#always having to bend backwards to appease others and never get things “my way” even once sucks

[autisticlee]

no one I know or meet seems to sees things the way i do. others either see everything as a competition or a thing they're bad at and/or too embarrassed to try....

i see it as an opportunity to have fun with friends, laugh together and at ourselves, and form good memories. working together, not against each other by making everything competitive. despite being bad at something or looking silly. and in spite of what other people might think about that!

I honestly can't stand trying to hang out with people who want to make everything a competition. I do not want to compete with you or anyone else! that is not fun for me at all. stop it. you don't need to win at something all the time. learn how to relax for once.

I also can't stand people who spend more time thinking about what other people around us might think about them and refuse to do things and miss fun opportunities because of those thoughts. they won't try new things or things they aren't perfect at because they're afraid to look silly or weird or whatever. so they hold back and miss out on things. or refuse to do them at all and miss out on everything. and that make me miss out on them too, because it's not fun or possible to do it alone and defeats the whole purpose!

[nicocastillo]

·✥·

He took in Dhruv's words with just a nod, weaving his fingers together as he thought about it, then uncaging them, and then doing it again. "If they'd wanted her dead, there's easier ways than getting you to do it," he pointed out, then added, "Have you been at all public about your rank? It's hard to tell about a wolf without close observation, and if they wanted her alive after the bite, they'd need an omega." He had his own suspicions about the lab that Dhruv worked for, but would keep them to himself rather than risk coloring Dhruv's opinion. For all he knew, voicing an opinion would be pushing him to take the opposite stance, even if it was illogical. A thought that stayed front of mind as Dhruv threw out what might've been a challenge. Nico raised an eyebrow, but he stayed quiet and took his time before answering. Because truth be told, he hadn't thought much about what he expected of the others, only what he owed to them. He didn't want to answer in the same combative tone, though, so he kept his voice slow and steady, saying, "I expect them to try and survive. To help others to do the same, both in and out of the pack. To try and treat one another decently, but I get the feeling like that's asking too much." Looking to Dhruv, he added, "I'm sorry you were treated that way. You're not a freak." Nico had his own hesitations about the research that Dhruv had been doing, which was why he'd never offered his own samples to the lab. "Anyone who thinks that is speaking from ignorance, there's really no difference in the way you were changed and any of our bitten wolves, just the degrees of violence involved. All wolves were created, one way or another. I'd offer to be more vocal about that fact if it'd help, but I don't imagine you'd like me coming to your defence?" he asked, with a note of caution in his voice. Honestly, he doubted there was anything he could do for Dhruv, as set as he seemed to be. Learning the hard way was still learning, he supposed. And if something terrible happened, to either Dhruv or to someone in town because of his choice, Nico figured that would land on his shoulders as well. He could hardly offer to help the man during the full moons when he had a whole pack to attend to, so there really wasn't much else he could give. With a tired look at the news about the stitches and the removed organ—which wasn't exactly news, all things considered—he shook his head. "It's hard for wolves to hold stitches through the shift. I can help with that, if you'll let me, I know a couple tricks for it that most of the docs don't." It was one of those things he'd picked up just through practical necessity, over the years. "And I can keep it to myself, but it really won't help the Council's investigation to keep any information from them. Your call, though."

Exhaustion settled over him once more, and he leaned back and sighed. "If you're set on going, you can figure out for yourself what the difference is between lone and pack. I've already told you what I know, from experience. And for the record, my door's always been open to you, and it always will be." His voice was firm, but he didn't feel like bending over backwards to appease someone who'd never had a remotely friendly word for him, even someone in obvious pain. If Dhruv wanted to be a brick wall, he was free to stick himself in mortar and call it a day. "As for a time frame... me and Elif have been working on a place for lone wolves to change safely on the moons. If you can give me a while to get it finished, I could at least offer you a better option than chains in a basement. Like..." He considered the half-built enclosures, the various tasks that still needed to be taken care of. "The new year? And then you never have to talk to me again, cross my heart." He did so himself, dryly.

"Sure fucking does," he agreed and could on occasion still feel the phantom burns. "A goldilocks situation innit, not too much, not too little, just the right dosage. They knew what they were doing, and I think they might know of my rank too. Or they didn't and their intention was to kill Meena." At the question he paused, "I don't know. I'm trying but they did something with my head so I don't remember details. I think it was more than one." It wasn't intentional on his part these gaps in his memory, but whoever did this to him had intent.

His words were dismissed with a scoff, if this what holding got him, as bad as it was tho think such a thing, he would rather not have held on. But the thread that had him hold onto life was his own family, they had gone through the loss of a child once and he couldn't do that to them again. "Do you even have expectations, Nico? For the pack I mean, ones that mean something and not just a rephrase of the accords?"

Teeth gritted as he heard Nico out, a shaky exhale blown out to keep rising irritation at bay, while he wouldn't be so foolish enough to snap at him, Dhruv felt the prickle of wanting to do so. "I have, yes. Would you like me repeat all things that I heard about me? How people think I'm a freak because I was made in a lab? How they only seemed to be interested in talking because of that and not really anything else? I hoped it might change, but no." And that had been why he often butted heads with Nico, to brig about some change to this pack, but to rise in ranks to do such a thing felt a lofty goal now. "My assumptions aren't created from thin air, I don't need to spin hypothetical when everything is based in proof." He scoffed again, "Yea, that's all I good for it seems - creating problems. Dammed if I stay, damned if I leave. What a fuckin' wonderful life."

Shifting in his seat, contemplating leaving entirely seeing as this conversation was becoming an increasingly waste of his time, at hearing about not thinking clearly, Dhruv shot Nico a look. "I might not be sound of mind in regard to everything else, but this I'm certain about. I've already been chained up and forced to lose control, I know very well of the physiological and physical effects. I can't change out of this life, it would only mean to turn into something else again. Which could've nearly happened when the vampire came to my aid, but I refused blood. I already live a life shackled to the moon, the control I crave I want in my own hands. So, what if I have to chain myself up again, it'll be my choice. And yes, I have shifted, fucking hurt like hell, I reopened my sti-" he looked to Nico momentarily. He hadn't told him yet, he wasn't sure if the doctors had but with a soft inhale and exhale, he continued, "- my stitches. Whoever kidnapped me, I think was also behind taking Mason's gallbladder. I had a kidney removed. If you could keep that to yourself and not share with everyone that'd be appreciated. When I shifted I reopened that stitch. don't think it's ever going to heal properly." He shrugged, "I'm not faulting you or the pack here, but, you talk about pack providing control, I was in the pack when I lost control, albeit heavily drugged but, in or out, it doesn't seem to matter does it? It's something I have to figure out, I didn't have help to do that before I was kidnapped, I can't expect that I'll get any now."

Nico's words swirled in his mind latching into corners. You could hurt someone or yourself again. Give people time to feel better about themselves. Trust us for your good. It felt like pity. Like he had to do them a favour for being kidnapping, for getting hurt. Accommodate to their feelings. Dhruv stayed silent for a long time, both letting those words sink in and trying to not let it fester into unsavoury. He wasn't sure if either worked. "How much time do you need then? To feel better, to fix things? Give me something to look forward to."

[book-of-baba-fett]

A Lucky Hand - Fives x Fem!Reader

Crossposted on A03

Fives finds himself running low on credits during a game of pazaak with his favorite mechanic, but a risky wager on his end might end up benefitting both of you.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Oral Sex (f/m receiving). Drinking, PiV intercourse, (let me know if I miss anything!)

***

“And I win another round! Come on Fives, at this rate you should just hand me all your credits,” You tease at the clone sitting across the table from you. Your smirk is met with a scowl that doesn’t reach his sparkling amber eyes. The 501st is on leave on Coruscant, and they're one of your favorite clone battalions. You work as a mechanic at the military base where their barracks are, and once the war started up you got to know a bunch of the troops as they came through to ask for your help on any equipment they damaged on their last deployment. This is how you got to know Fives particularly well; if something could break, Fives would find the way to do it.

After he had annoyed you enough times by breaking the gear you had just fixed for him, he started to repay you by inviting you to hang out in parts of the base that were off limits to most of the civilian workforce, like the break room you were in this night. A few troopers were scattered around; most had early shifts on the base tomorrow so they couldn’t spend their free time at 79s that particular night. This meant they were entertaining themselves more tamely than usual but for many of the troopers this meant drinking ale and gambling on games or podraces they were watching on the holo, or in Fives and your case Pazaak.

Fives begrudgingly slides you the credits on the table and starts to deal out the next round. He was not a man who took defeat easily. Since his shifts for the day were over, he was only armored from the waist down and has his blacks on top. You’ve been drinking some ale during the night and you couldn’t help but notice the way the fabric clung to his body, particularly his broad chest and hard biceps.

Woah watch it there, you work around a million guys who look the same as him. Once you let those thoughts in there’s no going back. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at all attracted to him even without the alcoholic influence. Fives drove you crazy half the time, but he was just so damn hot you let it slide.

“You do have a point,” Fives suddenly spoke up and you’re snapped out of your thoughts. Once you notice he’s looking through his utility belt, you realize he’s answering your previous statement. “You’ve cleaned me out, I don’t have any more to bet tonight. That is���unless you’re not opposed to wagering something a little more interesting?”

You take a sip of your ale, draining the bottle. “And what do you propose?”

Fives looked around the room, making sure none of his brothers were paying too close attention to the two of you. Luckily, they were all focused on their own entertainment. His face broke into a grin as he looked into your eyes and leaned in closer to you.

“If I win this round, you give me a handjob,” he whispered into your ear.

You huff out a laugh to act nonchalant, but the truth is you feel a flutter in your stomach and a flush to your cheek by the suggestion. Everything between you too had just been friendly before, and while Fives had gotten flirty occasionally you never thought he was serious. He was Fives, that’s what he was like with everyone.

“Well, that is an interesting suggestion. What do I get if I win then?” you reply, trying to sound as transactive as possible; like this was some normal deal with a trader.

“If your hand wins, I’ll finish all the reports and paperwork you need to do for any 501st related repairs while we’re on this leave.” Ok, this got you excited but not in the core warming way his previous suggestion did; that would be a big relief on your workload. And hey, his hand has been terrible all night, luck seems to be in your favor.

“All right, you’re on.” You smirk and he flashes that devilish grin at you.

You win the first round easily; Fives was being very conservative with his hand and didn’t seem to want to play too many cards. He either has nothing in his deck, or he’s really holding out for something big.

The second round lasts a few minutes longer, but you overdraw your cards and Fives wins which meant the match was tied before the 3rd and final round. Fives teasingly stretches his arms over his head, making you roll your eyes at him.

The third round goes on the longest; you had used up most of your set deck already so you were being careful to not overdraw again, but you play your last card. You didn’t reach the 20 total needed to win, but being at 19 you felt confident in your choice. Fives drew another card from the deck, that pushes his total to 22. If you finished the round with a number over 20, that meant you lost so you begin to shift back in your seat and put your feet up on the table.

“Sorry, Fives, better luck ne-,” you start but he cuts you off, wagging a finger in your direction. He places his last card on the table: a -2. Making his total 20, and him the winner. You couldn’t help but shake your head in disbelief as the clone copied your victorious pose – stretching back with his arms behind his head and his feet coming to rest on the table as those amber eyes locked with yours.

***

“OK Listen, I was being a little shit. I had a terrible hand; I didn’t think I would actually win. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” You brought Fives back to your workshop in the base – the best place you could think of for some privacy. It was late so all the other mechanics should have left already. It was small, but there was enough space for a worktable and the small bench that you and Fives are sitting at. His voice was soft; you knew he could be a bit of an ass, but you knew he was being honest and the last thing he would want to do was make you uncomfortable.

“Nope, I don’t back out of a deal.” You smirk at him and his edge seemed to come back once he accepted that you were ok with this. Your hand rests on his armored thigh and slowly makes its way up to his codpiece. “Besides, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit curious about what you’ve got going on under all the armor.”

A devilish grin grows on his face as his own hand meets yours. He fiddles with the straps on his codpiece and pulls It away, revealing an already sizeable bulge in his blacks. He pulls your hand onto him and holds it there. You feel your core flutter as he hardens in your hand.

“Well, I’m more than happy to show off for you, baby,” His voice is lower and has a raspy edge to it. You push his hand aside and slowly undo his pants, releasing his cock. You slowly grasp your hand around the base of him, and you can’t help but lick your lips looking at it. His tan cock is thick and long, and already swollen at your light touch. His breath is low at your touch, he places a hand on your shoulder, wordlessly begging you to move.

You take your hand away for a second to lick it and you firmly hold him again. You slowly began to stroke up and down, feeling his velvety soft skin in your hand. You flick your thumb over his head, smearing a bit of the precum that was already leaking from it. You can’t help but want to taste him. You increase your pace and Fives’s grip on your shoulder tightens, his breath increasing. You look at his face, he smiles back at you, his pupils blown out and filled with lust.

“I had a hunch you would be good with your hands.” He breathed out, trying to hold onto his composure. You wanted to wreck that pretty face. As you continue working his cock up and down in your hand, he sighs out and bends his head backward, hitting the wall. You take this pause in attention to bend your head down and start licking the head of his cock.

“Fuck!” he cursed out, sighing your name. You slowly move off the bench to kneel in front of him. You continue to jerk him and lick a long strip up the underside of his cock. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Oh well, if you’re not happy with it I can always stop,” you tease and his eyes darken with hunger. He responds by placing a hand on the back of your head and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

“I’m more than happy sweetheart. I’ve been thinking about what those pretty lips would look like wrapped around my cock for ages.” He gently guides your head back to him, and you open up wide to take more of him in.

You start slowly, he’s so thick it’s hard to fit him all in. You press your tongue underneath his hard cock as you slowly bob up and down on him, using your hand to help jerk the rest of him. Once you adjust, you push him further into your mouth until you feel him hitting your throat. His hips thrust up, trying to feel more of you and his hand presses your head closer into him. You feel your gag reflex kicking in as he releases you, gasping for air as you come up.

“Was that, ok?” Fives asks, and once you smile and assure him it is, he grasps your hair again. “I want to fuck your pretty mouth; can I do that sweetheart?”

“Yes, use me” you gasp, and he doesn’t waste a second. He slides himself back into your mouth and begins thrusting himself while holding your head in place, hitting the back of your throat with each stroke. You’re so turned on by this, having this strong man use you to chase his pleasure. You reach one of your hands in between your legs, rubbing your clit over your jumpsuit, just trying to appease your needs with any form of friction. Fives notices and groans.

“Is this turning you on? Me choking you with my dick?” He grunts while thrusting into you. You hum in agreement, the vibration giving him more pleasure. His head knocks back against the wall, beads of sweat appearing at his forehead. He’s close.  “Fuck, I’m gonna come down that pretty throat of yours. Then, I’m gonna eat that pretty pussy of yours, you like the sound of that?”

You moan and look up at him, pulling your head away from his grasp. He looks wrecked, ready to cum and he’s about to push your head back down when you say, “Let me finish you off.”

His hand is still on your head but not pulling you down anymore. His cock is coated with your saliva, and you jerk him rapidly again then take him back into your hollowed out mouth, You use both of your hands, twisting as you jerk him and suck on his head. He starts gasping your name, warning you he’s about to come. You slide him completely into your mouth, where his tip is partially down your throat as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth and taste his thick, salty cum spurt in your mouth. He holds you down while he thrusts out his orgasm. You swallow as he’s already pulling you up off the ground into his lap and crushes your lips with a kiss.

“You’re wearing too much.” His voice is raspy from his release, but he’s focused on fulfilling his earlier promise to you. His hand finds the zipper at the front of your jumpsuit, and he tugs it down to your waist, his lips never leaving yours.  He roughly pulls down the shoulders, leaving you in just your bra from the waist up. He moves his kisses down to your neck, and he sucks a love bite right where the collar line of your suit would have been.

You feel like putty in his strong hands, moaning at even his softest touches. He grabs one of your breasts over your bra, his thumb rubbing where your nipples are peaking through. He uses his free hand to reach around you and effortlessly undoes the clasp on your bra. He leans back to stare at your exposed chest, eyes glancing over every inch of you and back up to meet you own. You feel yourself blush, but you’re hungry for more. You lean back in to kiss him more, and he slides his tongue into your mouth. He wraps your legs around his waist and slowly rises. He carries you over to your worktable, where he uses his arms to clear off the paperwork and tools that had been sitting there.

“Sorry if any of that was important,” He mumbles into your mouth. He places you at the edge of the table and makes quick work of removing the rest of your jumpsuit, leaving you in just your panties before him. He gently pushes you backward onto the table, kissing along your neck and sucking at each nipple before he moves his way down your body.

Your breath hitches as he reaches your hips, leaving another love bite as he gets there. His hands spread your legs open for him, propped against the edge of the table. His kisses trail over your panties and you can feel his breath on your clothed entrance. He lets out a dark chuckle.

“So wet, and I’ve barely even touched you. Someone’s needy.” He places a kiss right over your clit and you feel like you’re ready to lose any control you had over your urges. His fingers reach around the waistband of your panties as he slides them down your legs. He spreads your legs again, lifting one to rest on his should as he caresses and kiss it; his goatee offering a ticklish yet pleasurable sensation. He takes his time teasing you, kissing and licking around your joints and hip bones, his calloused hands squeezing your thighs. You begin to whimper under his touch, trying to rotate your hips so he’ll pay attention to the one area he’s ignored.

“Need something, mesh’la?” He grins up at you.

“Dammit Fives, touch me!”

“I already am, you need to be more specific than that. And maybe try asking nicer?” That little shit.

“Please, Fives. Your mouth. I need it. On me. Please.” You prop yourself on your elbows to look at him. God, you want to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but you need him too much to fight him right now.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” And he dives right in.

