#Here is a f***ing thesis on them

[highvern]

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

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The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It’s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

“Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Analysis: Love Rival: Why Kagami works but is still hated and why Luka doesn’t but is loved

Now this will be my most controversial Hot take, a lot of you already saw the title and are already organizing your complaints. I don't care, you are free to do so. 

In a previous post, I discussed what makes a good love rival and if you want a good explanation of that, click the in bold link. 

This is a VERY LONG POST, so I am posting a read more. I would love to hear your thoughts on this analysis. Do you agree? Do you disagree? Did you want to include something? Let me know.

I think in order to organize this post I will be splitting it up as follows.

Why Kagami Works as a Love Rival

Why She is Hated for it

Why Luka Doesn't Work as a Love Rival

Why He is Loved despite it

Final thoughts

So lets get to it

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Why Kagami Works as a Love Rival

Kagami Tsurugi was introduced in the episode Riposte, where she is established as a straightforward, no nonsense fencer that wants to be the best. 

Her introduction is solid, she establishes her base and what the audience is supposed to know about her from the getgo. We also get the impression that Kagami when introduced would be a rival to Adrien, as they are competing in Fencing, which makes for a nice twist when they end up getting along and Kagami begins the task of being a Love rival. She starts off as a foil for Adrien, but then the reveal is she is actually a character foil for Marinette.

What also helps Kagami is that the show is mainly from Marinette’s perspective, so we get to see Kagami as Marinette does, as someone that is competing for Adrien’s affections, cementing the Rival aspect of the Love rival. Kagami clashes with Marinette causing Marinette to in turn be more upfront with her feelings and push harder to try and win over Adrien. This is something a good rival does, pushing Marinette forward and making her have to try. This rival aspect of Kagami’s character give Marinette urgency, which is something that is needed in order to drive Marinette towards a conclusion, whether it is to pursue Adrien or move on. 

Now as a love interest, Kagami establishes her relationship with Adrien in a different way then Marinette. Kagami’s straightforward nature allowed her to tell Adrien how she felt much earlier on, she pushes and asserts herself. This contrasts Marionette’s approach to wooing Adrien, and also has an interesting parallel to how Chat Noir handles his feelings towards Ladybug. Acting as a mirror towards that relationship. While Kagami is not flirtatious like chat noir, she is upfront about her feelings. She puts it out there and is understanding when Adrien isn't ready to respond, much like how chat noir is with ladybug. But the difference being that ladybug and Chat noir’s dynamic has a bit more complexity to it. Regardless, Kagami checks the boxes needed to be a true love rival.

Now the last and most crucial part about Kagami is the character at the core. Cause in the end, we know her and Adrien’s relationship wont be endgame, and interestingly she will be better off afterwards. Ikari Gozen does an excellent job filling in more information about Kagami’s character. In this we get to see that Kagami’s life doesn't revolve around being Adrien’s love interest, she is someone that has her own struggles and wants to find freedom in her own way, be friends with people, but she is awkward. Her development from this and Loveater shows how much she has grown on her own, how she has come to see Marinette as a friend, how she understands that there is more to life than just fencing. She wants to prove she is good enough, and wants to show she is worthy of friendship and love. Those are themes and traits that can be cultivated and grown. Kagami’s greatest appeal is that she can grow beyond her role as a Love rival, and that is why she succeeds.

____________________________________________________________________

Why She is Hated for it

Now despite all of these great qualities Kagami has demonstrated as well as how perfect her character is for such a role, the fandom is mixed about her, some even down right hating her. Interestingly enough, the reasons they dislike Kagami is not because of her character. Especially when you consider the rise in popularity of Marigami. Its because of 3 other factors outside of Kagami’s control. Over-saturation, Writing, and Fandom trends.

Over-saturation seems like an odd choice but it perfectly describes the situation. In season 1, we are introduced to two other female characters that were reoccurring characters AND were romantically interested in Adrien. Chloé bourgeois and Lila Rossi. Now both of them can be considered antagonists, and that is kind of the problem. Two reoccurring female characters already have a thing for Adrien, and both of them are jerks (that being the lightest term I can use). Now we know Adrien would never end up with a bad girl, but that impression starts to stick and make it seem like a pattern. That Adrien only attracts bad people (excluding Marinette). By season 2, when Kagami was introduced, it just seemed to the fans like, “Oh great, ANOTHER one”. Despite Kagami being a good character, and someone that actually cares about Adrien outside of the shallow aspects that Lila and Chloé were invested in, fans were ready to write her off and, with how the show was written, you couldn't really blame them at the time. 

The second is a bit more obvious, the shows writing. The largest offender being Frozer and Oni-chan. While Oni-chan was salted on by fans a bit excessively, I have no real defense for Frozer, Frozer was an awful episode and everyone involved should feel bad. Kagami suffers like many ML characters do from poor writing, now this doesn't destroy her character like many would like you to believe, but she gets portrayed in a more negative light when the intentions are not meant for it. Its a bit harder to explain, but just know poor writing and assume Zag interference was what caused issues.

The Last one is something that is a bit more controversial, Fandom trends. Now in season 2, fans really, REALLY, did not like Kagami. The first two reasons having a large impact on that, but what really made it hard for Kagami, was the fandom itself. Since she was introduced first, certain lovesquare shippers LOATHED her appearance, HOW DARE she jump in and disrupt the love square! There are more words that were used, most of which are very degrading towards women and I would not want to repeat. Kagami took the brunt of the fandom backlash, the one that ‘Ruined the Lovesquare’. And when season 3, or as I call it, the season of Salt, fans really hit her hard with hatred, the Adrigami fandom took a lot of salt from toxic stans, some of which didn't like adrigami because they hated Adrien and didn't want him to be happy. It is gross to think about and its tragic that she is hit hard by hatred simply for things outside of her control.

_______________________________________________________________________

Why Luka Doesn't Work as a Love Rival

Luka is the alternate love interest of Marinette and was introduced in Captain Hardrock. He is Juleka’s older brother and is a guitarist.

His introduction is not terrible, but it is not as strong compared to other characters, but I do believe it sets the mood for what he is as a character. His character is the friend’s nice older brother musician, thats kind of it. It sounds like I am being mean but that sums up his character. He isn't really a foil to Adrien or Marinette in anyway, there is no shocking twists or clever parallels to be made, its just Luka. Simply put, Luka doesn't work as a Love rival.

Luka isn't a rival character. He isn't competing with Adrien, he doesn't clash with Adrien in anyway that would help him develop. Adrien and Luka get along fine, there is not a single bit of tension or conflict between them. This isn't a good thing when they are suppose to be competing for the same girl. I already hear what you are thinking, ‘But Adrien likes Ladybug.’ you're right, why isn't Luka interested in Ladybug then? Why is there no clash with chat noir? The point of a Love rival is to push another character towards something, to be a measuring stick. Luka doesn't do that for Adrien, and that is why the rival aspect fails for Luka.

The next course would be the love interest part. Surely Luka is someone that works well as an alternate love interest for Marinette? You are somewhat right, he does work better as a love interest for Marinette rather than a rival for Adrien. But that doesn't make him a good love interest for her. In my take on Love rivals, there needs to be three criteria met to be an effective love rival/love interest, an unequal development of both character, a differing connection that the two share, and a character underneath that can exist outside of the relationship. Luka fails to meet 2 of these criteria. The unequal development of both of them, Marinette has shown some development from her interactions with Luka but the reverse is not provable, we have yet to see Luka really change because of his relationship with Marinette, we don't know how much Marinette has helped/hindered Luka with his struggles, the best argument I could think of was that Marinette helped him be more bold in silencer, but really that sort of falls flat because he has shown bold actions outside of that. Captain hard rock said that he wasn't really good at expressing himself with words, but he shows pretty capable of doing so with people outside of Marinette, like his sister, or expressing anger to Bob Roth, so I don't really see how that works. The other criteria he fails to meet is having a character should the relationship end, Luka’s relevance is tied to him being the other guy for Marinette to choose, we as a viewer have no concrete reason as of yet to see him grow or change after the split. It doesn't help that Luka has even encouraged Marinette to go after Adrien on multiple occasions. People say thats because he is truly selfless and ‘Because he cares’ but really it just shows how little interest he has in trying to win her over, it almost comes off as insulting to Marinette. The only thing that Luka managed to pass was by having a different dynamic with Marinette than Adrien had with her. But that dynamic is shoulder to cry on. I guess that explains why salt fics really try to make Luka into Adrien.

Luka’s character in itself isn't awful, he isn't a bad person or anything of the sort. He is inoffensive and thats the problem. A love rival is suppose to be a point of tension, one that pushes, one that causes development, a force that at its core is meant to help the characters grow, and Luka just isn't the character to do that. He isn't a love rival, or a love interest. Luka is a wall, a wall put in between the two main leads in order to cause a divide without causing tension.

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Why He is Loved despite it

Luka isn't a love rival, and yet despite it he is one of the more popular characters in the fandom. It was something so mind boggling to me, what did this character have that made him so well liked in the fandom? Why wasn't he as hated as Kagami was during her introduction? I found myself coming up with three reasons why this was the case. Luka was so loved because of Necessity, writing and Salt.

 Much Like Kagami suffered from Over-saturation, Luka had the Opposite problem. Marinette’s other love interests all ended up losing interest by the end of the episodes they were in. Nino, Nathaniel, Theo (though it was for ladybug). All of them just got paired off with someone else shortly after. Marinette didn't have another person outside of Adrien that was potentially going for her attention. This necessity allowed for Luka to slip in and fill the gap. The fandom saw him show up and were excited! With Kagami *ruining* the lovesquare, they needed someone for Marinette to help mend her should kagami ‘Win’, and Luka won by default. So Luka was the one the screeching fandom saw as there answer.

The next key that helped Luka was the writing of the show. The problem with the writing in the show is that often the writing will clash and hurt the strong characters of the show. Luka, as someone that does not have any strong defining features is flexible and easy to write for the writers. It makes it easy for him to be written in a way that wont infuriate people because of bad writing. He is able to coast by without having his character be in jeopardy. In a way, he has nothing to lose.

The last factor is of course salt. Now in fandoms, salt is used as a means of criticism or used to describe problems with characters. Luka is someone that people don't really have a problem with, which during the season of salt, made him perfect for all those fics where they needed someone to be on Marinette’s side because Adrien was ‘the devil’ or Lila was an extra mean jerk. Luka didn't have any problems that were agitated by salt, so he was the perfect replacement for Adrien when the writer wanted to hate on the blonde. Luka was the substitute, he was the easy fix that took little effort to include. He was a nice older brother that already liked Marinette, perfect fix for any situation. Its rare to see Luka written in a negative light without his character being warped so far that he is a completely different character.

Luka is loved not because of the things he is, but simply because of the things he is not. He is used more as a means to an end rather than as a character. In the writing, he is more of a wall, while in the fandom he is more of a stand-in. At the end of the day, I don't know what is more tragic.

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Final Thoughts

Kagami and Luka are characters that were introduced in order to spice things up and add development for the main characters. I find that in some ways they do achieve that goal, but in other ways they fail. One of them embodies the spirit of a Love rival while the other embodies the love obstacle. Regardless of this analysis, your thoughts on Kagami and Luka are your own and you can love and appreciate them as you see fit.

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If you want to support my insanity. Buy me sushi please 

[haleigh-sloth]

Tenko vs. Tomura

Okay, so in light of chapter 361 and the insanity that unfolded afterward in regards to the "Tenko vs. Tomura" situation, I'm gonna try to target the big main reason for it here. Aside from the obvious "healing your inner child" trope that is at play here, there's reasoning behind the specific memories that was triggered here and the timing of them. There is more to this Tenko situation than just chapter 361, more than his childhood friends, more than his dog.

I'm gonna start with my Hot Take that: Shigaraki's biggest personal obstacle is not rooted in society. The societal issues are not necessarily personal to Shigaraki, as we've seen that it's actually a macro level issue with all of the League. They've all been outcasted and screwed over, as a result of a failing system. But each of them has personal demons that take the front seat of their arcs and I'm gonna dive into Shigaraki's.

I think his personal obstacle is incredibly obvious:

Because before society failed Tenko, Tenko was already ruined and a complete wreck. His family died at his hands, he felt guilty over it, and he felt that him being ignored by everyone was a punishment for killing his family.

