#bc to make a long story short she didn’t find it worth the trouble to be friends with me anymore

[liamlawsonlesbian]

.

[zevlors-tail]

Rooftops

Pairing: ProHero!Deku x Reader

Description: Sometimes being a Hero isn’t just fighting villains and rescuing people from burning buildings; sometimes it’s battling demons and rescuing people from themselves instead.

Warnings: Suicidal reader, thoughts of suicide, attempted suicide? (reader doesn’t succeed), trauma bonding, mentions of bullying, little bit of touch starvation? Talks of therapy, decision to try therapy.

A/N: I guess you could say I needed to vent some heavy things. PLEASE do not read this if you are triggered by anything mentioned above. Also, I HC that Midoriya never would have gone through with it, but he might have at one point been in the reader’s position, and I wish they would expand on how what Katsuki said and did to him in middle school affected his life more. I will never be satisfied until we get a proper apology from Bakugou and the two of them sort out their feelings about it, bc you KNOW that had to create some trauma. So I guess this might be sort of a fix-it fic? Also, I’m sorry for the ending, it might be cringe, idk. I can’t help but add fluff to everything I write, apparently. I love Best Boi, what can I say?

You breathed in the cool night air as you leaned against the railing, fingers trembling slightly against the rusty metal. Everything seemed so surreal; the noisy traffic below, the people bustling down streets and alleyways, the dimmed apartment lights from the building across... What did any of it matter? In the grand scheme of things, you were just a small spec of the universe observing all these phenomenons, a waste of space taking up time that could belong to something or someone more useful than your sorry excuse of an existence. That’s what you thought, at least.

You leaned a little farther over and rested your chest against the bars of steel. Would anyone miss you if you were to just...disappear? If you dropped everything and left right now, would anyone care? Would anyone cry for your absence? These were questions you had asked yourself over and over again, and each time you had managed to convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, the answer was yes, someone would care. But each time the questions rolled around in your head, it got harder to convince yourself of that. You found doubts in every corner of your mind, in every crack and crevice of your brain that they could slink into. Quiet at first, but now as loud as a siren, they overwhelmed you and made you believe you were worthless. They beat you down, exhausted you, claimed your once happy spirit and soiled it with numbness and apathy. Those doubts were the reason you wholeheartedly believed that you no longer mattered to anyone.

They were also the reason you were twenty stories up in the air on the roof of your apartment building.

Steeling your nerves and taking a deep breath, you let everything sink in. This was what you were waiting for all these years. All of your life had lead up to this single moment; all of your past mistakes, all of your life decisions, all of the lost friends, your job, your family and their snide remarks, your short comings...and all the rest. It didn’t matter. Every time you blinked, every sneeze, every laugh, whether genuine or fake, didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, including you.

Nothing matters, and no one cares.

And with that final thought, you hoisted yourself up and over the railing, limbs heavy with a dull numbness as you planted your feet loosely on the other side. For a second you balanced yourself, arms outstretched behind you to grip on to the bars for one last fleeting sense of security. Just one more step. But even as you moved forward, you found that your hands seemed to tighten their grip on the steel, and suddenly you felt physical panic despite your mind telling you that this was what you really wanted. It seemed your body was defying your mind.

“I don’t think you want to do that.”

Startled, you stumbled back and tightened your hold on the rails until your knuckles turned white. Were you imagining things, or did you just hear a voice? And if so, who was it and what were they doing all the way up here? Whatever their business was though, it surely had nothing to do with you, right? So why were they meddling in your affairs when you just wanted to be left alone? The thought of it was just a little too much, and you found yourself snapping at whoever was behind you.

“Uh, yeah, I think I do.” It came out more spiteful than you meant it to sound. But then, that was just how you were these days...bitter and cold. All the more reason to end everything.

“Please, just come back over here to the other side of the railing. We can talk if you want, or I can just sit with you, or we can listen to music together if that would help?” The stranger’s voice was gentle and pleading, as if he was afraid to break you if he spoke too loud. 

“Just leave me alone! Why do you care anyway?” You stole a glance behind you to get a good look at the person trying to talk you down. The first thing you noticed was the green hair, and then the pair of concerned emerald eyes reflecting back at you. Under those were a set of freckles, giving him an overall boyish look, and finally- his costume. You recognized Japan’s Number One Hero, Deku.

“Because I don’t want to see you get hurt...or worse.” His tone was solemn. “I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave you alone up here. Clearly you had one purpose for coming up here, and I’m not going to let you go through with it.”

For a moment, you felt your heart soar at the possibility that someone cared after all. But just as hope was about to take root and bloom within your chest, it seemed that your mind had other ideas to cut the poor blossom out. As fast as the feeling settled, it was gone, and you reminded yourself that this was his job; he was required to help anyone who he thought might be in trouble. It wasn’t like he really wanted to be up here talking to you.

“What the hell do you know about why I’m up here? And anyways...it’s your job to save people. You don’t have to pretend to care about me. It doesn’t matter if you’re the number one hero or not, you’re still going to forget about me some day or another. A week from now you won’t even think twice about me. I’m forgettable. I don’t matter...not really. So please just leave me be. You’re bothering me.” No matter how hard you tried to keep the anger in your voice, you couldn’t help how it faded with each passing second. It was tiring to keep feeling everything and nothing all at once. You wanted it all to just stop.

There was long moment of silence that passed between the two of you, which you took as a sign that you had been right about everything you had just said. Your anxieties and nerves were starting to get to you by then; you were about to really go through with it and had inched forward slightly when he decided to speak again. 

“Once, someone told me to take a swan dive off the roof of my old school.” Your breath hitched as you stopped in your tracks. “I know what it’s like not to be wanted or needed by everyone around you. To feel like a failure, like there’s no hope left... Like you’re not worth saving. But even if you really think and believe all those things you said about yourself, just know that I care. And it’s not because it’s my job to, or because I’m a Pro Hero, or because I just happened to be in the area and saw you up here after my shift ended. It’s because at one point in my life, I could relate to where you are now.”

You were left without words for once as you stood there, wind whipping through your hair and eyes focused on nothing in particular. After the initial shock wore off, you finally turned around to face him. You searched his eyes for any trace of deception, anything to prove that maybe he was lying or just trying to get to you, but all you could find was sincere honesty. And Deku, upon seeing you turn around from the edge of the building, seemed to tense for a second before continuing.

“I climbed up to the top of the school roof that day and when I got up there, I just...stared down. All I could think about at the time was making the pain and the numbness go away. But then I thought of my mom’s face when she would hear the news...and I thought of how I would only be a statistic after that- a number, you know, like the ones I recorded every day in my notebook. But I didn’t want that. I had a name that I loved, a mother waiting for me at home, and a dream I was still holding on to. I realized what I really wanted was to prove everyone wrong, to still become the hero I wanted to be as a little boy. And even more than that, I just wanted the pain to stop. I think that’s what people truly want- just to feel better.” He gave you a small smile and offered a hand to you after that, and you swore his eyes were glistening a little if you looked close enough. “I would care if you were gone. I would think about it every day. I don’t even know your name, but your face is already engraved in my mind. I would have made the biggest mistake of my life had I ended things that day; look at where I am now! If I let someone else take away all their future opportunities and potential life experiences knowing that I could have stopped them, knowing that I didn’t offer them the support I desperately wanted when I was going through it, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“...you mean that?” You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice.

“Every word. Please, just come back over to this side and talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. I promise I’ll do my best to help however I can.”

Something pulled at your heartstrings as you listened to him. He had put into words everything you had been feeling these past few months, everything you wanted to express but just couldn’t. Tentatively, you reached out a hand to meet his, and he wasted no time as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and hoisted you back over the railing towards safety and into his arms.

“Oh thank god,” he breathed out. His arm was still wound tight around your waist as he pulled you flush to him and walked you backwards. When the two of you reached the wall of the entryway to the rooftop, he stopped and slid down to the floor with you, a heavy sigh of relief escaping his lips. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.” You blinked back tears as you leaned into Deku’s tight hug, your arms coming up to wrap around him as well. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so loving and caring with you or the last time you had been hugged like this. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’m here.”

That was all it took for the dam inside of you to burst.

Hot tears finally spilled over and soaked Deku’s costume as all the emotions you had been suppressing came back full force. You hid your face in his shirt to try and stifle your cries as much as you could, but it was no use. There was no hiding the turmoil in your soul; all you could do was endure the sadness and frustration while he held you and comforted you. Slowly the reality of the situation started to sink in, and the realization that you almost took your own life hit you full force.

“I...I almost-!” You didn’t have the strength to finish your sentence as you sobbed harder and shook in the hero’s arms. He eventually shifted the two of you around to a more comfortable position and rubbed circles on your shoulder soothingly while you cried, a look of understanding and empathy in his eyes.

“But you didn’t. And you know what that tells me? That despite all those lies you’re telling yourself, there’s still a part of you left that wants to live. There’s still a part of you, no matter how small, that’s holding on to hope that things will get better. Find that feeling deep down inside you, grasp it, and never let go of it. You deserve to exist here. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to wake up each day and live and enjoy life. And I know you probably don’t feel that way right now, but believe me when I say that it’s the truth.” A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you took a moment to contemplate his words.

“You said we could talk if I wanted to...” you sniffled.

“Sure, we can talk. It doesn’t even have to be about anything in particular. Whatever you want to talk about, I’ll listen.”

So you told him everything. You poured your heart out to someone who was no more than a stranger to you, even if you recognized his face because it was plastered on every poster and broadcasted on every T.V. Even if you knew who Deku was, the person behind the mask was someone else entirely, and it brought a sense of comfort to you to know that a real person was listening to your troubles and caring about them. For once, someone was taking the time to make you a priority, and that was not something you were used to.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably tired of listening to me by now. I can’t believe I dumped all of that on y-” you tried to apologize, but he shook his head and cut you off before you could finish.

“Don’t be. I offered, didn’t I? I genuinely want to hear about what’s troubling you. Everyone deserves to be listened to, especially when they’re hurting. You’re important, and what you have to say is also important. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

You blinked up at him with wide eyes. How was he so good at this? A thought crossed your mind then, and you wondered for a brief moment if...had anyone ever listened to him? He had taken the time to calm you down and make you feel important by listening wholeheartedly to everything you had to say. The least you could do was return the favor, right?

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a really good listener?” you asked, a small but sincere smile on your face.

“Yes, actually. Plenty of times, but I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing it. It just means I’m succeeding at making others feel important, which is what I aim to do, so thank you for that.” He stared up at the night sky, his eyes reflecting the sparkling stars above. They were...so full of life. You found that fact inspiring.

