#I don’t even come from a working class background and this is massively putting me off uni

[my-coven-is-claudia]

kier starmer i’m under your bed (uni tuition fees were just increased again)

[strayheartless]

Angst prompt:

Kunsel finds out the truth about Zack...when he's sent to find out what happened to that battalion of missing troopers.

… I asked for this. I must remember I asked for this as I write this from under a blanket in the fetal position.

***

Screaming at the sky feels dramatic, but right now Second Class Kunsel Zelda doesn’t care.

Using his enhanced strength to break Roche’s nose, when he points out they’ll likely be getting a promotion out of this, feels like too much of a reaction -A mistake even- but he really doesn’t care.

There’s other bodies in the pit but they could rot and fertilise this barren waste of desert for all he cared. All Kunsel could see was the body they’d dragged from the bottom. The one wearing the first class uniform. All Kunsel cared about was the bloodied broken body at his feet and the choking guilt and grief trying to crack his chest cavity in half.

He’d failed. Zack had been counting on him to find him… to find them and he’d failed. Again.

The evidence all pointed to a Turk cover up on a massive scale. This would have been a big job, ten maybe fifteen Turks all in one place… somebody would have noticed. Though out here there wasn’t many to notice a group of men and women in suits dragging body after body into a giant hole in the ground. Maybe he was wrong, maybe it was just Reno and a crane.

Somehow that thought makes Kunsel furious.

He’s shaking so bad his teeth are clacking together and it’s defiantly not the 100 degree heat.

“HQ wants us to wrap this up and burn the bodies,” second Class Adams says coming up behind him, looking at his phone.

“Anyone of you touches this body and I will kill you where you stand, do you understand me Second Class Adams?”

Adams flinches and looks up at Kunsel Shocked. He knows it’s because he’s not the confrontational type. The second Class that’s never climbed up the ranks. The soldier who just wants to work in the background. Kunsel Zelda, the second class soldier with first class clearance simply because he doesn’t wait to be told no. Nobody expected violence from him. Nobody expected aggression from the man who was best friends with Zack fucking Fair.

Because Zack fair didn’t do needlessly violent people.

“Sir, may I ask, who-��

“That’s classified.” He snapped.

“But you know who that is don’t you.” It’s not a question. Still, it sets Kunsel alight with the need to get in Adam’s face and snarl at him about who exactly lay at their feet. There was a sheet across the body now but he should know. They should all know who sacrificed himself for something larger than all of them.

Angeal had once said that the price of freedom was steep. Kunsel wished he’d slapped him right there. Because what a stupid thing to say to a starry eyed kid who just wanted to be a hero. A stupid, air headed, hyperactive idiot who believed that he was indestructible as long as he believed that to pay the steep price was to receive the desired result.

Such a naive idiot! A idiotic fucking dumb ass who payed a price that was too damn steep.

Kunsel doesn’t get in Adams face. Instead he crumpled to the ground and sobs with such force that his throat feels like it’s being torn apart. He cries and screams in rage and sadness because this isn’t RIGHT!

He should be here! He should be here helping Zack put this right. He should be standing beside him looking off at the skyline and mumbling about ‘what would Angeal do’ while Sephiroth stands in the distance looking like he always did when he saw death. Silent, deadly, but with that echo of great sadness behind his eyes.

Zack should be here. Cloud should be-

Kunsel’s head snaps up.

“Has a body been found that matches the description the professor gave of the escaped specimen?” He says as though he hadn’t just been balling.

“Er…” Adams looks through the list of bodies and their identifying features. “Not that I can see sir,”

“5’7, chipped back molar, childhood clean break on left femur and ulna indicating a fall from hight. Any bodies with DNA matches to the western region, Nibelhiem?”

“No sir, not a one from that area, not even neighbouring villages” Adams says puzzled.

“There are no neighbouring villages to Nibelhiem Adams the closet town is several miles out by plane. It’s isolated.” Kunsel walks down the line of Bodies that have been pulled out, then watches as the last are lifted. Not a single one looks like Clouds when he orders the shrouds to be lifted.

“He’s not here,” he whispers to himself. It should make him happy but all he feels is crippling worried. Not here means somewhere else, which means either he escaped, Zack left him behind (Kunsel scratches that one off of the list immediately,), or he was recaptured…

Kunsel looks towards Midgar. The sun was going down on them here, they’d have to move out soon.

“Cloud…” he whispers, “where the hell are you man?”

[returntobeaconhills]

One Missed Call

Derek’s in the shower when he misses the call. It’s rare that his phone actually rings, and it’s usually a telemarketer or the end of the world on the other end so it’s a pretty unpleasant experience either way.

He jumps out of the shower, shampoo still in his hair, and hurries to grab his cell off his nightstand, but it’s already finished ringing by the time he grabs it.

It’s an unknown number so Derek assumes it’s a scam warning him his car warranty is expiring. He waits to see if it calls back, but it doesn’t so he gets back in the shower.

It’s only when he’s ready to get into bed that he realizes there’s a four minute voicemail message on his phone. It feels too long to be a telemarketer so letting curiosity get the best of him, he hits play. Despite the number being unknown, he recognizes the voice immediately, even if it’s slurred by far too much alcohol.

“Yoooooooooo. Yo, Derek. It’s me. You know who me is, right? I dropped my phone in the toilet at this party, so my roommate is letting me borrow his. He’s a cool dude. Not like, you cool, no one else is that cool. Like, leather jackets should be banned for everyone else in the world but you. You should have a monopoly on them. Is monopoly the right word?”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the small smile on his lips at the sound of Stiles’s inebriated voice. There’s a muffled sea of voices far in the background, making it seem likely that Stiles had just shut himself in a bedroom or bathroom at a party to call Derek. He was drunk, and he called Derek. It takes a moment for him to process that. 

Derek tries not to read too much into it. He could have called everyone else in the world, including Deaton and Chris Argent, before resorting to him.

“You’re probably busy, like, eating Bambi or practicing your scowl in the mirror – it’s a good thing you’re a werewolf and not a vampire – and that’s why you’re not answering. I get it,” Stiles continues on the voicemail. “Sometimes I’ll be in my criminal justice class and catch myself wondering what you’re doing. Is that weird? It might be weird.”

It might be weird but sometimes Derek catches himself doing the same thing.

“I just hope you aren’t bleeding out somewhere because that would make me sad. Really sad. Please don’t be dying.” Stiles’s voice chokes up, apparently having worked himself up at just the thought of Derek dying. That was certainly a change from when they had first met. Not that Derek blamed him. Derek had been…off-putting, to say the least, in the beginning.

Stiles starts rambling about his classes and missing Beacon Hills, something Stiles never thought he would say when he finally got away from the constant near death experiences.

Derek’s heart aches, and he realizes how much he has missed Stiles and the rest of the pack. Sure, Scott was still around, and Malia, but it wasn’t the same as the whole group. Lydia and Stiles had both went off to bigger, better things. Even Peter, pest that he was, had left to travel. But Derek couldn’t leave. Not again. This was Hale territory, and he had made a vow to himself that he wouldn’t run any longer. There should always be a Hale in Beacon Hills.

Derek is drawn out of his thoughts by a particularly loud yawn from Stiles in the voicemail. “Okay, I think I’m gonna head out now. Don’t worry, my roommate is our group designated driver, and I’ll be safe.”

It goes quiet and Derek wonders for a moment if Stiles fell asleep/passed out right then and there, but then his voice returns, softer than before. “I wish you had answered. I had some things I wanted to say to you. Things I’m finally ready to say.” Stiles sighs. “I miss you, Der. I wish you were here. Especially to nurse me back to health tomorrow morning when I wake up with a massive hangover. I know you’d pretend to be all gruff about it, but I think you’d be secretly great at taking care of people. You’ve always taken care of us.”

The voicemail finally comes to an end.

Stiles is right. He wakes up with the worst hangover of his life, but it’s also the best day of his life when he opens his door to find Derek Hale, having driven all night, there with a greasy breakfast and big cup of coffee. He has very little recollection of what he said when he called Derek, but he owes a debt of gratitude to Jack Daniels.

[sassyfrassboss]

Does TB list any specific examples in the book of who MM was envious of throughout her life?

I think she’s a very disturbed mentally ill person to put it politely. I do believe extreme jealousy is one of her main motivators too, starting all the way back in school for not being one of the rich kids from a wealthy family and not really ever fitting in with them in school. Her (now deceased) diplomat uncle even said she always resented being lower class. She did not come from money and it did indeed show. I think this is another reason why she was/ is so envious of Kate because she came from the kind of upper class (compared to MM in America) background and family Meghan always desperately wanted for herself. To her Kate had it easy for naturally fitting in with the posh set and she never had to do all of the unscrupulous and dodgy things that Meghan had to partake in to get where she is today. Meghan isn’t pretty or posh or pedigreed and she doesn’t ever fit in where she manages to claw her way into maybe with the exception of seedy Soho House. Meghan knows what she is even if she lies to herself or excuses her vile behavior. She is an insecure fraud and an egomaniac with a massive inferiority complex. Her entire life is a facade and a lie that can unravel at any given moment. Plus she doesn’t even love the idiot she conned down the aisle. She’s miserable. Actually she has been miserable and jealous for her entire duplicitous, pathetic life. She finally got her pipe dream and still acts like this? How damn ungrateful can you be especially when you cheated your way into something you don’t even deserve in the first place? It just leaves me gobsmacked. Perhaps she should go back to the gutter she came from and belongs in.

I can't remember who he said she was jealous of. I will have to go back and read that part.

Kate wasn't originally from a wealthy family. Carole worked her tail off to become a successful business woman. While Kate was at school with the posh set, doesn't mean she fit in. She was horribly bullied. Even later years while dating William, his posh set friends would make fun of her. So would Harry.

[slytherwrites]

Part Two: Girl’s Night

Momo never minded sharing you. You were an intellectual masterpiece, something to be shared and gifted to the world. And so, she would quickly talk about what you do and who you are (once her full-fledged background check came in, of course).

The next two you meet are Kyoka Jirou and Tooru Hagakure—two of the other Class 1A girls. Momo grabs your wrist harshly, yanking you towards them when she spots you in the lunchroom.

“Oh hey, Yaoyorozu!” You press a hand to your chest, your heart practically beating out of your chest, “You scared me. Anyways… is there anything you need? I don’t have your costume done, but I’m working on it during my free time!”

“Don’t worry about that right now. And call me Yaomomo, we’re friends, remember?”

“Al-alright Yaomomo.” You reply, “If this isn’t about your costume, what do you need?”

“To have lunch together!” Momo sets down two bento boxes, “Here, I had my staff send it over last block. It should still be heated up!”

“Thanks…” You take the lunch. It saves you the trouble of going through Lunch Rush’s line.

With food already with them, Momo’s other two friends don’t get up either. They have you trapped with them the entire lunch. You eat what Momo’s given you. It’s your favorite.

You don’t bother asking how she knows your favorite food. It’s just a coincidence… right?

“So…?” Momo asks, eyes wide and hopeful for your approval, “What do you think?”

“It’s good!” You reply, “my favorite, actually.”

“What a coincidence…” This is the first thing the purple haired girl says to you, “Anyways, the name’s Jirou. Kyoka Jirou.”

“And I’m Tooru!” The invisible girl exclaims, “Momo’s said a lot about you!”

“All good things, Y/N.” Momo chuckles.

“You’re the girl who was singing during the School Festival.” You place where you’ve seen her face before, “Your voice is really good, by the way!”

“Th-thanks…” Jirou’s face starts to flush.

Tooru adds, “You can hear it again if you join us for girl’s night!”

“Girls night?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.” Momo explains, “the 2A girls get together every Friday night and work through whatever we need to do, since heroics can get pretty stressful. And we also have our fair share of fun!”

“Wouldn’t I be intruding?” You ask, “I don’t exactly fit the requirements…”

“Nonsense, Y/N!” Tooru replies, “We’d love to have you.”

“Yeah…” Jirou comments, “I can show you some of my other instruments and some other things I wrote, besides the song for the festival—”

“You wrote that?!”

“She totally did.” Momo replies, “and she has a ton of music and whatnot. The others wouldn’t mind either.”

“If I’m not swamped with other work then yeah, I’ll come.” You decide.

Tooru squeals, “We’re going to have so much fun Y/N! Just you wait!”

===

Come Friday, your teachers hadn’t given you any more big assignments. Chapters to read and worksheets to fill out were expected, but nothing would be too time-consuming. In other words, you were free to attend the Class 2-A Girl’s Night.

All of the dorms are in the same corner of campus. Though, because the 2-A dorm was for Heroics and not Support, your dorm is still a ways away from theirs. And since you don’t want to be late, you head early.

The sun’s starting to set. But unlike your hometown, you aren’t overly cautious about walking around during this time. U.A. itself is surrounded by a massive gate and the sidewalks are well-lit. Plus, Pro Heroes are on campus 24/7.

It doesn’t matter that you’re quirkless. You’re safe here.

The sunset never lasts long. So as it's in its final moments, you knock on the door to 2-A’s dorm. It’s identical to the support class dorms. Some support class students tried to say that future heroes would get better dorms. The evidence against it is right in front of you, right down to the loud, chaotic sound emanating from the inside.

You knock at the door, even though you don’t think it would be heard. After another knock, you go for the doorknob. The dorms aren’t allowed to be locked unless there is a villain attack. So you aren’t surprised when you’re able to open the door for yourself.

The future heroes you’ve watched train and design costumes for are sitting there, in various groups. Names don’t really come to mind—except for Tooru, who is sitting on one of the green couches.

“Y/N!” She jumps up and grabs your arm, dragging you towards the elevator before anyone else can see you “C’mon!”

Your bag is secured on your shoulder though you still put your other hand upon it, in order to not lose it. The speed and strength of Tooru is unexpected, but she is a hero student after all.

The elevator ride up to Kyoka’s floor and the couple of steps to her room is over before you notice. Inside are instruments lining most of the wall—more instruments than you could ever learn in a lifetime. The red is an unexpected color, considering that her hero suit is black and pink, but you think this suits her better.

“You must be Y/N!” The pink girl with horns bolts up. Ashido? You think. The names of everyone don’t stick immediately. “I’m Alien Queen! But you can call me Mina! You’re so much prettier than they say!”

“Who says—” You get interrupted by one of the other girls sharing an (out of place) bean bag chair, “Hi! I’m Ochako and this is Tsu. Pizza?”

The other girl—Tsu—passes a pizza box towards you, “Kero.”

“Oh no thanks. I ate back with my class.” You reply, reaching into your bag, “Oh and Yaomomo, I have your completed costume.”

“Really?” Her eyes light up at the completed costume. “I’m gonna be right back, let's see how it fits!”

Momo’s in and out of Jirou’s bathroom quickly. When she returns, every piece of the costume is on and she’s modelling it for the other girls.

“I love it, Y/N!”

Ochako asks, “You designed that?”

“And built it.” You add.

Mina exclaims, “Girl, me next! I’ve been dying for a new suit. They didn’t let us change much for our winter costumes and I’m already sick of mine! Camo? What was I even thinking!”

“I’ll make note of that…”

The conversation shifts and soon you’re asked more and more questions. Favorite color? Why did you join the support department? Crushes? Your past? Your future? Sure, the other girls answer, but you wouldn’t be able to remember their answers if you tried. But they will remember yours.

A knock comes from the door and Yaoyorozu—still in her new hero costume—jumps up to get it.

“Hey, Tenya just wanted to remind you all that the kitchen’s about to close if you all need anything.” The green-haired boy comments, “Thought you all would like to know.”

You look around the spread. A bag of chips is in your lap at the moment, but food and drinks litter the floor.

“Not really, but thanks though.” Momo replies.

Midoriya says something else, but you aren’t really paying attention. In all honesty, you don’t know what you're doing here. A quirkless support student shouldn’t be hanging around with the next hero generation.

“But like, Ectoplasm giving us an essay is like, so dumb.” Tooru complains, “I mean, who even gives essays in math!”

“Honestly, it’s better than actual math work.” Ochako counters.

You stare up at the ceiling. If they’re calling for you, you don’t hear it. Eventually, your eyes get heavy and you start to tire out. The bag of chips are still in your lap and your head’s in Mina’s lap, but it doesn’t matter. Besides, the fastest way to get through girl’s night is sleeping through it.

[earlgreydream]

enemies.

| bucky x reader | fluff |

requested by @fitzfiles​ enemies to lovers 

this is technically a highschool au, but only slightly. we love bucky being a loveable ass out here

Your eyes narrowed and you glared at Bucky. You couldn’t stand him. Bucky was popular, flirtatious, and an asshole. He was always flirting with you at school, and you always felt like he was trying to make a joke of you in front of everyone. On top of that, it made other girls envy you, tainting friendships with jealousy.

It seemed like you were the only one who didn’t want Bucky Barnes. 

“You’re such an ass!” You snapped at Bucky, who only laughed in response. You hated when he tilted his head to the side, the stupid smirk you loathed pulling at his lips. 

“Don’t be like that, doll.”

“I’ll do whatever I want! Leave me alone, I’m not going to fall at your feet like everyone else!” You stood up from the library where he had been absolutely intent on distracting you from finishing your homework, the reason for the fight in the first place.

You were the only one who didn’t give him every ounce of attention he desired, and he was determined to get it. 

You sat on your bed, a folder of history homework open in front of you. You studied with music softly in the background, needing a break from trying to study with Bucky bothering you every five seconds. 

“Y/N,” your mom called your name as she walked in the door. 

You looked up, setting down the document on World War II. Your father was behind her, and you grew uneasy, wondering what they possibly felt they needed to both talk to you about.

“We’re worried about you, dear.”

“Worried? Why?” you laughed, surprised by their explanation.

“We’re just concerned that you don’t have the same social life people your age have. You seem to always be up here, studying in your room. We want you to meet some people, and have some fun,” your father explained.

You were confused by the explanation. You spent most of your time at school, and around other students. You did have friends, but you also prioritized your grades. You certainly were not the hermit they were making you out to be.

“You don’t need to worry-”

“But darling, you’ve never dated. One of our friends has the most charming son, and we think he’d be perfect for you. We want to set you up.” Your mother was smiling, and you raised your eyebrows.

“Perfect for me?”

“Yes! He’s so charming, and he’s sweet. He’s also incredibly intelligent, his grades are wonderful. He travels a lot, you know, has that worldly kind of sense. And, he’s beautiful. We were thinking of setting the two of you up, having them over for dinner.”

You couldn’t deny that this sounded too good to be true. The boy they were describing sounded perfect for you, and although you cringed at the idea of your parents setting you up, you were intrigued.

“What is his name?”

“James!” She beamed, and you raised your eyebrows.

“I will go on one blind date with him, if you stop giving me a hard time about my social life.”

“One date. You can meet him at dinner tomorrow, and then the two of you must go on one date. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But try for us, honey.”

“I will, I promise,” you smiled at your parents, excited and nervous to meet your supposed dream-man. 

You dressed up for dinner once you were home from school. You’d never even seen this boy, and yet your tummy was filling with excited butterflies. Your name was called from downstairs, and you quickly ran down to meet them. 

