those who cared about inclusivity and diversity.

Take care. Treat people (and yourselves) with kindness. I love you guys and I’ll miss you. Go watch a Barbie movie, will you? It’s for self care purposes! <3

Laurie 🧡 🍊

#(( i guess this is my unfollow message if it's not clear enough! ))#(( i wanted to be transparent! ))

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tact-and-impulse · 4 years

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Shinkane Week Day 5

A deep connection between a cinnamon roll who has the utmost faith in humanity and an intelligent criminal who truly admires her vision, all while they’re in a situation of escalating high stakes? Am I describing Shinkane from Psycho Pass or Nao/Akiyama from Liar Game? Hence this. I hope you’ll read the Liar Game manga too!

Prompt: Lies

When deep in thought, his eyes were like storm clouds of a faraway sky. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mouth in a set frown as he contemplated the situation.

“Is there something on my face?” Kougami eyed her.

Akane jolted. “There isn’t! Anyway, what do you think of the other team?” Their heads turned towards the glass-walled ‘customs office’, where Kunizuka was speaking to the Northern Country’s representative. This new round of the Liar Game was the first to incorporate teams, and in this old abandoned airport, the two groups roleplayed merchants trying to smuggle their assets in the middle of a civil war. It might have been fun if they weren’t dealing with actual millions in cash and a horrific fate if they couldn’t repay their debts.

“I wouldn’t underestimate them. Everyone in the Liar Game is lured by money, but these people are different than those we’ve encountered up until now. That reclusive-looking guy has an obsessive personality, and the girl has a sadistic streak.”

He had to be using ‘profiling’. Kougami Shinya. He had served three years in prison for dismantling a multi-level marketing corporation that was responsible for his mother’s death. But before then, he was a graduate student in psychology. She’d been lucky enough to read about him the day before his release, and since the very beginning of the Liar Game, she had relied on his criminal expertise. He had questioned why she wanted to keep playing; she was too honest, too naïve, too kind. The storm clouds had darkened when he said that, but she didn’t waver. What she wanted was-

“What do you think?” His question pulled her out of her thoughts.

“I don’t like the leader. Makishima. There’s something about him.”

“I feel the same way. He’s unsettling.”

As if he overheard them, impossible as it was from the opposite end of the floor and with soundproof glass besides, Makishima fixed his stare upon the two of them. He smiled.

It sent chills down Akane’s spine. Kougami’s jaw clenched.

“Doubt. One hundred million.” Kunizuka called. The Liar Game representative, a formidable-looking elderly woman, opened the silver briefcase the Northern smuggler had carried in. It was full of ‘contraband’ money, now granted to the successful Southern Country. Kunizuka returned to hearty congratulations.

But now, Makishima was up as the Northern inspector.

Ginoza looked around at their team. “Who wants to be the smuggler?”

“I will.” Akane volunteered, and heads spun towards her. The Liar Game favored those who took action. She’d answer that call. As she passed by, she gave an encouraging smile to Kougami. “I’ll do my best to figure him out.”

“Ah.” He still seemed troubled. “Tsunemori…be careful.”

She attempted conversation, but she was met with a condescending stare. Then, at the last minute, he finally spoke. “What do you think the Liar Game is about?”

Raising her eyebrows, she answered. “It’s a test of selflessness.”

“How quaint. The Liar Game is about manipulation. I want to see the splendor of the human soul.” There was a feverish light in his eyes, and before Akane could reply, time was up.

Upon her report to the team, Kougami’s eyes narrowed. “Manipulation…I think I have a better understanding of how the Northern team operates. Good work, Tsunemori.” He lightly smacked the back of her head.

“Uwah!” She blurted at the impact, and laughter rippled through the group.

She was glad it wouldn’t be her turn for a while. Her mind couldn’t stop replaying the touch and weight of his hand.

***

They were losing. From Kougami’s explanation, they were in the worst possible scenario. They could stop playing the Liar Game if they lost the overall round with enough money to pay out their debts, but already, their team was trailing further and further. The situation seemed hopeless. Akane worried her pencil eraser between her fingers.

“Sheesh,” Kagari sighed. “This is it for us, huh?”

“No, there’s still a way out.”

“Let’s hear it then, Kou-chan.”

Kougami paced before them, his steps slow and confident; he was in his element and Akane couldn’t tear her gaze away. “First, we need a traitor on the Northern side, although two would be even better.”

“What would we need a traitor for?” She asked. “Wait, so they can access their own ATM for us?”

“Exactly. I’m talking about real, actual smuggling.” He grinned.

Upon their first meeting, he claimed he didn’t want to touch anything remotely shady, the memory of jail too fresh. However, his face was definitely that of an eager wolf.

Akane became the inspector for the next few turns. She let down people’s guards, Kougami explained, so she should study people to see if they could potentially betray the Northern Country. There were some who seemed rather devoted to Makishima. However, she thought two were following him out of fear: Tsurugi and Kugatachi. When they were up in the customs office, Kougami was sent to persuade them.