His tongue licks a stripe up your slit and you can’t hold your moan in. He uses his fingers to open up your folds as his tongue finds your clit. He flicks it expertly, keeping his eyes one you as you began to fall apart under his mouth. He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks gently at first, reading your reactions. He switches up between sucking and licking, swirling his tongue, and lightly grazing his teeth around your sensitive bud, causing you to cry out in pleasure. He’s too good at this, damn him for being so good at this. You have too much pent-up attraction in your system, too much of a need for him, you’re going to come soon.

You can’t prop yourself up anymore, and you fall back onto the table. Your hands search for anything to grab onto, to ground yourself in the moment.  His tongue continues its onslaught against your clit, Fives is using one of his hands to press your hip down, preventing you from moving too much. Just when you think you can’t be more overwhelmed, you feel one of his thick fingers pressing into your entrance. You moan and clench around him, but he can tell you want more so he slips a second finger in. He slows his tongue to match the speed of his fingers dragging in and out of you, only to increase his pace as your body welcomes him in.

“So tight around my fingers, baby. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” Your moans start to pitch higher and higher, your release imminent. He can tell you’re almost there, his fingers press even deeper into you and curve slightly, finding that spongy spot inside of you. You cry out louder.

“Yes, please Fives! Right there!”

He doesn’t relent his pace with his fingers as his mouth latches to suck around your clit. You can’t string two thoughts together; all you can focus on is the electricity pulsing through your body. All you can hear are your moans and the filthy noise from his fingers and mouth pleasuring your pussy. Your legs are quaking around his head, your hips fighting to leave the table but being held into place by your source of pleasure. You’re able to glance down at Fives and the lustful but focused look in his golden eyes is enough to push you over the edge. Your eyes roll back as your orgasm hits you like a speeder. His fingers work you through it as your pussy flutters around him, and his tongue laps up your release. Once your breathing settles, he pulls his fingers from you and makes eye contact as he sucks them clean.

“You’re even sweeter than I imagined.” You’re still sprawled on the table as he stands up and removes the top of his blacks. You’re in recovery from your release, but you feel yourself clench as you look over his sculpted, tan body. You almost moan when you notice his cock, still free from your earlier work is now hard again as he removes what was left of his armor. He notices the hungry look on your face. “Bet I can get you to come again, this time on my cock.”

Your energy perks up and you’re able to lift yourself up again, and you teasingly wave your hips at him, showing off your entrance, still glistening from your orgasm. One of his hands grabs your hip to steady you, while the other strokes his cock and lines it up against your entrance. He slides it up and down your slit, whacking it against your sensitive clit. You shake in his grip and his eyes gleam as he slowly presses into you.

You’re still wet from your release and his fingers had worked you up, but you still have a hard time accepting his thickness. You feel him splitting you open, but the slight edge of pain is overpowered by the pleasure. Fives bottoms out in you and pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to him. You had never been so full and the sensation is almost too much. Your arms lift and grasp onto his biceps, needing to hold onto him for proof this wasn’t some dream.

One of his hands reaches behind you to the small of your back to keep you propped up. His other is gripping your hip, grounding himself as he’s ready to take what he wants. But he has to briefly control himself. He bends down, kissing you on your forehead.

“You feel so good, I won’t be able to last long. Are you ready?” He asks as his kisses trail down to your mouth. You deepen the kiss, gathering his bottom lip in your mouth and lightly bite on it making him groan.

“Fuck me, Fives. I’m off tomorrow, so I don’t need to walk.” You whisper and that’s all he needs.

He pulls himself out and then thrusts all the way back in, hitting your deepest spot. You barely reacted when he’s already moving again, unrelenting in his pace as he aims for that pleasure spot with every single thrust. He holds you against him, smacking your hips into his. Your nails digging deeper into his arm, and you’re turned on at the thought of him secretly walking around tomorrow with your marks on him. His pace is harder than it is quick, and you feel him drag in your pussy with every movement, almost as if you can feel every vein and ridge on his cock. Your pussy is holding him in a vice like grip, and as your legs wrap around his waist he groans as he feels you move around him.

Your head starts to roll back, and his hand that was on your back moves to the back of your neck to hold you in place, making you keep eye contact locked with him. He’s in complete control of your body, his strong arms able to hold you and fuck you like a rag doll. The tension starts to build in your body again, building to another peak.

Fives pulls out and you whine from the loss of him, but then he flips you onto your stomach, your ass up and legs dangling off the table. He uses his legs to spread yours further apart as he bends over, licking a line up your spine. He bites at the back of your neck, grabs a fistful of your hair to angle your face with his as he kisses you. He slams his cock back into you and you cry out; you won’t have a voice tomorrow.

“I’m close, can I come inside this pretty pussy?” he pants into your ear as he slowly drags his cock in and out of you. You were on birth control, so you knew you would be fine.

“Yes, please, fill me up Fives!” you gasp, grinding your ass back into him to meet his movements. He kisses you again then slides his hand back to your hips and begins a brutal pace.

If you thought you hadn’t been filled before, this angle makes you feel him in places you didn’t think were possible. His body pushing into you more and more with each thrust, you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips from his hands and marks on your legs from the edge of the desk. You start to lift yourself, but he uses on hand on your back to press you back down, your cheek turned to the side pressed against the surface so you’re able to see him ravish you from the corner of your eye.

He’s hitting your deepest spot with every thrust, quickly propelling you closer and closer to your second orgasm. Your body is wrecked as he fucks into you. Your vision is blurry, you can’t focus on anything, and your head is filled with your combined moans and the sinfully delightful slap of his hips against your ass and his dick in your pussy. You won’t be able to focus on any of your next projects when you’re on your next shift, all you’ll be able to think of is how this Arc Trooper bent you over your desk and fucked you into another galaxy. Your whole body begins to tense, and you feel a euphoric sensation take over your body. You were already on your way to the strongest orgasm you ever had, when his hand reached around for your clit and his calloused finger pads start rubbing it. You’re pushed past the point of no return.

You scream out but you can’t hear it, you see white and the only thing grounding you to the planet is the sensation of him fucking you through your climax. You call out his name countless times as he fucks you through it, your pussy squeezing him to the point where he can’t hold on any longer and, with a cry of your name, he fills you with hot streams of cum.

He collapses onto you, both of you breathing together and still joined. Slowly he gets up and pulls himself out of you. You nearly roll off the table, but he catches you and picks you up just to bring you down to the floor with him. He holds you in his arms there, allowing you to catch your breath. His golden eyes don’t leave your face as he brushes tears you don’t even realize you had shed off your cheeks. He smiles at you and his eyes twinkle as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“I’m glad I lost that bet,” you joke, making him laugh and bend down for another kiss.

[whateveriwant]

Of course I can give you some hc ideas! I’d be honored ☺️ How about a hc for protective Bucky?

Watch My Six

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: brief violence

A/N: Whilst writing this, I realized that I don’t really know what a headcanon is nor do I know how to write one, lmao. Thus, I just kinda did my own thing and this was the result. Headcanon or not, I hope you enjoy!

So, I think it’s safe to say that Bucky is canonically a pretty protective guy 

Whether it’s saving Steve’s skinny ass in the streets of Brooklyn, pulling Steve out of the Potomac so he doesn’t get debris rained down on him, or beating the shit out of Tony at the end of CA:CW, when it comes to his loved ones, Bucky’s willing to throw himself in the line of fire

And not only that, but he’s also incredibly cautious; we saw that with how vigilant he was when he was a fugitive in Romania – always looking over his shoulder, having multiple contingency plans, etc.

So, combine Bucky’s strong sense of protectiveness with his extreme wariness, and you’ve got yourself one mother hen of a boyfriend

I think Bucky’s never more protective than when you two are on a mission together

First of all, he’s going to always try to ensure that he's your partner; using excuses like “I don’t trust anyone to look out for her like I can,” “I have the most peace of mind when I’m with her,” or even “You’d want to do the same for your girl,” and Bucky can often convince (mostly Steve) to pair you two up

Before the mission, he always does a last-minute checklist of your gear to make sure you’re prepared head-to-toe

“You have your knives?” Bucky questions, looking you over for the objects in question.

“Yep,” you nod and pat the respective places in your suit.

“Your extra mags?”

“Mhmm, all three,” you say sickeningly sweet, hoping to appease him so that you can leave on time for once. He does this every time, and every time you’re either later or almost late for the jet because he insists on triple checking everything. While you’re normally more than willing to humor the sentiment, today, you just want to get a move on it so you don’t get berated for your tardiness.

“Okay,” he nods slowly, seeming to catch on to your want to get out the door ASAP. But, just as soon as you think Bucky’s given it a rest, he begins, “But what about your–”

“Bucky,” you let out an airy sigh, needing to cut him off or else he will go on and on. “You don’t have to worry about me so much. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay,” you assure him with an easy smile even though you know that won’t completely dissipate his concerns.

“Okay...,” Bucky hesitantly relents, putting his hands up in surrender. He stops badgering you for the time being, but not before adding, "You just can never be too careful."

During the mission, you two are nearly attached at the hip. If you aren’t side-by-side as you traverse the facility/bunker/what have you, then you’re watching each other’s six – one leading while the other follows

You often let him lead because you know he prefers being the first to have to encounter any potential hostiles – putting himself in harm’s way rather than you; this, however, causes you to crawl at a snail’s pace through the building

Bucky will approach each new bend with extreme caution – silently raising a fist to get you to halt as he carefully peeks around the corner. While, nine times out of ten, it’s usually just another desolate hallway, there’s that occasional time that it isn’t

So, whenever you do encounter hostiles – especially when you’re caught off guard by them – remember the whole 'throw himself in the line of fire' thing? Yeah, that's exactly what Bucky does

In one single motion, Bucky’s flesh arm curls around your waist and pulls you backwards, making you stand behind him as he puts himself between you and the sudden assailant.

His metal arm raises to block the attack – fortunately, encountering the downswing of a knife rather than an incoming bullet. Unable to pierce through the metal, the hit rebounds off of his arm, allowing Bucky to retaliate and make quick work of the target.

As the body drops, Bucky turns to you, looking you over for any injuries despite the fact that your super-soldier bodyguard didn’t let them get anywhere near you.

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you brush him off with a laugh as his fingers tickle your sides, searching for any nicks or tears in your suit.

“You sure?” He raises a skeptical brow, not totally willing to take your word for it and instead wanting to check for himself.

“Positive,” you nod, a smile pulling at your lips at seeing Bucky’s protective nature come out full force. While some might consider his hovering suffocating, you actually find it endearing that he’s so concerned about your well-being despite it not being totally necessary. As you begin walking the hallway again, you joke, “But let me handle one or two of these guys. I can’t let you have all the fun.”

The rest of the mission passes much the same: slowly traipsing through the facility, encountering the rogue villain here and there, and Bucky handling said villain before you can so much as blink

As you're returning home afterwards, you approach Bucky on the jet, wanting to discuss the mission right then and there instead of waiting until you touch down back at home

"Bucky, can we talk?" You address him carefully, sitting in the vacant seat beside him.

He sighs quietly and drops his head, peering down at his clasped hands. "I know what you're gonna say,” he sounds defeated as he admits. “I’m sorry for breathing down the back of your neck so much and I’m sorry for getting in your way.”

His abrupt apology stuns you into silence – your mouth snapping shut in shock. That’s not what you expected him to say as it’s not what you were going to say. For once, the marksman is way off the mark.

“I know you told me you can take care of yourself, and I know that you’re right, but… I just can’t help that my first instinct is to protect you,” he breathes, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “And I know I can go a little overboard sometimes, but… honestly… I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I knew it'd keep you safe,” he looks up, finally meeting your gaze to show the sincerity written all over his expression. But, just as quickly, he looks down again, nodding to himself as he comes to some resolution in his head. “I don't regret my actions, but I do regret upsetting you. So, next time, I’ll try not to step on your toes so much so that–”

"Bucky, no,” you finally interrupt, not wanting to hear him beat himself up any more. "I think you have the wrong idea. That's not what I was gonna say at all," you shake your head, reaching over to take his hand, drawing his eyes back up to yours. "What I was gonna say is… thank you," you offer him a grateful smile, seeing the confusion flash across his face. "I know you're just looking out for me, and I know you mean well whenever you jump in like that on missions,” you say earnestly. “I’ll admit, while sneaking around so incredibly slowly can get a little tedious at times…,” you chuckle, showing that you’re being sarcastic and you aren’t actually annoyed with his behavior. You grin once more, “...there's no one else I'd rather have watching my back," you squeeze his hand gently, sending the conviction of your statement through the touch. "So, thank you for being there for me, Bucky. Thank you."

Slowly, a soft, genuine smile graces Bucky’s face, realizing that you didn’t come to reprimand him and that you aren’t upset with the way he likes to look out for you. He squeezes your hand back, happy to have come to a mutual understanding.

"And hey, don’t worry about potentially stepping on my toes,” you say, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “When you're watching my six, I think I need to worry about my heels more than my toes," you jest, earning a snort from Bucky.

Bucky can be a protective man – some might even say overprotective – but the fact that he cares so much for you and everyone that he loves is one of his best qualities

__________

Tags: @littlegasps @harrysthiccthighss

[soukokuwu]

"requests are closed??" that cannot stop me because i cant read!! ** URGENT ** power couple comfort needed asap chuuya is the diplomat for the inheritor of a newly departed yokohama media moguls empire who agrees to fold the power of the company to moricorp so long as chuuya agrees to a date yah i need this like stat plz

THE OTHER HALF.

✢ genre. fluff ✢ pairing. chuuya x reader ✢ synopsis. you’re going to inherit your father’s media empire, and mori wants in. his ticket? chuuya. ✢ author notes. an urgent request? you got it! in 2 days ehehe i just hope you like this <3

He stares at the pristine white on the walls of the lavishly decorated office corridors. It suits their reputation. Nothing fits the reigning media mogul of Yokohama like grandeur. He would normally express some sort of distaste for how much of these… beautifications are unnecessary, but Mori had already warned him: it is imperative to get on their good side. Political reasons, he added. As if the mafia doesn’t have enough political influence already.

Although why, of all people, he chose to send NAKAHARA CHUUYA as Port Mafia’s representative to head the meeting, Chuuya himself doesn’t know. A cold-blooded, hot-headed vessel of destruction.

Yes, very plausible, very sensible, he thinks.

Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.

Mori always had his reasons for every decision he made. Some are possibly very fucked up, but even Chuuya admits his manipulation tactics and puzzle-piecing skills rival that of Dazai’s. So he never questions his boss’s decisions. At least, not to his face. He just wonders what is hiding behind this certain choice (of making Chuuya go to the meeting, alone) and how twisted it could be.

Cruising through the halls makes him realise just how much he’d hate it if he was a normal human with a normal, boring desk job. The rooms he passes by, with their glass windows and deceiving transparency, are all full of people either typing away on their keyboards or speaking into phones with some sort of urgency. Yikes. No thanks, he would much rather work with violence and be on the frontlines than man a desk at a mediocre job with less-than-satisfactory pay.

The redhead guesses that they’re going to take him to the boardroom (which incidentally, he thinks, is quite an appropriate name for a meeting room — rigid, stiff, flat — full of smiles that are painted on and the chatter of mindless opinions crafted only to cater to the ones who matter. If that’s an indication of anything to come, Chuuya is already dreading it.) After all, they had scheduled a meeting for discussions with the director on future possibilities of working with the mafia.

Chuuya does admit though, it would be very useful to have the media on their side. Not only digital, but print as well. The possibility to spread propaganda and cover up crimes. This company has it, and Mori is hungry, eager to take over. (Or at least, to establish dominance over them.) Maybe that’s why he chose the gravity manipulator. To make them comply with the threat of crushing them with his brute force should they refuse. It’s harsh. Not that he would mind if it comes to that. There’s a certain satisfaction, a certain kick, he gets out of seeing everyone before him cower in fear.

Because it means he’s in control.

And Chuuya loves being in control. After all, he controls the very things that holds everyone in its grip — gravity.

Ironically, though. What he doesn’t have control over is his own feelings. Mostly unpleasant. A temper so fiery and an impulse so unexpected. Today, though, there is a turn of events. Because as he turns the corner to enter the boardroom, he spots a pair of eyes on him, observing him shrewdly.

No, it isn’t yours. But your father’s.

Wrinkled face wrinkles up even more as they eye him from head to toe, expressing obvious displeasure in the form of tuts and a deepening frown. Chuuya can just tell from how the man wears an expensive tailored suit — probably from a high end luxury brand that Chuuya can’t even pronounce properly — and how his tie is tightened so firmly against his neck that he probably always has a stick up his ass.

But a whiff of something… refreshing skips pass his nostrils and all the hostility from seeing the director disintegrates into — what is this? Chuuya can’t even tell, another irritating reminder he doesn’t understand his own emotions all that well.

And that, that is when he first lays eyes on you.

If you’re wondering, no, it’s not that cinematic moment where you walk in and he’s immediately blinded by the light you bring with you thanks to that invisible halo you carry on your head. Chuuya sees the world through anything but rose-tinted glasses. He is captivated by you though, somehow. Maybe it’s the way you stride in so confidently, with your blazer fitted against your body tightly — not too tight — you don’t want to give off ‘sexy’ vibes, do you? Not in the office. No, you just radiate some show of ‘proper’ and ‘togetherness’ that other ladies must be envious of. Or so it seems to him, at least. Then he wonders again, maybe it’s the way you so nonchalantly brush past him, your shoulder nudging against his, not a care in the world for who he is.

He thinks he’s got his reasoning, a feasible enough reason of why he’s intrigued — you’re young, you’re sexily sophisticated (he just knows you are), and to be a part of this meeting, you must have a sort of… power, so to say.

And then you just have to, don’t you? You just have to take a seat on that chair (in an angle that seems to cater perfectly to Chuuya), cross your legs just enough so your skirt rides up your thigh high enough to leave him wanting to see more, but not enough to be considered as a bold move of seduction. The kicker? That smirk you wear when you realise that he’s staring. He always hated that expression; the one that other people wear out of the satisfaction of their triumph. Especially when it’s against him. But then why does he think he can look at yours forever?