You nearly tripped over yourself as you stopped dead in your tracks. You were met with an all-too-familiar silver gaze, and the smirk that made you so, so angry.

“Bucky.” 

Your voice was cold, and all of the butterflies shriveled up and died, the excitement fading from you. You were furious that you’d agreed to go on a date with him in addition to sitting through this dinner.

“You two know each other?” His mother asked, surprised.

“Quite well, actually. We have history together at school, right doll?” Bucky was trying not to laugh, only fueling your irritation. 

“It’s Y/N. And we’ve met, yes.” 

This motherfucker. 

Dinner was long and painful, and you were forced to listen to what a perfect prince everybody thought Bucky was. You were surprised to hear about his academic standing, one that competed with your own. It was clear by his expression that he didn’t want the news to get out that he wasn’t a complete anarchist. 

You cringed as your parents praised you too, unsure of who they were trying to impress. You were quiet, not giving a single damn about being polite to the boy you hated. 

“Why don’t the two of you go upstairs?” your mom suggested, and you sighed, holding back a massive eye roll. Being alone with Bucky was about last on the list of things you wanted to do.

You stood up under the pressure of four gazes, and Bucy followed you up the flight of stairs. He couldn’t contain his amusement for the situation, and you walked into your room and sat down on the edge of your bed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Did you know it was me?”

“No, I really didn’t. But I’m glad it is.” He almost sounded sincere.

Bucky looked around your room, taking in the soft lavender walls, and the white bedspread that you sat on top of. Everything was soft and sweet, like you. Fairy lights hung above the bed, casting a gentle glow over the room. Bucky thought you looked beautiful.

“Quit staring at me,” you snipped, pulling your knees up to your chest.

He smiled, stepping in from the doorway and sitting beside you on the bed. You were angry at yourself for noticing the way the lights seemed to make him look golden, glinting in the reflection of huge silver eyes.

“How could I not?” He breathed, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

No. No, this is not happening. You will not let yourself be seduced by this cocky asshole. 

“Save it for the date,” you rolled your eyes and he smirked. 

“You’re not looking forward to it?” Bucky asked, and you shook your head with a face.

“No, of course not.”

“Come on, I’ll show you a good time. You’ll probably even realize that you’re in love with me.” His grin was infectious, but you fought off the urge to smile back.

“In love with you? Hardly.”

“I’ll give you one night. You’ll change your mind.” 

“You seem confident,” you snarked, rolling your eyes at his arrogance.

“I always am.”

You watched him as his eyes traveled over the room, seeming to take everything in. Bucky noticed every small detail, including the sketch of daisies that leaned against the wall on top of your desk. 

When he was finally called away, he stood in front of you, leaning over you with one hand on the wrought iron bed frame. A soft smile broke onto his face, and you felt warmth spread through your chest, reaching up to your cheeks.

“Goodnight, doll.”

You scowled at the dress that was laid out in the end of your bed when you got home from school. You’d been dreading the date, especially when Bucky winked at you during history class. He didn’t make a show of embarrassing you in front of his friends. You hadn’t even heard gossip about it, so he must not have told anybody. 

You were a bit surprised, you thought that Bucky would seize the opportunity to be the subject of gossip and attention, dragging you into it with him. 

Your parents were out of town for the weekend, and you’d been set up for a friday date after school with Bucky. The doorbell rang, and you went to answer it, your eyes widening a bit when you saw him in jeans and a button down. 

Fuck, he was handsome. 

“Hi James.” 

“Y/N, you look beautiful,” he said honestly, and you couldn’t stop the warmth from blossoming on your cheeks. He held up a bouquet of daisies, and you bit back a smile, taking your favorite flowers from him. You realized he noticed the drawing, and something about that made you feel fuzzy inside. 

It was too bad you didn’t even like him.

“Let me set these down, thank you.” 

You put them in a vase on the table, and he followed you. 

“You didn’t tell everyone at school.” It was a statement, but you meant it as a question.

“Why would I? I knew you wouldn’t appreciate everyone in your business,” Bucky confessed. Despite the amusement he gained from getting on your nerves, Bucky did like you, and he did respect you. The idea of others participate in the teasing, more than just his bit of playfulness, upset Bucky.

He wanted you to like him. 

You followed Bucky outside to his yellow car, one that was sort of vintage. He didn’t drive to school, and you realized you had never seen his car, but it somehow fit him. You got in the passenger seat, and he handed you the chord to play your own music.

You nervously scrolled through your phone, deciding that the safest bet for music was bon iver, and he broke into a smile, leaning forward to turn up the stereo.

“I love this song,” Bucky grinned, surprising you.

“Where are we going?” you asked, leaning forward and watching the buildings pass by as he drove you to an unknown location. 

“Just trust me.”

He parked and was opening your door for you before you could get out. You stepped out and took his outstretched hand, deciding you had to at least give this as much of an effort as he was. 

His hand was soft and he squeezed you gently as he led you inside the huge aquarium in the city. It was your favorite place to go, and you wondered how Bucky knew that. 

“You mentioned it once, in class,” he spoke as if he read your mind, or at least read the bright smile on your face.

“I can’t believe you remembered... Or that you even listened,” you laughed.

“I always listen.”

You walked through tunnels filled with colorful fish, and they swam around you on all sides, even under your feet. You gasped and pressed your hands to the glass, letting go of Bucky as you watched a sea turtle swim by. Bucky watched your delight, smiling at your excited squeal.

“Look!” you pointed, and he grinned.

“I see, it’s so cool,” he indulged you. 

You moved through the tunnel, into a room of separate tanks, all smaller and holding their own creatures. You struggled to see the clown fish in the top, even standing on your toes.

“What’re you doing, doll?”

“Trying to see the nemo fish, but-” you squeaked as Bucky’s hands went around your waist, and he lifted you up so you could see. You blushed and smiled, looking at the fish swimming around. He gently set you down, and you wrapped your hands around his arm, a little bit shyly.

The two of you spent hours looking at the creatures, and you let him wrap his arms around your waist as you stood and watched the jellyfish. 

“They’re so pretty!” you gasped, and Bucky could see the reflection in your wide eyes, and he couldn’t ignore how his heart raced when he looked at you.

You found yourself feeling the same way.

“This was great, James. I didn’t think you’d manage to win me over, but this is the best date I’ve ever been on,” you confessed shyly as you left, the sky already dark. He beamed at you, his silver eyes lighting up when you smiled at him.

“I’m so glad, but we’re not finished yet, doll.”

“You spoil me,” you giggled, and he pulled you to the car.

“Come on, or we’ll miss it,” he hurried you, laughing as he got behind the wheel. 

He drove to a park and got a blanket from the backseat, producing a basket that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Picnicking in the dark?”

“Hush and come with me,” he insisted, laying out the blanket on the grass and pulling the food out. 

You bit into a piece of fruit, leaning against his side. You gasped as fireworks started to go off overhead, and you looked at Bucky, who just smiled back at you. 

“I thought you’d like them.”

You watched the light and colors explode in the sky, enjoying the dinner he brought. You ended up leaning back against Bucky’s chest, wrapped in his jacket when you complained of being chilly. You couldn’t believe that over the course of a few hours, he had managed to work his way into your heart, and you were now in his arms.

“Do you want to come in and stay?” you asked Bucky as he pulled up in front of your house.

“I’m invited?”

“Yes.” 

He smiled, grabbing sweats from his trunk, explaining that he always had a change of clothes, on account of being an athlete. You teased him with a giggle, going inside with him and up to your bedroom. 

You changed into a pajama set and laid on your bed with him, the two of you staring up at the tiny, glittering fairy lights above you.

“You look perfect like this,” you whispered.

“Not as perfect as you.”

“What happens Monday? Do you go back to being an ass and I go back to hating you?” your voice was soft, and although you were joking, the fear behind it was real.

“I was hoping I could call you my girlfriend on Monday.”

You leaned over and kissed him, answering the question. When he kissed you back, it was like a million tiny fireworks exploding inside of you, instead of in the sky overhead. 

“You changed my mind in one night.”

[notnctu]

through the lens ❀ l.jn

❀ lee jeno x fem!reader ❀ genre - slow burn, smut/mature content, fluff (romance?), slight angst ❀ details - photographer!jeno, model!reader, college!au, shy!jeno but he aint shy in bed, strangers to fuckers!au ❀ word count - 8k (this is the longest thing ive ever written) ❀ warnings - nude modeling, swearing, oral (f/receiving), some sweet love makin’ ❀ brief synopsis - jeno asks you to model for his internship project, but little did you know, it was going to be a nude photo shoot.  

❝ jeno was too shy to hold eye contact, but he stared at you endlessly through the lens. ❞

❀ a/n - hihihi this is author doie❀ ! im bad at writing smut so pls dont hate me ah ha lol i tried my best i also dont model/do professional photography so really apologize if i butcher any terms lmaoo the only thing i am is that im in college and im shy

Jeno had applied to almost a hundred internships and almost close to none returned with an offer, even after a whole month of waiting. He absolutely needed to start building his portfolio before the beginning of his senior year of college. The embarrassment of possibly graduating without any experience loomed over the desperate boy. 

Photography had been more than a hobby to him, to the point where he wanted to take it seriously. His parents weren’t the most supportive of an Arts major, but that couldn’t stop him. Jeno saw the best through a camera lens. He had a special eye for beautiful moments and the impressing urge to capture it forever. 

It was too late to change his major, if he wanted to graduate with all of his friends. If he wanted to be successful, he had to act on it now. 

The swoosh! of a new email startled the sleeping boy. He stared at the brightly lit screen, reading the words over and over again to make sure it was real. Jeno was so enthralled with excitement that he scrambled out of bed to wake up his roommate, Jaemin.

He shook him so violently that the sheets fell from Jaemin’s warm body. “Dude! I got an internship!” He spoke with incredible glee, a wide smile couldn’t leave his face.

Jaemin groaned and had to hold Jeno by the shoulders to halt the boy from causing the room to spin. “Why--What is going on?” He dazely rubbed his tired eyes to blink at his giddy roommate.

The screen blinded Jaemin as it was shoved too closely to adjust. “Whoa--,” he pushed it away and shut his eyes, “--repeat what you just said one more time.” Jaemin held a finger up and Jeno grabbed it, jumping onto his best friend’s bed.

“I got an internship. Someone got back to me.” Jaemin returned the same excitement the moment he processed his words. He shot up in bed and hugged his friend tightly. 

“Wo-w, dude! Congratulations!” The two boys hurried on their feet to cheer together. There was no concern for the rest of their housemates, only celebration that roared throughout the entire night.

+

Truthfully, Jeno had no recollection of applying to this studio. It could have been a random link on a job scouting website, but he couldn’t be more grateful. An internship was long overdue and Jeno had been itching to get some recognition for his craft. 

“Hello, I’m Lee Jeno.” He bowed slightly at the receptionist, who had a stern stare that made him feel vulnerable. The first thing he noted about the office: white and minimalistic. 

Jeno’s specialty was landscape photography. His aesthetics consisted of black and white filters, city lights, dark mood lighting, and background commotion. He enjoyed capturing chaos the most, a scene where more than one thing was happening. The only reason being that there was more to look at. 

“Nice to meet you. The name is Lee Taemin, but you can call me what you please.” A young, lean man strolled his way towards Jeno with a wide grin and his hand for him to shake. Taemin was slightly shorter than him, but his stylish, expensive boots made up for his height. He had to be only a maximum of five years older than Jeno as Taemin appeared relatively youthful. 

Taemin’s firm grip pulled Jeno along inside the studio. A small gasp escaped from Jeno which earned robust laughter from the older man. “I hope you can break out of your shell soon. There is no room for timidness around here, Mister Lee.”

“Please, you can call me Jeno.” He smiled, quite awkwardly at the beautiful man. 

The tall glass windows, the concrete, gray floor, the white doors that lined the hallway, had to be all too predictable. Jeno envisioned this is what high class must look like. It was the pristine, bright feeling and the smell of vanilla that lingered distastefully. There was chatter behind the closed doors --- mainly directing, and high praises. 

The only off-put was that photographers worked behind closed doors. From the few studios he has visited previously, photographers often worked in open spaces due to lighting fractures or the ability to roam more freely. 

“I’m actually very ecstatic you signed up for the internship, since you do seem a bit on the younger side.” Taemin gestured toward the sofa in the middle of his massive office. Jeno sat across from him. Water was already placed on the glass coffee table that separated the two. A laptop was opened to face Taemin.

Jeno slyly rubbed the condensation from his palms on his jeans. Taemin’s stare bore deep into the shy boy, who had to break eye contact from time to time. “I know.” Jeno chuckled nervously, “thank you for getting back to me. I was really hoping to gain work experience through mentorship.” 

Taemin nodded at everything Jeno was saying. His face being completely expressionless. Jeno sipped his water to regain moisture in his dry throat. Taemin was more intimidating than he was anticipating. “Sounds great. Happy to have you here. It might be a small business, but the experience is worth investing in. Every photographer who has come in and out of my building has found their forte. Let’s say, it’s eye opening.” 

“That’s exactly what I was looking for actually.” As scared as he was of this mysterious man, he really enjoyed the comfort the environment radiated. 

Taemin leaned forward and squinted at the screen. “I noticed in the portfolio you sent that you don’t have any portraits or any people, in general, in your photos. Do you have any works with people? Since this is a studio of fine art nude photography.”

Nude. Jeno practically choked on the last remaining spit he gathered. Taemin acknowledged the boy’s shocked reaction and tilted his head curiously, “you did know that I specialize in contemporary fine art nude photography, right?” Unfortunately, Jeno did not. 

Jeno cleared his throat, “yes, of course. I wanted to challenge myself.” He had to lie, there was no other way to cover up his disbelief. This internship was the only hope left for him to gain something. Though, even the thought of shooting a naked body made him anxious.

He hated how timid he was. His friends and family say otherwise, mainly for the reason that Jeno automatically lit up behind a camera. In all honesty, he hid behind it. It was the only safe place that Jeno knew what he was doing. However when it came to real life situations without it, he lacked the confidence to be himself.

As ironic as it was, he hated being seen. He liked to be the background character in his own life, because the main character took too much of a toll. It could also be his deafening insecurities and lack of self esteem, but Jeno didn’t mind not being the center of attention.

“You like a challenge?” It was more of a statement rather than a question. Jeno caught a glimpse of the twinkle in Taemin’s dark eyes. “Then for your first task, I want you to show me that you can take on this role.”

Jeno scrambled for his phone to jot down notes. “Send me an emotional portfolio, model of your choice. They could be a friend of yours that you feel comfortable seeing naked. It must include a variation of headshots, full body, and body details. It must also be raw and unedited photos. I want to see if you have the eye for the art to capture these types of images.”

“When would you like it by?” He stammered, completely winded at the sudden project that unloaded on top of him. 

“Next Friday, and you’ll present it to me here in person. Feel free to use this studio if you don’t have a place of your own with equipment. All you need to do is book a room with the front desk. Any other questions?” The sound of the laptop shutting caused Jeno to look up at the brilliance in front of him. He needed Taemin to help him succeed. 

“Why do you take nude photography?” 

Taemin was unable to stop the laughter that erupted into the room. “I don’t run a pimp business or sell soft core porn, if that’s why you’re staring at me so funnily. What I make is an art masterpiece, it has nothing to do with physical features or desires. It’s the pure emotion that clothing distracts from. Clothing conforms the model into an aesthetic, and while that works for editorials, it won’t be a consistent thing here.” 

Jeno nodded understandingly. Overwhelmed and lost at words. He was unsure what he had gotten himself into. Where was he going to find a model on such short notice on such lewd conditions? He was really going to need to step out of his comfortable zone, in his photography and social skills. 

Taemin stood up and extended his hand once more. “I take pride in my art, so I hope you, too, start finding that in your own.” 

+

Jaemin held his stomach from the endless laughter, tears welling up in his eyes. “Nud-Nude photography? And you didn’t know?”

“Jaemin, keep it down.” Jeno whispered and cautiously peered around at the few people flooding into the small lecture hall. “I don’t want everyone in our club to misunderstand and think I’m some creep.”

His best friend straightened up in his seat and placed his hand on Jeno's slumped shoulder, “first of all, you’re a complete idiot for not researching. Secondly, it’s an art form. If you really got yourself a shady, rated R internship, I would’ve told you to drop it instantly.” 

His spirits were slightly lifted, but he was still struggling with who he should ask to model for him. As much as he’s already seen of Jaemin, being his roommate, he honestly would rather leave the rest to imagination. Jeno wasn’t purposefully searching the room for a candidate, but he could not stop his eyes from drifting.

He spotted the most attractive side profile that sat two rows below him. He shook his head to make sure he was seeing her correctly. Peering around, he looked for another possible face to shoot. But oh god, how she caught his eye every time she even slightly moved.

You smiled happily with your friends by your side as your club’s executive board members introduced this year’s goals and events to attend. It had to be the smallest amount of alcohol still running in your system that caused you to giggle every time guys tried to turn around and hit on you.

“Why don’t you focus on our club members instead?” You smirked at the smug older boy, who had poorly attempted to grab your attention. “I think this information is important to you. These events could help you develop your social skills to be much better.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but your girl friends scoffed by your side.

He got up in disbelief and quickly walked out of the room. There was a brief pause at the sudden movement, but the announcement carried on per usual.

Jeno impatiently waited for the club meeting to finally be over, so he could talk to you. The longer it dragged, the more his confidence was subsiding. “I’m heading to study, wanna come with?” Jaemin poked at Jeno’s knee.

“Yeah, but you can go ahead first. I need to talk to someone.” His voice was shaky and his throat went so dry. Jeno’s shifty eyes scanned the room, hoping no one saw how nervous he was acting.

Jaemin’s eyebrows lifted suspiciously, “who? I didn’t even know you talked to anyone who came today. Donghyuck and Renjun aren’t here---”

“--her, Jaemin... her. I’m going to ask her to model for me.” Jeno motioned his head. His heart beating faster at seeing a small grin appear on your face from a comment someone made.

Jaemin hummed, “good luck with that, bud. I’ve got two shoulders for you to cry on after.” The extra hint of sarcasm only made Jeno sweat nervously. He was seriously doubting his decision, but it wouldn’t be a challenge if he didn’t do it. He knew he’d regret it more if he didn’t just ask you. 

Once the meeting was dismissed, you wanted to get out of the room before the heavy rush into the hallways. Unfortunately, a few frat guys pulled you into their conversation and chatted up a storm. Your friends played into their foolery, but you stopped paying attention when they asked for your numbers.

There was a faint tap on your shoulder and you turned to see who the culprit was. You didn’t seem to know him, because you would’ve remembered such a demeanor. His eyes were glued to the floor behind you and his shaky hands ran through his brown locks. His shyness was quite endearing, yet alarming since you weren’t sure why exactly he had approached you.

“Yes?” You asked curiously.

The moment Jeno heard your delicate cadence, he melted like a popsicle left out in the sun. He peered up, but quickly reverted his eyes to the white tiles when he noticed how beautifully you stared at him.