I'm taking it back to chapter 270 when Shigaraki created this "dreamscape" as I call it. He recreated the last comforting moments he had with them because that's all he has to hold onto. His family is not coming back, there is no undoing what has been done.

So he recreates those moments to try to give himself closure, to try to move on:

Because due to AFO, he was never able to:

And guess who makes an appearance in the dreamscape! Little Tenko!

Tenko appearing here is showing that there is a part of Shigaraki that desperately wants to move on and heal from what happened. Because we know how he's felt this entire time ever since then:

But the thing is, he cannot move on. He cannot give himself closure, not on his own. His attempt at moving on from what happened just resulted in the same story being told again: Rejection

SO. My point there is that--the biggest issue he has is overcoming what happened to his family. Well, more like understanding that it was an accident, not a murder. His dad's death was an impulse reaction, still not necessarily considered a cold-blooded murder.

But this is what Shigaraki thinks about the situation with his family:

But we know, we KNOW, that deep down that's not how he feels. I mean, that's not up for debate, as evidenced by the entire scene in chapter 270 where he tried to forgive and forget, but in the end he couldn't.

So taking it back to my opinion that his biggest personal OBSTACLE isn't necessarily the failing system, but rather with the internal conflict surrounding his family--

As much as he talks about the failing system (which, it's true, it's failing), I think we're finally seeing now that his real core issue isn't that. It's the internal turmoil he's been living with for 16 years regarding his family and what happened.

That's why when an opportunity to capitalize on the societal complaints and relate it to the League was provided in the dialogue by Mirio--it wasn't. Instead, we got Shigaraki regressing to the version of himself that last experienced any kind of joy.

And the last time he felt anything good was when his family was still alive, his mother was asking him about his dreams, he had his sister and his dog and his dream of being a hero still intact, and his entire world hadn't come crashing down in shambles yet.

SO NOW--my thesis: TENKO AND TOMURA ARE THE SAME F***ING PERSON.

Okay, I've said this a million times. And I have explained a thousand reasons as for why they're the same person--

symbolism, metaphors, the fact that Tenko's thoughts and feelings are surfacing in the BODY of Tomura--there is only one person, healing the inner child trope, etc.

But the main argument for this is that the reason Tenko--specifically black haired Tenko, specifically Tenko who thought about his childhood play mates in that one moment--was used here, is because of the way that most of Shigaraki's emotional turmoil is rooted in his family and his memories from what happened. Every time his memories are triggered, he falls further into his despair. We saw it in MVA, we saw it here, and we saw a tiiiiny bit of it during the war arc:

Most of his issues go back to those last moments he had before everything turned to dust, BEFORE society continued the misery by failing him afterward.

We have been seeing Tenko represent Shigaraki's attempts to hang onto the few good things he has a couple of times now. It's not new. Seeing it happen here is no different than the dreamscape. It's not any different from Izuku seeing that part of him in the vestige. It's all him, it's all a part of him that makes up the whole person.

The thing about AFO saying that "Shimura is separate", is that AFO can't fully take over the body and take full control. We're seeing this now, that sometimes words will slip that AFO isn't wanting. It's not that Tenko is literally a whole other sentient being, it's that AFO just can't fully do what he's trying to do. It's that the part of Shigaraki that continues to hold onto the last good moments he had is keeping a full-on takeover/possession from happening. We saw Shigaraki seemingly reject and "move on" from the last few memories of his family right before he woke up in the war arc, right before accepting AFO in its entirety--and after that he succumbed to AFO's control and influence almost immediately.

But if there is anything we've learned by now, it's that literally no matter what he does, he cannot move on. He tried to forgive and forget, but it just ended with his dad rejecting him again. He tried to reject all of them out of hatred, but that didn't work either, because now we're seeing that that part of him is still very present and very influential. He can't move on until he fixes the way he views that entire situation. Which would mean admitting that he didn't want them to die, wishes they weren't dead now, and acknowledging that he wasn't just born to destroy. How he is going to come to that realization remains to be seen, though I think the trajectory of it is pretty obvious by now.

But anyway the bottom line is that--until Shigaraki overcomes those internal issues surrounding his family, how he remembers them, how he remembers their deaths, and how he views himself, nothing is going to set him free from AFO, and nothing is going to make him happy. Until that endless source of rage is taken away:

--nothing is going to make him feel good again. Fixing society isn't going to address his personal issues. They can fix the system all they want, but nothing will take this particular pain away.

That's why right now all the child-coding he's been plagued with since the beginning of the story is being hammered in now more than ever. That's why his inner child is screaming to be set free, so he can actually grow up and mature properly, and not just trauma-react his way through life forever.

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [03]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 5k a/n; we’re finally getting into some traction with the main plot! who are we liking more so far, w1!jk or w2!jk?? 

[02] [03] [04]-> masterpost

Instead of going to the doctor, you take a trip to the library. If Namjoon thinks your ideas are  supernatural, you’re going to find someone who believes in the supernatural. 

He calls you in the morning just to make sure you’re going to his recommended doctor.  You fabricate a lie that the doctor friend he recommended is busy so you’re going to go find another one in the meantime. Just in case Namjoon decides to ask said doctor about your current mental and physical state, you want to make sure you cover your tracks. As much as you want to give it another go and help Namjoon understand your precarious situation, you weren’t up for another possibility of rejection. 

You wanted to avoid Namjoon’s rejection so much that you’d rather turn to unconventional alternatives to finding your answer. 

Unfortunately, Tony Stark and Steven Strange do not exist in this universe, and therefore you need to turn to more practical measures. 

Seoul University has a zillion libraries, and you decide to go to the general library in the hopes you’ll find something in the subject of world-hopping. Unfortunately you haven’t been in a huge library since you were a senior in college, and the smell of paper, sad students and ink all but overwhelms you. 

You’re about to start wandering when a young voice snatches your attention. “Miss,” you feel a tug at your belt loop, and you notice a little boy looking up at you with a pout. “I lost my way after using the bathroom and I can’t find the daycare.”

A little part of you wonders who on earth could’ve let a boy no older than five out of their sights, especially in such a spacious building. Alas, you smile and offer him your hand, suggesting that the two of you look for a map. 

“Well it’s a good thing we found each other!” you say brightly, encouraging the kid to follow you to the kiosk, “I was just about to look for a map because I’m a little lost too, we can read it together.” 

The boy tells you his name is Bogum, and you respond with yours and explain that it’s okay to get lost, especially when this library is so big. He listens to you with rapt attention, wide eyes as you spell out the words “daycare” using the little paper map you brought with you from the lobby. 

Bogum and you stop in front of a plain room with a cheap powder blue baby gate, deep in the children’s section of the library. It’s there that you spot five or so children huddled over the flatscreen television, ‘oh’ and ‘ah’-ing over whatever film’s prattling on. You’re not surprised that Frozen 2 remains a sensation in both worlds. 

Bogum opens the door first, and you make eye contact with the only adult in the room. He’s lean and friendly-looking, holding a child in their lap as they sing along to “Into the Unknown”. Your heart is caught in your throat, begging to be released as your eyes widen in surprise. 

“Hobi!” you blurt instinctively, but you immediately clamp your mouth upon realizing. You really need to get used to this, but honestly how can anyone get used to this kind of situation? Hoseok will definitely be the fourth person you’ve alarmed in the past five days. 

Hoseok’s jaw drops slightly, head tilted as the rest of the mini-crew train their eyes on you. You shrink in the presence of children, knowing from experience nothing gets by them. 

“Is that your girlfriend, Hobi-ah?”

“Do you know her, Mr. Hoseok?” 

“She looks scared, what did you do?” 

The affronted man presses his lips in a thin line, “Dunno,” he answers vaguely. He seems unperturbed, hands settling in his traffic cone orange sweatpants. He gestures to the snacks in the middle of the room, releasing the children’s inner fire for food, “but it’s fruit snack time! Go ahead and grab your water from the cubbies, you can eat while you watch.” 

The babies cheer, and you smile fondly as the kids rip open their packets and giggle over Olaf. You wish you could go back to simpler times. 

“So,” Hoseok stands up, and gestures for you to sit at the small kids table in the back, “Do I know you? I don’t know if I know you, but I feel like I know you. Because you know me.” 

Deciding you need to sit down for his bombardment you squeeze your legs into the worn Fisher-Price desk, running your nails over the crayon stains and pencil shavings. “Uh, no?” 

“Did we have a class together? Hook-up? Friend’s hook-up that I tried to coerce into a threesome?” 

“Ohmygod, there are children here!” you hiss, but Hoseok just smiles plainly, offering you a bag of fruit snacks that he snagged before the children emptied his bowl. You accept the gesture, unable to make eye contact. 

Seeing the members out of their clan of seven is still jarring to you. You can’t imagine a world without the seven of them together. Like they always say, Bangtan is fate. 

“I just wanted to return Bogum,” you say, crinkling the foil bag in your grasp, “and I’m actually looking for a professor who has her office hours here. I have uh, questions on my thesis on alternate universes.” 

“Ah, are you referring to Professor Song?” you nod, “she cancelled her office hours for today, if you bothered to email her. And anyways, she doesn’t take kindly to questions on supernatural phenomena. Not since her latest book on paranormal channeling tanked.”

Your face visibly falls, dejected. You probably should’ve tried to schedule an appointment. “O-oh.” 

“But as a non-judgemental soul, I would be happy to assist you on your ‘thesis’.” Hoseok  air-quotes, noting that the kids are only in the very beginning of Frozen 2 and they have a whole hour and a half to their own devices. “And in exchange, I want to know the real reason as to why you’re looking for her, especially because you referred to me so excitedly as Hobi, and not Hoseok,” he crosses his arms, “and only my mother and sister have the right to call me that.” 

You feel like a kid sent to the time-out corner, inevitably forced to fess up. It didn’t work out as well as you hoped with Namjoon, and you feared to be disappointed when Hoseok disagreed with you as well. Of course, you can’t blame them. If Hoseok came up to you and said he came from an alternate universe, you’d run for the hills. 

But Hoseok is sweet and sincere, and he’s definitely not letting you go. In fact, he’s empathetic, already distressed from seeing you sweating and wringing the poor fruit snack packet. 

He drags over a mini chalkboard cart, poised to take notes. “C’mon, I won’t bite.” 

You frown, “Promise you won’t laugh at me until the very end?” 

“Promise.” 

Forty minutes later and in the turning point of Frozen 2, Hoseok has drawn up what looks like a convoluted flowchart detailing every single thing you’ve said up until this point. It reminds you of a child’s drawing, symbolizing all the dead-ends and turns of your life, but you’re sure Hoseok doesn’t want to hear that. 

Within the first ten minutes of your story, Hoseok is shaking his head. “That’s crazy. C’mon, prove it. If we’re really friends in an alternate universe, how much do you know about me?” 

Hoseok's face falls farther and farther into his lap as you respond with a straight face. His birthday, favorite foods, hobbies, music taste, and even feelings towards melodramatic movies are laid out in your words like a personal diary. 

He crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes. “Tell a secret that you know about me.” 

That stumps you. You make a face, stuffing a strawberry gummy in your mouth as you think about any conversation you could’ve possibly had with Hoseok in the past year. There’s a possibility that whatever happened to Hoseok in your world hasn’t happened in this one, but you have to at least try. 

With as much confidence as you can muster you say, “When you were in the 3rd grade, your older sister was playing with sticks in your backyard and accidentally stabbed you.” 

He narrows his carmine eyes, “Where?” 

“Left breast,” you chirp, “under the nipple.” 

Hoseok’s face twists like he’s in the 8th dimension, and he clutches his left breast comically. “You’re either psychic or telling the truth,” he marvels, nearly cracking the bud of chalk in his fingertips. 

You fight the urge to sigh in relief, running a hand through your hair. You can’t believe that actually worked. 

“Okay so obviously because I need to know my alter-self, what’s Jung Hoseok like in World One?” 

“World One?” you snort. 

“Yeah, since it’s your home world. This is World Two, because this is your second reality.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing, waving his hands in the air. 

“You’re a rapper and incredible dancer in the world’s top boy band.” and Hoseok doesn’t know whether to think you’re an impeccable actor or really telling the truth by the way you smile so tenderly. “And you managed to get your mom the barbeque restaurant she always wanted. Best place for pork belly wraps.”  