Not even five minutes into the ‘discussion’ and Chuuya already finds out you’re the director’s daughter, the one who would inherit the company very soon. (He fails to properly listen to the reason why because his focus starts to fixate on you, the surrounding all melding into one — the sights, the sounds.) To which you respond with batting your eyelashes at the redhead and wearing an innocent smile yet at the same time being shrouded in an air of… mystery.

The debate on just how much of the empire that Port Mafia would control in the future is not quite a negotiation. If they want to, then they can just force the director’s hand, maybe kidnap his daughter — Chuuya glances briefly toward you before focusing back on your father and the tablet (apparently the company made a sort of presentation that Chuuya can say he frankly doesn’t give a shit about) — but no. Even now, he thinks, he doesn’t want anyone to lay a hand on you. Besides, if your current behaviour is any indication, even if the mafia does come after you, you won’t be scared. You look just like the kind of person who always has something up her sleeve. You must take after your father.

“On that note, I will be leaving the final decision up to my wonderful young lady here.”

That manages to bring Chuuya back to his senses.

What? The old man is leaving such an important decision in his daughter’s hands?

Chuuya breathes in deeply. Stay level-headed. He’s got this, he tries to convince himself. Notwithstanding that he has made it this far only because of the training Kouyou’s given him on the art of appeasing old uncles and kissing their ass so that they give him what he wants.

Guess Mori isn’t as thorough as Chuuya thinks he is.

“Now, you can focus on me.”

Right on cue. As soon as the director leaves.

Look at that, he was right. You are confident. You are smug. You are observant. And annoyingly enough, you are in control. Because to do his job properly, he has to act like he’s wrapped around your finger. (He fails to realise he already is.)

Chuuya clenches his jaw, his brain failing to function in this pivotal moment, failing to filter any kind of acceptable responses. So he stays silent, mind going a thousand miles an hour just trying to form words, sentences, yet drawing a blank. And any normal person in your position would have spoken up by now, but you? You’re reeling in his inexplicability, silently. Observing him as though he’s an animal trapped in a glass cage for all to admire.

You lean back against your chair, the padded back bending backwards to support your weight. Your arms are crossed over your chest and the smirk has not left your face. If anything, it gets wider. Neither of you give in. You both keep your gaze locked on each other, and the silence grows on him. The comfort sneaks up on him. It’s weird. Is he dreaming it? Is he being delusional? Why is that he feels that with you, more is said through your silence than words? If so, being under your carefully appraising eye would be an honour.

Chuuya thinks, no no, he knows, he hears you muttering under your breath. He wants to retort, but words don’t find him. Only silence and stillness.

But it doesn’t last any second longer because you scoff in amusement and grab the paperwork regarding the partnership off the spot your father has left behind. Your eyes don’t leave his cerulean ones though. It’s almost as though you’re hyper-focused on him. Or is it the other way around? Maybe it’s mutual?

You do eventually break the stare though, to turn your back and walk out the door, but not before you stop at the edge, bidding goodbye with a lopsided smile and a “Park Hotel, 8pm, seventieth floor.”

Four hours seemed like a lot of time to prepare.

Seemed.

It isn’t.

Because now, at 7.56pm, Chuuya is still staring nervously at himself in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. A flurry of thoughts occupy his state of mind.

Is my tie okay? It’s not lopsided, is it? He thinks about your lopsided smile as he adjusts the black tie set against his red dress shirt. His black coat is replaced by a black fitted blazer. Then he wonders if you’re still in your work outfit.

Damn it, why can’t he get you out of his mind?

You’re a necessary ally, he thinks. That’s why, he convinces himself. Although, not really. If you are just another job, another person the Port Mafia needs to brainwash, then why is he so nervous about this date? His hands freeze in their motions as he questions himself.

Is this what it is? A date?

By 7.59pm he’s up on the seventieth floor, and the moment he steps out of the elevator, an usher tells him to follow. Wow. Having an already established media empire the moment you were born must have been a big bonus for you, hasn’t it? Chuuya imagines you’re spoiled; you’ve lived your whole life with the lavish luxury you currently stand to inherit now. But he gives you due credit. For your father to entrust the dealings of the Port Mafia to you, you must be very capable. Not that he has ever thought otherwise.

In the short hour that he had interacted with you earlier, he knows you’re anything but a bimbo. But you must have thought he was similar to one, huh? What with him being speechless over nothing.

Once he reaches the private room, he’s greeted by you already seated, right leg crossed over your left, fingers flipping through the menu, unfazed by his arrival. The door shuts behind him, and it’s back to this air of oppressed silence. Chuuya slowly glides over to his seat across from you, eating you up from your head down to your little tippy toes. You are less covered up now, your office suit giving way to a remarkably eye-catching black maxi, although he does admit, what catches his eye is that slit that runs up your thigh.

Now, now, you look sexy.

When he settles down, he notices the agreement from this afternoon sitting by the edge of the glass table, all complete save for his and your signatures. The numbers 70 and 30 briefly register in his head. The former, of course, rightfully belonging under you. He furrows his brows. That’s twenty percent lower than what Mori is expecting. How can he negotiate with you, then? What more can he bargain with?

But as he looks up from the document to you, you’re already observing him, wearing a flirty (with a side of smug, as he expects) smile on those lips of yours.

“There’s always a price to pay, Mr. Nakahara.”

Chuuya is slightly baffled. The other workers in your office are boring and own a one-track mind. But evidently you don’t belong in the same group as them.

Is this a game to you?

“Name it.” He does want to know what you’re seeking from him, and he knows he’s not nearly as witty enough to figure it out on his own.

You never give anything away easily though. Chuuya learned that much. Instead of giving answers you lean back on your seat, just as you did earlier, and revert your attention back to the menu.

“So, you are capable of speaking to women after all, huh?”

The rest of the dinner is filled with conversations that don’t pertain to what it should. Instead of discussing the deal, he gets sidetracked, oddly intrigued by what you personally find fascinating. Chuuya remembers that first wave of pleasant surprise wash across your face when he asks about what you like, what you do outside of work. You know, the common exchange. But it must slip his mind that you aren’t used to ‘clients’ taking an interest in you, as a person.

Neither of you realise the abrupt change in the tone of the evening. You both kind of just ease into it.

Chuuya memorises what you tell him; how you actually like what little time you have outside of work; how you talk about books as your escape, the way your favourite author’s name rolls off your tongue so easily even though it’s a foreign name. He notes how your eyes sparkle when he pays you a compliment about how your brain works instead of the usual comments you receive on your appearance. He also loves how you talk just that little bit faster when you’re excited about a topic.

But he also learns how your smile is forced when you talk about your family, or anything remotely related to your work. He notices how you bite your lip when you talk about barely having time to enjoy anything outside of work. And how until now you’ve been a slave to the company, having to learn and grind on knowledge about anything and everything that you need to know to run it. A shut-in with a twist, if he might label it.

Chuuya was wrong then, he realises. Your life has not been one of free rides; easy passes. It didn’t get easier because of who you are. It was the reverse. It got harder because more was expected out of you. Your life at home wasn’t any easier. Turns out your father was, and is still, a tyrant. You’ve never known to enjoy yourself.

“Until tonight.”

Only now does it dawn on Chuuya why you set this whole thing up in the first place. This way you get to have some time to enjoy yourself at a ‘date’ disguised as a business meeting, because then dear daddy won’t get mad at you now, will he? You’ve probably never experienced romance, have you? Given your tight schedules and overbearing parents. Chuuya must be your first.

He gets just slightly giddy thinking of that possibility.

And by the time your plates are cleared and the bill is paid (by your father, apparently, because you grinned and charged it to his credit card; Chuuya thinks it’s acceptable because from what he hears, the director doesn’t seem to be a very good man at all, why not charge it to the man?), he makes his mind up to really help you make full use of your night.

That’s how he finds himself ten minutes later with you standing on the edge of the neighbouring skyscraper, your fingers intertwined tightly with his. Your first exposure to his ability. ‘Holy shit’ were your exact words. Despite how you carry yourself in the office, it’s almost unbelievable how childlike you look now, admiring the sight before you. Losing all your childhood because of who you’re expected to be… Chuuya knows all too well what that feels like. Minus the bond that is family, of course. Although now, he guesses he can call the Port Mafia such.

“Forty.”

Chuuya arches a brow. “Forty?”

You press your lips together to suppress a grin, nodding at him. “Highest I can go for you, Mr. Nakahara.”

“My boss wants a half, though,” Chuuya grimaces in faux sheepishness. Of course Mori would be fine with a forty, but it’s fun having a back-and-forth with you. Or maybe this is his way of convincing himself this is nothing more than continuing a pleasant conversation.

There’s something in your reaction that gets him so curious. It’s how you grin yourself silly and can’t even manage to look him in the eye. Or the way you try to untangle your fingers, only to find Chuuya has gripped them even tighter. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to know what he’s thinking of.

“Fifty is for family only, sorry.”

He waltzes through the narrow corridors and carpeted floors like it’s home. It might as well be, he’s been here about as many times as he’s been to the Port Mafia headquarters in the same duration. It doesn’t look as tacky as it used to. Or is it just because he’s used to it? Or maybe the gradual changes all seem like nothing to him because he visits this place every single day.

Chuuya sighs. No matter, he’s got other things to worry about.

“No, forget about making your own notes. Negotiate. I want exclusivity on this.”

There it is. Your bossy, domineering voice.

He leans by the doorframe. Your subordinates all dub you the ‘boss from hell’. Personally he can’t see why. But then again, you’re an absolute angel to him. (He never gets tired of seeing the shock register on everyone’s faces when they see you be all lovey-dovey with him.)

Feels good. Being the exception.

When the conversation ends, you hang up the phone and turn over, finally noticing your boyfriend by the door. It’s like a switch turns in you; your hostility melts away and those deep downturned lines rotate into a smile. Even now, five years later, you still have a childlike innocence to you; he sees this right now by how you skip towards him like an elated dog seeing its owner is home.

Did he just compare you to a dog…? Out of all the things he likes, why did he — he mentally facepalms himself but shrugs it off. Like he’s said before, he has more pressing matters to think about.

It’s amazing to think how far you both have gotten. From being strictly business to unspoken feelings in a matter of hours, to where you guys are now. Frankly, he didn’t think it was possible for someone like him. He gravitates away and thinks back to the first time he stepped foot in here.

Huh, maybe Mori did know what he was doing after all. That man ended up being your matchmaker. Chuuya inwardly grimaces and shudders and the thought.

But you pull him back to earth.

Your arms snake around his neck and you hook your legs around his waist. Lucky you’re wearing a pantsuit today, because the last time you did that, i.e. yesterday, you were wearing a skirt and it rode up your thigh a little too high. Yeah, Chuuya wasn’t too happy when some of your male coworkers got to see a glimpse of your ass. But he can’t blame you, you were just that excited to see him. Something he finds remarkable given you’ve been together for four years.

“Didn’t think you’d come here this early,” you comment as you get down, your hands still round his neck. “What brings you by, Chuu? Or should I say, future boss of the Port Mafia?”

He gives you a peck on the lips. His nickname falling from your lips just sound so right. You’re right, he usually comes by after you both are done with work. That usually means 8pm onwards. (You both are pretty invested in your companies. Especially now so for Chuuya that he’s been announced a few days ago as the one to take over the mafia in the future.)

“Today I’m here for professional reasons, princess, to offer you a proposal,” Chuuya coos, a gloved thumb grazing over your cheek.

“Hmm?” You look up at him quizzically. “Okay, shoot.”

Chuuya grins at you, his eyes closing and forming into crescents. He opens them slowly as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I think it’s time for that fifty-fifty.”

✢ tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes

[yeenybeanies]

Starstruck

ok so aftermath was Kinda Dumb but i got to see johnny’s stupid face some more & i just reblogged a whole lotta gifs of him onto my main account lmao so here we are also i haven’t proofread this yet bc it’s 1am  i’m tired

mortal kombat | johnny cage & gray brooks ( oc )

1,471 words

strong language warning

reblogs > likes !! thanks for reading !!

What can she say? She’s starstruck. 

Well––she’s partially starstruck, and partially terrified. It’s not every day that Gray gets to see her favorite actor, the one and only Johnny Cage.

“ Woah. You’re . . . seriously tiny. ”  His voice booms high above her, louder and richer in person that she’s ever heard it on the big screen.  “ You’re, like, smaller-than-my-action-figure tiny. ”

Yeah. That’s where the terrified aspect comes in. Johnny Cage, of course, is human. And Miss Gray Brooks? She is a borrower. She is a grand four inches tall, staring, starstruck/terrified, at Johnny F. Cage. ( The F stands for Fucking. Or maybe it doesn’t. She doesn’t know what his middle name is, or if it even starts with F. ) 

“ Uhm–– . . .! ”  Shit. She should probably run. Borrowers are supposed to run and hide when there are humans around. But her legs––they feel like jelly. They feel like jelly that’s cemented itself to the ground, feeling like they’re about to give out under her at any moment, while not letting her move from this very exposed spot on the floor.

For a long moment, neither of them, human nor borrower, move. Gray can’t hear anything but the blood roaring in her ears. Is she still breathing? Oh, Gods, she must be the worst borrower ever.

It’s Johnny that does eventually break his statue act first. He bends at the waist, looming over her diminutive person, and lowers his sunglasses to look at her without any barriers before his eyes.

“ Hunh. Y’know, if I didn’t just see you walking, I’d think you actually are an action figure. ”  Whether it’s intentional or just a natural quirk of his, Johnny flashes a trademarked Johnny Cage Smirk. ( Gods, Gray thinks she might just swoon. )  “ You gonna say somethin’, sweetums? Can you even talk? ” 

He lowers himself to a crouch and reaches forward, index finger extended. He means to poke. That’s enough to snap the little being from her stupor and skitter backwards. Johnny’s smile only widens.

“ See? I knew you were real. ”  His hand retreats, coming to rest on the bend on his knee.

“ Y-yeah, I should, um––I should go . . .! ”  She manages to squeak out. Perhaps later she’ll kick herself over how meek she sounds, but that will have to wait.

“ Hah! ”  Gray flinches. He’s loud.  “ Knew you could talk too! ”  His outburst has Gray covering her ears and flinching. The starstruck-ness is quickly wearing off.

“ Mr. Cage . . . you’re yelling . . .! ”  She takes another step back, hands pressed firmly to either side of her head. His voice is booming, shaking her very bones. ( Or maybe she’s just started shivering in her surging fright. ) 

“ Oh––shit, sorry, I––wait, you know my name? ”  The human puts his hands to the floor, steps his legs out behind him, and lowers his chest and belly to the floor. With his chin resting atop his folded forearms, he’s only a few inches above Gray’s eye level, and close enough now that she can feel the gusts from each breath he takes.

He’s . . . so much bigger up close.

Gray couldn’t stifle her shaking if she tried. Oh, she should run. She really should run, but, under those big, brown eyes, she’s frozen yet again.

“ Aw, c’mon now. Don’t go quiet on me. You were just talking. ”  He watches her expectantly. It’s reminiscent of a cat toying with a mouse––at least, that’s what comes to Gray’s mind.

“ Um . . . if I talk . . . will you let me go? ”  Much like the rest of her body, her voice quivers. It’s rather pathetic, she thinks––yet another thing to berate herself over later. That’s assuming she sees a  “ later. ”

Something looking like an epiphany crosses the human’s features. He clears his throat and shimmies back, giving Gray a bit more room.  “ Well––yeah. I mean, I’m not gonna hold you hostage or anything. I’ve just never seen a–a living doll before. ”  He lifts two fingers to gesture to her for emphasis.

Gray’s cheeks heat up.  “ I’m––I’m not a doll. ”  She swallows thickly, trying to choke down some of the fear.  “ And, um, yes. I know your name. I’ve . . . seen a lot of your movies . . .. ” 

“ Really? ”  His grin widens, nearly splitting his face in two. Gray is experiencing a myriad of conflicting emotions right now. Terror? Embarrassment? Elation? Perhaps a little indignation at being called a doll?  “ How? Are there, like, little TVs? “ 

“ No, I–I used to live in a, uh––in a movie theater, ”  she admits, eyes askance. It’s hard to look Johnny in the eye at all, let alone meet his gaze when he’s ( still ) so close.

Gray was in that theater for years. It was one of the best places to live. She could scurry around in the darkness, collecting fallen scraps of popcorn, candy, and various other concession snacks. Best of all, she could catch every Johnny Cage film that came out during her residency––along with several re-showings of older films. It was a tragic day when that theater closed down, forcing the borrower to move elsewhere.

She’s loathe to admit to his face, but she’d found herself with a little ( or a rather sizeable ) crush on the human before her. Never in a thousand years did she ever think she’d actually meet him, though. Up close like this, he’s . . . well, he’s still handsome, but self preservation is hindering those giddy feelings.

“ Okay, so, I’m just coming up with more questions here. A teeny tiny person one: exists; two: is a fan of my movies; and three: managed to make it all the way onto a secure special forces base. I might think to accuse you of spying, but you’ve broken into the food stores, as opposed to anything with sensitive information. Never mind that you’re . . . I  mean . . .. ” 

She knows what he means. It brings some red to her cheeks. Yes, she’s small. She gets it. Gray fidgets with her hands and chews on the insides of her cheeks.  “ Yeah . . . so, can I, uh, go now? ” 

“ What? We haven’t even covered the basics yet! Like what are you? What’s your name? What was your favorite Johnny Cage movie? ”  He looks less like a predatory cat now and more like a child that’s found a new toy. That’s a bit scarier, Gray decides.

“ Mr. Cage, I–I really should be leaving . . .. You’re not supposed to see me . . .. ”  She tries to backpedal some more. Johnny shifts, head lifted and one hand moving towards her, but he stops himself when she squeaks and cowers.

“ Um. Hey, Thumbelina? No need to act so scared. Hey, c’mon, I’m not gonna hurt you. ”  Gently he prods at her shoulder with his index finger, rocking her on her feet once. She shakes under his touch.  “ Ooookay, ”  he says, pulling his hand back again.  “ Alright. I’m scaring you. Listen, you can go, and I won’t mention to anyone that I saw you on two conditions, okay? ” 

Gray peeks up at him through her arms. His smile looks like it should be reassuring, but it definitely isn’t. Conditions means coercion.