There was a small pause before you asked him another question, hesitance evident in your voice. “Have you...told anyone? About what you said to me earlier, I mean.” It came out more awkward than you intended it to, and he seemed confused about what you were trying to ask.

“About what I said to you earlier?”

“Y-You know, the...rooftop...” you trailed off, not wanting to pry if he didn’t want to talk about it after all. “I’m so sorry, I just assumed since you mentioned it earlier that maybe you wanted to talk about it or something- Ah, I’m making things worse, I’m really sorry!” You ran your hands through your hair, anxiety getting the better of you and making your heart race. Deku shifted slightly beside you but kept his arm around your shoulders, a look of understanding coming over him.

“Oh, that?” He gave a small airy laugh. “While I appreciate the concern, I have a really great therapist. It’s kind of a requirement for Pros; we deal with a lot on the job.”

“...oh.” Oh. Oh. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but certainly not...that. “Again, I’m sorry if I pried,” you apologized one last time. At the sound of your third ‘I’m sorry’, Deku looked over at you thoughtfully.

“You know, I used to apologize a lot too. Actually, my therapist was the one who got me to kick the bad habit. Speaking of which...” He reached into one of the red pouches on his costume belt and produced a single card between his index and middle finger, the lamination of it emitting a dim glare as he held it out to you. “I think you could really benefit from therapy. I’m not saying that to be rude or anything-!” His face flushed as he tried to explain himself; he didn’t want you to feel like he was dismissing you or that he wasn’t concerned with your issues. “I swear! I just...really think you could use another person in your corner right now. They’re super nice, I promise! I’ll even help you set up an appointment if you want.”

You shrunk a little at the idea of seeing a therapist, but took the card anyway. The writing on the little piece of plastic stared back at you menacingly, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your gut.

Dr. T/N T/L/N Deku Agency Specialist in Psychology Phone: 800-888-8880 Email (Mon-Fri): T/nT/l/n@deku.agencies.com Office Hours: Mon-Sat, 9am-5pm

As if he could read your turbulent mind, Deku pulled you closer and rested his head against yours. “I know talking to someone else about your problems seems scary at first, but it really helps. If you keep everything bottled up, then those feelings and problems don’t have anywhere to go, and they’ll eat you up on the inside. Therapy gives you a safe way of letting those feelings out and sorting through problems in healthy ways. Of course it’s ultimately your choice, and everybody’s experience differs...but it did help me.”

You considered everything he said, including his offer to help schedule an appointment. If nothing else, you could really use another friend... You pocketed the card and decided to worry about it later; exhaustion was starting to settle in by now, and the air only seemed to get colder by the minute. It had to be past midnight by now.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done. It means a lot to me, truly. I’ll...think about the therapist.” 

“I’m glad to hear that. But in the mean time, can I see your phone?” The question caught you off guard and forced you back to the reality of where you were, and what you’d planned to do earlier.

“Uh, well...” you started, “I left it in my apartment. I didn’t think I’d need it up here since... Anyway, I don’t have it on me.” You stared off to the side, not wanting to talk about the subject any longer.

“Do you live around here?”

“Yeah, actually, I live in this apartment building.”

“Oh! Then, I’ll walk with you back to your apartment, since it’s getting kind of cold now. But first...” He whipped out his own phone, opening the contacts app and clicking on the ‘Create New Contact’ option. “What’s your phone number?”

“My phone number?” You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, so I can text you and call you. I’d like to be friends, if that’s okay?” He gave you a shy smile with a faint blush, and it was hard not to burst into tears again.

A friend. You had made a new friend. One that cared about you, that wanted to make sure you were okay, that would put in time and effort to talk to you and see you. You could hardly believe it.

“Really?”

“Of course! Sooo, can I have it, then? Oh, and I guess I’ll need your name at some point too, huh?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“It’s Y/N,” you stated happily.

You immediately gave your number to him, and then the two of you stood to go back inside. He helped you up and held the door open for you, and from there you took the stairs back to your apartment. You made small talk on the way back, and things finally started to feel normal to you for once. But as soon as you turned down the hall that led to your apartment door, you started to feel it; that familiar sinking feeling was creeping in, apathy and the sense of nothingness overwhelming you again. The night was finally coming to an end. You would go back to your apartment, and things would go back to normal, and Deku would probably forget that you even existed. He said he would text, but would he really? He was so busy with hero work, and you half expected things to go back to the way they would be. What if nothing changed? What if you went back to feeling numb? What if everything that happened tonight didn’t really matter? What would you do?

“Whoah, Y/N, slow down. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Huh? Shit! Had you said all that out loud?

You panicked as you stared at your door. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Hey, look at me.” He cupped your face between his hands, tilting your head up to meet his concerned gaze. “Everything will be okay. But these kinds of problems don’t just disappear over night, they need time, and sometimes some outside help from others. I promise to keep in touch with you. I want to make sure you’re okay, and I’d like to get to know you better too. Maybe I can introduce you to my friends? They’re really great people, and they would make you feel right at home. But for now, let’s just focus on one thing, okay? Let’s get you settled back into your apartment for the night.” He ruffled the top of your head softly, and while others might have taken the gesture as offensive or belittling, you were just glad to have felt his warm touch.

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, and you twisted the handle to the door, which you remembered you had left unlocked.

The small apartment greeted you with familiar darkness, that is, until Deku flipped your light switch and the few lamps you had lit up the living room. He let himself in and shut the door behind the two of you, earning a surprised look from you and giving you an apologetic look of his own. “I don’t mean to intrude...I just...” He looked like he was choking over his own words. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to let you be alone right now...but if you want me to leave, then-”

“I don’t want to be alone either,” you were quick to cut him off. You had wanted to invite him to stay, but you also didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. However, it seemed like he beat you to the punch. “I don’t mind you staying. Besides, it’s late, and you look tired. The couch pulls out into a bed; let me get you some extra blankets.” 

You tried your best to be hospitable, even with him insisting that you didn’t need to and that he could just crash in the comfy clothes he wore under his costume. You didn’t have any extra clothes for him, but at least you could give him a pillow and a blanket. As you went to fetch those, you also grabbed your phone from your desk and dropped it next to him on the makeshift bed. He took the liberty of entering his phone number and his real name into your contacts before passing it back.

“No way, you like All Might too?” he asked as you handed him the themed blanket. “This is the same exact blanket I have at home!” A wide grin came over him as he cuddled into it.

His enthusiasm made you laugh a little as you tossed him the pillow. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You started to walk away to your bedroom, and as you were about to turn the lights out, he stopped you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Did you need something?”

He peeked his head over the edge of the couch. “I just realized I never gave you my name. You can call me Izuku, if you want. Since, we’re friends now, and all.”

“Izuku,” you echoed, “I’m really glad I met you.” And you meant it.

“Yeah, me too.” A moment of silence. “That I met you, I mean! I’m glad I met you too!”

You smiled and turned the lights out. “I’m gonna head to bed.” You hesitated a bit to ask him the question burning at the back of your mind, but your anxiety forced you to ask anyway, the fear of not knowing eating at you. “Will you still be here tomorrow morning?”

He answered you right away and gave you a reassuring look. “I’m off work tomorrow, and I don’t have any plans, so I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me to.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Izuku.” 

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding for so long, and with that, you made your way to your bedroom and changed into your favorite pajamas. The card that Izuku had given you earlier dropped to the floor while you were changing, and you picked it up carefully before reading it over again. Maybe...it was worth a shot. You had a lot you were dealing with, and the idea that you could talk to someone about it without being judged or made fun of almost sounded too good to be true. Sure, you had Izuku now, but you knew realistically he wasn’t going to be around all the time. You were tired of feeling like you were always alone, tired of feeling everything and nothing all at once, tired in general. It was all so exhausting. And he had said the therapist was nice...

You crawled into bed with your phone and pulled the covers over yourself. The home screen lit up the room as you opened your contacts and scrolled, looking for one name in particular. You tapped on his name and the familiar conversation screen appeared, the little vertical line blinking at you repeatedly as you worked up the courage to type out your message. Finally, your fingers flew across the keys, and you hit send before you could think twice about it.

Y/N: I think I want to schedule an appointment with the therapist. Can you help? 1:34am

It didn’t take long for you to get a response.

Izuku: Of course. I can contact them tomorrow, if you’d like? 1:34am

Y/N: I’d like that a lot. Thank you, Izuku. 1:35am

Izuku: Are you alright? If you need anything, come get me. I won’t mind. 1:35am

Y/N: I really appreciate that. I’m doing a little better. I’ll let you know if I need something. 1:35am

Izuku: Promise? 1:35am

Y/N: I promise. 1:36am

[joneswuzhere]

hello join me in thinking about some books and authors that are, or might be, part of s5′s intertextuality

5.10 in particular offered specific shout outs, and also u know i’m always wondering what might be ahead so i have some ideas on that:

- first, as mentioned in a previous ask post, i know i wasn’t alone in keeping an eye out for 5.10 parallels to the lost weekend (1945) the film that gave episode 1.10 its name and several themes - or to the 1944 book by charles r jackson which the film is based on

- s5 has not been shy about revisiting earlier seasons, especially s1. altho i feel that 1.10′s parallels to the lost weekend centered characters other than jughead (mostly betty), a 1.10-5.10 connection involving jughead and themes from jackson’s story (addiction, writers block, self reflection) seemed v possible if not inevitable

- but like,, , for a hot minute after the ep, i was really stumped on understanding how anything from the book or film could apply, even tho the pieces were almost all there

- jackson’s protagonist don birnam goes thru and comes out the other side of a harrowing days-long drinking binge that could be compared to jughead’s one-night hallucinogenic writing retreat

- but jughead is struggling primarily with traumatic memories, not addiction and self control like birnam. and tho drinking activates birnam’s creativity, it paralyzes his writing as he gets lost in fantasies; he’s never published anything. jughead’s drug trip recreates circumstances that already helped him write one successful book. even the rat that startles him mid-high doesn’t line up with birnam’s withdrawal vision of a dying mouse, symbolic of his horror at his own self-destruction thru alcohol

- and maybe the most visible discordance: in the film there’s a romantic motif around a typewriter. first it’s an object of shame; birnam’s failure to write, tied up with his drinking, makes him flee his relationship. he tries to pawn the typewriter for booze money and finally a gun when shooting himself feels easier than getting sober. but with the help of relentless encouragement from girlfriend helen, he quits drinking, commits to her, and focuses on typing out the story he’s dreamt of writing. rd goes so far to avoid setting any comparable scenario that jughead has brought a wholeass printer into the bunker so there can still be a physical manuscript to cover in blood by the end, even without his own typewriter. the subtle detail of his laptop bg image is a little less noticeable than his avoidance of betty’s gift

- tabitha might be closer to a parallel than jughead is, but she’s still no helen. both refuse to take advantage of the inebriated men in their care, but birnam takes advantage of helen, financially and emotionally. jughead refused a loan from the tate family and now has resolved to deal with his shit before he considers a relationship with tabitha. instead of helen’s relentless and unwelcomed attempts to get birnam sober, tabitha reluctantly agrees to help jughead trip safely bondage escape notwithstanding. she even helps him get the drugs.