And because you know he’s a softie for his mother, you already have a tissue stretched out for him, confirming that you have him convinced. Seeing it all laid out terrifies him, not because he’s scared of someone infiltrating his reality, but because you’re lost. You’re lost and you can’t go home and he can feel like he’s known you all this time. Not because you know every single fact about him under the sun, but something tells him you were meant to find him today. 

“So, you got hit by a truck in World One, and end up in World Two just like that?” you nod again, and Hoseok starts to line up whatever code he’s created on the blackboard. “What were you doing before that?” 

“I went drinking with my friend Sehlyung.” 

“Uh-huh, and before that?” 

“Got into a fight with the guy I love.” 

“Oh, sorry.” 

“Even worse, he ended up being the first person I met once I entered your world.” 

Hoseok blinks, “That’s gotta count for something, right?” 

Your face sours, “Impossible. Jungkook didn’t recognize me either.” 

“Anything else happened that day? Perhaps something to do with the both of you? It can’t just be coincidence,” Hoseok insists, and you almost see the potential theories looming over his head. 

Wishing you bought some aspirin on your way, you pinch your brows together. You’ve recollected that night one too many times that it’s been starting to overwhelm you. You hate thinking back to how harshly Jungkook rejected you. How much his words pierced you clean like you were soft and breakable. The twist in the knife was seeing him again in this world, only for him to reject you again for an entirely different reason. 

“Wait,” you bite your lip, the final memory from your last conversation with Jungkook resurfacing. 

“Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.”

“He said maybe we’d be together in another world,” you say slowly, the words sinking in your form like a key to a lock. 

Hoseok snaps his fingers, a huge white grin beaming on his face. “Shit, this is straight out of the Twilight Zone or something. Cool!” 

It’s then that the credits roll for Frozen 2, and the children are pouncing on him like leeches to a sweet treat. They laugh and beg for his attention, teasing him because he said the s-word. 

“I’m sure this Jungkook kid has something to do with why you’re here—ow, Haneul! My hair is precious!” Hoseok is busy fending off kids and trying to continue your conversation. He gets up from the tiny chair to prevent them from reaching, and you follow suit. “In the meantime,” he reaches for your phone, typing something, “here’s some books Professor Song recommended to me when I was fascinated in alternate universes. Maybe they’ll help, I don’t know. But good luck, update me when you get a chance! I work here most days.” 

“Thanks Hoseok,” and before you can second guess yourself, you find space between the children to wrap your arms around him. Thankfully, he doesn’t push you away, and hugs you back just as tightly. You can’t help it, and bury your face into his shoulder, trying to conceal your sobs. He even smells like World One Hoseok. You miss them. 

The rest of your afternoon is spent in the library, searching for book after book regarding the supernatural and other phenomena. A little part of you hoped Hoseok would join you in your navigation, but he had a job and you had yours. He already offered you an ear and much, much more. 

You feel a little stir-crazy, despite the fact that these books could contain important information, only Jungkook’s words seem to register in your brain. 

“Maybe in another world, we’d work out. But not this one.”

You groan, stretching out your back so you could reach the final book out of Hoseok’s recommendations. You blush when your joints complain about your lack of exercise and sudden exertion of physical activity. This last one just so happens to be on the highest possible shelf. There’s really no need to have more than five books on supernatural phenomena, but you’re already here and it’s vermillion red cover is taunting you like a bull to its matador. 

Fuck it. Making sure no librarians are watching, you hop on the first shelf, heels dangling in the air. You could climb trees like it was nothing when you’re a child, but ten years later you can feel all the joints in your body protest at the sudden bout of athleticism. 

Alas, even with the added height you can barely reach the top, fingers brushing over the hardcover. You’re starting to sweat with nerves, thankful for the whirring of the icy air conditioner. With a sigh you attempt to climb on the next highest shelf, until the familiar smell of detergent and florals invades your personal space. Even his scent is the same. 

“Y’know, there’s a help desk for a reason.” 

Your shoulders slump as Jungkook wordlessly instructs you to get down from the shelf. You feel the warmth of his palm shadow your back, not touching you but prepared to in the event you slip and fall. With a cross of your arms, you hug your books to your chest, refusing to make eye contact as he retrieves the book for you. Call it being petty, or overly defensive because of past events, but you’re not ready to talk to Jungkook right now. 

Conversely, Jungkook is piqued. He’s lived here for the past six years and it’s the first time he’s seen you in this library. Twice in the span of two weeks is definitely something worth noting, especially when his new co-worker just so happens to be friends with you. 

In fact he’s excited, curious. He just entered the library, dropping off some proofs for his graduate school’s office when he spotted you in the corner of one of the shelves, determined. Something warm and light brings a smile to his face when he sees how endearing you look trying to get that too-high book. Despite the fact that he’s still on the fence about your sanity, he wants to make sure you don’t almost-die a second time from head injury. 

“Here ya go,” He easily grabs the book and Jungkook is prepared to plop the book in your pile, but you’re hugging the others so tightly that he has to wedge it between two other ones. 

You press your lips together as Jungkook goes into your personal space, miffed that you’re being a little defensive. After all, you’re embarrassed from the last time you saw him and you’re heart is beating wildly, confused over the man in front of you. It takes a wiggle before you concede, letting him tuck the red novel between two other larger books. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, nodding at him once before swiftly turning the corner, skirt swishing. 

The smile on his face is wiped clean when you don’t even bother to spare him a little eye contact. 

“Hey, wait up!” he exclaims, and he’s immediately shh’ed by at least five students and an angry librarian. He deflates, giving sheepish bows as he walk-runs after you. 

He feels like the tables have turned, now he’s the one chasing after you. Should he apologize for leaving you on the sidewalk two weeks ago? Should he offer to hold your books, or drive you home? Maybe not drive you home, because he brought his bike today and he fears that you may be traumatized by the fact that you almost ate pavement under his wheels. If he has to ease into it, maybe he could offer his phone number up as compensation for accidentally almost-killing you? Suggest that his number is for you to contact him as an IOU. Smooth. 

You look over your shoulder briefly, suppressing a groan as Jungkook makes it painfully obvious that this is not the end of your interaction. He’s boring into you, looking past you and his eyes are dark with information. As much as you want to know what’s going on in his mind, seeing Hoseok and Jungkook within the same hour is wholly overwhelming, especially when you just laid your whole life story out to Hoseok in a daycare. 

He’s now staring holes in your back as you hand over your books and work identification to the unsuspecting librarian, who chalks up your awkwardness between two friends toeing around a relationship. To the unsuspecting eye, it’s not out of the ordinary. You can’t just tell Jungkook to “kindly fuck off because I’m still processing your existence” because he’s really done nothing wrong. Inevitable, you let him heat your skin with his imploring eyes until he starts to squirm like a garden snake. He’s waiting for you, silently begging you to turn your head and acknowledge how hard his brain is working right now. This boy is always after attention. 

Finally, you spare him. “Yes?” you say softly, keeping your focus on the bookkeeper checking you out as Jungkook hovers over your form. 

“Uh,” he scratches his head, searching for words, “are you hurt? Y’know, from the other day?” 

“Judging from the way I was prepared to climb the shelves, no,” you stuff the books in your tote bag, “are you hurt?” 

“Uh, no.” 

“Okay. That’s good.” You brush past him, making it a blatant point to stride out the first door you see. 

Even with all the telltale signs, Jungkook continues to feel something. An urge, a bell, something. He doesn’t know what, but he’s compelled to follow you. For a small thing you sure know how to walk, and he has to pump his legs a little to catch up with your speedy form. 

He follows you to the middle of the campus courtyard, where students are lounging about and studying or playing football. It’s already starting to turn dark, and the orange sky sits impatiently on your bodies as you try to walk as fast as possible to your apartment. 

“Hey—hey, c’mon!” his long legs manage to get close enough to you, but he has to halt as soon as you stop, whipping around to glare at him. 

Jungkook stumbles as you’re centimeters away from him, visibly annoyed. You’re super close, impossibly close to him. He holds his breath, fearing he’d fan your face and you wouldn’t appreciate his chicken-salad breath. He doesn’t understand why you’re upset, but he wants to jab a thumb between your brows and even out the adorable expression that pinches your visage. 

“What, do you need something from a stranger?” you bite icily, and he doesn’t understand the pang in his chest when you refer to each other as strangers. It’s true, you are, but you don’t have to be so harsh about it. 

“I, I just want to know why you knew my name,” he replies weakly, hands going up as if he committed a crime. “Back then, I’ve been confused ever since,” it’s wholly innocent, and genuine, “I just wanted to know if you’re okay, I guess?” 

It’s then you soften, melting like the yolk in the sky. The strap of your bag digs in your palm, the leather probably indenting your skin. 

“I got really drunk last night,” you concede, and at the very least it’s the truth, “probably woke up drunk too. I stumbled outside and when I saw you, and mistook you for another Jungkook I know.” 

You’re pulling this excuse out of your ass, and you hope that someone watching you from above (or below) will give you a reprieve on this one. He seems to believe this notion, probably used to one too many drunk girls fawning over him half-sane. 

“Another Jungkook?” he balks, mouth parting like a baby kitten, “a Jungkook with the same name and face?” 

“Uh kinda, like Mario and Wario?” you say, and you know Jungkook will get the reference if he remains a video game lover, “what’s that called, doppelgangers?” 

“I’m partial to Luigi and Waluigi, but I get it.” he replies with a small smile, proud to have gotten you to open up, even a little. “That’s cool. I’m sorry for freaking out back there.” 

“Understandable,” you look at the grass crunching at your feet. You definitely understood, but it still hurt recollecting the way he pushed you off of him like a bug. “I’m sorry for mistaking you, I just kinda stumbled out of an apartment and got walking, I thought I was in a dream or something.” 

“So uh, where’s this other Jungkook?” and it’s an innocent enough question, and he’s almost boyish about it, rocking back and forth with his hands in his jeans. “I’ve always wanted to meet my own twin, I just didn’t expect them living in Korea and having the same name. That’s like a two for one deal!” 

You wince, avoiding the way Jungkook tries to bend down to match your eyes. “He’s uh, not around anymore. Completely gone,” you mutter. 

Completely gone? Did that mean the person you were worrying about on the streets, the person who you worried over so thoughtfully in place of Jungkook, is dead? 

Jungkook puffs out a breath of air, running a hand through his hair. Boy, does he feel like a piece of shit for bringing up tough memories. “I’m so sorry,” he gushes, voice cracking as he tries to get you to lift your head, “I was just being nosy, alright? The fact that you knew my name freaked me out and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And when I saw you in the library I pounced but I realize that this is such a huge mistake and—”

“Jungkook,” you hold up a hand, a twinge of a smile barely grazing your lips, “I already told you, it’s understandable you would’ve been freaked out. Don’t blame yourself,” you size him up a little, looking up and down and he automatically straightens his back. He feels his ears heat beneath his hair, “but you look like the type of guy to be too hard on himself.”

He laughs, nodding profusely, “So I’ve been told.” Feeling lighter at the assurance of your feelings, he sticks out his hand, “then can we call a truce?” 

It’s then you see it. 

“Tiger lilies,” you marvel, hands reaching out instinctively to touch the tattoo adorning his arm. It’s the same design, same position, the dark ink vibrant as ever. 

“It’s my birth flower,” he puffs out his chest a bit, feeling elated that someone appreciates the fine art he spent weeks drafting. Tattoos aren’t particularly popular in this area, so he can’t help but feel a little cheeky that someone’s attracted to them. He watches the way your eyes sparkle over the black ink, the most positive emotion he’s gotten out of you since meeting. “Tiger lilies, they mean—”

“Please love me,” you finish, letting go of his arms so it drops to his side. You finally look up at him, and your eyes prick. 

He looks so much like him, it hurts. Seeing Hoseok and Namjoon also pained you considerably, but nothing compared to how much it ached to have Jungkook around, vying for your attention. How well you knew his body, and how much you wish you could hug him. Today he’s even dressed a little similarly to how you’re used to, soft and comfortable in black sweats and a Carhartt hoodie. But this Jungkook isn’t scarred by the industry, and it fills the curiosity that plagued you for days on end. Your Jungkook is always vibrant, but the one in front of you is radiant. He’s young, eager, and ready to take on the world. 

Jungkook grins, impressed by your knowledge. He wonders about your birth flower, and whether you have it tattooed somewhere on your body. “Is that your birth flower too?” he asks, debating on whether or not it’s too late to ask you out for coffee because evening is approaching. Maybe dinner was more appropriate? But it would be like a date? Maybe pizza or McDonalds to keep it casual? 

