#I’m a little more focused on how this film may make me sob

[spideyhexx]

https://www.tumblr.com/spideyhexx/773486524134244352/him-talking-about-the-intimate-and-vivid-sex?source=share

I wonder how graphic its gonna be though. like vivid and intimate can mean a lot of things so idkkk like i'm sure there's gonna be some nudity but is it gonna like, full on or?

no clue tbh, idk if nudity has been mentioned for anything with the film but I don’t think it’ll be full on if so

he could mean intimate and vivid in terms of the feel of it and the connection between the characters though, I assumed it would be a lot more sensual than just full on but🤷‍♀️that’s my assumption

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Reid My Lips - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - on the twelth and FINAL day of shipmas fortheloveofcriminalminds gave to me…Spencer x Reader Fluff! Hope you guys enjoyed them, I had a lot of fun writing these! Find my Shipmas masterlist here. Find my full masterlist here.

My taglists are open for Spencer x Reader and all works so let me know if you want to be added. Requests are also open.

Requested: Yes l No l Kind of ?

Idea came from @andiebeaword as I was struggling to come up with something that wasn't either angsty or smutty! - "What about one where they're dating, but haven't kissed yet, and every time reader tries, for some bizarre reason, Spencer keeps dodging them. reader thinks he's trying a subtle way to say he doesn't want to kiss when in reality, he just doesn't want reader to think he's a bad kisser" - Set circa s15, some spoilers for the last 2 episodes.

CW: none that I can think of! Just lusting after Spencer's lips. Some talks of Spencer's insecurites and lack of experience.

Plot: In which all the reader wants in the world is to feel Spencer's lips on hers.

WC: 2.4K

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Spencer Reid’s lips were the kind they would have written poetry about.

They were plump, sinfully so, the first time you’d met him several years ago when you joined the team it was the first thing you’d noticed about him. How it didn’t seem fair for him have had lips such as these bestowed upon him. He had the most kissable lips you’d ever seen in your life.

If you were a writer and not a profiler, you may well have tried to write a poem about them. But alas, a wordsmith you were not. So you had to make do with just staring at them every available opportunity you got.

When he’d finally plucked up the courage to ask you on a date after six years of working together you were thrilled to say the least. Finally, after all that time imaging what those lips would feel like, you might actually get to see for yourself.

For your first date Spencer took for you dinner at a fancy restaurant. Despite the fact you had known each other so long, the date was awkward.

Usually, you never struggled to find things to talk to Spencer about. Most of the time while the rest of the team were sleeping on the jet the two of you stayed up chatting aimlessly between you.

But somehow when the word date was used, it made everything uncomfortable between the two of you.

The night started as a long, drawn out silence but thankfully you both eased into it and by the time your main courses came you were able to chat a little more freely.

You’d had dinner together countless times over the years. But that was just as friends. Not as two people who were clearly attracted to one another even though deep down that’s what you’d always been.

Spencer walked you home after dinner. It was a mild night and you didn’t live too far from the restaurant so you thought the walk would be nice.

The first few blocks you fell back into that uncomfortable silence but thankfully you found your voices again.

Despite everything, you’d had a great time and you’d hoped Spencer had too.

As you stood awkwardly on the sidewalk outside your apartment you were desperate for him to kiss you. He wasn’t quite so shy and dorky as he had been when you first met so you’d thought he might make the first move.

He did not.

“Goodnight Y/N. I’ll see you Monday.” He offered you one of his shy waves.

No, this would not do. You’d been dreaming about those lips too long. It was time to do something about it.

You moved in close, your eyes closing as you neared his lips.

But what met your lips wasn’t his own. You felt prickly skin and your eyes shot open to see her had turned his head and your lips had landed on his stubble grazed face.

“Uhm…” you stepped back feeling incredibly uncomfortable. “Goodnight then I guess.”

You chalked it up to shyness. You guessed thirty plus years of insecurities couldn’t be washed away in a three month prison stint.

***

The next time an opportunity presented itself to steal a kiss from Spencer was a few weeks later.

You were out of town on a case and he’d invited you to his room to watch Doctor Who. You’d thought or maybe hoped it was just an excuse to get you alone in his room. You were surprised to say the least when he actually wanted to watch Doctor Who.

You sat side by side on his bed watching the small hotel TV. You dared to shuffle your hand closer until your fingers brushed and eventually you’d taken the plunge and entwined your fingers.

He didn’t seem to mind, he just gave your hand a firm squeeze as he held it.

About half way through the episode you decided to go for the kiss. You were desperate to feel those lips on yours and you hoped whatever awkwardness he felt on your date had since washed away.

You turned to face him, momentarily breathless at how beautiful he was.

“Spence,” you whispered prompting him to turn and face you.

He had a dopey half smile on those lips as he looked at you. You moved quickly, closing the space ready to feel those lips.

But once again you were met with his stubbly cheek.

You tried to tell yourself he was shy. That’s all it was. It’s not that he didn’t want to kiss you. It couldn’t be, right?

***

You’d started to think maybe Spencer had changed his mind about the two of you dating. It had been several weeks since your first date and although you’d been busy with back to back cases there had been time if he’d really wanted to take you out again.

It was nearly a month after your first date he finally asked you on a second. You’d jumped at the opportunity.

Spencer took you to the Smithsonian, you’d walked around hand in hand with Spencer telling you all kinds of facts and statistics the institution didn’t share.

You hung off his every word, mesmerised by the way his lips moved as he talked and wanting to feel them on yours with a white hot passion.

He took you for coffee after and you fell into comfortable conversation. But you couldn’t keep your eyes off those goddamn lips of his.

As you stepped out of the coffee shop hand in hand you made a quick move to place a chaste kiss on his lips as he was in the middle of telling you a story about his mom. You thought if you were fast enough he wouldn’t even see it coming and you could just get this awkward air out of the way.

You leant in fast, and as your lips were about to collide Spencer side stepped, turning to face the window of the coffee shop.

You stumbled, correcting yourself before you fell face first on the sidewalk.

“I didn’t know they had donuts! Now I want a donut.” He chuckled and suddenly he was heading back inside.

“Goddamnit Spencer.” You groaned under your breath.

By now you were starting to think he just didn’t like you. Why else would he keep dodging your attempts at kissing him?

You felt downtrodden. You felt insecure. Why on Earth had he asked you out if he didn’t want to kiss you?

***

Six dates in and all you’d done still was hold hands. You really didn’t get him. He kept asking you out but never seemed interested in doing anything other than hand holding.

You liked Spencer, a lot, but you were not willing to be in a relationship where there was no kind of intimacy.

But that was all pushed to the back of your mind when you and JJ found Spencer passed out in his apartment.

He’d been involved in an explosion thanks to the psychopath Everett Lynch. He was late for work the following day which was really unlike Spencer so you and JJ went to check on him. That’s when you’d found him.

While the rest of the team worked on finding Lynch, you stayed vigil at his bedside.

When he’d finally woken up tears streamed down your face and you’d be up like a shot.

“Oh my god Spence,” you sobbed. “I thought I was going to lose you.” You leant in to kiss his chapped lips.

He rolled his head to the side on the pillow, once again your lips meeting stubbly skin.

“I’m really thirsty.” He croaked, seemingly ignoring your actions.

You swallowed your pride with a sigh.

“I’ll get you some water Spence.” And with your tail between your legs you left the room in search of hydration.

***

After that you’d decided no more. You were fed up feeling a fool every time you tried to make a move on him only to be shot down.

So you decided you wouldn’t bother anymore.

Since he left hospital the two of you still hung out but it was less frequent as usual and the word date was never used again.

One night, it came to a head.

You were in Spencer’s apartment watching some foreign film which you were struggling to comprehend despite the subtitles.

Your mind was whirring, lost down a rabbit hole of thoughts of you and Spencer. You were so preoccupied in your own head you didn’t even notice when Spencer scooted closer to you or put his arm around your shoulders.

“Y/N?” He whispered your name, snapping you out of the abyss.

“Hmm?” You turned to face him.

His tongue glided over his bottom lip and his eyes were trained on your lips.

The next few seconds happened in slow motion. Spencer started edging closer to you, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips pursed.

And you turned your head to face the TV, allowing his lips to hit your cheek the way yours had to him so many times.

He made a strange noise that sounded halfway between a sigh and a groan. You tried to pretend you were focused on the TV. You felt his eyes on the side of your face and you tried to ignore it.

After a few minutes Spencer paused the film, the room falling silent. You swallowed a lump in your throat and slowly turned to face him.

“Why’d you stop the film?” you hoped your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you thought it did.

“I think we need to talk.” Spencer chewed his lip. “I think I need to explain why I’ve been so...weird.”

“Spencer, trust me when I say you being weird is not an unusual thing.” you tried to lighten the mood.

“Weirder than usual then.” he was fidgeting in his seat, wringing his hands together in his lap.

“I hadn’t noticed.” you lied.

“Yes you have.” he told you.

“Look Spence,” you sighed. “If you don’t want to kiss me I get it. But why would you ask me out if that’s not what you wanted?” the words spilled out of your mouth.

He nodded his understanding at your words, running one hand through his messy locks.

“I do want to kiss you Y/N.” his cheeks stained red with embarrassment. “I’ve always wanted to kiss you, since the first time I met you. Jeez, kissing is just the tip of the iceberg of things I want to do with you.” his blush deepened.

Your chest tightened at his words, a twinge passing between your legs.

“You uhm...you have a funny way of showing it.” your voice was breathy. You didn’t mean it to be.

“I know.” he nodded, gnawing his bottom lip. “I freaked myself out. I got in my head and I panicked and I didn’t know how to deal with that. So I dealt with it really, really badly and I’m sorry.”

“What were you freaking out about Spence?”

He sighed heavily, the blush still straining his cheeks.

“It took me six years to finally work up the courage to ask you out.” he laughed shyly. “But when I finally did, I was terrified I wouldn’t be good enough.”

Your face dropped, sadness in your eyes.

“Spencer,” you reached for him and took hold of his hand. It was sweating and shaking.

He shook his head sadly, telling you not to try and convince him otherwise.

“Y/N, I am not...not so great with women in case you’d never picked up on that.” he chuckled again, but again it was a shy sound. “I don’t ha-have...so much ex-experience.” he swallowed hard. “There have only been...a few...women. Not enough to make me an...ex-expert in any sense.” he swallowed again. “I just wanted to be...good...for you.”

“Oh Spencer,” you felt tears in your eyes. You had no idea he’d been going through this mental turmoil. “Spencer I don’t care. I’ve wanted you for six years. Trust me, there is no way in hell you will not be good enough. I am crazy about you Spence, and all I want in the whole right now is to kiss you. I have waited too long to know what those lips would-”

He cut you off when his lips suddenly crashed against yours.

You let out a small whimper as those plump lips of his finally kissed you. They felt better than your wildest imagination.

The whimper allowed Spencer to slide his tongue in your mouth. He held your face in his large hands, exploring your mouth with fervor.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

It was without a doubt the single most magical experience of your life. Nothing could have prepared you for how good his kiss would be.

It sent goosebumps flaring across your skin, making your chest tighten with lust.

It made you wet between your legs.

Maybe you should take a writing class because these lips, this kiss, definitely deserved poems written about them.

Your whole body felt as though it were on fire, every nerve ending in your body tingling with desire.

When the kiss ended you both gasped for air, trying to satiate your now empty lungs.

Spencer’s cheeks stained red again as he waited for your reaction shyly.

“I hope that was o-ok.” He stuttered a little.

You couldn’t help the large smile that broke out across your face.

“Spencer Reid, that was more than ok. It was perfect.”

His blush deepened and he looked away from you briefly before finding your eyes once more.

“Good.” He swallowed. “Because there’s a lot more I want to do with you Y/N.”

His words made you shudder.

“Now?” You swallowed, feeling oddly nervous.

“Right now.” He nodded before taking your face in his hands and kissing you again.

He was going to show exactly what his lips could do. And those poems practically wrote themselves between the sheets.

—————————————————————

Taglist -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl

@measure-in-pain

@ptrs-prkrs

[bloodstainsontengensfloor]

Mai Zenin x Fem!Civilian Reader:

A snapshot before it’s too late

Warning: spoilers for 149!

TW: light reference to suicide

::readmore:: Flash!

Mai crinkled her nose, placing a hand on her hip as your Polaroid barfed up the film. “What was that for?” She asked, a light blush scattered across her face as she watched you take the film out and place it on the table in front of you. You and Mai had gone out for Boba on the shoreline, and the sunset was just... perfect right behind Mai. You couldn’t help yourself.

“Sh! You have to wait for it to form-“

“If you shake it I’ll be faster-“

You slapped Mai’s hand away. “No! That makes it worse-“

“No it doesn’t-“

“Mai-chan, just look and wait-“

“Y/N! I don’t have the patience-“

“Look!” You said, proudly and carefully picking up the Polaroid picture to show Mai. You weren’t oblivious to her obvious embarrassment, but... with the sunset behind her and the natural beauty that was her, you really couldn’t help yourself. Mai didn’t seem entirely impressed, and it was just a Polaroid, it wasn’t something to be absolutely amazed by.

“Humph, I don’t even know why you made that.”

“Because some moments are so beautiful, you just can’t stop yourself from capturing them.” You said, without missing a beat and without really thinking. After realizing what you said (and how totally cheesy it was), you blushed, mumbling some apology and ramble about how the sun looked pretty with her silhouette. You nervously took a sip of your Boba-

Flash!

Your eyes were wide as your vision focused again. “Huh-“ You asked, blinking rapidly a few times. Mai just smirked, your Polaroid in hand. She lightly began to wave the film that was just vomited out of the top of the camera.

“What?” Mai said, feigning innocence. “Some moments are just too beautiful that you just want to capture them.”

-

-

-

-

-

You didn’t expect not seeing Mai after October.

You didn’t expect her sister, burn marks scattered around her body, to come to your house. You never even met her sister before, but now you did, and you were scared. You knew what Mai did was dangerous and you woke up one morning in a cold sweat, unaware why. Before you shot up in your bed, you swore you heard seagulls or the lulling sound of the waves....

“I don’t really know how you knew my sister.” Maki said after a while. She sounded as alive as she looked. Her voice was dry, almost monotone. She was a lot bigger than Mai physically. You thought focusing on the differences between the twins would be easier than focusing on the similarities. You knew why she was here. You knew what happened. It was one of those things you would know. The way you felt off the past few days, like something was missing from your world. “Anyway,” Maki shifted the sword in her grip. She placed it on the table that sat between the two of you. “This is the last thing Mai gave me.” You felt a lump grow in your throat. “The last thing she ever gave anyone.”

She couldn’t even say the words that would finalize it. Mai was dead. You felt your finger nails dig into your palms as you avoided eye contact. It might have been a terrible thing to say, but it was a blessing that was Maki was so damaged that she barley looked like Mai anymore. Well accept for the hair... and if you looked closely enough you could see... You swallowed the lump in your throat, and tried to settle your breathing. You wouldn’t cry in front of Maki, Mai wouldn’t have wanted that. Mai always described Maki as stronger and as braver and as brasher and-

“So.... yea.” Maki awkwardly added, fiddling with the sword in hand. The last thing Mai created was a weapon of destruction... that was so dramatic... just like her...

Maki kept on rambling, and despite yourself, your mind wandered. Mai sacrificed herself, she did something heroic. You knew Mai, she wasn’t heroic. She was selfish and prideful and obnoxious and a total bitch almost all the time. But at the same time she was funny, caring, and someone so full of love that was never taught how to give. Sometimes you would catch Mai staring at the ocean when you guys would go to the beach, and there would be something so dead in her face. Sometimes you would notice the way Mai cut things off when she spoke about the jujutsu world. The anger, sadness, and despair in her words...

A dark thought crossed your mind that you quickly shuddered away. It could be true but right now, you didn’t have the stability to worry about it. “She left.” You said, cutting of whatever Maki was saying. “She left us both.” Maki stared at you for a little. Her expressions were even harder to read than Mai’s. “But I’m okay with that... if that makes sense. I just wish that-“ The breath got caught in your throat. You closed your eyes and took a quick, shaking, breath. You wouldn’t cry, not yet at least. Or maybe even at all. Mai hated seeing you cry and you could almost hear her mocking voice.

“Aww don’t flatter me too much by crying over my death! What happened to trying to keep my ego down?”

Despite yourself, you smiled, letting out a wet chuckle. Maki raised a brow but said nothing. “I just wish that she got to say goodbye.” You added. Maki didn’t respond.

After a few moments of silence, Maki asked, “was she happy?”. You looked up from your own pity party and saw the tears that were gathering in the corner of Maki’s eye. Maki was half of a person now, and no matter how much shit Mai might have told you about her, you knew they loved each other more than anything in this world.

But her question got you thinking. Was Mai happy? She hated being a shaman, she didn’t want to be one at all. That’s why she was always with you because with you, she could pretend to be normal. Pretend like she was just a delinquent friend coming over, and not a shaman who wanted to play a different role. But Mai’s eyes always lit up or softened when she talked about her friends. The way she teared up when she explained the time Utahime-Sensei let her stay with her over the Winter Break because Mai didn’t want to go back to the Zenin complex without Maki. The way she complained about Todo but the light tone in her annoyed voice told you that she enjoyed his company. The way she held Nishimiya in such high regard that you always felt a little bit of jealously burn in your stomach. The way she admired Miwa for being apart of the world but still was able to smile and have fun, how nothing could break her stride. The way she would tease Kamo in her descriptions of him but admitted that he was one of the people who she related to the most. “I just wish he didn’t have such a large stick stuck up his ass”, she had said. The way she explained Mechamaru’s crush on Miwa and how the two should just suck it up and go on a date because she couldn’t stand watching them run circles around one another anymore.

The way she smiled when she was with you. The way she looked... free whenever you guys went on your mini adventures. The way she softly would kiss your lips or the way she snuggled into your shoulder. It was so tender and so normal and so sweet it seemed so out of character for Mai. But what she had with you was one of the things she wanted but never had before.

