#It’s awful. And no one’s doing anything about it and people just accept it like its normal
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From Scratch
Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny
No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.
One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.
He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.
Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones.
Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.
From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.
You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.
A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to.
Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour.
You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.
That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.
You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.
“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.
That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.
“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”
“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”
He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”
You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.
After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching thoroughness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.
Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.”
“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together.
You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier.
“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”
You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.
There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.
You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.
Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.
He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.
Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?
So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.
You're not cooking, but he's still here.
You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.
He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.
So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.
Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours.
It doesn’t move away when he sits back.
Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.
You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.
…You’re not stupid. Right?
After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge.
You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.
He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.
He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.
You fall asleep there. So does he.
Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.
You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.
You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.
Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.
But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely soon going to be swept away by someone else too soon.
You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.
Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth.
You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–
–his mouth is just there, on yours.
He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once.
Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.
After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.
He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.
“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.
“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.
He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”
“Oh?”
That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.
His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”
You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.
And just like everything else about him, this fits.
His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.
His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.
His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.
When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.
His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.
You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–
“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.
…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.
“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.
You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”
His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”
You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.
He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.
You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”
You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.
“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?”
Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.
Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.
He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.
“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright—but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”
Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”
He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”
You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.
“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”
His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.
“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.
It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.
“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.
You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”
He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”
“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”
His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.
“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”
And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.
“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”
“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”
He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”
When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You don't want to rush this.”
He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”
Masterlist
#johnny soap mactavish#cod soap#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soap x reader#johnny mactavish#slow burn#friends to lovers#060#meet cute#comfort fic#demisexual#fluff#johnny x reader#cod
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Neve is painless. Rook is real.
Lucanis likes Neve because she represents what he is desperate to regain. He wants to feel normal, to work and cook and focus on the things he used to enjoy (such as they were) before the Ossuary. He wants capital R Romance, right out of a book.
Most importantly, he wants to get rid of Spite. He wants to pretend that he is the man he was...not this abomination.
Without truly knowing her, Lucanis believes Neve is a pathway to all of that. He's attracted to her, and she to him. Their flirting has an edge, but it's also friendly. She dislikes Spite, and her presence makes Spite disappear.
Neve will tell Lucanis that he's still himself, and that Spite doesn't change that. She will never be the one to reconcile Lucanis with Spite, to get them to accept each other. So, yeah, he gravitates to the charming, flirty, warm person who (through no fault of her own, really) feeds his desire to pretend he's not an abomination.
Even early on, I think he's smart enough to know that accepting Spite is his only option, but he...just... can't. With what tools? Nothing in his life has prepared him to deal with this. Rook does that. When denial tears Lucanis apart, Rook puts him back together with acceptance. Rook accepts the reality of Spite, and deals with it head-on every time.
Neve will remind Lucanis that she's not going anywhere. She'll tell him to open his eyes and look at facts, but she (probably) won't be the one to push him out of his own prison. Lucanis knows this, so Spite knows this, and therefore Spite will not look to Neve for help.
It's important for Lucanis to accept that Spite has changed him. But when it's Rook who says it--for whom Lucanis has developed real feelings, not idealized ones--well, it destroys the fantasy Lucanis clings to so vehemently, the one where he isn't this.
For me, the Lucanis/Rook romance feels the way it does NOT because the writers "preferred" that Lucanis and Neve get together, but because Neve is simply easier for Lucanis to accept. She's easier to talk to, unchallenging. Easy isn't bad! Comfort isn't bad! God knows they both deserve some comfort.
Loving Rook is a profoundly complex choice. There's not a lot of cute ways to work that profundity into sexy banter. It makes sense, then, that Lucanis doesn't have as much dialogue for a romanced Rook as he does with Neve. What he can do is cook, make small gestures. He can, heartbreakingly, tell Rook, over and over, that he doesn't have the words to express how he feels. That's such an awful state, knowing that the person you care about needs to hear words you simply cannot locate. As soon as he does have the words, he shares them.
Rook is real. And real is not easy.
To Lucanis, Rook represents a difficult path to recovery, a path he has to keep choosing to follow, every day. At a time in his life where he is incapable of seeing Spite (and his own PTSD ) as anything but a 'distraction' to shove aside, Rook shows genuine interest in helping Lucanis heal. Rook takes consistent action toward that goal, particularly when it's clear that Lucanis doesn't know how.
Lucanis also has to believe that he's worth the effort, his own and his love's. Neve is great, love her, but I don't see this struggling cynic, this chronic worrier, being very helpful in the self-worth department. No, people in a relationship do not have to perform therapeutic roles. But, partners do have to respect each others' boundaries and needs.
Of course Lucanis goes all-in for Neve, romantically, even while he and Rook are dancing around each other. Accepting how much he loves and cares for Rook means looking at himself the way Rook does. That is so much harder than whatever will happen with Neve.
The fact that Lucanis isn't afraid to pursue Neve, even if Treviso is blighted, tells me that Neve is an indulgence for him. Again, that's not a value judgement. If they treat each other with respect, then the merits of the relationship don't have to fall on whether Lucanis 'heals' as a result. Sometimes not hurting all the time is enough.
BUT. Contrast the ease he feels with Neve with his feelings about Rook:
"When I was afraid to want you..."
That is a powerful admission.
What was he afraid of? The annihilation of neglect, worthlessness, and shame. The awful but knowable pillars of his existence.
Wanting Rook means that Lucanis wants to dismantle everything he knows in pursuit of something he doesn't. To love Rook is to love and accept himself, exactly as he is.
Then...then...Lucanis finds real comfort.
#datv#lucanis dellamorte#neve gallus#datv spoilers#i have a lot of feelings about my own shitty reactions to the neve/lucanis romance. and approaching it this way has helped. A LOT.
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Jungkook telling it like it is...
He did tell Spotify that he'd use the blanket they gave him. Just not the way they probably thought he would: Jungkook's glossy black marble floor shows his bare feet prints on it and he used his Spotify blanket to clean the floor. He says he'll have to always wear socks or slippers. I can see him leaving a pile of toe socks at the door just for him to put on when he's in that room...
He says he briefly and unseriously considered quitting the business to be a full time cook. (JK, you can't do that, you have to make enough money to pay for the utilities and property taxes on your new fortress...) But that's his introvert kicking in, the routine, the comfort zone, the way his job holds his interest enough to make him want to keep doing it. But he is aware and he knows this about himself and knows he has to return to his "spot" as he called it.
He seems to accept the fact his place of residence is going to be known by the fans just like many other aspects of his life such as details of his military service. He seems to take it in stride but he also sets boundaries by asking fans to not come to his house and do not send packages, not only to his house but to his army base. He explains why, that he cannot accept them and that packages containing food are restricted. He clearly instructs to send letters to the company.
How do people know where he lives? Here's the answer, or at least part of it:
We all know if you spend time on Youtube the algorithm will feed you videos and channels similar to what you've watched. If you are restrained enough to limit your viewing to only BangtanTV I applaud you. But if you watch anything else, youtube will serve you similar. We all know that through the anecdotes of Armys talking about being flooded with edited, slo-mo shipping videos.
Personally, I like watching youtube channels that show walking tours of Seoul. The city captured my attention and I've learned so much about it. But because of this interest I have in Seoul and Korea, more "walking tour" and Korean travel type channels are suggested to me. Some are better than others. Some are actually run by K-Army. I am very interested in K-Armys' perspective about life in Seoul so I watch. We get to see the birthday cafe events and such that I'm probably never going to experience.
Inevitably one of these channels is going to walk by the members' homes... because they are Army and can. Streets are public. And this is how other people find out where the members live. The videos show that none of the homes are accessible. They are all behind walls and gates. None of the videos show hoards of fans congregated in front of the homes. The only place you ever see that is in front of the Hybe building.
Yes, it is controversial knowing these things but it is also one of those things that is almost unavoidable. What do I do with the information I gain by watching? Nothing. I satisfy my curiosity and move on.
Jungkook knows we are curious. He knows with his position in life there are things he cannot control and he's aware of it. It's pointless for him to pretend he isn't aware of this. That's why he sets boundaries. And he's very kind about it when he does set boundaries.
Are there bad actors out there who will take advantage of the knowledge? Of course. But that's on them. Are there people who will post every detail they learn? Of course. That's how the information spreads to other social media platforms.
Anyway... the Weverse translations are sort of skimming over what he says. There's a little bit of nuance being left out sometimes.
The Weverse English subs say "We'd sing it every day while taking showers." But Jungkook more accurately said: "We always sing together while taking a shower." (begins at 1:00:00)
The Weverse English subs say "Recently, with Jimin, now during our clean up time I finished up in the kitchen and came back up we talked a lot about music and we'd always be humming (he hums) and I'd go far away and sing songs (he gestures away from him). I'll try to practice more when I have time." But more accurately he said: "So these days I'm with Jimin and now when its personal maintenance time I go upstairs after finishing kitchen work. We talk a lot about singing and we're humming along to each other all the time (he hums) like that and we go far away and sing and stuff (he gestures away from him). I'll practice more in my spare time." (begins at 36:48)
The Weverse English subs say "I've been doing well with Jimin in my military life. I've been well." More accurately he said: "I'm/we are working hard and doing well in military life together with Jiminie-hyung. I'm doing well." (at 8:18)
He showed us his entertainment room, he clearly states he can't show us the upstairs but he does not give a reason why but as he talks he explains he has not "organized" his house. Maybe he won't show it because he doesn't want to or maybe he won't show it because in his opinion, its a mess right now. Regardless, its his choice what he wants to show us and we are privileged when he does so. I'd bet that at some point, we'll see his kitchen because he's Jungkook.