He counted his breathing to calm his rapid heart beat. He cleared his throat to introduce himself, “I’m Jeno. I’m a third year Arts major, um-- I was just--- I know we don’t know each other. I wanted to ask, uh-” Jeno was horrified at how he stammered over his own words. His cheeks burned with a red glow, and if he couldn’t look you in the eye before, he definitely couldn’t now.

“Hey, see you later.” One of the bulky frat guys called and you waved back weakly. 

A guy who had been chasing you endlessly scoffed at the pitiful sight and smirked at you, “see you at my house tonight? Been missing you in my bed lately.”

“Thought you would’ve guessed the reason why I stopped coming around.” Jeno heard the sting in your remarks and the disbelief in the male. 

You honestly could have left, Jeno knew that. But you stayed and waited patiently for him to finish. Jeno could tell how strong you were just by your intimidating aura that practically suffocated him by standing in close proximity to you.

You sighed and reached to grab your jacket on the folded seat, “look, Jeno. It’s nice to meet you and all, but I gotta get going.” 

Shockingly, the shy boy reached out to stop you by your fingertips. His touch lingered before he dropped your hand quickly. “I’m sorry. Are you free this Monday?”

“Uh, that depends. If you’re asking me on a date, then I’m busy.” Rolling your eyes, you weren’t sure why you still stayed to listen to what this random stranger had to say. If it were anyone else, you would’ve walked away the moment he asked if you were free. However, you acknowledged his timidness and the courage he must have mustered up to approach you.

Jeno shook his head violently, completely in shambles from that type of misunderstanding. “Not a date. I need someone to model for my portfolio photos that my internship assigned. It’s actually very important to me because it’s the first internship that responded back to me when I had applied to so many a whole month ago. Basically, I really need this and you because I think you’d be perfect to take pictures of. Oh-- wow! That sounded very bad --- uh --- what I meant is that your facial proportions are perfect and---”

“I’m free Monday.” You cut off his endless ramble and gestured toward his phone. He handed it to you without any hesitation and you typed in your number. “Text me the time, place and what I should wear.” 

“Oh actually, it’s a nude photoshoot.” Your eyes doubled in size, completely offended by that statement.

Jeno felt the sudden shift in the air and brought his hands up to block himself, “to be more clear, it’s a contemporary fine art nude photography studio. The pictures are pieces of art and to be seen as that only. I have no intentions or ulterior motive to sleep with you, see you naked or sell, leak your nudes for the profit of your body. But, I understand if you no longer want to do it because it sounds super strange now that I am explaining it.” 

Your shoulders relaxed and the fist that formed unraveled. You exhaled deeply, “I’ll do it. We can talk more about it on Monday and I get to leave on my own accord if I don’t feel comfortable. We work on my conditions.” Picking up Jeno’s chin, he was absolutely petrified at the forced eye contact and your incredible, powerful gaze. He was mesmerized by the fire in your eyes, and if he stared any longer, he could’ve lost himself in them. 

“Of course.” With that, you dropped his face and left without another look back. Jeno looked down at his phone and the new contact name, (Y/N). It had slipped his mind to even ask what your name was and he slapped his face in utter stupidity. “Do better, Lee Jeno.” It was a remainder to himself to, hopefully, be better the next time you two speak.

+

Monday, 3:03 PM. 

Jeno paced back and forth in the brightly, lit white room. He was trying to find any blinds or curtains to cover the tall windows of the high rise building. It should not be too much of a problem, the extra lighting was a positive. Jeno was only worried for your comfort of the openness. 

There was a soft knock before Jeno practically tripped to open the door. His breath hitched at the sight of your bare face. This time, you were the vulnerable one. Jeno only saw purity, yet impressed at how your tired eyes still managed to bid him a soft smile. He admired your uneven complexion, and the sparse moles that dotted your skin. 

“Okay, so you want to see me naked now or later?” Filled with jokes, your voice was light and airy this afternoon. There was a bit of a contrast from the first time you two met. Softer, enchanting, almost ghostly. 

Everything in the room was white. The mattress on the floor had a white comforter and white sheets. The backdrop. The walls. The hardwood floor. The only color was the blue sky that the tall windows let in.

“Here’s a robe. You can change in the bathroom.” Jeno scratched the back of his neck and his eyes wandered everywhere, but your’s. 

“Would you be okay with me just taking off my clothes in here?” You saw the light tint of pink cover his face, and spread to his ears. You examined more of the shy boy’s embarrassed face, finally getting a really good look at him. Jeno was very attractive, and you could only imagine how beautiful he must look if he fully faced you.

Jeno fiddled with his camera strap, “only if you are okay with that.” Clearing his throat, he stood next to the window to give you some privacy. “I’ll go over what I plan on doing. I’m going to take photos of your face details, parts of your body, full body, and portraits. You can lay down on the bed and I’ll direct you in poses. Have you modeled before?”

He was scanning the bustling city below his feet. Cars zoomed quickly and crowds of tiny people flooded the streets. He brought his camera up to his face, not being able to resist the urge to capture such a thrilling sight. 

“If Instagram counts, then yeah. Professional model gig would be a no. Nude photography is a definite no, unless we are talking about being filmed during sex.” Jeno chuckled, while also holding the camera steady and stealing a few moments to keep for himself.

For a strange reason, being naked for a non-sensual reason felt even more vulnerable. Laying on the soft fabric, you felt oddly exposed and slightly more reserved. You’ve had countless strangers see you naked. Men were sexually desiring to see a sexy picture. You were always lusted after, but this feeling of nakedness was special.

“Are you ready?” Jeno gulped, finally setting the camera down. 

You hummed cheerfully. Your heart was leaping out of your chest as the boy shifted slowly to face you. As he turned, you noticed he had his eyes sealed shut, which caused a small laugh to erupt. “Jeno, you have my permission to open your eyes and to look at me.”

Holy shit, he was trembling with an inexplicable fear. The camera was slipping from his sweaty hands. His mouth was as dry as the desert. Jeno’s pounding heart was loud in his ears. 

Jeno has seen his past girlfriends laying naked in bed, but this situation was too different. When he saw you laying there in absolutely nothing, he was overwhelmed, yet astounded at how graceful you appeared.

There was no exchange of words and no exchange of eye contact. He towered over your lying figure and shakily brought the camera to his eyes. He selfishly wanted to capture your elegance. Through the lens, he saw all of you: the curve in your eyelid, your curled eyelashes, the small mole next to your soft lips, the sharp color of your eyes, the way your hair frames your face.

This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. You were comparable to the arts found in popular museums. Your body lines were enticing and an impressive shape. Your breasts pooled on your chest, the round nude nipple in the centers. Your details had to be sculpted by gods, who took their sweet time making you. You were a true masterpiece. 

Confused, Jeno felt a huge mixture of emotions. Was he aroused? Was he infatuated? Did he just fall in love with a complete stranger? He recognized the same thrilled feelings he felt taking landscape photos. With each click, he grew more excited with how beautiful the photos were turning out.

“Sit up and rest your chin on your left hand. Lean your weight on your right leg.” Jeno’s direction was clear and firm. There was no evidence of a smaller tone he usually spoke in. Sitting up, you placed your elbow on your upper thigh to steady your chin. Jeno had already gotten down to floor level to you. 

Without the camera that separated you two, it had to be the first time he faced you completely in such close proximity. There was so much to admire about Jeno. He remained concentrated on his craft, but it was actually very sexy to see his dedication. It was almost like he was a whole new person, like all the shyness drifted away. 

Jeno couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It wasn’t simply your beauty that amazed him. Your confidence made everything easy. There was something about your blank stares, when he asked for an emotion, you portrayed it perfectly.

“Can we talk while you shoot?” Your sudden voice startled the photographer. He lowered his camera and his gaze automatically wandered off behind you, which didn’t go unnoticed. He nodded after a short pause and the shutter noises continued.

“Why did you choose me as your model?” 

Jeno peeled away from the device, “because you’re you.” He didn’t even know what that statement meant. It wasn’t like he knew you before the first time he asked you to model for him.

The corners of your lips dipped down, drawing an evident frown. Click. Jeno loved that image especially. It was a simple way to get real, authentic facial expressions. He marveled at the photo, but registered the reason behind it. “I wanted to ask you the second I saw you. I just knew that I wanted you.” 

“But you don’t know me.” 

Jeno looked through the lens once again, welcoming a full view of your stunning attributes. He spoke in a low voice, “then, let me know you.” Click. 

It would be the biggest lie to say that you weren’t aroused by Jeno at the moment. He was cool, without trying to be. He really did shine when he had a camera to work with, like a star to a dark night. While he had a distinct demeanor off the bat, you enjoyed unraveling the rest of him. He was, also, the first man you met that didn’t seem sexually driven by a naked woman in his presence. 

You had to resist every urge to push the camera away and share the few seconds of his entire gaze before it wandered away. You wanted to rock his world, he was so innocent and beautiful. You wished to wreak havoc on him, have him show you how much he wanted you. 

+

You anticipated an awkward photoshoot, but Jeno made you feel safe and comfortable. He made sure to adjust the temperature when goosebumps rose on your arms and when your nipples became painfully hard. He never touched you or came too much into your personal space. He always asked for your permission. 

Nude modeling was a new experience for you, but you were surprised at how much you liked it. or how much you liked Jeno taking your photos. He sat next to you on the bed when you put on your articles of clothing and panned through several shots to satisfy your curiosity.

Leaning close, your head ducked to see the photos. A gasp escaped your lips when you saw just the first few. “Is that really me?” The pictures made you feel an abundance of emotions, you felt what they reflected. Sadness, melancholy, happiness, confidence. You didn’t know images had that much power to make you feel that, especially photos of you.

Jeno nodded, smiling so wide that his eyes turned to moon crescents. He was so in love with the results. He found respect for Taemin’s craft and he was right, he might’ve found a new forte to experiment with. “I can send you the photos digitally too, if you want them.”

“Maybe I’ll print them out, frame them, and gift it to every horrid man who has tried to flirt their way to my body since they want to see it so fucking bad.” 

Jeno peered over and saw the tiny glimpse of pain in your orbs, “why would you give horrible people what they want?”

“So they can finally shut up and leave me alone. Plus, this is art and if I tell them it’s actually me, maybe it’ll change their minds to start treating me like it.” 

He held his palm up and almost immediately, your fingers filled the spaces between his. “I’m going to need you to start treating yourself as fine art.”

“Keep taking more photos of me and I just might start thinking I’m Mona Lisa.” Your laughters blended nicely into each other. There was mutual mental acknowledgement of the happiness you were both feeling.

Jeno never let go of your hand, and there was a short moment of comforting silence where you two sat in each other’s existence. You were the one to break it, “are you doing anything after this?” 

He shook his head. “Well then, you’re mine for the rest of the night. We’re going to pretend we’ve been close friends since first year and eat take-out on my bed because that’s what I need at the moment.” 

+

“I know you respect my body and see this as an art form, but I’m genuinely surprised that you didn’t feel aroused at the slightest.”

Jeno didn’t even realize how much time had already passed being you. You two ate and chatted as if you’ve known each other forever, as if the friendship wasn’t established several hours ago. It felt safe and right, like you two belonged in each other’s existence and nowhere else mattered.

He felt warm inside from your hearty laughter and courage, like he was watching a painting come to life or a photo in movement. You were smitten over how endearing and complex he was. He was more than what meets the eye and that alone drew you towards him.

“Okay, I’ll admit,” Jeno paused to watch your reaction, “in the most respectable way, I was somewhat turned on. But! Before you trail blaze me for being just like every disgusting male in your life, I genuinely didn’t have any sexual thoughts during the photoshoot. That was all professional and it will continue to be like that.” 

Getting up from your bed, your mind was working at lightspeed to process his confession. Jeno was fast to pick up someone’s personality, what stood out and what was kept hidden. He knew quicker than anyone else that you were not someone to offend because you were a strong, straight forward woman.

His personality breakdown went like this: you knew what you like, you knew you were going to get what you want, you enjoyed flirty banter (with people of your choice), you weren’t afraid to be blunt, or kick someone’s ass. You carried yourself with confidence that graced your every step, which makes anyone attracted to you instantly. Bold, confident, sexy had to be what came to mind whenever he thought about you. 

Nonetheless, he really liked you as a person. He could pat himself on the back all day long for just approaching you, but he knew the real reason as to how this all happened. It was you saying yes to a stranger’s odd photoshoot. You made him the luckiest man in the world. 

“Continue? Are you looking for excuses to keep seeing me?” You smirked and Jeno’s voice grew small. 

“I--- uh, well,” there goes the nervous stammering, “I know the conditions were a one time thing, so I understand if you don’t want to do it again.” As the night had progressed, Jeno gradually began to hold eye contact and actually looked at you directly without the help of seeing you through a lens. This was the first time he broke it. 

“Hey now, I’m messing with you, Jeno.” He had been sitting on your floor, at the end of your bed. You crawled on your elbows to reach him, and to hold his chin to face you again. Deja vu. “I’d love to get naked for you again, and again, and.. as many times as you want me to.” 

He stared at you with his mouth hung open in disbelief. His eyes scanned your beautiful face to see your lips pull back into a mischievous smile. Gulping, he swallowed every ounce of courage he had left. “You don’t have to say it like that.” He tried to remove your grip, but it latched onto his hand. 

“You’re finally looking me in the eye, sweet thing. I don’t think you realize how much I had been wanting that from you.” You caressed his cheek, rubbing small circles on his texture. 

“What else do you want from me?” His implication sounded suggestive, even if his curiosity was innocent. 

Your hot breath brushed against Jeno’s lips. “I can show you.”

Jeno, the one and only college guy who has seen your naked body in a non-sexual context. Jeno, the shy, sweet boy who appreciated and recognized you as a form of art. Jeno, the talented and skillful photographer, who consistently made sure you felt comfortable. Jeno, the only person in the world who you’d model nude for. Jeno, the dazzling character behind the camera who you wanted more than anyone else you’ve ever met. Lee Jeno.

He seemed like he was inching closer, already tilting his head to fit your’s. You smiled to yourself, seeing that your words were received well. Diving in, your lips swam together fervently. 

The poor boy found himself lost in your enchanting, alluring gaze. He let the trance consume him, selfishly kissing the art he admired so dearly. A small part of him felt the guilt and confusion that began to rise. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly wished to feel your lips on his neck, or run his hands across your hot skin. He swore these thoughts were not present earlier. 

A small pop! and Jeno held your shoulder to pull away. “I’m sorry, did I do something?” You asked, honestly concerned that you were taking more than you deserved. The least you desired was to hurt Jeno, who had been nothing but nice and sweet.

“(Y/N),” you could listen to your name roll off his tongue all day, “I feel somewhat guilty. I don’t want things to be misunderstood.”

“Which would be?”

“I don’t want you to think I coerced you into being my model just because I had intentions to sleep with you.” Jeno was already gathering his things, but you hopped off your bed and placed a hand on his chest. “Because that’s what it’s starting to look like at the moment.”

“Was that something you did though? Did you have those intentions?” Your stare bore right through him. The warmth of your hand relaxed his racing heart.

“Never, (Y/N), I would never do that to someone.” Your hand traveled down to grab his belongings and tossed it back onto the ground. 

He silently watched as you took off your pants, and stood in front of him in your underwear. “Then, we’re fine. I know your intentions have always been pure. But truthfully, Jeno, seeing you focused while you worked sparked something in me. You don’t understand how aroused I got and how badly I wanted you to fuck me on that bed.” His hand trailed up your exposed thighs, finally touching your softness. “You’re the one guy I wanted first, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that.” 

“I-- I don’t know what to say.” His cheeks revealed how embarrassed he was, but his dark, lustful eyes were telling a different story.

A smirk fell upon your face, “then don’t say anything.” 

Jeno devoured you, inhaling the light hint of vanilla that still lingered. He hoisted you onto your mattress and kissed you like his life depended on it. His antsy hands roamed your free range, exploring, holding, gripping the parts he marveled over. Small moans from the back of your throat encouraged him to continue.

No one has ever kissed you with the amount of passion Jeno did. It was gentle, with enough vigor to cause your panties to dampen. It wasn’t sloppy, where previous guys had a problem of missing your mouth entirely and slobbered your chin. 

His lips worshiped you, highlighting your good sides. Flashes of the photoshoot popped into Jeno’s head as he left purple marks on the places he loved capturing the most. He pushed up your shirt, exposing your chest to him again. His tongue circled around your hard nipple as he made sure to give the same amount of attention to each one. 

Jeno knew he was too shy to hold your intense stare, but getting to know you during and after the photoshoot, he could see the softness in your gaze. He was, now, able to see all of you. The sight of you through the camera was addicting enough, so finally taking you all in was more than satisfying. 

Your hands ran through his hair as he kissed down your torso. His thumbs hooked the waistband of your underwear, and peeled it off your body. You gasped as the cold air from your apartment grazed against your exposed figure.

Jeno paused to admire your glistening pussy, “would it be okay if you let me make love to you?”

Your heart burned, not out of embarrassment, but at how he still managed to ask you for your permission in the sweetest way. You rested your weight on your elbows, “no one has done that before, would it actually make me want to fall in love with you?”

“It wouldn’t be too bad. I have a lot of love to give and you look like a person who deserves all of it anyways.” Jeno’s finger ran over your wet slit and rubbed your clit slowly.

Your moans filled the room as the electric jolted throughout your veins. The wetness grew, seeping out of you like a waterfall. Jeno dropped down to his knees, and lifted your legs on his broad shoulders.

“Are you usually this wet, baby?”

Chuckling, you smiled at his bold choice in using pet names, “Just for you.”

He hummed, chiming at how he liked your answer. Spreading you open, his tongue met with your swollen bud that begged for his licks.

His tongue darted side to side, up and down and in result, your back arched in pleasure and a darkness clouded your mind. His name and mindless profanities streamlined their way out of you as Jeno ate you out in such a precisely delicious way.

Grabbing a fist full of hair, you pulled him closer, even if there was no more space to fill. Looking down, you two exchanged glances before he thrusted a finger into you. Your hips bucked harder as he eased in another one.

Jeno curled his fingers in search of your sweet spot and found it when a deep moan escaped your throat. His fingertips rubbed and pressed into your plush flesh, causing you to practically scream and squirm in his mouth. 

He suckled your clit and fingered you simultaneously and quickly. The pleasure was overflowing and you released his hair to grip your sheets below you. Your legs shook and trembled as he had no caution to stop.

“Please, I’m going to--” you could barely talk due to your face contouring to the splurge of pleasure every single time Jeno rubbed your spot. “--to explode.” 

He had to take back what he thought earlier in the day. This was the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on. The whole scene played like from one of his favorite films. It felt like he was giving his photos life. Your body twisted and turned, accentuating the curves of your lines. 

Jeno had become painfully hard against the fabric of his jeans, but seeing you fall apart because of his minimal movements exhilarated him. “P-Please, don’t stop.” A breathy moan followed suit and your thighs tried to press themselves together. Jeno didn’t allow it, his free hand hooked underneath your left thigh to pull one side away from his cheeks.