“Y-yes.” You said, annoyed that another lump had grown in your throat. “I-I think she was.” Maki let out what seemed like a sigh of relief. She hastily wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eye before standing up, confident, powerful, and intimidating as ever. You hated how much she looked like Mai then. Because now she was playing a part she didn’t want to play and she was feeling a pain she couldn’t understand.

“Well, that’s good then.” She said, pulling something out of her pocket and handing it to you. You lightly gasped as you realized it was the Polaroid Mai had teasingly took of you, and that it was stained with some blood. “This was on Mai’s b- when she di- when she left.” Maki looked at the clock on the far side of the room. “Well... I should be going now.”

“Thank you, Maki-San.” You said, holding the Polaroid a little bit closer. Maki grunted in acknowledgment before leaving. And that’s when you let the dam break.

What? Did you think you wouldn’t be in my final thoughts or something?

You sobbed, your throat burned as you held the Polaroid close to your chest. Your parents weren’t home so you could have screamed if you wanted to, but with what was happening all over Japan, you knew it was better not to. You held a bloody memory of Mai, a bloody memory of the two of you together. You couldn’t even remember the last thing you said to Mai and Vice versa and that was even worse. You stumbled up your stairs and threw the door open to your bedroom, your body feeling weak. You ripped down the Polaroid photo of Mai from that dumb beautiful day on the shoreline and sobbed. Something was missing for the past few days and now you knew what it was. No more teasing smiles, no more taunts, no more kisses, no more late night adventures, no more unexpected sleepovers, no more nothing. Because Mai was nothing but a fucking sword now.

Well, I think I’m a pretty hot sword but-

“I hope we meet again. I don’t know what happens or where we go after we die, but I hope we meet again. If we meet in some afterlife, I hope it’s a good one. I hope it’s happy. And if it’s rebirth, I hope you aren’t a shaman. I hope your family loves you. I hope you and your sister get to be real sisters and not be torn apart by the world of a Shaman. I hope we meet at school or some Starbucks or something, and we do this all over again, but it ends better. It won’t end like this.

And if we just become nothing after we die, I hope i become nothing with you, right by your side. And if we return to the stars whose dust we were made from, I hope our stars are right next to one another, and I hope yours shines brighter than you did in this life.

I wish you the best, Zenin Mai.”

—————————————————

Yea I’ve been dead for a bit, still not over her death so uhm... here. Enjoy. Or cry. Or both’

[intercoursefluids]

Marry Me Part 1

Dick cracks the kitchen door open and takes a picture of the scene.

Marinette kneading dough with a focused look on her face, Damian sitting at the counter occasionally looking up at Marinette before continuing to sketch.

Dick turns to the side, noticing Alfred coming his way and scrambles to hide the evidence of his snooping.

Alfred looks at him, raising an eyebrow before walking in the door.

Dick waits around 6 minutes for Alfred to walk out and away before creeping back over to the door.

Soft instrumental music now fills the air, Marinette humming along as Damian watches her with a soft smile.

Marinette's soft humming fills the air accompanied by Damian's pencil strokes.

Dick pulls out his phone taking a small video and posting it to his personal twitter with the caption “It’s so Domestic!” followed with a crying emoji.

Marinette finishes kneading the dough and starts to form them into little rolls, placing them on the pan as she sways to the music.

Jason arrives just as she finishes.

Dick waves like crazy, signaling him to be quiet, and for once Jason listens.

He comes over peeking through the door with Dick before breaking out into a wide grin, pulling his phone out as Marinette places the pan in the oven, turning on the timer before washing her hands of the flour.

They watch as she hums swaying to the music as she dries her hand with a dish towel when the unexpected happens.

Now to understand their shock, you’ll need some background information.

Damian Wayne would rather gouge out his own eyes before dancing with someone.

So imagine their surprise when their little brother stands up and walks over to an oblivious Marinette, humming softly with her.

He taps her on the shoulder to get her attention before bowing at the waist and holding out his hand to her.

“May I have this dance?”

Marinette smiles blindingly bright before placing her hand in his.

He guides her around the room, spinning her periodically with the softest look any of them have ever seen on his face.

He starts to hum louder than before as he spins her before pulling her close again with a hand on her face.

Dick has to put a hand over his mouth and pass his phone to Jason because he's shaking so much. Tears stream freely down his face as he stifles his sobs.

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Neither brother even jumps at Selinas sudden voice, instead mutely nodding their agreements.

Dick leans back against his step-mom, sniffling at the display of affection playing out in front of them.

“It’s okay Dick, me and Selina are crying too.”

One look at Jason and Selina confirms that they are both in fact crying as they record. Well in Jason's case his eyes are a little shiny.

The song comes to an end as a timer rings.

They break away and Dick takes back his phone, stopping the video as Marinette checks and something in a pot on the stove.

Dick is about to step away when he notices Selina still filming and Tim walking towards them.

“What are you all doing? And why is Selina recording?”

Thankfully Tim seems to notice the secretive atmosphere and whispers not giving away their position to the two inside the kitchen.

“Your little brother is being sweet and I have a feeling that he’s not done being affectionate yet.”

Tim raises an eyebrow crouching down next to the rest of them and pulls out his phone before pointing it through the gap.

“Blackmail kinda sweet or make me cry kinda sweet?”

He turns back to the rest and sees Dicks face before pulling out a handkerchief that Marinette made him.

“Nevermind.”

They turn back in time to see Marinette finish stirring whatever is in the pot and move it off the heat before turning back to Damian.

Hugging him she rests her head on his chest with a smile as a new song starts up.

“Do you want to dance?”

Marinette looks up at Damian with a confused smile on her face.

“I thought we already did, mon chou?”

Damian chuckles softly tucking some of the hair that fell from her bun behind her ear.

“That we did, Habibiti. But against my better judgment I can’t help but find that dancing with you is one of the finer things in life.”

Marinette smirks at him, her hand coming up to grasp the wrist of the hand still cupping her cheek.

“Well then maybe we shouldn’t dance, afterall too much of something you enjoy can lead to an addiction.”

Damian smiles, swooping down to kiss her softly before pulling away.

“Indulge me just this once?”

Marinette sighs heavily, before speaking.

“Oh alright, but just this once.”

Behind the door there isn’t a dry eye in sight, even Jason shed a tear or two.

They start dancing again but not quite how they were before.

Before they were doing proper ballroom dances, now they just hold each other close and sway. Marinette's arms around his neck and her head resting on his chest, meanwhile Damians arms wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him with his chin resting on top of her head, both of their eyes closed. The perfect picture of contentment.

Dick snaps a picture before immediately posting it to his twitter with an attempt at a caption that looks more like a keyboard smash since he can’t see very well through his tears.

They sway together for a long while before a second timer sounds.

They break apart, albeit reluctantly, and Marinette pulls the tray from the oven before carrying it over to the counter and switching the now golden brown buns to a cooling rack.

Since she is now facing the door the brothers plus Selina have a perfect view of Damians face from where he stands behind her.

Dick, now coherent enough to take pictures without them being blurry, lets the others film as he takes another picture. Posting it again to his private twitter so the rest of the family can see.

His face is full of pure adoration and love for the girl working in front of him.

“Mon Chou? Can you grab the glaze from the fridge? I need it.”

Damian immediately snaps out of his daze to do as she asks. He places the bowl by her hand before wrapping her up in a hug from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you, Marinette.”

Dick immediately takes two pictures, one with just the hug and Marinette working and another of her smiling after he says he loves her. And just like the rest, he immediately uploads them.

She smiles, stepping away to untie her apron and walking away. Effectively breaking the hug much to their 4 spectators disappointment.

“I love you too, Damian.”

She walks around the counter to hang up her apron, leaving only a few feet between her and the people who are filming them.

She doesn’t make it.

“I think I want to marry you.”

The 4 sharp inhales go unnoticed by the two teens as Marinette drops her apron, spinning around to face Damian with a bright blush.

“What?”

Marinette's voice is barely a whisper, as Damian rounds the island to come stand next to her, taking her hands and accidentally angling them in the perfect view to show both of their faces to the cameras.

“Let me reword that. Marinette, I know I want to marry you.”

Tears start to form in her eyes as Damian gets down on one knee, pressing a kiss to each of her hands before he starts to speak again.

“Marinette, you are so incredibly phenomenal. Ever since the first day I met you I knew I was doomed to fall for you, I just wasn’t prepared for how hard I would actually fall.”

Dick snaps another picture managing to type out a simple “OMFG” before posting.

“You are the only one I have ever been able to see myself spending the rest of my life with, the only one I have ever wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Tears stream down Marinette's face as Damian looks into her eyes.

“I know that you have been hurt by the people you trusted most, you’ve told me how the people who were supposed to stay by your side turned you back on you.”

Damian sighs, turning her hands up and kissing her palms.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I vow from this day forward that in any way I may accidentally hurt you, even when I try my damndest to prevent it, that I will allow it to be done onto myself tenfold. I will stand by your side but I will never force you to remain by mine. When you want to take the lead I will cover your blind spots and protect you from those who try to blindside you. When you can’t think of a plan right away, or are too overwhelmed to take the lead I will stand front and center to cover you till we make it to safety. My sword arm, my strength, and my knowledge are at your disposal. And my heart and love are yours to take.”

Selina reaches over dick to Jason and Tim, putting her hands on their shoulders as they both cry freely.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing or even understanding my emotions.”

Marinette opens her mouth at his self deprecating tone, but Damian rushes to catch her off guard.

“Even so, the one thing I am sure of is that there will never be enough words to tell you just how much I love you. I will happily spend everyday for the rest of my life, trying to show you just how much you mean to me. And even then it won’t be enough.”

Damian pauses giving Marinette time to let out her thoughts before he continues.

“Oh Damian, I-, but what will everyone think? We’re 16! No one even knows I am with you outside of friends and family. What will we do when people call me a gold digger? I- people in France already don’t like me. I don’t want to drag you through the mud with me by agreeing to marry you Damian.”

Marinette winces, slowly pulling her hands away from Damians. He just grips them tighter.

“Marinette.” His serious tone makes everything go quiet, silencing even his brothers and stepmom's soft sobs.

“There are only two things in existence that could stop me from marrying you and one of them is if you say ‘No’. If the people in France believe that they have any say in what you do or don’t do just because they believe the words of a liar over you, it just proves that they are even dumber than I thought. As for our age? We can be engaged for the two years it takes us to turn 18, or if you want, we can wait longer. I don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure that if someone called you a ‘gold digger’ Jason, Dick, and Tim would put a stop to it before word even got to us.”

He gently pulls her hands back again, kissing her palms as she speaks.

“What's the other thing?”

He hums in question, meeting her eyes.

“You said that there were only two things that could stop you from marrying me, one was me saying ‘No’. What’s the other?”

Damian straightens slightly making sure she knows just how serious he is.

“Death.”

It's silent for a minute, no one daring to breathe.

“Yes.”

It's barely a whisper, hardly more than a breath, and yet it holds more worth than anything else in the world.

“Yes I will marry you, Damian.”

Damian immediately jumps up wrapping Marinette in a hug and spinning around with the before dropping to the ground again.

“I can’t believe you said yes.”

Marinette laughs at Damian, happy tears flowing down her face.

“You asked me!”

“I didn’t think that I was lucky enough for you to actually say yes!”

Marinette giggles again pulling Damian into a kiss that he happily returns, at least before he groans loudly and breaks, instead resting his forehead against hers.

“What's wrong?”

Damian sighs his shoulders lumping before answering.

“I have to tell my brothers and Selina by tomorrow. At least Dick and Selina so they can help me-”

He cuts off, paling severely.

“Dicks gonna kill me. I proposed to you without a ring, and he will skin me alive for it.”

Marinette laughs again.

“I’ll ask him to spare you. Besides, he can’t have me as his sister-in-law if he kills my husband.”

Marinette blushes at him as he smiles.

“Tomorrow, I’ll get the ring tomorrow. I don’t think I could wait any longer than that to finally put a ring on your finger.”

They cuddle up together, relishing in each other's presence.

Dick is the first to stand up, followed by Jason, Tim, and then Selina.

They walk down to the cave, all staying silent as their phones save the videos they were lucky enough to take.

Once they make it the tears start up again, full volume wails coming from dick and sniffles from Jason.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Dick cries into his stepmother's hair. His brothers following suit.

All of a sudden Dicks phone starts going off like crazy.

He pulls it out annoyed ready to tell whoever is on the other end off for interrupting his cry sesh.

467 notifications and climbing from twitter.

He opens it to the picture he snapped when Damian started swinging Marinette through the air with the caption ‘She said yes! BRB gonna go cry my eyes out’.

He looks at his username with horror, paling considerably as he looks at his family.

“I fucked up.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Omg thank you so much for writing my request for tom :) Can I ask for a part two where you try not to read the comments, but end up doing so, and most are good, so it's fine. Until you post a picture of you on your account, and tom's fans start calling you names, and tom's so tired of all that happening that he posts on his account a whole paragraph about how his personal life it's no one's business?

Posted

This is part two, find the first part here

Summary | previously Tom had accidentally posted a picture of the two of you, exposing your relationship. And so, you decide to purposely do the same on your Instagram, though the response is much different than what his post had received.

Warnings | hate comments, some angst, swear and demeaning words

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Tom was asleep beside you, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, you were able to feel his gentle, slumbering breathing against your skin, and it caused goose bumps to prickle upon the outer layer of your flesh.

The two of you had vastly fallen asleep upon the couch, and your phone was on the coffee table, and to say that you were itchy to reach for it was an understatement. There would be comments on the picture that Tom accidentally put online, and you were hungry to see them, whilst simultaneously nervous.

Tom was a big actor, known for his presence in the marvel cinematic universe upon many other projects, and some of his fans, whilst proven during Comic-Con panels, were borderline crazy. They’d snap if they even so much as saw something that they didn’t like, and this time, you would be on the receiving end of it.

Being motionlessly captured, with your face on show, was certain to bring much attention. You too were within the acting department, but there had been no correlation between the pair of you until now, most of the world weren’t even aware that you knew each other. And not to mention, your span of reaching an audience was smaller, although, certainly not non existent.

You had reprised fame during your appearance on Modern Family, as the friendly neighbour of Phil and Claire, and a classmate of their eldest daughter, and not to mention Luke was crushing hard on the character you played, though, with that said, your character laughed his efforts off due to the age difference, yet still found his pining weird and often uncomfortable.

Another role that you were becoming known for was your character in Netflix’s Irregulars, where you met Harrison Osterfield, Tom’s best friend. Through filming the show, you were introduced to the Spider-Man actor, and the pair of you had hit it off almost instantly, if you didn’t include Tom keeping his amorous distance, wary just in case there was something going on between you and your mutual friend. To his relief, there wasn’t.

And thus, when he received that confirmation, he was far more forward, yet respectful at the same time with his intentions. That was how you had ended up here, as he half used you as a pillow, his arms wrapped around his ribs, and his soft peaceful snores filling the void in the air.

Stretching your arm at its furthest length, your fingertips wrestled with the side of your phone, padding it closer to yourself, so that you could slide it across the small living room table, and closer to yourself. You were victorious in your efforts, and so on you unlocked your screen, going to your camera app, and leaning sideways so that you could snap a few pictures of your predicament with your loving and sweet boyfriend.

Looking at the images that you had captured, a smile arose upon your face; you truly did love this man, and you wanted the whole world to know how much you adored him. You wanted them to see that you cared about him, and that he was in good hands with you, to cool off any of his fans that were processing their hurt feelings for seeing Tom with another woman, show him that he was getting the love that he deserved.

Extreme courage coursed through your veins, focusing within your fingertips as you opened insta, gulping as you readied to post the image. There was no editing required, it was perfect just like him. And so, the caption was something to think about, you didn’t want to make it too obvious that you were dating as the online community already assumed, the priority was to show them that you cared about him.

‘He’s taking a nap, and crushing my hip a little, but I don’t mind 😌’ you typed, your finger hovering over the post button as you chewed your lip. It was easy to press your digit down, and so, taking a breath, you did just that, encouraged by the previous and kind comments on Tom’s earlier post.

Within a matter of minutes, your phone was blowing up, and you were too tempted not to glance at the growing comment section. There were various accounts, some supporting your confidence to show such a domestic version of yourself with Tom, you assumed that they were your followers, and the ones that weren’t so light hearted were those that intently watched anything on the media that involved Tom.

‘He’s too good looking for her, she should be dating someone within her league. Tom is clearly taking pity on this hoe.’

‘Aw look at him, and ew, look at the state of her. He could do sm better 😔’

‘Why doesn’t she look like his exes, they were hot af, and now he’s with some rando that is after his fame and money. Maybe she should just take better roles if she wants to get noticed so bad.’

Your eyes kept reeling through the intentionally hateful words that continued to come through beneath the image. Tears began to fall from your eyes as you tried to stifle the movements and the sound of your gentle sobbing, as to not wake Tom. Quickly, your fingers raced through the social media, and you, knowing that there would still be presence of the image somewhere online, you deleted it, muting notifications and shuffled back into Tom.

The man stirred, tugging you closer by your waist, pressing a kiss to your locks as he awoke. He noticed however the way that you refused to face him, and so he rolled you over with a gentle grip on your shoulder, frowning when he saw the recognisable redness beneath your eyes, and the sad expression floating within your eyes.

“Princess, what’s going on?” He wiped his thumb beneath your bottom lashes, collecting your tears as he worriedly looked down at you. His brown eyes searched every inch of your face for an idea, but found nothing but your broken hearted expression.

“It’s nothing Tommy.” You tried and failed to convince the man, wincing half heartedly as he sat back on his thighs, gripping your hips so that he could pull you up with him, giving him a clearer view of your face. It was clear that he did not believe you, and he hummed, trying to make you give in. Eventually, after much concerned staring, you gave in, slumping your shoulders as you tucked your arms around the back of his neck. “I posted a picture of us, the response wasn’t great.”

Instantly, Tom’s brows uplifted, surprised by your action, though he had a strong inkling of a feeling that the reaction that you had earned was not complimentary. These were not tears of joy, instead they were stricken rivers of anguish and insecurity running down the length of your face.