He talked about his job as a cook in the Army. He said he prepares many Korean dishes and they are either boiled or braised. He mentions that they cannot grill food. He says its not easy making large amounts of food. He says he does his best to make them tasty. I've noticed on the timeline the accounts that post military menus that on most days, meals include stews and soups so he is definitely learning how to cook a wide variety of dishes.
He sang about 30 songs including several off Golden. He sounded really good singing Standing Next to You, in fact, his off the cuff live singing of all the songs from his album was pretty exquisite even if he didn't sing most of the songs to the end.
He spoke with a slight reverence regarding only singing BTS songs with the rest of the members. It gave me the impression he knows it will be a special moment for them as well as us.
He picked at his lip, bit his cuticles, touched his lips, scratched his head under his beanie and yawned many times before finally telling us good night. Until we see you again soon, Kookie! Be safe and keep practicing with Jimin!
#jungkook#jimin#jungkook missed us so much#he said he will be getting his lip piercing again because the spot feels empty#plus he needs his little fidget spinner so he'll stop biting his cuticles#i can picture jimin taste-testing the food before its served...#thank you AYS the gift that keeps on giving
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what are your thoughts on the hyuga siblings and their relationship
OOF now thats one of my favorite naruto dynamics lmao. i think neji and hinata have a very interesting relationship and i say that as someone who really didn't (and tbh still doesn't) love how that relationship developed in canon
i really like the hyuga fight in the chunin exams because the way it's perceived is sooo interesting to me.. neji comes off as an outright bully and i don't even blame the kids for calling him an asshole after all of that, but from reader's perspective it's really obvious that his animosity only exists because of a larger issue...
neji shouldn't treat hinata the way he does, but he does so because of her unique position as a scorned heir. she still benefits from everything that makes his life awful - her life is still valued more than his - but hiashi hates her enough that he won't care if neji dishes out verbal abuse on her. it's an awful dynamic and definitely contributes to hinata's terrible self-worth, but it's a symptom of the life they have been forced into by the man who the manga is intent on letting escape all of the blame for this situation lmao
(hiashi himself can be a really fascinating case honestly. i think he fully means everything he says, which is what makes him so grating but fun to me LOL. his apology to neji is entirely sincere AND it completely misses the point of all of the issues, but neji is young and deprived of acknowledgement enough that he accepts it wholeheartedly. hiashi thinks he's the best uncle of all time.)
hinata herself has so little belief in her own worth that she just sits there and takes whatever abuse people throw at her... i don't actually think neji's anger towards her was a constant - i think some people interpret it that way - rather i feel like it was something that came up whenever he was pushed too far. in more normal circumstances where he's not being made to fight her directly, he was likely more detached than anything. he wanted nothing to do with her.
in one of the filler mini arcs ive mentioned before (i think. the one that focuses on hanabi and hinata) there's a scene that rang very true to me (and im gonna recount this without rewatching it atm so sorry if i get details wrong,): neji was being made to train with hinata, asked to be allowed to leave because he felt his time was being wasted and correctly noted that it doesn't have to be him here, was told no by hiashi and then he started getting vicious and violent. towards hinata, of course, not hiashi. he then got horribly punished for it LOL i think that's the general dynamic they were living in, neji reaches a limit of disrespect that he can take and explodes on the nearest most acceptable target (we loove a boy with no emotional regulation <3), goes too far and suffers the consequence of it while nothing else changes. to him interacting with hinata at all is just asking for pain, either emotional or straight up physical
But, for hinata, she saw herself and neji as similar (the black sheep of the family i suppose), and would have liked to bond over that fact; theyve known each other since they were very little and she outright refers to him as a brother. it's clear to me she's always cared a lot about neji and imo feels responsible for what happened to his father (something that hiashi doesn't help with. Dad of the year), so she saw their match in the exams as a chance to close the distance between them and get neji to see her as a person, an equal instead of a symbol to lash out on.
but, you know, she was 12 LMAO so she ended up pressing all of his buttons instead and it led to his famous outburst, which led to the famous moment of Every Single Jonin (other than asuma.) coming to stop him and further cementing his belief that her life is seen as special. i think (and this is a mix of Shit I Made up, and Me trying to make sense of the manga's insane mishandling of their plotline) that despite her trying her hardest to reach neji she didn't really grasp the horror of his situation. that's the tragedy of neji's life really LMAO, no one really tries to grapple with the severity of what having that curse mark does to a person. she thought of his fatalism as more of a psychological, metaphorical way of dealing with hurt and not like... "my life literally does not belong to me no matter how much i try to fight it"
this is loooooong take this readmore.
i think hiashi-hizashi were hoping that the cousins could have had a better relationship than they did... letting them hang out often and stuff, introducing them early, hizashi not discouraging neji from being friendly with her, to me it all reads as very "ok well this didn't work for Us, but what if it works out for them... even though literally nothing has changed". they were proper family once and hizashi wanted to die for his brother, not his leader, so that just makes sense to me.
i do nautttt like the naruto vs neji fight so to keep the post positive i will gloss over it <3 but hinata and neji's relationship post-chunin exams to me is peak like. God i wish this was done better because it could have been soooo good
neji realizes that his anger is consuming him and adjusts his behavior accordingly, getting a lot of his kindness back, and he becomes intent on fixing his relationship with hinata... i don't hate that premise at all, it's just the way it's executed that bothers me!
the impression i got (and i could be mistaken im in the process of rewatching the anime + rereading the manga) is that their relationship getting better is done exclusively through like. neji repenting for being mean to her. which, don't get me wrong, he SHOULD apologize (AND THAT WOULDVE BEEN A COOL THING TO SEE ONSCREEN, BTW) but you CANNOT divorce his behavior from the hyuga system in general. from the way they act after the exams you would think their issues were born solely from neji being a bully for no reason, and not, like... him lashing out on her because his uncle is literally the devil.
i don't think hinata has the power to change a lot in her clan on short notice (she did get disowned. did that un-happen offscreen? we will never know. Hiashi gets to be a grandfather to her children btw.) but i certainly would have liked to see her standing up for branch members and in the stuff i draw that's the story i have in mind LMAO. like, her gaining a deeper understanding of neji's situation and trying to work against her father trying to make her cousin's life better? i think that would have been really sweet and even show her gaining more confidence in herself and her beliefs. you can still have neji fussing over her and being protective because he feels bad for how they used to be, i actually really like that because neji IS a very sweet person, i just reject the idea that it's his sole Moral Obligation to put everything aside and make things better by the power of I Will Die For You Now, But This Time, For The Right Reasons
as for hanabi i wish she had more screentime soooo bad because i'm obsessed with how she gives off Haunted Child vibes lmfao. talking abt her requires me to expose myself a little bit and have to admit hiashi is kind of a blorbo to me because of how much he sucks ass, but like. Essentially his insane resentment of hinata was born when hizashi died, it doesnt matter it wasn't really her fault, he needed someone to blame and he would never blame himself, at least not outwardly lol. hiashi did genuinely love his brother, it just didn't stop him from being a monster to him, and he is certainly not gonna grapple with that now that he's dead!
(and, you know, the whole "sorry we sent a guy to kidnap an heir. you do need to die for killing him though" thing is really dumb but if we stop at every single stupid thing in naruto we will be here all day.)
with all that being said i think hiashi tries his best to make hanabi everything hinata isn't, and he has very little interest in having her and hinata have any bond at all. he just left neji and hinata to fester in that god-awful dynamic with no supervising, and took hanabi as the best direction for the clan to head towards. but, you know, father of the year is very demanding and doesn't seem to be very fatherly to her at all from the little we see of them. she's just like. a good soldier, and that's what he needs.
i think hanabi growing to resent her sister for the situation she's been put into (if hinata weren't 'weak' she wouldn't have so much responsibility) is very interesting! by the time we meet her i think she's learned that the best thing to do wrt her sister is to just ignore that she exists. as for neji he barely registers as a presence to her; neji has no reason to interact with her and hiashi has no reason to incentivize it. it's very fun to me!
in general i really like all of their dynamics can be used to explore how hurt and trauma drive people apart, i could talk about them for hourssss LMAO i love the suna family for the same reason!
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im so curious about the kitchen nightmares au, is félix a waiter? are erica and jean creating crimes against the culinary arts in the back? why is esk of all people gordon ramsay
relevant background info was that when i first got my ipad and was getting to grips with procreate, i was also drafting the first go at mvf so i was drawing mostly refs and character designs, and while i was doing that on an ipad i realised that i could, for the first time ever, watch something on another screen while drawing. guess what i watched
this super old art was one of my first paintings all in procreate and i did it while watching kitchen nightmares. love the show (uk version only), it's absolutely terrible and fake and ramsay sucks but something Compels me
i drew a series of fake interview portraits for all main characters of mvf, as different staff members in a failing restaurant on the show. esk who was kind of the straight man/critical voice of the group ended up being the celebrity chef
anyway the basic plot is they work at a tacky outdated italian trattoria with all that entails, that serves french cuisine, in the year 2005. the restaurant was a money laundering front owned by helena but she was an absentee owner who would deny any claim over the restaurant flaws and be generally away & uncooperative
the restaurant was failing because it looked awful and the food was not good but also because the staff could not work well with one another and the constant arguments that customers would overhear was turning them off
the person who called in gordon ramsnake was the restaurant manager, Félix, in a very roundabout attempt to try to bring heat down on Helena
general overview of the staff & their flaws
Manager (Félix) - actively embezzling from the business, basically a middle manager tyrant trying to control everyone else, ambition of becoming the owner one day (and then they'll ALL see). Would deflect the blame for the restaurant's issues onto every single other person except Francis because he can do no wrong ever. Aw jeez guys we just don't know where the money is going!! Don't look at his meticulously-kept, well-hidden balance books or his incongruously nice car. He looks like the sleaziest businessman you have ever seen.