Your high gradually grew so tall that it all eventually came cascading down. Your legs shook violently and sat up from the euphoria that took over you. Jeno prolonged your buzz and you screamed loudly, having to bite down on your fingers to stop yourself from angering your neighbors.

Jeno drank you up, letting your wetness cover his chin and drip down his knuckles. He pulled away, at last, and you took deep breaths to control your heavy breathing. It was like Jeno knocked the wind completely out of you. 

He stood up and you saw the outline of his hard bulge straining itself through his jeans. The next scene was quite animalistic. You, still embodying your high, sat on your knees and unzipped his pants with your needy hands.

“Now, it’s your turn to get nude for me.” You whispered, tauntingly. Jeno groaned when you reached down and gently pulled him out. He stepped out of his clothing, all of it. His shirt was lost in the corner and his bottoms were scattered over your floor. Mirroring his actions, you took off your last piece of cloth.

Jeno was built. Though his biceps did not go unnoticed during the photoshoot, you were surprised at the lines of muscle that sketched his body. It made your mouth water, seeing his extremely hard dick stand against his toned abs. His red tip fell just below his navel. Jeno only kept getting better as the night continued on.

Pulling him closer, his hand found their way to the back of your head as you aligned your mouth to the wetness that spilled from his tip. “I want to make you feel good.” Jeno’s hoarse voice made your knees weak.

Peering up, you batted your eyelashes at him fondly. “Just a little taste?” You begged, having to hold his shaft with both of your hands because of his thickness. Your tongue was already stuck out, your hot breath causing the tiniest bit of sensation for him.

He nodded and his eyes were trained on you. He didn’t want to miss any second of your kitty licks. You flattened your tongue against his warmth, dragging it up to the top. The saltiness hit your palette as you swirled around his redness. “Oh--” Jeno threw his head back and bit his lip, “--lay on the bed now.” 

You smiled sweetly and gave his member a quick kiss before reaching for a condom in your drawer. Jeno climbed onto your bed and situated the rubber comfortably. You laid on your back and he was fast to pull your legs around his waist. 

He lined himself at your entrance and eased his tip in slowly. Squirming, you craved him to fill you up to the brim. He leaned down to kiss you, letting your tongue lap with his. It’s your hands with the mind of their own when they flew automatically to hold his face whenever you wanted to deepen the kiss. Then, Jeno stretched himself all the way in and he caught your gasp with his lips. He groaned, feeling the mess he created merely minutes ago. 

His hips moved so easily with your wetness, but he went slow. Dragging out each pull and then, pushing himself back in roughly. “Jeno!” Your body jolted up the bed each time. His body fell over yours to hold you intimately, letting you bury your face into his neck. Your lips latched themselves onto his sensitive skin, painting a purple sunset. 

Jeno’s arms snaked underneath your thighs as he pressed them to your chest, folding you almost into a ball. Your mouth hung open as he fucked you harder, rougher, deeper yet keeping the tempo rhythmically slow. At this point, you could feel his hits in your gut. Your weak hands gripped loosely around his strong wrists that held your legs down. “You’re pussy is so tight and holy shit---, you keep getting more beautiful.”

A familiar burning sensation set in your chest as you saw how concentrated his face had become. You were so fucked out that you could barely speak, “you—” his hips mercilessly slammed into you powerfully, enacting a low moan every time he reached your sweet spot. “—keep surprising me.” His actions came to a halt and he stared deeply into your soul. 

You whined, wiggling your hips for any friction. He held them down into the mattress, knowing his grip was strong enough to leave a mark. “I told you, I was going to make love to you tonight.”

“I’ve already fallen for you.” You said breathlessly, tracing the side of his face and pecking his lips softly. 

“You don’t understand what you’re doing to me by saying those things.” He whispered and pushed his entire shaft to fill you to your brim. 

You yelped his name and gripped his shoulders, but he wasn’t done yet. “Show me how badly you wanted me the first time you saw me.” Jeno blinked at you in slight shock. 

As he continued to hold the deep gaze, he kept pushing his dick further and further into you. He was balls deep, almost impossible to keep going. He fucked you without the need to pull out, just burying his cock deeper into your wet pussy. You exclaimed, moaned, cussed at every push. Holding the stare was more than enough to lose yourself all over him again. 

Jeno was drunk with the image of your fucked out expression and every time the mixture of pleasure and pressure caused your eyebrows to crease and mouth to open release sensual sound. He had been trying his best not to come undone, to fixate another climax for you.

The feeling of you wrapping tighter and tighter around him drove him insane. “Give it to me, please.” Your muffled plead called for his release, but he could feel that you were close to your second.

Jeno sat up on his knees and pulled you into his arms where your thighs fell over his. You groaned at the empty feeling, though it was quickly replaced with a gratifying moan when he inserted himself again. Your arms dangled around his neck, foreheads touching intimately. 

The fucking eye contact again, how could you get enough of it? You giggled, amused at how different Jeno was when he eventually opened up. He wrapped his strong arms around your back and thrusted his hips up into you. The way this man made you squirm, scream, and shake were nothing you’ve experienced before. 

He smirked, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek when he went rampage on your pussy. “Not laughing now, are you?”

You whined in pleasure, brushing your fallen strands of hair out of his face. “Shut up before I make you.” 

“Then I’d rather keep going.” Kissing up his jawline, you lead your way to his pout. His kisses intoxicated you with his passion and madness, like the most intense part of a symphony, or when the bass drops after a long build up in a song. 

Jeno sped up, ramming up into your slick pussy over and over again. He even brought your hips down to match him, guiding you down as he went up. The headboard was knocked against the wall, your windows steamed up, cries of pleasure from the both of you created the ambiance, the smell of sex filled your lungs. Jeno reached between your bodies to furiously rub your clit to where it felt almost raw. It all sent you into the clouds, the familiar queasiness settled in your lower half.

Your eyes rolled back and your back arched, having to pull away from the desirous kiss with Jeno. “I’m cumming!” You announced before the tension unraveled, causing you to see absolute white. The second wave was much more uncontrollable, Jeno felt you squeezing radically around his dick as he tried to fuck you faster to prolong the feeling.

Your legs shook around his and your upper body went limp with pleasure. You reached the peak of the mountain and it came crumbling down underneath your toes. It was catastrophically enthralling, to the point where you physically felt something leave your body.

“Oh shit..” Jeno stopped his motions at the sight of you squirting over his lap. He pampered your torso with fluttering kisses, hoping to calm your spastic body. “...baby, are you okay?” He asked with a bit of concern of how lack of life you seemed. 

This man just gave you the best climax in your whole life and he asked if you were okay? Regaining your senses, you sighed a small yes to reassure him that he didn’t actually murder you. Hopping off, you pulled the condom that restricted him.

He hissed when you cupped his balls in your palm. “Cum, my sweet thing.” You purred and Jeno’s hand pumped his member aggressively. You leaned in to help, sucking the tip and flicking your tongue over his slit. 

His other hand gripped your neck, causing you to drip on your sheets. Jeno was panting and with every tug, it became louder. He seemed so desperate to release that it made you smile to be the reason behind it. “Can you lay down,” A grunt followed his question, “please.” He huffed.

“Because you asked nicely.” Smirking, your back hit the sheets and you opened your legs to give Jeno a view. He situated himself above your stomach, as he fucked his tight grip.

“I’m cumming---” He couldn’t look any more amazing. With a final moan, the white streaks streamed out in short sequences. It landed across your abdomen, over your nipple, and pooled around your belly button. 

Bringing himself back to reality, Jeno stepped back to marvel you, his masterpiece. The white streaks coated your purple skin and your chest rose fast to catch your reality. Gazing upon your naked body, he was utterly infatuated with all of you. He was so in love with the sight of you that not a single photo could capture the beauty that you were. 

Jeno pondered the thought of how merely a day changed a small part of him. You were life changing, addicting, an incomparable character that he felt like he’s known forever, and now, couldn’t live without. It was the taste of your juices on his lips, your sweet melodic music that was your voice, your daring smile that enticed him to never peel away from you. It was simply you. 

He leaned down to rub his knuckles against your cheek, planting a lovingly peck on your forehead. “I’ll go start the water for you.” 

+

Jeno anticipated the reaction of his mentor. He found himself at the same scene he was when he was first given the task. Taemin sat across from him, hunched forward to analyze his new set of photos on his laptop. Raw, unedited photos of you, your body, your details. 

The hum of the air conditioning droned on, driving him mad. Jeno needed one reaction, but Taemin had been silent and expressionless for the past ten minutes. Whenever he did move, it was to click through to the next picture. 

Suddenly, he shut it closed and stood right up. Jeno, panicked, did the same. Taemin stuck his hand out and Jeno hesitantly grabbed it, incredibly unsettled and unable to read the older man.

Taemin received it firmly, giving Jeno a good handshake. “Welcome abroad, Lee Jeno. I expect even more great things from you.” 

Jeno registered his delightful mood switch and he was fast to follow up, “my photos, --- you --- like them?” 

Taemin nodded generously, patting Jeno on his shoulder. Taemin reached up to tap his own eyelids. “What you can see, is very special, kid. You’re an artist and I’m here to recognize that for you. It seems to me, you can do more than take pictures of sidewalks.” 

Jeno smiled happily, his eyes disappearing from joy. He couldn’t wait to tell you about it. 

The rest of the week, leading up to Jeno’s appointment, had felt nothing short of blissful moments together. You and Jeno spent almost every waking minute together without the cost of your friends’ time. He walked you to your classes, some even being across the campus from his own. You accompanied him for meals, even sitting in his lectures to just be with him.

There were no words that established what you two had become to each other. Jeno wasn’t looking for that anyways, in fact, he somewhat liked the ambiguity. If only he could tell you how making love to you made him begin to actually fall for you.

You were never one to hold a serious relationship, but you found a small want for that festering in Jeno. It was hard to admit to yourself, but Jeno saw you for all that you were. He truly saw you, whether it had been through a lens or through his own eyes. He captured your rawness and you were able to find vulnerability around him. 

He ran to you, where you sat in the lobby waiting for him to finish his meeting. Peering up from your phone, you noticed the beaming smile on the boy’s face. You couldn’t hold back your own grin, seeing him apparent with so much joy. “I’m guessing good things?”

“I got it, (Y/N)!” He jumped into your arms and you laughed at the sudden affection. “He loved my photos.” 

“I didn’t doubt it for one second. You’re an artist, Jeno. You create masterpieces that make even someone like me, feel like art.” 

Jeno hugged you closer to his chest, giving you a tiny squeeze. Pulling away to face you, his eyes examined your outstanding grace. You knew what he was already going to say, but simply wanted to hear him say it. “That’s because you are art.”

[bigskydreaming]

I’m a big believer that Dick’s independence and self-reliance isn’t in any way rooted in him just being stubborn, prideful or self-destructive. I view it as being in his eyes a necessity….because on a deep, fundamental level….Dick doesn’t trust anything to be permanent. 

I’ll always go back to the fact that his character archetype isn’t that of the everyman, because he was of lower class origins compared to Bruce’s extreme upper class background.....but rather that given that Dick Grayson was allegedly exceptional from his debut, a child prodigy capable of feats of acrobatics few in the world could match....he could never actually be classified as an everyman. Rather, his core archetype is that of the fish out of water. The individual taken from the comforts of his original pond and thrust into a limelight of an entirely different nature from the one he grew up in, with the two not at all being interchangeable, and necessitating he change and adapt in dramatic and often unanticipated ways just to keep his footing in his new environs.

Its not incidental that his initial tragedy wasn’t JUST the loss of his parents, but rather the loss of his old routines, extended family, environment, way of life, expectations for the way his future would play out....it ALL vanished on the same night, never to return again. The loss of his parents was tragedy enough all on its own, but its really only one part of what Dick lost that night. He lost his entire footing. His frames of reference. Everything his life had previously prepared him for and everything he could have used as a familiar comfort or source of stability to lean on, if it had been ‘just’ his parents that he lost.

And I fundamentally don’t believe you ever get over THAT loss, no matter what peace you make with the loss of your loved ones or specific elements of that. Once you’ve experienced a shake-up of that size, once you have a bone-deep, visceral awareness of how completely your life can change in the blink of an eye, how you can effectively be set back to zero as though nothing you’ve previously accomplished matters (remember, he went from a kid whose name drew crowds on its OWN merits, based on what HE was capable of due to his own work and skills, the youngest of the Flying Graysons, capable of an acrobatic feat barely anyone else in the world could master......to being a kid who was only ever identified as in the context of Bruce Wayne having taken him in, as though his existence and worth were defined by someone else’s act of compassion rather than based on anything he’d ever done on his own, when the fact of the matter is even by age eight, he’d already accomplished a LOT)....

Like, the point is, you can’t go through a shake-up like that and ever fully FORGET how complete and total a change it was, how big a rewrite of your entire life story. 

That’s a trauma all its own, one that goes largely unacknowledged, and one that I don’t think Bruce and Alfred or anyone else fully realized was even there TO need addressing in the first place. So of course how could they ever fully address it, without realizing a need?

And I think Dick’s constant moves and self-reliance are actually born of that primal awareness that there are no guarantees, that nothing is truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in an instant.

He’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to be taken away again - as people have pointed out in other posts, Dick can never seem to have nice things. Even the apartment building he lived in while in Bludhaven….that wasn’t some height of luxury by ANY stretch of the imagination…was lost to him, along with all the friends and neighbors and community he’d built among them, something evidenced by how highly they all spoke of him, even to a total stranger. And that’s not even getting into how even the CITY he sought to establish himself as a guardian over, like, he lost the city itself. The CITY!

Dick, I believe, insists on holding down 9-5 jobs and paying his own way and only touching money that comes from Bruce originally, when like…he has no other option or its to help someone else….just like he’s resistant to ever fully putting down roots, at least none so deep that he can’t uproot himself and quickly relocate without ripping off a piece of himself and leaving it still buried in the ground behind him. 

Because deep down, he’s always bracing for the next seismic event that’ll rip everything away from him, and he wants to be prepared. He WANTS to make sure he never takes anything for granted. That if he loses it all - hell, if he and Bruce fight again and Bruce decides once and for all to take it all away from Dick, cut their ties, something that would very much be a deep-rooted insecurity for a kid with as massive of abandonment issues as Dick must have given his childhood and a number of events after that…

Dick I think needs to trust that he’ll be capable of surviving, of standing on his own two feet, if the worst should ever happen again and he’s left on his own again. His self-reliance and obsessive need for independence aren’t a REJECTION of anyone else or anything Bruce or others have ever done for him.

They’re simply the defense mechanisms of a boy who was once upon a time torn away from everything he knew and in certain origins was then on top of that plunged into hellish circumstances before finding a refuge with Bruce….

And the man that boy grew up to be, who is determined to never be caught in a situation like that again, where his very survival might otherwise require the kindness of a stranger….with Dick knowing better than to count on lightning striking twice there, and him getting lucky a second time.

So in a lot of ways, my core perception of Dick having spent more time growing up in the luxury of Wayne Manor than any of the other kids is that its largely irrelevant to who he grew up to be. Because he was still more than old enough by the time he arrived that he had formative experiences all his own that no amount of time was sufficient to overwrite and exchange for new ones.

His experiences are so extreme in terms of the loss of all forms of stability, that the SHAPE that stability takes in the periods where his life IS stable, is largely unimportant. Because its the absence of stability that’s the defining recurrence in his life. Even the stability offered by his childhood in Wayne Manor eventually gave way to canon where he left the Manor before he was even eighteen, as well as canon where no matter how it was ultimately reversed, he was for a time affected by having the ability to call the Manor his home STRIPPED AWAY FROM HIM. Thus even when Bruce did ultimately welcome him back, there still retained an awareness that even the fact that this had happened in the first place was a reminder that even THIS was something Dick could lose, that no matter how stable his childhood there had been at times, it couldn’t in and of itself be COUNTED as a source of stability due to the simple fact that his ability to call it his home HADN’T turned out to be an irrevocable constant. 

And so this is another of those areas where I think its fundamentally an oversight to have members of the family commenting on Dick’s self-reliance or tendencies to relocate himself, let alone in any kind of critical capacity......

If there’s not going to be an acknowledgment within the family or by the people raising these criticisms like, what kind of a role the family themselves have played in Dick feeling a NEED to have these tendencies in the first place.

If someone doesn’t trust in any place he lives in to ever truly be a constant in his life, truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in the right circumstances....and you yourself have done something that has made him feel or given him reason TO leave a place he’s found stability in at some point in the past....you kiiiiiinda forsake your right to be critical of his inability to see any place as permanent or constant, y’know?

Like, insert Miranda Whatshername gif or Meryl Streep peering down her glasses and going oh I see, you think this has nothing to do with you.

So I’d argue that Dick’s insistence on simulating the average person’s reality of livelihood, even when he has other means and funds available to him….just as his insistence on being as solely responsible for the well-being of the place or people he sees as his responsibilities, being single-minded about relying only on himself for tasks that he sees as ultimately having nothing to do with someone other than himself, etc....

All that is in my opinion BECAUSE he’s so firmly attached to the reality that anything and everything can be taken away, at ANY given moment. That he can be reduced to having nothing and no one he can depend on BEYOND just his own innate skills and experiences, the only things he trusts to be truly unable to be stripped from him by others.

If you ask me, one of the core aspects of Dick’s characterization throughout his adulthood in canon is SPECIFICALLY his fear that everything he cares about, or trusts, or relies on…can be taken away from him or lost. 

And his determination to make sure that he’ll be able to survive even if that should ever happen again.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 2

Summary: Professor Laszlo Kreizler is a pretentious ass - that's the only way you could possibly explain the man. That being said, you needed a job to help pay for grad school, and the position of being his TA was the only thing available. You'll suck it up and deal with it, but the last thing you'll do is let this man get inside your head in the process.

WC: 1131

Rated: M

Chapter Tags: laszlo is very to the point with his expectations.

🧠

Monday morning came too quickly. There was no need to dress super professionally as a TA, but you still found that you wanted to at least look presentable on your first day with the devil himself. One less thing for him to judge you on, right?

The hall in the Psychology wing was quiet, only a few students could be seen shuffling to their early morning classes. A tall guy walked past you, offering up a pity-smile in your direction as he saw where you stood. If what you had seen on the professor over the weekend was any real indication, you felt bad for the psych majors. Even so, you would do your best to withhold judgement until you met the man.

You stood outside his office. The dark mahogany door was shut, a gold “Dr. L Kreizler” placard adorned the wood. Pulling out your phone you check the schedule for the tenth time this morning.

Schedule:

MWF 8am-12pm

TTH 3pm-7pm

You lick your lips and look at the clock on the wall - 7:59. The second the hands switch to 8 you knock on the heavy wood. There is a muffled “come in” from the other side.