You see the gears turning in his head, and you feel like you’ve wasted too much time thinking. “Ah, no,” you flounder, rapidly shaking your head, “just some random information I’ve picked up.” 

“Are you into flower meanings?” he tilts his head. 

“Not particularly,” you say ominously, and you try not to ache when he seems disheartened at your lack of elaboration, “but I will be. I’ll see you around, Jungkook.” 

You can tell he has more to say, especially because Jungkook is one to finish what he starts. But you can’t give him that satisfaction now, not when you’re onto something. You spare him a wave over your shoulder, not wanting to see the disappointment in his face when you leave him in the dust for a second time. 

And with that unpromised promise, you go back into the direction of your apartment. You have some extensive research to do tonight. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

Jungkook wakes up to the sun, and he bolts up in his bed. 

“Hey!” he yells to no one in particular, knowing his voice is loud enough to echo throughout the dorm. “Why did no one call me? We had practice!” 

Instead of passing out in the studio he’s wrapped up in his sheets, bundled comfortably as if he’s been in bed for hours. He’s almost disoriented, looking around the room and waiting for someone to barge in and tell him to hurry up and get somewhere. 

After working on his music, the seven of them were supposed to meet up. The plan was to take a nap from ten to eleven, and be at the studio to go over some modifications to a new setlist. However, those plans evidently did not go through, because he had a full night’s sleep for the first time in weeks and that only happens if there’s a schedule cancellation or vacation. 

He feels particularly antsy because he couldn’t work on anything last night. His mind was like tunnel vision, completely filled by visions of you and last night’s fight. It’s frustrating, especially when there’s so much he’s behind on already. 

But today’s a new day. He takes his time in his room, popping out all his joints and doing leg and arm stretches on his mattress. For once, no one’s ushering him away to do the nth task. He mindlessly scrolls his phone, taking note of the insistence for him to return to social media but pins it away for yet another promise of next time. 

Mindlessly clicking his phone button on and off, his wallpaper shows a picture of your back facing the sunset. An old, innocent picture that could be mistaken for a random shot Jungkook stole on an empty night in Dongdaemun. With a sigh he throws his phone somewhere between the sheets, rubbing his eyes. There’s nothing he can do now but move forward, and he takes that in stride. 

But when he walks out of his room, the air feels terse. It’s strange, as if he could cut through the tension in the room with a butterknife. 

He looks on in confusion to see all the other members settled in the living room, hovered over their phones. They’re all still in their clothes from last night as well, grave expressions on their faces. 

Someone’s choked sobs are echoing from a corner of the room, and Jungkook is worried when he sees Taehyung sobbing in Hoseok’s arms. 

“What happened?” he asks, brows knitting together as he walks over to Namjoon, looking over his phone. 

Namjoon immediately presses his phone to his chest, concealing whatever is on the screen. Jungkook’s heart pangs at his block, because Namjoon isn’t one to hide things.  He’s feeling cut out of a secret so deep that it must be either a secret, or something he shouldn’t see. “It’s,” he takes a deep breath, and Jungkook feels it. He feels that whatever Namjoon has to say is going to be hard. 

Seokjin speaks up for the leader, bright eyes that always spark like fireworks now dim. “We got a call from Sehlyung early this morning. Before it got light out she—she was frantic. She said Camille wasn’t answering her calls after they went drinking.” 

No. No. 

“Then BigHit got a call from the hospital. They said a truck hit the curb, knocking her clean,” it doesn’t even sound like Seokjin’s speaking, just the shell of him, regurgitating information. “She’s alive, but it’s critical, no one’s allowed to see her until she’s stable. We don’t know when,” Seokjin bites his lip, choosing his words carefully, “or if, she’ll wake up.” 

Jungkook doesn’t even register that he’s crying until Seokjin pulls him into his arms. 

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Basically what happened was that someone put the sarcastic lore Olympus video another anon mentioned in a server im in and when I mentioned that I dont think that Lore Olympus is the best interpretation of H/P in part due to how non-greek the whole story was, the shit started. Excuses ranged from "Greek polytheism isn't exclusive to Greece" to " im not saying you're wrong but I know a lot of Greek polytheists" (I especially got mad at this one) to "it's an American story and the myths naturally reflect what Americans see in each other" to "many colonized places had Greek and Roman fetishized culture thrust upon them" and "American culture is deeply seeped in Greek myth and Greek polytheism is a thriving culture here" (send me the fuckin thesis) and then what really boiled me was their blatant shock at the fact that Zeus could *gasp* love Hera and be good to her. And then claimed they've read all sorts of myths for decades. Gems like "half of the heroes in Greek mythology aren't Hera's kids" like Ares and Hepheastos just don't exist ig. Then blaming me for getting angry and upset for all around being disrespectful to the gods. Thank fuck someone was on my side because I was just so fucking over it. God and all heavens above forbid you tell an American they got their history wrong and they're being disrespectful and hurtful in doing so. The worst part is that I tried to be polite through the whole thing. Tried. I dont know how I was coming off, but God fucking damn it i tried. Fucking hell, claiming that the need to study Greek mythos in your AP Us History class doesn't fucking mean it's baked into your culture. It made me so frustrated and now I can't even fathom talking to the people involved when they so staunchly defended something and claimed to be educated when it's obvious they weren't. I got an apology from a few people which I appreciated, but f u cking hell. Sorry for the long ask.

1) "Greek polytheism isn't exclusive to Greece" - Yeah SO? Does this make LO better? Does it negate the fact the planet knows only inaccurate/whatever Americanized movies about Greek mythology?

2) " im not saying you're wrong but I know a lot of Greek polytheists" SO??? You are allowed to have your own opinion! Plus, Greek polytheists can still be uneducated and follow practices they read in Percy Jackson and are used only to pop culture Americanized versions of how the gods are

3) "it's an American story and the myths naturally reflect what Americans see in each other" Nobody said those stories aren’t allowed to exist! The f-ing point is the Greco-Roman deities are treated like American property!“American story and the myths naturally reflect what Americans see in each other” it’s ALL THAT THE WORLD WATCHES. INCLUDING GREEKS.

Don’t they realize the US is an imperialist country or what? Those stories are everywhere and we are bored. If all you have to show is “Greek gods in US and Canada” x 1000 times and “The Greek gods used to show American social issues”x 1000 times just throw me into a bottomless pit already.

And then they have the nerve to say “but this is representation for you!” No, it isn't if you make Hera into a Karen and Zeus into Bill living in their mansion in Manhattan, showing no hint of my culture (OR Greek American culture) apart from some names and some basic powers! You might as well make them Egyptian gods and the script won’t change.

4) "many colonized places had Greek and Roman fetishized culture thrust upon them" How does that excuse the stupid stuff in LO?? What does a white woman in Australia have to do with how culture was forced to change in colonized cultures??

Why should Greeks see the disrespect of their figures because other countries promoting a *fetishized* image of their ancient culture to other countries they colonized? Why is the US continue to glorify that *fetishized* (as this person said) standard?

Plus, it’s not like Indigenous Americans or Africans from formerly colonized countries consider Zeus part of their culture. Yes, the philosophy of West European nations and certain standards were unfortunately forced upon them but they know the gods are not theirs! (As opposed to many formerly not colonized people in the US)

And if you speak with people from countries on this side of Atlantic which were colonized by France or England you will see they don't deem this mythology theirs! In most of these countries, the citizens merely know the basic stuff about Greek mythology. All they know comes from - you guessed it - American shows about Greek mythology!    

5) "American culture is deeply seeped in Greek myth and Greek polytheism is a thriving culture here" Okay just... what? 😂😂😂😂😂 I swear this fetishized version they accuse colonizers of spreading, they have it themselves and don't recognize it. It’s apparent, as they often see Greek mythology as “a thing of the White man” and want to “subvert” it to send a message. Meanwhile have they thought about how Greeks feel about this? Naaaah fuck dem Greeks. Who cares, it’s not like their culture is Greek any more, right? Who knows what language they speak nowadays these exotic people...

And “Greek polytheism is a thriving culture here”?? North America has hundreds of millions of people. The 500 internet friends you have who are in Greek polytheism is not even a fraction of that. 

“The need to study Greek mythos in your AP Us History class doesn't fucking mean it's baked into your culture.” I agree with your statement. Moreover, guess who fought to keep the heritage alive for thousands of years? Greeks. Copying manuscripts, analyzing ancient philosophy, protecting heritage monuments, songs, religious customs, etc. Do they think Greeks sat on their asses for a blank 2000 yrs??

Final thoughts:

Greek mythology aside, people who claim to know something when they are ignorant and they don’t offer to search for things they don't know, are immature and cause harm to whoever tries to argue with them. It’s good you got an apology from some, I am happy when people want to research something they don't know! 

But that server in general... doesn't seem very inclusive (ironically). And if you weren't a Greek (aka not perceived as oppressed in N. America xD) they would take you more seriously and they wouldn’t say “but I have other Mixed Brazilian friends who don't complain about the cultural misrepresentation!” I find it natural if you don't want to engage with them any more :/ See what is best for you 💙

[perenial]

at risk of asking a dumb question.. how did you know you were nb/you wanted to go by they/them? i ask as someone trying to figure it out

this isn’t a dumb question - the opposite, really, since this is the entire point of my thesis (that everyone is sick of hearing about). there really isn’t a lot of research in social sciences about non-binary identity, and what does exist is either going through peer review right now and isn’t accessible, or takes a v strong biomedical approach that totally ignores the social dimension of identity work. but that’s not exactly what ur asking so i’ll save that for my phd proposal lmao

the main Thing for me was always feeling discomfort with my birth name. from a v v young age i’d hear it and be like......is that supposed to be me? am i supposed to connect that collection of syllables to [gestures vaguely at all of this]? it just didn’t click with me. my birth name isn’t overtly feminine or anything but it’s definitely a ‘female’ name, so i guess i kind of hitched all my gender-y baggage to that horse and went okay well that’s clearly not right

i discovered the term non-binary on tumblr in about 2012? 2013? i was definitely questioning my gender by 2013, because i’d just had my first girlfriend and i felt incredibly uncomfortable when she called us lesbians. let me be super clear about this: it wasn’t internalised lesobophobia that caused the discomfort, it was the fundamental incompatibility of a gendered label having anything to do with me. 

(sidenote: there’s actually a really interesting argument by monique wittig discussed by judith butler in gender trouble that explores the idea that man/woman are inherently heterosexualised roles and therefore being a non-hetero woman/lesbian....isn’t exactly the same as being a capital-w Woman? it’s a complex theory that some lesbians/wlw have taken as an empowering concept while others feel like wittig leans into t/e/r/f or political lesbian territory. ANYWAY baby gene didn’t know this discourse existed and thought lesbian = woman so that’s what i’m getting at)

after breaking up with my girlfriend i v briefly toyed with the idea that i might be a trans guy, and while that felt slightly more correct than being a cis woman, it still didn’t sit right with me? so i cycled through a few different things, most significantly genderfluid, until one day when i was about 14/15 where i just went u know what? fuck it. i’m non-binary. u can try and define whatever the fuck is going on here but good fucking luck. 

that was around the same time i started using they/them pronouns, first online and then slowly more irl as i went to uni/talked to new people. i tried he/him and ze/zir for a while but like id-ing as a trans guy/genderfluid, it just didn’t feel right. it was a lot of trial and error, plenty of late nights staring at the ceiling practicing introducing myself, so much reading about trans identity - and somehow i ended up here, literally being non-binary as a career.

my main advice to u is to have fun with it. gender can feel really serious at times, especially when there’s so much emphasis on physical transition, but i promise it’s okay - good, even - to just fuck around while u find something that works, and for all its faults tumblr is actually a great place to do just that. u want to use neopronouns for a week? go for it! u want to change ur name every second month? sure! u don’t want people to see or perceive ur gender? bitch me too the fuck

and it’s alright if nothing fits right away, or ever! like, show me a permanent state of self. there isn’t one. we’re all just meaty sacks on a slowly dying planet; who gives a shit if the person u were calling greg last week is emily now. humans change - it’s what we do best. resisting that urge to change is how we get tony abbott eating a whole raw onion on national tv. 

i want to leave u with this quote from gender trouble, which is a fantastic book if u can muddle through all the unnecessarily complicated academic language:

If the body is not a “being,” but a variable boundary, a surface whose permeability is politically regulated, a signifying practice within a cultural field of gender hierarchy and compulsory heterosexuality, then what language is left for understanding this corporeal enactment, gender, that constitutes its “interior” signification on its surface? Sartre would perhaps have called this act “a style of being,” Foucault, “a stylistics of existence.” And in my earlier reading of Beauvoir, I suggest that gendered bodies are so many “styles of the flesh.” These styles all never fully self-styled, for styles have a history, and those histories condition and limit the possibilities. Consider gender, for instance, as a corporeal style, an “act,” as it were, which is both intentional and performative, where “performative” suggests a dramatic and contingent construction of meaning.