Head Chef (Jean, you guessed right) - confrontational and rude, could not accept criticism no matter what and would pick fights with customers who sent the food back. He could cook decently but only to his own schedule and preference. The type to go "my food is perfect and nobody can teach me anything" before esk convinces the owner to hire a new head chef who can actually listen to feedback. His prized menu hasn't changed in 7 years.
Front of House (Islin) - zero charm or charisma but otherwise pretty sincere, though it IS weird that an ordained priest is working here and not in a church somewhere. He explains in an interview around the back of the restaurant that he's identified a new route to finding converts because just knocking on people's doors hasn't had a good return. He has zero interest in any aspect of the restaurant experience. Attempts to preach to most of the diners.
Head Waiter (Erica) - he's clearly had no training and is never where he's supposed to be at any given time, and it almost looks like he's ambushing the diners while they're mid-bite on purpose. Calculated bare-minimum work while spending most of his time in the kitchens for some reason. In the course of the episode it's discovered that he makes a decent cook and gets relocated. He had a habit of telling customers that the food was bad even if it wasn't.
Barman (Francis) - eager to please and maybe the only truly friendly face in the restaurant, he's the only reason anyone comes back. But he has an inconvenient habit of giving steep discounts to women, so the bar almost never turns a profit. There have been a few complaints about Barman's inappropriate advances from diners & the fact that his shirt is always a little bit too open. He seems to believe that there's nothing wrong with the place and it's a perfectly legit successful business, so it's hard to get through to him to change his behaviour. Won't hear a word of criticism against Félix or Islin.
Sous-chef (Léá) - hates it here hates every second of every day can't stand anyone wants to be out of there asap but she knows she lacks the experience to actually be a sous-chef in a legitimate restaurant, which means she'd take a pay cut if she tried to find work anywhere else, so she's trapped. She has a habit of throwing parsley garnish far too liberally over every single dish because she read in a book from the 90s that this is how you get a Michelin star
Rival Restaurateur (Senca) - she runs an equally tacky fake unpopular italian trattoria across the street and she's been trying to get Helena's one shut down for years by doing various etsy badluck curses and getting the hygiene inspectors called on them but it hasn't worked yet. She suggested to Félix that maybe trying to get the restaurant on TV would draw enough negative attention to get it shut down (and then he could reopen it of course). She's a bit surprised he actually went and did it even though the show could not have been less flattering towards him and he's essentially turbo-nuked his own reputation into the dirt forever. But she's waiting behind the scenes to make an insultingly-cheap offer and then they'll ALL see
over the course of the episode the above flaws are identified. esk attempts to propose a remodel of the tired décor which is fiercely resisted by Félix because he kind of likes the fake tuscany look but eventually he gives in and the place is given a modern and fresh feel. it draws a crowd on its reopening night but the staff struggle to meet the demand, unused to such numbers, and it ends up with Jean refusing to cook and walking out (he's fired shortly after).
they regroup and organise a charming promo event where they serve real french cuisine in a stall outside (oysters mostly) to draw customers for a new lunchtime service. this is well-received because new Head Chef Léa (now even MORE trapped in a role she has no real claim to) doesn't have to cook the oysters so she can't fuck them up. Félix actually tries to be receptive to the staff he's managing, for once, and he does a good job of supporting them and finally effectively managing the floor.
episode ends with Esk walking away and wondering if it left the restaurant in good hands, concluding that "only time will tell". there's a sequence of the restaurant's one successful lunch service, everyone smiling and working well and diners happy, with the text "RESTAURANT closed its business in August 2005, three months after the filming of this episode".
Esk goes back to interview the owner and ask why it failed, and Helena just explains that she sold it and moved on while dodging every other question. Esk berates her for having no passion for the business, calls her lazy and immature, and she simply walks out of the interview.
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kinda wild to me that one of the most compelling aspects of both Chuuya and Kunikida's characters to me, that I never really see talked about, is how they're heavily set on a doomed crash course towards complete and utter destruction, and how I am so, so worried for them both.....
#bungou stray dogs#been thinking a lot about chuuya lately (shocking for me i know (said with no sarcasm truly lmao it is rare for me))#cause of the 15 manga and also playing the fucking jeht quest in genshin impact ugh (where's the one dual genshin bsd fan who Understands)#but like this pressure has been building up for chuuya for so long due to being used and manipulated by all these people#first the sheep then mori then verlaine then still mori now#he was groomed since childhood just like dazai#but unlike dazai he didn't have an oda to help him get out of the mafia........ he's still stuck there#and his personality is different from dazai's. dazai was more self-aware imo (but still a groomed emotionally abused kid don't get me wrong#but chuuya's whole thing is needing to belong and wanting a leader to be loyal to but ending up in positions of leadership himself#which makes him feel pressured but he accepts and stifles any negative feelings just because he wants to belong#and all this crushed him with the events in the light novels and yeah he went through character growth but he's...... Still In The Mafia...#and that fucking scene asagiri added to the cannibalism stage play i don't think hardly anyone even knows about bc IT'S NOT DISCUSSED ANYMO#where mori emotionally manipulates him with the flags!!! and it deeply hurts him!!! and he presumably deals with that shit all the time!!!#it is WORRISOME. it WORRIES ME okay.#chuuya doesn't have anyone who can save him from the mafia (dazai is in no position to okay; it's all he can do just to try to save himself#and it's so so scary. it spells awful things for him.#didn't asagiri say he'd have a rough path or something??? and he added that fucking scene in the play!!! it haunts me!!#i fully expected this shit to hit a turning point in the meursault arc but we can't have nice things i guess#and as for kunikida a;lskdfl (took me this long to get to him oop) literally the ending of Entrance Exam (the novel) is just#One Big Foreshadowing for Kunikida's downfall#he's compared to the azure king for a reason. Sasaki saw the azure king in him for a reason. it's fucking worrying!!!!!#there hasn't really been anything like that since in the manga (just like for chuuya lol ugh) but he's TERRIBLE at coping with his trauma#and it only gets more apparent once shit hit the fan in the doa/hunting dogs/meursault arc#it's not good!!! i'm worried for kunikida too!!!!#even if the manga isn't focusing on this these worries are always in the back of my mind man#both kunikida and chuuya are doomed to hit some kind of breaking point eventually and i await those moments with dread yet anticipation#i want dazai to be able to save kunikida from the despair being too good a person brings the way he couldn't save oda#and chuuya.... if we get a scene with him & mori mirroring the one in dark era where dazai finds out that mori orchestrated the kids' death#oh man i think i'll fucking die (give it to me i need to cry)
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#ok I get that everyone mad etc but it drives me crazy that prople act like Gaiman had little/no impact on good omens#that's just not true. there wouldn't be book without him as sure as it wasn't be without Terry#there for sure wouldn't be tv series and especially not with MS and DT as Aziraphale and Crowley#his voice clearly resonate through azicrowley relationships specifically#(I love Terry and his humor but tragic cross star lovers are not his strength#you all make jokes about how sandman dbd and go had the same hundred-years-slowburn vibe#that's what he brings into pairings!)#like you don't need to like him you don't need to discuss author at all! focus on text or on actor's choices etc#but like. it doesn't stop being Gaiman's work as much as Terry's and other people and pretending it is is like#sticking fingers in your ears and going lalala#people can do awful things to one people and wonderful and uplifting to other. that's reality babe! accept it!#I promise you won't become yacky because you read something by Gaiman!#but you *will* look suspicious pretending that you actually doesn't touch anything made by bad people and your fave book/show made only by#good and noble people#anyway. I don't actually care about this or Gaiman it's just that I saw several absolutely identical posts with same#'actually it was made by Terry and Gaiman like breathed a little at text so it's okay to like it because it's not actually Gaiman's work'
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#also this is me just wanting a happy sparkling megastar au where starscream carries because#there are absolutely no happy megastar aus where starscream is a carrier it's always the other way around -ESPECIALLY tfp#like carrier starscream is usually seen as a punishment or to make him seem weak...same with submissive/bottom starscream tbh#kajdfl;ajf #like i hate how a lot of carrier starscream megastar is like this bad - traumatic thing for starscream whereas when it's the other way#around it's a good thing - same with making him sub and people don't realize the weird message that conveys
bro you LITERALLY put one of my biggest issues with megastar into words. I didn't know what the issue was and why I got weirded out by a lot of content but this is it. Especially 'when it's the other way around it's a good thing' part. People either make sub starscream the worst thing possible or talk about it like it's the worst thing to ever happen to his character and then flip things around with him and make him dom/sire and then suddenly he's not weak anymore. I wish people would put in more effort into making carrier/sub Starscream a good thing rather than making it this shameful, taboo thing that he's ashamed of. I really don't mind how people ship Starscream but like you I've noticed a ton of weird vibes. People can do what they want but you honestly just explained my issue with a lot of it.
putting this all under a cut --
In a funny way you put MY words words into words . THANK YOU.
this isn't the case for everyone, but it's something i've seen a lot. i've seen people who will write fics with starscream carrying with megatron and it's the worst experience for him, but then the other way it's like supposed to be good or even to show that starscream is powerful, or isn't weak or whatever.