“ Condition one: you tell me your name. Con––– ” 

“ Gray. Gray Brooks, ”  she interrupts. He can have her name. There’s nothing he can do with it anyway.

“ Alllright. That’s kinda a cool name. You sound like a hollywood star. ”  He winks, though it does little to calm the borrower.  “ Okay, condition two: you, little Miss Gray, have to promise me another conversation. ” 

A what?

Gray feels her heart drop, feels her blood run cold. He’s blackmailing her into seeing him again? 

She must really look scared, because Johnny quickly waves a placating hand. He clears his throat, the sound making her wince.  “ Okay, okay––I’m not gonna tell anyone about you regardless. But . . . you can’t blame me for being curious. It’s not every day you meet a tiny person that watches your movies! C’mon, darlin’, how about you meet me here again tomorrow and I’ll crack open an MRE for us to munch on while we chat. ” 

Food. Food is always a powerful persuasion tool.

Gray swallows, and nods awkwardly, if only to appease the human. Whether or not she intends to actually meet him here tomorrow, she’s not so sure. As of right now, it’s leaning towards a big NO. 

“ Great! ”  Johnny pushes up quickly, clapping his hands mid-pushup, and jumps to his feet. The combination of the rapid movement and the loud noise startle Gray enough to get her moving. She bolts, slipping under one of the food storage shelves and vanishing from his sight. Johnny blinks, a little taken aback by how quick she is, but he shrugs.  “ See ya tomorrow then. ” 

Maybe.

As his heavy footsteps retreat from the room, Gray slowly releases a breath she’d been holding. She bows her head, catching it in her hands.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could she let herself get caught like that? 

But also . . ..

Holy shit, she just met JOHNNY F. CAGE.

[legofbicuriosity]

trigger warning: s*xual assault

i was just talking about the SMU s*xual assault case with my friend, and i’ve seen a lot of comments saying that it “takes two hands to clap” and that she was to blame because she got herself in that situation, and i literally can’t believe people are saying that. i’ve also seen other people try to rationalise the problem and say that her going in the first place was unsafe, as if that warranted her being assaulted. but there’s a difference between blaming someone for not looking out for their safety and holding the perpetrator fully accountable for his actions.

the ability to rationalise comes from a place of privilege because to some extent, pragmatism comes from emotional distance. the ability to say “she got herself in that situation” comes from a place of ignorance (and yes, misogyny) and perpetuates the exact mindsets that cause victim blaming and let men evade responsibility. because instead of saying “she got herself in that situation”, why isn’t the natural response “he shouldn’t have done that”? and i don’t know, there’s something about men commenting on situations like this and victim blaming that boils my blood because it just speaks of the entitlement of someone who thinks their opinion holds as much water as someone else’s lived experiences. you can look at the facts all you want but viewing it from a situational standpoint disregards the trauma she experienced and the bigger issue of misogyny that this relates to.

and i’m not saying that all men are entitled or anything like that, i’m just saying that by virtue of them being men, they fundamentally have different general lived experiences. like they will never know the feeling of seeing someone who looks exactly like you crop up in yet another s*xual harrassment case every few months in a university you’re probably going to, or every few weeks if we’re speaking in general. they will never know the feeling of walking home and mentally going over the things you have that could potentially be used as weapons “just in case”. they’ll never know the fear and panic you’re struck with when seeing a friend get into a grab alone at 2am, even though that’s already the safest option. they will never know the feeling of seeing someone with the brightest smile and the most hopeful eyes that could’ve been you splashed on the news’ front page in another case that was lucky enough to have gained traction.

yes, obviously this doesn’t apply to all men or all women, and that’s a given, but there is definitely a disproportion in the things that have happened so far.

why is it that almost every girl i know has been harassed by another man, or at least put in an uncomfortable position by one? and it’s more complicated than just leaving, or just walking away because that’s not always an option. i mean take ruth george for instance. she ignored a man’s catcalls (something we’re repeatedly told to do in that situation) and what happened? she got s*xually assaulted and killed. she was 19. monica baey was showering in her university dorm. the lady terence siow molested was on a train. you cannot look at the smu case in a vacuum because it is not merely situational. the (strong) potential for other people to get violent takes away from the simplicity of being able to leave. i mean in the smu case, the girl didn’t want to leave and possibly couldn’t because what if he’d turned violent? she was alone with him in a school she didn’t go to in the middle of the night. appeasing him in the moment does not make her an ass kisser or does not mean she gave her consent. it makes her a person who was looking out for her safety. do you really think her silence was a green light for him to follow her into the women’s bathroom, try to kiss her multiple times, put his foot on her thigh and rub his dick on her while she was sleeping?

and the point that everyone is saying is that it should not be this way. we aren’t stupid. we know damn well that this is the reality and that situations can take a dangerous turn, but the point is that that should not be the norm. my first reaction when seeing more and more cases like this should not be “here we go again”. claiming that something shouldn’t be the way it is isn’t idealistic, it’s recognising that there is an inherent problem in the way things work and pointing that out. don’t you think we’d like to be able to go out with our friends without having to worry about how we’re gonna get home when it’s late?

women shouldn’t be bending over backwards to ensure our safety and accommodate men who can’t keep their egos and dicks in check. women shouldn’t be making excuses for men who can’t tick the boxes of being a decent human being. women shouldn’t be blamed for assuming they’re not gonna get attacked when they hang out with their friends. “boys will be boys” is for cheering when your friend slam dunks a wad of paper in the trash, not for situations that allow them to evade accountability and shirk responsibility for actions they knew damn well they were taking. women are done taking responsibility for men’s shitty actions and yet are still constantly blamed for it, sometimes by other women, and it’s just sad.

[ofellc]

hello angels !! i’m so so excited to be here and i’m so inspired to rewatch friday night lights now you have no idea ! i’m ava and this is my bb angel elle. i am pretty obsessed with my chubby lil pug named milo and have been rewatching schitt’s creek for like the 4th time. oh and check out elle’s pinterest here !!

hey  ELEANOR ROY , welcome to dillon university . has anyone ever told you you’re MAIA MITCHELL ’s twin ? no ? well okay , i heard you are TWENTY-ONE & a JUNIOR at the university . we hope CHEMISTRY isn’t kicking your ass too much , especially since you’re the SCHOOL NEWSPAPER REPORTER  . see you at the next game, ELLE & cis female + she / her .

𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓈 .

name : eleanor violet roy

nicknames : elle ( almost exclusively )

age : twenty-one years old

gender : cis female

pronouns : she / her

sexual orientation : bisexual

nationality : american

hometown : los angeles , california , usa .

𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 .

some of this is copied from donnie’s bio since ( @donncvans​ ) is her twin brother !

the roys come from a long line of lawyers & politicians . often not so good people . very power & money hungry . his father chuck is a big time lawyer for nfl football players .  his mother is out of the picture bc long story short , she was pregnant with donnie & eleanor when she was young . the roy family didn’t really accept her so they paid her off . elle & donnie don’t know that , they think their mother died at childbirth .

anyway , so mr. chuck raised his children haphazardly , bouncing from nanny to nanny w. a couple of family dinners sprinkled out . in LA .

the pressure to serve the family proud never weighed lightly on eleanor. she wanted to appease her father. unfortunately she didn’t inherit the athletic gene so she tried making it by being the best and brightest in every other area

growing up at the top of her class, winning science fairs, becoming editor of the yearbook and student body president in high school; elle did it all

sometimes she felt as if she lived in donnie’s shadown. it wasn’t his fault, but when her father lived and breathed the nfl, it was hard to make him interested in anything else.

elle took a particularly keen interest in journalism. she had a passion for interviewing people and getting down to the nitty gritty of a situation. 

she had the grades and credentials to go to almost any ivy league school she desired, but their was an innate need to follow donnie to dillon and make sure he was okay. 

elle always worried about donnie and the pressure he faced with her dad.

however, her father disapproved of getting a degree in journalism. constantly being told that she wouldn’t earn enough money, elle reluctantly agreed to study chemistry following her dad’s wishes to go to med school. 

𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂

jack of all trades, except anything sporty. she’s a quick learner, but also often spreads herself too thin taking on tasks. 

huuuugge art lover and painter. in elle’s perfect world, she would be able to paint for a living, but considering her dad didn’t even want her doing journalism, there was no way in hell she was going to be able to pursue that.

hopeless romantic by far.

she loves love and gives her entire heart and soul to whoever she’s with. also gives her heart away way too easily which has lead to elle being taken advantage of or just getting her heart broken

smarty smarty pants, but is pretty humble about it

glass half full kind of gal

can get easily overwhelmed, but does a pretty solid job of masking it. she is just in her own head a lot and overthinks everyyythhing but tries not to let it show

she drinks on occasion, but often times fall into being the mom friend. she’s always so scared of letting herself be inhibited in front of strangers

super loving and loyal !! once you’re her friend, she’ll go to the ends of the earth for you

she is literally the bruno mars song called grenade lmao

since she wasn’t able to pursue her passion for journalism, she volunteers as the school news reporter so she attends all of the sports games and interviews all the players

will bend over backwards for almost anyone and is v easily persuaded and talked into things because she’s such ! a ! people ! pleaser !

[near-seth-experience]

This is a long, personal, 3 in the morning kind of ramble. Writing as if I'm explaining things to others tends to help me get my feelings out. Don't feel obligated to read this, but you're welcome to. I'm mostly just thinking out loud here. I'm on mobile, so sorry if this gets long. I don't know if Keep Reading cuts are possible on the app, and if they are I havent learned how to insert them. I'll probably delete this later so whatevs.

I think this topic could apply to a lot of selfless people out there, so I think putting some things into words might be helpful to others.

Anyways, I've thought about this before, and I'm not sure if I've ever talked about it, but I'm pretty sure I've pinpointed a pretty massive reason why I feel lonely and incredibly dissatisfied all the time:

I've always felt that I was considerate to a fault. I'd never put my needs ahead of the needs of others. To this day, I still have lots of difficulty when it comes to looking after numero uno. I learned early on that I needed to keep others appeased in order to feel safe. My siblings frequently butted heads growing up, and one of them often had these big fights with my dad. Lots of tears, yelling, a rare hole in the wall, that kinda thing. It fell on me to keep tempers from flaring. Ultimately, I became the kid my dad always called when he needed help with yardwork. I became the kid who would hand my mom a soda after a heated phone call with a high-maintenance sibling, and I'd sit and let her vent to me. I became the kid who would unload the dishwasher or take out the trash without being asked to do so. Whenever things got heated, I would shift into the role of family de-escalator. Point is, I've always lived for others, and no, this isnt one of those posts talking about living for yourself, yadda yadda yadda. I'm thinking in a different direction, but it'll wrap back around.

Recently I've been trying to think of this in a positive light. As shitty as things might have been, I've grown up to be incredibly considerate. It's one of my better qualities, the beginning and end of my list of good things I can confidently say about myself as a person. It was always out of necessity or fear. It was always pretty damn unappreciated. It always kind of felt like I was everyone's bitch. But it was good of me all the same.

Now that I'm my own person, I've realized two things. Firstly, I love helping out. I love knowing that someone is better off for having me by their side. It's kind of why I loved proofreading in my college English courses. I loved being thanked and feeling valued and wanted for my efforts. I loved the gratification of knowing that someone's story or essay received better marks thanks in very small part to my help. I love knowing I made a mark in someone's life for the better in some way. My personal golden rule is essentially to ask yourself at every turn if there's some little thing you can do to ease another person's burden. If the answer is yes, and the means are within reason and your comfort zone, do it.

The second thing I realized was something that is said a lot: relationships flow both ways. Nobody in my life— not my 2 or 3 superficial friends, not my family, literally nobody— has deserved the amount of effort I have spent for their sakes. I'm burnt out. I'm dissatisfied with my life because everything I do for the sake of another person feels like a chore. I am constantly taken for granted, and the only reason I still bother is because it's even tougher to go against my nature and do nothing. It's not like I'm asking for recognition, but just once I'd like to hear sincerity when someone thanks me. Even better, I'd like someone to legitimately care enough to look into my eyes for a change, see how not-okay I am, and ask themselves if theres anything they could do.

I can only think of one time that has ever happened, and the circumstances are still a trigger of mine so I'm gonna keep the story brief.

(TW Death & Animal Death. Skip this next paragraph if you need to)

My senior year of high school, a freshman was found dead in the school swimming pool. No foul play suspected, people just didn't see him go under during or between gym class. Real tragic. So the school goes on lockdown while they look into things, and then they cancel the rest of the day. I go home, and I find my dog dead. She was old and losing vision, and she fell into our backyard swimming pool. It was partially drained for the winter, so she didnt drown, we think falling down four or five feet onto the concrete of the shallow end while blind may have just been a massive shock. Heart attack, or she hit her head or something. Who knows. Anyways, my mind connected the two events. Two pool-related deaths on the same day. For the first class on the following day, my teacher arranged the desks in a big circle and it was honestly a really good hour-long discussion about loss and grief, but it hit me so hard that people thought I knew the freshman student. The teacher, and a friend of mine both came up to me after class, I told them what happened, got a hug from the friend, and sent home for the day by the teacher.

(/End TW)

That was the only time in memory where someone has ever looked at me and knew I wasn't alright, and I imagine it must have been very obviously written on my face. Now, back to the point. The amount of times I've seen the troubled faces and heard the troubled voices of those I care about and did any little thing to help is severely disproportionate to the amount of reciprocation. It's like I actively look to see if people need me, but they never even care enough to consider looking if I need them.

So, here are my takeaways:

I'm dissatisfied with life because I'm tired of bending over backwards for people who don't even deserve to have me, and that's basically all I'm doing with my life.

I'm lonely because that covers literally everyone I know personally.

So fuck 'em.

I feel like I have some kind of void inside me, and don't think I'll ever have true fulfillment in this regard unless life throws me a cheesy series of events that results in me finding my soulmate or at least something mutual. (Lmao, yeah right. Press X to doubt).

People often say "live for yourself" or "you dont need others to be whole" in regards to this kind of thing. While that's generally sound advice, people do have different natures. Living for others is how I live. There's no way around that, it's who I am, so my interpretation of "living for myself" is choosing for myself who to live for.

[king-finnigan]

That’s Just Wasteland, Baby - Chapter 7

You can also read this on AO3! M A S T E R L I S T

A/n: I posted this on AO3 yesterday, but only now on tumblr because I realized I had forgotten to post chapter 6 here. Which is kinda stupid of me but go off, I guess. Special thanks to @pansexual-courfeyrac​ for being my beta! Also made a little /style change/ cause uh... Geralt’s not doing.... great.

As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don’t hesitate to leave a like and a comment if you feel like it!

His back screams in agony, as he shifts slightly, trying to find a position on the cold, stone floor that isn’t immensely uncomfortable and painful. The bleeding had stopped, after a while, though the wounds are barely healed. Still, every small move of the muscles in his back sends new waves of pain across his body, stretching its paralyzing touch all the way down to his toes and fingers.

He sighs, and slowly pushes himself into a seating position, giving up on trying to sleep. Instead, he sits cross-legged on the floor – with some trouble – and closes his eyes to meditate. His thoughts are scattered, his mind fuzzy, and a small tendril of fear flares up in his chest. He’s scared of forgetting, of losing himself in this cold, damp cell.

So, he organizes his thoughts, by cataloguing the things he knows.

He knows he is Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher. He knows he has a Child Surprise, Ciri. He knows he has a good friend, Yennefer. He knows he has two brothers, Eskel and Lambert. He knows he has a father figure, Vesemir. He knows he is was engaged to Jaskier, who has been murdered in cold blood by Nilfgaard. He knows they abducted him. He knows he is in a dungeon of sorts. He knows there is a guard by the door, staring at him with contempt in his eyes, and he knows there’s another one, outside his cell.

The list ends there, worryingly short, and he frowns. Fine, what does he not know, then?

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, for starters. The food comes at inconsistent times, and is often not enough to appease his hunger, making him weaker and his thoughts even more incoherent. The guards change either too quickly or too late to be normal. He can see what time it is from the angle of the sunlight shining through the dirty window high in the stone wall, but sometimes time seems to move either too fast or too slow. He could have sworn he saw the light moving backwards once, and he feels like he’s losing his mind.

He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t hear any birds, nor the wind, nor anything else, other than the heartbeats of the guards, and his own. No one talks, except for the Eel, when he feels like dignifying the Witcher with his presence, and the young guard, the one with the sea-green eyes, when he had told him his name. Everything around him is encompassed in an unnatural silence, and it makes him uncomfortable.

So he doesn’t know what time it is, where he is, or how long he’s been here. He doesn’t know when he’ll eat next, when he’ll see another kind face, when he’ll finally be able to sleep properly. He doesn’t know how to escape. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to really mourn Jaskier.

He doesn’t know a lot of things, and he’s losing hope and it annoys him.

He opens his eyes as the door to his cell opens, and the young guard steps in – Rhirthisech, his name was. The angry-smelling guard leaves, walking down the hall until Geralt can’t hear his heartbeat anymore, the guard that had been standing outside the door following him.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Geralt closes his eyes again, trying to meditate, failing to keep his mind from wandering. His nose tingles, as something in the air changes. The young guard smells of curiosity again, a scent that tickles, like when he’s smelled a candle or a perfume too deeply.

The smell becomes nearly unbearable, and Geralt is ready to snap at the boy to spit it out or stop being so loud with his emotions, when a soft voice breaks the silence. “I thought Witchers didn’t feel.”

Geralt opens one eye, peering at the teen, before closing it again. He doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps his mouth shut, hoping the young guard will give up and go back to being scared of him. Like everyone always is. Like they should be. Like Jaskier never was.

The scent of curiosity itches at his nose again, sharp and demanding. A few more moments of quiet, and Geralt can hear the start of a sentence in the back of the teen’s throat, only to be cut off again immediately. It repeats several more times.