(and because i’ve been referencing things all day and can’t break the habit now - emphasis mine, Butler 1999 (2nd ed.), pg. 177)

happy gendering!

[saltandlimes]

Thesis: Thor’s character arc in Endgame was (almost) perfect. It was the rest of the avengers who sucked

Ok, so hear me out here!

Thor’s character arc in Endgame was so reasonable given his earlier actions. Over the course of what is only a tiny, tiny fraction of his lifetime, all his friends die, his mother dies, his father dies, and it seems likely that his brother dies as well.

Thor is young. If we take Loki to be correct in his estimation that Asgardian lifetimes are about 5000 years, then Thor is only in the first fifth/quarter of his lifespan. He’s not expecting to lose his friends or family for years yet, especially with the sort of medical technology Asgard has. And as such, he hasn’t really developed strategies for handling loss. Instead, we’ve seen him bottle up hurt and horror for years, starting with when Loki fell from the Bifrost in Thor 1 to when Asgard was destroyed in Thor 3. 

At the end of Ragnarok, we see him standing in front of a mirror with bottles of what looks like alcohol in front of him, and all that distracts him is Loki’s presence. It’s a completely reasonable assumption that without Loki there, and without the immediate goal of getting his people to safety, Thor will use whatever means available to distract him from the pain that he’s suffered.

Showing him struggling with depression, with PTSD, with anxiety, all of that is brilliant. Thor is a highly emotive character, and one who has suffered losses most people couldn’t even imagine. It’s a brilliant idea to allow him to deal with those losses in a way that’s really relatable to the audience.

What doesn’t make sense, not really, is that his “friends” don’t help. It’s tempting to go back and retcon, and try to imagine that they never really cared about him, and that’s why they’re so incredibly unkind, but even if they didn’t care for him, they would had to have actively viewed him as truly alien and not capable of human emotion to make their reactions make sense.

We’ve seen Tony struggle with these same feelings. We’ve seen Natasha try to atone for her past life, and be forgiven by all around her. We’ve seen Clint do the same. Steve runs a support group, for goodness sake. And to make them mock and belittle Thor is so utterly out of character that it almost makes Thor’s arc ring false.

Yet when we consider Endgame as a whole, is it really shocking that the rest of the Avengers (and others) are out of character in their interactions with Thor? Steve wouldn’t leave Bucky alone in the future for a million bucks. Tony doesn’t show a hit of his ambivalence about his father, and how likely is that? Clint GOES AROUND MURDERING HISPANIC AND JAPANESE PEOPLE WITH A SWORD WTF-ING-F? Pepper hardly shows up, despite being brilliant, highly involved in Tony’s work, and a really strong character. Rocket doesn’t demonstrate any of his earlier rough sensitivity to other’s feelings. Rhodey seems to hardly talk to Tony anymore.

Their treatment of Thor is utterly in line with how their characters have been altered/warped in the rest of Endgame (and IW to some extent). They’ve lost their compassion, and love for their friends. And if there’s one thing that doesn’t make sense, it’s that. The Avengers have been, since the beginning, marked by compassion. It’s they who were written wrong, not Thor.

[Caveat: not mentioning Loki is entirely OOC for Thor. Yeah that didn’t make sense]

[quick disclaimer: I didn’t like the film. I don’t think they handled this arc well at all. I didn’t enjoy when Thor was on screen because of how everyone treated him.]

[artificialqueens]

Free Falling, Chapter 6: The Shitteth Hath Hitteth the Faneth (Branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Thank you to @artificialmeggie for beta-ing!!! Idk what the title is from, it’s just something a friend of mine always says and seemed appropriate lolol

Board meetings at Charles-Visage occurred once every two months. They were usually extremely exclusive affairs; no one but the board members, the president, and other executive staff of the hospital, as well as the heads of various committees, as necessary.

Except for today. The budgetary meeting, the day Brooke had been waiting for ever since she found out about her expansion being possible. Once a year, there was a hospital-wide budgetary board meeting, one which all managers of all units and clinics were invited to. Plastique had told her all about it; during those meetings, budgets were cut, expanded, shifted, and set, each manager given a chance to present, propose, and defend their ideas and their programs. According to Plastique, though, most managers sat quietly and took what was handed to them, treating the meeting more like a debrief than a possibility.

Lucky for her unit, Brooke wasn’t most managers. In the days that led up to the meeting, she revved up her work, preparing papers, posters, an entire spreadsheet, just to convince the board about the possibility of an expansion. It was an iron-clad plan, and she had it figured out right down to the roll-out.

“Someone’s prepared,” Vanessa teased as she helped Brooke carry her charts up the stairs towards the boardroom. Brooke nodded, trying to ignore the pounding in her chest that intensified with every step as they climbed closer.

She hadn’t told Vanessa what her plans were; she didn’t want to jinx it. But Vanessa must have known she was nervous because earlier that day, instead of watching Plastique grapple with the prep materials, she offered her lunch hour to come and support Brooke.

“You don’t have to do that!” Brooke had protested.

“I know.” Vanessa only smiled, laying a hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “I want to.”

“Hey.” They reached the top of the stairs, and Vanessa grabbed Brooke’s hand, reddening a little but holding it tight. “You’re gonna do great, okay?”

“Okay.” Brooke squeezed back. They stayed like that for a moment, not looking at each other but not pulling away, a game of chicken that softened and became, somehow, something close to comfortable. Brooke could feel Vanessa’s eyes gradually come to settle on her, and she tried her best to look back, but they only locked eyes for a moment before both looking away.

Just like that, the magic was broken.

“Um. Anyway.” Vanessa coughed, dropping her hand from Brooke’s. “You should probably go, don’t wanna be late.” She turned to leave, but then stopped and turns back, this time not flinching away when she looked right into Brooke’s eyes. “Good luck, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Brooke looked back and smiled. “Thanks.”

She carried the buzz of Vanessa’s touch with her into the meeting, the euphoria of calloused palms rubbing against her own soft ones melting all of her nerves away.

–

In retrospect, Brooke should have expected almost everything that happened at that meeting.

It had been no surprise to her that she was, apart from the two pediatric outpatient clinic managers, the only woman in the room. She had expected the sea of balding, white men in the same gray suit staring back at her, waiting for her to look away first. She didn’t; only coolly took a seat at the table as others continued filing in.

“I assume you’re Miss Hytes?” the man next to her leaned in and asked in a bemused tone through overly-whitened teeth, not bothering to extend a hand to the pretty young thing next to him.

“ Ms. Brooke Lynn Hytes, yes. And you are?” Brooke extended hers instead, staring a challenge back into the man’s own appraising eyes. There was no crack in his facade as he took her hand and shook it, his smile widening.

“Gerald Warden-Robertson Fairbanks, but you can call me Gerald. Outpatient high-intensity.”

“Inpatient pediatrics,” Brooke returned, dropping neither her gaze nor her hand.

“I figured.” The man smirked back, his eyes dismissive and smile somehow even more saccharine as he dropped her hand, almost as if he was looking at a child himself. But Brooke only smiled, chewing up the dig and instantly thinking up the right way to spit it back to him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gary.”

For a moment, Brooke thought she saw the man twitch, but before she could fully bask in it, the meeting was called to order.

It didn’t take long for things to get down to business. That was typical; everyone had places to go, things to do. There was a flurry of facts, figures, and percentages being thrown around, the ‘debrief’ more like a full-on thesis presentation. That was typical, too; there was no doubt in anyone in the industry’s mind that those who couldn’t keep up should get out. What was atypical, what began to get Brooke really worried, is what all of those numbers meant.

Bottom line.

Profit margin.

Donor contributions.

Trends in spending.

We’ll have to make cuts.

They’d have to make cuts.

She should have expected that. That was totally typical for budget meetings, it was totally typical for healthcare in general. She should have expected that.

She hadn’t.

She knew what came next; next was a witch-hunt, a frenzy to defend one’s department and keep as much of their funding as possible. That was fine; Brooke had come expecting some kind of fight, and she was prepared.

What she hadn’t expected was for Gary to clear his throat.

“Well, Bob, realistically, looking at our profit margins and spending versus our targets, it seems like only one program needs significant cutting.”

Brooke knew what was coming. She knew what he was going to say.

“I would say we need to make major cuts to the entire pediatrics department.”

Brooke wasn’t a praying woman. There was not a single plea running through her mind at that point, only replies, only arguments, only facts and figures and which of her charts would be most useful.

Then, grace.

“I appreciate the suggestion, Gerald, but it’s not something we can make a snap decision about. We’ll get back to you all by the time of the quarterly report, but until then, just… Try to keep these issues in mind.”

She should have expected Gary to sneer at her, to say something as he walked past out of the boardroom. She hadn’t.

“See you at the quarterly, if you’re still here.”

The words rang in her mind all the way back to her office.

–

Brooke could fix it. She knew she could fix it. Hell, she’d fixed worse before.

The difference was, those times, her head didn’t spin when she sat back down in her chair. Those times, she felt confident in where to start and where to go. Those times, it was about the unit and the system.

This time, it was different. This time, it was about Honey and her daughters needing the income. This time, it was about Kahanna taking care of her aging mother. It was about Yvie paying her own medical bills. Even more than that, this time, was about every kid in their care. It was about buying sponges for Monet to play with during her sessions so that she was motivated, how desperate Kameron was to get back to kindergarten and show everyone how her surgery had changed the way she walked. It was about every single parent who lived at their child’s bedside, overpriced cafeteria food siphoning their income while they slept on the foldout armchair next to their child’s steadily whirring morphine drip. It was about all the complex care kid on the waitlist for a facility ready to take them, the kids who would have nowhere else to go.

And, as selfish as it made her, there was a part of Brooke’s heart that knew that it was for Vanessa, too.

She couldn’t let her unit get hurt. She had to save it. Save everyone.

So she did what she did best; she got to work.

Over the next week, Brooke was almost never outside of her office. She took the bus to come in an hour early, and forewent her rides home with Nina to stay even later. She slid in at the last minute for rounds, and was one of the first people out of the room. At first, people were concerned; Plastique asked if she needed more help, others brought her coffee and tea just to make sure she was alive. She rarely accepted more than the minimum, and soon, everyone stopped coming by.

Everyone, that is, except for Vanessa. For the entire week, Vanessa stopped by faithfully, lunchbox in hand, to ask Brooke if she was ready to go for lunch. It broke Brooke’s heart to have to say no, to watch the other woman’s face fall as she told her she had too much work. But it had to be done—even if she couldn’t tell anyone why, not yet, it had to be done.

Still, Vanessa never seemed to get the hint.

“Brooke?” By day eight of their new routine, Vanessa was no longer smiling when she knocked on Brooke’s door. Brooke swallowed hard.

“Hi, Vanjie.” Brooke forced a smile for the both of them, trying not to pay attention to the caution in Vanessa’s eyes, how she’d stopped bothering to step into the door, instead leaning against its frame.

Brooke was ready to tell her to go ahead without her, that she had too much work to do, but before she had a chance to, Vanessa caught her by surprise.

“Did I piss you off or somethin’?”

“No!” Brooke looked up at her, stricken. “It’s not that at all, I really do have w–”

“You always got work.” Vanessa narrowed her eyes, stepping inside the office with her arms crossed, “This is different and you know it. You been distant from everyone, an’ you used to let me sit with you even when you couldn’t come down to the caf. This past week all of a sudden, you don’t even wanna look at me?”

“‘Ness, I–”

“Don’t ‘Ness’ me!” Vanessa’s voice was tense, and Brooke could tell that another word from her and her dirty laundry would be aired at a volume the entire unit would hear. “What is going on? ”

“Close the door,” Brooke was quiet, her chest suddenly tight and weighed down by a guilt she had been trying her best not to feel. “And sit down.”