You don’t know what you anticipated as you entered the office. Taking a minute, you examine the decor he has set up. It felt like walking through a time capsule; as though you were transported to the gilded age. Rich, dark colors of wood and tapestry filled the space. Large bookshelves had tomes that looked to be at least a hundred years old, well worn and rubbed off of their titles. Small artifacts, pictures, and old scientific instruments line the shelves. The room is massive, not something you would have anticipated. He does not use the fluorescent overhead lights, instead having a series of tall warm-toned lamps scattered around the room. There is even a couch along the back wall, decorated with swirling filigree carved into the arms and legs. A laptop and second monitor on his desk bring you back to reality.

In your admiration of the office you pay no mind to the man it belongs to. Finally, you notice him as he stares at you from his chair, looking annoyed at having to wait for your introduction.

Even with the less than pleased look he’s giving, you can’t help but notice how attractive the man is. The picture had done absolutely nothing to show off the depth in those brown eyes, the softness of the delicately styled hair, the fullness of his well-groomed beard. He was much younger than you anticipated too. If anything you figure he’s maybe early 40s. And fuck, he’s just your type. Too bad he’s an asshole… and your boss…. you think belatedly.

“Oh! Sorry, um, I’m the new TA,” you introduce yourself and tell him your name. “It’s very nice to meet you professor.” You reach out to shake his hand. He does not move to return the favor, but instead keeps his calculating eyes on you. The silence tics on as you wait, hand outstretched. Clearing your throat you drop it back to your side.

Finally, he speaks in an accented voice. “You may call me Dr. Kreizler. I have space for you there,” he gestures with a nod of his head to a desk in the corner. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a list of expectations for you. Should you have any questions or concerns I expect that you address them with me directly. You’ll note that I have included my personal number for work purposes only. I expect you to provide me with your own should I need you outside of contract hours. Do not contact me while you are intoxicated or you will be dismissed from this position.” To the point then, you blink at his directness. And presumptuous as hell to assume that you would even consider drunk texting him.

He briefly explains your role and clarifies some of the less detailed points on his list. The entire time he’s speaking his focus is on whatever work sits in front of him, not you. A beat passes once he’s done.

“Sounds great, thank you.” You had done your best to remain civil and polite, ignoring the ill-reviews in hopes to create your own opinion. Quite frankly, he wasn’t faring well so far.

He looks up at you; his eyes are piercing. Does he always look like he’s picking apart people like they are a specimen he’s studying?

“I suspect you have done your research on who I am, yet you are still present today. That is promising. But tell me, who are you?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.

You’ve never been good at talking about yourself when put on the spot. “Well I’m 26 years old, I graduated magna cum laude with a dual degree in history and political science. The last few years I’ve been working with the graduate studies program to get my doctorate in history. My thesis is on 1960s shifting cultural norms and the development and impact of countercultures on American society.”

“Have you considered the emerging role of sequence murderers in your studies?” He almost looks interested as he asks.

“Some, not as much as I would like yet, though. I suppose a perk of taking this position means you can give me some insight on that since you teach about it.” You give a little smile-shrug, hoping the statement will earn you some points with him.

He ignores it. “And what background in psychology do you have? Or do you even have any?”

You are a bit taken aback by his tone. “I took an introductory course with Professor Stratton during my undergrad years.”

“Hmm. That will have to suffice. In the meantime I would suggest you make haste with the reading I’ve left you. It’s best you spend this week with that so you can be most useful to me this semester.”

Looking through all the contents he’s left on your desk you see two books, a textbook, a few slide show print outs, and his syllabi - each marked up with his cursive and colored tabs to mark pages of importance. Sitting down, you give an inaudible sigh; this is going to be a long semester. You pick up the first syllabus and get to work.

Noon rolls around after what feels like a lifetime. Packing up all the materials he’s provided, you wish him a good afternoon. As you are walking through the door he calls out to you.

“Next time, do not be late.” You give him a confused look, seeing as you got there exactly at 8am. “On time is late,” he explains curtly.

“Noted.” You don’t catch the door as it all but slams closed.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles

[losingitinjersey]

Ever spend the last 12 days intending to blog every day and then never finding the time to do so?  Yup, that’s where I’ve been at.  Straight up in survival mode over here.  

My MIL left on Monday and while my days since have been spent constantly putting out fires managing two crying children (often at the same time), I’m oh so flipping happy to be on my own again :) I understand that it’s important for family to come and visit and get to know their grandchildren. While I’m happy we all had that time together I’m glad to now have the time to figure out life as a family of four without an extra person in the house.  

Kevin started a new rotation that has him gone six days a week from 4 a.m. to 8:30 p.m. (or later) so all he has time to do is come home and sleep.  Poor guy :( I went from having both him and either my mom or MIL home all the time to now doing everything alone.  It’s a lot but I’m surviving!  

Here’s a rundown of some of the highlights from the last 12 days. 

Aug passed her hearing test!  Woooo!

Thanks to the MIL here, Kevin and I were able to go (BY OURSELVES) out to dinner, out to brunch, on several walks, and two grocery shopping dates!  Such a dreeaaammm!

My MIL strongly dislikes/is scared of my cat, Saki.  As such, on one of the days I was gone at appointments with Aug for six hours she didn’t let him downstairs.  Due to this he pooped in my bedroom on the carpet :(  To my MIL’s credit, she thought he had a litterbox upstairs, but no.  That’s why I’m always letting him down and opening up the bathroom with the litterbox in it for him all the time.  Pay attention, woman. 

While we’re on the MIL rant, I’ll keep going with two more stories. 

I’ve put Erp to sleep every night of her life except for when I was at the hospital delivering Aug.  We have a bedtime routine that I look forward to every day and one that I find to be an intimate experience that only we share.  One night that I’m putting her down, I come out to find the kitchen and dining room still a mess with Kevin and his mom sitting on the couch (she has Aug in her arms so she gets a pass).  But I’m frustrated and start to clean.  At one point I look up to ask if MIL can turn on the monitor (that I know was turned off before I went in to start bedtime) and I see she’s looking at it watching Erp.  I ask her if that means she watched us while we were in there.  She replied that she had.  I reply, “Great.” Drop what I’m washing in the sink and run upstairs slamming the door shut behind me.  I go to pump and cool off.  I come downstairs 40 minutes later to tell her I overreacted but also that I felt she had invaded our privacy.  She tells me, through tears, that it reminded her of her time with Kevin when he was a baby.  I get it, but still.  Kevin said had he known she was watching he would have told her to stop since I made it VERY clear to him early on in Erp’s life that I don’t like being watched on the monitor when I’m in there with her.  I guess I should have told her about my preference in advance but I never thought I’d need to spell it out like that.  

For the last week she was here, she had Chicago Med on the TV constantly, at relatively loud volume.  Please note that we never ever ever have the TV on at our house unless we’re actively watching something, and if that happens it’s 99% of the time just me watching and I do it for an hour at night when everyone is asleep.  If we need background noise, music is playing.  She would just sit on the couch and watch her show talking about gunshots, premature birth, and whatever kind of medical drama while my kids are running around.  I’m sorry, but I thought you were here to connect with your grandkids?  So while she sat on the couch, I would engage and play with Erp for hours.  Cool cool cool.  

Please note that despite all this she’s a lovely woman and a great grandmother and mother and MIL.  I came into her visit already dreading more company, and I’m sure I’m still surging with hormones from the pregnancy (right? or am I just this way always now?).  All this to say that I was not begging her to stay and getting used to taking care of both kids on my own wasn’t that hard since I’d basically been doing it during her entire visit. 

Okay, let’s take a breather and talk about other things. 

Do you remember the 21st night of September? I DO because my 6 week old slept 12 straight hours! GLORIOUS. 

After finishing listening to Billy Summers (loved it!) I decided to undertake Stephen King’s hefty novel, The Stand.  I’d been scared to attempt it ever since I read 100 pages of it in 9th grade before deciding to pick it up again later.  I guess 23 years later did the trick because I’m thoroughly enjoying it!  I’ve learned that audiobooks are the only way I can get through any material lately.  It makes me want to go out on walks and take drives so I can listen to MoAr!  I’m already 10 hours into the 48 hour novel.  Although, I gotta say, it certainly feels strange to read about a deadly pandemic (written in 1978) during this current pandemic.  

After two months since I initially contacted the nearby school/daycare, I finally followed up to get Erp on a waitlist.  There are six kids ahead of her.   We took a tour on Friday and I want her to get in so so badly, hopefully before we move in June!  It would be such a great place for her to socialize and learn!

If any of the above isn’t telling, my hormones are all over the place. I know this because my face has decided to rage in all the redness and acne. So fun! 

Thanks to getting my house back, I’ve been able to establish a routine for us which includes going on stroller walks every day with the girls!  We’ve already made it over 37 miles this month!  Loving the outside time and knowing I’m working hard at my weight loss efforts.  

Despite being on maternity leave, this past Friday I was invited to participate in an EA (virtual) offsite with my team at work!  It was great to be able to see everyone again!  At the end we participated in a cooking class where they mailed me a box of all the ingredients to cook a NY Strip Steak and Corn Succotash! Deeeelicious! 

Given Erp’s increasing interest and ability at walking, I attempted a walk with her the other day, sans stroller!  I wore Aug in a wrap on my chest and held Erp’s hand as we walked around the neighborhood. We walked a good 1/4 of a mile!  Everything was fine until we made it back to our walkway and she refused to climb up the step to head back inside.  Like, laid flat on the ground refusal.  Since Aug was on me I couldn’t really just grab Erp and muscle her back inside.  She wouldn’t listen to any request of mine to go inside so we had a power struggle of what felt like 15 minutes but I’m sure was closer to 5.  She would try to crawl around my feet (into the bushes even to get around me), and any time I tried to lift her up she’d pull herself to the ground crying.  Eventually I tucked Aug’s flopping head into the fabric of the wrap so I could lean down and grab my tantruming child and carry her inside.  I want to be able to keep up with these excursions but not sure how to do so if she continues to rebel like this.  Like, if she did this farther from home we’d be up a creek.  Hopefully she’ll improve in time? 

OKAY! Hopefully we can now get back to our regularly scheduled blogging so a massive update like this won’t be necessary again :)  Thanks for taking time out of your day to catch up with me!

[seimeinotaka]

Rêverie (An OberonXGudako fic)

MASSIVE LOSTBELT 6 SPOILERS INCLUDING OBERON'S PROFILE AND BOND CE

Summary: Oberon has been unexpectedly summoned to Chaldea. He wonders why he is even there as he reminisces what happened in Avalon Le Fae. But it seems Ritsuka isn't leaving him alone, much to his annoyance.

Thanks to jellyfishy for beta-reading this!

Once again, the story has major spoilers for LB6, Oberon's profile and Bond CE, as well as important plot points of Solomon, LB1 and LB5.

There's implied one-sided love, mentions of heavy topics such as loss, and mentions of deceased characters.

"Master, Master, you've gotten better at this!"

"Thank you, Gogh! I've been practicing a lot using the tips you and Oui gave me. Even Jeanne Alter praised my background, hehe!"

"Hey, I said it was passable. Pas-sa-ble!"

Ritsuka Fujimaru has been drawing something in the cafeteria, surrounded by many servants that come and go. No one asks what she is doing, they all seem to know or if they don’t, they don’t bother to ask.

It is so bothersome. Annoying.

So many people surrounding her, like an ultraviolet lamp that attracts all the bugs. Never mind that they end up getting zapped the moment they ever dare to touch it.

The people, the sound, the merriment, it all annoys Oberon, who only watches in silence as he eats some ice cream with melon.

To be able to smile like that, even after discarding all of those stories...Oberon doesn't hide a crooked smile. In the end, the lostbelts are no more than faint dreams doomed to end, forgotten by the winners, the panhuman history citizens. Ritsuka Fujimaru isn't different. For her, it's like reading the doujin the swimsuit berserker is making. Once the pages are closed, the story ends and it ceases to exist. She can choose to forget.

Truly detestable.

-

Oberon stares and then walks away, just as Ritsuka lifts her face. She looks around, the feeling of being watched faintly breaking her concentration.

But in the end he doesn't say a word as he leaves.

-

“Hey, you keep looking at Master!” Jeanne Alter slams her hands on the table where Oberon is sitting. Said Master is working again, too enthralled talking with Gogh to notice Jeanne Alter slipping away to talk to him.

“Does it bother if I do?” He gives her a crooked smile as she huffs and scowls. Though of course her face turns slightly pink.

“Tch, of course not! It's just your stare is getting on my nerves! Wouldn't you get distracted if someone is looking at you intensely?”

“I am a creation, not a creator. I wouldn't understand what you're saying. Besides, I wasn’t looking at her or you anyway,” he says mockingly.

“Hmph, whatever you say. Leave when Master is drawing, what she is doing is very important and I won't let you make it messy.”

“Hah, a page of your little comic? As if you need a lot of care. But fret not, I am certain that with your keen insight and guidance it will be something so memorable, up to the level of the famous writers here in Chaldea.”

“You bug...Bring it, I will burn you to a crisp! Moths do like fire, don't they? Surely you will feel at home then!” Jeanne Alter laughs. “I'll let you know that it is something so impressive that it would make you cry, if you're capable of that anyway.”

Though her Saint Graph right now is one of a Berserker, it seems the insight of the Avenger still exists deep within. After all, only those who are similar can recognize each other. Fake recognizes fake. Emptiness recognizes emptiness. Hate can only recognize hate.

Though come to think about it, Ritsuka has always been writing, he noticed she kept a small book on her, during quiet times. Perhaps a diary of sorts. It wouldn’t be surprising, to record everything she has experienced, as the writer of the winning history.

-

When we die, we'll become like those stories. Our lives are stories that might be discussed and forgotten, so it's not that different from your midsummer night dream.

A dream you forget once you wake up from your slumber.

“You're a tsundere,” Ritsuka says flatly as she rests her chin on her hand. She even dares to give Oberon a shrug and a smile, as if she can tell the truth between the lies.

“Ah, you're annoying.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about, hehe!”

An obnoxious smile continues to be on her face, and he simply looks at her with unveiled disgust and apathy.

“Why am I even here?”

“Well, you answered the call, so you can only blame yourself for that.”

“What.”

“The rayshift system call can be refused. That's an inescapable truth. You lie a lot but there are some truths in your words. Or actions in this case. You wanted to be in Chaldea, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“Ah there it is, your virtuous nature shining through. One day you'll be fooled by someone who is pretending to be your ally...ah, my bad, that has already happened, isn't that right? Maybe you should learn your lesson.”

“Ah, yes. But it doesn't change that you are here. And because you lie often, that means I can just take it whatever way I like. You'll just deny it even if I'm right. But you can't deny we get along pretty well!”

“We do not!”

“See, that's a lie!”

“Ah, I'm going to the cafeteria! Don't follow me!”

Yet we thrive on dreams, don’t we?

“How long do you think I've been in this business? Have you interacted already with some of the servants here? I can tell you don’t mind my company.”

“I quit, I'll break the contract!”

“So, one cube or two?” Ritsuka dares to offer him the sugar cube container, even holding some tongs, just to put the amount he requests in his cup.

“You really want a poisoned tea, right, wonderful Master?~”

Even if they are something that doesn’t exist, we yearn for them, even to make them a reality. No matter how impossible. No matter how painful.

That is why we can never get rid of them.

Even if we forget once the veil of dawn has ended, something of it remains.

-

“There's so much that is subjective. For example, you were Artoria's Merlin, weren't you? For a moment you were Merlin, that was her truth. There's different Merlins, I mean we have different Artorias here from different eras and classes. You were a different Merlin than the one I know.”

Ritsuka is busy trying different colors. Oui and Gogh got into a discussion on how to best get the tones she was aiming for, and they even went to do some research on their own. The reds of a forest seem familiar yet not quite right, not that Oberon was looking at the notebook.

It has to have a dreamlike feeling, that’s what she wanted, but that’s not easy to pour into a painting.

“What we see as a lie or as truth, it changes with our perception. Your lies and my truths might be different, but it's ok. In the end we have only one perspective. That's why lies and truths can mix, that's why contradictions exist. I mean, that is why you are here.”

“Here's some advice from the bottom of my heart, don't quit your day job, Master. Stick to the world saving and leave the philosophical dissertation to virtually anyone else.”

In the end, does the truth really matter?

Something that can change when you close your eyes. Something that is as fleeting as a moth's life.

Would anything change in the grand scheme of things?

To protect Ritsuka, Chaldea forged a story, one where Romani Archaman was at fault for everything that happened.

To the world that is on the verge of disappearing, that became the truth.

To everyone in Chaldea, the truth is that this girl worked harder than anyone to protect this world.

That was what Sherlock Holmes said once they met. Oberon didn’t like him, but in a way he seems familiar. Holmes is a great detective, but since he keeps everything to himself, he might be wrong the entire time until the last minute.

So it’s not like Oberon can take him that seriously.

Even so, he told him the story of the great journey before Panhuman History was at risk by the Alien God. A story of which he was somehow aware, but it seems different when it is told by someone else.

To Oberon, it was a story of selfish survival. A fitting story of those who fight in the mud to continue existing.

To Holmes, it was a story of humanity bravely fighting to avoid destruction. An unlikely event that might have inspired others. Or rather, that is how the Leonardo Da Vinci from that time would have framed it, since Holmes isn’t an author and the current Da Vinci is someone different now.

The events are there, what changes is our perception of them. Perhaps this is where truths and lies take root, the lie of today becomes the truth of tomorrow.

The lie allows the fake existence to continue even when the dream has already ended.

But in the end, everything will fade, so nothing really matters.

-

"Well, I don't know if it has a meaning, but doesn't that mean you can give it your own? Just like how I can take your lies the way I want."

"Aren't you a simplistic one? No, perhaps it is that kind of thinking that has let you get this far. What a naive Master Chaldea has. Though it helps you accomplish your goals. "

He is not sure why they are taking tea while chatting, but here he is. Perhaps it is to hide his annoyance, the Master won’t stop until she gets what she wants anyway, so he is just avoiding a pointless squabble.

"You can think whatever you want~ and in any case, even if the feelings of today will be nothing in the future, that doesn't mean they are worthless. Because they affect the you of today and that is the moment when you are alive.”

The joy of living, that is something Oberon can’t understand nor tolerate. It angers him.

Of course, he is an entity of the abyss so how could he comprehend that?

The will of self-destruction, the cessation of existence. That something is so fundamentally wrong that it must wiped out, for there is no way to fix something that crooked.

Faerie Britain wished for him because it had to be wiped away from all records, because it had no way of being salvaged.

Therefore, he can only listen to those words.

(Perhaps it is the envy of not having something? Perhaps it is the bitterness of no longer having something to do, to dream for? Or simple ennui that no matter what, in the end it doesn’t matter?)

Ritsuka ignores his silence, as she continues.

“I don't know but for someone who likes stories you don't seem like you're actually enjoying them.”

“Would you enjoy a story where you fade away like everyone in the lostbelts you have erased? Ah, my bad. Surely, as the winner you can afford to disregard those stories. Silly me, of course you would be able to believe that as the victor you can claim to be the true history. Panhuman history is in the end mankind's right path, after all, and everything else can fade into the abyss.”

Her smile is complex, almost a facade. From one angle it looks like a forlorn frown, from the other a faint smile. She plays with the spoon on her table.

"Hmmm, I wonder..."