“Let me see.” He spoke, softly to you, but his intents towards defending you strong. You shook your head lightly, tracing circles upon his knees as you gulped, flickering your guilty gaze up to his watchful eyes.

“I deleted it. I just couldn’t deal with knowing that the longer that it was up, the more hate would be directed at me. I’m sorry.” Tom grasped your face by your tense jaw, his fingers stroking your chin as he sadly stared at you.

“Never be sorry. Now send me the picture you used so that I can give everyone a piece of my mind.” Reaching for your phone, you sent the image to him, and in a second his device pinged, revealing that it had successfully sent to him.

“Cute.” He described the picture, his hands furiously typing away on his phone, his constant unsettling of his rabidly moving fingers drawing anxiousness from you. “And some.” Tom finally breathed, closing his phone as you went to his account, checking what he had posted publicly.

‘This may concern some people, who keep sticking their noses in where it does not involve them. I appreciate you all, the support, the love, everything. But one thing that I do not stand for is people coming at my girlfriend just because they don’t approve of our relationship. If you check mate, I never asked for your opinion, I love y/n, and some online hate, that needs to stop otherwise you are not someone I want to be calling themselves a fan of me, needs to stop. It makes no one happy or feel healthy with spreading such toxicity around the internet, if you don’t like something, then keep your blood mouths shut, this has nothing to do with you, it is just me and my girlfriend. I’d think you’d want me to be happy, because I want the same for all of you, so can people please give my partner some respect, she’s done nothing wrong but bravely chose to reach out to you all, and she had that spat back in her face. It’s not on, and I want this to stop now.’

“Tom...” you were shocked by the paragraph, it came across as aggressive, and very over protective. His action, that could affect how he was cried by people that put him on a pedestal, and that made you feel guilty that he had reached out to them in such a way.

“It’s okay baby, I’d do anything for you, and you know that. No one messes with my girl.” He put his arm around your shoulders as he pulled you close placing a kiss upon your forehead. Not only was he your boyfriend, but he was your protector, your knight on a shining cell phone.

[eideticmemory]

TWO GHOSTS | MATTHEW G. GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right?

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.1k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

Maps - Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Stop the World, I Wanna . . . - Artic Monkeys

Space Song - Beach House

May 16, 2002.

New York City, New York.

“[y/n] . . .” Claire whispered. “Honey, c’mon . . . just, try to sit up.”

You couldn’t. You just, couldn’t. It was as if your entire body was filled to the brink with sand — coarse, wet, heavy sand — and it was weighing you down, keeping you anchored to Claire’s bed. Your head rested in her lap, and your fist gripped, tightly, onto the fabric of her jeans — which were stained with your tears. Her hand ran along your spine, and her arm wrapped around you, protectively. She wanted to shield you, she wanted to keep you safe, happy. She wanted to distract you from your luggage laid out on the floor.

But, the pressure of her body, coddling you, God, it just hurt. Everything hurt, and you couldn’t get it to stop, and you couldn’t stop sobbing, ugly sobbing, snot running down your lips.

“Cl—Claire . . .” you whined. “I . . . I . . .” your hand flew to your mouth, muffling a loud and painful sob that echoed throughout the room.

“I know, I know . . .” she cooed, kissed the top of your head, and ran her hand over your hair. “It’s okay, don’t try to talk, just rest.”

Claire held you, all day and all night on May 16, 2002. She held you until you lost your voice, until you cried yourself to sleep, and after that, she still held you.

Because it was May 16, 2002.

And May 16, 2002 was day one without Matthew Gubler.

After crying yourself to sleep that morning, you awoke alone in Claire’s bedroom that night. You rubbed your tired and sore eyes, and sat up, surprised to see the sun had gone down. Your mouth felt dry, and your throat was sore. Claire had left you a bottle of water, and you chugged it in one gulp. You stood from the bed, slowly and groggily, stumbling your way through the boxes of clothes, and decorations that Claire hadn’t even put up yet.

You wandered aimlessly into the bathroom, and switched on the light. You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. Only a faint resemblance of what you looked like that morning, before the airport, before the tears.

You had dressed up. Did your makeup. And now, your clothes were wrinkled, and your face was smeared with mascara. You looked miserable, you felt miserable, you were miserable.

Claire walked in just as another tear rolled down your cheek. You looked at her reflection, and saw she was eyeing you, sadly.

“Hey,” she attempted to smile. She stepped over to you and held onto your shoulders, catching you as you fell back, dramatically, into her arms.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” she whispered. You hiccuped as you looked in the mirror, making eye contact with her. “It’s just day one . . .” she said. “It’s just . . . day one.”

And it’s true, what everyone says: one day turns into one month, and one month turns into one year.

And one year turns into one decade.

October 13, 2017.

New York City, New York.

Today, is Friday the thirteenth.

Day 5,629 without Matthew Gubler.

And somehow, someway, you feel just as stuck, and frozen, and scared shitless as you did on day one.

You haven’t felt this way in a very long time, though. And of all the days, of all the nights, to feel like this, to be stuck and frozen and scared . . . tonight is not the night.

A knock rings at the dressing room door, startling you from your thoughts. You cleared your throat, and found yourself, once again, focused on your reflection.

You know this person. You’ve spent 5,629 days growing into this person. And y’know what? She’s fucking hot.

“[y/n]!” Another knock follows.

“I’m coming!”

“When?”

“Ramona, I will fire you, and trust me, I really need an assistant!” You shout, fixing your dress in the mirror once again.

“Oh, yeah, right. Then who would make your coffee and make sure you’re on time?” she replied. “. . . You’re late!”

“Okay!” You stumbled to the door in your heels, flung it open, putting your hand on your hip.

“Wow . . .” Ramona said, nearly speechless. “You look . . . hot.”

“That is not how you speak to your boss, dude,” you laughed. “You really think I look hot?”

“Marshmallows on an open fire, smoking, kind of hot.” She winks.

You chuckle, “Thanks, I needed that. Walk with me.”

“Okay, um,” she starts, walking beside you as you strut down the hall. “Hair and makeup are gonna take care of you in no less than thirty minutes, that gives you, approximately, two minutes to get into the studio.”

“Two minutes?” You stop in your tracks. “That’s it?”

She can’t help but grin, just a little, “Told you you were late.”

You scoffed, “Okay, so are we shooting when I step into the studio?”

“Yep!”

“Great . . .” you sigh, walking over to the cosmetic chair.

“But, hey, you’re the big boss, they can’t film without you.”

“Yeah, except big boss told everyone we’re filming at seven sharp, and big boss probably won’t even be ready at seven sharp!” You ramble.

“Okay . . .” Ramona nods, slowly. “Are ever gonna tell me why you’re so nervous about tonight, or . . ?”

“Uh, why am I nervous about a major, televised, celebrity event that I not only put together myself, but choreographed?” You rambled. “I don’t know, pick a reason!”

“Wow . . .” She says. “As valid as all those reasons are, I think something else is going on and I will find out, so you might as well spill.”

“Can’t talk!” You pip. “Getting my makeup done! Tell them I’ll be in at seven.”

You exhaled deeply the minute Ramona stepped away, closing your eyes. Not opening them until your hair was done perfectly, and the makeup artist added her final touches.

You, once again, came face to face with your reflection.

“[y/n]!”

But you didn’t have time to process it.

“[y/n], cameras are rolling, thirty seconds to seven.”

Of all the days, of all the nights, you tell yourself, looking into the mirror, to feel like this, to be stuck and frozen and scared . . . tonight is not the night.

“[y/n]!”

Because you are the big boss now.

Your purple dress — perfectly matched to the NYU logo — hugs your body tightly as you walk across the floor, the hem splayed over feet, which are covered in tall, silver heels. The clack of your shoes silences everyone as you walk by. Everyone, except for Ramona, who steps in before you can enter the studio.

She clips an NYU pin to your dress, “For good luck,” she smiles.

“3, 2, 1 . . . rolling.”

You enter the studio, and the room fills with a flood of “oooooh!” from each and every one of your students. The camera pans over their faces as you walk across the hardwood floor, smiling at them, laughing at their expressions. Their jaws are dropped, hands clutched over their chests.

“[y/n]! Holy shit!”

“Hey!” You laugh. “Language! We’re rolling!”

“You look great!”

“Thank you, how are you all?” You ask.

“Nervous, thanks for asking.” They all laugh.

“You guys will be fine, I’m an excellent teacher,” you giggle.

“Damn right, but are you sure you can’t hold our hands while we’re on stage? Just for a little bit?”

“Big babies!” You shake your head. “You’re ready. Signals from off camera indicated a time crunch, and you quickly brought the group together for a big hug.

It’s been a long time coming. Tonight. Or, as printed on all invitations and promotional materials:

New York University’s 2017 Celebrity Alumni Event: In Support of the Ballet class of 2017.

Coordinated and Choreographed by [y/n] [y/l/n], executive producer and star of the hit reality show, New York Best and Ballet.

Big boss.

The camera follows you as you exit the studio, walk down the hall, “They’re gonna kill it,” you smile into the lense. “I know it.”

All you can think about is the blatant, gross hypocrisy. The way you’re completely, beyond a shadow of doubt, confident in your students and their ability to pull this off.

And you can’t even say the same thing about yourself.

With the cameras off of you, you put your hand against the wall, and steady yourself. Ramona walks up to you, walking along your side. “Got you a water, you should stay hydrated tonight.”

You give her an appreciative look, taking the bottle of water and standing up straight, “Is it too early to start drinking?”

“I guess not, guests are starting to arrive.”

“Holy shit, already?” You gasp.

“You did plan this thing, right?”

“Ugh,” you huff, dramatically rolling your eyes.

“You’re expected in the ballroom, a margarita will be waiting for you at the bar.” Ramona grins.

You continue down the hallway, as she watches you walk away, a crew of people following behind you.

“[y/n]!” Ramona calls.

You turn to her, stopping in your steps.

“Marshmallows on an open fire, smoking, kinda hot,” she smiles.

You laugh, out loud, and give her a nod. Then, you continue on your way downstairs.

More people had already arrived than you thought. The ballroom was packed, covered by a sea of people, tables, cameras and crew meandering through the crowd to catch every ounce of footage they could. You were filmed as you walked down the steps, passing the stage and stepping onto the floor with a grand smile.

“Pretty good turn out, huh?” You chuckled, beaming at the camera as you branch out to greet your guests.

This helps.

The smiles, the laughs, the presence of people that support you and your program enough to show up, pay a lot of money, and witness the magic of NYU ballet in all its glory. The light highlights the brightness of your smile, the glow around you in your element. Your chuckle echoing around the room, as you coasted from table to table, person to person, thanking them for coming.

Reconnections were made, stories were told, and retold, and thoughts of college had you blushing on the spot. You’re so lost in the whirlwind of energy, of being the proper hostess, and managing everything in sight, you didn’t notice that an hour had passed.

Until a crew member taps you on the shoulder, and tells you it’s five minutes to show time.

“Excuse me,” you nod, removing yourself from your current conversation and heading backstage.

You blow kisses to the band of nervous students, give them two thumbs up as cameras trailed behind you. “And . . . you’re on, [y/n].”

You stand up straight, hand your margarita off to a crew member, take in a deep breath. And walk. You march up to the podium, the bright lights beating down on you as you stand in front of the large crowd.

“Hello, everybody, welcome!” You announce, bringing the room to a gentle silence. “Thank you all so much for being here. I’m [y/n] [y/l/n], director and head of the ballet department here at New York University.”

You become flustered at the wave of applause, cheering the crowd and backstage. “Thank you, thank you so much. As a NYU alumni, there is truly nothing that makes me happier than to teach this extraordinary class of students. They’re focused, they’re determined, incredibly talented, and the best of the best. So, without further ado, I present to you the NYU ballet class of 2017, presenting a remastered rendition of their first performance in 2014.”

You exited the stage, the curtain behind you shielding the students that were already positioned in place. You stood backstage, watching them on screen, with your hands bound against your chest. The curtain was drawn, the music kicked up, and they went.

They move effortlessly, dare you say it . . . perfectly. In sync, and with a wide range of motion that rolled without a hitch. The crowd watched in awe, and you were right there along with them. Cameras focus on your face as you’re entranced by the class, and so immensely proud.

“They’re incredible,” you beam. “Aren’t they amazing?”

The full set took about half an hour, and when the curtain flies down, closing dramatically, you jump up and down, and run over to the group of kids who couldn’t wait to see you. The joy can be felt through the lense of every camera trained on you.

Their energy and excitement is putting you on cloud nine. Your own adrenaline is rushing, and pumping in your ears.

You let your guard down. You hand out kisses and hugs left and right, and step back in the crowd on a high, head empty, no thoughts. No feelings except for happiness and pride.

“That was incredible, [y/n], absolutely incredible.”

“Wonderful show!”

You were saying thank you faster than you could hear the accolades, caught in a rush of people passing you by.

You turn to see your students trailing behind you, shaking hands as they’re showered in praise. You grin at them, entirely consumed with elation by their looks of satisfaction, of relief, of relaxation and accomplishment.

You let your guard down.

You got comfortable.

“[y/n]!”

You let yourself slip.

“[y/n], [y/n]!” A hand is placed on your shoulder, causing you to turn around, a smile still plastered across your face.

“You know Matthew, right?” Your co-producer asked. “You guys graduated the same year?”

You nearly collide with him. You stop on the toe of your heels, and come to a screeching halt. Your eyes connect like magnets, the pull is strong and intense. Your breath catches in your throat, you smile fading along with your breath. You instantly begin to sweat under the light of the cameras, your skin heating up, your hands shaking.

“U—u—uh,” you stutter. “Yes! Hi!”

“Hi, [y/n]!” He exclaims, happily, opening his arms to give you a hug.

“Oh!” You gasp as he pulls you into his chest.

And he smells, so good. He’s grown, and it feels different holding his tall frame in your arms. But the embrace is quick, and brief, and he holds your shoulders in his palms as he speaks to you, “The show was amazing, blew me away!”

You’re expected to talk. You’re expected to breathe. But you’re left speechless by the scruff lining his jaw, the curl atop his head, the suit shaping his body, and topped off with a jet black bow tie.

“Thank you, thank you,” you ramble. “Thanks for coming, um, let’s catch up later,” you nod, to which he politely nods back, and clears a path for you to walk on by.

You let your guard down.

And now you can’t seem to catch your breath.

Your feet were killing you by the end of the night. You didn’t get to take a proper seat — without the cameras, and the crew, and the crowd, until nearly ten o’clock at night. As you were trying to regroup, Ramona found you hiding away in your dressing room, halfway asleep.

“[y/n]?” she taps your shoulder. You groggily lift your head, and look to her, “There’s a car waiting for you out back. It can take you home or to the hotel across the street. What do you think?”

“Mm,” you hum. “Hotel. Hotel is fine.”

The Lillian Hotel had been acquired specifically for tonight’s event. A cozy room, with an even cozier bed was waiting for you, calling your name. And after tonight, after day 5,629, it’s all you can think about.

You give Ramona a quick hug, and thank her for everything before you sneak out of the building. You take the back exit, avoiding an entanglement of people and paparazzi.

The atmosphere of the elegant hotel was much calmer. You were given the key to your room, and you turned on your heels to head to the elevators. Your shoes created an echo against the tile, and the sound suddenly silenced when you saw him. Waiting for the elevator.

“Matthew?” You call, timidly. The courage comes out of nowhere, flies out of your chest before you can catch it in your throat.

He stops in his tracks, and turns to you, holding the strap of his bag. “Hey!” he grins.

You give him a shy smile, as you let out a dry laugh and step closer to him.

His eyes darken, not noticeably, but just a little. He looks down at you, and you look up at him, and all you can say is . . .

“Matthew . . .” you clear your throat. “Thank you for coming tonight, and supporting the program, and for . . . being so professional about everything, I know it . . . couldn’t have been easy, I really appreciate it.”

His eyebrows furrow, only for a second, and his face almost goes blank. He looks down at his shoes, taps his foot as his mind swirls with words to say. But all he can is chuckle. Laugh.

“I knew you were gonna do this,” he says.

You tilt your head, “Do what?”

“This . . . think . . . think that what I did today had anything to do with you.”

“I—“ you stutter. “Okay . . .”

“I came tonight to see friends, to catch up, to visit New York. And I knew I would see you, and I knew . . . I knew you���d, I don’t know, expect me to fall to my knees the second I saw you. I can’t do that . . . I, personally, see no reason to do that. I acted professional, because I am professional, not to cushion your feelings.”

And although, he’s changed, he’s grown, he’s matured, and he’s a completely different person than when you saw him last, Matthew Gubler still knows how to make a dramatic exit.

He turns away from you and continues down the hall, boarding the elevator without looking back at you. You — who’s paralyzed, stuck, scared shitless. Standing in the foyer of the hotel lobby, wondering why you’re unable to move, to breathe, to keep your eyes from misting.

And back to day zero.

You knew for sure that you’d struggle to sleep. That Matthew’s word would eat at your gut and brain like a parasite, haunting you, rattling around your head. But, the second your head hits the pillow, you were out like a light.

And you dreamt of him instead.

The way he was 15 years ago.

The way he made you feel.

Bing, bing, bing!

“Huh!” You jolt awake, spasming out of your sleep violently. Suddenly, the sun had risen again, and it was burning your eyes through the windows.

Bing, bing, bing!

“What the—“ You sit up, rub your face, and anxiously search for your phone, wondering why you were being called so early in the morning.

Ramona’s name flashed upon the screen, and you swiped to accept her call. “Hello?”

“[y/n] . . .”

“Ramona . . .” you slur.

“Have you checked twitter this morning?”

“Tw — no? No, it’s . . . seven in the morning, of course I haven’t checked Twitter.”

“Check it.”

“Ra—“

“Check it!” She shouts.

You groan, and navigate to the Twitter app. “Oh . . . oh, I’m trending . . . that’s good, right?”

“Yeah, uh-huh, check who you’re trending with . . .”

“Okay . . .”

Clicking on your name, you instantly sat forward, your eyes going wide, “NO!”