There was a pause, Vanessa’s eyes flitting around nervously, but she nodded and did as Brooke asked, once again taking her place on top of Brooke’s desk. It was a familiar, comforting gesture, one that made Brooke relax a little despite herself. For a split second, a flash of doubt ran through Brooke’s mind, anxiously wondering if what she was about to do, what she was about to say, was going to backfire, whether it was truly going in the right hands.

But then she looked at Vanessa, saw the earnest concern in her face, and suddenly, she was sure.

“At the board meeting last week, there was talk of cuts. A lot of cuts. Like… potentially lose-the-unit cuts.” Brooke surveyed Vanessa’s face, and felt her heart fall with Vanessa’s expression. It wasn’t one of fear, necessarily–though Brooke could tell in the quiver of the shorter woman’s lip that that was present, too. It was more a look of defeat and sadness, of hopelessness.

That was what Brooke had been afraid of. And it was exactly what she was hoping to avoid.

“I’m– Look, the reason I’m working so hard is because I’m going to fix it, okay?” she added, staving off her own hopelessness, pushing it back down from where it was starting to cut up her stomach. “I’m just figuring out how right now. I think–I think I’ve figured out a way, I’ve just got to–”

“Stop.”

Brooke took in a sharp breath as Vanessa darted out a hand to lay on hers, the sticky feeling of still-drying hand sanitizer soft yet still somehow heavy against her skin.

She looked up, and for once, Vanessa held her gaze.

“We’ve faced cuts before, okay? And we’ve been fine.” Vanessa’s words were careful, calm, as if she was waiting for each syllable to sink in before moving on to the next. “You’re working hard, and I know you can do this. Hell,” she added with a wry smile, “we’ve survived this with way worse managers than your type A patootie.”

Brooke smiled weakly, and Vanessa tightened her grip on her hand.

“You don’t have to figure this out alone, okay? We can all help.”

Brooke shook her head. “I don’t want help right now. I don’t–I don’t want anyone to panic, and I don’t want rumours to start going around, especially not to families. You know how the grapevine grows around here.”

“Okay.” Vanessa nodded, her face somber, and somehow, Brooke felt reassured. That reassurance stops dead in her chest, though, when Vanessa opens her mouth again, a stern, scolding finger coming up and pointing at Brooke.

“Just promise me you’ll take lunch breaks, okay? We don’t need you burnin’ out, that ain’t gonna help no one.”

Brooke nods, smiling despite herself. “Okay.”

“So, we gonna get to the caf, or what?” Vanessa returns the smile widely, radiantly, like Brooke’s just made her day. And for a moment, Brooke lets herself entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, she has.

“Okay,” she repeats, standing up and giving her back and arms a big stretch. “Let’s go.”

[mimik-u]

“Familiar” Liveblogging

THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD EPISODE??????????

God, I’ve missed this theme song. 😭

These little pebble people are so cute!!!

THEY RECOGNIZE STEVEN/PINK WHEN HE SAYS, “THANK YOU” BC PINK MUST HAVE TOLD THEM THANK YOU ALL THE TIME!! AHHHHHH!

That little pebble jumping into Steven’s pocket and coming up w/ a selfie is so frickin’ funny.

“What did White Diamond do to you? Did she hurt you?” 👀 Pearl’s expectation for White Diamond is pain or some other negative consequence. I really have a feeling that regardless of the circumstances that led up to it, she knows exactly what happened to White Pearl.

“And they consider me one of your things.” “Yeesh.” Asdfghhjll—exactly.

Sentientttttt walls?????????

A SENTIENT WALL THAT BLUSHES??????

“Call me... lasagna.” 😂😂😂😂

God, I love Yellow Diamond.

“Two and a half words? That’s a record.” Patti LuPone’s line delivery here killed me dead. 😭

Also, Yellow looks so happy! She’s smiling and joking!! She’s so glad to have Pink home!! I cry.

“White never leaves her own head these days, and she never lets anyone in.” Oh, yeah, the final battleground is def. gonna be in White Diamond’s mindscape.

“But you get to see her because your one colony is a failure.” 😂 What a KID.

YELLOW DIAMOND’S LAUGHTER WATERED MY CROPS AND CURED MY DEPRESSION. IT WAS SO GENUINE AND SWEET, AND HER EYES ARE SO SOFT.

(But even still, she leaves him, leaves Pink, once again, prioritizing business over forming connection. It’s such a hauntingly familiar mistake.)

“I get they’re like busy because they’re dictators and everything, but I need more time!” Def. glad that the show has Steven calling the Diamonds out for what they really are. It’s a nice, jarring touch that reminds us that though the Crewniverse is actively humanizing them, they’re still incredibly problematic.

Huh, there are Topaz guards outside of Blue’s extraction chamber. I’d always assumed that they were apart of Yellow’s court exclusively. What are your bets? My shipper heart’s, like, dawwwww, Yellow assigned these guards to keep an eye on her. But rationally, they’re probably there because of Blue’s elite status.

“WELCOME BACK.” 

SIN G ING COMB?!!!!!!!!!

(Those glowing secretions that the Diamonds are making are, like, the means that give gems sentience, right????? Like, that’s what’s going on with those pebbles, right???)

“You’re here. Come here.” That soft, eager expression on her face???!?? Lisa Hannigan’s tender excitement???????? I’m going to cry.

BLUE DIAMOND IS LAUGHING.

SHE’S NEVER LOOKED SO HAPPY IN THE ENTIRETY OF THIS SHOW.

“You haven’t changed. So silly. So small.” And then she props him up on her knees.

I’m really weak for Blue Diamond, y’all.

“STEEEVOOON.” JDHAKJLFHAKLSFHSKALD.

“It’s such a funny sounding name. You’re so creative, Pink.” She sounds like one of those moms who is commenting on the latest “artwork” her five year old has given her.

Blue’s quiet wistfulness about the fun the Diamonds once had together is incredibly adorable... but so heart wrenching at the same time. 

As she moves further into the story, her mood palpably sinks because the divide between the then and the now distresses her so greatly—which we already know from how she dealt with the loss of Pink.

“We stopped coming here after you left. That was that start of Era 2.” OHHHHHH, I KNEW IT. ALSO, BY RESOURCES, SHE LIKELY MEANS DIAMOND SECRETION. THE HOMEWORLD APOCALYPSE LITERALLY HAPPENED BC THE DIAMONDS DIDN’T GO TO THE SPA TOGETHER ANYMORE. F

“It was so quiet.” Jesus God, stop letting my big, blue dictator be sad. The way she emotes, and the way Lisa Hannigan voices her, combine to create an incredibly visceral effect.

“I know you have more colony stuff to do, but we should spend more time together.” She looks so pleased at the thought. I’m so tender, y’all.

“She was a juggler?!!?” “No, well, yes.” ASDFGHHHJJLL. 

THAT SAME PEBBLE WHO WAS TAKING A SELFIE IS ADMIRING ITSELF IN A MIRROR. I LOVE???

CORRECTION KINDLY POINTED OUT TO ME: THE PEBBLE WAS ADMIRING ITS SELFIE. ASDFGGHHJ.

Honestly, Steven’s new song is going to be a contender for my favorite. It’s making me incredibly emotional rn.

Our boy grown so much, and because he has, he’s capable of recognizing exactly how similar his current situation is to the one he left behind on Earth.

“They loved her, but they’re leaving her behind.” I type this through my tears, but this right here? This is the thesis statement of the entire Diamond arc.

And omg—the pebbles are the ones dressing Steven as Pink Diamond because even they want Steven to be Pink. They want to return to the familiar (as do Blue and Yellow and White).

I LOVE THE OPTIMISTIC TURN IN THE SONG. Steven plans to uses his own experiences with the Crystal Gems to inform how he reunites the Diamonds!!!!!! I’m—

He willingly steps into Pink Diamond’s shoes. 😭😭😭

He’s ready to take the burden of fixing his broken family on all by himself. 😭 Someone hug this boy.

PEARLFNNENSNEEMMES. PEARL BROUGHT HIM HIS FAMILY.

HE’S READY TO DO IT ALONE, BUT HE DOESN’T HAVE TO BC HE HAS FAMILY.

THIS SHOW.

[talesofthebnha-marvel]

Tales from Peter Parker Foreign Exchange Student: Scorpion and the hunt for the Hero killer

Somewhere in the Naruhata district, in one of the many condemned buildings in the area is currently being resided by the infamous villain team, the Sinister Six!

A group consisting entirely of Spider-mans rogues formed under an always-consistent even number. Though its members have rotated there burning hatred of the arachnid hero remains the same. Mysterio, Chameleon, Shocker, Sandman, Scorpion and Vulture are the current members of the group. Currently they are residing in the land of the Rising Sun as a favor to Mysterio involving an as yet unspecified plot for lucrative gain. Yet unbeknownst to the Sinister Six, Spider-man is also stationed in Japan as a student of U.A. High. Eventual a collision of rivals will occur, for now the members of the Six explore there new surrounding some partaking in extracurricularactivities.

Mac Gargan, alias the Scorpion looking is over a large board. On it is pinned with various newspapers and several threads crisscrossing each other like a web.

"Scorpion!" The vulture shouted from above as he descends besides Scorpion.

"What do you want Toomes?" Scorpion asked annoyed having his concentration broken.

Vulture sneered at Gargans dismissive tone.

"Our meeting with the local crime informant, Giran has been rescheduled for now Dmitri suggest we should acclimate to our new surrounding." Impatient to a response, the Vulture makes a quick turn around to see Scorpion still ignoring him.

"The least you could do Mac is make some conversation, what on earth are you researching 'Hero Killer'" Vulture scans the papers.

"Yeah its about this crazy who's been going around offing heroes or injuring them bad towards early retirement." Scorpion explained turning towards Vulture finally.

"And what offer him membership Macdonald, were already at max capacity of sociopaths with you in our group we don't need another one." Vulture mocked.

"Very funny jack-ass, but this ain't about recruitment."

"Than what exactly?"

"The WHY?" Scorpion responded to Vulture.

Vulture seemed perplexed but he reminds himself that Scorpions logic always made sense to his twisted mind.

"Every article is always the same, always asking the wrong questions." He continues.

"Who is he? How is he doing this? When will the Pro heroes stop him, (spit)." Scorpion mocked.

"No one ever asks the 'why' of his motives that's the real story the real scoop." He grins.

"Imoressive, if a bit pointless but he's a serial killer Gargan not much to glean from that. Said Vulture.

"These ain't no random killing Toomes this guy clearly has a conviction and its kinda bringing the detective side out of me, THERE!" he motions his tail on the map as he walks past Toomes grabbing his coat and hat.

Toomes looks at the city map Scorpions tail banged on the board as he sees the mark on the city, Niihama.

Its soon night in the city of Niihama, with Scorpion staking out on rooftop. Several food wrappers and soda cups are littered around him as he peers across the landscape with his binoculars. On his left a crude yet working customized police radio is broadcasting your standard police reports, all noise to his ears waiting purely for calls towards Pro heroes.

"Hrrm, what was it that Kraven always said 'to become the hunter you must think like your prey.' Scorpion recalled internally.

"This should be the place that 'Hero Killer' was last scene and knowing these 'heroes'. Scorpion said with a venomous tone at that last word.

"Them Pros will be rushing off during a crisis, I just need wait for one them to wander off into a dark alleyway and that's when Mr. Herokiller will strike."

Eventual a hero team burst into the scene as they begin a rescue operation by a nearby burning building. One of the heroes note something in an alleyway as she ventures alone.

"Bingo" Scorpion said elated.

Sometime later

Limping and bleeding out, the female hero costumed in a beetle inspired design finds herself exasperated and panic as the Hero Killer approaches. Garbed in an attire of a ninja, with mixture of red and black while his face is covered in several bandanas no doubt to reel in his unruly hair. He slowly moves in a katana in hand as he licks the blood from blade. The heroe's movements are quickly frozen in place unable to move desperately crying to herself

"Why can't I move?!" She screamed hoping her panic tears would be heard.

As she finds herself face first to the ground she can see the killer ready to thrust the blade until…

"HEY!" shouted the Scorpion across the alley as Stain looked up to see the yeller.

Reacting without thought, Stain quickly throws one of his daggers with almost lighting speed. However the Scorpion quickly counters with his mechanical tail sending the blade back as it pass his owners face right by the side of the wall. Unfazed, Stain held his ground staring at this stranger.