- whatever potentials exist for parallels to jackson’s story, they were not explored for this episode. ok so why tf am i even talking about this? what was there instead?

-  i have arrived at the point

- s5 has been revisiting s1, not directly but with a twist. and jughead’s agent samm pansky is back. u may recall, pansky is named for sam lansky

- jughead’s trip-thru-trauma is a story device tapped straight from lansky’s book ‘broken people’

- lansky is like if a millenial john rechy wrote extremely LA-flavored meta but just about himself no jk very like a modern successor to charles r jackson. both play with the boundary between memoir and fiction. lansky is gay; jackson wrote his lost weekend counterpart as closeted and remained closeted himself until only a few years before his death. both write with emotional clarity and self-scrutiny on the experiences of addiction, sobriety, and the surrounding issues of shame and self worth

- i feel like a fool bc after this ep i had been thinking about de quincey and his early writings on addiction (c.1800s), but i failed to carry the thought in the other direction, to contemporary writers in the genre, to make this connection sooner

- lansky’s second book, broken people, follows narrator ‘sam’, mid-20s, super depressed, hastled by his agent to write a decent follow-up to his first book, but too busy struggling with his self-worth and baggage from several past relationships. desperate, he takes up an offer to visit a new age shaman who promises to fix everything wrong with him in a matter of days. not to over simplify it but he literally spends a weekend doing psychedelics and hallucinating about his exes. jughead took note

- unless u want me to hurl myself into yet another dissertation about queer jughead, i think his parallel to sam - who, unlike jughead, has considerable financial privilege and whose anxieties center on body dysmorphia, hiv scares, and his own self-centeredness - pretty much ends there

- But,, the gist of the book could not be more harmonius with a major theme shared by the 2 films that inform the actual hallucination part of jughead’s bunker scene: mentally reframing past relationships to get closure + confronting trauma head-on in order to move forward

- so that’s neat. what other book and author stuff was in 5.10?

- stephen king and raymond carver get name dropped. i’m passingly familiar with them both but u bet i just skimmed their wiki bios in case anything relevant jumped out

- like jughead, carver was a student (later a lecturer) at the iowa writers workshop. also the son of an alcoholic and one himself

- i recall carver’s ‘what we talk about when we talk about love’ is what jughead was reading in 2.14 ‘the hills have eyes’ after he finds out about the first time betty kissed archie (at that time he does not respond as would any of carver’s characters)

- this collection of carver stories deals especially with infidelity, failings of communication, and the complexities and destructiveness of love. to unashamedly quote the resource that is course hero, ‘carver renders love as an experience that is inherently violent bc it produces psychic and emotional wounds.’ very fun to wonder about the significance of this collection within the s2 episode and in jughead’s thoughts. and maybe now in the context of the s5 state of relationships. or, at least, the state of jughead’s writing as seen by his agent

- anyway pansky doesn’t want carver, he wants stephen king

- i have too much to say about gerald’s game in 5.10, that’s getting its own post someday soon

- lol wait king’s wife is named tabitha uhhh king’s wiki reminded me of his childhood experience that possibly inspired his short story ‘the body’ (+1986 movie ‘stand by me’) when he ‘apparently witnessed one of his friends being struck and killed by a train tho he has no memory of the event’

- no mention of that in this rd episode but memories of a train could be interesting to consider with the imagery that intrudes on jughead’s hallucination. i still feel like it was a truck but the lights and sounds he experiences may be a train

- ok now we’re in the speculation part of today’s segment

- if jughead’s traumatic memory involves trains, then it’s possible this plot will take influence from la bête humaine <- this 1938 movie is based on the 1890 novel by french writer émile zola. this story deals with alcoholism and possessive jealousy in relationships, sometimes leading to murder. huh, kind of like carver. zola def comes down on the nature side of the nature-vs-nuture bad seed question (tho i should say he approaches this with great or maybe just v french compassion). also i can’t tell if this is me reaching but, something about la bête humaine reminds me of king’s ‘secret window’ which we’ve observed to be at least a style influence on jughead post time jump

- but wow a late-19th century french writer would be a random thing to drop into this season, right? then again zola also wrote about miners, which we’ve learned are an important part of this town’s history + whatever hiram is up to this time.  and most notably, zola wrote ‘j’accuse...!’ an open letter in defense of a soldier falsely accused and unlawfully jailed for treason: alfred dreyfus. archie’s recent army trouble comes to mind.

- since the introduction of old man dreyfuss (plausibly Just a nod to close encounters actor richard dreyfuss, but also when is anything in this show Just one thing) i’ve been wondering if these little things could add up to a season-long reference to zola’s writings. but i had doubts and didn’t want to speak on it too soon bc, u know, it’s weird but is it weird enough for riverdale??

- however,,,

- (come on, u knew where i was going with this)

- a24′s film zola just came out. absolutely no relation to the french writer, it’s not based on a book but an insane and explicit twitter thread by aziah ‘zola’ wells about stripping and? human trafficking?? this feels ripe for rd even outside the potentials here for the lonely highway/missing girls plot.

- that would add up to a combination of homage that feels natural to this show

- anyway pls understand i’m just having fun speculating, most of this is based on nothing more concrete than the torturous mental tendril ras has hooked into my skull pls let go ras pls let go

[generalfoolish]

Feel The Heat

Part Two: Something More

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Rating: 18+ (b/c minors shouldn't lurk, it is illegal and not polite.) But this is big fluff, just more exposition and pining and world building. I do curse, so there's that.

Word Count: 4k+

Summary: June and Frankie are big idiots, and they keep bumping into each other in the wildest of places. Again, and I can't overstate this: they’re both MASSIVE idiots.

A/N: Hey babes! This is going a little slower bc I want to give more with each update, I normally keep around 1K and these are little beasts. But I'm excited with the story, some threads are exposing themselves, and there will be more Frankie X OC time in the next part. For now, enjoy this little taste of yearning and pining and overthinking and general angst over meeting a cute new somebody. 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

June checked her phone as she stirred the pot, and groaned at the email count. More than half were parents who “couldn’t” make the conference, and the rest were from her principal wanting to reiterate the importance of those meetings. She dropped the phone back to the counter, and focused on her pot. She had googled what to do with Brandywines, and had decided on a slowly simmered tomato sauce. It paired beautifully with the fresh garlic and basil she had picked up, and the whole house smelled like an Italian restaurant.

This was her favorite way to use up produce in the summer. She spent hours simmering and canning, and got to enjoy the fruits of her labor in the dead of winter. She knew she could easily gift the sauce made from those beautiful tomatoes, and she had every intention of doing so.

Sundays passed so quickly, she hardly had time to dwell on the farmer, but when she caught a whiff of her stove she had to find something to do. She worked through the emails, sending reminders that the conferences were mandatory, and that if the parents couldn’t make it during the week before or after school, she was available to meet online. She fought the temptation to open her weekends. She was working on work boundaries with her therapist.

June had an easier time fighting off thoughts of the farmer as the day waned on, and she thought, foolishly, that she could just forget the brown eyed grump she had met.

--

Frankie was having a hard time focusing on anything. Liv was a bundle of energy, and he tried not to snap at her. He had her come help him in the garden, but he ended up sending her to dig for worms after she trampled another vine.

“Ew! Worms are gross.” She argued.

“I know, but didn’t you want to go fishing? Fish eat worms, it’s how we can get them out of the water.” He explained, carefully. She considered him, then bounded off, calling out to the worms. He chuckled watching her, and went back to pulling weeds. With a moment of quiet, his mind flitted back to the woman. He couldn’t help it. He had dreamt of her. She was lounging in the back of his mind, waiting for him to stumble into the memory. Liv was a good distraction, but she only held the woman at bay for so long. He grumbled and wiped his brow. He decided to give it up for now, the woman and the weeding.

“Princess, I think we have some hotdogs. Let’s try those.” He called over to Liv, who excitedly left behind her freshly dug hole.

“Daddy, Mrs. Becka wanted me to remind you about the school stuff.” Liv told him, grabbing his hand as they walked. He exhaled sharply. He had forgotten the meetings. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through Becka’s texts. She had sent him the teacher’s number at some point, he knew, the trouble was finding it. Finally, he clicked the blue hyper-linked number and called it. Liv ran inside ahead of him, looking for the hot dogs, and he waited at the door as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Ms. Collins answered breathlessly, and he cleared his throat.

“Ms. Collins? It’s Olivia Morales’ dad, calling about the meeting?” He heard something clatter on the other end. “Is now an okay time?”

“Yes, sorry, Mr. Morales, I was just...it doesn’t matter. My schedule is a little tight, when did you have in mind?”

“Something early, maybe before drop-off?”

“Sure, uhm, let me check my calendar,” She sounded distant, he thought, probably on speaker. “Yeah, Tuesday morning? I know that’s quick, it is all I have though.”

“Yeah, I can be there. Like 7am?”

“Yes, that’s great. See you then.” The line disconnected and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d heard her voice before. He rolled his eyes at himself, of course he had. She was his daughter’s teacher. As if on cue, Liv ran out with a hot dog. He smiled brightly and ruffled her hair.

“‘Kay, kiddo, let’s go catch some fish.” She grinned at him brightly, showing off the hole her first lost tooth had made. His heart caught as he realized she was growing up so fast.

--

“Monday’s really are the worst.” June laughed. She had her mom on the phone, connected through Bluetooth. “I’m just leaving the school now!”

“I just don’t see why you’re having to set these meetings up now. The kids have hardly been in school for a couple of weeks.” June sighed as she merged on the highway to head home.

“I know, it's just something my district does. The hard part is wrangling parents.”

“Well, if you had any children, you’d know how much they require of you.” June rolled her eyes and exhaled through her nose. Her mom was always quick to bring up her lack of a partner and children. Not that June didn’t want those things, they just haven't panned out for her yet.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m sure you’re right.” She acquiesced, knowing the argument wasn’t worth the effort.