He sighs and opens his eyes fully, giving the young guard an annoyed glare. Still no fear. “Spit it out.”

The boy startles a bit, though he regains his composure quickly. “Is it true, then? That Witchers don’t have emotions?”

Geralt pulls up his eyebrows at the teen. “Does it matter?”

Rhirthisech’s voice is soft, sea-green eyes sincere under the black, Nilfgaardian helmet. “It does to me.”

The Witcher scoffs, yellow eyes incredulous, confusion in his chest. “Why?”

The teen shrugs. It is quiet again for a few minutes, as the young guard stares at the back wall. Geralt is about to close his eyes to try and meditate once more, but the soft voice speaks up again: “Who was he?”

Sea-green eyes look at him confused when Geralt shoots him a death glare. “Who?” he asks, very much aware who Rhirthisech is asking about. A silent warning in his eyes to back away, to leave the subject be.

Rhirthisech does not heed the warning, and keeps on talking. It reminds him of Jaskier.

“The man who was killed, who you cried for.” A sharp tug at his chest, and Geralt sighs as the grief hits him again.

He looks up, into the teen’s earnest eyes, curiosity and sincerity in his scent, making for a delicate smell of flowers, teetering on the edge of becoming troublesome for the Witcher’s nose.

“He was the love of my life.” The truth, for once. He has no desire or need to lie.

Rhirthisech looks down at his feet. “So Witchers do feel.”

Geralt nods, closing his eyes again, ending the conversation. “Yes, we do.”

҉    ҉   ҉

It’s a day later, or a week later, or a year later, or an hour earlier. Geralt can’t tell. His mind is fuzzy, and he has to blink a couple of times to clear the fog from his vision. He’s not sure if he’s fallen asleep, or if he meditated too deeply, but he notices the cell is suddenly empty, Rhirthisech gone.

He cocks his head, straining his ears, frowning when he doesn’t hear a heartbeat outside his cell, or anywhere nearby, except for his. Maybe Nilfgaard has abandoned him – an almost hysterical part of his mind thinks.

Still, the cuffs are secured tightly around his wrists and ankles. He stands up slowly, painfully, as the barely-healed wounds on his back stretch a little too tightly and uncomfortably. The chains around his legs are short, shackled to the floor, and he finds out he can’t put a step forward. Those around his arms give him space to move, though, and he bends down, tugging at the ring in the stone floor that anchor the bonds around his ankles.

It doesn’t budge an inch, the metal too strong to bend, the stone too tough too break, Geralt too weak to free himself.

He stands up straight again, back protesting, as noise fills the hallway outside his cell, his door bouncing off the wall as it’s slammed open.

His heart sighs, then sings in relief, as he meets Yennefer’s purple eyes. “Geralt! Thank the gods, we’ve searched everywhere for you.”

She walks over to him, crouching down to inspect the chains around his ankles, tugging at them, probably figuring out a way to break them without hurting him. He frowns. “’We’?”

She nods absentmindedly, and footsteps in the hall draw his attention again. He looks up, and meets blue eyes he would recognize anywhere.

Jaskier sighs in relief, half-sobbing as he stumbles forward, bridging the gap between them. Geralt is still for a moment, frozen and numb, the realization not fully settled yet. Finally, he hugs Jaskier back, and he feels tears sting in his eyes. “Jaskier…”

“Gods, Geralt, I’ve missed you so much.” The Witcher frowns, and pulls back, holding his love a few inches away, yellow eyes inspecting the familiar face, unsure if he really heard what he thinks he heard, or if it had been another a figment of his imagination.

“What?” He tries not to sound too worried or weirded out, afraid of hurting his love’s feelings if he did. The last thing he wanted was to see Jaskier ever hurt again.

Jaskier’s hand comes up to cup Geralt’s cheek, the coolness of his fingers seeping into his skin. “We were worried sick, I was so scared they had killed you, or…”

Geralt’s frown turns into a scowl, and he pushes Jaskier away, ignoring the pang he feels at the Bard’s hurt expression, he has hurt him again. His cheeks sear were Jaskier’s cold fingers had been just moments before. He notices the emotions on his love’s face doesn’t really reach his eyes, and that the colour of them is slightly off, the blue a little too grey. He takes a deep breath, the smell of mud and murky water assaulting his nose. Finally, he strains his ears, and hears Jaskier’s heartbeat, steady and slow. Too steady, too slow.

He takes a step back, and to the side, away from Yennefer’s hands. He notices her eyes are slightly the wrong shade of purple.

“You’re not real.” He tries to take another step back, his movements restricted by the chains still around his ankles, as not-Jaskier reaches out.

“Geralt, it’s me, it’s always been me. My love-“ The Witcher feels heat building in his chest, anger red-hot in his veins, and he slaps not-Jaskier’s hand away, chains clanging against each other noisily as he does so.

“Don’t call me that. You’re not Jaskier. Jaskier is dead.” He growls out the last words, teeth clenched, jaw set.

A heartbeat comes and passes, and suddenly not-Jaskier laughs coldly, not-Yennefer standing up, looking impressed. “He figured that out quite soon.” Her face morphs, and in the blink of an eye, she’s a Nilfgaardian soldier.

“That, he did.” Not-Jaskier has turned into the Eel, and Geralt growls at him as he takes the Witcher’s chin in his cold, unforgiving fingers. “I wonder how.” He pulls his eyebrows up, waiting for an answer.

“Fuck you.” The Eel tuts, and lets go of his chin, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Now, now, Witcher. That is no way to talk to a friend. How very rude of you.” He grins, muddy brown eyes crinkling in genuine delight. “Obviously, you must be punished now.”

He snaps his fingers at the soldier. “Bring me a torch from the hall.” He slaps Geralt’s cheek condescendingly. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

Geralt sneers at him, anger coursing through his veins. The soldier returns with the requested torch, and the Eel takes a knife from his belt, the crude leather handle worn.

“You’re probably wondering why I did all this.” He looks at Geralt expectantly, as if he wants the Witcher to ask for an explanation. He doesn’t. The Eel continues anyway.

“Well, you see, my dear Witcher, it gets quite boring here from time to time. And what’s more fun than breaking a man from the inside?” He smirks, pressing the tip of his finger against the pointed end of the blade. “Better yet, you’re not just a man, you’re a Witcher.”

He presses the tip of the knife against Geralt’s nose. “All the more fun to break you, then.”

He steps back, hanging the blade in the flames, the light flickering in his cold, muddy brown eyes. For once his gaze is not emotionless; he looks delighted.

“Anyways, I thought it would be fun to commemorate this” he takes the knife from the fire, the metal red-hot “victory you’ve had on me. Though, maybe you won’t be so lucky next time. We’ll see.”

His hand grips Geralt’s left shoulder, squeezing painfully, as he presses the tip of the searing blade into the Witcher’s right shoulder. Pain explodes as the skin sizzles under the heat, and Geralt clenches his jaw, determined not to cry out.

Finally, the knife is removed, and Geralt releases his breath in one quick scoff. The Eel smiles, inspecting the thin, violently red stripe the blade has branded into the Witcher’s skin. “Hmm. Very pretty.”

He moves back, wiping the now cooled-down blade on a handkerchief he has pulled from one of his pockets. He waves his hand dismissively to the guard. “Go, get that useless boy to stand guard. What’s his name again?” He rolls his muddy brown eyes. “Whatever, doesn’t matter.”

And with that, they’re both gone from the cell, and Geralt is left alone as the door closes behind them. He lowers himself on the ground, with some trouble, pressing the cool metal of the chains around his arm against the burn, hissing quietly as he does so.

҉    ҉   ҉

Ten minutes later, or maybe an hour later, or maybe a week later, Rhirthisech joins him again, standing guard next to the door silently for half an hour. He eyes the new, red mark on Geralt’s skin, curiosity and worry in his scent. It reminds him of Jaskier.

Geralt sighs, as the teen shuffles on his feet a little, and he can once again hear the start of a sentence stuck in the back of the boy’s throat. “Spit it out, Rhirthisech.”

The young guard looks up, sea-green eyes surprised and delighted. “You remembered my name.”

Geralt nods tiredly, almost regretting starting the conversation. “Not much else to do around here.”

The sea-green eyes are too excited for Geralt’s liking, but he decides to humour the teen. “I know you want to ask me something.”

“What’s it like out there?” The question takes the Witcher by surprise, and he simply stares at the young guard, who has an expectant look on his face.

“What do you mean?”

Rhirthisech puts his spear on the ground, and Geralt listens for anyone else who may be present or approaching in the hall, sure the boy would be punished terribly for doing something like this. The young guard moves forward, sitting in front of the Witcher.

“I’ve only ever known Nilfgaard and serving my country. What’s it like” he waves his hand to the dirty window, high in the stone wall “out there? In different countries?”

Geralt cocks his head, fighting to keep a smile from dancing across his lips. It’s been a while since he’s seen someone so curious and excited around him, so carefree and fearless. It reminds him of Jaskier. It reminds him of Jaskier. It reminds him of Jaskier.

But Jaskier’s dead. He ignores the sharp pang in his chest.

He shrugs. “It’s… fine, I guess.” His brow creases as memories flood him. “I used to travel around, fight monsters, get coin for it.”

Rhirthisech removes his helmet, an unruly mop of jet-black hair springing out from underneath it, and for the first time, Geralt can see how young the boy truly is. Barely fifteen, maybe. His sea-green eyes are filled with wonder. “You can do that? Just… travel around?”

Geralt frowns again, though he tries to make the boy feel like he isn’t judging him. Since when does he take other people’s emotions into consideration? “You… can’t?”

Rhirthisech shakes his head. “No, we’re not allowed. Only when our squadron goes somewhere, and even then, we travel mostly by portal.” He gets a faraway and dreamy look in his eyes. “I’d love to see a forest sometime.”

Geralt would love to see the forest again. He cocks his head. “You’ve never seen a forest before?”

The teen shakes his head again, sea-green eyes focused on the back wall. “No, I was born in the capital, and I grew up there. I went to train for the army when I was eight, as usual, which was in the mountains. Now I’m here.”

Disbelief rises in his chest, and he’s not sure if he heard what the boy said correctly. “You started training when you were eight?”

Rhirthisech nods, then shrugs. “All orphans do. Because usually you take your father’s profession but well…” he rubs the back of his neck, and Geralt can feel a note of sadness creep into the ever-present scent of curiosity “since I didn’t have one, I had to become a soldier.” He shrugs again.

Something stirs in Geralt, and his mind flashes back to the training he’d had to endure when he was younger. The boy reminds him of himself.

“How old are you, Rhirthisech?” The teen looks up, squaring his shoulder unconsciously, as if to appear bigger.

“I’m fifteen, but I’m a very good soldier. I may be a little… thinner and smaller, but that doesn’t mean I’m not as good as the others.” Geralt gets a sneaking suspicion that the boy has said this a hundred times before already, as if he has had to defend himself against sceptics and bullies his whole life. The boy reminds him of himself.

He smiles, softly, reassuringly. “I believe you.”

It is quiet for a few seconds, and Geralt’s mind wanders back to the beach-side cottage, and to his home in the wooded hills of Lyria. “So you’ve only ever seen mountains?”

Rhirthisech shrugs. “And the capital. I’ve heard of other things, like the ocean, and… meadows I think they’re called?” Geralt nods. “But I’ve never seen them before.” The boy smells sad again. “Would love to, someday. Though I doubt I will. At least not anytime soon.”

He recognizes the dreamy, wistful look in the sea-green eyes, the boy reminds him of himself, and he smiles softly. “Would you like me to describe it to you?”

[im-fairly-whitty]

Taken - A Frozen Oneshot

Thinking about how messed up it is that Kristoff is literally abducted by trolls as a child and we see only a few seconds addressing it and none of the repercussions. Decided to fix that by showing behind the scenes and shoveling on a big dose of real troll child stealing/changeling lore.

  “Henrick, please, Kristoff isn’t old enough to go out with the ice cutters, what if he’s taken by-”

“Ida, so help me you’d better not say trolls.” Henrick said, his voice getting a little gruff and sharp as he yanked on one of his boots.

He didn’t like arguing with his wife, he wasn’t like some men he knew who always tried to cow their spouses into submission, but they’d had this particular conversation so many times.

“He’s only eight, Henrick.” Ida said pleadingly, one hand on Kristoff’s blonde head as the boy held onto her skirts, watching them both with his big brown eyes, “He doesn’t even have a name that could protect him.”

“He has a proper Christian name.” Henrick said, shoving his foot into his other boot, “If you’d had your way he would have been saddled with some superstitious nonsense like “Hiccup.” I swear it’s like you want to curse the boy yourself, keeping him inside all day, never letting him out of your sight. He’s not a little girl, he’s got to get out with the men and learn his trade, I’m not letting you keep him cooped up indoors learning how to cook and knit and wear dresses.”

“I like cooking, I don’t mind!” Kristoff said brightly.

Henrick looked at his wife flatly.

“He’s nearly old enough to be safe,” Ida said, starting to sound desperate as Henrick packed his ice tools into his rucksack, “Just a couple more years and he’ll be too old to take, the trolls won’t want him when he’s twelve and then you can take him on all the trips you want, he’s a fast learner, he’ll catch up quickly.”

“Trolls. Aren’t. Real.” Henrik said, really starting to feel angry now. He stood, coming over by the fireplace, standing over her, “Kristoff is real. Ice trading is real. Our livelihood is real.” He growled, roughly rubbing his face with a sigh, “Look, I promise I won’t let him out of my sight, alright? We’ll be back before dark and I promise he won’t be taken by trolls. You can’t keep him tangled in your apron strings forever. He’s a strong boy, he’ll be fine. I promise .”

Ida folded her arms, biting her trembling lip as she looked up at him. Henrick’s gruffness turned to guilt as he watched her try not to cry.

He shouldn’t have pushed so hard. Kristoff was their only child and the light of her world, he knew she’d been truly terrified ever since Rikke’s boy had gone missing in the middle of the night a few years back. Henrick and the other men knew it had to have been Edde wandering off but the womenfolk had whispered of fae for months after. It was the downside to living in a small village, every shift of a snowdrift was the fault of some troll or ice mage or wandering spirit that had to be appeased. But Ida was still his wife and he needed to be more gentle with her feelings, even if they were wrong.

Henrick pulled Ida into a hug, wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry for pushing.” he said gently, “If it really bothers you I can take him out some other time, I just want him to be prepared for his future.”

She buried her face against his shoulder, “I just don’t want to lose either of you.”

“You won’t.” Henrick said, kissing the top of her head, “I promise.”

“Mama, can I go?” They both looked down at Kristoff, who was still holding onto Ida’s skirt with one hand, his set of tiny metal ice tongs he’d gotten for his last birthday in the other. His eyes were bright, even if his voice was hesitant. “I promise I won’t get taken by trolls. Sven and I want to be the best ice merchants ever, and we gotta practice!”

Henrick looked at his wife, waiting for her to decide. She rubbed the side of her face like she always did when she was hesitant.

“Do you really want to go?” she asked.

“Yes!” Kristoff said excitedly, bouncing up and down a little, “Please? I can take my new sled! I’ll work hard, I promise!”

“I won’t let him out of my sight.” Henrick said, putting a comforting arm around her waist, “We shouldn’t be out too late since we’re getting an early start, but the boys are leaving soon.”

“Alright.” Ida said, looking tired and worried, but forcing on a small smile, “Kristoff you have to promise me you’ll stay right by your father and not wander off. Keep all your snow gear on and don’t fall in the water.”

“I will!” Kristoff shouted with glee, really jumping up and down now, “This is going to be the best day ever! I’ll bring you home so much ice Mama, you’ll be able to build a whole other house!”

“I bet you will.” Ida said, bending down and scooping him into a tight hug, kissing his forehead before letting him go, “You’d better go get ready if you’re going to leave in time with Papa.”

“I’ll go tell Sven!” Kristoff said, tearing off the moment she let him go.

“We’ll be back before you know it.” Henrick said, smiling as he hugged her again, “But don’t get your hopes up about a new house.” he teased.

“Well if he grows up to be half as good as you then we’ll be plenty well off in old age.” Sedsel said, her smile was still small, but it felt real again.

 ***

 “You’ve done a fine job there, boy.” Henrick said, grinning down at the little chunk of ice Kristoff had pulled out of the lake, only about the size of a single brick.

“Thanks!” Kristoff said. His cheeks were flushed and he was panting as he tried to latch his tongs onto the block again, dragging the little block backward across the ice, “I’m gonna load it onto my sled so we can sell it!”

It was far later than Henrick had thought they’d be out, the sun having already dropped below the horizon by the time the men were finally loading the last of the harvested ice up onto the sleigh. Everyone was clearing up by the light of their yellow-green lanterns, making sure all the tools had been gathered up.

Ida would probably be frantically pacing by the front window by now, Henrick already having broken half his promise of being home before dark.

“You sure you don’t want me to load it onto the sleigh with the rest of the ice?” Henrick asked his son, balancing his own massive steel ice tongs on his shoulder, “You and Sven can ride up with us, it’s already getting dark, your mother’s going to tan my hide for having you out this late.”

“No,” Kristoff said, concentrating hard as he continued to struggle with his tongs, the points slipping loose over and over across the ice block’s sides. “Sven wants to pull the sled and the ice by himself.”

Kristoff seemed to have lost his hat at some point and had been enthusiastically “helping” harvest ice all day. He was doubtlessly exhausted, not having built up the dexterity and strength that handling tongs required like the other more experienced boys his age had.

Henrick heard a whistle and a shout from the ice sleigh as the others loaded up. It was time to head back. It would be faster to just scoop up Kristoff, reindeer, sled and ice block all in one armful and carry them to the sleigh, but Henrick couldn’t bring himself to stomp on his son’s independent spark. Even if he couldn’t keep up quite yet he could at least help boost the boy’s confidence.