"Oh thank you hero please save me fro-"

"Shut up, I ain't here to save nobody especially some Beetle poser." Scorpion insulted as he cut her off using his tail to knock her out.

"I came to see you ' Hero Killer!'

"My business is not with you villain, leave me to my work or I share her fate." The killer threaten.

"Oh I ain't here to stop ya pally, I'm just a simple foreigner is all, I just got ask ya something is all." Scorpion explained.

The Hero Killer saw no ill intents from this stranger yet he could feel his aura of treachery and insanity lurking behind that false sense of camaraderie. For now he played along in order to gauge this new face.

"Very well foreigner, I am Stain ask your question and leave me to my mission."

Scorpion was a bit taken back by this 'Stain' character and pissed off. How dare he makes threats to me, Scorpion thought. But he remembers to keep his cool, he's Mac Gargan the detective first and Scorpion second on this case.

"Okay Stain, the names Scorpion." He introduced.

"I've been looking ya over for some time now trying to figure your M.O. all them heroes you killed or injured no relations what so ever. Yet one thing is common there all heroes. Its clearly not about the money, no real motive for payback and clearly puck and choose who lives and dies." Scorpion explained trying to inflate his ego as a detective.

"GET TO THE POINT!" Stain grew impatient.

Scorpion frowned holding back his gritted teeth from showing from Stains yelling.

"I was getting to that 'friend'." Said Scorpion losing his demeanor.

"Why? What are trying to accomplish offing off these loser heroes?" Scorpion asked in a serious tone.

Stain smiled a cold smile as he sheathed his sword.

"You are correct, I seek no monetary gain nor have these so called 'heroes' wronged me in the past." Stain confirmed Scorpions deduction.

"I seek out the false heroes that solely use there powers for wealth and fame, putting the needs of the people second for there own ambitions while ignoring there obligations as public servants first." Stain explains.

"Its an insult that they call themselves heroes, I have made it my mission to cleanse this world of false heroes, I will never stop for only All Might is worthy of the title hero! Only his sense of justice will I allow to bring about my defeat!" Stain continues as he slowly ramps up his rant.

"Does that answer your curiosity?"

Scorpion felt a bit taken back by the hero killer almost as if Stains aura swallowed him whole, trying to hold his ground Mac composes himself taking a quick breath to ease his nerves.

"And people say I'm crazy." Scorpion mocked.

Stain narrowed his eyes at Scorpion, annoyed by his flippant tone.

"Listen I hate these wannabe heroes as much as the next guy, but at the end of the day no chump can just live off good will and samaritan service."

"People gotta eat, pay taxes and all that other bureaucratic crap we can't all live up to that high horse ideal of the perfect hero crap, so you can stick your bull% $# college thesis up your $$ pally loser!" Scorpions retorted.

"Thanks for wasting my time." Scorpion walks away as he turns his back spitting at a trash can in a disrespectful manner as he makes a leap to the neareat fire escape ladder.

"Come back please, DON'T LEAVE ME!" The pro hero awakens begging for Scorpions help.

"F $# OFF LOSER!" Scorpion continues move on unmoved by the heroes cries.

"Foreigner villain, what does he know of our way in the end they will all learn." As he prepares to lunge his blade, Stain halts his action as he hears the voices of the oncoming team members of his victim closing in. Disappearing without trace he says to himself.

"Another time a different place, perhaps I'll visit Hosu."

Back at the rundown apartment, an enraged Scorpion storms the front entrance annoyed and pissed off.

"So how did it go?" Vulture said with a dry uninteresting tone.

"Pretentious looking ninja turtle with f #$ing delusions of grandeur!" Scorpion replied with a pissed off attitude.

"Sounds lame, you kick his ass?" Sandman asked.

"No"

"You steal his wallet?" Asked Shocker concerned.

"No!" Scorpion said again.

"So in other words a complete waste of time and effort, I'll be needing a receipt for your purchases." Chameleon prioritizing his funds.

"F $# off you losers, it wasn't all total loss." Scorpion grinned.

"Oh so their was a silver lining to this wasted ordeal of yours than?" Mysterio echoed behind his dome.

"People always underestimated me thinking I'm just some joke like you dorks, (except you Sandman.)" Sandman responds with a middle finger.

"But this event just reminded me, I'm still a damn good detective!" Scorpion unveils several headshot photos of different pro heroes.

"I've got a lot of dirty secrets to expose on these "so called heroes" and what better practice is there than in Japan!" Scorpion said ecstatically.

—–

Based on Tumblr @alexdrawsagain comic

Peter parker: foreign exchange student

[nadertigerkay]

Tales from Peter Parker: Foreign Exhange student: Scorpion hunt for the hero killer Pt2

Sometime later

Limping and bleeding out, the female hero costumed in a beetle inspired design finds herself exasperated and panic as the Hero Killer approaches. Garbed in an attire of a ninja, with mixture of red and black while his face is covered in several bandanas no doubt to reel in his unruly hair. He slowly moves in a katana in hand as he licks the blood from blade. The heroes movements are quickly frozen in place unable to move desperately crying to herself

"Why can't I move?!!" She screamed hoping her panic tears would be heard.

As she finds herself face first to the ground she can see the killer ready to thrust the blade until...

"HEY!!" shouted the Scorpion across the alley as Stain looked up to see the yeller.

Reacting without thought, Stain quickly throws one of his dagger with almost lighting speed. However the Scorpion quickly counters with his mechanical tail sending the blade back as it pass his owners face right by the side of the wall. Unfazed, Stain held his ground staring at this stranger.

"Oh thank you hero please save me fro-"

"Shut up, I ain't here to save nobody especially some Beetle poser." Scorpion insulted as he cut her off using his tail to knock her out.

"I came to see you ' Hero Killer!'

"My business is not with you villain, leave me to my work or I share her fate." The killer threaten.

"Oh I ain't here to stop ya pally, I'm just a simple foreigner is all, I just got ask ya something is all." Scorpion explained.

The Hero Killer saw no ill intents from this stranger yet he could feel his aura of treachery and insanity lurking behind that false sense of camaraderie. For now he played along in order to gauge this new face.

"Very well foreigner, I am Stain ask your question and leave me to my mission."

Scorpion was a bit taken back by this 'Stain' character and pissed off. How dare he makes threats to me, Scorpion thought. But he remembers to keep his cool, he's Mac Gargan the detective first and Scorpion second on this case.

"Okay Stain, the names Scorpion." He introduced.

"I've been looking ya over for some time now trying to figure your M.O. all them heroes you killed or injured no relations what so ever. Yet one thing is common there all heroes. Its clearly not about the money, no real motive for payback and clearly puck and choose who lives and dies." Scorpion explained trying to inflate his ego as a detective.

"GET TO THE POINT!" Stain grew impatient.

Scorpion frowned holding back his gritted teeth from showing from Stains yelling.

"I was getting to that 'friend'." Said Scorpion losing his demeanor.

"Why? What are trying to accomplish offing off these loser heroes?" Scorpion asked in a serious tone.

Stain smiled a cold smile as he sheathed his sword.

"You are correct, I seek no monetary gain nor have these so called 'heroes' wronged me in the past." Stain confirmed Scorpions deduction.

"I seek out the false heroes that solely use there powers for wealth and fame, putting the needs of the people second for there own ambitions while ignoring there obligations as public servants first." Stain explains.

"Its an insult that they call themselves heroes, I have made it my mission to cleanse this world of false heroes, I will never stop for only All Might is worthy of the title hero! Only his  sense of justice will I allow to bring about my defeat!" Stain continues as he slowly ramps up his rant.

"Does that answer your curiosity?"

Scorpion felt a bit taken back by the hero killer almost as if Stains aura swallowed him whole. Seeking to hold his ground Mac composes himself taking a quick breath to ease his nerves.

"And people say I'm crazy." Scorpion mocked.

Stain narrowed his eyes at Scorpion, annoyed by his flippant tone.

"Listen I hate these wannabe heroes as much as the next guy, but at the end of the day no chump can just live off good will and samaritan service."

"People gotta eat, pay taxes and all that other bureaucratic crap we can't all live up to that high horse ideal of the perfect hero crap, so you can stick your bull%@$# college thesis up your @$$ pally loser!!" Scorpions retorted.

"Thanks for wasting my time." Scorpion walks away as he turns his back spitting at a trash can in a disrespectful manner as he makes a leap to the neareat fire escape ladder.

"Come back please, DON'T LEAVE ME!!!" The pro hero awaken begging for Scorpions help.

"F@$# OFF LOSER!!" Scorpion continues move on unmoved by the heroes cries.

"Foreigner villain, what does he know of our way in the end they will all learn." As he prepares to lunge his blade, Stain halts his action as he hears the voices of the oncoming team members of his victim closing in. Disappearing without trace he says to himself.

"Another time a different place, perhaps I'll visit Hosu."

Back at the rundown apartment an enraged Scorpions storms the front entrance annoyed and pissed off.

"So how did it go?" Vulture said with a dry uninteresting tone.

"Pretentious looking ninja turtle with f@#$ing delusions of grandeur!" Scorpion replied with a pissed off attitude.

"Sounds lame, you kick his ass?" Sandman asked.

"No"

"You steal his wallet?" Asked Shocker concerned.

"No!" Scorpion said again.

"So in other words a complete waste of time and effort, I'll be needing a receipt for your purchases." Chameleon prioritizing his funds.

"F@$# off you losers, it wasn't all total loss." Scorpion grinned.

"Oh so their was a silver lining to this wasted ordeal of yours than?" Mysterio echoed behind his dome.

"People always underestimated me thinking I'm just some joke like you dorks, (except you Sandman.)" Sandman responds with a middle finger.

"But this event just reminded me, I'm still a damn good detective!" Scorpion unveils several headshot photos of different pro heroes.

"I've got a lot of dirty secrets to expose on these "so called heroes" and what better practice is there than in Japan!" Scorpion said ecstatically.

-----

Based on @alexdrawsagain comic

Peter parker: foreign exchange student

Edit: I wasn't pleased with the ending thinking it could have been better. With help from @alexdrawsagain and his added dialogue along with more tension. I am slightly more satisfied with the new results.

[fred-frederator-studios]

“My absolute dream is to create my own television show.”

Sometimes I’ll get an email from someone who likes what Frederator does and would like to know something about the cartoon business. In this case it’s a college senior in an animation program (who’d corresponded with me when he was in high school) who’s working on his senior thesis film and would like to create his own series someday. 

These questions were really good and reflected some of the issues that many students from outside the industry are concerned with when their only insight comes from reading. In this case I felt like the inquiries were a little too concerned with the ‘how’ of selling a series. 

Here are the questions and my answers. 

As a bonus, I’m adding some smart thoughts from Frederator’s Eric Homan, our head of development and creative affairs.

How is Frederator specifically able to take what is intended to be a 15-30 minute episode and shorten it into 2-3 minutes while keeping the integrity of the story/implying a larger universe within the possible show?

We never do what you’re suggesting.

1) Frederator asks for a 6 minute cartoon short pitch (that is, when we're in a cycle of shorts production like Oh Yeah! or Too Cool! or GO! Cartoons). It's not a random length, it's approximately how the great theatrical shorts were produced and I've always figured, steal from the greatest. If it were completely in my control, I'd always make 6 minute cartoons, but most of the world wants 11s. That being said, we want to know there are great characters we love, and a filmmaker who has control of his/her situation on film.

2) As a producer who wants to see the most for the least, I've tried to do 2-3 minute cartoons for 25 years. Filmmakers resist, as do my smarter-than-me development colleagues, correctly, because in three minutes it's way harder for one to truly get a sense of character (the most important thing, in our opinion). A short film like that tends towards the punch line, the gag, which, while it can be hilarious, gives you no sense of how the character behaves, what it wants, how it really moves throughout a film.

3) The one time we agreed to produce a 20 minute storyboard and cut it down for 6 minute production there was really a problem (the first Powerpuff Girls short). What had been a clean, coherent story was truncated, almost impossible to follow. Almost killed the potential series.

I would suggest that you don't want a film to be anything but the greatest it can be for whatever format you choose. If it’s going to be two or three minutes, try and map out the greatest two minute cartoon you can muster. 

Don't think about what it could be in another format. You'll inevitably fail at both.