“Have you met anyone? You’re only getting older, you know.”

“Thanks Mom. Uh, I have a date tomorrow night, actually.”

“Well, what’s his name, do I know him? What does he do for work?” June rolled her eyes, and wondered why she had answered the call.

“I don’t know anything about him. It’s a blind date.”

“Not even a name?” June bit her lip, debating telling her Mom the nickname.

“He’s ex-Army, goes by Fish. That’s all I know. Oh, and he’s single. A new teacher sat it up for me.” June explained, hoping her Mom wouldn’t have much to say.

“Fish? Oh, wow. Terrence really messed you up, huh.”

“I’m getting a call from a parent, I’ll talk to you later.” June lied, ending the call. Terrence had really messed her up. Not that that was of any importance to her dating life, or this blind date’s name. She sighed hard as she pulled into her driveway.

“Monday’s really are the worst.” She told the empty space of her car. She grabbed her bag and hurried inside. It had been a long day, and she was ready to polish off her bottle of wine from the night before. She walked in and let her bag drop to the floor, and crossed to the staircase. She groaned as she climbed the stairs. She was exhausted and still had a ton left to do.

June stripped quickly and threw on her yard work clothes. She stopped by the kitchen and poured some wine into a cup with a lid, before making her way outside. The day before she had started a small garden, and she was determined to make something grow out of it. She had no idea what she was doing, though. The wine wasn’t really helping either.

She had been short with a few parents while she was tending the fragile plants. It was a little late in the season to try and start anything, but she had picked up some discount plants that she wanted to help limp along for a little longer. She hoped she hadn’t put any of the parents off, and tried to remember who all had called.

June wiped her forehead with her gloved hand and tried to sort them out. Steven’s mom, Cynthia, was meeting her during lunch. That would be short, thankfully. Steven was a good kid, quiet. Graham and Ginger’s grandma was coming Wednesday afternoon, the parents were out of the country for something. Mia’s dad was going to call during the planning period. Ashley’s mom was coming Tuesday afternoon. And Olivia’s dad was coming Tuesday morning. June felt her shoulders sag, and she drained her wine. That wasn’t even half of the parents left.

She gave up on the garden and stalked inside. She wanted to scare up something for dinner, but didn’t really feel like making anything. She gave in and called the local Indian place. They knew her order, and said they’d be there soon. She grimaced, wondering how much money she had spent on Vindaloo over the years, and decided not to think about it. She had enough time to slip in the shower to wash the sweat off, before the delivery guy knocked on her door. She tipped him generously, and sat down on the couch.

June clicked the tv on and scrolled through her watch list. She settled on some mind-numbing detective show, and ate half of the curry. She put the rest away, and grabbed her bag by the door. The bag was a mess, but she managed to find her red pen and the papers that needed grading, and she settled back in.

Soon, the mindless task paired with a full stomach and the wine had her falling into a deep sleep.

--

Frankie was pissed. He was giving up the best time of the day for harvesting to meet with Liv’s teacher, and Ms. Collins couldn’t be bothered to show up. His thoughts went back to the phone call the day before, and he gritted his teeth as he realized she had put him off twice. Over something she had wanted to set up. He’d gotten the bundles of paper she had sent home on it. Yet, here he was, and she was nowhere to be found. He pulled his phone out, and considered punching in her number, but stopped himself.

Frankie had to exhale deeply four times before he could lay his phone down. He had gotten here a little early, and it was just now 7 am, and he didn’t have a set schedule. Liv was with Ashley, Becka had insisted on taking them to drop off so he could have plenty of time with Ms. Collins. Not that it mattered now, he thought, dryly. At ten past, he pulled his phone back out, and brought her name up. He was angry again, and had every intention of calling. But before he could press her name, the door swung open, and his heart dropped.

~~

June woke with a start. The birds were singing outside, the light was all wrong, and she was on the couch. Shit, she thought, jumping up. Shit, shit, shit. She had overslept. She hurried up the stairs and threw on something presentable, and didn’t even check herself in the mirror. She could do her makeup in the class. She grabbed up the half graded papers and shoved them in her bag, and ran out the door. She dumped everything in the passenger seat and drove much faster than usual. She was about halfway to the school when she realized she was meeting a student’s parent this morning. She hadn’t had any coffee, and her brain was starting to slow down from the adrenaline of being late, and she could not remember who she was meeting. She parked, and popped her vanity mirror down and grimaced. She looked like she was having a bad morning. She decided to throw her hair up in a messy bun, and grabbed the mess up from her passenger seat.

She basically ran into the building, her flats ricocheting sound off the concrete walls. She swung her door open, apologies already falling from her lips, when she looked at the parent. The apologies died on her lips, and her mouth fell open.

“You?” She asked, dumbly. “Frankie?” He looked like he had seen a ghost, a bitchy ghost, she grimaced.

“You?” He stood now, and started to move to her.

“Uhm, you can’t be here. I’m meeting a student’s parent, and how’d you even know where to find me?” She started rambling, but when the words were out she realized how stupid they were. “Oh my god, you’re the parent?” She barked out a laugh, and dumped her bag on her desk. He grinned, and wiped the back of his neck.

“Liv’s dad. I’m Frankie Morales.” He told her, faltering from shaking her hand.

“Perfect. I’m Juniper Collins, you can call me June, or Ms. Collins, whatever you prefer. I’m sorry I’m late, I...I started a garden yesterday and wore myself out. That’s what I was doing when we spoke on the phone,” She told him, laughing. June had only tried gardening because she wanted a common foot with him. She didn’t want to tell him that yet, though. “Anyway, let’s get to Liv. Liv is a great girl, Mr. Morales.”

“Frankie.” He interrupted, with a small smile.

“Okay, Frankie. Look, Liv is great, she really is. She struggles in class sometimes, though. She is smart as hell, but she seems to struggle. I wanted to give you some information about ADD or ADHD. It presents differently in girls, and is often overlooked. I haven’t known her long, obviously, but I actually was diagnosed much later in life, and I remember doing some of the things she’s doing. Would you be interested in some info on that?” June asked carefully, their relationship was rocky and weird, and she didn’t want to overstep. This was her job, though. It was a little bit not her job, actually. But she always wanted to look out for her girls, especially when they were as smart and incredible as Liv.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea she was struggling.” Frankie muttered, and removed his cap. June sucked in a sharp breath at his light brown, bouncy curls as they spilled out. He was beautiful. She distracted herself by moving behind her desk and grabbing a folder she had laid out for Liv, for this exact reason, and she thanked her past self for being put together. Then she went and sat beside him at the small activity table. She felt comical sitting next to him in the small chairs, he was spilling over his own. She laid down the folder and put a hand on his arm.

“Look, it isn’t a struggle that she notices yet. It’s her recall, her attention span, and her ability to focus. That sounds like a lot, I know, but there’s a simple test, and there are effective alternatives to stimulants. I’m on one, and it really helped me. Life is only going to get harder for her, if she has it and it remains untreated, but she has no idea. She isn’t “different” yet, and she’s doing so, so well in class. She is a model student. I just want to help, that’s all.” She watched his face as she spoke, and by the end, he seemed defeated.

“I should have noticed. I’m her dad. I...I’ve been worried I’m not around enough, and now you drop this on me.” He laughed dryly. She patted his arm.

“Liv talks about you all the time. She loves you, Frankie. She tells us all the time about her pilot dad.” June said it before she had time to think, before she connected “Liv’s Dad” with Frankie, the man before her. And then, her big mouth spit out something she wanted to take back immediately. “But you’re a farmer, right?” He looked up into her eyes, and his face was hard.

“Anything else you wanted to tell me about Liv?” His words were right, but the tone was too harsh. June flinched back from him, and dropped her gaze from his suddenly hard face.

“Liv is a great girl. She’s great to have in class. I have nothing else for you.” June told him monotonically, going on autopilot so as not to cry. She had spent the whole weekend thinking about him, then she had planted a stupid garden to have more in common with him, and then fate brought them back together, and she screwed it up again. She decided it was done, then. Frankie Morales was not in the cards for her. Sure, she might see him again because she taught his daughter, but she was through thinking of him like that.

“Good. I have to get going, next time try to be on time.” He scolded, as he stood abruptly and left without another word. Slowly, June followed and shut the door behind him. Alone, at last, she started crying.

~~~

“Idiot. You fucking idiot.” Frankie berated himself in his truck. He couldn’t believe it when she swept into the room. He had found her. Not her, he thought with a grimace, Juniper. The name felt so appropriate. It was an old name, but it suited her so perfectly. He exhaled roughly and tried to rewrite the scene. She was looking out for Liv. She wanted Liv to be happy and succeed. This woman cared more about his daughter than Liv’s own mother. And as soon as she tried to get to know him, he bit her head off and made her feel bad for being late. Jesus, what a dick. He had found her, and in a single moment, he had managed to ruin it again.

He put the truck in drive and headed home. Nothing left to do here, he thought bitterly. He was pulling up the driveway when he remembered that she had started a garden. It wasn’t a coincidence, he realized. She had started a garden because of him. He parked the truck and laid his head against the steering wheel. He had pushed her away at every turn. The market, the bar, and now at the school. He had seen her face before he left, and knew it was done. He had pushed too far, too fast. Of course, she would want nothing more to do with him. He had done nothing but treat her like shit.

He got out of the truck and threw his hat. It didn’t do much except get his cap dirty, but it was all he could do. He pulled his phone out, and pulled her name up. He typed a long message, and erased it. Then he tried again, and erased it again. His pride was getting in the way. He couldn’t tell her about his piloting years. The army, spec ops, Colombia, the coke, or any of it. She could just hate him, and then he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

~~~~

June paced up and down her classroom. Her face was puffy, still, and she had been struggling to focus all day. She couldn’t meet anyone new for dinner; she wasn’t in the right headspace for a date. Let alone one where she would have to leave a lasting impression. She chewed her thumb nail before heading down the hall.

Samantha's classroom was pretty close to her own, and June was glad for it. If she had had to walk further she would have lost her nerve. June knocked tentatively on the door, before pulling it open. Samantha looked up and grinned.

"Hey girl! Are you excited for your big date tonight?" June’s own smile fell from her face.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. I want to cancel." Samantha's smile pulled down quickly.

"Why?"

"I'm having kind of a bad day for impressions," June told her flatly.

"Well, I couldn't if I wanted to. Santiago is out of town, no reception. I don't have the friend's number." June groaned.