 Dr. Roman, we finally beat the British Lostbelt. It was unlike any other places we were, and I keep thinking of Percival's words...

   I wish you were still here.

The sacrifice of someone can mean the whole world for a single person. The sacrifices of millions can become a mere statistic, a simple cold number to show how bad an event was. In the end, it doesn't matter.

What was once lost will never come back.

The void left in one's soul will never heal, it only becomes more bearable with time.

But even so, that lingering pain is the proof that someone was alive, that they left a mark on the others they met as one looks at the twinkling stars and reminisces of the never-happening-again past.

“Did you know the true opposite of love isn't hate but indifference?”

“Haaah? Perhaps you didn't think so but I was being honest about my suggestion. Thinking too much will only hurt your head. You should only focus on what's in front of you.”

“Whether you love or hate, you end up putting a lot of attention to the object of your affections, but if you're indifferent to it, it ceases to exist. Perhaps your hatred of everything is because there's something you cannot afford to lose.”

Titania was the wife of Oberon in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. She was the only one who could accept the king's eccentric personality.

But in reality, she was just a creation for the story, a being who was never real.

Of course, there isn't a person like that in the world.

Someone who accepts a hollow entity like me.

“I don’t know, if Arjuna Alter was able to come to terms with his own humanity, well...nevermind. I was just thinking aloud.”

(Ideals are just that.

A concept not belonging to this world.

It is when you reconcile with the flawed reality that you can grasp your happiness, the one you have.)

“Heh-Hahahaha, that's rich, Master!”

This is so sickening.

Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) such an unpleasant existence. Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) a being born of hate, a destructive force whose only purpose is to rend everything to ashes.

But the fact is, Titania doesn't exist. This means no one could accept someone like him.

That is the unpleasant truth.

That is why people are entranced(poisoned) by falsehoods, lies to sweeten the body and protect the soul. It's a sweet elixir to hide from the harsh reality, the ultimate end of the journey of everyone, a pointless, worthless life. Because at the end of the dream, no matter what one has accomplished, it doesn't change the finale of this story and it is doomed to be forgotten. 

Just as the one princess from before, who also fell in love with the Fairy King. The one who tried to give fire to his cold body. But he didn't notice this, not even when her snow body had ceased to move, a protection of love.

So in the end, if it's not acknowledged, it is the same as it never had happened.

“Tell me, does it matter to you? Are you going to tell me you know how I feel? That you understand what I'm going through? Come on, tell me your important story, that everything is going to be alright as long as I'm not alone-”

“I can't. I don't know how you feel. Even if we had suffered the same, I wouldn't know how you feel.”

Her words or her smile, the same as before. He doesn’t know which but it cuts him short.

“All I know is the pain of losing someone important to me, but that's not what you're feeling, right?”

The Titania I wish for doesn't exist in this world. The Faerie Britain that gave birth to me no longer exists, even if I have accomplished my goal. 

I am merely a dream whose purpose has been fulfilled and thus, the curtain shall be down as I exit the stage.

The things I yearn for are merely dreams. Even so, I hope, because I saw it existed for someone else. For another Oberon, not the one I am.

The illusion of happiness, the hope of a love.

I don't know how it is to not be Oberon, the lying king. The king without any other purpose. The villain that has exited the stage having won, but now even that victory is pointless.

Then, why am I still here? 

“For what it's worth, I like you. You're nice company, lies and all.”

“You’re an odd one.”

“I've been told that often.”

“It's not a compliment, you have no taste.”

“You know, for Panhuman history I am the hero, ensuring our world survives. But to everyone else from every lostbelt erased...I am the worst of the worst, the villain that destroys their world.”

Ritsuka traces the notebook on her hands. The contents of the rest could be disclosed but Oberon doesn’t open any of the other pile of notebooks, so they all lie on her bed.

“Patxi cursed me for showing him a world that he thought was happier than his.”

Tears fell from her eyes as she smiled weakly. “I wonder if that was ever the right choice.”

“Panhuman history isn't the perfect utopia you can imagine. Humans seek hatred and war, there's suffering and agony. While some can lead happy lives, there's so many who can't even enjoy a warm meal or think of a future. Kirshtaria saw that, he wanted to make a better world because ours was so imperfect.”

“Why are we still going?”

“Why was ours the correct one?”

“Even now, I don't know. And I'm not sure if I'll ever know. Any justification might seem a rationalization, something to feel less guilty for killing all those people.”

“That is why I cannot forget, I cannot let the history of those lostbelts be erased. Even if I'm the only one who remembers,” her grip on the notebook tightened, “I can never forget them.”

Like a dream, one time Oberon caught sight of what she was drawing, finally reaching the dreamy red hue she long sought, depicting the autumn forest Oberon knew and hated.

The words depicting what happened in Faerie Britain, the stories of Artoria, Morgan, of Barghest, Baobhan Sith and Melusine, of Aurora, of Mike, of Ector, of Knocknarea, of him.

“Even if the rest of the world forgets, I cannot. That's why I want to record as much as I can. I caused them to disappear, remembering all of them is the least I can do.”

“That's guilt for you.”

“...Yes, I can't deny that. I've caused many people to suffer, that is why I cannot stop.”

“You're an idiot. Pursuing a fleeting dream that will only cause you to hurt, as your heart tears itself apart with these thorns you surround yourself with.”

“I guess. But someone has to do it right? But even so…

“I enjoy the moments with everyone here in Chaldea and I can say I'm happy.

But I also feel deep sadness for everything that I have done and continue to do.”

There are many contradicting truths, woven into each other.

Like overlapping threads in a beautiful(horrible) story.

“I could think Panhuman history is the correct one because it was there. There was a reason why it was chosen.”

“And if there isn't? If there is truly no meaning to your journey? That the reason your world was chosen was a mere whim of fate, a sudden lucky roll of the dice? That there is nothing special to your world that makes you worthy of the title of proper human history?”

“Then I guess I will have to make it so that there is one.”

“And if you can't?”

“Just because I can't doesn't mean I shouldn't try.”

“Trying doesn't mean you will succeed. Morgan tried her hardest, but in the end, she still failed, crumbling in despair as her Faerie kingdom burnt to ashes.”

“Well, that will come bite me when the time comes, but for now, that’s all I can do, right?”

In the end, as long as it entertains, does it matter?

What is the purpose of a story? To bring joy(tears)? To break one from that moment of boredom, of despair, and heal the soul even if just a little?

And in the end, does it even matter?

-

“I like this Saint Graph more.”

It’s been a long time since he has donned the clothes as King Oberon. Once the façade was over, once he could ascend, he has never worn anything but the colors of the depths of the abyss. Anyone else would think they are unsightly, hateful, depressing.

After all, the warmth of King Oberon’s butterfly wings makes children smile, makes people trust him. His monstruous limbs right now are not enchanting.

“I thought you were a butterfly girl. And I have been wearing these ever since, why are you even saying this up until now?”

“I just wanted to say that. I like the fluffy cape and the butterfly wings, but you sound less pained right now. And this outfit is cool too.”

In the end, perhaps Titania isn't meant to be someone who brings the sun to your eyes, with laughter so contagious that she makes the bitterness of a day go away. She's not a neverending warmth on a cold winter, nor a guiding bright star up in the dark sky. She's not the simple to your complicated, the light to your dark, the smile to your frown, the opposite of your miserable existence that brings joy to your life. An illogical being that accepts you in spite of your incompatibility. 

Was I wrong all along? 

A companion when watching a wonderful(decadent) play.

Someone who walks by your side in a crumbling world.

Someone whose company makes the poison more bearable and hell, tolerable.

Someone who simply loves me for who I am. Who gazed at the abyss, saw the void yet didn't run away.

Ah, this is so laughable, an amateur terrible tragicomedy, a hideous play with no sickeningly sweet ending.

(Perhaps it is because Titania is a wretched creature herself. Or perhaps because Titania's wings have been torn off that she understands a small fragment of you. Even if true understanding is a lie, a pipe dream. Titania has seen her own hell and can sympathize with yours, with the emptiness and resentment you hold. Not fearing it, not judging it. Just accepting you as the flawed existence you are.

If that is the case, then there is nothing beautiful about Titania.)

But even so...

"...You are..."

"Did you say something?"

"No, nevermind."

Ritsuka smiles as Oberon looks away. He grumbles about the cramped space as he hoards the bed, swatting a mosquito away while she writes in her diary. The boring stories she writes that he doesn't care about even if his fingers have traced those letters.

But even so, he stays.

Ah, love is a bothersome thing.

-

Thank you for reading!

Now, OH BOY WHERE TO BEGIN. Title comes from Debussy's Rêverie. I wanted to play with it, seeing that Oberon's Bond CE is called Pavane for a Dead Princess, which is the title of a melody by Ravel. I am sure it is no coincidence. Both Ravel and Debussy were considered the cornerstones of Impressionism in music, however, they both HATED being labeled like that.

Pavane for a Dead Princess is one of Ravel's solo compositions for the piano. However, unlike what the title implies, Ravel specifically said that it wasn't meant to be a melody of a funeral, but he wanted to evoke the idea of a princess dancing to the pavane. However, some people didn't really listen to him. So in this case, I think that rather than to see Oberon's CE as a funeral to Blanca, it is a way to celebrate her story, even if it didn't end on the happier note we would have wished. You can listen to it here

Now Rêverie is by Debussy and it's meant to feel like a dream, hence the name. The melody became a massive hit, though Debussy later hated this piece because he felt that he had written better pieces but this one was the one that made him famous. Since it was written when he was young, he felt he was still lacking a lot, but the melody became one of his most popular compositions nonetheless. I think that story ties nicely with what we perceive vs what others perceive. You can listen to it here

Now onto the actual fic, I had this vague idea when part 3 was released, especially after all the spoilers about Oberon's true identity. I really wanted to get him, and I was super lucky. In between getting him, his profile and bond lines being translated, I just got possessed to write this as a way to honor and thank him for coming home AND to give him a sort of happy ending after Avalon.

Oberon in that bed is thanks to that comic on Twitter where he is eating chips without any care and the kind reminder of his voice lines that in spite of him constantly complaining, he spends an awful lot of time on our room. Hehehe.

Best of luck if you are pulling for him! And once again, thank you for reading!

[migilini]

Hiiii! I liked how you did the road trip one shot and was wondering if you could do a request for Charlie Gillespie where the reader and Charlie are dating but have been living in different states due to COVID and the boys do an Instagram live and the reader wants to be on the live with them and Charlie gets so excited and it’s fluffy?

So far apart - Charlie Gillespie

A/N: ofc i can! Thank you so much, hope you like it :) I will proofe read it tomorrow.

Words: 1.5k

Masterlist

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Tiredness was your new default state. College alone was stressful and hard enough plus it didn't help that you had to do it online from your little NY appartement that you shared with three other roommates. But you had too. You were in your last semester ever! That was motivation enough to pull through.

Currently you were trying to facetime your boyfriend Charlie. You haven't seen him in about four months but if someone would ask your roommates, they would say it felt like an eternity of you moaning and pouting about not seeing him. When COVID started, the two of you seriously debated about moving in together. However, at that time, your classes were not online yet and you couldn't move away, he also couldn't move to New York with you because he still had meetings with the JATP Cast.

You stared at your ringing phone, desperate to hear his voice. You knew that he should be awake, you had the time zones imprinted on your brain.

Sorry babe, have a meeting in 5… Will call you after okay? <3 the message that just popped up on your screen made you frown a little. You weren't mad, you just had a really awful week and missed him like crazy.

Sure thing <3 yout texted back and threw the phone onto your bed. Deciding that instead of waiting for him to call back, you could use the time usefully and start studying for your next test in two days. 

It was an hour later, you were completely engrossed in the textbook, so you barely heard the ringing of your phone. Maybe a bit too quick, you tossed all your books to the ground and launched yourself on the bed to find your phone. 

His pretty face filled your screen “Heyyy!” “Hello beautiful!” You two grinned at each other.

“How are--” A knocking on your door interrupted your question. “Yes?” The door opened and revealed one of your roommates Alexis with a sheepish look on her face “I’m really sorry to interrupt but Tara just broke off with her boyfriend and she needs a hug.”

You looked up at your red haired friend “She broke up with Tom?!” Alexis nodded “It's an emergency” she claimed. Charlie understood this as his clue to end the call saying a quick goodbye and a don't worry about it, when you shot him an apologetic look. 

This is how it went nearly every time. Something always came up, either you were studying non-stop and he didn't want to distract you or he had actor things and meetings going on. It was truly tiring. The last time you really had the opportunity to facetime was a couple weeks ago and even then you fell asleep inert 15minutes. When Charlie accidentally lulled you to sleep with a song he's been working on. 

Still the two of you made it work. Charlie had started writing you weekly letters with his perfume on it. And you being your crafty self, sent him a little care package with letters, some self made food and paintings, every now and then.

You just finished all your tests and essays for this semester and you felt free again. Taking a deep breath, you opened your bedroom window and put your school books away. Sinking down on your bed, you closed your eyes temporarily, enjoying the moment. You got up again to get yourself something to eat and a coffee. Your roommates were currently away, probably getting groceries or books at the College Library.

You mindlessly scrolled through Instagram, the sandwich you made yourself still laying next to you on the nightstand. Ever since Julie and the Phantoms released, the cast's accounts blew up like crazy and Charlie always showed you off like a queen so of course people found your page as well. You didn't mind though. Most of the people were really nice and respecting, protecting your relationship from all the not so nice guys

You just answered some DM’s, chuckling at a meme that Maddie had sent you, when you got a notification that Owen was live. Naturally you clicked on it, knowing that Charlie most likely will be in the live as well, due to the fact that he was currently at Owen’s with Jeremy.

You were one of the first ones. Owen grinned when he saw your name come up in the chat. 

“Guten Morgen everybody.” You chuckled when you heard your boyfriend singing in the background, writing in the chat that Owen should say hi to Charlie. “Are all of you streaming JATP?” he asked the live audience while you nodded to yourself, your laptop open beside you. It was a bit embarrassing to admit how often you saw the show, but every time you felt lonely you watched it. It had some really cute guys in it after all.

He read the chat “Do you like watching the show you participated in? Thats a good question. Charlie, Charlie! I have a question for you.” The camera turned and it showed the canadian boy you fell in love with. 

“Eh…” he said as he walked into the kitchen, Owen following close. “It was very weird at first. Guess I'm more used to it now.” he answered honestly. You weren't even listening, you just stared at your phone in trance, the light making him look so incredibly pretty.

Suddenly you got an invitation to join the live from Owen. You sat up a bit straighter and blinked a few times before accepting. 

“Helloooooo!” he screamed, making you laugh. “Hi Owen. Yall are up early.”

“Yeah… you know Char. That dumb early riser.” he complained. “Yeah I feel you. Though he lets me sleep so he must love me more than he loves you.” you teased making Owen pout in a childish way.

“Charlie! Who do you love more, me or y/n?” the statement made your boyfriend laugh and for a moment your breath hitched, it was music in your ears and once again you realised how much you missed it.

“I’m really sorry bud, but definitely y/n…I want to...” Charlie just wanted to explain why when he heard your chuckling from Owen’s phone. “See told ya.” It was truly a blessing that the camera was still turned to your boyfriend, making it easy for you to see his reaction. He nearly let the fork he was holding fall out of his hand, his eyes widening while his mouth grew into a big grin. “Is that y/n?” he asked cautiously. Apparently Owen nodded, because before you knew, the camera turned and you were face to face with your boyfriend. 

“Baby!” he screamed, a wide, toothy smile on his lips. “How dare you go on live with Owen but not with me!” he jokes. “How was the history test? As hard as you thought it would be?” you cut off his rambling “Hi! Nice to see you too. No, it was way harder than I expected. Let's hope for the best, I get the results sometime next week”

“I bet you killed that test baby! No, Owen you don't get the phone back… I don't care that it's your live.” The chat was freaking out over Charlie's happiness by just seeing you, talking about how they want love like that.

“Little explanation for everybody. Me and Charlie haven't really been able to facetime so were just really excited right now. Sorry if it's boring.” you explained to the chat. 

“Don’t ever say that ever again.” he said in a serious tone “it's not boring.” you held your hands up in surrender. “Sorry sorry. Can I talk to Owen again? I mean he is the one who invited me.” you teased, poking your tongue out. With a pout he gave the phone back to Owen.

“Are you also streaming the show today?” he asked you. Charlie was in the background, looking at you over Owens shoulder, making silly faces. “Of course! Who do you think I am? I’ve been watching it everyday since it came out.” Owens' face fell “You're kidding… that doesn't… that doesn't seem healthy.” you shrugged “Well i don't really care. I have this massive crush on someone from the show, just can't get enough of him.” 

The camera shook and a couple crunts later you were once again faced with Charlie. “I sure hope it's me or you're not allowed to wear that shirt anymore.” he pointed to the shirt you were currently wearing and that was in fact one of his.

“Not gonna tell you babe. My mouth is shut.” you winked, making him blush. “I miss you.” he blurted out with puppy eyes. “I miss you too. Can’t wait to see you.” he grinned at that excited for the surprise he had planned. 

“I think i'm gonna go, let you guys actually comment on the show. I love you Charlie.” You sent him a kiss and he pretended to catch it with his free hand.

“Eww that's so cheesy.” Owen muttered from somewhere in the back.

“I love you too.”

[qqueenofhades]

Okay, y'all. Time to do this one more time. Let the fact that there are so many of these posts right now reinforce the point. Many of you already know this, and I see and love you, but for anyone still ~undecided about their choice, should they be an American citizen of voting age on November 3, 2020:

Time to not be. It was time a long, long while ago, but I am going to have to say it again.

Primary season is over. The endless fine-tooth combing of candidates' policies and positions is over. We are all deeply well aware that the candidates on the Democratic ticket, being human beings and establishment politicians, are flawed. "BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS POSITION FROM 19/ 20-WHENEVER AS JUSTIFICATION FOR WHY IT'S TERRIBLE TO VOTE FOR -- "

No. Stop. Just stop. Stop threatening to hold the rest of us hostage, in the middle of a pandemic, the Great Depression, and racial inequality and protests on a scale not seen from the 1960s, because you did not get Barbie Dream Candidate. That is the behavior of terrorists and toddlers. If your supposedly enlightened morally pure ideology does not involve any action to mitigate the harm that is directly in front of you, it isn't worth a shit as an ideology actually devoted to helping people. If your approach to politics is to shout about how Pure your ideas are on twitter and tear down anyone working within a system of flawed choices to do the good that they can: you're not helping, and frankly, your constant threats to withhold your suffrage as a punishment to us aren't convincing the rest of us that we really need to listen to you or that you have anyone's best interests at heart. The Online Left TM is as much a vacuous, self-reinforcing noise chamber as the Online Right TM, and can sometimes tend to be even more dangerous.

I was saying this in 2016. A lot of us were saying this in 2016. I am just about to turn 32 years old and have been voting in federal elections for almost 15 years. For what it's worth.