It's so hard to find fics, or aus, etc. that have starscream carrying that don't push this idea that it's something truamtic and it's even worse to find people who don't see it that way but in conjunction see carrier megatron as the only 'acceptable' and non traumatic/abusive forms of sparklings and mechpreg in megastar. I don't think people know how weird it is to act as if starscream carrying (or lbr even subbing) by default is a bad thing and that it is the worst thing in the world so the fix if is to flip things around.
and then it's also unfair to megatron to portray him like only one way as a sire. like i hate that so many people portray him as a brutish, harmful and abusive person when he's a sire, when in reality i just find him being a very soft, nervous and caring sire...like do y'all hate him that much?? Do you hate him that much that you just rely on those unfair tropes for him, same with starscream.
but then when it's the otherway around suddenly it's all good. all the abuse, hatred, etc., is all gone??
#like on one hand yeay - carrier starscream#but the few i see of carrier starscream in megastar it is just god awful and terrible for him and it's unfair to megatron too#and it's like 'carrier starscream is weak and it's inhernetly bad so we're gonna make it like that - but then we're gonna switch things aro#*around so now - mech preg megastar is acceptable as long as it's this way#idk - how else to explain it#cleary this doesn't apply to everyone#some people are normal abt carrier starscream#and they are normal about sire starscream#but i can't count the amount of times i've read someone's conent esp jettwin content with like#carrier starscream in a megastar sense and it's god awful#it's just ... they go out of their way to portray meg as a brute and starscream as abused#but then flip it around#where megatron is carrying#and it's like....everything is good - it's all fixed#no abuse and or anything#and that makes me sad#sometimes i think people unknowingly deal with a lot of interanlized homophobia and misogyny when it comes to starscream#esp when portraying him in certain ways or pushing ideas that#portraying him in certain ways is inherently harmful or makes him weak#and that's another reaosn why i do hate#a lot of these tropes#like imentioned above people are so fucking unfair to megatron#and make him seem like a brute and like he can't make a good sire#when starscream is involved#and that's just weird#my take away is - i think if u take a character like starscream - and act as if him being submissve or in tf case even a carrier- is#inhernetly a bad or harmful thing to him by default#and that it makes him weak and shit#then that's not really good#i also don't mind carrier megatron
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I get not understanding neopronouns. I totally understand if people with developmental or intellectual disorders need to avoid people that use them because they can't wrap their brain around them enough to use them right or find having to think about them long enough to use the right one, when they very literally are incapable of understanding, distressing. Competing access needs are a morally neutral thing that I will never judge anyone for.
But to go on to talk about how despite this you respect neopronouns EXCEPT (plain text: except) it/its? If you feel the need to clarify that you don't have an issue with most of them, but want to single people like me out specifically? Trauma is understandable, and I know people with those disorders are in particular susceptible to being referred to that way cruelly, but you can just... not mention us.
Literally everything they shared was FINE (plain: fine) up to that point. But singling us out and saying you'll never respect our pronouns specifically - when you could've just not mentioned us at all - does in fact make you an asshole. Having trauma and saying that people that identify with something that was used to hurt you means you don't have to respect them makes you an asshole. Just don't fucking mention us and avoid us like you JUST (plain: just) said you can do fine with every other neopronoun user. You do not have to sit there and list off all the reasons you will never respect us specifically!!
I/DD people have so many limitations that most people just refuse to try to understand and take seriously. If someone struggles to not talk badly about things they find upsetting or confusing because of having an I/DD then that's one thing. People upset by it can block and move on because harassing someone who cannot change is cruel. But you don't get to demonstrate and self-proclaim that you CAN (plain: can) respect and avoid and move on for other people and then turn around and go out of your way to single a specific group out and talk about how horrible their identity is and act like that's somehow acceptable.
Literally, just shut up and do not talk about us. We KNOW (plain: know) people hate our pronouns. We KNOW (plain: know) there are people who do not respect our choice to use them. We KNOW (plain: know) there are people who will just never call us by them no matter what. We don't need people fucking going out of their way to single us out while defending how they respect everyone else like us. That makes you an asshole.
#like... i know each person is unique in the severity and manifestation of their disorder#but i have the same developmental disorder they said they do!!!#and i know people can seem fine in certain areas and really struggle with others but they had just demonstrated in the exact same ask#that they are indeed capable of doing the right thing and removing themself from people they aren't compatible with#it was just straight up them feeling the need to target us because so many people feel like we're an acceptable target#and no one fucking defends us#the notes of that post was FILLED with people saying they relate and reassuring them that their limitations don't make them a bad person#(hell i even struggle similarly with certain types of neopronouns but I'm not gonna fucking single them out and insult them)#and not a single goddamn person said anything at all about their mini-rant on how we don't deserve respect#because people don't think we deserve respect#fuck man my own gender-positive friends still think it's okay to come to me and ask for forgiveness so they don't have to feel bad#for “not wanting to dehumanize” me or “feel like they're insulting” me or what have you#(despite the fact that one of their parents who's never so much as spoken to me through them is fine with it)#and i can't even tell them to get over themselves because my pronouns are about me not them#because no one would back me up on that for these pronouns specifically#any other pronouns and it wouldn't be an issue there'd be no way anyone else would let that fly#but people act like it/its is so uniquely awful that it's unfair to expect other people to respect them#so I have to comfort them and reassure them that i understand and they can just use something else :)#because it/its users aren't allowed to assert the same fucking rights as other trans people even in trans circles#and no one cares if we feel ostracized since that just means they don't have to acknowledge us#(also it's my first time trying to do plain text id stuff please lmk if there's anything i could do better)
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Continuing from This Drabble about you and your BF Katsuki answering sex questions about each other<3
Black Female Reader x Katsuki Bakugo , mentions of panty stealer bakugo, slight smut???
“Okay uh, how do you rate your partners kisses 1-10.”
“9”
“9?! Muthafucka I taught you how to kiss—-“
“You always push back first like you can’t handle it, it pisses me off.”
“I like breathing.”
“So.”
Rolling your eyes, “I was ganna say 12/10, but since you’re being a bitch—“
“So, 12/10 got it. Next.”
“Does your partner have any dirty secrets?…oooh.—-”
“M’going to bed.” Bakugo immediately gets up to take off his tank top seeing as he was going to sleep in your dorm tonight, but as the shirt clung to his semi flexing biceps you grab him, “No, y/n.”
“Oh c’mon boy are the secrets THAT bad?! I’ll tell you mine at least—-fuck.” He considers for a moment. Curiosity weighing heavier than his will to sleep at the moment, “You ass.”
“What did you call me—“
“I think…” You place two fingers on his soft lips, “One secret is that……….one time, when you were out on work study you left your black tank top in my room….and….i missed you….and i was ovulating so i….put on your tank top and ….played…with myself.”
The air was thick, it’s as if Bakugo took it as he grew closer to you while speaking, there wasn’t much to make him speechless but dammit that’s a new one.
Fuck. That’s actually more sexier than he wants to admit right now. He crossed his legs, hoping a tent won’t form in his grey sweats and noticed your eyes wandering at every part of your room but his eyes.
“I…moaned your name too.”
“You…you damn….pervert fuck—-“ His voice almost broke into a groan, looking away also embarrassed you knew he didn’t mean it in a malicious way from how he looked back at you, Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down, “Stop acting fucking weird. You did it. Who cares. As long as it was MY name you moaned.”
“Of course dumbass. I only want you…”
Bakugo felt his ears burning, already annoyed he was flustered once he groaned, “I took your panties once.”
“What?”
“Why the hell would you wear that lacy frilly shit during class in that short ass skirt? It’s like you want those idiots to see you.”
“That CANNOT be the reason—“
“IT IS. If you’re ganna wear ‘em wear them IN OUR dorms you dumbass.”
“…well.”
“Well what.” He pouts.”
“Well where the fuck are they I like wearing them after I get waxed.”
Bakugo hesitates, not wanting to actually answer mainly because he doesn’t just have ONE pair of panties. But a few. “I’ll show you later.”
“Tch.” You mock his sounds, “Ever use ‘em to masturbate?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
You giggle, you can only imagine what his perverted ass has done with them. And the last time you seen them was in your hamper so you assumed they got lost somewhere in the laundry. Honestly it’s kinda….interesting he’s telling you this.
“Does your partner have any no’s during?”
“I’m not calling you a bitch.”
“Aw.” You sarcastically sigh, “Why.”
“Why the hell would I call you out your name—“
“You called me your slut yesterday.”
“…Slip of the tongue.” He crosses his arms like a child, making you giggle. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize it was hot.” You say adjusting yourself closer to him, you could actually feel the heat from his body rise as you kept speaking, “It’s fine. Degrading isn’t something I’d need from you anyway.”
“I don’t get that kink, who the hell likes to be disrespected by someone they…are y’know with.”
You shrug, you understand why certain people have kinks, but it’s hard to put in words for someone like Katsuki. He’s a very simple man when it comes to relationships. Almost traditional and old fashion which is what charmed you the most about him. He never even called you a bitch before in any sense nor has he ever told you anything that would genuinely hurt your feelings, “Some people are just into that.” You concluded, your boyfriend looks at you with an unresolved look, but accepts it anyway. Weirdos.