“Alright, but I think you’ll have better luck just pushing it yourself, I’ll carry your tongs.” Henrick said, stooping to take the metal tool and ruffle his son’s hair, “You and Sven can handle your ice yourself but I’ll be watching you from the sleigh, alright? We’ll be moving much slower than we did on the way here, but be sure to keep up. Maybe after supper we can finish that dog wood carving we’ve been working on together.”

“Okay Papa!” Kristoff said, starting to push the ice block with his mittens, already moving much faster than he’d been managing with the tongs.  

Henrick chuckled, patting Sven as he passed him on the way to the sleigh. Not every child in the village could boast owning their own reindeer calf, but being well off meant that Henrick could afford to treat his son to some of the nicer things.

He grunted as he pulled himself up to stand on the side of the sleigh, holding onto the wooden slats as he peered back into the darkness. Kristoff had just managed to get his ice block onto his sled, nearly falling over himself as he did so, but he and Sven got moving right as the sleigh under Henrick did, everyone beginning to move forward across the snow.

Good. They’d all be home safe soon enough, a warm supper and a quiet evening by the fire with Kristoff and Ida sounded like heaven right now.

Henrick looked up at the night sky, gazing up at the northern lights that had begun their silent dance above them, ethereal ribbons of shimmering green twisting across the sky.

 ***

 Being out with Papa all day had made Kristoff tired, but it had been so exciting!

Kristoff rubbed his thick leather mitten against his nose as Sven pulled their sled. He’d lost his hat earlier and the freezing wind was starting to bite his nose and ears, but it was okay, he was basically a grown up now, and grown-ups could ride home all by themselves. He saw Papa up ahead on the big sleigh look back at him, checking on him again before looking ahead. The grown-ups had loaded so much ice on the sleigh that it was super easy for Sven to keep up, Papa didn’t have to keep worrying about him.

Kristoff couldn’t wait to show Mama the block of ice he’d pulled out of the lake all by himself with only a little help from Papa. When she saw how good he’d done maybe she’d let him go out even more so that-

He heard the thundering of horse hooves and turned to see a pair of horses whip past him, carrying their riders through the woods and back into the night.

Kristoff’s eyes got wide, behind one of the horses was a spreading path of ice , a beautiful sparkling trail frosting across the grassy ground.

What kind of horse was that?

Kristoff had to see more.

He quickly unclipped Sven’s harness and jumped on his back, leaving the sled and ice behind and turning them around to follow the ice horse as quickly as they could. The grown-up sleigh was moving so slow that they’d catch up with them again no problem as soon as Kristoff figured out what was going on.  

Papa wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

 ***

 Kristoff was gone.

Henrick had just checked on him, had seen the tiny sled trundling right behind them in the night with its lantern swinging, and now not even ten minutes later he was gone.

Henrick shouted hoarsely for the sleigh to stop, jumping down as quickly as he could. He’d been exhausted from the long day only a minute ago but now he was on fire with panic. He shouted Kristoff’s name as he walked back through the trees, the other men starting to get off the sleigh behind him.

Kristoff must have gotten distracted by something and wandered off for a moment, maybe his sled had gotten caught, or Sven had gotten tired.

As soon as Henrick hiked back around the last bend he’d see Kristoff and he’d have to lecture him about keeping up. The boy had lost his sled privileges was for certain, he’d have to ride on the sleigh from now on.

Which is why the pit of fear in Henrick’s stomach was irrational. Nothing had happened to his son, he’d only lost sight of him for a few minutes. It was just Ida’s old housewife superstitions getting at him was all.

 ***

 Bulda hadn’t expected the human King and Queen to come to the troll glen tonight, she hadn’t expected them to bring the little human princesses to Grand Pabbi for healing and memory rearranging either.

But most of all she hadn’t expected her very own delightful little human boy to wander all the way up to her herself. And with his own little reindeer calf too!

“Well aren’t you just adorable!” Bulda said.

She smiled as she petted the boy’s hair, a beautiful shiny blonde, his outfit was charmingly well made too. Everyone else would be jealous to see what a good looking child she’d found, and she hadn’t even had to break into a human house to get him either.

“Who are you?” the boy asked, looking curiously at her stony hand, “And what was going on with the family? Was the girl sick?”

“Well, I’m a troll silly. You'll have to get used to it now that you're staying here with us.” Bulda chuckled, taking the boy’s hand and turning it over, marveling at the soft smooth skin, “And she’ll be alright, just humans meddling with things they don’t understand. What’s your name?”

“S-stay with you?” the boy said, his eyes getting wide with fear. He tried pulling his hand away and the reindeer calf balked back away from her.

“What kind of a name is that?” Bulda teased, keeping ahold of the boy’s hand. Human children were always jumpy when they were first adopted, but it wasn’t too hard to calm them down as long as she kept him from running off before she could clean up his memories a bit, “Come on, tell us your name.”

“Kristoff,” said Kristoff, his voice squeaking a bit in fear as he kept trying to yank arm away, “Let go please, I want to go back to my Papa, he’ll be worried.”

“Kristoff.” Bulda said with a smile, pulling just a bit at his memories now that she had his name. A good Christian name by the feel of it, “Oh you’ll like it out here, lots of trees and mushrooms and mud for little boys to play with. Come and meet the family, they’ll all be excited to meet you!”

“But...” Kristoff said, his pulling getting weaker as a look of confusion spread over his face, “But Mama...”

“I thought you said you were an orphan?” Bulda asked patiently, “Weren’t you just telling me you don’t have a family?”

“I...yeah. I think so.” Kristoff said slowly, looking around, “Why am I out here?

“Because we’re you’re family!” Bulda smiled, gently pushing him further into the glen as the others started noticing her new human child, pointing excitedly, “Why else would you be out here in the woods all alone? It’s because you belong with us.”

Kristoff smiled hesitantly as he stiffly stepped forward, but quickly loosened up as the others eagerly gathered around him. Changing around human memories was just too easy.

She looked over at the reindeer calf, which still looked nervous and wary, but a gentle pat on the head fixed that, and soon it had happily joined Kristoff.

Bulda wandered off to the side for a moment, cracking her knuckles before picking up a hunk of old wood. Kristoff’s old family would be wondering where he’d gone so she needed to send them something in return to keep them off the trail.

After all, if they’d been careless enough to let a properly named blonde child out of their sight then they probably didn’t really care about their child, now did they?

She concentrated as she carefully poured a strong enchantment onto the wood, it must have been decades since she’d last made a changeling, but she could still manage well enough.

Once she’d finished she shooed it back off into the woods, watching her handiwork shuffle off into the trees. She dusted her stony hands in satisfaction, turning back to the others who were all enthusiastically gathering around her new human.

She smiled and rolled over to join them. Tonight was a night for celebration.

 ***

 “Kristoff!” Henrick shouted, his voice starting to feel hoarse now.

He didn’t know how long he’d been searching now, it might have been an hour, it might have been weeks. Kristoff’s sled was gripped under his arm as he kept swinging the lantern back and forth. He’d found it sitting alone with only the tiny iceblock left on it. No child or reindeer to be seen.

“Henrick,” Orrin said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “we need to get the ice back to the village and packed before it melts, we’ll come back with more men to search.”

“He’s got to be here!” Henrick said, jerking his arm away and crashing through more brush, “I’m not leaving, help me look! Kristoff!”

The pit of fear in his stomach had grown and swallowed him whole, making it feel as if he’d dropped into a nightmare that refused to end.

What if he never found Kristoff? What if he did find Kristoff but something had happened to him? There were wolves in these mountains, there were cliffs and rivers, dozens of places a young child could disappear into in the dead of night and never ever be found again.

And what would Ida say if he really had lost their little boy.

He swung the lantern again, what was left of his heart continuing to drop as he peered uselessly into the all-consuming shadows of the looming trees around them. How had he been so stupid, how had he ever let Kristoff out of his sight long enough to-

He froze as he heard something. Something that sounded like the sniffling of a small child.  

He crashed through another barrier of brush, his lantern light falling on what looked like a little boy wandering by himself through a clearing.

“Kristoff!” Henrick choked, rushing up and falling to his knees, setting the lantern down and scooping his son into a tight hug, “What happened? Where did you go? Are you alright?”

Henrick would have become angry then after having been scared to death, but Kristoff stood stiff in his hug, only continuing to sniffle. Not acting at all like he usually did.

“Son, are you alright?” Henrick asked more gently, taking Kristoff’s face in his hands, “Where’s Sven?”

Kristoff said nothing, only hanging his head miserably as he began to cry.

A heavy chill settled over Henrick that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature. Something was very very wrong.

He stood, scooping up his son as he looked warily at the dark forest around him. They needed to get home. Now.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back to Mama soon, everything’s okay.” Henrick said, grabbing the lantern and pushing back through the underbrush as quickly as he could.

Something was deeply wrong with these woods and he wanted to get out of them as quickly as possible.

 ***

 “Henrick, that’s not our son.”

“How can you say that?” Henrick whispered back sharply, his arms folded so tightly that it was starting to hurt as they both stood in the doorway of Kristoff’s bedroom, watching him sleep. “He’s just been sick, that’s why he’s been acting like this.”

But he couldn’t pretend anymore that he’d had the same terrifying thought himself.

Over the last few days Kristoff had been acting like a completely different child, always crying without saying why, hardly speaking, usually sitting on his own and sullenly lashing out whenever they tried to coax him out.

Only so much could be attributed to the loss of his reindeer, which is what they’d assumed was wrong at first. But as Kristoff seemed to become more and more ill, despite how much food he kept demanding and voraciously eating, Henrick found himself longing for how his son had been only a week ago.

“What...what if he’s really a-?” Ida started.

“Don’t.” Henrik said, but he pulled her into a tight embrace as they continued watching the child in Kristoff’s bed, a tuft of blonde hair sticking out over the blanket, “Don’t say it.”

“Can we take him to the church tomorrow?” Ida asked, looking up at him, tears in her eyes, “Just, just to have the priest make sure.”

“Alright.” Henrick said, his breath shaking just a bit, “We’ll take him to the church tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Ida said softly.

“Go to bed, I’ll come in a moment.” Henrick said, letting her go.

She nodded, glancing back at Kristoff before leaving.

Henrick stood in the dark quiet of the night, silently watching the boy sleep as the house creaked in the night wind around them, the dim light of a candle flickering around the small room.

They’d take Kristoff to the church tomorrow and get the priest's blessing, they’d pay the doctor to come around again and get him to give them a straight answer about what was wrong with their boy and how to fix it. Henrick would buy Kristoff a new reindeer, he’d let him stay inside with his mother as much as he wanted, he’d do anything he had to to get his son back to the way things had been.

He felt a chill run down his spine as a sharp draft whipped through the room, snuffing out the candle at the bedside and dropping the room into darkness.

Henrick looked over his shoulder, despite knowing no one was there, unable to shake a sudden creeping feeling that had come over him. Where had a draft that strong come from?

He crossed the room, his eyes slowly adjusting in the darkness as he pulled a match from his pocket, striking it and relighting the bedside candle. He picked up the empty ceramic water pitcher as he turned to leave the room for the night, unable to keep from glancing one more time at Kristoff’s bed.

For years afterward the neighbors would tell in hushed whispers about being woken by Henrick and Ida’s screams in the middle of the night, of rushing to their aid with crossbows and axes, expecting to find that a wolf or a bear had broken into their son’s bedroom.

But instead finding them both standing amid the shards of a smashed water pitcher, the wife having fainted dead away at the sight of an old crumbling log rotting in their son’s bed.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I’ve been trying to take a lunch hour just to get away from work.  I usually just walk away from my office as far as possible.  Things these days are beyond claustrophobic with little explanation or respect for my feelings or emotions.  This is the city let alone the world at this point in my eyes.   After spending so much time away from America it feels like the problem is the country at large.  This isn’t to say that I’m not exposed to a lot of different cultures here.  There is a rather large uptick in the diversity I see every day which is inspiring.  But I still feel like I have become a fixture in the background  much like a billboard.  A service for people to point to as a sort of beacon but won’t acknowledge or give credit for existing.  A light switch to flick on and off.  A manufactured piece of consent paraded in front of people as the good guy though nobody knows my superhero name, my powers or what I even do.  I guess this is what I get for wearing so many fonts and statement shirts.   On my lunch break I passed a man being followed by a real live pigeon.  It came to my attention that pigeons seem to communicate better than most Americans.  I said that out loud.  The man made a howling sound that was at once laughter and at once judgement.  Those kind of interactions are fun sometimes.  But it was a very real sentiment.  I wake up every morning to two feral cats on my doorstep.  The other morning my neighbor ran into me feeding them on the porch.  It was a friendly interaction but they seemed hesitant to proceed up the stairs.  My neighbor asked if they would bite.  My landlord has asked this too.  I never really assumed anyone would be afraid of cats but it’s a valid safety issue.  I wonder why these cats aren’t afraid of me when historically everyone seems to make me out as the monster behind my back.  I used to be afraid of dogs when I was small.  The thing I love about animals is that they communicate their emotions very intelligently.  You get back what you give.  While science might explain away domestication of cats as emotionless manipulation of humans for food it doesn’t explain how humans treat each other for capitalism over money and power.  In a city where for years people have been afraid to accept that I have dreams, desires, and needs I’ve become a Frankenstein like figure.  The one thing I can agree with the current trends in America for social justice and cancel culture is that it is confusing, isolating, and divisive at times.  But serving these societal needs sometimes is not as satisfying as you would like it to be.  We resist and protest in America to change things.  Change requires organization, planning and strategy.  Also an endgame that results in either compromise or complete destruction apparently.  And when you are the only one with a plan three years running, you start to think maybe you need a new plan or a new life entirely.  Because everyone wins at the cost of you losing year after year.

I was listening to Chomsky instead of the debates the other day.  He had remarked that you can predict the outcome of an election with scary accuracy just by looking at the funding.  And it is true that in America you are mostly free if you have the money to justify the air you breathe.  But America also has a history of taking freedom away for the benefit of others.  In liberal circles this is called “sharing power.”  Sometimes this is justified depending on the lens you view it through.  Is it fair?  For all the shit we talk about capitalism and how it is evil how is it any different?  It’s not concerned with a balanced budget or being fair.  It’s about profiting at any cost and our country depends on it regardless if someone else’s freedom. life, liberty or pursuit of happiness is at stake.  The same can be said about human capital.  If I’m the one doing all the work shouldn’t I be the one who profits?  I believe you shouldn’t profit at the expense of others.  This is why I generally work a non profit job.  Dj’ing is also a non profit job in my experience along with making music since it makes no money.  People pretend they’re worth gold because of it.  It may return some sort of social capital for people.  But my entire legacy of social capital is null and void these days.  All I can really rely on is the fact that I have a stable enough job and lifestyle to pay my bills and stay healthy.  I’m not the kind of person who is viewed as successful but I’m the person everyone always needs.  I have no social support network other than what I’ve built here anymore.  I’ve had the luxury of opening up about my experiences here and had people read from all over the world.  Maybe people who value me more than anyone possibly could in my home town.  But as far as how people view me in my own city it’s perverse and disappointing at best.  People point to me as some sort of example that nobody wants to make the sacrifices to become.  And people laugh at me because of it year after year and call me crazy.  I just sit here alone at my kitchen table thinking how hopeless it’s all become.  People in America love to shout from the mountains that they have freedom of speech but they never listen to anyone but themselves.  Or worse they surround themselves with people who constantly validate them and never make any sort of criticism.  Art school is full of critique.  I saw a flyer on the wall for critique in Chinese.  I thought that was amazing.  I’ve been the subject of English critique for over two decades and look where that got me.  Everybody’s favorite water cooler topic to bully and make fun of.  It’s like I’m the mascot.  Charlie Brown with hair.  Or Edward Norton overlayed in CGI green.  You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

I’ve given up on so much shit this last year.  Nobody really cares how much I’ve sacrificed or how it’s made me feel.  At least not on the surface.  But imagine an entire life of having to walk the streets with your ear scraping the ground every moment of the day.  Just to know people’s intentions about why they feel the need to interact or acknowledge you.  There’s people who see me on the street and think it’s my problem that I don’t recognize them.  Like nobody understands that largely for years other people have caused more problems for me demanding my interaction.  Chicago has a very forced sense of community.  It goes far back to the days of shady politics that still haunt our city.  People with money and power who intimidate you in and out of situations.  I have been hurt tremendously over the years sticking my neck out for people who don’t care if I live or die.  The minute you stop is the minute people have an opinion about it.  Like my services to people moved way past good Samaritan mode.  Now it’s an expectation that I bend over backwards for everyone while I suffer in obscurity.  I don’t often try to argue any of this.  I’ve almost nearly just shut up and down completely.  I don’t leave my house much other than to travel an hour on public transit to mow my mom’s lawn.  And even then people are always trying to get to know you and start some trouble.  Use you as a prop or an example then call you a hermit behind your back.  For years that is really what I have become.  A prop in the background to manipulate.  An urban legend that has no form and thus no real need to appease with anything material.  Unlike a Chupacabra I do have physical form.  I don’t have a personal life.  It’s been bludgeoned to death by abstractions and expectations from greedy people.  To this day nobody ever really addresses me like a human other than maybe cats on my doorstep at five in the morning.  I’ll never be good enough or successful enough to break free of my landlord.  I’m always negotiating my right to frown about my situation.  My privilege is checked at the door when I leave only to be greeted by a city that swings it’s own clout around in my face.  And then there’s the people on the internet who would rather argue about it like it’s a dirty secret.  I am that secret.  I am the one suffering in ways you could never imagine.  And everybody is just ok with it.  Nobody has any sort of emotion at all.  There is no closure.  It’s just me week after week typing into a void hoping that somebody is listening that knows how much it all hurts.  And generally if I take a deep breath and a sip of coffee I know this to be true.  Just like I know the world is bigger than America and it’s view of profit before people.  Just like I know the universe is vast and the planet is small.  In another month I’ll be back in New York.  And a couple of months after that.  And so on and so on until it clicks.  I’m worth more than this.  The trick is believing it enough to save yourself and wait for something that actually appreciates it.   That’s what intimacy is all about.   Save all the abuse, psychological manipulation and anger for the stand up routines.  They don’t call it the Second City for nothing.  I deserve to live in a world that puts me first after all this.  <3 Tim

[prettyboy-jimin]

Office Daze I

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader Genre: Smut Word Count: 2.1k Summary: He can run a multi-billion dollar company without a problem, can he get a girl’s heart? Note: This is actually more of a filler than a fic, I decided to extend it to 2 installments because I couldn’t find a comfortable transition into the smut. Hope you find it cool! All mistakes are mine, sorry ‘bout them!