"Okay, alright. Ugh, probably for the best. Do you know anything else about him? I’ve had kind of a rough day. You said, ex-military right?”

“Yeah, Santi doesn’t really talk about that time, and I haven’t pushed it. I met him a while back, Fish. He’s sweet. I think he’ll be your type. You like tan brunettes?” June nodded, laughing and thinking about Frankie Morales again.

“He’ll be perfect. Doesn’t say much and likes beer, that’s all I know.” Samantha gave a small shrug.

“Alright, thanks. I’ll let you finish eating.” June said, excusing herself.

She left feeling defeated. A parent was going to be late this afternoon, she had gotten the email after the Frankie disaster. Which meant that she was going to be late to dinner. She wasn't killing it in the men department so she hoped that despite a military background he wouldn't mind her tardiness. She couldn't handle another horrible scene like the one from this morning.

The rest of the day was uneventful, which she was glad for. Her nerves were on the edge. She tried to ignore how much Liv favored her dad, and how she loudly told the class about their upcoming camping trip. She found herself listening intently, despite herself. And even chuckled at the girl’s memories of the last trip. June’s mood improved with the day, too. She even played a little music in the background while the kids worked on their worksheets.

By the time she had hauled herself into her car, the last thing she wanted to do was go to dinner. But she swiped on her favorite lipstick and drove to the restaurant. If she broke the speed limit, she would only be about five minutes late, and she pushed it. She wanted to drink some wine, and forget about Frankie Morales. Another tan brunette in her life would do her good, she thought happily. She was tired, but she wanted to make the most of it.

---

Frankie was looking back and forth between the menu and his watch. He couldn't believe that another woman was about to be late on him. He was trying hard to get June out of his mind, and his blind date wasn't making it easy on him. He chuckled when he realized what he was doing. Just meeting a total stranger for dinner. He didn't have much choice in the matter, he thought, remembering how Pope had basically told him where and when, without asking if Frankie was even interested.

She had good taste, he conceded. This was his favorite spot. They made amazing, fresh pasta. He was eyeing the cocktail menu, when she rushed in. He couldn't believe he was running into her again.

It was June, because of course it was. She was flushed, probably late again, he huffed, but she had put on a bright red lipstick that made his heart stutter. He lowered his gaze back to the menu. He hoped she wouldn't see him out on a date, even if he saw her. The hope was short lived because she made her way to him, her eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn't place, and she exhaled deeply.

"Let me guess, your call sign is Fish, right?" His eyes snapped to hers and she laughed while nodding. It was her. He had found her again. The waiter walked over and she told him to bring a bottle of red, and a beer for him. He told the waiter his brand, and raked his eyes over her.

"Sorry I'm late, I had a crazy day." She mused once she had taken two deep sips of her wine.

"Yeah? What is it you do?" He asked, hoping beyond hope that this was their start over. Their fourth, or so, start over.

"Teacher. Yeah, I teach. Most days it's easy, but some days there are parents." She told him, her cheeks flushed.

"Hopefully, no jerks?" He asked, quickly taking a sip of his beer. She held her head to the side before she sighed.

"I don't know what's going on here, Frankie. It's kind of exhausting. I think you're pretty handsome, you grow amazing food, you have a beautiful daughter, but I think we just keep messing up. How about, just for now, we enjoy this meal and the company, and tomorrow we can talk about what it means that we can't keep away from each other?" He searched her eyes. She was tired, he could tell, but she was so sincere. He wanted desperately to know why she sat down instead of just leaving. He wanted to know why they were seemingly so connected. He wanted to know if he'd been on her mind too.

"I'm thinking the carbonara." He answered, and she smiled before looking the menu over herself. The rest could wait. He had found her again.”

[jksangelic]

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

GENRE: fantasy, fluff, smut, a hint of a soulmate au, light angst

PAIRING: village daughter!reader x seraph!yoongi (alternatively, an “angel”)

WARNINGS/TAGS: lots of overthinking/past angst regarding both reader and yoongi separately (yoongi especially), tae is involved as an important plot side character but he’s barely in there i’m sorry, surprise aggression from yoongi because u get in his personal space, slow burn smut but the smut is nice and flavorful, explicit sexual content, body worship, oral sex (female receiving), virgin!reader, clumsy cute smut uwu, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), several positions, unintentional temperature play?, lots of love and respect up in this house and lots of other things i probably forgot. 

also i wrote a lot for the intro you can skim idc lmao.

SUMMARY: your duty as the village daughter places you in line for the season’s Offering; a tradition not to tread lightly upon. as the snow falls slow and heavy, and the seraph awaits in the shallows of the mountain, you fail to realize what the winter has in store for you.

WORD COUNT: 18,600

NOTE: welcome to my slice of the Fantastical Stories for Curious Souls Collaboration!

it’s always really an honor to be able to work with other writers and i’m really grateful that they allowed my butting-in )))): thank you all!!! make sure to check out everyone’s stories in the link above and let us know what you think!

(uhhh i just..... i spent way too much time on research and the politics behind this fic for it to still be aLL oVer tHe plaCe but please cut me some slack. might i throw in that this has no religious/cultural affiliation and instead has more of a fantastical theme to it that is entirely fictional. especially for the concept of the Offering and how i loosely throw around the word “angel” and “heaven” and etc.)

((might i add that i recently discovered that i am *terrible* at describing geography and am totally basing it off of video-game visuals........ cough cough zeldabreathofthewild))

(((this last one’s kinda important!!!!: yoongi is described to be larger than you bc he’s this magical bird being. i always try to keep reader insert broad in description but if you’re taller than irl yoongi boongi, pssst, you’re not in this universe sorry but i make the rules)))

((((this is currently unedited. @14statelier​ get to work.))))

Part One

The snow falls slow and thick. The children catching it on their tongues and compacting it to shoot at each other, screaming and wailing all the same as it continues to pile. It fell particularly early this time around, normally nothing more than cold bitter to the skin and clouds stirring prediction of the oncoming winter. You were always a heavy sleeper despite the beauty of first frost, long past your days of childish amazement through fogged windows and warm fires but you watched the icy cotton substance pile since dawn this morning. Not even drowsiness will overrun your excitement for the day ahead.

“You light three incense and make sure they burn all the way through before you turn around,” Taehee states.

“Find some stones on your way. Use them to hold the tapestry down as you set up. It looks especially windy today,” Mina adds.

Yoona finishes tucking your hair back rather tightly, “You should stop by Jin’s and pick up some extra bread. You know he’ll give you some of his fresh batch if you asked for it.”

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

You chew on your fingers, a nervous habit. Taehee pulls your slobbered index from your lips with a wrinkled forehead, “You better remember this, dear. You only have to do it once but if you do it right, it’ll be worth much more.”

You recite drearily, “Follow the path, set up the altar, say our prayers, return home.”

“Once the incense is out, Y/N. You mustn’t forget.”

“And you cannot explore the manor. Don’t walk around. Don’t look through the windows—”

“It’s a manor? How big do you suppose?” you ask with newfound interest to your words.

“That doesn’t matter, girl. You don’t wander. You don’t explore. You do what is told of you and nothing more. What matters is that you don’t spot a seraph, and that the seraphs don’t spot you.”

You never understood that rule. If the seraph tribe was so kind as to help your country win a rather one-sided war, then why the invisible boundary? To be in alliance and never interact was an odd sense of unity to you, if any. “Have you ever seen a seraph? Is it true they have two sets of wings?” You’d always been curious to the subject, a fairytale-like existence just waiting below the peak.

“The elders claim they do. A large and small set. Some say it’s necessary for having human proportions. You know, they say it’s bad luck to stare at a seraph’s wings. ” Mina says in awe in correspondence to the way she suffocates you with your robe’s sash.

You swat her away, forcing down a smile, “I don’t believe that, you haven’t even seen one! How do you even know they exist!”

“Hush! You’ll get into some real trouble if an elder catches you saying that. They exist. And they live up the mountain. And you will do the Offering with utmost delicacy and respect. Besides, you’re the only one coming-of-age this year! A girl to do it by herself is surely something the leaders will appraise of you.” You avoid their scrutinous, expectant gazes.

You could say you’ve been cursed at birth. Weak in basic skills in which an adult, regardless of age, is identified by. You lacked time management and a sense of direction, you harbored a bad habit of looking down when you spoke, you couldn’t even wash the dishes without chipping a glass. Your legs worked against you at random times, quite literally tripping you up and deeming you as a clumsy, pitiful thing. As you grew older, the only skills you were able to contribute were to the fields, where things were organic and didn’t require fragility.

“I am not as useless as you think of me,” the words come out unprompted but true and exposed.

The women gawk and babble like hens in a flurry of angered denial or soft apologies but you no longer have time to discuss unimportant matters.

In the midst, rough, giant hands encase your face. You don’t realize you’re looking to the floor until Taehyung props your chin upwards, met with smiling eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. His name rolls off your tongue in surprise.

“Hey, don’t start moping before you even start. It really isn’t a big deal. You hike all the way up to the riverbank more than the others and that’s a long way. This is no different. And think, when you come home everyone will come to realize how much they’ve missed you! Me included.”

“It’s not that I’m…” You start haphazardly. Well, it’s not that you’re reluctant to do the Offering. To adventure otherwise prohibited land and by yourself, to prove that you can handle life just fine and don’t need to be seared by the judgement of deploring eyes. Some time to enjoy solitary peace. It wasn’t even a whole day, dammit, but you’ll take what you can get. You choose to lie, “I guess I am a bit nervous. I’ll make sure to pace myself. Besides, I’d run myself short if I finished in half-a-day like you.”

Tae puffs, a little proud of himself, “What can I say… I’d like for the little ones to look up to me.” You roll your eyes, scanning your bed for your scarf. Taehyung eyes the cloth as you wrap it around, a rare moment of quiet. He stares, entranced, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so focused. As you think about inquiring his statue-like manner, you notice that more of the silence is due to the disappearance of the squawking hens. Those sly, evil matchmakers.

You suddenly pull him along and towards the exit, “You can’t be in here. You’ll get us in trouble.”

He blinks dumbly and slumps against your ministrations. “Your aunts seemed to be fine with it. And it’s not like I haven’t snuck in your window a few… several times.”

Your expressed sheepishness is his favorite source of entertainment, “Goodness, as kids! You make it sound so rebellious.” He winks as if you share a grand secret, all to his imagination of course.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was the village’s be-all and end-all. Born to work and carry everyone else on his back. He stands tall with his shoulders wide and prominent, chestnut waves that reached his cheekbones now. Shirt tight around his torso in ways that could excite anyone that risked a glimpse. You can’t help but find it amazing how much of a crybaby he was when you were young and how sturdy and dependable he is now. He was humorously your polar opposite.