“I wouldn’t hit you either. Like in the face or anything. Only on the ass”
“Good because my face is too pretty for that.” Katsuki smirks at you, you’re absolutely right you’re too pretty for him to hit.
“Nobody else.”
“Hm?”
“…Nobody else is allowed to join us.”
Squinting for a moment his statement clicks , “OH! No threesomes and stuff. Oh yeah of course not. If I see you with any other girl I’ll kill you and her.”
Katsuki swallowed his laughter, masking it with a clearing of his throat, your eyes not tearing from his making sure he knew you were serious. You don’t scare him typically, but he knew the moments when you genuinely had an aura about you that screamed “Fucking try to play with me.” And this was one of those moments. “You look at me like I didn’t just fucking say —“
“I know.” Your voice cracked a little trying to cover up the jealous tone you were about to spew out. Just the thought of Katsuki touching another girl had you upset.
Little did you know it was the same for him with you.
“Anything else?”
“I won’t do race or age play.”
“What the hell…?—-“
“Well I am black so obviously no and then you have age play which is just a cute way of saying you like children—-“
“WHAT?”
You pause to cover up his loud mouth with your small hands, “SSSHH! Before we get in trouble again!…anyway moving on!”
Not wanting to argue, he takes your laptop and smacks your hand away, “What is something you DONT like that your partner does during sex.”
“Take my laptop away from me.”
He strikes you and look, he doesn’t say anything verbally but he says “quit fucking around” with his eyes, admitting defeat that he won’t give you back your laptop you sit back and think for a moment.
“Eh…Oh! I don’t like that you won’t let me ride you.”
Damn it.
He had a feeling you’d say that too. Bakugo scratches the back of his neck roughly while letting out a groan. Throwing his head back a little he side eyes you, “Why do you wanna be on top so bad. I’m the man I should—“
“It’s not even about dominating you or anything you can still fuck me from below, ‘Suki. You’ll still have all the power.”
Bakugo has seen porn videos where the guy fucks up into the girl. Even some where the man is straight up holding the girl up and pumps her full. It’s so erotic he couldn’t even finish the video, but even though he enjoys vanilla sex, he is quite certain riding him isn’t too far off from what he likes.
Besides he loves having your tits bounce in his face and feeling your nipples practically bounce into his mouth makes up of great reason.
“…Fine. But when I’M ready.”
“Yaaaayy mkay….now what is something YOU don’t like about me.”
“You’re ganna be pissed.”
Your smiles immediately transforms into a straighten line, “Uh oh.”
“I don’t …like when you cum too fast.”
It was a bit embarrassing yet confusing to hear. Clearly that means he’s doing a good job so why —
“Because I want to keep fucking you.” Bakugo speaks up as if he read your inner thoughts, all you could do was blink a few times at him, and he continued more, “Even though I don’t cum until after you do which isn’t that long, sometimes I wanna keep going. I’ve timed it, the moment I start fucking you sex only last about 6-8 minutes.”
“That’s average. Some people are 2-3 minutes.” You spoke with an unimpressed and deadpanned voice mostly because this sounded ludicrous to you and Bakugo seen it in your expression causing him to sigh in annoyance. “Shouldn’t your ego be filled knowing you make me cum fast?”
“Yeah, but —-fuck sue me for wanting more. And don’t say some shit like I’m a nympho or some shit because that’s fucking disgusting and those freaks are usually only in a relationship to fuck—-“
“OKAY OKAY CALM DOWN, BOY!” His voice kept getting louder and louder and you refused to have another write up because you have him in your dorm past curfew…again. “I get it though.”
“You want to be overstimulated.”
What? Bakugo scrunched yo his eyebrows. He never heard that term before used when talking about sex.
“Overstimulated means …well… showing you is actually better than telling you.”
In an instant Bakugo’s furrowed eyebrows soften, his gaze transitioned from confused to darker and subtly lustful. You felt the vibe of the room change so quickly you practically had to clear your throat to make him focus again.
“So the next question…”
“Nah, show me.” He firmly shuts your computer and places it on your nightstand. Arms still crossed, “Show me what that word means or should I look up a video and figure it out myself.”
“….y’can.”
It wasn’t ideal for your evening to end like this with him, but it’s just you and your slightly horny boyfriend watching porn videos.
What’s the worse that can happen?
#virgin bakugo#Bakugo smut#bakugo x black reader#bakugo katuski#katsuki bakugo mha#bnha bakugo katsuki#bnha bakugou#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bakugo headcanons#bakugou katsuki#mha headcanons#MHA smut#mha x black female reader#mha x black reader#mha x reader#mha#bakugou x you#bakugou x y/n
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Obviously the submarine situation is hideous, but it has shocked and surprised me over the last few days how much sympathy the whole world has been showing the situation, which made me wonder why I was so surprised by ya know basic human sympathy and I think it’s because there are so many hideous disasters happening every day that people just write off, say that’s too bad oh well if they say anything at all. It’s sad that people caring about a bad thing happening has surprised me so much.
#reminds me of when nortre dame burnt down#Like oh you have the capacity to care about bad things it’s just been selective huh#when everyone in nyc got hit with smoke Americans were aghast#Meanwhile that has been every summer here since at least 2017#It’s awful. And no one’s doing anything about it and people just accept it like its normal#To not be able to see the sky for days or even weeks
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Deku - Midoriya Izuku
TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere
gn reader
Thinking about being childhood friends with Izuku, who’s always had a bit of a crush on you.
You’ve always known, but you’ve never humored it. He’s your friend – anything else would just be awkward. If you had to put it in any other term, you’d say he felt more like a little brother.
You wish he’d allowed the two of you to grow apart – as normal people do.
There wasn’t really any reason for the two of you to stay friends after middle school. His quirk suddenly manifested, and he got into UA – became a pro-hero – and then the symbol of peace. And you were still… kind of just doing your thing – studying, working, struggling to pay rent – struggling to keep a date…
The two of you never had much in common anyway, and you never really knew what to talk about with him anymore – only knowing to ask him how his mother was. After all, you grew out of your otaku phase a long while ago – and otherwise, you felt out-educated in any and every conversation the two of you had with each other. You swear talking to him makes you feel like a toddler learning your first words – it’s humiliating, and you don’t understand how any of it’s remotely stimulating for him, either.
Still, he’ll text you when he has the time, asking if you’d like to meet up at a café – talk, catch up – and you, not wanting to be rude, always accept.
You’d gone wide-eyed the first time you’d met him after middle school. Jeez Louise – he’d had to have grown twice his size – jacked and scarred to no end. It only got worse over the years. Now, adults – he must be twice your size. Bigger even.
You blush now when he flirts with you. But not so much for the reasons he wants.
Honestly, it’s more uncomfortable than it’s flattering. It was Izuku, after all – Deku – no matter how little he resembled the crybaby from your childhood – he’d always be that same nerdy loser friend who’d chased after you ever since you first met.
He might have grown up, but his crush on you hadn’t.
His doe-eyed look of longing and adoration had always made you feel a little awkward – a little sorry for him. And now that he’s become a man, it’s only become even more… desperate… a little pathetic, actually…
Bedroom eyes that make you laugh nervously, pretending to brush it off as a joke but really wishing he’d just give it a rest already. Surely, as a pro-hero and public figure, he could get a date? One of the many screaming fans that pine for him everywhere he drags that awful golden cape he has on his shoulders. And if not any of them, then maybe a model. A movie star even.
Why is he so hung up on you?
The funny thing is, you’d tried vying him of his crush by telling him about hook-up after hook-up, boyfriend after boyfriend – treating him like a girlfriend you could gossip with.
But it’s almost like he takes it as a challenge – talking and helping you through your relationships, giving his input and advice – just like a real friend would… only… always implementing something… something condescending, something suggestive, something saying you ought to be with him instead – he’d never treat you like that, he’d never do you wrong, you’d be taking good care of with him.
You’d made the mistake of saying you were struggling with a class at university – just to make conversation – just to talk about something trivial. But of course, he’d seen it as an opportunity – quick to offer his help, saying he’d taken that class as an extracurricular – just for a bit of fun, he’d said, light reading material he’d done on the side of his internship.
You don’t know why it’s so hard to tell him no.
Suppose it’s the possibility of being wrong – the guilt of thinking he has impure intentions when he’s supposedly the purest person in the world.
But you should have trusted your instincts.
“Please, Izuku-” You’d immediately restored to begging. Who wouldn’t? He’s a two-meter-tall monster of a man – jacked with muscles fatter than a bear.
Your phone’s been missing since you came back from the bathroom – your lips wet with his unwanted kisses – your neck sore from having his fist wrapped around it when you tried stopping him.
You’d only managed to break free after biting – blood salty in your mouth. You nearly vomited, choking on a mix of bile and fear.
Fuck – your legs are so weak, you might just buckle from the dread alone – feeling like a bunny snagged on fox teeth.
“You used to take me when we’d play wrestle... you remember?”
The comment is pulled out of nowhere.
He stalks you, a fond look on his face as though the two of you were reminiscing good old times. As though his eyes weren’t a nocturnal green like foxfire on the fen. As though he wasn’t radiating black whip – ready to snare you.
“Think you can take me now?”
You had your hands raised apprehensively – but the hopelessness took its toll and made your entire body shake on the spot.