TAGLIST:

@muffin-cup

@pinkdiamond1016

@ncsls0515

@spencersbed

@safertokiss

[nick-close]

I genuinely don’t think I am emotionally prepared for the dndads finale. I haven cried yet but I am already feeling that emptiness shit of my hyperfixation ending- like fuck. We just won’t see these guys again anymore, at least not as often or not in a big storyline. These characters that I have been hyperficated on are no longer going to have a story focused on them. FUCK.

I don’t think I will go to school tuesday. I might be sobbing for too long.

I literally can’t imagine my life without dndads. This is how I met so many great people. This is how I met my boyfriend ffs. Most of my development and inspiration as an artist is just me drawing these guys! I drew nick so much, Glenn was the only reason I started actually practicing anatomy and drawing like. Adult men. These characters gave me such self expression and really helped me though a lot of my own personal traumas and bullshit.

I owe a lot of shit to these stupid dads. Fuck I’ve been on the patreon almost as long as I’ve had Spotify. The cast gave me an interest in film. I found storybreak through dndads. Even this tumblr blog I’ve found so much fucking joy in making stupid posts about it that people like. I’ve written multiple fan songs! The roleplay server I was in literally shaped who I am as a person!!! Even just the last talking dads discussing their butterfly effect moments was such a huge comfort for me who’s undergoing so many changes rn (I’m a senior in high school). It makes everything feel a little bit smaller and a little bit more possible and I really owe a lot to that.

Ik Glenn is the only character I seem to talk about (looking at my blog name idk what u expected),,, but like. He really is the biggest comfort character I’ve really ever had. Ik he’s just a stupid fictional man who’s bad at talking about his feelings but. He’s also a character I care so incredibly deeply about. Maybe that’s projection though, either way. All these characters though have big comforts for me in some ways- even like.. atmod, I feel so much for those characters. Meryl especially.

Actually I’m doing a big ass school project on Sessue Hayakawa because that’s who Meryl was based on and it gave me a huge interest in him and his career. So even my school shit is changed by these motherfuckers.

Idk. I know we will get a season 2- but part of me is just anxious about it because I know for example, I was hyperfixated on naddpod but I really didn’t like campaign 2. It’s just personally not it for me. And I’m hoping so strongly that campaign 2 for dndads WILL hold up as much as I hope it does. I know all of these people are so incredibly talented and make such fun and interesting characters but,

I don’t know. I’m nervous. But hopeful. I genuinely do adore this cast and these characters. And I know they know what they’re doing- at least, when it comes it entertainment. Everything else is debatable-

So I guess I’ll just end this stupid rant with some stupid pretentious bullshit, like...

My highschool life has been made so much better because of this campaign. May my adult one be improved by the next.

Stupid, isn’t it?

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt for youuuu (they’re pulled from lists)

“Don’t you touch a hair on his head!”

For Lambden? 💗💗

this is especially for you because you're my K-Drama buddy

modern au - actor au - mutual pining - vaguely based on an episode of Boys Over Flowers

(this was written before I made my break announcement)

yes I made a poster for season 2 of a fake show

tw: blood mention (tv show special effects), injury (also special effects), depictions of fake angst with a real happy ending!

---

Aiden groaned, trying to muffle the half-involuntary sound by burying his face into the side of his enormous red wolf plushie. He sat back on the couch and crossed his legs beneath him, staring the toy wolf straight in the eyes.

“Good gods, Milly, what am I going to do with myself?” he whined. He tugged his hood up to cover his curls and pouted. “I can’t just waltz back onto the set and pretend I’m not head-over-heels for that stupid, sexy asshole. I may be an actor but I’m not that good.”

It was his first day back on the set of Love in the Wolf’s Den, and Aiden wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself; a side character coming back for an episode here or there was pretty normal but he had somehow become a fan favorite, so the writers invited him back to join the regular cast. Under normal circumstances it would have been a dream come true - Wolf’s Den had turned out to be the network’s largest commercial success in the last decade - but he was co-starring with his celebrity crush and that was turning out to be a bit of a problem.

Without really thinking about it, Aiden pulled up the video app on his phone and searched Wolf’s Den Leo Rescue Scene. When the all-too-familiar thumbnail appeared at the top of his search results he tapped it eagerly, perhaps a little too eagerly. He pulled his favorite fleece blanket over his head to make a half-hearted fort and zoned out, staring down at the back of his own head as the clip played on the tiny screen.

“I’ll never tell you where they’re hiding!” Aiden heard himself cry, voice hoarse. He’d been tied to a chair with his hands behind his back and his ankles fastened to either leg, leaving his legs slightly spread; the director had called it ‘innocently sexy’ and Aiden had unfortunately agreed. He spent the day focusing a Herculean amount of self-control on not embarrassing himself in front of Melitele, the cast, and everyone. On the screen the villain backhanded him, sending his head snapping to the side, brown curls bouncing rather majestically.

It had taken them ages to get that shot.

“Oh you’ll tell me everything I want to know, pretty kitty, or you’ll get much worse than a slap,” the villain, portrayed by the famous Cahir, sneered down at him. Cahir grabbed Aiden’s curly brown hair and Aiden winced in real life - that had actually hurt. “Nobody knows where you are. Nobody’s coming to your rescue, Leo. Give it up, kitty cat, and perhaps I’ll be kind enough to let you live.”

“Don’t you touch a hair on his head!” one of the three lead characters shouted as he kicked the warehouse door open. Aiden melted further back against the couch, sighing dreamily into the otherwise empty trailer as Lorenzo (depicted by the love of Aiden’s life, the apple of his eye, his sun moon and stars: Lambert O’Rory) raced to his side. Lorenzo pulled a knife from his pocket and waved it at the villain, eyes frantic. His hand rested firmly atop one of Aiden’s thighs and the Aiden watching the video remembered that sensation vividly.

The heat of Lambert’s hand had burned through the thin denim of Aiden’s acid-wash jeans and into the skin of his leg. Aiden had wondered - as he remained tied to the chair for the following three re-shoots of Lambert’s entrance - if there would be a perfect outline of the actor’s hand somehow imprinted there when he took his pants off later. Unfortunately it wasn’t there when he peeked. No marker remained to hint that Lambert’s hand had ever been there at all, even though the phantom sensation of that too-hot palm continued to haunt him over the summer filming break. Aiden bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head to clear it again: “Fuck.”

Someone knocked at his trailer door and Aiden practically threw his phone across the trailer in surprise. He bounced to his feet and grabbed the counter when one foot got stuck in his blanket, nearly tripping him to the floor. “Sorry, it’s unlocked! Come on in!”

Aiden was just pulling his hood back away from his face when none other than Lambert O’Rory himself poked his head in through the door with a grin, “Hey! Good to see you again, Aiden. Heard from Jask that you’re going to be a regular this season.”

“Uh, yeah,” Aiden nodded, swiping a lock of dark hair behind his ear and fiddling with the ringlet nervously. “I hope you don’t mind!”

“Well honestly I was coming to check in and hear how you were feeling about it,” Lambert admitted. He was rubbing one hand up and down the back of his neck looking almost nervous about something. His long coppery hair shone like a crown in the early morning light and Aiden wanted nothing more than to reach out and run his fingers through it; his burgeoning daydream was interrupted when Lambert said, “I hope you’re alright with the direction they’re taking our characters and our, uh… relationship.”

“Wha- huh?” Aiden blinked stupidly. He’d been so distracted by the thought of seeing Lambert again that he’d totally forgotten to see if the Script Manager had his Pages ready yet. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, well…” Lambert half-grinned. “I hope you don’t mind being my love interest.”

Aiden can only nod and send a quick thank you to whichever god grants wishes to foolish B-list actors.

"It'll be nice to have a friend on set," Lambert added. "I won't have to watch Geralt and Jaskier make out while I try to eat lunch."

"Are they really that affectionate all the time? I thought they just turned it up for the tabloids."

"Oh no... it's terrible. But their on-screen chemistry is honest."

"Yeah..." Aiden thought about the way Lambert had cradled his 'unconscious' body against that strong, broad chest at the end of last season, sobbing for him to wake up after an accident knocked him out. "Maybe we can outshine them this season, really shake up the ratings."

"You think?" Lambert asked, leaning into Aiden's space.

Aiden squeaked and blushed an even brighter shade of pink. "Maybe."

Lambert grinned wolfishly - appropriate, Aiden thought - and turned away towards the set. "See you later, babe."

"Yeah," Aiden muttered, heart palpitating dangerously in his chest. The whole world felt tipped sideways in a wonderful, glorious way. "Later."

[falcqns]

Ever Since New York

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: You find out about a family death on set of The Witcher, and Henry comforts you. 

Warnings: Mentions of death, comfort, fluff

A/N: I based this off of what the song is about (Harry finding out his stepdad is dying in NY) and my personal experience and feelings when my Opa passed away in August. Hope you enjoy!

Tell me something, tell me something You don't know nothing, just pretend you do

You knew it was coming.

You knew that your grandfather had been fighting cancer for a few years, and you knew he was going to pass away. 

Your mom had told you months before you began working on The Witcher that your grandparents had made the decision to stop all treatments, and to let him pass at home, where he’d be most comfortable.

That didn't make those months any easier. Every time your dads phone would ring, your whole body would be on edge, praying that it wasn't the call.

Your mom had called you earlier in the day to tell you that he was in his final hours, and all you wanted to do was sit at home, and cry. You weren’t going to make it home in time, and there was nothing you could do but wait for the call.

You had made it to set, and had your AirPods in, blaring your favourite music, in hopes that no one would talk to you. Your co stars didn’t need to know what was happening, at least not yet. You didn't need the pity looks, and the constant asking if you were okay. You didn’t.

I need something, so tell me something new Choose your words 'cause there's no antidote

When Henry walked in the makeup trailer, he knew something was off with you.

You looked exhausted. Your eyes were red and puffy, so was your nose. Your hair was in a pony tail, you had headphones in with music blaring, and you didn’t smile at him when he entered.

He said hello to you, and you gave him a tight lipped smile, before turning back to your phone. 

Throughout the few hours the two of you were in there, he took notice of how you’d jump, and take a deep breath before looking whenever your phone vibrated. 

You finished before him, and you scurried off without a word, your phone still in your hand.

For this curse Oh, what's it waiting for?

Normally, you’d hang out on set with Anya and Freya while they filmed, but today you were missing.  The only time they’d see you was during scenes you were in, before you rushed off set once the director said that they finished.

You hid in your trailer, only talking to your assistant occasionally, to hand your phone over before filming. 

Honestly, it looked like you were barely functioning. You hadn't been to craft at all, you hadn’t talked to anyone, you hadn’t smiled unless you were filming and had to, and even then, your smile didn’t reach your eyes. 

Even during filming, you didn’t seem totally there.

Everyone was concerned.

Must this hurt you just before you go? Every time your phone would go off, you’d be on the verge of tears, thinking that was it. Even though you knew that the news would come in the form of a phone call. 

Your mom kept you updated on his condition throughout the day. He was going up and down, sometimes he’d be moments away from passing, and others he seemed stable. Every time his condition dipped, you were suddenly aware of every thing. Every heartbeat, every breath, every bird chirping. 

You felt like Clark Kent before relearned to hone his senses, and it overwhelmed you. 

Brooklyn saw me, empty at the news There's no water inside this swimming pool

When the call finally came, you were alone. 

You had a break in filming and was planning on going back to your trailer and watching some Buzzfeed Unsolved to take your mind off of it.

But, when you closed the door to your trailer, your phone went off, and you knew. This was it.

You answered, and steeled yourself for the words to come out of your moms mouth.

“I’m sorry honey, He’s gone.” Was all she said, her voice laced with tears as well.

You didn’t hear a word after that. The tears poured down your face in streams, and you couldn't breathe. No sound came out of your closed mouth.

Eventually, you heard your mom say she’d let you go and grieve, that she had to call your siblings and tell them, and that she loved you. Then the line went dead, and you were alone.

You dropped your phone against the bed, your head fell into your hands, and you began to sob.

He was gone, a d you didn't even get to say good bye.

Almost over, had enough from you And I've been praying, I never did before

Henry had a feeling that something had happened, and he should check on you. 

The director yelled cut, and he all but ran off set to your trailer.

He didn’t bother knocking, and just barged in. His heart broke at the scene in front of him.

You were on your bed, your arms wrapped around your shins, your head in your knees which were pressed against your chest.

“Y/N?” He whispered out, before sitting next to you. He wrapped an arm around your trembling body. “What’s wrong?” You shook your head, begging him to leave, although you knew he wouldn't.

He took a deep breath, and pulled you into his lap, his arms coming around you to hold you securely. He wasn’t going to let go until you were okay again.

“Honey, talk to me, please? We’re all worried about you,” He said into your hair.

You didn’t say anything, and his arms tightened around you.

Understand I'm talking to the walls I've been praying ever since New York

Eventually, your sobs turned to sniffles, and you began to talk, your head buried in his chest.

You told him everything. You told him that he had been fighting for years. That he had been in and out of the hospital for months. That you were the only one of his 4 oldest grandchildren that came to visit him. That the last memory you have of him is him laying in a hospital bed, on his way to remission. That his conditioned dropped dramatically a few months ago, and you weren’t allowed to visit him anymore, due to the hospitals restrictions with his condition. That you hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

He sat and listened, letting you get it all out. Once you did, he laid you on the bed, and pulled your uncomfortable costume off, and putting the blanket over you. He pulled his armour off, and climbed in with you. He pulled you into his arms, and rubbed your back, as you fell asleep.

Once you were asleep, he pulled out his phone and dialled Lauren’s phone number.

“Hey, Henry, what's up?” Her cheery voice said on the other end.

Henry glanced at you before speaking. “Y/N isn’t going to be able to finish today,” He said.

“What? Why?” She questioned.

“She just had a family member pass away, and she is not okay at all. She’s with me, but she’s not going to be able to film.” He heard Lauren sigh in sadness. “Oh man, that sucks. Okay, I’ll let the director know. Can you stay with her? Make sure she gets home alright?”      

“Of course. Thank you,” He said. Lauren said her goodbyes, and they hung up.

Henry let you sleep a little longer, before gently coaxing you awake.

“Hey, sweet girl, let’s get up, okay?” He whispered, and you nodded.

“D-do I have a scene?” You asked, and he shook his head.

“I called Lauren and got you and I out of filming for the rest of the day. I’m going to take you home, and take care of you, okay?”

You nodded once more, before taking your sweatpants and t shirt off of the bedside table, where you’d put them this morning.

Henry left the room to let you get dressed, and you came out moments later, your costume in hand. You placed it back on the hook in the closet for costuming to collect later.

Henry helped you gather up your things, and you two headed out. You stopped at Henry’s trailer to grab Kal and his things, before heading out again.

Your car was in the shop, so you had Ubered. You sat in the passenger seat of Henry’s BMW, with Kal climbing in the back, and Henry into the drivers seat.

Tell me something, tell me something

You led Henry and Kal into your apartment, and he instructed you to go lay on the couch.

Henry walked into the kitchen after making sure you laid down. He had been to your apartment quite a bit, and knew where you kept everything. Anya and Freya had told him that you hadn’t eaten all day, and he knew you were starving.

He cut you up some cheese, grapes, strawberries, added crackers and dried cranberries to your plate, and poured you some milk, while also grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge.

He made his way into the living room, where you were laying. You had turned on the TV, and was watching Harry Potter.

“Sit up, okay?” He said, and you complied. He sat down, and put the plate of food on the table before wrapping his arms around you again. He motioned for Kal to lay at your feet. 

You slowly began to eat the food he had prepared for you, and focused on the movie. 

The two of you sat there for a few hours, and enjoyed each others company.

He cooked you dinner, took you on a walk with Kal, and gave you lots of cuddled whenever you became upset again, letting you cry it out.

You don't know nothing, just pretend you do Tell me something just before you go

Henry had helped you get ready for bed, and watched as you climbed in. 

Before he could move, you asked him a question. “Can you stay with me tonight?”      

He nodded, and climbed on the other side. He pulled you into his arms again, and you were asleep in seconds.

He gazed down at you, and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. 

He hated that you were so heartbroken, but he knew there was little he could do other than to help you through it, and support you.

Today may have been awful, and the next few weeks were going to be as well, but you know it’ll be fine as long as you had Henry.

Oh, tell me something I don't already know

[aki-draws-things]

Whumptober 2021

Prompt: 02. Talking is overrated

Fandom: MCU

Ship: winterhawk

Extra: tw coma

An anon asked for some winterhawk... Well, here some.. It's not much, but I hope you might like it... 💖

Bucky knew pain, he had lived a long life, and even when his mind wasn't his anymore he knew pain. It was a constant, one he did not want, but a constant nevertheless.

He knew it from nazi's torture, he knew it from falling, from his missing arm and from the scar around the new arm, over his shoulder. He knew the pain from the Chair, from surfacing memories and repressed feelings. And he knew how to inflict pain too. Any concept of pain, Bucky was, unfortunately, aware of.

But that pain, that day, was worse than anything before.

The sky was falling, raining fire like an apocalypse from some film. Of course it wasn't literal fire, it was from some crazy spaceship of some crazy alien. He'd never get used to it. He said the same about Clint Barton and his continuous talking over the comms. It didn't take long for bucky to realize he talked through a sub-frequency, linked to Bucky's comms only. He wanted to groan, to reprimand him, tell him to concentrate on the fight, no, it wasn't a good time to ask him out, goddamn!

Clint laughed and Bucky felt his heart skip a beat. No, not in battle, stay focused.

"but if I asked another time, you'd say yes?"

"I said not now, Barton. There are aliens trying to invade us."

"Yup, darling, can see them. Just arrowed three of them. Gotta get that arrow back though, I can't risk running out, can I?"

Bucky didn't imagine him winking, why should he--- actually, could people wink with they're voice? Because that definitely sounded like Barton winked at him, and it was getting distracting.

"you still haven't answered." Clint said again. Bucky could hear fights in the background from the comms, soft yelling, and thus and--

"--shit."

What? What now?

"Barton?"