You try to shoo him once more, “Anyways. I’m getting ready and you can’t see me. Go wait with everyone else!” His pout is jarring paired with his hard, strong build. Like a teddy bear with abs and palm blisters from years of physical labor.

His body moves on his own at some point, reluctantly reaching for your door handle, “No parting kiss upon my cheek, fair lady?”

It’s obvious he’s being more daring these days. With frequent visits and gifts on your doorstep, and now requested kisses. The whole town knew you were likely to marry him, a relief for most. But on your hand, you’ve just known him for so long. Practically since you were born. You’ve already shared kisses, you’ve already had those butterflies in your stomach; but the kisses were stolen in secret and the butterflies were stagnant. And although it was never a consistent nor official courting, you felt as though Taehyung was already a route taken. You know better to never admit that into the air, though. Not when everyone expected your cooperation with marriage at the least. To care for someone so special, and to bear his children plump and healthy.

What a static life to live, you try not to think. You instead try to blame such thinking on your inferiority complex, to at least ease some of that horrible guilt in your stomach. You should be grateful for your life. Talentless yet adored. A village princess that was easy on the eyes and sought after by those looking for that beauty and its accompanied dowry.

A proposal was near, that much you could tell with his efforts. In his perspective, the sooner the better lest he want someone else to steal you from him. Contradictory to your own reasoning, the only relief you find is that it is him, your dearest friend. Perhaps the only one to disregard your shortcomings and want to fill your empty spaces as much as he can. He cared about you and that could be enough. So you try to convince yourself of that.  

You kiss his cheek softly and without hesitation. Not so much as a blush. He suspects nothing less than mutual adoration and takes his leave like you request, leaving you alone in silence for a relieving twenty seconds. Then the hens come back inside and squabble about who will be able to sew together your future gown.

 Part Two

It starts under the old pine tree on the far side of the village. A crowd gathers as you wait under the swaying branches, mutters and looks of excitement apparent. A cleric waits beside you with three elder women who prepare your things: a woven satchel loaded with the items that you are to lay out, things like dried flowers, fruits, fine wines, tapestries, collected crystals, baked goods and the incense. A replica display of what little the humans had presented at the foot of the seraphs. Untouchable beings with class and power much above your own. Kindness as well, so it seems; to be provided with just this and offer unparalleled assistance to a hopeless cause in the old wars. You wondered if they still watched from afar, curious to the well-being of their mortal neighbors.

"Dear, keep your mind with us. You'll be off shortly," one of the grandmas whisper, placing a carved selenite athame into a leather holster and slipping it into the confines of your robe, "For protection." You smile and thank her kindly, tuning back into the ceremony and waiting for the second elder. They continue to adorn you in charms and traveling goodies, eventually piling on unnecessary weight that will, for sure, slow you down in the process. The trek was basically a day’s trip. If you moved efficiently, you should be home no later than when the sun begins to set, in time for supper even. As much as you’d like to stay out longer, you dare not risk a night in the mountains.

“—this year’s representative will be just as prosperous. May she bring good fortune and health onto our town just as the many before her has done so,” the old cleric roars into the audience, just about finishing his speech as you start to listen. You hope he didn’t say anything too significant. Can’t possibly hang on to every dry word when you were so close to tasting temporary freedom.

You make your way into the parted sea of people, some who grip your hand as you walk by to invoke strength as you move along. A few grumble good luck’s and come back safe’s. Then an angry baker charging through helpless bodies.

“Take this, you stupid girl. You were supposed to stop by the bakery this morning,” Seokjin whines, thrusting what seems to be a warm pastry wrapped with cheesecloth into your hands.

“Thank—Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bug…”

Jungkook pops in from nowhere, hitting your shoulder a little too playfully, “Chin up, love. Don’t be back too soon.” You nod shyly as he distances behind. Jungkook always had a strong nose for your facades but he also always kept your secrets. Clutching your things tightly, you watch your boots as they pick up speed through the mess of attention.

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

You leave northbound until you no longer hear their cheers. Until the snow no longer has indented prints and you think you’re alone and off to the races. A sudden tension snaps when you release your sore cheeks from an artificial smile, not even aware you were sporting one in the first place. There was always a heavy pressure when you presented yourself to the public, and while you were no damn princess, everyone ensured that you at least feel the looming responsibility of one. Curse your family’s political ties and all that, otherwise you wouldn’t give a damn if you seemed like an old witch spotted once in a blue moon.

When you reach the border gate is when you see Taehyung for the last time today. It comes as a surprise to see him waiting for you like a loyal dog, dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes, red cheeks a striking contrast against the bright setting. If you were more grateful, you’d think he looks particularly good today. If anything, it strikes you more that you failed to see his face at the send-off.

“Hey. I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone else… and today of all days but if I don’t right now, I don’t think I ever will,” he jumbles. In his hands hold a scarlet scarf, the same one you had seen as a child when his mom would occasionally take care of you, let you help bake, and playfully dress you in her accessories. All but that scarf, folded neatly and tucked into a corner or her closet.

“Oh! Don’t touch that, love,” she said, “That’s something my mother-in-law made for me.”

You had pouted then, a spoiled brat of sorts. But Taehyung’s mother’s eyes were always warm and she spoke softer than cashmere, “I have to give that to my son when he decides to marry. Will you make sure he finds the right one, for me? You are his best friend, aren’t you?”

You remember the challenge you felt, yelling without hesitation, “Taetae will marry me! When we grow up I’ll be his bride and you won’t have to worry!”

She giggled in contentment, eyes squinted in a wide smile and petting you lovingly, “Ah, of course. I know you’ll be a wonderful wife, Y/N. Taehyung will be in great hands.”

“I had been there, you know,” Taehyung chuckles, “When you claimed you’d be my wife when we got older. I was hiding in the hallway and initially, I thought, ‘I’ll never marry my best friend!’. But, now… I just can’t imagine wanting to marry anyone else.”

You grin at him sadly. Of course he had been holding onto this his entire childhood.

“Taehyung…”

“We’re still young, I know that. I just want to give you this for your trip to make me feel more at ease and so you can think about it. You can take all the time that you need. I know Mother wouldn’t mind, especially for you.” You nod. It’s all you can do. Taehyung pulls you into a tight embrace and kisses your hair. When he pulls away, he wraps your neck into the warmth of the scarf you’d always wished to wear. But it’s almost suffocating now, locking in your fate before you even step out of the village boundaries.

“For now, just come back to me. I’ll be waiting for you no matter what you decide.”

You can fathom the communal disappointment of rejecting your strongest suitor. More importantly, you would be shameful to turn down his proposal. Once it was out there, there was no “decision”.

You can imagine your aunts now, squealing in delight and sewing from their best cloths.

 Part Three

Though you never had the chance to explore much, this really was nothing you've ever seen before. An ominous stairway carved into rock weaved in and out of your trail which made it fairly easy to follow along. You can't imagine the labor that went into sculpting this far ahead and all the way up the side of the mountain; it was truly something mind-boggling. As the air begins to thin, the amount of snow starts to grow thicker. If you had waited any longer into the winter you wouldn’t even be able to see the path, you’re sure.

You only need to stop twice to catch your breath and sit down. Snacking on the bread Jin gifted you only a few hours ago. It’s satisfying to look back at the area you’ve covered, how small things look from your height and the beauty of a fresh snow blanket. The scenery to the riverbank was nowhere as near breathtaking to that of the mountain. A dreamscape of evergreen trees and varying shrubbery, crossing over a short wooden bridge floating over a near-frozen stream, even occasional wildlife prancing into view. The summit itself wasn’t terribly high. It was manageable to hike for the most part, more so that your goal wasn’t to reach the peak. 

You could travel all the time, you think. Hike or take a horse somewhere farther than here but that’s not very practical. There was nowhere really to go and you didn’t have the luxury to just up and leave your household, and now Taehyung. The knots in your brain seem to loosen, blame the inclination and dry air infiltrating your head. Knowing your life was to be faced someday and all your immature ambitions to leave the village now seeming childlike and unattainable. The pessimism had yet to blow out your weak flame of philosophical rebellion but it was surely keeping you in check.

Judging by the sun's position, it's midday. Meaning it shouldn't be long before you catch sight of the "manor" and thus will be halfway finished with your journey.

You nearly walk off the cliffside before you notice the route's abrupt change and how it slithers deeper into the eye of the mountain. The farther you walk, the closer the earthy walls begin to shut in on you in a trench-like structure. It's even more unbelievable coming upon a short archway, perhaps man-made and mined through a boulder that could have fallen from atop one of the peaks. Being here, you realize, makes you feel small. Slithering through the terrain like a fairy in the tales your mother had told you at night. Of beasts and cryptids that could appear in the tangles of forest and vanish all in the same. There was a sort of dreamlike trance you found yourself in as you walked under the rock as if it were a portal.

And, unexpectedly, it's there. Atop a few more dreadful flights of stairs, hidden between an odd bundle of trees and beneath a fresh veil of snow, you can barely make out the silhouette of a house. It's still a bit far and eerily surrounded by fog but it's there and it almost looks as if it's... floating. Like a gateway to a secret nook of heaven.

It's one of those odd, puzzle-like mirages when you climb more steps to think you're only getting farther from the house. The swaying of branches keeps you from determining just how big it is and what it could possibly conceal. Even the atmosphere, chill and intimidating, makes your heart skip in perplexed anticipation. Having been at this for hours, if the staircase hadn't just ceased you would have kept walking straight into the dark wooden door.

But your aching legs find relief in the stretching flat surface of a porch and your exhilaration to reaching such a majestic destination that you could squeal. Of course, you don't, and instead get started at the task at hand.

You kneel onto the cool floor and begin to unload your things, neatly and without the need to rush. You lay stones on each corner of the tapestry to hold it down, you lay out the contents in somewhat of an aesthetically manner, you strike a match to light the incense and you mumble your thanks on behalf of the village, all as you were told. The snicker under your breath comes unwarranted as you finalize the display, even Taehyung couldn't have done this well.

It feels a little anticlimactic; a little short-lived. To have come up this whole way and spend a maximum of five minutes in somewhere you could spend days exploring. Idling, you can practically hear the warning clucks of your aunts engraved into your brain.

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

"Even think of doing anything funny and I'll have Seokjin roast you alive."