Your only hope was to talk him out of it. If only you could think past the fear and string a sentence together that wasn’t along the lines of “Please-”
But something about that look on his face told you he wouldn’t listen to reason anymore. Not manic, not like a person who’d finally snapped – but controlled – resolute – and playful even. Nothing like you’d ever seen. Nothing you could understand.
“What’s wrong, hm?” He smiles, head tipped in that charming way that used to make you want to pinch his cheek. Now it just makes you sick to look at – swallowing thickly as you tack another step back away from it. “I’ll go easy – so don’t worry… I know it's not exactly a fair fight anymore…”
Your better judgment failed you – fight-or-flight kicked in, and you made a break for it.
Budging into the couch on your way, it’s a messy scramble for the door – but you manage. Feeling feverish with dread and pumped full of adrenaline, you brush the cold handle with just your fingertips before something wraps around your midriff in a snug grip – pulling you back into the living room.
You’re lifted from the ground, kicking – now screaming – flailing in the air before you’re flipped on your back against the couch.
“Don’t be like that~” He murmurs. “Always so wishy-washy~” Voice in a low purr that makes you feel like coughing up your heart – squirming beneath him and his heavy hands as they paw your thighs – manhandling you like nothing you’d ever imagine him to do.
Raking his fingers through the dough before squeezing your ass greedily – kneading his fat crotch against the thin fabric protecting your sex.
“Complaining about all your weak-dicked boyfriends as if begging me to come fuck you myself – yet such a flighty little slut when it comes down to it.” He sneers, and blackwhip tightens some around your limbs. “Let me help you out.”
One hand tugs your underwear until it rips, whilst the other hand pulls up to grab your face – squeezing your cheeks to keep you still when forcing his kisses on you.
“After all… what are friends for?”
♡ DEKU - MIDORIYA IZUKU masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist
#yandere bnha#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere mha#yandere my hero academia#yandere midoriya x reader#yandere midoriya#yandere midoriya izuku#yandere deku x reader#yandere deku#yandere izuku#yandere deku x y/n#daddy deku#deku x reader#deku x you#yandere izuku x reader#yandere izuku midoriya#izuku x reader#izuku midoria x reader#deku smut#izuku smut#midoriya x reader#izuku midoriya smut#midoriya smut#deku x y/n#yandere
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pre-relationship stage with them
characters - Gepard, Aventurine notes- gn!reader, pining, light angst but mostly fluffy, a bit of hurt/comfort. I love blonde preservation men okay. no beta we die like the economy also this was written before 2.1 but I still think I kinda nailed it
Gepard
Poor poor Geppie.
He pines so much. Treats his love for you like a tender flower. Even his feelings for you is something so precious to him, he's happy to simply be in love with a person like yourself.
I feel like this poor man willd try so much to do everything for you without giving away how deeply he cares and how intense his feelings are.
"Aw, lil' Geppie, you care about y/n so much!"
"I- I do not. I mean, of course I do! But- There's nothing surprising about it. After all, it's my duty as a Captain to care about every citizen. And, of course, it's my duty as a friend to care about y/n.
Sure, Gepard. Sure.
He would never say something like this to your face though. After all, he simply can't lie to you.
Oh but how he adores you. His face literally lights up when he sees you, the most gentle smile blooms on his face when he watches you doing even the most trivial task.
Tries to act like his usual self around you but it's pretty evident to everyone that you're his weak spot.
Would gently scold you if you would ever put yourself in danger or break any rules.
If you would get seriously hurt would actually lose his mind. Would blame himself even if the situation has nothing to do with him. Beats himself up, asks for your forgiveness and does his best to help you.
Despite the popular belief that he would prioritize his work over his beloved, I don't think it's true. Sure, he takes his duties seriously, but he would always find time for you. Would make sure to see you at least two times a weak, would answer your texts and calls. If you need him, would certainly be right by your side. Even if it means he would have to work overtime later.
Tease him a bit and he's all red. Doesn't try to stop you though, secretly adores your attention.
Would be oblivious to the fact that you like him back. Like. Really dense about it.
He's just so used to giving, to protecting, he simply doesn't expect anything in return. He has silently accepted the fact that you may never love him back, but he will be there for you regardless of it, no matter what.
Plus, he feels like he may not be the one for you. Like you need someone who doesn't have to constantly put their life in danger, who can always be by your side, who won't break your heart. Because he's painfully aware that each fight may actually be his last. That he may not come back to you.
Speaking of that. He would make sure to say a proper goodbye to you before every battle or expedition. Nothing too sappy or depressing, he doesn't want to make you worry, after all. Would probably tell you to take care of yourself, to sleep well and to eat healthy food lol. He really just wants to make sure that he got to see you before heading straight into the battle.
If you're a Silvermane guard as well, would restrict himself even more, not wanting to use his position or to be pushy. However, would still be worried sick, even more so. Would still talk to you before every battle, asking almost begging you to be careful.
Loves giving you head pats.
Generally the goodest boy. Just make sure to make the first move because otherwise he would be satisfied with just being your loyal puppy.
Aventurine
Good lord.
This man is such a mess.
Be ready for a mindfuck but not because he's manipulative towards you or something like that but because there's so many layers of trauma in him.
You have to be patient with him okay.
I feel like pre-relationship stage would be so confusing to him. He had flings in the past, okay? Short ones, meaningless. Something to distress, to feel another person's touch, to feel some sort of connection, no matter how shallow it is. He knew he uses those people and that those people use him in return. Not once he asked them to be gentle or caring.
But with you it's so different. Doesn't matter if your relationship started sexually and developed into something more or if it was mostly platonic/slow since the beginning. He still feels something. And he's not sure if he likes it.
Sometimes it feels so good to be seen, to be addressed as a person, not just as a tool. But sometimes it scares him. After all, this man hasn't been vulnerable with anyone for a long, long time.
I'm sorry but I feel like he would try to pull away from you a bit after realizing how much you actually mean to him.
Oh but he will crumble if you reach out to him, okay? He simply can't ditch you like that, not when you see him for him and want him for him.
Even if it's scary.
Would slowly relax around you. Don't expect him to open up easily but still, the more time you spend together, the more his cocky mask will slip away.
Will randomly and out of the blue tell you small details about his past. You two may walk down the street together and he will see something that reminds him of Sigonia so he will share this memory with you.
It may be the smallest thing but it means a lot to him that you listen. Even this tiny moments of vulnerability are hard for him.
On the more positive note, he's so fun to be around. Would tease you and cling to you all of the time. If you tease him back, he would pretend to be offended but would actually enjoy the playful banter a lot.
Just don't tease him too much about him becoming more and more clingy with each passing day.
Spoils you rotten. New clothes, jewelry, watches, shoes, anything you may want or need. He still can't quite get rid of this idea that you have to be convenient for someone to be valuable. It's not like he's trying to buy your love but... Maybe subconsciously he does. Once again, be patient. This man is so used to the fact that all of his alliances are build on mutual benefit that it's still hard to accept that you're really here for him.
Spoiler even when he will feel more stable in your relationship and his mindset will turn more healthy, gift giving will still remain one of his love languages.
Just like Gepard, would care greatly about your safety. He may be careless about his own life but never with yours.
Loves, loves, loves physical contact. As I said before, gets very clingy, putting his arm over your shoulder or tugging on your sleeve. If he's feeling down, would crawl to you side and subtly brush his shoulder against yours or lean to your side. He may still have his confident smile but those small gestures show that he wants you to be the one holding him this time.
Invades your personal space a lot actually. Texts you constantly too lmao.
LOVES SILLY NICKNAMES. Would call you his dearest darling in the sweetest voice during the most inappropriate time and then laugh at your reaction. Would settle for something more casual like "baby" when he's not trying to be a pain in the ass. Still tries to play it off as something teasing. Deep down yearns to call you this without having to pretend that this is just a playful banter between two friends.
Oh and he would dance around the topic of dating, throwing hints but never having the courage to ask openly. So good luck with him.
#hsr#honkai star rail#hsr aventurine#aventurine#aventurine x reader#gepard#gepard landau#hsr gepard#gepard x reader#walp's writing
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When writing, did you ever suffer from a fear or underdelivering or misrepresenting a topic? If you did, how did you overcome it? I enjoy writing but rarely bring it to the public out of fear that I am either not doing good enough or badly portraying the themes or aspects of what I write.
Absolutely, and on the one hand it's a very healthy fear - it prompts you to do your research and be thoughtful in how you write. On the other hand you've just got to accept that occasionally it will happen. Inculturation is a hell of a thing, and leaves us all with a thousand kneejerk preconceptions and perceptions of the world, some benign and some downright awful. And sometimes they crop up no matter how thoughtful you try to be. And you gotta understand that when it happens and people call you on it, you just have to take your lumps and learn what you can from it.
It doesn't help, of course, that the words you write are only ever half of what your audience reads: five people reading the same book are reading five different books, each filtering the text through a lifetime of psychology and experience. And they will find themes and problems in there you never even considered, and they will also find resonances and beauty in your work that you could never have foreseen.
At the end of the day, writing stuff thats meaningful to you (hell, writing anything at all) is a messy, bruising business, and anybody who tells you there are simple solutions or clear rules to follow is either lying to you or to themselves.
But you can't let it paralyse you. Its like if you're playing football and you're worried about falling over. It's a reasonable fear and you should do your best to avoid it, but occasionally it's gonna happen, and unless you want to spend the whole game just standing still in a field, you've kinda just got to get on with it. Just try not to be one of those writers who's always taking dives and... screaming for the ref to get a free kick? Hm. That analogy may have gotten away from me. I don't actually know much about football.