His conversations lasted nearly the entire ten minutes. Tsurugi seemed thoughtful, but she couldn’t get a read on Kugatachi. Was the plan going to work?

She immediately went to him after he talked to the stoic woman. “What did you say to them?”

“Nothing in particular.” His dismissal was aggravating. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll do their part in exchange for a cut of what we earn.”

“Oh. I see.” She frowned, but the next turn soon occupied her thoughts.

***

At the end of the day, the Liar Game representative announced the end of the round and robotically offered congratulations. “Communication lines are now open between the teams. If you have anything you would like to say, please do so.”

Unsurprisingly, Makishima spoke for his team, and his voice came through the loudspeaker on their side. “Well played, Southern Country. I’m looking forward to seeing the final score.”

To Akane’s relief, Tsurugi and Kugatachi had indeed betrayed the Northern Country, and everyone in the Southern Country could gracefully exit the Liar Game. However…

Everyone else on the Northern side, excluding Makishima and his right-hand man, had no individual winnings at all. While the Southern team had smuggled money from them, Makishima had redistributed what was left in favor of himself.

Kougami seized the microphone. “Makishima, you bastard! You’re throwing your teammates away?!”

“I know who you are, Kougami Shinya.” The response was ice cold. “We’re quite similar. You used two people on my team, after all. But this is where it ends. You don’t have enough to save everyone on your team and these two.”

Akane jumped in. “You’re wrong. I’ll be participating in the revival round for losers and I’ll dive back into the Liar Game.”

“You won’t be alone.” Kougami clasped her shoulder. “I’m doing the same.”

Her eyes widened. “You will?”

“Of course. We’ve come this far together.” His determined expression encouraged her and she turned back to the microphone.

“Makishima-san, you said you wanted to see the splendor of the human soul. But in the end, you couldn’t resist greed. Meanwhile, everyone on the Southern team has been saved because we cooperated with each other and were selfless enough to help two more. Go ahead and drop out with your winnings, while we uncover the true face of the Liar Game. You may have won the round, but you lost against me.” With that, she lifted her chin. Makishima certainly wasn’t smiling as she pivoted on her heel.

Kougami was looking at her. Was that admiration in his gaze? It was unfamiliar, but her heart skipped a beat.

Afterwards, Akane settled the transfer of her profit to Tsurugi and Kugatachi. The two of them thanked her profusely, especially the man. She ventured a question as they headed out. “What did Kougami-san say to convince you? He said ‘nothing in particular’ when I asked.”

“Nothing in particular? Geez, he gave me an entire speech. You’re Tsunemori, aren’t you?” Tsurugi smirked. “I can tell. He said you were the Southern Country’s boss.”

“Eh?! I’m definitely not!”

“Aren’t you though? He said that he’s been your partner since the very beginning and you aren’t in this for yourself. You’ve donated your winnings so far to the losers, saving the people who have been kind to you. ‘She truly believes in the goodness of people; that’s who our boss is, so come to our side’, Kougami said. He has a high opinion of you. I’m surprised he lied about that to you. Well, men and women will lie to each other about their true feelings. Kugatachi certainly does.” He sighed as he glanced towards his quiet companion, already walking down the stairs. “Anyway, good luck with everything.”

“Thank you, and you too.”

She left the building to find Kougami standing just outside the door. A lit cigarette was between his lips, and smoke billowed as he remarked.

“Makishima was right, by the way.”

“About what?”

“That we’re alike. Do you know why I wanted two traitors? I wanted them to put each other in check and I used them. I’m no better than he is.”

Akane shook her head. “Kougami-san, you’re definitely not like him. You don’t want to manipulate anyone for your own purposes, and if you truly did, you would have abandoned me long ago.”

He didn’t reply right away, but some of the tension dissipated from his figure. “Abandoning you was never an option. Tsunemori, you really rattled Makishima. How did you do it?”

“Oh, I was bluffing.” She relished the surprise on his face. “I don’t know whether it was greed that motivated him. But from our conversation, I could tell he wants nothing more than chaos and the biggest prize of them all would be to destroy the masterminds behind this game. In the meantime, we can get the money back. At least, I hope. I still believe that we can save everyone in the Liar Game and bail them out.” That was what she wanted, that was why she continued to play.

His expression was impassive, before his mouth curled and a low satisfactory sound vibrated in his throat. It sent an electric thrill through her. “You’ve toughened up.”

“A little.” She felt that was lame to say, but she couldn’t take it back and her face was warm. He has a high opinion of you.

Further down the street, Masaoka waved. “Hey, come on, you two! We’re going out to eat, it’ll be on me. Just the first round of drinks though!”

Kougami stamped on his cigarette and turned to her. “Let’s go, Tsunemori. Or do you already have plans?”

“Not at all. And food sounds good, I think we deserve it.”

The Liar Game was frightening, but for now, there was no need to feel lonely.

#psycho pass #shinkane #shinkaneweek #kougami shinya #tsunemori akane

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