I have two characters in my series who would occur in every episode of my theoretical show and be extremely important. I also believe these characters have not only mascot capability, but toy line possibilities in this magical theoretical world in which my show were to get picked up.

Stop worrying about the "pick up." Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't. Make a great f-ing film, full stop. That's the most likely thing to help your future, a wonderful picture. Sure, it's possible your characters are wonderful enough for a future (it's happened a few times for creators we work with, but it's extremely rare, maybe 1%. 1%! But showing you're a talented filmmaker gives you the most opportunity. 

I’ll add that a lot of creators are convinced of the “toy line possibilities” of their cartoon characters. But you know, if the cartoon doesn’t succeed, there are no toys. And even if it does, successful cartoons often don’t translate into toy sales. Seriously. 

Should I get rid of these characters in my thesis and focus on a good short film, or is it worth it to take the time to keep them in, as a way to help the producers better visualize the dynamic of the show?

Stop with the worrying about producers. Create a great short. See above.

OR would telling any producer this much detail just scare them off?

I would only be repeating myself.

Also, I was wondering about pitch meetings; first off, how does one go about getting a pitch meeting?

You call every development department at every studio or network you can locate and ask for a meeting. Some will see you (like Frederator), many won't. If they do, you'll be ask to sign a legal release that says they’ve probably seen characters and ideas like your before (it's true, though very few believe it) and you won't sue if something similar turns up in a production schedule 1000 years from now.

I realize that it is a lot of who you know, but what kind of channels should I take to go about getting my work out there?

A lot of it is who you know. But, an email address on YouTube will net you 1 billion potential viewers around the world. A few of them are producers or development executives. They’re even some watching other video platforms.

Festivals, local animation events, conferences are good places to expand the "who you know" category.

My favorite advice, which all filmmakers reject, is to get a low level job at a studio to meet people who have trod the same path as you're going to go on. They've all been there and, in my experience, are incredibly generous with new generations of ambitious, hard working people. There really are worse routes to travel.

Should I get an agent, or try to crowd source it, in hopes that it gains traction?

You should try everything. It can be frustrating and painful, but what's great that isn't?

Should I submit it to the New York pilot episode film festival? If that's a good route, are there any other festivals you would recommend me submitting to, or are those submission fees just a waste of money?

Try everything and anything. You have nothing to lose, everything to gain.

Finally, let's say I find a genie and use one of my wishes for a pitch meeting? How many ideas for the series should I walk in with, to show I'm passionate about this project, while not scaring them off or making the producer feel like they can't get their hands in it?

If producers are scared of you, they're not the producers for you. My personal advice is to go in with the project you most believe in. Since it's unlikely (not impossible) you're going to sell it anyway, gauge how producers feel about the thing you feel best about. If they don't understand it, they're not for you. On the other hand, their critiques could be useful, if you're open enough to actually hear it.

Should I tell them about toy ideas or an app idea that could partner very nicely with the show? Or should I leave those ideas for later and keep them in my pocket?

Up to you. As I wrote up above, my experience is that many creators are positive the toys are going to be major sellers (seldom true with comedies, by the way) and honestly, at the initial stage, I could care less. We're focused on whether or not we want to work with the creator, is the film going to glorious, do we love the characters. The more someone has thought about merch, in my mind (probably untrue) the less they've thought about the actual film.

>>>>>>

(Even better) advice from Frederator’s Eric Homan: 

If you're interested in being a successful cartoon creator, maybe research your favorite animators, cartoonists, and artists and find out how they trained and got to where they are today. While there isn't one true path to success, you'll sure find some commonalities that should help you along the way. For instance, you should really work on those drawing and filmmaking skills. You don't have to be the best artist in the world, but if you look at your favorite cartoons—and most successful ones—you'll probably find most were created by cartoonists.

Today, with streaming services and the Internet, past constraints in which properties need to fit—including demographics and length of not only episodes but also in "seasons"—are falling by the wayside. Every executive will ask you how you envision your work being told, but more and more we're seeing what works best for your story and characters dictate length, not the other way around.

Frederator is focused on falling in love with characters. If there's anything in a pitch that overwhelms them, consider scaling back the non-character elements or work on your characters. Probably both. You want to give executives just enough to get them excited to see more, or enough that she can then pitch the idea to her boss. Like Winston Churchill said, "A good speech should be like a woman's skirt; long enough to cover the subject and short enough to create interest.”

Not working for a toy-driven studio, I tune out when creators being to talk about merchandise. If you're pitching to studio where merchandise is a key factor to a “yes,” I can pretty much guarantee you the folks you're pitching to will have a strong sense of what properties are better for toys and such.

I would always start with just one pitch, your favorite. This is especially true for new people in the room, whether creators or executives. The feedback you receive on that one pitch will help you craft your second.

In general always being working on the those non-creative things, too, that will make executives want to work with you, including responsibility, relationships, and resume. 

[aarontveit]

alright, I said I would type it out when it arrived, so here you go!! (i apologize for any typos, i’m dyslexic!!)

Aaron Tveit’s Interview/Article. THE X MAGAZINE: Issue #001, October 2017

Aaron Tveit is the man everyone wants to be -- or to have. His fervent fans, a sweet but somewhat frightening breed, refer to themselves as “Tveitertots,” and listicles chronicling reasons to love him abound. There are even gifs about his hair. But perhaps the most striking thing about Tveit’s appeal is his own indifference to the attention. Upon arriving at the lakefront cottage in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, where the actor stayed while starring in Company at Barrington Stage, an exuberant labradoodle rushes to greet us. “This is Miles,” Tveit grins, and his easy appeal radiates.

Most of Tveit’s sentences begin with some iteration of: I’m very lucky. It’s his refrain. “I’m in this tiny percentage of people that jumps out of bed in the morning to go to work because I absolutely love what I get to do for a living,” he says. “I always remind myself of that -- especially in this crazy f--ing world that we’re living in right now.”

People who court Tveit’s degree of success usually declare that they’re special, but Tveit repeatedly insists that he’s just like everyone else. Anointed with titles like “Broadway Wonder Boy” and “Broadway’s Favourite Boyfriend,” the actor patiently dismantles myths of perfection, instead emphasizing his gratitude. “I’m just a regular guy,” he says. He loves fantasy novels, had a crush on Alicia Silverstone as a preteen, and listens to 90s rap when he needs to cheer himself up. Tveit’s friends from home keep him grounded -- they travel far to see him perform and support him at every turn. “But they’re also the first to say: ‘Hmmm, we don’t know if you’ll make it,’” Tveit says with a laugh, “which is the best thing I could ask for.”

It’s natural to imagine Tveit starring in a series of wholesome vignettes. He loves his parents and visits them often, and recently built a fence around their property for Miles. He’s allergic to dairy, a believer in ghosts, a bit of a nerd. He is a student of the world, equipped with a kind of caffeinated curiosity that never crashes. “I had a teacher once say that curiosity is the best quality you could ever have as an actor, and that really resonated,” he says.

In Stephen Sondheim’s Company, Tveit starred as Bobby -- the last bachelor in a pathologically matrimonial group of friends -- and he is quick to acknowledge his likeness to the character. Approaching his 34th birthday, Tveit remains a bachelor while most of his friends are married with kids. “My buddy came to see the show -- I was the best man in his wedding recently -- and he said, ‘Oh. So it’s just your life.’” But there are deeper similarities between Tveit and Bobby too. Despite his career choice, Tveit is an unwilling recipient of offstage attention, a reluctant receptacle for desire. He is the observed observer, reflecting the psychologies of those around him while remaining somewhat indecipherable, a blank-canvas quality that separates good actors from great ones. Like Bobby, Tveit is a host of quiet contradictions: He is present but elusive, open but guarded, social but withholding, expressive but hard to read.

In the past, actors have played Bobby as a brooding, bitter character, but Tveit chose a different interpretation. “My version of Bobby is an optimist,” he says. “He’s actually the only true romantic in the show.” Tveit references several lines and scenes that support his thesis statement. “He can’t fathom why anyone would get married without love.” While the other couples encourage Bobby to settle, Bobby holds out for something more. “I relate to him in that way. I’m an optimistic, happy person -- and I’m a romantic. I believe that when you know, you know.”

When pressed on what he means by the word “romantic,” he elaborates with ease, traveling a well-worn neuronal path through the topic. “Deep down, I believe we’re all going to meet these great loves of our lives,” he says. “The verdict’s out whether it’s one person or many people -- but we have the chance to open ourselves up, and I relish that opportunity.” Tveit upholds an ideal of marriage, which he believes Bobby shares. “If and when I get married,” says Tveit, “I want it to be once.” His parents have been together for nearly forty years, and Tveit describes their relationship with aspirational reverence. He summarizes the flimsy reasons that Bobby’s friends present him to buckle into a lifelong commitment -- “Because you have to, because it’s time, because you need to settle down, because that’s what real life is” -- bu neither Bobby nor Tveit cares for this sterile social contract. They care about love. Love in the particular. Love with claws and freckles and a fear of crosswalks. Love in dorky pajamas. Love with allergies. “I hope to be married one day and I hope that I’m going to meet someone that makes me feel...that way,” he says.

It’s hard to tell whether Tveit is an introvert or an extrovert, so it’s no surprise that he identifies as a “weird combination of both.” Around friends, he’s silly, unfiltered -- but around strangers, he’s cautious. “Someone once told me that I had Norwegian reserve,” he says. “When I meet people for the first time, I sit back a little. If I’m psychoanalyzing myself, I guess I’d say I like to understand people before I interact with them. I don’t know if it’s a guarding mechanism -- I’ve always been that way.”

This guarded nature might explain why he’s so hesitant to share on social media. Self-promotion has never been easier, and public figures have never been more pressured to capitalize on it, but Tveit finds most digital approaches pernicious. He did finally concede to Instagram and Twitter, but he mostly uses these platforms to promote projects. (Not even Miles has made it onto Instagram.) Nowadays, most young performers work to groom their brand, to generate an impression of intimacy between themselves and their followers. Tveit isn’t one to sneer, but he finds the platform-as-diary approach silly at best. “At the end of the day, I just don’t see why anyone would be interested in what I do outside my work. I see posts like that and I just think, who cares?” 

What you’ll find on his social media is Tveit the acor. What you won’t find on his social media (or anywhere else online) is Tveit the person, and perhaps that’s why he still possess a kind of purity. Mostly, Tveit’s social media proves that he is a man who works -- hard and often. “I’m a person who’s never, ever satisfied,” he says, “and I have a really hard time resting. I don’t vacation well because I don’t, like, sit down very well. Those are tough qualities sometimes in my personal life, but as an actor I think they serve me really well.”

Tveit says the performers and creative professionals he’s worked with over the years have provided “shining examples.” “You look at these people who have this insane level of success, and then you meet them and they’re the nicest people in the world,” he says. “Hugh Jackman is someone I really, really look up to in that way. I mean, when we did Les Mis, he had the hardest job of anyone these, and he was the nicest person in the room. He knew everyone’s name, was never late -- led by such an ultimate example. I said to myself, ‘That’s the guy I want to be like.’” 

Regarding the digital drool that appears when you Google his name, Tveit maintains a healthy, bemused detachment. “You have to let it go in one ear and out the other,” he says. He’s happy whenever people respond positively to his work, even if “that’s how they happen to be manifesting it.” Despite the feverish adoration, Tveit believes that his carefully preserved privacy has another advantage: It’s secured him respectful fans. “I’m very lucky,” he says. “I haven’t really had any kind of strange, uncomfortable, weird encounters. Fans have been nothing but wonderful and supportive for me.” I ask him how he feels about the term “Tveitertots.” “I think it’s absolutely hilarious,” he laughs. “That in itself -- like, how could you take that too seriously? It’s so wonderful and silly and fun.”

But is it frustrating for his personal life? “People often say I’m not what they expected,” he answers. “But for me, it’s been a positive thing. Usually, they say I’m nicer than they thought,” he laughs. “Less serious, more ridiculous.”

As an actor accumulates celebrity, the role that’s toughest to maintain is that of the unadorned self: the regular guy who loves his labradoodle and his family, orders a turkey sandwich and recites the post-industrial history of Pittsfield. Despite the roles and the awards, the voice and the dancing, the YouTube views and Spotify plays, the 246K Instagram followers and the marriage proposals in the comments, Tveit is just a regular guy. And maybe that’s what makes him most exceptional. 

[kennthmclblg]

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