Point is, I'm aware that this isn't the most reassuring writing advice I've ever given, but yeah, its a messy, scary business. Just do your best. Be thoughtful. Be kind. And always do your research.
#Sorry for the ramble#One if those things I've thought a lot about#And still don't have any simple answers#That writing I guess
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This is awful to write about but a couple of days ago 3 women, a mum and two daughters, were killed in their own home by an ex-boyfriend of one of the daughters.
Statistically, a woman is killed by a man in the UK every three days. And that's before getting into domestic violence, rape and other serious sexual offences.
I'm not going to be able to cover everything in a single post, and I don't think any women who follow me need educated on the subject.
But for the guys who do follow me, it's important to be aware of the different types of abuse that can exist within relationships.
When you hear 'Domestic Violence', it's easy to immediately jump to physical assault. But there's other ways it manifests such as:
Financial Control - Controlling how they spend money and restricting them from working,
Psychological Abuse - Putdowns, withholding affection, gaslighting, disrespectful language
Sexual Assault - Rape or other forced sexual acts
Social - Deciding who they can and can't spend time with, monitoring their phone/PC usage
Other Physical Abuse - Destruction of personal property is also considered part of this
There is much more that could be added to that list, but if you have a friend who constantly makes offhand comments about their partner, or who finds anything remotely funny about domestic violence. It is always worth your time making it clear that that behaviour is not acceptable.
And folk will try and wave it off, and say 'Just take a joke' or 'You sound like the Gilette advert' - but 3 people were just killed because a man felt entitled to one of them.
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HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS | OP81
an: oscar would so be the nerd at university that NOBODY hated but i got this listening to high school sweethearts by melanie
wc: 3.4k
Oscar wasn’t known for standing out. If anything, he was the type you’d forget was in the room until someone said, “Hey, can you pass me the stapler?” Quiet, unassuming, always with a book in hand or headphones half-falling out of his ears, he drifted through university like a ghost no one was particularly scared of. That is, until he met her.
She—loud, chaotic, unapologetically strange—was the kind of person who made an entrance just by breathing. People called her insane, whispered about her after lectures, and swapped stories about her latest absurd escapades. But to Oscar, she wasn’t insane. She was magnetic.
The first time he saw her, she was sitting cross-legged on a table in the middle of the library, explaining in detail why the library’s “No Food” policy was a direct attack on her personal freedoms. The staff were too stunned to stop her. Oscar was too stunned to look away.
By the time she noticed him staring—wide-eyed, clutching his battered notebook—she smiled, sharp and knowing. “You’ve got a crush, don’t you?” she said, not a question but a declaration.
Oscar didn’t deny it. How could he? Her gaze pinned him to the spot, like she’d peeled back his layers and found the embarrassing, undeniable truth: he was completely infatuated.
“Thought so,” she said, hopping off the table with an exaggerated stretch. “Well, listen up, quiet boy. If you’re gonna have a crush on me, there are rules.”
“Rules?” he echoed, voice cracking slightly.
“For dating me,” she said casually, as though she delivered ultimatums like this every day. “And trust me, it’s not for the faint of heart. So, listen close, because I’m only saying this once.”
She held up a finger. “Rule one: You must accept that I’m a little out of my mind.”
Oscar blinked. “A little?”
“Don’t interrupt,” she snapped, but the glint in her eye softened it into something almost teasing. “Rule two: This whole thing is a waste if you can’t walk me down the finish line. I don’t do quitters.”
She was pacing now, her hands moving as she spoke, like she was building the rules out of thin air. “Rule three: Give me passion. Don’t make fun of my fashion, even if it’s ‘unconventional.’ Rule four: Give me more. And I mean more, more, more. Compliments, time, effort—whatever you’ve got, I’ll take it.”
She stopped in front of him, looking him dead in the eye. “Rule five: You can’t be scared to show me off. Hold my hand in public. Smile when people stare. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Oscar nodded, as if it were a contract he was ready to sign.
“Rule six,” she continued, her voice dropping slightly, “if you can’t put in the work...well, I don’t know what you think this is supposed to be. And rule seven...” She paused dramatically, a slow, sharp grin spreading across her face. “If you cheat, you will die. No exaggeration.”
He laughed nervously, unsure if she was joking. Her expression didn’t budge.
“Wait, you’re serious?” he asked.
“Dead serious.” Her gaze was steady, almost unnervingly so. He felt a strange thrill run through him, a combination of terror and awe.
“Oh,” he said, his voice faint.
“And another thing,” she added, leaning closer. Her voice was a soft purr now, almost conspiratorial. “If you can’t handle the choking, the biting, the loving, the smothering—well, let’s just say you’d better leave now.”
Oscar’s heart raced. For a moment, he thought she might be messing with him. But as he studied her face, the fierce intensity in her eyes, he realised she meant every word. And instead of scaring him off, it only pulled him in deeper.
He swallowed hard, his lips parting as if to respond, but she didn’t wait for him to speak. “You up for it, quiet boy?” she asked, raising a brow. “Or are you gonna run like the rest of them?”
Oscar took a deep breath, his chest tight but his resolve steady. “I’m in,” he said, the words stronger than he expected. “All in.”
Her grin widened. “Good. Don’t disappoint me.”
And just like that, she spun on her heel and sauntered away, leaving Oscar standing there, breathless, overwhelmed, and more in love than he’d ever thought possible.
The whispers started the moment she left the room. Oscar could feel the weight of every stare, the quiet hum of disbelief settling over the students still lingering in the library. He shifted uncomfortably, gripping the strap of his bag, and glanced around. A few people smirked. Others shook their heads, muttering things he couldn’t quite make out—but he knew what they were saying.
"She’s messing with him.""He doesn’t stand a chance.""Poor guy. He’ll regret it."
Oscar didn’t care. He didn’t care that the rest of the university seemed to think she was unapproachable, untouchable. If anything, their doubt only made his resolve stronger.
Later that evening, he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone. He’d spent hours trying to figure out what to text her. Every draft felt wrong—too eager, too stiff, too... boring. And if there was one thing she didn’t tolerate, it was boring.
Eventually, he settled on something simple:
“So... when do I start following the rules?”
The response came almost instantly:
“Tomorrow. Be ready by 9. Wear something cute. And bring coffee.”
Oscar stared at the message, his heart racing. He wanted to ask where they were going, but something told him she wouldn’t answer. She thrived on keeping people off balance, and he had a feeling she’d enjoy watching him squirm.
The next morning, he was at her door at 8:55, holding two cups of coffee and wearing his nicest shirt. It wasn’t much—just a navy button-up he usually saved for presentations—but he hoped it would pass the “cute” test.
She opened the door with a dramatic flair, her eyes immediately scanning him from head to toe. For a moment, Oscar thought he’d failed. But then she smiled, a slow, wicked grin that made his stomach flip.
“Not bad,” she said, grabbing one of the coffees from his hand. “You’re trainable.”
“Uh, thanks?” he said, not entirely sure if it was a compliment.
She laughed and tugged him inside, closing the door behind him. Her apartment was just as chaotic as he’d imagined—paintings leaned against the walls, half-finished projects scattered across the floor, and a neon sign above the kitchen counter that read Normal Is Overrated.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked, trying not to trip over a stack of books on his way to the sofa.
She raised an eyebrow. “Rule two, remember? I don’t do quitters, and I don’t do guys who need their hands held. Just keep up, and maybe you’ll survive the day.”
It turned out “keeping up” was a lot harder than he’d expected.
She led him all over the city, dragging him into thrift shops and art galleries, stopping at random street performers to critique their technique, and challenging him to a karaoke battle in the middle of a bustling café. By the time they got to their final stop—a rooftop overlooking the city—Oscar was out of breath, his feet sore, and his head spinning.
“You’re not dead yet,” she said, leaning against the railing and sipping the last of her coffee.
“Barely,” he replied, collapsing onto a nearby bench.
She laughed, a real, genuine laugh that softened her sharp edges for just a moment. “Not bad for day one, quiet boy. But you’ve got a long way to go.”
Oscar looked up at her, the wind catching her hair and the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes. She was intense, unpredictable, and completely overwhelming—but as she turned to look at him, a hint of curiosity in her expression, he felt something settle in his chest.
“I’m ready,” he said, surprising himself with how much he meant it. “Whatever it takes, I’m in.”
She tilted her head, studying him like she couldn’t quite figure him out. “You’re weird,” she said finally. “I think I like that.”
And just like that, she turned and started walking away.
“Wait, where are you going?” he called after her.
“Home,” she said over her shoulder. “You’ll text me tomorrow. Same time. Different rules.”
Oscar stayed on the rooftop for a while after she left, the cool breeze clearing his head. He had no idea what he’d just signed up for. But as he watched her disappear into the crowd below, he realised one thing for certain: there was no turning back now.
It had been almost a week of him following her around town doing insane things with her, everytime he did it, he fell for her more than before.
The café buzzed with its usual morning chaos—coffee machines hissing, chairs scraping against the floor, and students chattering as they rushed to squeeze in breakfast before class. Oscar had been there for five minutes, awkwardly lingering at a corner table, when he spotted her weaving through the crowd.
She didn’t walk so much as command the space around her. Her oversized sweater draped lazily over her shoulders, and her combat boots stomped just loud enough to draw attention. In one hand, she clutched her ever-present carton of orange juice.