He didn't get an answer at first, he tried to ignore the dreadful feeling building up in his stomach, cold and dark. An arrow passed right next to his cheek, it barely grazed him and Bucky turned, following it and seeing how it flew through the open armor, and I'm the head of a second alien behind the first. Both of them too close to Bucky, and he didn't notice them. He thought of blaming Clint for that, him and his distracting talks, but Clint was the one who saved him so--

Something crashed behind him, it crashed loudly and without a human sound but the breaking of bones.

Bucky was aware if many types of pain, psychological and physical ones, but this one was new, and worse. He felt his own heart drop at the sight, broken limps bended unnaturally, blood pooling around the head, drenching the suit on the chest, trickling from his lips, and nose, and ears, down his chin and neck. Bucky dropped on his knees next to the body and suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear that annoying voice through his comms. Silence was-- cold. Cold like the cryo freeze hydra kept putting him into. Cold as the snow when he fell, cold as--

"hey Buck... Are those tears?" he gasped, and sobbed, looking ag the barely opened eyes. It was a miracle he was alive, but there he was, and yes. Yes, of course he was crying.

"what were you thinking? Saving me and falling down a building? Again? What's wrong with you and buildings?"

He brushed his hand over the cheek, hoping that wouldn't hurt him, where could he touch the archer without causing more pain, actually?

"eh... Not lucky." Clint stretched a smile, frowned, and squeezed his eyes when the smallest movement caused a burst of pain through his skull. His most definitely fractured skull. He slowed his breathing and bucky wasn't sure he did it on purpose, as training or if his body was just giving up. He hoped-- no, he didn't dare to hope.

"wouldn't answer me. - Clint muttered, and bucky almost burst out an answer, like that would magically make everything alright, heal him, save him. - I thought... Showing you I'm serious would work better. Actions are louder."

Your bones hitting the ground were definitely loud, bucky almost said. He didn't.

"doesn't matter..." a hand brushed bucky's cheek, wiped the tears away, some bones were still intact then... Little consolation. He grabbed the hand, held it carefully in his. "'m jus' glad you alright." he slurred, his eyes closing, laying still as bucky tried to wake him again, as he screamed and begged. As he whispered that yes, yes he would go on a date with him, but only if he could pick the place.

Only if Clint woke up again.

"Bucky..."

"no." Bucky's voice sounded almost threatening, he knew what Steve was about to say, and they were alone in the room, how easily could he jump at him and shut him up. How easily his neck could snap if he dated to say it again.

"bucky, just listen to me... You can't lock yourself here, you need to get out, sleep, have a proper meal, a bath."

Bucky growled, he pointed at the bed, with enough room for him to curl into, at the tray and empty plate on the table, Natasha came four times every day with food and coffee, and milk, and anything bucky may ask her, at the bathroom door, there wasn't a bathtub, but he always liked showers better.

Steve sighed, that approach was unbreachable, and he couldn't disagree with Bucky's answer, he indeed had everything he needed.

"buck... Look, I know, I understand."

"do you? Is your pretty lover in a coma after saving your ass? Don't think so cause he's staring at me from the door. No Stevie, you do not understand."

He wouldn't make a scene. He could, and he knew some people that would help him clean up after and ask no questions, but no, he wouldn't. He was... Better.

"it's been three months, Buck. Tony said--"

"I don't care what Stark said! I don't. You get him off of that and he--"

He stopped, froze, trembled, hands closed in tight fists that almost collided with Rogers' face. He couldn't even say it, let alone imagine what would be, what would happen.

"he's gone already."

"get out."

"Buck... You should let him go."

"Get. Out. Steve."

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry Buck..."

"OUT!"

His metal hand collided with the wall and he locked the door.

"you said actions were louder than words..." bucky murmured, his fingers brushing gently over the knuckles of the hand on his lap, he ignored the woman moving quietly on the other side of the bed, checking machines and vitals, humming quietly under her breath.

"a very loud action would be waking up... That wouldn't speak, clint... That would scream. And I'd take you screaming everyday if it means being at your side."

The woman left the bed with a last check to the IV line, she put a hand on bucky's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"you're not wrong, Winter." she said smiling down at him. "talking is indeed overrated most times, but I reckon it can make a difference sometimes. Times like that. So... You know, keep talking, call him back home." she pressed a kiss to his temple before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

"heard Jen? Clint... Clint you need to come home. Come home, so I can answer you. You pick the place, you've earned it, just--please."

[dinosaurtsukki]

❀ nostalgia | “i haven’t seen you since the day we...broke up” feat. kuroo tetsurou

⇢ day 3 of angstcember

⇢ synopsis: airports aren’t really a place where people linger around but you find yourself unable to leave quite yet and face a new chapter in your life. even more so when you run into kuroo, your ex-boyfriend, whose flight has been delayed

⇢ a/n: this is probably my fave so far because i love flashbacks and nostalgia-themed fics. also partially inspired by this movie i watched about two strangers who got stuck in an airport and grew closer. hope you guys like this!

⇢ pairing: kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

⇢ word count: 2.6k words

ANGSTCEMBER MASTERLIST (feat. haikyuu!! and bungou stray dogs)

━━━━━━━━✿ ━━━━━━━━

kuroo tetsurou wasn’t a fan of being stuck in airports. actually, he wasn’t a fan of being stuck anywhere and having to be idly wait for something. kenma liked to say that it was karma because he kept using that ‘we are the blood that keeps the ball in motion blah blah’ back in high school. he kind of wish he could be like his best friend who was content with waiting for long stretches of time as long as he had his phone or game console.

kuroo sighed as he sat down in the waiting area, pulling his suitcase next to his feet. he already had his lunch and walked around the airport twice, browsing the shops selling overpriced local goods and a few amenities like massage chairs and spas. kuroo pulled out his phone to scroll through social media for a bit only to get bored of that too and glance at his watch repeatedly. there were eight more hours left until his flight. kuroo wished he didn’t have to travel to whole other country for the first time one his own.

little did he know, he was about to get company soon.

...

your flight had arrived at the airport early, way too early for your liking. after piling your luggage on one of the carts in the airport, you idled at the baggage reclaiming area, unable to walk to where departures was. ‘what are you so afraid of? you’ve been waiting to come home for so long,’ you scolded yourself.

a few minutes into your waiting time, you received a call from your mother asking about your flight. you bit your thumbnail anxiously as you talked to her and you don’t know what came over you, but you ended up saying: “sorry, my flight hasn’t left yet.” 

“it’s delayed?” 

“yeah, sorry. i probably won’t be at the airport until night there.” 

“alright. maybe you can find something to do. give us a call when you’re at the airport already.” 

“sure, mom. goodbye,” you said before hanging up. now, with some fresh time to kill, you pushed your luggage around the airport. it had been years since you were last in japan. in fact, this was the very airport you left for the US from. while walking around, you tried to remember if the same shops and stalls were still there. ‘nothing much has changed,’ you thought with a smile, wheeling your luggage cart into what appeared to be a waiting area that had a television and some armchairs. 

you were making your way to one of the chairs when you realized that there was something strangely familiar about the man sitting in that area. he was wearing a gray, business suit and sitting on the chair with a foot propped up on his knee. what struck you most was his hair, black and sticking out it in different directions, when you realized who it belonged to.

“kuroo... tetsurou?” you said aloud. and, at the sound of your voice, he turned to see you.

...

“y/n?”

kuroo couldn’t believe his eyes. here you were, in the airport of all places, with an expression on your face that matched his. you had changed quite a bit since he last saw you but, your eyes, your lips, your face, kuroo couldn’t possibly forget any of those. 

“it’s really you,” he chuckled, standing up and going over to you. 

“yeah, likewise,” you smiled, eyeing him up and down. you’ve never seen kuroo in a business suit and quite frankly, he looked really good. 

“i haven’t seen you since the day we... broke up,” kuroo said, eyes softening as he remembered the painful memory.

“that’s because i hopped onto a plane the day after,” you shrugged a shoulder. 

“ah, right.”

“well, how have you been?” you asked, to ease the awkwardness. “never thought i’d see you in a suit.”

“right? it was weird at first but now it feels like a second skin,” kuroo chuckled. “i work for the japan volleyball association.” 

“no kidding? that’s amazing!” you grinned. “i always knew you couldn’t get away from volleyball.”

“i may not be in a team but it still is fun. and how about you? you’re the one who moved all the way to new york!” kuroo asked.

“well, it wasn’t easy,” you shook your head. “it’s a pretty long story actually.”

unlike kuroo, you were more familiar with airports and traveling from country to country. you didn’t mind lingering in airports, in fact, you enjoyed them quite a bit. you found out that airports were quite similar to each other, no matter what country they were in. furthermore, time always seemed to vary among different people who were either rushing to their next flight or waiting to get to their next destination, wherever it was. 

it felt like some strange form of fate that you would meet kuroo, of all people, in the airport, of all places.

“funny thing is, my flight has been delayed,” kuroo chuckled. “so, i have eight hours to kill.”

“is that so?” you cocked your head and smiled, “i happen to have time to kill too.”

...

“a little bit to the left.” 

“y/n, you just told me to move to the right.” 

“but you moved too much to the right!” you pouted, putting your hands on your hips. kuroo was helpless to that pout so he moved half an inch to the right. you grinned, and crouched down to peer through your video camera.

“alright, perfect! now, just say your lines.” 

as tired as kuroo was, he’d do anything for you and that meant being cast in more than a few of your short films. particularly now that you were trying to put together a portfolio to attend film school abroad. 

“everything alright?” kuroo asked, creeping into your room with a mug of your favorite tea. your hair was a mess and the sweatshirt you were wearing -- kuroo’s sweatshirt -- looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. 

“have i told you how much i hate editing?” you murmured, eyes still focused on the screen.

“once or twice,” kuroo placed the mug on your desk and ran a hand through your hair. you sighed at the touch, leaning back against the chair. 

“i just wish it would magically become like what’s in my head, you know?” you sighed. 

“well, maybe whoever’s looking through your portfolio will just be impressed by my amazing acting,” kuroo joked.

“you’re acting is just alright!” you laughed, looking up and pulling kuroo closer to press his forehead against yours. “i really hope i get in.”

“you’ll do amazing, love,” kuroo murmured, pressing kisses on your forehead. “i just know it.

...

“so, that’s how i ended up with the job!” you exclaimed. you and kuroo had migrated from the waiting area to a small cafe that served really good coffee and cakes.

“amazing! who would have thought a lot more emailing was going to do the trick?” kuroo clapped his hands.

“well, you were the one who taught me how to be persistent in the first place,” you smiled at him before sipping your tea. blackberry tea, still evidently your favorite. kuroo smiled wistfully as he remembered the mugs of tea he’d make and bring to your room whenever he knew you were stressed. he even kept a metal can of blackberry tea in his apartment and when you left, he didn’t know what to do with it. in fact, kuroo had stashed it in the very back of the kitchen cabinet because seeing it reminded him too much of you.

“i’m glad that still stuck with you,” kuroo smiled up at you. 

“how about you? you didn’t completely forget about me, did you?” you joked.

“you? never.” 

you bit your lip at the soft way kuroo said that. of course, kuroo wasn’t the type who easily forgot people. despite how good he was at provoking and annoying people, you knew kuroo was just one of the kindest, most loyal people you would ever meet. 

“in fact,” kuroo leaned back in his chair. “i still do my laundry the way you taught me how.” 

“really? with putting your socks in a laundry net so it wouldn’t get lost?” you laughed. kuroo, raised his pant leg, showing off his socks.

“i’ve had these since university days,” he boasted.

“oh, i think i remember those even!” you played along. kuroo laughed, the sound bringing you back to so many nights spent watching movies and eating cereal at three in the morning. after the break-up, remembering all of those only made you want to burst into tears so you spent a long time trying to bury them in your memory. but after a while, when you thrusted yourself into your new life in a different country pursuing your dreams, thinking back to the good times with kuroo didn’t hurt so much. it was bittersweet, actually.

...

“but... i thought--” 

“i know, kuroo, i know,” you sighed, blinking hard and looking up at the ceiling. this was a conversation you’ve been wanting to avoid for weeks. after receiving your application letter and the celebration, you were hit with the realization that maybe your relationship with kuroo couldn’t continue. and what’s more, kuroo kept on talking about how you guys were going to work with the long-distance. you had to break it to him.

“just think about it, okay?” you pleaded. “i’m going to be gone for a long time. even when i do have breaks in between semesters, i’ll probably have to work jobs in between to help pay for living expenses. if we did do the long-distance thing, we wouldn’t even have the time or effort to put into our relationship anymore.”

“i’m willing to!” kuroo exclaimed, his eyes wide and desperate. “i don’t mind waiting for weeks in between calls. i don’t mind that i won’t see you in person for years. i’m willing to work with this because i know you’ll be out there chasing after your dream!”

“kuroo...” you choked back a sob. how could you think of breaking up with him after hearing all that? you were never going to find another man like him. 

but, you wanted other things too.

“i’m sorry, kuroo,” you shook your head. “but, i don’t think i’d be willing to continue with that.”

“y/n, you promised,” kuroo said softly. “you said--” 

“kuroo, it’s easy to promise things when you don’t how it will all turn out in the end.” 

“so that’s it then?” his voice turned cold. 

“we can still be friends--”

“i don’t think so,” kuroo cut you off. “you probably wouldn’t want to put effort in that either.” 

...

“so, are we... going to talk about it?”

“i think the day was pretty much heading to that,” you admitted. after spending a good part of the day talking and walking around the airport, you and kuroo were leaning against a railing, looking down below at the people hurrying to buy their tickets or meeting their loved ones. in a way, you and kuroo felt distant; alienated from the rushing crowd

“i... what i did and said was completely unfair,” kuroo apologized. “at that time, i was upset because all i was thinking about was what i wanted and when that didn’t align with yours, i just told myself that you were the selfish one. and, for that, i’m sorry.”

“it’s alright,” you smiled, looking at the genuine expression on kuroo’s face. 

“i really convinced myself that we were going to last but i guess i was being naive about it,” he chuckled.

“you’re not the only one. i also thought that too for a time but,” you shrugged and looked down at the sea of people below. “life happens.” 

“life happens.” 

“hey, isn’t it almost your flight already?” you asked, looking up at kuroo who checked his watch again. 

“yeah, half an hour actually,” kuroo said regretfully. “what about yours?”

“i... don’t have one,” you finally confessed. “i got off my flight earlier today and i was supposed to be picked up but, i kind of chickened out with leaving the airport and then i ran into you.”

“how come? are you running away from something?” kuroo asked, leaning against the railing next to you.

“well, more like avoiding something. when i step out of this airport, i’ll be heading into a completely new chapter of my life,” you said, staring into the distance before turning to glance at kuroo. then, you held out your hand to him.

kuroo finally noticed what had been pretty much in front of him all along: the ring on your finger. ‘oh,’ he realized, being unable to tear his gaze away from it. 

“i... didn’t notice.”

“i kind of didn’t want you to,” you admitted, taking your hand back. “i feel like you wouldn’t have hung out with me for this long if you knew. so, i guess we’re even when it comes to being selfish.”

“i would have been taken aback a bit,” kuroo agreed. “but, i don’t think i’d really miss out on an opportunity to talk to you.”

“really? i’m glad,” you said earnestly, feeling your chest swell again. “in all honesty, i don’t think i’d feel this okay right now if i hadn’t run into you.”

“likewise. i’m glad to see you again, y/n,” kuroo said, glancing one last time at the ring on your finger. “so, who’s the lucky guy?” he grinned.

“i met him at work,” you felt yourself flush. “it’s funny, actually. we didn’t get along at all at first but, one thing led to another and we ended up together. he’s really sweet, a bit of a nerd to be honest, and,” you shrugged, “he makes me feel loved.” you paused and reached over to squeeze kuroo’s hand.

“if i hadn’t met you, i wouldn’t have known that i deserved to be loved this much.” 

...

your fiancee texted you a few minutes later and kuroo absolutely insisted, despite your protests, to walk you to the exit. there was a strange feeling in his chest, a feeling of tightness that was slowly dissipating, and kuroo could only chalk that up to the revelation that you were engaged.

once again, he had hoped that day that meeting you here at the airport was some kind of special, destined event that was hopefully going to reignite what was lost in the past. in the end, it was a special, destined event, just not the kind kuroo had hoped for.

it hurt, almost as much as your break-up, but kuroo knew he would be able to manage it.

“well, this is me,” you smiled, turning back to him. “it was so good to see you, kuroo. really.” 

“you too,” he nodded, pausing awkwardly, before deciding to spread his arms as an invitation for you to hug him. you laughed and leaned forward, allowing yourself to be engulfed by his arms. for a minute, you remembered standing in the middle of his apartment, wearing kuroo’s sweatshirt again. 

“i’m happy for you, y/n. i truly am,” kuroo whispered.

“me too,” you leaned back. “we got everything we wanted.” just, not each other, kuroo added as an afterthought.

“take care!” you waved, pushing your luggage cart to where your fiancee was parked. kuroo watched from a distance as your fiancee stepped out of his car and greeted you with a hug and a kiss, before helping place your luggage in the trunk. for a moment, kuroo had a vision of him being the one greeting you at the airport, saying something like ‘welcome home, y/n,’ but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

this encounter with you in the airport had already become a part of his past.

kuroo picked up his luggage again, dragging it behind him as he walked back into the airport. it was late and he still had a flight to catch. 

━━━━━━━━✿ ━━━━━━━━

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[sokkastyles]

Azula and the Mirror

In film, mirrors are used for moments of reflection, obviously, both the physical and emotional kind, but they are also used for moments of deceit, deception, dejection, juxtaposition, contrast and comparison, distortion, delusion, breaking down and breaking through. A persona is never more vulnerable, nor stronger, than when it is staring at itself, and the visual power of these moments have been used in cinematic narratives beginning at the dawn of the medium and continuing to the present day. (source)

It might seem obvious, but mirrors used in film and television have a wealth of meaning, and present a visually striking way to get that meaning across. Mirrors show us who we really are, but they also show us what we want to see. Therefore a mirror can be a symbol of both truth and lies.