Jin doesn’t like the term “staring”, it’s creepy; it’s intimidating and plain old rude.  The term “people watching” sounds a lot better, and much more fitting; especially for someone in his position.

As the only son of the modern legend, Kim Minjun, Jin ha a lot of expectations to live up to; right now, he stands as CEO, meeting those expectations. Although he doesn’t yet own the company because his father wants to ensure his life work’s future, he basically runs every nook and cranny of it, all the way from the highest administration and board of trustees’ down to the maintenance and security of the basement parking lot.

At 26 years old, he’s broken and set numerous records, surpassed multi-million dollar companies on worldwide scales and built up a net worth that costs more than the president of the United States of America.

Kim Seokjin is not only a living prodigy, but the most expensive man alive—of whom has built a habit of people watching. He’s learned that in the long run, you have to know who and what exactly you are dealing with in order to know which approach to use and from what angle to come from; hence his strange activity.

He sits at his desk, staring out the one way mirrors that stand as his office walls which allow him to observe his employees as much as he’d like. Your back is to him as you work diligently in your own workspace, as Jin’s secretary, you manage just a much paperwork as he does if not more. You set all his schedules and take all his calls before forwarding the important ones to him. He’ never seen someone work as hard as you do, and he’s always admired that.

You’ve been with Jin since the moment he sat down as CEO. You were with him through the flurry of meetings, memorized all the faces he needed to know—you even know people he’d be yet to meet so that when they finally do, he’s more than prepared to greet them like an old friend.

He watches you with a fond smile, realizing that you’re just as vital to this company as he is; but no one would see it quite like he does.

He rests his chin on his hand as his unconscious daze continues. He brings himself back to the company outing a year ago, when all the employees plotted to sneak up on him and throw him into the pool of the lodge you were staying in. You hadn’t saved him, you laughed along with all your co-workers and savoured his happy misery but as soon as Jin climbed out of the water, you were ready with a thick towel and a warm mug of hot chocolate just for him.

“You don’t have to be my secretary here as well, you know.” He teased, taking the towel from you gratefully while the hot drink stood by.

You smiled gently, tilting your head slightly as you giggled out an “I know”

He’s brought back to the present as he ducks his head abashedly, the small smile on your face that cold evening warming up his insides as soon as the memory comes to mind.

He looks back at you again to see that one of your officemates has struck up conversation, the fit one whose dress shirt was always a little too tight and who never wore his suit jacket when he’s clocked in. He’s leaning on your desk a little too casually for Jin’s liking and he’s eyeing you up and down without your knowledge; your focus clearly driven and attached to your computer screen as you worked diligently to finish the report Jin asked for.

Your co-worker continued to speak and Jin noticed that you weren’t even paying attention; nodding your head absent-mindedly every few seconds to appease the muscle pig. He smiled to himself, pleased that you knew your priorities—or had higher standards, either way.

He began to gather the papers on his desk, organising them into their respective folders and either setting them aside or placing them into drawers. He closed his laptop, planting it somewhere that it would sit safe before he cleared his throat and clicked the button on his office phone.

The phone on your desk began to ring; startling your officemate and making him retreat backwards. Jin couldn’t help to laugh as he watched you excuse yourself with a well-rehearsed smile, your co-worker nodding with an awkward expression before he left you to tend to whoever needed you.

“Yes sir?” you answered as soon as you picked up, Jin could hear the enthusiasm in your voice.

“Was he bothering you again?”

“I see you’ve been enjoying your little hobby again” you laughed, holding your head down to hide away from other prying eyes.

“Or maybe I have a very important matter to discuss with you and once I looked up,” he played “someone was already trying to have your attention.”

You cleared your throat, slightly ashamed at assuming things of him.  “Yes sir, I’ll be right in.”

With that, Jin hung up the phone and continued to watch as you did the same as him in gathering and organising your papers. As soon as you were done, you stood from your desk and straightened up your blazer and skirt, matting down your hair before heading to Jin’s office door and knocking. You heard him call out a ‘come in’ and you opened the door gently, greeting him with a smile before letting it close behind you.

“Lock it on your way in”

What?

“Sir?”

Jin was leaning on his elbows, his hands interlaced with one another as he smiled at you. “Lock the door on your way in.”

You stiffened slightly, nodding your head in understanding as you did what you were told, a blush rising on your cheeks. You then made your way to his desk, standing in front of him as his eyes and smile never left your face. He motioned for you to take a seat, so you did.

There was a comfortable silence, although you may have been a little nervous, Jin’s presence never had a way of intimidating you or making you feel like you were any lesser as a person or employee.

Not knowing where to look, you eyed the city scape behind him. So many windows holding so many different stories and you couldn’t help but vaguely realise that you were in another window, just another story like everyone else. It was a little weird, becoming a little too self-aware in a time like this but you didn’t want your boss to think creepy of you for staring so expectantly at him.

Yet, as you lost yourself in your daze, Jin was shameless in observing you. He eyed your body with a newfound hunger. He didn’t believe that office relationships would ruin a worker’s performance but sitting as CEO he still had to enforce that they’d rather not entertain those types of things. Although as he looked at you, a dreamy expression on your face as the city scenes took your attention away from him, Jin couldn’t help but want to see that look more often.

But what his heart wanted to see, he had to earn and work hard for just like he had all the other good things in his life, then again, there was another good thing he wanted that he could so easily get. His heart took a lot of time, but his cock took lesser.

Jin’s eyes travelled from every aspect of your face to the swell of your chest. It wasn’t too big, like what most men wanted in women or the women in porn would be sporting, but it also wasn’t too small. The breasts that lay hidden underneath your blouse were perfect handfuls, and Jin wondered how oft they would feel in his large hands.

He bit his lip unconsciously, lost in an absurd fantasy of taking you right there and bending you over his desk. He knew you would let him, he’s watched you enough to see how you blush when he smiles at you and notice how your eyes linger and widen when he gives you his attention.

“Sir?”

Fuck.

His eyes shot up to meet yours, wide and alarmed. He silently hoped that you hadn’t just caught him ogling you.

“Not to be rude, sir, but what did you want to discuss with me?”

Ah. Right.

Now or never then.

He gave you a soft smile, watching your eyes widen and your cheeks redden almost instantly. Well, this was going to be a lot easier than he thought.

The small act grew wider as you ducked your head and fiddled with your hands. Jin chuckled to himself before he stood up, your figure stiffening even further once he made his way around the table and stopped behind you. He placed his large hands on both your shoulders, rubbing against the expensive fabric of your blazer, trying to ease your tension.

“I’m not really sure how to tell you what I want.”

You swallowed. His tone sent all sorts of emotions through your body and way too many thoughts through your head, was this going where you really think it was going? His hands ended their movements, resting stagnant, their weight making you realise just how real this all was.

“You’re very smart though” Jin continued, his voice lowering even further “I’m sure you can figure it out if you tried.”

You didn’t need to figure it out, you knew what he wanted. Everyone had always seen that Jin was friendlier with you more than anyone else, your co-workers always caught his lingering gaze on you from the other side of a room and even in your defence of Jin naturally having a people watching habit, but they said this was different.

You knew it was different.

You noticed it too.

“I’m not that type of woman, sir” you croaked out, staring straight ahead and out the window to the world beyond the four walls you were hidden in. You thought back to all the stories that other windows hid behind them, how this meeting between you and Jin was just another story. Your body began to heat up, even if your mind said you weren’t that kind of person, your body was stating otherwise. You wanted him and you knew it but you didn’t want to be a casual fuck that he could toss around. No. It would ruin you and ruin your work. If you were going to sleep with him, somehow, it’s either going to be because he reciprocates your feelings and takes you seriously or it’s once you’ve resigned and found a better job. Even if no other job is going to get as good as this.

“I’m not either” he whispers, his lips nearing your ear, ghosting the soft skin “but I really like you.”

You could’ve choked. You honestly could have choked. It took all you had in you not to jump his bones right there, this was what you wanted right? For him to feel the same, and he just said that he did.

But no.

You weren’t going to let yourself be that easy.

You giggled slyly, covering his hands in yours before removing them from your shoulders. You slowly stood, facing him and giving him just enough time to compose himself of the confusion that dawned on him.

There was a tight feeling in your chest and you weren’t really sure, you could feel your heart beating harder inside of you as you looked at him. Jin was looking at you with a blank expression, but his eyes showed no frustration or disappointment. To you, it almost looked like he was curious.

“I like you too, Jin” you said, voice fading as you said his name out loud. As his assistant, you never called him by his first name, it was disrespectful and unbecoming of someone ranked lower but you figured that this moment could be an exception. “But I’m really not that type of girl.”

You gave him one more smile before bowing and excusing yourself from his office; exiting the door and practically collapsing in your seat just outside, you didn’t catch the amused scoff that Jin let out, or the unbelieving look on his face before he turned and watched you wake up your sleeping computer and reopen the work you had left behind.

How could he ever think you were easy? You were a woman of your principle and you were one of the hardest workers he knew, of course you would hold value to yourself just like any woman should. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. He should’ve known better, but when it comes to something he never really had experience with he would usually turn to you… he can’t go to you to ask for help on how to court you.

Looks like he’ll have to woo you the traditional way.

[chamomilehoneytea]

what were your thoughts on 117 do you think our ship sank permanently? I mean I expected Pin to reject her and not giving her any "wait till you graduated" hopes, but still a part of me just died. Pin is really one hell of a good complex character, a insight chapter would do wonders haha.

Thank you somuch @lov-lymj for reaching out to me about my thoughts! I agree that a chapter fromPin’s perspective would be the best thing ever (actually can we get a wholespin-off series of Kimi ni Todoke from his point of view? Please Shiina?). 

I’d beenmeaning to write out my thoughts on Chapter 117 for a while, but then I thoughtthe moment had passed, so thank you for giving me a reason to get everythingout. Unfortunately, you asked someone who LOVES to talk, so your answer isabout 4 pages worth of word vomit and feelings.

Still, I hopeyou and any other ayapinners who are worried about our ship sinking will findsome encouragement in my analysis. Obviously these are just my opinions andinterpretations, and you are totally free to disagree.

Let me startoff by saying I also felt like a little part of me died when I first read thechapter summary for 117, and based on what I was seeing in the Japanese forum Ifollow, a lot of people felt let down or disappointed with the outcome. Likeyou, I wasn’t expecting him to “accept” her feelings in this chapter. I thoughthe would probably reject her, but that we would be given at least a hug or somesort of real indication that they’d get together in the future. When I wasreading the Japanese summaries and poring over people’s comments, there seemedto be very little hope.

But then Isaw the chapter.

Our ship, far from sinking, has new windin its sails.

The big eventin Chapter 117 is Ayane’s confession, and Pin verbally, formally, rejects her.He says to her roughly what he said to Kurumi at the beginning of the manga,that she’s too young (paraphrasing), and deflects her attempts to draw out histrue feelings. Ayane thinks to herself that she’s been utterly defeated, andresolves to make the best of things and move forward; while her eating thecough drop and resolution to become an adult that Pin will be proud of arepreferable to seeing her broken and devastated, they do seem togive an impression that things are finished for ayapin.

If we onlylook at this course of events, it is easy to believe that we have witnessed thebittersweet end of a doomed pairing that, nevertheless, had lovely development.

But there’s a lot more to the chapterthan Ayane’s confession.I would even go so far as to say this chapter invites us into Pin’s perspectivefor the first time, and that if we look closely at that, there’s so much goingon under the surface of his rejection.

When Pin thinks she failed, he bends over backwards to comfort her however he can; hemakes them coffee, he very gently places her mug in front of her (beforecarelessly slamming his own on the table), he prioritizes her feelings over hisown health, he compliments her efforts and encourages her (using a variety oftactics), and he is visibly distressed when she starts crying (he even movescloser to her while she’s inconsolable).

Then when shetells him she passed the exam, he gets so riled up that he nearly tells her hewas waiting for her all day. His reaction as he cuts himself off is veryinteresting – for some reason, he doesn’t want her to know that he was waitingfor her. He almost gets carried away with his feelings, but pulls back at thelast second; he then denies it with an immature expression. When he finallyadmits that he was waiting for her, he doesn’t just say, “Yes I waited a while”or “Yeah I waited a little, I guess” – he fervently declares that he waswaiting for her the entire day. This poignant moment isfilled with tension, and from the shading and his expression, it seems to beone in which he is releasing very pent-up feelings (kind of a confession in itsown right).

The nextmoment is equally revealing. When she cries again, there are sparkles aroundher (in fact, there are sparkles around her almost every time she cries in thischapter) – and we seem to be seeing her from Pin’s perspective. He smiles ather affectionately (which she doesn’t see), but his face is partially obscured;the panel has an air of mystery, and is reminiscent of certain panels of his in otherchapters (87, 93, 97, 112). I get the sense that something is hidden from us inmoments like these. During the toast, her tearful smile really surprises him,and in the next panel he is at a loss for words; I don’t think it’s making toobig a leap here to say that, if he hasn’t already (he totally has), this is themoment when he thinks, “She’s cute.” He frantically leaves the room to dry hishair, despite the fact that they were in the middle of celebrating…

(Aaah, nothinglike a lot of hot air blowing in your face to deflate the sexual tension!)

When he comesback and notices the box, Ayane asks him if he knows what day it is. Pin, theguy who is always very conscious of Valentine’s Day / romantic holidays (andhow popular he is), says, “It’s the day your results come out.” He has been sofocused on Ayane Ayane’s exam result that he has entirely forgottenValentine’s Day! That’s huge!

And duringher confession…

He gives heran out. But she refuses to take it. Even knowing that she won’t be accepted,she is completely honest about her feelings.

Hisexpression when she looks him in the eye and tells him she loves him isprobably my favorite in the chapter, and maybe even the whole series. Ihonestly don’t know how Shiina got the lines so soft…He is completely blownaway by her. Pin knows Ayane better than any other person in this series; herealized her feelings at Christmas, but he probably never expected her to admitthem. He thinks very highly of her, but I think he believed she would alwayskeep her feelings to herself, because that’s what she’s done with her emotions throughoutthe story. He isn’t allowed to return her feelings while he’s her teacher, sohe tries to spare her any added embarrassment by discreetly letting her knowthat he already knows. So to see this girl he thought he knew so well bravely and defiantly confess to him, to witness her fighting for him despite her fear– there’s such a beautiful sense of wonder and surprise on his face.

And hisanswer is far from straightforward, despite his line about her being “10 yearsearly” and “out of range”; even though he verbally rejects her, he eats everylast chocolate in the box. Not just one out of pity, or two to appease her. Theman who makes a point of complaining about how much he dislikes sweet things eatsthem all, and even says they taste good.

I believethat in eating all of the chocolate, he is actually accepting her feelings. Hecan’t return them at this moment (concern for her future, age gap,professionalism, all of the above, whatever it may be), but he can accept themin his heart. After eating the chocolate, there is a heavily shaded partialclose-up of Pin’s face, and he doesn’t speak to her immediately. He seems to beconsidering something… If he didn’t have any feelings for her, I don’t think hewould need such a long time to formulate a rejection. I don’t think he wouldkeep her waiting in suspense that long for no reason. And he stares at her sointently. In these panels, I see an inner struggle – he wants to formallyaccept, but more than his own happiness, he wants her to be free to pursue herdreams without a guy (who will probably always live in Kitahoro) holding herback.

So he givesher a genuine smile and tries to reject her with as much levity as possible.

And if wewere still in doubt that he’s holding something back, Shiina goes out of herway to give us another telling moment.

When Ayaneasks Pin if he ever thought she was cute, he is initially surprised. Looking ather eager, hopeful expression, he seems somewhat wistful, and his face has thatmeaningful shadow. We know that he thought she was cute in this chapter (beforehe left to dry his hair), and there have been moments in other chapters when he might have; but he playfully taps her head and denies it with a smile. So whatwe can infer is, if he’s holding that back, what else is he hiding from her?

The praise hegives her as she’s leaving is also, to me, a sort of confession. We learn thathe hasn’t forgotten about the time she gave him chocolate in Chapter 45 – themoment that has been of recurring importance to Ayane throughout the series hasnot only been remembered by Pin, but treasured. He tells her he was happy whenshe did that, and showers her with praise for her kindness and personal growth.To me, it sounds as if he’s telling her all the reasons he loves her without beingable to use those words.

And that’swhat I think this chapter confirms. Pin does love her, and has for a long time,whether he fully realizes it or not. And I think Shiina is telling us not togive up hope, even if the timing is not right at this particular moment.

Looking atthe chapter from a narrative point of view, it makes no sense to show us somany reactions from Pin if this really is the end of the line. We see him worry andget flustered over her – what would be the point if this was it? In fact, ifher only intention was to give Ayane a bittersweet first love, I don’t thinkshe would have so carefully and gradually built up all of their momentstogether. Why show us any reactions from Pin at all? He’s technically a supportingcharacter, their chapters are always in Ayane’s perspective – if she wasplanning for an ending where they can’t ever be together, why have so manyscenes that illustrate their mutualcloseness? She could have just had Ayane pining for him and shown us a kind butdisinterested Pin. Their interactions do not resemble those of Chizu and Tohruearly on in the series, where there is a large degree of distance on one sideand a childhood crush on the other. Pin clearly cares for Ayane deeply, andtime and time again we see his very personal investment in her aspirations andfeelings.

As far aswhat will happen between them going forward, I’m really not sure.