Oscar’s heart gave its now-familiar leap at the sight of her.
She didn’t smile when she saw him—she rarely did in public—but the slight tilt of her head was enough for him. She slid into the seat next to him, her elbow bumping his in a way that felt oddly reassuring.
And then he showed up.
“Morning, Oscar.”
Oscar tensed instinctively at the voice. Charles. The kind of guy who wore his popularity like a crown and acted like it gave him the right to sit wherever he wanted. Unfortunately, today, that “wherever” was the empty chair on the other side of Oscar.
“Charles,” Oscar said stiffly.
Charles ignored the tone and dropped into the chair, leaning back like he owned the place. His attention flicked briefly to her, sitting silent and unmoving on the other side of Oscar. She didn’t look at him. Not even a glance.
“I see you’re still hanging out with, uh... what’s the word? Unconventional company,” Charles said, his smirk practically oozing condescension.
Oscar opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He hated confrontation, and Charles had a way of twisting any defense into something laughable.
She didn’t react. Not a word, not a movement. She simply reached across Oscar, setting her orange juice on the table with deliberate slowness, her hand brushing his arm as she did.
Charles raised an eyebrow. “Not gonna say anything, huh? No witty comeback? That’s new. You know, Oscar, if you ever need—”
He didn’t get to finish.
In one fluid motion, she turned, grabbed Oscar by the collar, and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle—it was bold, fierce, and entirely unapologetic. The world around them seemed to fall away.
Oscar’s first thought was that he should probably panic. His second thought, as her lips pressed against his and the faint taste of orange juice lingered on his tongue, was that he didn’t want to.
Then came the chaos.
Mid-kiss, her elbow nudged the carton of orange juice. It tipped over, spilling in a perfect arc onto Charles’s lap.
“What the hell?” Charles shot to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as the juice soaked into his trousers. “Are you serious?”
She finally broke the kiss, her expression perfectly calm as she turned to face Charles. She didn’t say a word. Not a single word.
Charles’s face turned redder by the second. “You’re insane,” he hissed, pointing at her like she was some kind of villain. “I knew it. Completely insane.”
Oscar, still dazed from the kiss, felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest. He couldn’t stop it. It escaped as a quiet chuckle at first, then a full grin spreading across his face.
Charles turned his glare on Oscar. “And you! Are you really just going to sit there and let her—”
“Yes,” Oscar said simply, his voice stronger than he’d expected. He couldn’t stop smiling.
Charles sputtered, utterly dumbfounded, before storming off toward the bathroom, muttering under his breath about how “insane people shouldn’t be allowed in public.”
The café was silent for a beat, and then, like clockwork, the whispers started.
She didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she didn’t care. She turned back to Oscar, calmly picking up the now-empty orange juice carton and tossing it into a nearby bin.
“That was... a lot,” Oscar said finally, still catching his breath.
She shrugged, her eyes sparkling with something playful. “Rule five,” she said, as if it explained everything.
“Show you off and hold your hand?”
She tilted her head, smiling ever so slightly. “Close enough.”
And just like that, she stood up, as if nothing had happened. “Come on, quiet boy. You’re walking me to class.”
Oscar followed her out of the café, the eyes of half the room trailing after them. For the first time, though, he didn’t care. If this was what insanity felt like, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to go back to normal.
Over the next few months, she and Oscar became the university’s most inexplicable pairing. People whispered about them constantly, but neither of them seemed to care.
She still refused to conform to anyone’s expectations, roaming campus in outfits that veered between thrift-shop chaos and unapologetic glam. Oscar, meanwhile, remained quiet and steady, like a grounding force to her whirlwind energy.
They settled into their dynamic surprisingly well. She had her rules, and Oscar followed them—sometimes clumsily, but always with devotion. She dragged him to art galleries, night markets, and rooftop parties he’d never have attended on his own. He listened to her rants, held her hand when she insisted, and even endured her merciless teasing when he fumbled a karaoke mic.
In turn, she surprised him, too. Sometimes, when the world got too loud, she’d let herself be vulnerable around him. She’d show up at his apartment late at night, curl up on his couch without a word, and let him hold her until she fell asleep. He learned to read her silences, to understand that sometimes her “insanity” was a mask for something deeper.
They were an odd match, but they worked.
One Friday morning, a few months into their relationship, Oscar found himself in the sports science building for a required class study. His professor was leading the group through a practical demonstration of exercise physiology, and today’s session involved a series of physical tests—strength, endurance, flexibility.
“Right,” the professor called out. “We’ll start with the treadmill test. Everyone take turns, and when it’s your turn, you’ll need to remove your shirt so we can monitor your breathing and heart rate more closely.”
Oscar didn’t think much of it. He was used to this sort of thing. Sports science wasn’t exactly shy about physicality. So, when his turn came, he stepped onto the treadmill and casually peeled off his shirt.
The reaction was immediate.
A low whistle echoed across the room, followed by murmured laughter and a chorus of exaggerated “oohs.”
Oscar froze, his cheeks burning as he turned to look at the group. The guys in his class were all grinning, their eyes fixed not on his face, but his back.
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Uh, dude,” one of them said, barely able to keep a straight face. “You wanna tell us where you got those?”
Oscar frowned, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. That’s when he remembered: the scratches.
His back was a mess of faint red marks—long, jagged streaks that stood out against his otherwise pale skin. They were clearly recent, unmistakable evidence of what could only be described as... passionate nights.
“Oh,” he said weakly, the realisation hitting him like a freight train.
“Oh?” one of the guys repeated, laughing. “That’s all you’ve got to say? Come on, man. Who’s the lucky girl?”
Oscar’s face went crimson. He tugged his shirt back on, muttering something about “none of your business,” but the damage was done.
“Bet it’s that girl,” someone said, the grin in their voice unmistakable. “You know, the one everyone says is kinda crazy.”
Oscar ignored them, focusing on the treadmill’s blinking screen as he started his run. But he couldn’t stop the small, involuntary smile that crept onto his face.
Later that day, he met up with her at their usual spot—a small café tucked away from the campus chaos. She was already there, lounging in her chair with a book in one hand and a coffee in the other.
“You’re late,” she said without looking up.
“Got held up,” he replied, sliding into the seat across from her.
She finally looked up, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you grinning like that?”
“Am I?”
“You are. Spill.”
Oscar hesitated, then leaned in slightly. “Let’s just say the guys in my class found out you’re... hands-on.”
It took her a second to process, but when she did, her face split into a wicked grin. “Oh, really?”
He nodded. “They were... impressed. Lots of whistling. Some questions I refused to answer.”
She laughed, a low, delighted sound that made his stomach flip. “Good. Let them wonder.”
“And you don’t think it’s, I don’t know, embarrassing?”
She reached across the table, her fingers brushing his as she tilted her head in that way that always made him feel like she was reading his mind. “Oscar, sweetie,” she said, her voice teasing but fond, “I’m never embarrassed about liking you. Why should you be embarrassed about liking me?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. All he knew was that in that moment, surrounded by her chaos and certainty, he was exactly where he wanted to be.
After a bit of catching up, they did what they usually did. She pulled out a book and he pulled out his laptop, the both of them doing something in silence. There was a low hum of student chatter filling the air. It was peaceful in a way Oscar had grown to love.
But the peace didn’t last.
A group of guys from his sports science class strolled past, their laughter cutting through the quiet. Oscar didn’t notice them at first—not until one of them whistled, loud and sharp.
“Yo, Oscar!” one of them called, smirking as he walked by.
“Those scratches healed up yet, man?” another teased, nudging his friend.
There was a ripple of laughter, followed by another whistle, and Oscar immediately felt his face heat up.
He looked down at his lap, his cheeks burning as he pretended to adjust the edge of his notebook. The attention made him feel like he wanted to sink into his chair and disappear.
She noticed instantly.
Her gaze snapped up, tracking the guys as they walked away. Then she turned to Oscar, watching as he ducked his head, his shoulders tense with embarrassment.
“No, no, no,” she said firmly, tossing her book aside and sitting up.
“What?” he mumbled, still looking anywhere but at her.
She reached out and gently cupped his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. There was a teasing glint in her gaze, but her voice was soft when she said, “No, Oscar darling. None of this shy, looking-down nonsense.”
He blinked at her, unsure what to say.
“Listen to me,” she said, leaning closer, her voice dropping into a low, almost conspiratorial tone. “You’re my boyfriend. You’re sweet, gorgeous, and apparently very memorable.” Her lips twitched into a grin. “So soak it in, baby.”
Before he could protest, she grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him toward her.
Her lips pressed against his with deliberate force, and the world around them seemed to fade. The kiss wasn’t subtle or polite—it was just shy of scandalous.
Oscar’s brain short-circuited. He could vaguely hear the distant laughter of the guys who’d whistled, probably in shock, but he didn’t care. His initial surprise melted into something warmer, and he kissed her back, his hands instinctively resting on her waist.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She smirked at him, her fingers still fisted in his shirt.
“Better?” she asked.
He nodded, dazed, his cheeks still flushed but for an entirely different reason now. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Good,” she said, leaning back casually as if nothing had happened. She picked up her book and flipped it open again, completely unbothered by the attention they’d drawn.
Oscar, on the other hand, felt the stares of half the cantine burning into his skin. But this time, instead of looking down, he found himself smiling.
If this was what she meant by “soaking it in,” he figured he could get used to it.
the end.
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