This scene in “Sozin’s Comet” is one of the most memorable Azula scenes because of the use of the visual imagery to tell us the story of who Azula is, and it’s one of the most clear pictures we get of her in the entire series. Perhaps Azula is also seeing herself for the first time, but it’s also a moment when she’s at her most self-deluded. Confronted with both the reality of herself and the lie that she desperately clings to.

I think that, more than anything, Azula craves authenticity. Her brother Zuko does, too, and I’ll make a separate post as a follow up to this one because I want to avoid going off on a tangent. I’ll keep this post focused on Azula, although since Azula is an essential part of Zuko’s narrative, it’s hard to talk about them entirely separately. So I am going to cheat a little bit here and talk about what Zuko says about Azula, since it’s one of our biggest introductions to her before we actually meet her.

Zuko (to Aang): There's always something. Not that you would understand. You're like my sister. Everything always came easy to her. She's a firebending prodigy, and everyone adores her. My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born.

Zuko puts Azula up on a pedestal here, although it’s one that also comes with a lot of resentment. Zuko defines Azula as everything that he is not, successful where he is not, and adored where he is not. The latter is particularly interesting because although we do get a sense that Azula is “adored,” it is most likely in a shallow way. I think Azula would absolutely be the popular girl in school but she wouldn’t have very many real friends. What she would have is power and status, like many bullies do, and that might be enough to gain her a following, as it does in canon, but it’s clear that this is not enough, and I think that she’s beginning to realize it.

Azula believes in the image of herself as the perfect princess, and several other people in her life reinforce this. Ozai, Zuko, Mai and Ty Lee, Li and Lo. By the end she loses them all, though, and is left with the one person who did see her for who she was. Ironically, this is the one person she does not want to see, because this is the reflection of herself that she does not want to see.

There are several different parts of Azula at play here. The image she presents to others, the image she wishes she could present, and the image of herself that she denies.

The image she presents to others is the one Zuko talks about in “The Siege of the North.” The powerful princess who can’t even have just one hair out of place.

The person Azula wishes she coulbe, the part of herself that craves authenticity but doesn’t know how to get it, is on full display in “The Beach.”

Azula demanding to be invited to a party that Ty Lee and Mai get asked to tells us a lot about how Azula sees her friendship with the latter two. It shows Azula’s jealousy of their social skills but also her need for control in her relationships. Even before the rift between the three really starts, we get a sense that Ty Lee and Mai aren’t as fully in Azula’s corner as she thinks they are. Azula thinks that fear and control are enough to gain her friends and allies. Deep down, she knows that this is not true, however she does not know another way to be. But the party provides an opportunity to try and embrace this authentic self that she craves.

Zuko: Why didn't you tell those guys who we were?

Azula: I guess I was intrigued. I'm so used to people worshiping us.

Ty Lee: They should.

Azula: Yes, I know, and I love it. But, for once, I just wanted to see how people would treat us if they didn't know who we were.

Zuko’s question to Azula is really interesting, too, and I’ll talk about that and Zuko’s perspective in another post, because I want to keep the focus on Azula here. Azula masks her desire for authenticity in haughtiness, saying that she’s “used to” being worshipped and reinforcing Ty Lee’s comment that they should worship her them, and that she loves it, but it’s clear that what she really wants is to be liked for who she is, or rather, who she might be if she were not Ozai’s daughter, princess of the Fire Nation.

This is also shown in Azula’s jealousy of Ty Lee during the party.

Ty Lee: What? You're jealous of me? But you're the most beautiful, smartest, perfect girl in the world.

Azula: Well, you're right about all those things. But, for some reason, when I meet boys, they act as if I'm going to do something horrible to them.

I’ve seen a lot of discussion of this conversation in the context of Azula’s relationship with Ty Lee, and a lot of people cite this as a sympathetic moment for Azula or an indication that she really does care for Ty Lee, although I tend to be less charitable in that regard, since Azula just told Ty Lee that boys only liked her because she was “easy” and made her cry. For me, this scene really highlights the toxic nature of the relationship between Azula and Ty Lee, where Azula boosts her self esteem by bringing Ty Lee down. Azula does admit her jealousy of Ty Lee, and some people read this as Azula comforting Ty Lee, but 1) Azula is the one who made Ty Lee cry in the first place, and 2) Ty Lee is then put in the position of comforting Azula and assuaging Azula’s jealousy, even though Azula is the one who made Ty Lee cry. This is reminiscent of a lot of abusive relationships in which the abuser will harm their victim and then twist the narrative so that the victim has to be responsible for comforting the abuser. Ty Lee knows what is expected of her in this dynamic, and responds by reaffirming Azula’s need to be seen as perfect, Azula agrees, and all is restored in the world again.

Except Azula still craves that authenticity. When she tries it, though, she gets Ty Lee’s advice hilariously wrong, and resorts back to what she knows. Conqueror Azula. Princess of the Fire Nation. Perfect weapon.

There are a lot of moments that people point to in “The Beach” when they analyze Azula, but here’s the moment which I think is really Azula at her most authentic.

Azula: Well, those were wonderful performances, everyone.

Zuko: I guess you wouldn't understand, would you, Azula? Because you're just so perfect.

Azula: Well, yes, I guess you're right. I don't have sob stories like all of you. I could sit here and complain how our mom liked Zuko more than me, but I don't really care. My own mother thought I was a monster. She was right, of course, but it still hurt.

I’m going to take a slightly different approach than what I usually see when people talk about this scene because I do think this is when we are finally seeing a glimpse of Azula’s authentic self, but not in the way a lot of people who discuss her think.

I’ve talked about how Azula presents a mask to others. Here, she calls Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee’s emotional confessions about their deepest trauma “performances.” She uses Zuko’s confession to reinforce her place as the golden sibling, calling him “pathetic.” Zuko expresses resentment and anger at “perfect” Azula. And then Azula reveals a sob story of her own.

Azula in this scene shows deep-seated anger towards her mother, which she tries to play off flippantly, but her words reveal how deep this trauma actually is. She says her own mother thought she was a monster. Do I think that this is a reflection of what Ursa thought about Azula? Absolutely not, and I think what has to be remembered about this scene is that it comes from Azula herself. This scene, plus the mirror scene in “Sozin’s Comet” involving Azula and her mother, both originate from Azula’s thoughts and feelings about her mother. We will never know what Ursa herself really, truly thought about Azula, because all we get from her is either from Zuko or Azula’s perspective. These statements and thoughts and visions from Azula are meant to tell us about Azula, not Ursa. This is not, as the “Ursa is a bad mother” crowd insists, proof that Ursa hated Azula. This is what Azula thinks about herself.

We know that Ursa did scold Azula and try to steer her on a correct path, but that’s because Azula was acting in increasingly worrying ways in the flashbacks. The young Azula we see in “Zuko Alone” had already begun to build her Perfect Princess image, modelled after what Ozai expected her to be, and what Ozai expected her to be was both infallible and monstrous.

And a part of Azula knows that what Ozai expected of her was monstrous. But since she had no choice but to internalize it, she could not reconcile that part of herself with the part of herself that was taught right and wrong by her mother. That part of herself she locked away tightly. But comes out here, because Azula in “the Beach” is trying to achieve an authentic self, which is, in fact, what Lo and Li say at the beginning of the episode that the beach is supposed to do, and Ty Lee bookends that sentiment. Just like in the previous scenes, though, Azula still can’t quite get there. Her feelings about her mother are still couched in condescending language, she belittles the others, and she dismisses her mother in the same paragraph. She embraces the monster because that is who she was taught to be, and monsters cannot be hurt.

And that, that’s it. Azula can’t admit that she was hurt by her mother’s absence. I’ve said before that Azula translated her mother’s abandonment as “she loves Zuko more than me” because Ursa left for Azula and in the world where Azula is perfect and Zuko is nothing, that does not compute. This creates some huge cognitive dissonance which cannot be reconciled.

Azula’s confession here about her mother also is a way for her to reinforce to the group that she’s still the most powerful. She casually dismisses Mai, Zuko, and Ty Lee when they talk about their trauma so that she can talk about herself, in language that blames her mother for the person she is. It’s not that Azula is at fault, it’s not that Azula cannot reconcile her fractured sense of self, it’s that everyone else is pathetic and Ursa is a bad mother who made her feel this way, although really, she was right, so what does it matter?

One of the main reasons that most Azula redemption speculation falls flat is that they don’t acknowledge that in order for Azula to get redemption, she has to take responsibility for the ways in which she has hurt others. This would also be incredibly difficult for her, and in some ways that isn’t her fault, because she was very much a victim of Ozai’s abuse, and one way that she was a victim is because by instilling the need that she had to be perfect, Ozai made it nearly impossible for Azula to acknowledge when she was wrong. She gets perilously close here, but then retreats into blaming her mother, her brother, her friends, and anyone else, then denies that she even wants to change, which is the other thing she has to accept in order to get redemption.

Fast forward to Azula confronting her mother’s image in the mirror, which of course is really herself. This is why I hate where the comics took this particular subplot, because I do not think we were meant to interpret it as Azula actually hallucinating. What Azula is seeing in the mirror is really herself, the part of herself that understands right from wrong, but is too afraid to admit that she’s done so many things wrong. That little girl who can’t even properly mourn the loss of her own mother because she was never allowed to, because her father never let her. Right before Ursa appears, Azula attacks her own image in the mirror, viciously cutting her hair, a symbol of “perfect” Azula and an obvious symbol of Azula’s self-hatred. Just as before, though, she can’t really direct this anger and blame and pain at herself, so she conjurs up the image of her mother, who tells her all the truths she wants to deny about herself, that her mother always loved her, that she has embraced fear and control and that this has left her lonely in the end. This is the closest that Azula has ever come to realizing her authentic self, the little girl who misses her mother. But she rejects it again.

So mirrors represent self-reflection, right? The fractured mirror, then, is a clear symbol for the fractured self. These are all the sides of Azula that she cannot reconcile as one. Whereas Zuko’s narrative deals with the restructuring of the fractured self, Azula’s narrative deals with what happens when the fractured self never becomes whole.

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried. 

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now. 

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung. 

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police. 

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact. 

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions. 

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.” 

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back. 

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either. 

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?” 

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing. 

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.” 

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure. 

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly. 

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.  

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos. 

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.” 

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan. 

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone. 

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly. 

“Well, do you know where she is?” 

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.” 

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers. 

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.” 

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!” 

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.” 

A victim? 

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.” 

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he? 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest. 

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up. 

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days. 

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?” 

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge. 

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.” 

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.” 

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—” 

“No.” 

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do. 

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand. 

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace. 

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home. 

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life? 

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went. 

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well. 

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands. 

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.” 

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.” 

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.” 

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it. 

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you. 

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you. 

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees. 

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.” 

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole. 

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.” 

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much. 

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.” 

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them. 

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”  

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.  

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.” 

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.” 

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.” 

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.” 

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.” 

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn’t wanna run you over.” 

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out. 

“So does your Jungkook do film too?” 

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.” 

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—” 

“God this is so weird.” 

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?” 

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.” 

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?” 

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.” 

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.” 

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.” 

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch. 

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt. 

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly. 

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely. 

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.” 

“Done and done.” 

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast. 

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. 

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.” 

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.” 

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you. 

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection. 

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures. 

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?” 

“Will you… fall in love with me again?” 

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”  

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer. 

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.” 

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.” 

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.” 

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time. 

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face. 

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile. 

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.” 

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.” 

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1. 

When you wake up, it’s loud. 

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals. 

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months. 

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand. 

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!” 

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice. 

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!” 

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that. 

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning. 

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.” 

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!” 

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion. 

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?” 

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.” 

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook. 

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed. 

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip. 

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.” 

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you. 

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you. 

[crowdvscritic]

round up // JULY 21

‘Tis the season to beat the heat at the always-cold theatres and next to fans set at turbo speed. While my movie watching slowed a bit with the launch of the Summer Olympics on July 23rd, I’ve still got plenty of popcorn-ready and artsy recommendations for you. A few themes in the new-to-me pop culture I’m recommending this month:

Casts oozing with embarrassing levels of talent (sometimes overqualified for the movies they’re in)

Pop culture that is responding or reinterpreting past pop culture

Stories that get weEeEeird

Keep on-a-scrollin’ to see which is which!

July Crowd-Pleasers

1. Double Feature – ‘90s Rom-Coms feat. Lots of Lies: Mystery Date (1991) + The Pallbearer (1996)

In Mystery Date (Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 6/10), Ethan Hawke and Teri Polo get set up on a blind date that gets so bizarre and crime-y I’m not sure how this didn’t come out in the ‘80s. In The Pallbearer (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7/10), David Schwimmer and Gwyneth Paltrow try to combine The Graduate with Four Weddings and a Funeral in a story about lost twentysomethings. If you don’t like rom-coms in which circumstances depend on lots of lies and misunderstandings, these won’t be your jam, but if you’re like me and don’t mind these somewhat-cliché devices, you’ll be hooked by likeable casts and plenty of rom and com.

2. The Tomorrow War (2021)

I thought of no fewer movies than this list while watching: Alien, Aliens, Angel Has Fallen, Cloverfield, Interstellar, Kong: Skull Island, Prometheus, A Quiet Place: Part II, Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars: The Revenge of the Sith, The Silence of the Lambs, The Terminator, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, and World War Z. And you know what? I like all those movies! (Okay, maybe I just have a healthy respect/fear of The Silence of the Lambs.) The Tomorrow War may not be original, but it borrows some of the best tropes and beats from the sci-fi and action genres, so much so I wish I could’ve seen Chris Pratt and Co. fight those gross monsters on a big screen. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 6/10

3. Dream a Little Dream (1989)

My July pick for the Dumb Rom-Com I Nevertheless Enjoyed! I CANNOT explain the mechanics of this body switch comedy to you—nor can the back of the DVD case above—but, boy, what an ‘80s MOOD. I did not know I needed to see a choreographed dance routine starring Jason Robards and Corey Feldman, but I DID. All I know is some movies are made for me and that I’m now a card-carrying member of the Two Coreys fan club. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 6.5/10

4. Black Widow (2021)

The braids! The Pugh! Black Widow worked for me both as an exciting action adventure and as a respite from the Marvel adventures dependent on a long memory of the franchise. (Well, mostly—keep reading for a second MCU rec much more dependent on the gobs of previous releases.) Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

5. Liar Liar (1997)

Guys, Jim Carrey is hilarious. That’s it—that’s the review. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7/10

6. Sob Rock by John Mayer (2021)

It’s very possible I’ve already listened to this record more than all other John Mayer records. It doesn’t surpass the capital-G Greatness of Continuum, but it’s a little bit of old school Mayer, a little bit ‘80s soft rock/pop, and I’ve had it on repeat most of the two weeks since it’s been out. Featuring the boppiest bop that ever bopped, at least one lyrical gem in every track, and an ad campaign focused on Walkmans, this record skirts the line between Crowd faves and Critic-worthy musicianship.

7. Double Feature – ‘00s Ben Affleck Political Thrillers: The Sum of All Fears (2002) + State of Play (2009)

In The Sum of All Fears (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7.5/10), Ben Affleck is Jack Ryan caught up in yet another international incident. In State of Play (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7/10), he’s a hotshot Congressman caught up in a scandal. Both are full of plot twists and unexpected turns, and in both, Affleck is accompanied by actors you’re always happy to see, like Jason Bateman, James Cromwell, Russell Crowe, Jeff Daniels, Viola Davis, Morgan Freeman, Philip Baker Hall, David Harbour, Rachel McAdams, Helen Mirren, Liev Schreiber, and Robin Wright—yes, I swear all of those people are in just those two movies.

8. Loki (2021-)

Unlike Black Widow, you can’t go into Loki with no MCU experience. The show finds clever ways to nudge us with reminders (and did better at it than Falcon and the Winter Soldier), but be forewarned that at some point, you’re just going to have to let go and accept wherever this timeline-hopper is taking you. An ever-charismatic cast keeps us grounded (Owen Wilson, Jonathan Majors, and an alligator almost steal the show from Tom Hiddleston in some eps), but while Falcon lasted an episode or two too long, Loki could’ve used a few more to flesh out its complicated plot and develop its characters. Thankfully, the jokes matter almost as much as the sci-fi, so you can still have fun even if you have no idea what’s going on.

9. Double Feature – Bruce Willis: Die Hard With a Vengeance (1995) + The Whole Nine Yards (2000)

Before Bruce Willis began starring in many random direct-to-DVD movies I only ever hear about in my Redbox emails, he was a Movie Star smirking his way up the box office charts. In the third Die Hard (Crowd: 10/10 // Critic: 7.5/10), he teams up with Samuel L. Jackson to decipher the riddles of a terrorist madman (Jeremy Irons), and it’s a thrill ride. In The Whole Nine Yards (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10), he’s hitman that screws up dentist Matthew Perry’s boring life in Canada, and—aside from one frustrating scene of let’s-objectify-women-style nudity—it’s hilarious.

10. This Is the End (2013)

On paper, this is not a movie for me. An irreverent stoner comedy about a bunch of bros partying it up before the end of the world? None of things are for Taylors. But with a little help of a TV edit to pare down the raunchy and crude bits, I laughed my way through and spent the next several days thinking through its exploration of what makes a good person. While little of the plot is accurate to Christian Gospel and theology, some of its big ideas are consistent enough with the themes of the book of Revelation I found myself thinking about it again in church this morning. (Would love to know if Seth Rogen ever expected that.) Plus, I love a good self-aware celebrity spoof—can’t tell you how many times I’ve just laughed remembering the line, “It’s me, Jonah Hill, from Moneyball”—and an homage to horror classics. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7/10

July Critic Picks

1. Summer of Soul (…or, When the Television Could Not Be Televised) (2021)

Even director Questlove didn’t know about the Harlem Cultural Festival, but now he’s compiled the footage so we can all enjoy one of the coolest music fest lineups ever, including The 5th Dimension, B.B. King, Gladys Knight and the Pips, Nina Simone, Sly and the Family Stone, and Stevie Wonder, who made my friend’s baby dance more than once in the womb. See it on the big screen for top-notch audio. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 9/10

2. Good Morning, Vietnam (1987)

Robin Williams takes on the bureaucracy, disillusionment, and malaise of the Vietnam War with comedy. Williams was a one-of-a-kind talent, and here it’s on display at a level on par with Aladdin. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 9/10

3. Against the Rules Season 2 (2020-21)

Michael Lewis (author of Moneyball, adapted into a film starring Jonah Hill), is interested in how we talk about fairness. This season he looks at how coaches impact fairness in areas like college admissions, credit cards, and youth sports. 