This is not an ordinary election. This is not a contest between two flawed candidates who respect the system and want to work to enact their policies in the ordinary way. One is a flawed 90s era Democrat who nonetheless has already been pushed CONSIDERABLY left in his policies and platforms since the end of the primaries (and his existing platform would already make him the most left president elected, even more than Obama). The other is a fascist dictator who has openly spoken about refusing to accept the election results, his desire to abolish term limits and serve for life, and complete the pillaging of any remaining fragile American public funds for him and his cult of cronies. He does not respect the system. He does not want to do anything for anyone that is not himself. 160,000 and counting needless deaths of American citizens have already happened. Will keep happening.

This is the last time Trump has to face voters. This is the last chance the country has to repudiate his entire poisonous ideology and its marching Nazi minions. IF he steps aside, which is already far from guaranteed, he can ride off into the sunset as a vindicated two term president and probably be rehabilitated like George W. Bush was within a few years of leaving office. American political memory is very short. It will happen. Again, if he even leaves.

RBG is 87 and has cancer again. She will NOT survive another four years. Stephen Breyer is 81. Their seats could both come up in the next four years. The Supreme Court could be a right wing rubber stamp for whatever time we all have left before climate change and coronavirus kill us all.

"But if people just thought for themselves and did their homework and didn't vote the party line like sheep, we could support a third party/write in -- " Stop. Just stop. Attend a ninth grade civics class and learn about how politics work in America. Yes, the two-party system sucks. Yes, the Electoral College is a hot steaming pile of absolute bullshit. Magical unicorn fairy dust fantasies WILL NOT change that.

Do not vote for Kanye (who has pretty much openly admitted he is trying to play spoiler to Biden on behalf of his buddy Trump). Do not vote for godforsaken fucking Gary Johnson or Jill Stein who appear on ballots just to give sanctimonious leftists the illusion of virtue-signaling. If you want any chance of fixing the mess that 2020 has left America and the world in, you need to vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. The end.

Biden is a flawed old man who was our last choice, sure. He is also a distinguished public servant who has already been in the White House for eight years under Obama and thus we KNOW what to expect. He is an empathetic man who connects with people's personal tragedy and picked as his running mate a younger Black/biracial woman who directly confronted and called him out on past behavior. While the pundit class was simpering and whining about how it was Disrespectful and how could he consider her, Biden did so, and that speaks well to me of the fact that he is willing to learn, to take criticism, and not just accept it from a former Black female rival, but make her his second in command and the potential first female president of the United States.

Can you EVER picture Trump doing that? Not in eight thousand million years.

As for Kamala, we are all aware of her previous checkered history as a prosecutor (and even then, she did plenty of good things as well!). Since joining the Senate, however, she has consistently become one of its most progressive members. She is the co-sponsor of an economic aid package designed to give every American $2,000/month, backdated to March (the start of the coronavirus pandemic) and continuing at least a few months after its end. A Biden-Harris White House could make that happen. Especially if they are put into office with a Democratic House and Senate (for the love of God, Kentucky, kill Mitch McConnell with fire). That is just one example.

Harris's nomination is obviously historic. And Biden didn't choose another Biden (or another Tim Kaine, the blandest white man imaginable). He chose another Obama: a younger rising star of an immigrant background, a person of color, a former lawyer and someone who represents the diversity of the country that the white supremacists and the Cheeto in Chief have tried to paint as its worst and most degenerate evil.

A vote for Biden and Harris means getting rid not just of Trump, but Mike Pence, Vladimir Putin, Jared Kushner, Betsy Devos, the Trump crony destroying the Postal Service, the rampant coronavirus misinformation and bullshit, the destruction of Social Security and Medicare, the spread of Nazi propaganda from the President's twitter account, the likely two Supreme Court picks that would be as bad as Brett Kavanaugh or worse... on and on. Biden and Harris would be elected by progressive voters and thus answerable to them in 2022 midterms and 2024 general. They can both be, and already have been, pushed further left. They are reasonable and competent adults who have demonstrated experience and compassion. I KNOW about their flaws and past actions I don't agree with. But I'm frankly done with any more counterproductive straw man bitching about This One Bad Thing They Did and how it makes it a terribad awful choice to vote for them. Open your eyes. Look at the alternative. LOOK AT WHAT HAS ALREADY HAPPENED AND THE FACT THAT THIS IS NOT EVEN AS BAD AS IT COULD STILL GET.

Check your registration or register at vote.gov.

DO NOT LOOK AT POLLS AND DECIDE "EH BIDEN IS CLEARLY GOING TO WIN, I DON'T NEED TO VOTE." THAT IS HOW WE LOST LAST TIME.

Unseating incumbents is HARD. It is even harder when the other side has openly laid out their plan to cheat in great detail, and there is nothing really stopping them from doing it. The only thing, in fact, is massive, unfalsifiable results on an undeniable scale.

So:

Vote.

Vote for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.

Thanks a lot.

[alyasgf]

its nice to have a friend

mlb fic masterlist

ao3

Summary- Marinette giggled. “Why would Alya do this? It’s just that this is the kind of thing I used to do when.... oh.” Marinette went silent as the revelation hit her. “The kind of thing I used to do when I had a crush on Adrien.”

—————

Alya not so platonically loves Marinette with all of her heart, and the oblivious girl is only just realizing this

Word Count- 3920

Notes- happy pride month enjoy my massive gay brainrot. i wrote the entirety of this with Bo Burnham’s Inside playing in the background and i regret nothing. also tumblr mobile is my hell :)

Begin

Ever since Alya found out about Marinette’s identity she managed to go from completely forgetting she knew to bombarding her with questions constantly.

Once, she had climbed the stairs to Marinette’s room to see Ladybug coming in from the skylight and immediately screamed out in shock. Marinette had to tell her parents it was a rouge spider and wouldn’t stop teasing Alya about it for weeks.

Another time, Alya spent the entire night that she was over asking Marinette even the most minuscule of questions.

“Who gave you the miraculous?”

“Does Tikki have organs?”

“Do you have to de-transform to pee?”

“Is your suit water resistant?”

“Do you get cold fighting akumas at night?”

Eventually they came up with a system. Alya could ask 5 Ladybug related questions a week. To make sure they were well used, Alya would write down every question she had and chose her 5 favorites every Friday.

It was times like these when Marinette was woefully reminded that Alya was in fact a reporter, and her inquisitive nature just came with it.

Her notebook was disguised as her reporter’s journal and if anyone found it they could assume it was just her random train of thought.

Marinette was never allowed to look in it, so as Alya wrote in it during class she attempted to sneak a peek. She tried to stealthily look at it through the corner of her eye, but Alya noticed almost immediately and laughed before she closed the notebook and nudged her to pay attention to class.

Not a second later, there a was a loud bang outside the school. Marinette tensed as Miss Bustier began to usher students out of the room and to the basement of the school for safety.

“Ayla you have to come up with an excuse for me.” She pleaded with big round eyes.

“Why?” Alya asked as Marinette facepalmed with a disappointed sigh. “Right right! Of course!”

Lately Alya seemed to be as absent minded and jittery as Marinette herself. Whenever the bluenette attempted to bring it up, Alya would redden and dismiss it entirely.

“Miss Bustier! I need Marinette to help me in the bathrooms.” Miss Bustier looked at them questioningly. “Lady problems!” Alya called as she dragged Marinette away before the teacher could respond.

Once they reached the bathrooms Alya didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand.

“Can I ask you a Ladybug related question?” Alya asked in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Marinette nodded and looked into her eyes, confused. Alya looked worried, her breath coming out in short bursts and eyebrows knit tightly.

“When you get hurt, as Ladybug, does the suit cushion the blow? Does the miraculous cure heal you?”

Alya’s hand shook lightly in hers as she said this. Marinette put her other hand on top of Alya’s effectively sandwiching her hand between her own.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it. The suit helps a bit, but there are some risks I just have to take. Besides, it not like I’m all alone out there. I have Chat Noir. I have a team if I need one.” Marinette grabbed Alya’s chin so that the girl would meet her eyes. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Alya blushed and moved her chin from Marinette’s hand, as well as let go of her other.

“Okay.” She said, her voice returning. “Okay girl. Now go, you have a city to save.”

Alya pushed Marinette toward the door. Marinette wished more than anything she could stay and comfort her best friend, but Alya was right. So instead, she called out her transformation phrase and ran out the door.

As she left, Alya couldn’t help but sigh. Marinette always looked so graceful as she transformed.

After Marinette was gone, she waited a minute before running out behind her and whipping out her phone.

“Hi bugheads! An akuma was spotted somewhere outside of Collège Françoise Dupont and I’m here to give you the inside scoop.” And there she went, hoping to locate the akuma and her best friend as quickly as she could.

———————————

After the akuma, Marinette de-transformed and fed Tikki.

“I think that was sweet of Alya to care so much.” Tikki giggled as she took a big bite of her cookie.

“Yeah she’s been acting stranger than usual lately. Do you think it’s because she knows I’m Ladybug? She’s been nervous and timid and just the complete opposite of herself. Maybe she’s intimidated by me now?”

Tikki let out another giggle. “Oh I’m sure it’s not that. You know Alya. She’s not intimidated by anyone. I think it’s something else.”

“Like what?” Marinette questioned, feeling that Tikki knew exactly what it was and was holding back.

Tikki just silently munched on her cookie as Marinette glared at her.

Marinette heard the gravel crunch behind her and she ushered Tikki into her bag before darting around.

The sudden movement startled Alya who was directly behind her. Now that Marinette had turned around they were practically nose to nose. Marinette could smell Alya’s watermelon scented lip balm and Alya eyed Marinette’s lips before blushing and backing up.

“Hey girl, we should probably get back to class and apologize to Miss Bustier for disappearing.” She said quickly before grabbing Marinette’s wrist.

Marinette pulled her wrist away and crossed her arms stubbornly.

“No, first we need to talk about how close you were to that akuma.” Marinette huffed. “I was worried about you getting hurt and I couldn’t do a thing about it while fighting.”

Alya turned around with a cocky smirk on her face. Looking Marinette up and down, she couldn’t get over how adorable she looked when she was mad.

“Aww was the miraculous Ladybug worried about one measly civilian?” She teased as she walked back to Marinette’s side and threw an arm over her shoulder, attempting not to shudder at the warmth at their contact points. “I was fine. It was just Mr. Ramier again, and I’m not exactly scared of pigeons. Besides, it’s nothing your cure couldn’t fix.”

Marinette attempted to hold her resolve, but Alya could feel her soften under her touch.

“Still, I hate when you cross paths with the akumas, it’s like you’re asking for their attention.” Marinette let Alya lead her back to school, arms still crossed as Alya was draped over her shoulders.

“Makes great content though! Just wait until you see the action shots I got of you and Chat Noir. No way Nadia Chamakh could beat that!”

Marinette smiled as Alya gushed about the article she was going to write later that day. As Marinette put her arm around the small of Alya’s back she admired her. She could get so passionate about her blog, and that passion was why Marinette loved her so much.

———————————

“Are you sure you don’t want to hang out with Nino today? You’ve been with me almost every day for the last two weeks. It’s not that I mind, I love the company. I just don’t want to be stealing you.”

Marinette and Alya were out for juice after school. Marinette was nervously playing with her straw. She noticed how distant her friend was from Nino and figured this might just be the best way to bring it up.

“Actually Nino and I aren’t together anymore.” Alya replied casually as Marinette choked on her drink.

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked, after Alya patted her back a few times and she composed herself.

“We broke up a few weeks ago. It was mutual, neither of us did anything. We’re still friends.” Alya replied, taking a sip from her drink.

Marinette was confused. Alya and Nino were great together. Even after Marinette decided to give up on Luka and Adrien, they made her believe love could still be beautiful.

“Okay but why? I just don’t get it you guys were amazing together. Why didn’t you tell me?” Marinette couldn’t believe how nonchalant Alya was being about this.

“We broke up because, well, I have a crush on someone else.” Alya blushed. “Part of the reason I didn’t tell you is because there’s another thing I’ve been working up the nerve to tell you.”

Now it was Alya’s turn to nervously fiddle. She brought her hands beneath the table and picked at her fingers as she but her cheek.

“What do you need to tell me?” Marinette asked softly, in an attempt to ease Alya’s nerves. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“Marinette I-“ Alya’s voice broke off as she lost her nerve. “Marinette I’m bisexual.”

Marinette’s heart warmed at the confession. She still felt like Alya was holding something back, but the fact that she trusted her enough to come out made her giddy.

“Oh Alya!” Marinette stood up and crossed to the other side of the table to throw her arms around her. Since Alya was sitting, Marinette placed herself in the girl’s lap so she could throughly smother her.

“That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”

Alya let out a deep breath she didn’t realize she had been holding in.

“You aren’t weirded out?” Alya asked, even though she knew Marinette to be the most accepting girl in the world, it was still terrifying.

“Of course not.” Marinette said as she climbed off Alya’s lap and returned to her seat. “It’s not like I’m entirely straight either.”

Now it was Alya’s turn to choke on her drink.

“Really?” Alya exclaimed with wide eyes. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t really feel the need to come out. I’m not sure what I am, but I’ve definitely had my share of girl crushes.” She said it like it was no big deal and Alya couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well god, if I knew that I would’ve just told you sooner.” Alya sighed.

Suddenly Marinette got a look in her eye that made Alya uneasy. It was a familiar look of determined curiosity with a smile that made her stomach flutter with butterflies.

“Sooo,” Marinette began. “You mentioned a crush?”

Alya immediately regretted her words.

“Now that I’ve given up entirely on my love life it gives me plenty of time to delve into yours. Schemes, plots, you name it, I can do it.” Marinette moved her now empty drink to the side and out her elbows in the table so she could lean closer.

Alya blushed, Marinette was so close she could count the freckles along her nose. She wished she could kiss every one as she did, but she immediately pushed that thought away as she tried to focus on the situation at hand.

“I... uh... it’s... well...” Alya tried and failed to get it out. It was just too much. She could smell Marinette’s perfume (strawberries and a hint of chocolate), see Marinette’s soft pale skin so close to her, and her mouth felt as though it were filled with cotton.

“Hey it’s okay.” Marinette returned back to her normal position in her seat and reached for Alya’s hand on the table. “You don’t have to tell me right now. When you’re ready I know you will.”

Alya swore Marinette was trying to kill her. Her hand was so soft and warm against her own and she wished more than anything she could just tell her. Instead she gave a small gratuitous smile to the beauty across from her.

“Now, I know it’s Friday, so what do you say to spending the night at your place and you can ask all of you questions?” Marinette proposed once she noticed Alya had finished the last of her juice.

“Sounds great.”

————————-

“Have you ever used your powers for personal gain?” Alya read from her notebook.

They were cross legged on her bed after dinner and Marinette had just gotten out of the shower.

“Is that seriously what you’re gonna use your last question on? Kind of a boring one don’t you think?” Marinette raised an eyebrow questioningly.

She looked adorably cozy, with her oversized pink hoodie and pink sweatpants to match. Alya shook her head slightly to clear her mind.

“Answer the question!” Alya pouted.

“Okay okay!” Marinette said begrudgingly.

And so Marinette told her about Adrien’s party. The Bubbler had played music for Adrien and Chloe to slow dance to and the lucky charm helped her change the song.

Alya loved hearing Marinette’s point of view of Ladybug related things. Stories about akumas or patrols were always so interesting as she told them. She was just so smart and quick thinking, while still being the same clumsy and kind hearted girl that Alya adored.

“Alright well that’s about it.” Alya said as she closed her notebook. “I’m gonna go take a shower and then maybe we can watch a movie?” She suggested as she climbed off the bed.

“As long as it isn’t anything scary!” Marinette called to the girl descending the stairs.

Once Alya was gone Tikki came out from whenever she was silently eating.

“Hey Marinette why is your name covered in hearts all over this book?”

Marinette turned to see Tikki looking through Alya’s notebook.

“Don’t touch that!” She said as she snatched the book away. “Some things are private!” She hugged the book close to her chest and gave the kwamii a pointed look.

Still, her curiosity got the best of her and she pulled the book away from her chest to look at the page. Sure enough, it was filled with random questions as well as doodles of Marinette’s name all over with little hearts.

Marinette giggled. “Why would Alya do this?” She asked Tikki, who was looking over her shoulder beside her.

Tikki couldn’t help but sigh at how oblivious her holder was. “I don’t know Marinette, but you should probably put that back before Alya gets out of the shower.”

“Alright I won’t look anymore. It’s just that this is the kind of thing I used to do when.... oh.” Marinette went silent as the revelation hit her. “The kind of thing I used to do when I had a crush on Adrien.”

“Sorry, did you see where I left my hair tie?” Marinette yelped and immediately threw the notebook away from her as Alya entered the room.

“Yeah it’s in the lamp by the dresser! I mean by the lamp on the dresser!” She squeaked out.

“Okayyy....” Alya said confused by her friend’s behavior. “You good?”

“Yep! Never better! Just me... hanging out with Tikki... like I do sometimes.” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck and looked around the room, avoiding her friends eyes as she turned bright red.

Alya just shrugged before leaving the room.

Marinette let out a sigh before grabbing a pillow and burying her head into it to scream.

———————————

The rest of the night was... odd to say the least.

Marinette couldn’t understand why she couldn’t look Alya in the eye anymore. What had changed? She could do it easily hours ago. (She knew exactly why. Alya liked her... and she... well she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt.)

In the end, Marinette was glad they had decided to watch a movie. While Alya was deeply invested in the movie Marinette put on (“What do you mean you’ve never seen Ponyo!?) Marinette couldn’t help but focus on how Alya’s body pressed against her, every point of contact setting her nerves on fire.

They were laying comfortably on Alya’s bed, and under the glow of the television they settled into their usual positions. Alya would lay down and the smaller girl would lay in her arms on her chest.

Before, Marinette would think nothing of it and quickly fall asleep, but now all she could think about was her racing heart and how calm Alya’s sounded throughout the entire movie. Over time she calmed down, laughing at Alya’s comments and supplying a few of her own.

“Marinette.” Alya whispered, in case she was asleep. The movie credits were playing in the background and Marinette had just began to drift off.

“Mhm?” Marinette replied, coming back from her nearly asleep state. She removed her arm from around Alya’s waist to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Did I wake you?” Alya was still whispering which brought a warmth to her chest that Marinette couldn’t understand.

“No.” She lied. “What’s up?”

“I’m bored, can we do something?”

“Alyaaa” Marinette whined, snuggling deeper into her side, “it’s so late.”

Alay laughed and rubbed Marinette’s head. “It’s barely 10, you just sleep too much.”

Marinette grumbled before begrudgingly pulling herself up from the warm embrace. “Well fine, what do you want to do?” She crossed her arms over her chest while Alya detangled herself from the covers.

“Do my makeup?” She asked, walking over to turn off the television.

Marinette blushed at the thought of such close contact. It’s not like they hadn’t done this before, but Marinette wasn’t a fool, she knew what the fluttering in her chest meant all too well.

“O-okay.” She got up quickly, hoping she could hide her reddening face.

As Alya climbed up onto her bed, Marinette went to grab the makeup bag.