Maybe it's why it's even more satisfying to you when you ignore them altogether, standing from your position and just dying to see the rest of the manor's exterior. One peek, one peek and I'll never stray from instruction ever again, you think. Just my last burst of freedom and then I promise to be a good girl with no more personality than a wet dish rag.

So you tiptoe to the massive door and lean your ear against it as if you could hear anything with its size and the strong winds. You questioned if anyone even lived here, void of any decorations or signs of recent activity. Maybe the deer would get to the food you laid out before someone even stepped foot on the property prior next Offering.

When there are no obvious indications of life do you weasel your way around the corner, an extension of the porch wrapping around the side of the house to much of your assumption and revealing an expanse of space. The cabin was two stories at the least, maybe even three if not had been for the first story windows and how incredibly tall they were. You could only imagine the comfort of being inside such a space, being able to wake and watch the snow behind a glass wall of incredible proportions. While you ogle the window do you, of course, fail to realize that it's transparent and startle a bit when something begins to move.

The reflection makes it a bit difficult to pinpoint, a large dark figure shifting ever so slightly in its confines. Like a complete buffoon, you near the wall even closer with squinted eyes just making out the shapes of an entity.

Whatever it is, it's incredibly large. A heart in shape and composed of monochromatic blacks, reaching the floor and surely much taller than you. It was killing you that you couldn't figure out what the hell it was, well-near leaning against the glass as you peer into the private space.

You freeze in place as the elongated heart is really in the shape of wings, accompanied by a body as they’re dragged behind it like a veil. Long and dark and ruffling occasionally as their owner rotates a bit...

But you don't get to see his face. The man in which you firmly believed could be nothing but a myth; as propaganda by the village elders to keep your actions in check. Rather, the seraphs were more authentic than you could have ever imagined, and as magical and inspiring as it may be, so are the Offering rules that are now proved and justified, and that could only mean that this was very, very unfortunate timing to be snooping around property that was not yours.

Your feet scramble backwards in attempt to flee out of sight, instead graciously slipping against the frozen wood and causing you to land quite harshly on your side. Your hip burns at the impact but more horrifyingly important, the crash rattles the side of the floating stoop and his eyes burn into your pathetic body. The moment is wedged between fractions of a second, eye contact barely existent but it's enough to see the daggers in the seraph's irises. It's enough of a warning for you to get back onto your feet and sprint as carefully as possible away from such a gaze that could light this winter wonderland into disastrous flames.

All that comes across your mind as you rush down the steps is how wrong you were. How you unjustly became more and more skeptical of the stories and legends of the creatures that existed in the crevices of the mountains. How numb you became to the warnings as your age drew near for your rite of passage. How much of a taboo you would become if you were to ever tell a living soul that you witnessed a seraph and its marvelous wings. Not that you would.

Your ability to run brings you to the realization that you forgot your things but it was beyond you now. For once in your life, you cherish the idea of being home and hiding under the covers in the tranquil warmth of a familiar fireplace. To dream away the moment that dark angel caught a sly fox trespassing into his territory and, rightfully so, looking as if he craved to skin it alive.

You yelp at the sudden caw of ravens as they fly overhead. Their screeches send shivers to your bones, a sudden chill slowing you down. Rustling in the nearby trees deem you completely terrified, a gut feeling deducting the possibility of winds blowing that strong in the middle of dense shrubbery. Your heart drops once more; your athame was left in the abandoned bag.

The last time you had seen a wolf was when you were barely a toddler, sleepily held in the arms of a younger (and much kinder) Mina. It lurked in the woods just past the fields, a little young and possibly separated from its pack. But wolves were smart and they knew better than to make trouble in a town of loud humans. You remember the way it pulled its ears back and slinked back into the sanctity of its wild home and never to be seen again.

These wolves were smart too, howling their announcement upon finding a small, weak girl all alone and oozing dread. Two pairs of eyes track you as their corresponding bodies stalk out of the bushes, large and sleek and beautiful. Both grey and both incredibly hungry, they begin to pace around you maybe 100 feet away. You startle back and up a stair, most favored option to return to the cabin and retrieve your bag, maybe stay near for a bit until the creatures leave but then another, black and larger than the other two, barks harshly and stands its ground on your sacred steps. You are royally trapped.

“Stay… Stay back,” you warn dumbly, looking to the only open direction in the woods. You wouldn’t be as fast as on the path as long as you had to maneuver through the snow but you could possibly break off a hefty branch. Enough to ward them off to get back to the cabin and pray that the seraph doesn’t pose more of a problem than flesh-eating hounds.

So you sprint, robes clenched in your fists and boots sinking into the pillows of ice, disappearing into the trees and disregarding the snarls that start up behind you. You look desperately for something, anything to help you. Snow begins to find its way into your shoes each time you trip over yourself, wetting the soles of your feet. Hands scraping against bark with each twist and turn and your fingers burn. You only look back occasionally, seeing no more than one pair of eyes at a time at a short distance. This must have been a fun game to them, howling their contents into brisk air.

The black dog truly appears from nowhere, a flash of teeth from your left peripheral before it tackles you to the ground the same moment you find a dead branch and thrust it into its snapping jaw. It all happens too fast. You yipe as you roll through the fall, wolf teeth still digging through your only weapon and snapping the poor thing to two. In pure desperation, you dig the sharper broken half into whatever it’s willing to hit. Fortunately enough, the wolf whimpers and tumbles off you. Then you’re off once again, adrenaline ringing in your ears as you don’t even care to recall which way is which, as long as it’s away from, what can you assume was, the Big Bad Alpha.

More howls from them, more cries from you.

You’re able to return to the path without another spotting. It turns out you were going the wrong way when you’re also met with the narrow exit and that cursed archway. A gateway to inevitable death.  

Halfway through the gap in manic rush and you’re face to face with a beast so pale that it camouflaged with the flurry encasing you both. Eyes clear as water and almost… comforting. Even with the low rumble in its throat and one paw in front of the other in a slow, tantalizing chase. The others growl behind you, an enraged black-furred monster bleeding from its right eye socket turned quite smug now knowing that you were completely, utterly trapped.

It’s when the white wolf soundlessly drags a deep wound into your thigh while the three merely watch is when you ascertain that it is, undoubtedly, the pack leader. You fall back as the beautiful thing toys with you, snatching the front of your thick robe and shredding it with a sickening rip. You scream for the first time this entire chase, grabbing at Taehyung’s scarf in fear that it got caught along with it, caring for it more than your own life at this point.

The scream must have been piercing enough to discombobulate your attacker, it’s large ears flitting around as it jumps away from you. It’s even more of a shock when they all flee out of the divide, leaving you bleeding and too traumatized to move an inch. Whatever alarmed them devastates you even more.

The ravens caw loud and the ground vibrates. Watching the birds circle in the sky, you notice the way pebbles begin to crumble from each peak, how snow begins to over pile on such weak grounds and the way it begins to slide inward.

It’s an odd sound; snow sliding against other layers of snow and having so much weight that it pulls a few small trees with it. And this trench-like area only had so much space and you were positive the amount of white that begins to hurl towards you would fill it like a water cup; bury you with absolutely no chance of being able to dig your way out. Despite your fear, you cower at its charge and wait for the weight to hit.

 And then your head lolls back against something wonderfully warm and dry. You were completely soaked but too exhausted to shiver. In your last moments of consciousness, with your neck craned uncomfortably, you see the ground as the sky and the sky as the ground and feathers as feathers. You think of home. Think of warm summers where you would dip your feet in the riverbed. Think of bonfires with Jungkook and Jin and Hoseok and even Taehyung. But everything is still snow and you think you’re beginning to loathe each damned flake. The only comfort you find is the homeliness of the carmine red material that blows softly against your face. With that and the fleeting thought that you might be righteously transported to heaven do you finally pass out.

 Part Four

Yoongi wasn’t particularly fond of humans. Unlike his brothers and sisters that sympathized with such weak creatures enough to put their own lives at risk, it was just something he would never come around to understand. Species were organized and separated for reasons and intermingling was a curiosity that died ages ago for him.

Which is all a hypocritical contradiction when he sees you sleep soundly on his common room couch, changed into dry clothes and buried beneath a heap of duvets. Whatever had possessed him to go after you was pure impulse after the stunt you pulled on him. Prowling around on private property and, more importantly, breaking the village’s strict ritual rules. Catching him going about on what would be another unmomentous day in his schedule, creating enough of a ruckus to capture his attention, and then fleeing as a feeble mouse.

It’d be a lie if he had said he didn’t watch you scramble away down the steps from the comfort of his front door and a fresh coffee in hand, watching you stumble over nothing on your way. It was more when you had left your things like a pure imbecile, food and tools and all, and left without even waiting for the incense to finish burning. It was then that he came to the conclusion that you were incredibly clumsy and that served as entertainment to him.

The howls were his test of will. Knowing the dogs were way farther up the mountain than they normally were and supposing they had followed your poor, unfortunate soul during your trek, waiting for the perfect time to strike. And you were practically handed to them on a silver platter, considering you’d left your only knife on the cold wood of his porch.

Maybe he had come down, grumpily disturbed from his peaceful Saturday, more to save himself from cleaning the remnants of someone eaten in his vicinity more than the compassion to save you. But that was a tad bit too cruel, even for him. He thinks it was more of that uniquely curious glint in your eyes as you practically skipped into his sight. Daring enough to ignore those rather ridiculous warnings and try your luck. Delicate as a deer in hunter’s perspective. As often as he’d go out to restock supplies in neighboring towns would he never come across a visitor in his own domain. Call him quaint, but it was a mediocre surprise.

He prods the fire, making it crackle and reflame with more vigor. It had barely been a few hours since he’s saved you by the skin of his teeth, almost caught in the landslide himself.

He checks the wound on your leg once more, cleaning it again before securing it in bandages. If only he had gotten there faster, Yoongi tsks, but you’d strayed from the path and he could only follow the prints so quickly before they were covered by the flurry. By the time he found you again, you were knelt in front of the pack and submitting to your death. Had he not been on a hill, had he not been able to utilize his useless wings to glide down before the snow had claimed you first…

You groan softly, unable to roll around without a searing poker sinking into your thigh with each attempt. Contrast to the icicle state the rest of your body sported. You felt like hell. Like hell in hell guarded by those hounds. Hell in your thigh and hell in your head and hell in—

“Don’t move too fast. You have a fever and I just replaced your bandages,” a disembodied voice orders. Your eyes snap open to tall, wooden ceiling. Sitting up is your first horrible mistake, dropping back down immediately with a pained wheeze.