I’ve stronglybelieved for a while that we will get a pretty heart-pounding interaction betweenthem after graduation, and I’m still hoping for one (why not? lol). Again,thinking about things narratively, and keeping in mind that Shiina loves herayapin foreshadowing: why have Ayane’s results come out on Valentine’s Day? Whyhave Ayane confess on Valentine’s Day? She’s given Pin chocolate on the lasttwo, so it rounds things in her arc out nicely. But I think it’s more thanthat. If her confession happened any other day, there wouldn’t be a follow-up…butwhat if White Day happens to fall after the graduation ceremony? Pin is, at thevery least, “obligated” to give her something in return for the Valentine’schocolate he accepted…and if it’s after graduation…well, maybe they won’t date,but I’m hoping we get some sort of encouraging interaction since he’ll nolonger be her teacher (maybe he’ll give her his number and tell her to keep intouch, or finally admit that he does think she’s cute). I really do believewe’re in for a surprise after graduation, and that some of the depressing “finality” inthis chapter is to mislead us so that we’re reallysurprised later. I think Shiina is building us up for a sweet, unexpectedpay-off down the road…

I also thinkthe graduation photo album could have an impact on Pin at the ceremony – in Chapter115 Chigusa mentions that she’s taking pictures for the album, and Shiina mightbe foreshadowing a slideshow or something. That picture of them having a greattime together really affected Ayane, so maybe it could make Pin realizesomething too…

And if thatdoesn’t happen, I’m 95 percent sure we’ll see them either dating, married, orrunning into each other and connecting in a 10-years-later epilogue (even Pin’srejection hints at this). I would love to see one of the first two optionsespecially (because after waiting this long it would be great to see themfinally together as a couple), but I could also see Shiina doing the classic“What?! It’s you, Yano?!” mix-up (slow-burn til the end, haha).

Having saidall of that, I could be wrong. There’s a new chapter coming out this week thatmay render all of this analysis completely irrelevant, or we may find out in afew months that this chapter was indeed the end for them. But until Shiina isdone with this wonderful series, I think we should keep our heads up, becauseanything could happen.

I personally believeshe won’t disappoint us. Ayane and Pin are always featured with the other twocouples on magazine and chapter covers (115 spotlighted the 3 couples a toneven in the chapter itself), and after 12 years of slowly and carefully building theirrelationship, I can’t imagine Shiina just throwing ayapin away at the end; ifthis were a one-shot manga or a story that had only 50 chapters, I would be a littlemore concerned. Plus, Ayane has been through so much and endured and grown – Ithink Shiina will give her a happy ending, ultimately, because she really, really deserves one.If the other two couples are still together in the final chapter, I think Ayaneand Pin definitely have a future together.

This was avery long way of saying to you and all ayapin shippers, “Please don’t bediscouraged or give up hope!” I’m also anxious to see what will happen, butgiven the way their relationship was portrayed in this chapter, I’m inclined tobelieve that this is only the beginning for them. :) 

[alaric-greyson]

An Outsider’s Take On The British Election

So preface this with the fact that I’m not British, not a political expert, and mostly interested in British politics because the coverage is in English and allows me to care about politics a bit more vicariously since it’s not directly personal.  My personal politics are definitely lefty, which at least influenced the news sources I was following.

So the Conservatives got a major victory last night (and Britain’s inverted political colors makes looking at the maps confusing until you remember).  Personally I was rooting for a Remain alliance to win, or at least do well enough to force Johnson’s hand.

To some degree I’m writing this for myself so I can try and process the news, as it’s been bugging me for a while.

So what the hell went wrong...

1) First past the post continues to suck:  When all of our republics were getting going in the 16th to 18th centuries, local elections with the local who got the most votes winning made a certain kind of sense.  Trying to administer some kind of national proportional election across whole countries with communication limited to people on horseback would have been problematic.  Now though it’s bullshit.

Labour, Liberal Democrats, and the Scottish National Party combined for 47.7% of the vote.  They won 40.3% of the seats in Parliament.  Conservatives got 43.6% of the vote and 56.1% of the seats.  In other words, Conservatives got 2 million votes less than their opponents but will absolutely dominate Parliament.

2) Labour kind of shit the bed:  Personality politics don’t really affect me too much for British politics because they’re not my politicians.  So I don’t really have either admiration or distaste for Corbyn, which obviously is a big deal in Britain.  I’m also not reading the right wing news sites, so I’m not getting their anti-Corbyn stuff directly, but it obviously filters into general news sources the same way Fox News content gets into things like the New York Times or Washington Post.

All that said Corbyn was a key component of their flawed strategy.  The defining fight of this election, and really much of the last five years was Brexit.  However for much of that time Labour never really seemed to have a good answer to the question “What would you do different about Brexit?” 

Corbyn was rather publicly pro-Leave back during the referendum, even while campaigning for Remain.  Large traditional areas of Labour support voted Leave and so the party under Corbyn’s leadership steered a wishy-washy course of opposing Theresa May and Boris Johnson’s plans, while not committing to an anti-Brexit position either.  Until very late in the process, Labour’s position tended to be “We want Brexit to happen, but we want to be the ones negotiating with the EU.  If that were to happen we’d obviously get a better deal.”  However by this point everyone knows that there’s no magic wand that will somehow give Britain all the benefits of Brexit and none of the penalties.

By the time they came around to “Labour will back a second referendum” they’d already muddied their position.  Yes, Labour had a whole platform of ideas and were making strong arguments about defending the NHS etc.  But on the defining issue of the generation you could vote for the Conservatives who would be pro-Brexit, the Liberal Democrats and SNP who were clearly anti-Brexit from very early...or Labour who wasn’t a comfortable fit for either and whose leader was kind of wishy-washy at best on the issue.

3) The Left will always be held to a higher standard: The anti-Semitism scandal basically rocked Labour.  In a different election it might have blown over but it was another nail in the coffin for this one.  Left leaning parties in the modern world are based around social justice as much as economic justice.  So racism, sexism, anti-semitism, anti-LGBTQ+, etc are the antithesis of the party’s public ethos.  So when a scandal arises it’s lethal to a left leaning politician or party while meaningless to a right leaning party.

If a conservative politician says something racist it’s basically a dog bites man kind of story.  If a liberal politician says the same thing, it’s a major news story.  Al Franken’s fall is a good example here in the US.  The same history wouldn’t have even touched Ben Sasse or James Lankford, but a Democrat couldn’t survive it.  Especially at that time.

By the same token “Conservative politician wildly lies to the public” has also become a dog bites man story.  So even the revelations about the NHS memo weren’t enough.  Especially since the subject was just a bit complicated to explain in a quick soundbite.

4) Strategic Voting only works if the parties ally - This goes back to point one, but a system where you have more than two parties dividing the left only benefits the right.  Labour explicitly rejected forming a real alliance with the other left leaning parties (ie agreeing to not run candidates in specific districts in order to avoid dividing the vote).  Would it have been enough...probably not, especially since that’s not usually done on a national level.  But there’s almost certainly a fair number of districts where the conservatives won thanks to divided opposition votes.  Strategic voting sounds good in theory (people are smart enough to figure it out) but in practice most people don’t have access to reams of polling data nor the time to analyze it.

5) Scotland and Northern Ireland are going to be a thing for a while - This is more of a post-election look than a what went wrong but the consequences here are interesting too.  For Scotland, their core opposition to Brexit, the handful of Conservative MPs, and the dominance of the SNP really makes questions about Scotland’s future even more pointed.  The Scottish referendum was predicated on the fact that independence would have been kind of meaningless, since both countries would still be in the EU.  Now the political divide is growing sharper with every election.

For Northern Ireland, all the questions about the Irish backstop just became irrelevant to Brexit.  When the DUP’s votes were needed to maintain the government, they could force May or Johnson to bend over backwards to try and appease them.  Now...the Conservatives can just stick a customs border in the Irish Sea and say “cool we’re Brexited.”  Of course that’s going to give us a LOT more questions about the future status of the two Irelands.

[thrashermaxey]

Forum Buzz: Has Laine Peaked?

  Welcome to the first edition of “Forum Buzz,” a column where I dissect some of the most popular recent threads from the DobberHockey Forums. Pretty much everything within the forums might be covered here, with the exception of trades (since those get their own separate write-ups on the site and are usually also covered in the next day’s Ramblings) and signings (since those tend to be covered in Alex McClean’s weekly Capped column). With that out of the way, let’s dive right in!

  Topic #1 – What to do about William Karlsson?

When Karlsson came out of nowhere to post top tier fantasy numbers last season, most poolies figured he’d have a hard time equaling that success for 2018-19. But by the same token, they likely believed his output wouldn’t drop as much as it has. In the forum thread, the discussion centered on the players for whom Karlsson could be traded; but before turning to that question, we need to be able to determine if the “real” William Karlsson is what we’re seeing this season so far, what we saw last season, something in between, or perhaps something better than the 2017-18 version or worse than the 2018-19 version.

  Unfortunately, unlike with most players, we can’t really focus on Karlsson’s outputs from seasons before his breakout 2017-18 campaign, since his role was so different. The exception is IPP or the percentage of points he received on goals scored while he was on the ice since if a player is talented he should have a high IPP regardless of his point total. In Karlsson’s case, his previous full season IPPs were 60.6% and 58.5%, which are not very good for a forward and pale in comparison to his 70.6% from last season. That being said, his IPP this season is still a relatively healthy 67.9%, which at least is one positive sign. But a high percentage of points scored means a lot less if one’s presence on the ice doesn’t lead to goals, and sure enough Karlsson’s 5×5 team shooting percentage last season was a high 10.62%, yet this season it’s a somewhat low 7.37%. Based on this data, I’d probably say the “real” Karlsson might lie closer to what we’re seeing from him for 2018-19.

  While past results don’t automatically apply to present circumstances, let’s also look at other forwards who, like Karlsson and since 2000-01, had 43+ goals and 78+ points in a season by age 25. A total of 15 other forwards met these criteria, with none having failed to again score 66+ points in another season, but four (Jonathan Cheechoo, Simon Gagne, Thomas Vanek, Jeff Carter) failing to post 78+ points in another. So this is good news for Karlsson owners, yes? Maybe not, as everyone else who was on the list had at least 229 SOG in the season where they met the criteria, versus Karlsson’s 181 last season.

  The lowest SOG total from any of the 15 players was Thomas Vanek, whom I think might be the closest comparable to Karlsson, as Vanek was a top-six fixture yet still had a somewhat up and down career and never had 250+ SOG in a season. Some might try to compare Karlsson to Cheechoo, who quickly flamed out; however, that was a case of someone doing well by virtue of playing wing on a line with – and thus riding the coattails of – arguably the top NHL player at the time in Joe Thornton. Karlsson doesn’t fit that bill and seems cut more from the Vanek cloth. The only wrinkle with the comparison is Vanek received more ice time – especially on the PP – than what Karlsson will get, at least as long as Karlsson is playing in a Gerald Gallant system; so whereas Vanek went on to produce 60-70 points most seasons, Karlson might land closer to 60.

  Long story short, I’d use 55-65 points per season as a likely output from Karlsson in future campaigns, with a better chance at going above 65 than below 55. Chances are you can buy him for a lower price than that, while if you’re trying to sell good luck since you’ll likely run into doubting Thomases.

  Topic #2 – Is it reasonable to question whether we’ve already seen the best from Patrick Laine?

Part of what makes the forums so much fun is that “hot takes” can turn into serious discussions. In this thread, for example, names like Nail Yakupov, Alexander Daigle, and Nikita Filatov – each of whom made a splash but quickly faded – were mentioned as possible comparables to Laine. Before dismissing this as ludicrous, consider how ludicrous it must’ve been to think that those three players (especially Yakupov and Daigle) would see their careers not pan out long term after starting off so strong. Could Laine be at risk of being a fantasy fire that is extinguished after burning so bright to start? Let’s see what the data tells us.

  First off, Laine scored 36 goals as an 18-year-old, with Sidney Crosby being the only other player to do so since 1990-91. Moreover, even if Laine doesn’t score another goal this season, he’ll already have more than 100 by age 20. To stress how remarkable that is, since 1990-91 two other players accomplished that same feat – Ilya Kovalchuk (106 goals) and Steven Stamkos (119 goals). Not only that, but both of them did so while playing over 4500 total minutes, whereas Laine will be lucky to break the 4000-minute mark given his deployment.

  So that means he’s golden, right? Maybe; or maybe not. If we go back a couple of seasons further than 1990-91, we see the case of Jimmy Carson, who had 186 points (92 goals) as a teen then 100 more points (49 goals) at age 20…………….before never again scoring 74+ points and being out of the NHL by age 27. Can we liken Laine to Carson? It’s hard to say; but Carson’s fate certainly makes for a negative comparison, which is just as relevant as the positive comparisons to the accomplishments of the likes of Kovalchuk, Stamkos and Crosby.

  As for Laine’s metrics, both his 5×5 team shooting percentage and IPP dropped last season as compared to his rookie campaign and are on pace to drop again this season. While to some degree that means bad luck could be hurting his output, it also does concerningly call into question his effort level. On a positive note, his SOG rate is higher than in any past season, which cuts against him not trying as hard. And despite recently being removed from PP1 perhaps to send him a message, his share of PP minutes is still at 69.2%, so clearly the team values him with the man advantage.

  If I’m a Laine owner, I’m worried. As much as the Stamkos, Kovalchuk and Crosby comparisons are a relief, the Carson comparison is off-putting. Winnipeg is winning despite Laine’s struggles, so the team doesn’t need to bend over backwards to appease him, especially with another young talent like Nicolaj Ehlers, Kyle Connor and Jack Roslovic putting forth the effort – and stats – expected of them. My advice would be if you own Laine you should hold and hope, but I wouldn’t trade for him if his owner expects to get elite value in return – the risk is too great.

  Topic #3 – In a trade, what’s a fair return for Erik Karlsson now?

When you have a player who’s a UFA to be, it’s never easy to place a present value on him since in most cases he could see his value rise or fall depending on where he signs. With Karlsson, however, I think we’ve seen from this season he can be counted on for elite production no matter where he lands, as after a bit of a shaky first couple of months in San Jose he’s turned his season around and played at his usual elite level. In fact, he’s done so well that the question becomes whether that’s occurring now because he’s on a team with another top fantasy d-man in Brent Burns, or whether he’d likely do better going back to being a team’s true #1 rearguard. Let’s look at the numbers.

  For 2018-19, Karlsson’s share of PP minutes is right around the average of what it was the last two seasons in Ottawa, but his overall ice time is down by roughly two minutes from his average over the previous five seasons despite seeing the second highest percentage of minutes on the PK of his career. Despite this, his SOG rate is on pace to be the second highest of his career and his PPPt rate the highest. The result of all this is Karlsson sitting at his usual 70+ point production rate, which I think is the big key to focus upon – to wit, Karlsson is a player who finds a way to produce at his customary rate no matter how he’s used. And at age 28, he’s poised to still stay at an elite level for years to come.

  Given this, what do I think a fair return for Karlsson would be? The forum thread focused on draft picks in a 16 team dynasty league, and I tend to agree with respondents from the thread that getting picks for Karlsson is a bad idea. He’s simply too good and too far above what is considered very, very good for a fantasy d-man for any package of picks to be worthwhile. In fact, short of receiving a top-five netminder or a guaranteed 90+ point younger forward in return, plus perhaps another pick or player as a kicker, Karlsson likely should never be packaged as part of a trade.

  Topic #4 – Is Juuse Saros worth trading for Martin Jones, to try and win now?

In keeper leagues, there are always factors in evaluating trades beyond just how skilled players are. Of these, perhaps the most important is whether you’re in win-now mode or rebuilding, plus how the player's involved figure to factor into their teams’ plans in the near to not so near future. With these things in mind, many Saros owners have been waiting patiently for him to become the #1 goalie on a Nashville team seemingly poised to succeed for many years to come. Prior to this summer, Saros inked a deal for $1.5M per season through 2020-21, while Pekka Rinne, coming off one of his best seasons in 2017-18, was extended – also through the 2020-21 campaign – at $5M per season.

  Going purely by the numbers, this shows Nashville expects Saros to be the back-up. That being said, Rinne will be 37 years old next season, and no age 37+ netminder has played 40+ games since 2013-14. Moreover, since 2010-11, there are a mere two instances of age 37+ goalies who won 30+ games. As such, despite his fatter contract, Rinne might end up ceding the net to Saros prior to 2020-21.

  As for Jones, he just turned 29 and is signed to a contract, which, in terms of amount ($5.75M per season) and duration (through 2023-24) demonstrate the team considers him their top guy, yet also not so high as to exert significant pressure on those who own him in cap keeper leagues. Moreover, in view of his contract, stats, and the lack of near term elite goalie prospects for the Sharks, Jones’ starting job is likely among the most secure in all of the NHL, which in today’s fantasy hockey landscape is far, far less common than it used to be. In terms of how the Sharks compare versus Nashville, on paper they’re an older team which could have trouble playing at the same level in another season or two.

  My take on the situation is I’m parting with Saros to get Jones. For one, even if Rinne fades, he’s still signed for two more years and likely will factor into the picture enough for Saros to put up worse overall stats than Jones for those two years. We also can’t be sure that Saros will be a great goalie once he’s “the guy”, as for all the netminders (like Jones) who were back-ups and then seized the reins once they were given a chance to be a starter, there are far more who faltered. With Jones, you know what you’re getting, which is a solid tier 2 netminder with a stranglehold on his starting gig; and that’s worth moving Saros for not just to win now but also to reap the benefits of Jones for years to come.

  ********

Questions needed for Mailbag column

As a reminder, I’m always seeking questions for my monthly mailbag column, where I answer your fantasy hockey questions. Please continue to send me your questions either by private messaging them to me (rizzeedizzee) via the DobberHockey Forums or by sending an email to admin@dobbersports.com with “Roos Mailbag” as the subject line. My inaugural mailbag column will run two weeks from today, after next week’s tournament/poll.

  from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/fantasy-hockey-rick-roos/forum-buzz-has-laine-peaked/