4. Bugsy Malone (1976)

A gangster musical starring only children? It’s a little like someone just picked ideas out of a hat, but somehow it works. You can hear why in the Bugsy Malone episode Kyla and I released this month on SO IT’S A SHOW?, plus how this weird artifact of a film connects with Gilmore Girls.

5. The Queen (2006)

Before The Crown, Peter Morgan wrote The Queen, focusing on Queen Elizabeth II (Helen Mirren) in the days following the death of Princess Diana. It’s a complex and compassionate drama, both for the Queen and for Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen, who has snuck up on me to become a favorite character actor). Maybe I’ve got a problem, but I’ll never tire of the analysis of this famous family. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9.5/10

6. The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean (1972)

This month at ZekeFilm, we took a closer look at Revisionist Westerns we’ve missed. I fell hard for Roy Bean, and I think you will, too, if for no other reason than you might like a story starring Jacqueline Bisset, Ava Gardner, John Huston, Paul Newman, and Anthony Perkins. Oh, and a bear! Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 10/10

7. New Trailer Round Up

Naked Singularity (Aug. 6) – John Boyega in a crime thriller!

Queenpins (Aug. 10) – A crime comedy about extreme coupon-ing!

Dune (Oct. 1) – I’ve been cooler on the anticipation for this film, but this new look has me cautiously intrigued thanks to the Bardem + Bautista + Brolin + Chalamet + Ferguson + Isaac + Momoa + Zendaya of it all.

The Last Duel (Oct. 15) – Affleck! Damon! Driver!

Ghostbusters: Afterlife (Nov. 11) - I’m not sure why we need this, but I’m down for the Paul Rudd + Finn Wolfhard combo

King Richard (Nov. 19) - Will Smith as Venus and Serena’s father!

Encanto (Nov. 24) – Disney and Lin-Manuel Miranda making more magic together!

House of Gucci (Nov. 24) - Gaga! Pacino! Driver! 

Also in July…

Kyla and I took a look at the classic supernatural soap Dark Shadows and why Sookie might be obsessed with it on Gilmore Girls.

I revisited a so-bad-it’s-good masterpiece that’s a surrealist dream even Fellini couldn’t have cooked up. Yes, for ZekeFilm I wrote about the Vanilla Ice movie, Cool as Ice, which is now a part of my Blu-ray collection.

Photo credits: Against the Rules. All others IMDb.com.

[4dtk]

Yellow

Pairing: Blind!Jaemin x Florist!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humour (a teeny bit) / Soulmate!AU where you see colours when you meet eyes with your soulmate

Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, (might be) inaccurate depictions of corneal blindness although I googled

Word Count: 5k

A/N: This work is fictional and I do not wish for any of the incidents here to happen to the boys in real life. If you are uncomfortable with reading this, please don’t hesitate to scroll past! This is a little longer and different than what I usually write too, so I hope it’s okay! I realise I didn’t really utilise the reader as a florist that much either, so apologies for that! I made a playlist for this fic too, it can be found here.

Jaemin was confused, for himself, for his soulmate, for his parents. He didn’t expect any of it when the blood runs from his head and nose, when he hears the distant wailing of an ambulance and smells the pungent odour of smoke rising from the crashed vehicle.

His eyes felt blocked but weighed light at the same time, like a fluid that’s been spread over his pupils like ointment.

Jaemin’s body lay motionless while the male attempts to peek around the accident, observing the bent metal near his injured leg and the airbag supporting his manager’s limp body.

Was he dead? It was nerve-wrecking, even when he wasn’t the one leaning over the white inflatable object; weirdly, his heart felt heavy when he noticed no movement from the man who took care of him since day one.

The man who checked on Jaemin when he’d fall down from riding the hoverboard too fast or when he pulled a nerve doing the ‘Boom’ choreography—his manager who’s there to tell him to wear his cap tightly over his head before going live with Haechan and Renjun.

It was something he remembered when he felt paramedics lift his body up onto a stretcher, recalling on when they’d laugh about it when the live ended.

Jaemin was told to regulate his breathing in the ambulance, having no choice to hope that his manager is in good hands as he follows the paramedic on duty.

He had no strength to even ask if the other was doing okay, unable to get the sight of blood staining and tainting the airbag, out of his mind.

He doesn’t think much of it, perhaps even enjoying the light feeling in his lungs and the pain in his leg reaching the maximum that his nerves turn numb.

When he hears and feels the rush of the hospital staff, however, Jaemin realises it might be worse than it actually is.

There’s a faint shout of a doctor to a nurse, and he loses all grip on his senses after, succumbing to the metallic, disinfectant smell of the hospital which he hasn’t inhaled since the start of his year-long hiatus.

“Damn, My First and Last sounds so good, hyung!” Jaemin gushes over the FaceTime with Mark, the older offering a small smile and a story that happened when they were filming the music video. It was unfortunate that Jaemin had injured his spine so close to the comeback date, but could anyone blame him for how hard he worked?

Jeno promised to show him the move he was practicing before getting the peculiar feeling in his spine and the youngest ensured that they’ll try the ‘pulling’ move on the floor where they grabbed each other’s feet.

Jaemin could feel their love, even now, as he hears Renjun’s reaction and Jeno’s voice booming over the phone. There’s a fuss over the line before it goes dead, mind drifting off as his head begins to hurt more and the feeling in his leg starts to come back.

With a team of surgeons now preparing for their new patient, Jaemin struggles to hold on to the nurse’s hand, urgency thick in the air until his ears is met with an unfamiliar voice. He lets the doctor talk to him, placing his bets on his deteriorating senses.

The members scramble to grab their things, moments of scurrying and ducking under the other’s arms, passing their manager whatever Jaemin may need in the hospital, showing their natural teamwork even off stage.

All of them pile into the car, tension lingering between the members, no one brave enough to address the elephant in the room as Jisung struggles to hold in his tears. Collectively, they worry about their member on the way to the hospital, supporting each other silently as they always have since debut.

Jeno shoots a quick text to Doyoung, informing him of the situation and the 127 members are rushing, now, as well.

“A few. Only a few of us should go.”

“Why?” Doyoung shoots back at Taeyong. As much as the leader ached to tag along, there was the current pandemic going on. The government encouraged their people to stay home unless necessary, but the youngest couldn’t let his friend suffer alone.

Haechan cuts in with a sharp tone, voice wavering just a little. “I’ll go. Let me go, hyung, please.”

Taeyong gives a shaky nod, head dipping and eyes focusing on the floor as Doyoung and Haechan leave the dorm, but not before dragging Mark who was glued to the floor at the news.

Kun’s concerned texts distract Doyoung from the problem at hand momentarily, though the oldest still grapples with the terrifying scenarios playing in his mind, laying either hand on the two trembling members.

As both groups make their way to the hospital, Jaemin remains unconscious from anaesthesia, not knowing of the panic across NCT as a whole. The chaos everyone felt contrasted with his feeling of peace on the operating table, mind drifting to thoughts of meeting his soulmate.

The thoughts of seeing colour seep into his life as he found the person of his dreams. The background would fade around them as he focused only on them, the wide smile they would don as the emerging colours added to the moment.

Jaemin’s confusion surged to an all time high when he had gained consciousness with a blur to his vision. It was glitched and unusual, the familiar black and white fading in and out.

All he could concentrate on was his soulmate. What were they doing? Did they know he’d been hurt so badly? What if he couldn’t find ‘The One’?

The questions swirled his head with the seconds ticking by, black and white fading to just black for a moment before bouncing back to the greyscale colour palette.

Within the next minute, or what felt like one, Jaemin was in his ward, the members awaiting any news from the doctor. As he makes his way out of the operating room after clean-up, he retracts from the amount of people staring back at him with hopeful eyes.

“I’ll talk to one of you. Ensure safe distancing, boys.” Chenle looks to his hyung, Renjun, who just sighs and rolls his eyes, taking a seat to calm his nerves as Doyoung stepped up to talk to the doctor.

The doctor takes a big gulp before speaking, prompting the oldest’s eyes to snap down to his name tag on his stark white coat.

Dr. Na. What a coincidence he’d have the same surname as Jaemin.

“I’m… afraid the car crash might’ve done a number on his head. There’s-“

The familiar rush of sirens causes the doctor cut his sentence short, though it catches Doyoung by surprise at how loud the sirens appeared to be.

“Mr. Na suffered a blow to the brain which controls his vision. The force of the crash punctured his retina and when theres a tear present, fluid can pass through, spreading between the retina and the eye’s back wall.”

Doyoung is quick to ask a question, but retracts at the hand of the doctor, watching how he removes the skin-tight gloves with caution.

“It’s… lucky that we got him here on time, but because he fell on his right, the retina might have detached faster than we expected; the left, not so much. If the rush to the hospital was a little slower, there might have been more damage to both his eyes.”

The other’s breath stops at this.

The doctor senses the shock residing in Doyoung’s body, escaping through his facial expression in short breaths.

“The other surgeons are getting him into a stable state, currently. I’m in their team and is just here to convey his condition—the main doctor who will take over his case will be the one talking to you later.”

“As lucky as Mr. Na is to have lived, you should let the boy rest for now. When he does wake up, notify one of the nurses. They might have to guide him through words as we are unsure of the state of his vision.”

Doyoung swallows the inquiring questions he had on the tip of his tongue, nodding along to the instructions before seeing the other’s figure disappear into the ward. A nurse emerges from the operating room with something in hand, following the doctor into the ward with the object.

“Jaemin’s in stable condition.” Doyoung mutters quietly, hopefully loud enough for the others to hear since he wasn’t looking forward to the next thing.

“But…?” Haechan stepped forward, seeking answers and clutching onto the other’s arm. Doyoung didn’t seem to mind, even when the squeeze was starting to hurt.

“The doctors are unsure of how his vision will turn out; there’s a possibility he-“ The silence broke when Jisung sinks into Jeno’s side, body shaking with quiet sobs. The older comforts him while Doyoung still struggles to get the next words out.

“What is it, hyung? Say it out, please!” His heart broke, seeing the younger one be like this. Haechan was always cheerful when he was in the dorm, clinging onto Taeil while annoying the hell out of the Doyoung. It was in their nature to bicker, but when he was begging right in front of him for the news of his friend, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Mr. Na is stable. Come in with caution, please.” Doyoung felt selfish as he thanked the interruption, not wanting to be the person to break the news.

The boys enter quietly, not wanting to startle Jaemin, if he was even awake.

They watch the bed Jaemin was on without words, some staring off into space while Doyoung observes the steady breathing of the boy. It was calming to see him at least cleaned of the blood, the images circling the internet plaguing Doyoung’s mind.

He was sure the fans were already informed of the accident. Lost and adrift, Doyoung hopes he can address and reassure them about the incident soon, placing his hopes that Jaemin was well even if he hasn’t woken up.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

“Don’t forget to bring in the roses, we went a week without them and I don’t think I can deal with any more fussy customers.”

Being a florist while you haven’t found your soulmate was hard. You found it especially hard when you needed to arrange flowers for banquets and customers—there were colours you hadn’t learned to see and wondered if they matched each other when you started out on arranging.

You’ve learnt that there can be a handful of colour combinations, thankful for your mother who was patient enough to tell you the colour of each flower you pointed out.

“When do you think I’ll find him? Or her?”

Your mother shrugs as she snipped off the stem of a flower, throwing it away before washing her hands.

“Could be any time soon.” She whispers, inspecting the daisy she had in a hand, the yellow in the middle standing out.

Whilst she could enjoy the colours of the vibrant shop, you were still stumbling over various flowers that looked the same. Without the labels on the boxes, you might’ve had more trouble than you already had.

“You really think so?”

Your mother nods with a smile, handing you the daisy in her hand. “You’ll be asking me about colours very soon, I’m positive.”

There’s a small smile on your face at her answer, walking around the shop to check on the flowers as the crowd had died down.

You first discovered what your mother did for a living when you stumbled down from upstairs with a flu, finding hard to rest when the shop downstairs was so noisy.

It was a day before the fourteenth in February, not understanding why the place was full of schoolgirls (and boys). There were a few other older patrons, who struggled to keep their cool in the disoriented mess of the area.

Your mother handled it like a champ, with your dad occasionally coming out to help. Other than that, he’d stay out back, cleaning the flowers and making sure they look presentable.

The shipments were hours late—usually they would arrive at night the day before, so your parents could take care of the flowers before the shop opened at 9am the next day.

Black and white was something you were used to at seven years old. You assumed the world worked that way, though you don’t miss the way your mother would always ask if there was anything you were curious about.

“Dad? Do you need any help?”

He shoots a small smile, messing up your bed hair even further. “No, it’s okay. Go upstairs and rest, I’m sorry that the shop is so noisy. That’s why you came down, isn’t it?”

You nod your head, peeking around to see your mom scurrying from the cash register to the customers, her feet never resting from the busy crowd outside shooting flowers and colours, left and right.

Asters, Orchids, Bellflowers, Poppies were flowers at the top of your head when your mom asked you about the flowers you knew, but those other words the customers had shouted out still felt unfamiliar on your tongue.

“Ye-llow…?” You mumbled, looking up at your mother one weekend at twelve years old.

“Yeah, just like that. I’ve drawn suns with a yellow crayon. There are bananas and taxis as well. Do you remember sunflowers?”

“The TV show or the flower?”

Your mother grins at that, “the flower.” You nod enthusiastically, cleaning up the papers and stationary you used for your homework.

“Sunflowers are yellow, too.” A large flower comes into view, with pointy petals and a fuzzy middle.

To you, it seemed like a boring painting of black and white, but the way your mom described it made it seem like it was the most beautiful thing (“After roses, of course,” she’d say.)

“Yellow is the colour of warmth and positivity. It can feel like two different things, a comforting hug and… a laugh, perhaps.”

Your head tilted as she continued to explain the colour, giving you an exaggerated shrug when she reached the extremes of her explanation.

“It’s hard to explain colours, hun. I’ll try my best, but the feeling when you experience it for yourself? Wow. I hope you’ll have that feeling in years to come.”

And so, at twenty years old, you were going to, soon, but not in the way you expected it to go.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

“You want me to what?” You ask through the phone, annoyed enough that you’ve already been interrupted from your university project.

It was vexing enough that this person had to call your personal phone, possibly finding it on the website of your mother’s shop.

She claimed that it was only ‘integrity and generosity’ that she put everyone’s numbers since the shop (and the shop’s phone line) was closed on Sundays except for patrons picking up their orders.

“Remember that dark-haired boy who came to collect the flowers from you last weekend?” Racking your brain for any memory of the boy, you struggle to match the description to a face as the person on the the end brushes it off and continues.

Your eyes soften and your features fall, however, when he speaks in a quiet voice.

“Our friend, he’s- he’s in the hospital. The flowers were meant for him… he loves it by the way. He likes the way the flowers feel on his skin, as weird as it sounds.” The male laughs quietly at the memory, getting back to the reason of why he contacted you.

“He wants to meet you.” he says quietly, not knowing what reaction to expect.

“But why?”

“He says he’s annoyed of hearing his member’s voices all day, quote unquote,” he jokes at another memory, “no, but, he wants to meet whoever did the bouquet. He wants to thank you personally, I’m assuming. Not sure why he waited a week to tell me this though…”

“Oh, okay, when?”

“Now?” He says timidly, bracing himself for an incoming argument due to the last minute news.

“He’s not creepy or anything, right?”

“Jaemin? No, definitely not. Just a little loud and outgoing—I’m not sure how he’s doing now considering his- state, though so uhh…”

Jaemin, huh? Why did it sound so familiar yet foreign?

“And- and, the same boy from last week will be picking you up so don’t worry about it.”

“This sounds like straight up kidnapping.” You whisper into the receiver, getting a buzz from your phone right after.

“What did you send me?” You asked cautiously, finger hovering over the chat as the green bar the top of your phone glared back at you, signalling that the call was on speaker.

His voice came through the speaker, reassuring you that it was not a picture of his privates. You gulped anxiously. With the amount stories online, you’d know better than to open a chat from a man who you didn’t know.

You did it anyway out of curiosity.

Cracking an eye open was a relief, seeing that the picture was only a selfie of the dark-haired boy and probably the person on the other end of the line.

“He looks like this! Ring any bells?” He asks just as the door swings open from a customer.

Holding up a hand, you politely ask the newcomer to wait as you squint your eyes at the boy in the picture who supposedly came here to collect the bouquet.

Double takes help, because the person who matched the picture was standing in front of you, separated by the counter.

“Oh… I didn’t think you’d come so soon.”

Another ding! interrupts your surprise, looking back at the chat as the photo loaded.

“Here’s another of Jaemin with the flowers, though his face isn’t in it—he insists he looks bad in the hospital gown which I agree on.”

You can sense the other rolling his eyes, wondering if the conversation was going to end.

“You’re overwhelming the girl, Hyuck, just hang up.” His voice is gentle but stern, putting his hands together in an apology after the other hangs up with an irritated “okay fine!”

“I’m sorry for him, he can be a little annoying at times.”

“I heard that!” The other fires back, though you swore you heard the beep; maybe you heard wrong.

“Donghyuck!”

“Okay, I’m going! Sheesh.”

The boy looks at you with watchful eyes, wondering how’d you react to this whole situation.

“You can’t see colour, yet, can you?” He asks suddenly.

“Wh- are you doubting my arranging skills?”

“Wait! Wait no- I’m just asking… and yes, the flowers might have been a little mismatched- but it was fine! It’s fine—I don’t think Jaemin minds.” He saves himself, two hands outstretched in surrender.

“Why doesn’t he?” You ask curiously, head tilting to the side as you lock up the register.

Your question remains unanswered, however, as his eyes trail from your face to the flowers behind you. He seemed nervous to answer that one question.