Alya hadn’t mentioned anything about her odd behavior so far, and as much as Marinette would’ve liked to attribute that to her amazing acting skills, she knew it was just because Alya wouldn’t want to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable or embarrassed.

And so they sat across from each other for about 20 minutes, joking and laughing while Marinette played around with her makeup.

“Marinette I swear, if I look in the mirror and don’t like what I see I’m going to kill you.” Alya said as Marinette reached for the black eye pencil.

“Oh be quiet you always look cute, besides I saw someone do this in a video I wanna see how it looks. Now stop talking, I can’t do your lips if you keep moving them.”

“I’m sorry, you’re putting that on my lips?” Alya asked with a shocked laugh.

Marinette joined in on laughing before shushing her yet again.

As she lined her lips, she couldn’t help but admire them. Round, full, and so magnetic. She then made the mistake of looking up into Alya’s eyes.

They were bright with laughter, but the minute they made eye contact they softened. Marinette swore she felt the energy in the air around then. She cursed to herself in her head before giving in.

Since they were so close, she didn’t have to lean far to meet Alya’s lips. At first, Alya let out a soft breath, almost like a gasp, before slotting her lips between Marinette’s.

Marinette could taste the hint of toothpaste and something unique to Alya. Her lips were softer than they looked and it felt so so good to give into the thoughts that had been going through her head for the last few hours.

Marinette’s hands went up to cup Alya’s face and Alya brought her’s up to cover them.

After a minute Alya pulled away slightly, hands still holding Marinette’s in place.

For a second they just sat there, Marinette caught her breath while admiring how pretty Alya looked with her freshly kissed lips. She looked up at Alya’s eyes to see them dancing along her face. Eventually their eyes met again.

Alya was the first to break the silence.

“That was... wow. I mean, wow, but what was that?” Alya slowly removed her hands and sat them in her lap, face going from blissful to what Marinette could only describe as confusingly lovesick.

“I read your notebook earlier.” Marinette blurted out. “I didn’t mean to I swear! It’s just that Tikki saw something and showed it to me and- well” Marinette took a moment to steal herself. “Alya am I the crush you didn’t want to talk about?”

Alya wouldn’t meet her eyes and Marinette could see a blush. Her heart swelled.

“I knew it.” Marinette tilted her head to catch Alya’s eyes. “It makes so much sense! The way you’ve been acting lately. I- I think I like you too”

Alya’s eyes widened in shock, still she said nothing.

“I didn’t realize that I did, but we’ve always been so close I never really thought about how good it felt to be around you. How all I wanted to do was be close to you, as close as I could get, always.”

There was a beat of silence. She cupped Alya’s face again, this time to turn her head to face her.

“Say something?” Marinette asked, nerves setting in after baring her feelings so openly.

“I didn’t want to say anything because you’ve been dealing with so much. With Adrien, with Luka,” Alya looked down as Marinette’s hand returned to her side. “With being Ladybug. I’ve been in love with you for a while, I didn’t want to admit it to you, admit it to myself, I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“Alya-“

“I need to finish. If I don’t do it now I don’t know if I’ll get the nerve to do it again.” The girl laughed nervously. “I’ve never felt this way so strongly before. Usually I don’t have any trouble telling anyone anything.

So imagine how confused I was when every time I tried to tell you I could barely breathe. It hurt so bad, so I pushed it down, I helped you with your boy problems and for a while I could ignore it.

I convinced myself the feelings were gone. I started dating Nino, and for a while everything was okay. But then you broke down, after you told me everything, we got closer, and it just felt like all my walls broke down. I love you Marinette.

I love how insanely clumsy you are. I love that cute little face you get when you’re annoyed, or how you will go out of your way to help anyone, even Chloe. I love your eyes, I love your smile, I love you.”

Marinette just sat there in shock as Alya poured her heart out. How had she felt this way all along, and how had Marinette not noticed sooner?

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, or if we can’t be together because of everything you’re dealing with, but I just had to let it out.”

The minute Alya finished talking, Marinette pulled her into her arms and held her as tight as she could.

“The reason I can’t be with anyone else is because I can’t be honest with them. Alya, I can tell you anything and I wish you knew sooner that you can do the same. Even if I didn’t feel the same way, I promise it wouldn’t have hurt our friendship.

But I do feel the same way. I can’t imagine being as close to anyone as I am with you. I can’t believe it took me this long to realize, but I love you too. I really do.”

She felt Alya’s arms tighten around her, and they sat like that for a while, listening to each other breathe, enjoying the feeling of the other in their arms, no longer holding back any feelings.

Marinette pulled away to look at Alya, and she laughed.

“You’re right, that eyeliner in your lips doesn’t look as good as I thought it would.”

Alya let out an offended laugh. “Last time I checked, you said I always look cute.” She teased.

“I never said you didn’t still look cute.”

This time, Alya was the one to lean in for the kiss.

———————

End Notes- sorry i havent been writing that much, ive been hating everything i write so i have like 5 unfinished fics in my drafts😅

[margridarnauds]

I think it’s just awful how so much mythology, folk lore, local local legends etc. Aren’t easily available online. But is their a reason why those with access to these stories aren’t able to put them online themselves?

Mainly, as far as I’m aware (keeping in mind that I’m just one person in the field and I’ve not been here for very long), the reason is copyright.

 That and, to be honest, a little bit of classism (can’t have the rabble accessing our nice, bright, shiny sources!) My field, while we’re gradually accepting that you can be a Celticist coming from a lower class background, still do kind of pin a bit on the idea of the gentleman scholar - A polymath who’s already studied French, German, Latin, and Greek and who can therefore take to Old Irish and Medieval Welsh like a fish to water. For many in the field, there’s the expectation that you already have at the very least an understanding of Gaeilge, or that you already have a strong linguistic background, and that can cause a massive break between the public and the scholars involved. Especially in the instance of editions which, by their nature, are JUST the Irish, with no English translation. Because, hey, it’s just Old Irish, right? There’s a dictionary at the back! 

Both UCC and UCD have, to their credit, done an IMMENSE amount of work in making these resources available to the public. UCC has done wonders with their CELT database and Irish Sagas Online, UCD with their Thesaurus Lingua Hibernicae. They’ve done a truly magnificent thing there, and I wouldn’t have been able to enter the field without the diligence and hard work of everyone involved in both projects. The problem is that many of the sources involved are...well. Old. We’ve learned a lot about the Irish language since a lot of these were done, specifically about Old Irish. A lot of them are in very archaic language, because that was the translating style at the time, and some of them cut out whole portions of text. Because it’s got to be in the public domain to be legal, unless you have an instance where the scholar is able to grant permission for their recent edition/translation to be released, such as in the case of Gray’s Cath Maige Tuired, which was given a special release on CELT. On a folkloric level, Duchas is doing amazing work. 

What you have to keep in mind is that, unlike Classical studies....we’re a BABY as a field. Many texts still haven’t been translated. Many texts still haven’t even been given editions. And a LOT of work goes into making both editions and translations happen and there are...very few of us that can do the work to make it happen. I would estimate that there’s fewer than 100 Celticists worldwide. It might be as many as two hundred but I strongly doubt it. Hence why, in many of the cases, the last translation was made in either the 19th or early 20th century. It’s because, frankly, since then, no one’s had the time or energy to go over it again, and people were trying to do new editions/translations. With stories like the Iliad and the Odyssey, you can VERY easily get ahold of one of those online because, while there are a ton of newer translations that you won’t be able to get ahold of as easily (Emily Wilson’s Odyssey, for example), there are a LOT of older translations that are still very viable, because you’ve had people studying these texts for literal centuries. In our case, we’re lucky to have one older translation. We...we’ve been around for a little while, really getting our first breath of life in the 18th century, but we only really hit our golden age with the Celtic Revival and the establishment of the Republic, and then we kind of fell out of fashion. A lot of the time, when I ask my supervisor “Has anyone done anything on x subject?”, he’ll give me this kind of beleaguered “Well....”, not because Celticists haven’t cared about the material, but because their hands have been full in a hundred places. 

And it’s worse for mythographers, because we are a very tiny section of Celtic Studies. Tiny. You’ll notice that, in my source list, a lot of the names repeat a lot. Why? Well, part of it’s because I personally like their work, but part of it is also that these ARE the big names in the world of the Mythological Cycle. These are the ones who are REALLY focusing and doing a ton of work on it. Other scholars might touch on it, do an article here or there, but very few really commit to it, in the end. In my own program, I’m basically the only one of the MA students with a mythological focus, and even in the department as a whole...I’m basically one of very few. Ulster Cycle and Fenian Cycle get more, but the Mythological Cycle...I don’t want to say there’s a STIGMA against it, but there’s........a different feeling, being in it. A lot of mythological material is still being transcribed and translated, a lot of it is still being talked about for the first time, and we’re pl

In my time, I’ve done two editions/translations of a text, the latter of which was almost completely incomprehensible at points, the vellum that the ink was written on being of a very poor quality; the bottom third of so of the folio was totally faded. Both of those times, it fell to me to transcribe the material, reading it letter by letter, trying to figure out what various abbreviations meant (Irish scribes used a very specialized form of shorthand that, while perfectly comprehensible to them, isn’t always so to us), and then having to translate it, keeping in mind that in some cases, the Irish was a mixture of later Irish and Old Irish. Translating Old Irish is a bit like trying to wrestle with a snake at times - It’s unpredictable, it’s wriggly, and it feels, at times, like just when you think you’re holding onto the head, it shifts and you realize you’re holding onto the tail. It isn’t something that you can really do just because you feel in the mood to do it one day and then publish on Tumblr; it’s a VERY intense process that involves a lot of time, effort, and tears. (Seriously. A lot of tears.) 

And...no one gets rich out of Celtic studies. Every one of us who’s either entering into the field or is actually in the field has accepted that it’s a labor of love; I’m statistically unlikely to get a job IN the field and I’ve accepted it. It could very well end up that I get my MA, maybe even my PhD and then...that’s it, done. Now, this isn’t meant to be a pity party, but it does explain why a lot of scholar’s can’t JUST give out pdfs of their books - They do need to get paid, at least a little, though if I’m not mistaken, once they submit their articles to a journal....that’s it. They’ve gotten as much money as they’re going to get. So that could be a factor in why articles tend to get handed out much easier. Books also....keep in mind, we don’t digitize a LOT of our stuff. It was part of why Covid kicked Celtic Studies’ ass. Suddenly, you had a bunch of scholars around the world used to having access to a library who...no longer had access to a library. Or the books in them. I was personally amazed that Tom O’Donnell’s recent book on Fosterage and Mark Williams’ Ireland’s Immortals were actually released in Ebook format, because that’s still a little on the unusual side. We’re slowly coming to terms with the 21st century, but it’s difficult. 

Anyway, that’s the answer: Most of it isn’t INTENTIONALLY trying to keep the public out, and for many of the scholars, I know very well that they really want the public to have access to that stuff, but their hands are tied by copyright law + needing to make some amount of money in the very unfair world of academia. I hope that some part of this makes sense. We do want to do more work with the public, it’s just that...well. Copyright law and academia. They’re bastards. 

[thedreadvampy]

On the other hand, and moving away from direct Mechanisms Discourse (which I prefer to not get over involved in tbh but also this ISN'T about that it's just jumping off it) - it absolutely is deeply classist to assume that somebody is illiterate or ignorant because of poverty/assumed poverty, and that's a huge problem. but also I think on a broader social level (at least in the UK) there is an idea in the left that it's classist to acknowledge the connection between poverty and illiteracy, while the truth is that illiteracy is a problem of poverty (poverty not in the sense of just Not Having Money but in the sense of system denial of adequate resources). Poverty doesn't = illiteracy but illiteracy is very much a problem of poverty - not a failure of a marginalised individual but a failure of the system marginalising them.

Adult illiteracy is a surprisingly large issue in eg both rural and urban Scotland, but it's not because poor people are stupid, ignorant or unwilling to learn - it's because schools are inadequate or inaccessible, classes are managed not taught, teachers are stretched thin and schools are underfunded so don't have resources to help struggling students, if you get to secondary school still unable to read and write you're completely locked out of the educational system unless you can access a school with the resources to teach you individually, and because of this, classism and a lack of support, poorer kids are more likely to switch off school as early as possible.

Social geography is also a big issue. In urban areas, schools in poorer areas get bad reputations, so they're underfunded, so they do worse, so they're funded less, etc, until they're a bare minimum of staff just trying to get through the day in collapsing buildings with no resources and five textbooks. Where better-funded schools can afford teaching assistants, 1:1 support for struggling students, decent food provision for kids, follow-up on children in need of support at home, more teachers for smaller classes, maybe counseling and psychological support, maybe Special Educational Needs classes for older kids to work on basic literacy and numeracy to catch up, worse-funded schools have one underpaid unsupported teacher trying to manage a class of 35 kids with wildly different needs. They don't have the resources to help support kids with issues that might affect their schooling, like parental abuse or neglect, trauma, a parent in prison, care responsibilities, hunger, homelessness, neurodiversities that affect their ability to learn in the prescribed way, learning disabilities like dyslexia, physical health issues including visual or auditory impairments...all things that when supported are highly surmountable but when unsupported often end up with children being perceived and treated as stupid, disruptive or evil. The problem then compounds itself because the kids are badly treated which makes them more disruptive and less able to learn, and more and more work is needed to help them which teachers continue to not have any capacity or resources for.

Rural poverty comes with its own schooling issues as well, in that poverty is generally correlated with remoteness. Poor rural communities are often hours away from population centres, so either you have tiny highly local schools serving a handful of families where a single teacher needs to invent lesson plans that somehow balance the needs of 11 year olds and 4 year olds of all abilities, or your kids need to somehow get into town every morning before you get to work, which may mean dropping them off at 6am, having to part pay for buses, taxis or ferries, sending them on their own, or leaving them with friends and family, and realistically the way that often shakes down is that they don't go. You teach them at home, and they may not even exist for the truancy office to know about.

Literacy is also connected to family culture. Both my parents were people with degrees from educated families, and my mum was a full time parent, and the result is that school didn't teach me to read - I was already a confident and enthusiastic reader. Even richer families may hire tutors for small children, pay for extracurricular learning, etc. The poorer a family is, the more likely neither parent is available to spend time reading with their kids, because they're working full time - at that economic level a single income household is almost entirely unviable so either both parents work or there's a single parent working extra hours or they're just exhausted from worrying about the bills and what's sold to them as a personal failure to look after their family.

One thing it's easy to forget is that while people in the UK still do drop out of school in their teens to work, a generation ago it was almost the norm for a lot of communities (especially the children of farmers, miners and factory workers) to have left school well before the end of compulsory education, both because of school being a hostile space and because of the need for an additional income. Now as well as then, a lot of kids drop out to work as unpaid carers, disproportionately in poorer families that can't afford private care or therapeutic support. Literacy aside, generations of leaving school with no qualifications doesn't tend to teach you that formal learning is as important as experience and vocational learning, and you don't expect to finish anyway so why put yourself through misery trying to do well? But it includes literacy. I grew up in a former mining area and a lot of people my dad's age and older were literate enough to read signs and football results, but took adult classes in middle age or later to get past the pointing finger and moving lips. and if you're parents don't or can't read, it's a lot harder for you to learn.

There's a lot of classism and shame tied up in the roots of illiteracy. Teachers and governments and schoolmates will often have vocally expressed low expectations of poorer students; a rich child who does poorly at school has problems, a poor child who does poorly at school is a problem child. They're often treated with hostility and aggression from infancy and any anger or disinterest in school is often treated not as a problem to be solved but as proof that you were right to deem them a write-off. Poorer or more neglected children (or children for whom English is a second language) will often be deemed "stupid" by their peers, and start at a disadvantage because of the issues around early childhood learning in families where parents are overstretched.

Kids learn not to admit that they don't know or understand something, because if you start school unable to read and write and do basic maths when a lot of kids your age are already confident, you get mocked and called stupid and lazy by your peers, and treated with frustration by your teachers. So kids learn to avoid people noticing that they need help. That means that school, which could help a lot, isn't somewhere you can go for help but a source of huge anxiety and pain - more so when you factor in the background radiation of classism that only grows as you get older around not having the right clothes, the right toys, the right experiences, my mum says your mum's a ragger, my mum says I shouldn't hang out with you because you're a bad lot - so again kids switch off very early and see education as something to survive not something helpful.

The same is very much true of adult literacy. A lot of adults are very shamed and embarrassed to admit that they struggle with reading and writing - a lot of parents particularly want to be able to teach their kids to read, but aren't confident readers themselves, and feel too stupid and embarrassed to admit out loud that they can't read well, let alone to seek out and endure adult literacy classes that are a constant reminder of their perceived failure and ignorance (and can also be excruciating. Books for adult literacy learning are not nearly widespread enough and a lot of intelligent experienced adults are subjected to reading Spot the Dog and similar books targeted at small children's interests). Adult literacy classes also cost time and also money, so a lot of people only have the space for them after retirement, if at all.

And increasingly, illiteracy (or lack of fluency in English) increases poverty and marginalisation, and thus the chances of inherited literacy problems. Reading information, filling out forms and accessing the internet in a meaningful way are all massively limited by illiteracy, and you need those skills to access welfare, to access medical care, to avoid exploitative loans, to deal with any service providers, etc. Most jobs above minimum wage and a lot below require a fairly high level of literacy, whether it's office work or reading an instructional memo on a building site or reading drink instructions in McDonalds. Illiteracy is a huge barrier between somebody and the rest of the world, especially in a modern world that just assumes universal literacy, and especially especially as more and more of life involves the internet, texting, WhatsApp, email, and so on - it's becoming harder and harder for people with limited literacy to be fully involved in society. And that means the only mobility is downwards, and that exacerbates all the problems that lead to adult illiteracy.

People who can't read after the age of 6 or so are treated as stupid. People who can't read fluently when they're adults are seen as stupid and almost subhuman. There's so much shame and personal judgement attached to difficulty reading, but the fact that illiteracy is almost exclusively linked to poverty and deprivation is pretty conclusive. Illiteracy isn't about the failure or stupidity of the individual, it's about the lack of support, care and respect afforded to poor people at all stages of their life. Being illiterate doesn't make you stupid - many people are highly intelligent, creative, capable, thoughtful, and illiterate. I know people who can immediately solve complex engineering problems on the fly but take ten minutes to write down a sentence of instruction. It isn't classist to say that illiteracy is caused by poverty - it's both classist and inaccurate to say that illiteracy says anything about the worth, intelligence or personhood of the poor, that it's a result of a desire to be ignorant, or that it's evidence that people are poor because they're stupid, incapable, ignorant or bad parents. The link between poverty and illiteracy is the problem of classism and bigotry, no more no less, and we deal with it by working against the ideas that both poverty and lack of education are a reflection of individual worth.

Illiteracy isn't a problem of intelligence, it's a problem of education, and that matters because education is not inherent. it's something that has to be provided and maintained by parents, by the state, by the community. you're not born educated. you are educated. except more than a quarter of the Scottish population isn't educated, because the system doesn't give a fuck about them and actively excludes them or accidentally leaves them behind.