Shaking your head, you mutter a ‘never mind’ and head upstairs to grab your things and change into a more presentable outfit.

The ride was smooth, with a small exchange of what to expect at the hospital. You learn that his name is Jeno, making note of the black hair and the little mole beside his right eye, as well as his polite smile which made you feel at ease.

“Jaemin’s sweet, he’ll talk to you like you aren’t a stranger, so you don’t have to worry about being awkward.”

“He’s funny too, always making weird noises and stuff like that. Don’t mention that I’m saying all these though, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laugh at that last part, because you definitely don’t want your friends to know how fondly you speak of them when they’re absent.

When you arrive, however, you can feel your hands becoming clammy and damp, the keychain on your bag having suffered enough from your fidgeting fingers.

He’s someone I don’t know, why is it making me jumpy and jittery?

The antiseptic smell of the hospital did nothing for you, wringing your hands together and hoping it’d calm your heart down.

“She’s here, Jaemin.”

The male on the bed breaks conversation, turning to you and pointed to the flowers on the bedside table excitedly. He’s not exactly facing the door… though.

Oh.

They flow in like a rush of adrenaline, with the feeling of dizziness when you stand up too fast.

They emerge in small spots and then spread out to every inch of the room and although you’re in room with four white walls, your eyes immediately drift to the flowers you arranged for the boy and back to him.

His hair is a bright pink, I think, and his smile is brighter than the sun. His eyes look like the colourless crescent at night and he makes me feel like the colour yellow.

You recall your mom describing yellow as a warm, positive colour, her words ringing true.

Purples and blues on the other boys’ clothing, as well as a bright orange on one’s head. There was a lovely lime green cardigan on Jeno and a red flannel on another boy.

There’s notes forming in your head on the different shades appearing, the imaginary pencil scribbling and scribbling until your hand hurts and the words are messy.

You take baby steps towards the male, and although his eyes aren’t directed at you, you can feel the pull of his heart on yours.

“Hi,” you mumble softly, approaching his bed before noticing the white over his eyes.

The other members make space immediately, stumbling over each other to give their friend his privacy.

“Hey, I’m Jaemin. Not the best time to be meeting your soulmate, huh.” He grins, feeling around for your hand before relaxing as your fingers tighten around his.

“I guess not—I’m (Y/N).” You whisper, the other hand hovering over his cheek, “may I?”

You expect him to ask about what you meant, but instead he just nods his head. Jaemin was a little surprised at the contact, but trusts you either way.

The way Jaemin looks at you breaks your heart, because his eyes are soft and his smile brought down a notch. He looks at you like you’re his whole world although that ability’s been taken away from him.

“There’s minimal colours in my eyes right now. It’s so faded and it’s going to go back to black soon, I think.” Jaemin states sadly, his thumb stroking over your skin gently.

Almost. The ability’s deteriorating right now.

“I don’t deny how I felt when you walked in, though. I think the colours are beautiful, and you are beautiful. You’re fading… too.”

“Is it? Do you want me to tell you about colours, then?” Asking softly, you scoot your chair closer to him as your hands twine with the other’s.

And so, you describe to him the colours of the rainbow and the colours of his friends’ clothing.

The colours of your university project and the colours of the hospital gown on him.

The colours of the mismatched flowers and the colours of how he makes you feel.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

“Babe?” Jaemin calls out softly, feeling the rustle of the sheets and the dip of the bed. He relaxes as always when he feels his hand in yours.

“Hey, Jaem, I’m here.” Whispering wasn’t uncommon between the two of you, exchanging shared stories in the night or laughing about the members in hushed tones.

It prevented the boy from getting too startled, so you always spoke with a quiet tone. Once you knew Jaemin was comfortable, you’d continue in a normal voice.

Sometimes, he’d be louder than you.

“Baby,” Jaemin mumbles softly, curling an arm around your waist as he settles in the crook of your neck, “could you describe the colours for me again?”

He feels the weight of your smile on his faded pink hair, getting comfortable before you start out with the colour he likes the most—Pink.

“Pink’s like being playful at a picnic in the summer and it’s also the colour of your hair! It’s fading, though.” You take the chance to mess it up further, getting a whine and a giggle from the boy.

“It’s also very soft and cotton candy-ish and it’s kinda a compulsory colour if you want to get a nice sunset picture.”

“Pink is really sweet, too, it feels like that bus ride home after meeting your crush while you listen to a playlist.”

Jaemin gives you small kisses as you carry on to red.

“Red’s the popular colour in Valentine’s Day, alongside pink. It’s passionate and fiery and strong; maybe like your desire for strawberry yoghurt.”

The male sits up to glare at wherever he assumed your face was, only coming back down to your embrace when you surrendered with a laugh.

“Your tastebuds are still hella weird though, babe.”

You know he’s rolling his eyes by the way he smiles, simply squeezing your hand in warning of your insults.

“Okay okay! Now’s blue.”

“Blue’s calm and free, like the ocean and the sky, perhaps. I don’t feel sad looking at blue, though it is a mesmerising colour to stare at and get lost in.”

“You’ll feel like everything’s going to be okay when you look at the colour blue, I think.”

“God, I don’t think that’s the case because of Jeno’s hideous blue plaid shirt from before.” Jaemin mumbles into your neck, moving closer to your body, as if it was even possible.

You grin at the insult to his band mate. “Oh. shut up, I think he looked fine in it.” With eyes drifting to the boy below you, you await any word or reaction from him before receiving none, deciding to head on to the next colour.

“Damn, I can’t remember much about orange, though. It’s been so long since I helped out in my mom’s shop. I’ll google.”

“What- no that’s cheating!” Jaemin giggles, smacking your waist repeatedly.

“The colour orange is stimulating and vibrant and it’s associated with sunshine, creativity and health.” You read like you would with an important piece of text while switching off the device. Green.

“Green’s very nature-ish… and refreshing! Oh! And it’s natural too, because it takes up most of the spectrum’s space of the human eye. If pink’s the playful nature at a picnic, then I feel like green would be the opposite, like cherry blossoms against a field, maybe.”

“Green’s also the colour of your fans. So it might bring you a sense of love and warmth as opposed to textbook meanings. I know it does, for me.”

“Because you’re a dedicated Czennie?” Jaemin teases with the same kisses from before. He feels you nod, “of course!”

“Purple’s also an essential colour if you want nice sunset pictures. It just fits with pink. You can still feel calm with purple but theres this urgency about it? Like it’s telling you to get up and travel instead of staying home.”

“That description was lame, wasn’t it?” Sighing, your boyfriend hums into your neck—a neutral response.

“Yellow are taxis and bananas and the colour of my phone at the moment. There’s also corn and suns and sunflowers.”

Yellow is the colour of warmth and positivity. It can feel like two different things, a comforting hug and… a laugh, perhaps.

You smile at the memory in the shop. “Yellow’s kinda like two separate things, for me. It’s like a warm hug and a loud, optimistic laugh.”

“Are you using the same description from the hospital from months ago?” Jaemin grinned for the umpteenth time that night while you replies with a laugh, loving the feel of his wide smile on your neck.

You plant a kiss on his forehead, then, the scented shampoo of his hair lingered in the air like perfume.

“It was my mom’s description! I just happen to agree with it, okay.”

“To be fair, yellow was the last of the colours I’d seen before everything went black. Weren’t you wearing a yellow dress that day?”

There’s a fond smile on your face as you both sink down onto the pillows from your sitting position, giving him a peck on the lips.

“Close. It was a top. Do you wanna see me in a dress that bad?”

“Maybe.” Jaemin beamed, with hopeful and happy eyes.

You keep quiet after that, playing with the hair of your lover’s while your head now takes its place in the crook of his neck.

“I love you.” It’s quiet and tranquil in the room, slow breaths that seem like one.

“I love you too. More than ever, Jaemin.” You remove yourself from his embrace and cup his face in your hands.

“I love you so much, I hope you never forget that.” Whispering the confession, as you always did, made the moment a tad bit sweeter and meaningful.

And while you were happy to see the boy burst out in laughter from the Dreamies’ bickering or the joke you found online, there’s going to be doubts and vulnerability.

While Jaemin’s mind turned inside out with the turmoil of this new obstacle, you were there to make sure he never spirals and falls too deep.

There were and there will be more days when he feels like the world is against him and that he feels so goddamn lost in this world where he’s supposed to see the beauty of colours, where he’s supposed to see you.

You are his rock to hold on to when the world feels a bit dizzy, as are his feet. You’re the sunshine in a dark world where black never leaves his vision.

You’re that comforting hug and boisterous laugh.

You’re his Yellow.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

All That Matters - Ahsoka Brings Anakin Back on Malachor AU Fic

"You don't have to do this alone," Ahsoka implored in what she hoped was a convincing tone, taking one hesitant step towards the man she'd once called her brother.

Her former master, her mentor. Anakin. He'd taught her everything she knew, taught her to be independent, believed in her when no one else would. He’d saved her life, he’d stood by her, he’d been heartbroken when she turned her back on the Jedi order. How had such an emotive man come to fall so far from grace? How had he successfully traded in his gentle, kind hearted, welcoming persona for the visage of a thoughtless, mass murdering machine?

"You fail to understand," he snapped, his voice a jumbled mixture of his voice box and a meek version of his own struggling vocal cords as he shot her down. "I am no longer that man."

There was a frantic sense of urgent desperation to the statement, as if he was barely managing to hold onto his own lie. As if the walls he’d forged over the years were crumbling around him. Ahsoka shook her head vehemently in response, continuing to resolutely approach him with a stubborn determination. Clenching her jaw, she let the hilts of the sabers she was clutching in her trembling hands fall to the floor with a clatter. Discarding her only self defense, stripping herself bare. She noticed his sickly yellow eyes dart towards the source of the noise, registering her surrender before the intense stare returned to capture hers.

"Then explain to me. I'm here now. It doesn't matter who you are, or what you've done. Make me understand."

Ahsoka meant every word, every utterance. He flinched visibly as he took in the weight of what she implied, the eye wide with jaded disbelief and confusion. The terrifying amount of loathing and disgust she'd sensed when she first arrived for the confrontation had all but vaporized. Dissipating as if it had never been there to begin with. Instead there lingered a tense, uneasy sense of dread between them. She wasn't afraid per se, she just couldn't predict his reactions. His behaviour was so far from the Anakin she'd once known. Although, some things remained the same, she could tell. For example, she could still read his exposed eye like an open book. He was wavering, his conviction faltering and she was there to catch him when he fell. If he fell.

She prayed that he would fall.

"But it does. It does matter. All the things I have done… I cannot change what I have become, neither can you. Your efforts are misguided."

He trailed off, finally looking away. Averting his gaze, a distinct sense of shame bled into Anakin’s Force signature. The guilt was suffocating, closing in around Ahsoka as it poured off of him. Crashing in thick waves, dark and deep and overwhelming. Still, she bit her lip and continued to close in. He wasn't making any effort of moving to attack, wasn't attempting to back away. She was vaguely aware of her hand coming up by its own volition to blindly reach out for him.

"I don't care," she assured, but she felt her voice catch in her throat as the burn of tears began behind her eyes.

"How dare you propose that?!" he roared, a static shriek accompanying the booming vocals of the modulator cutting her off; eyes wide and crazed. "Do you even understand who I am? Do you understand what I have done?"

Ahsoka stopped dead in her tracks, swallowing hard. She was almost expecting him to revert back into fervent denial, to shoot her down and once again proclaim himself to be Vader. To once again pretend she meant nothing to him, that their past was nullified and nonexistent. That he had erased her impact on his life.

Instead, she watched the eerie golden glow of his eye begin to diminish. Slowly, as if it were fading and tapering out. As if it were a hue or film, being slowly wiped away. As if the fog was lifting, as if the spell of his self imposed mind control was breaking. As if the facade was cracking, as if he was coming apart. And little by little, a familiar pale blue shade began to emerge.

When Anakin spoke again, his tone was broken and quiet.

“You should be horrified.”

His broad shoulders gave a small wince, before sagging. Ahsoka watched him blink rapidly, apologetic gaze darting all over her face. It hurt. The pain radiating off of him was aiming straight for her consciousness, surging through her like red hot wires. Forcing her to share his suffering with pulses of intense, sharp anguish. She could sense his turmoil, his reluctance, his terror. He was terrified when faced with the prospect of accepting every heinous act he had committed as Vader, every atrocious thing he had done. He was frightened of the need to admit that there had never been a Vader in the first place, that everything was on him. He alone was to blame.

Yet, Ahsoka found she couldn't bring herself to blame him alone. She may resent what he had become, what he had done, but she could never bring herself to hate him. He was still Anakin, and whatever had led him down this path, she imagined it must be horrific. She had abandoned him when he needed her the most, if only she had been there for him - perhaps he might never have stooped so low. Bracing herself, she began to inch closer to him again. Her fingers twitching in anticipation, hand still reaching out towards him. Offering him a connection, a saving grace.

"I killed them... every single one of them. Every Jedi I could see. All of them. I had to, I couldn't stop. I had no choice. I couldn't..."

Even through the malfunctioning voicebox, the way his voice broke carried through as an unnatural, irregular pitching tone.

Blue. His eye was so light, so alive, a hurricane of emotions whirling within its depths. Like a clear, cloudless sky with a thunderstorm lurking at the horizon. Bloodshot, the scleras more pink than white. But the iris was baby blue.

"I know," Ahsoka simply whispered, nodding her head before repeating her words. “I know.”

She stretched her arm out further, taking a couple of more steps as he hung his head low. His gaze falling to the ground, a shudder wracking his large bulky frame. She focused on the eye, or as much of it as she could see when the helmet he wore shrouded it in dark shadows. Just a gentle, barely perceptible grace as her fingertips brushed against the rough fabric of his black cape. He didn't react, and she suspected he couldn't feel it. How much of his body was even his own anymore? Cautiously, she let her palm touch the armour piece before sliding over his shoulder. When it reached his upper arm, she pressed down to offer it a comforting squeeze - hoping he would feel that.

It spurred an immediate reaction. His head flew up, and he reared back as if he'd been burnt. As if her touch stung him. Eye wide open as he stared at her in shock, in astonishment; pleading with her not to allow herself to be tainted by his sins. In defense, Ahsoka held both hands up in front of her; what she hoped to be a reassuring expression on her face. She felt her stomach twist itself into tight knots, the bile rising in her throat. Once again, she was near convinced he would backtrack. She expected him to reignite his lightsaber, to waste little time in dispatching her. She held her breath, waiting fretfully.

Instead, she watched his naked eye slide shut. Instead, she watched as his tight grip on his own weapon loosened. She watched the hilt slide out of his gloved grip. Eyes flying back up to his face, she once again caught him staring at her. His blue eye misty, glazed over. It was only then she caught the gleam of tears pooling at the corners. She watched them gather, watched the unshed beads of water continue to well up.

"Anakin..." she gasped. "Oh, Anakin."

"I killed the younglings. I killed them all," he whispered. "What have I done?"

His voice was so weak, so full of regret and tangible remorse. The voicebox didn't even pick up on it. Only his own strangled, choked human tone piped up. Ahsoka could barely make it out, but she watched in stunned silence as a single tear broke free. Slowly, it made its way down his scarred, deformed, deathly pale cheek. Then followed another. And another. She could see him visibly trembling with the effort of attempting to restrain himself, the effort of holding his suffering back. Keeping it locked up, despite its attempts to overrule his ironwill.

Two steps, and once again her palm touched his arm. Face hard set, despite the stinging salty wetness prickling at the corners of her own eyes, she let her free hand come up. Careful but without hesitance, she gently let the pad of her thumb reach inside the crack of his face plate. She ran it ever so smoothly over his pale damaged skin, brushing away the wetness it found there only for another tear to break free.

"I know, Anakin. I forgive you."

He didn't respond, and for a second Ahsoka feared she had destroyed what little may be left of his fragile sanity. He stood still as a statue, as if the words wouldn't register. Gaze fixed straight ahead, as if seeing right through her. She raised her voice slightly when she spoke up again, desperate to get through to him. She put every ounce of her unabashed sincerity behind the words.

"Anakin. I forgive you."

A hideous sound erupted from him, and she suspected it was a sob tearing its way out. She blinked back her own tears, keeping a hold on herself as Anakin's legs began to buckle under his own weight. Another choked, an erratic static noise the only way in which the modulator could translate the whimpers. Still clinging to him, she had no choice but to follow him down as he sank hapless to his knees; shoulders shaking while the pain, the guilt and the sorrow he must have been keeping bottled up for years broke free. Without second thoughts, Ahsoka wrapped her slender arms around his large frame to her best extent. With gentle hands, she caressed his broad back. She exhaled a stuttering, weak sigh.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he rambled brokenly in a mantra, hoarse and choppy as he cried. "Oh mom, forgive me, Padmé, forgive me...! Ahsoka... forgive me, please, forgive me...!"

"It's alright. I forgive you, Anakin. I forgive you," Ahsoka murmured, a pang of laboured guilt present in her chest but she could do nothing else.

As soon as she'd spoken those words, his hands flew up. Hovering midair inches from her waist as if afraid to touch her, as if he feared he might break her in half if he tried. Anakin, who had always been starving for hugs, for touches, for affection. Why had he deprived himself of physical comfort for so long? She could sense his loneliness, his solitude as clearly as were it her own. Pressing down, she stroked his back more firmly and hummed to encourage, as if to assure him it was okay. She relaxed when his trembling arms came around her in a humble, restrained embrace. It seemed as if he had to relearn how to hold another person all over again.

Anakin still weeping, Ahsoka finally allowed herself to cave into her own emotional overload. Sniffling, she smiled brokenly, keeping a watchful eye on him through her tears. They had so little time, it wasn't safe here. The entire temple was ready to collapse at any moment. Yet, if they died together like this, she wouldn't mind it much. Instead, she clung tighter to her brother, her master, her only remaining family.

Anakin. She forgave him. He was himself again. He was in his right state of mind, no matter how agonizing. No matter how harsh the truth may be.

They were together again. Nothing else mattered.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325700

Found above on my Ao3, and reposted from my previous acc.