“I just said not to move too fast. If you can sit up normally, you should drink some water. I have some here,” it speaks again. You try again cautiously, blurry spots ruining your vision the farther up you scoot. A silhouette is kneeling beside you, maybe a cup in his hand but you’re too jumbled to confirm.

Yoongi tries his best to fold in on himself, lowering the obvious limbs stuck to his back and appear as human as possible. You wouldn’t be able to run again in your state but he tries his best to be courteous to your skittishness anyway.

“Where… Where am I?” You dazingly question. You don’t really… recall too much. Last memory somewhat muddled between your send-off and contact with those treacherous wolves, very few in between and serving no importance if you couldn’t remember how it ended.

“You’re safe in my house. In the mountains still. You passed out pretty good out there, been out for a bit. Now drink.”

It’s easy to do as your told with you’re running off little brainpower, downing the water hastily.

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

At some point, you can see again. The blankets that cover you and the large room you inhabit. Of course, the seraph from earlier that awaits by your seat. His seat. But you feel no urgency to scurry into safety. You were discombobulated, sure, but you knew enough that this man was kind enough to bring you into his home and care for you. So you fold back the material slowly and watch his face contort into confusion as you try to stand.

“I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for treating me.”

“Woah now. You’re in no condition to be standing. Besides, the path is blocked. Snow was too heavy and caused a slide. I doubt it’ll clear until the spring,” he informs, looking out the window as if to drag your own attention to it. The snow stopped but it’s fallen a few feet, at least. The path, you remember, chased by wolves and led into an ice trap. The few split moments in which the man must have scooped you up before your demise, remnants of being carried back towards his estate.

His place, in which is even more amazing inside than it was outside, a luxurious wooden mansion of sorts, tall and spacious and filled with those incredible windows that displayed better than you could have ever dreamed. The man himself that sits beside you draws full attention. Despite his position, he was large and still intimidating as the moment you crossed sights for the first time. Hair matching his wings in dark palette, soft and delicate looking. His face anything but, sharp eyes and thick brows, lips that curved into a simper. Above all, he looked more human. Even as radiant and prepossessing as he was, if the cape of wings didn’t follow him where he went he would look just as human as the rest of the population.

“Are you a seraph?” You ask dumbly. Dumb, because he laughs and because he obviously is.

“Are you a human, pretty thing?” He retorts. There’s no condescending lilt to his words but it makes him seem otherworldly to you. With such a provoking question and your lightheadedness, he seemed a blessing to be inhabiting such an earth.

You melt into the cushions once more, leg throbbing and eyes heavy. You watch his wings as they bob with his breath, “They say it’s bad luck to lay eyes on the wings of an angel…”

“Why would that be?,” he scrunches his nose, maybe a little appalled by the idea, “Such a misleading myth. Besides, I’m no angel.”

You don’t know why he stands to leave the room after that, unnoticing how you fall back into sedation a minute later.

 Part Five

You wake with clarity. Check your thigh to find it almost completely healed over except a now lingering scar. All’s left is a dull soreness but god it felt so much better. Enough to stand and stretch in the empty room. Enough to coherently realize that you only wear your underwear while the rest of your garments hang torn and sadly on the fireplace screen. It’s not as unbecoming if it had to be done for the sake of your health and wellbeing, right?

Getting dressed is easy when you don’t even bother with your robe, the gash decreeing it useless and instead tying Taehyung’s scarf around your shoulders as a shawl over your tank. You’re lucky it didn’t get torn.

There’s a fleeting moment where you really think you miss Tae, feeling a little regretful to being so afraid of his proposal in light of the recent accident. You’re sure he must be worried sick; must think you’ve perished under the debris and snow if he’s come to look for you. As his best friend, you solemnly wish he was here to hug you close and promise that it would all be okay. To fend off your shame and welcome you back into the village with teary eyes and a warm smile.

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

You whip around to discover fox eyes in the door frame, poorly lit now that it’s nighttime. The moonlight pairs well with how it sits on his milky skin, almost something out of a painting.

“It’s Y/N. Not ‘human’.” You answer a little sharper than you mean. He notices too, quick to wave it off since he really had popped up out of nowhere. He tries your name once on his own tongue, a satisfying thing to say.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Min Yoongi, in case you don’t want to call me seraph all the time.”

You suddenly grab your thigh, rubbing it over your pants in questionable disbelief, “How long have I been asleep? My leg is almost fully healed…”

He rubs at his eye, a little nonchalant about the scene at hand, “Only overnight and throughout the day today. It’s probably quarter to nine about now. I had medicine to help your cuts heal over nicely. Call it, uh, advanced seraph technology.”

The gashes hadn’t been incredibly deep to begin with, thankfully not going any further than the first layer of skin and just really causing some bleeding, but it was still amazing. The feeling is short lived. Even if only a day, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Thank you, um, Mr. Min. For saving my life and everything after that. I’d like to repay you sometime. But for now I’m afraid I should be heading back, I’ve stayed for too long. I’m sure I can find some way over the path.”

It dawns on you that Yoongi is a little facetious, especially when he purrs a, “Well you can do whatever your little heart desires, but I’m here to remind you that there is no path. Here, look out the window.”

You do, tiny bit distracted when he stands by you to point out the ridges of the mountains that surround you. “See those? How they curve in towards the top and how it sort of resembles a bowl? This area was made only for seraphs to get in and out of generations ago; flight only. Trying to climb it would be suicide on both sides. The path that goes through was strictly for human use, and if that’s blocked, there’s no way out, little one.” You weren’t the shortest in your village but Yoongi truly was massive, both lanky and filled-out somehow. Like there’s underlying strength to his lean build. You’re sure if you were to stand directly in front of him, the top of your head would barely surpass his sharp shoulders.

You disregard his name for you, a bit annoyed at this point, “Could you not fly me over the pass?”

Yoongi repeats in disbelief of such a daring request, “Fly… You over the pass… No. I’m sorry. I won’t do that. If you truly want to figure it out, you should do so soon. It's storm season."

Gritting your teeth, you express your discontent for once. What did he save you for, then? For points? You didn't know members of the almighty seraph clan were so keen to half-completed deeds. "And why not? Wouldn't you rather I be on my way? What am I supposed to do if I can't leave?"

"You forget yourself, Y/N. Did I not save your life? Chase after you and save you from being crushed? Buried alive?" He takes a second to straighten himself out, aware of how you look to your feet in frustration.

"Hey," he starts again, "I know you'd like to go home. I only tell you the truth of your situation in its entirety. If I could fly you over the pass I would but unfortunately, I'm out of commission."

You feel heat in your face, embarrassed of the way you address a complete stranger even after all the things he's done for you. But this was frankly a sticky situation to find yourself in, trapped and unable to get Yoongi to help you any further. Though you do wonder what he means by his last statement...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't mean to make demands. I'm just scared and in a place I'm not used to and I'm not quite sure what I'm to do from here. Is there no one else who can help me over?"

Yoongi averts his gaze before he shakes his head, "I'm the last one in this country."

That's even more odd to hear but you don't prod for information that isn't yours to learn.

In silence, you contemplate the work that even went into carrying another human body by use of wings that were structurally built for the owner's own weight and possibly nothing else. Now was not the time to be ignorant.

“What am I supposed to do?” You mumble weakly. Yoongi watches your gears turn warily, stress surely beating down on you.

He rubs his neck, ruffles his left wing, “Listen. I promise I’ll help you back come spring. You won’t be able to make a dent in the landslide as long as it continues to build with snow every night.” He tends to forget that humans are pack animals, often lost without one another and feeble in the hands of species not of their own.

Your doe eyes, beginning to well with tears, convince him over tenfold, “I’ll help you in any way possible to pay you back for all the things you’ve done. I know I’ve caused nothing but trouble but if you have the room, is it possible I stay here?”

And Yoongi had enough vacant rooms to house a whole herd of deer now that he’s been alone for these sum of years. It really was no trouble… and he could make use of you as long as you stayed. His brow shoots up, “You can stay.”

Your grin is enough to light the whole room encased in night’s darkness, looking back down to the ground now knowing you had some hope to hold onto in such an eventful day. A whisper of a thank you Mr. Min is thrown in and Yoongi can feel his fists tighten.

He clears his throat, standing a little taller than he already is and acting strict, “But there are some rules. And you can just call me by my first name.”

 Part Six

 It's always a little weird trying to adjust to new scenery. Though your past experiences have been anticlimactically different than this; not exactly the first time visiting a friend's house or dropping off delivered goods from Seokjin's shop and awkwardly facing an elder who forces you to stay for tea.

Yoongi had shown you around the areas you needed to know. Offered you the closest room to the main part of the house with a king bed, fresh sheets and your own majestic window to stare out of. The living room which you had rested in before and the kitchen, grand and spacious just like everything else. He showed you a greenhouse out back that was utterly ginormous. Stone walkways and a hot compost keeping it from freezing, rows of plants you both have and haven't witnessed before. And again, he showed you what you needed to know.

That goes onto the chores he assigned you as long as you stay, to help him clean come Sundays and manage the plants throughout the week which served as no problem. At least with horticulture you proved some use, struggling throughout the weekend to do anything else but cause Yoongi a bit of a headache.

Tuesday rolls around and Yoongi stops by your room with stationary. Tells you he has a messenger bird to deliver any letters you desire to send home and you hop on the opportunity quicker than the landslide had tried to eat you up.

Of course, it was an exceptionally long letter. Longer than the papers Yoongi had given to you and he had to fetch more when you looked absolutely devastated sitting at your desk. You began with the simple phrase, "I'm okay." Filling it with a volley of explanations and apologies, how you were nearly killed, how the seraph had scooped you up to safety and how you inhabit his home now until further notice. You write how you talk, sure the recipients are sure to read in hushed mumbles and run-on sentences. You explain that there's no use to try to get home now while the clouds continue to precipitate and gate your only exit from the bowl-like wonderland. You end with how you miss them already, a request to send back an update or two every once in awhile, and a final wish to have a happy winter without you (though you're sure they won't appreciate that joke).

You think, if they really receive the letter, how terribly furious they'll be with you. Taehyung and Jungkook will probably come hiking up the mountain to try to put a dent in the debris and fail miserably. Your aunts and how they must feel even the tiniest bit of guilt for thinking you so small and helpless. Mina and her jealous wonder that you've done it now, how you've seen a seraph before her and you're positive she'll have a flurry of questions when you return. When you return.

You come out onto the balcony to pay your respects to your so-called "messenger", pretty white thing large and wide-eyed. Humorous is the familiar to another winged being, bird of a feather, you chuckle to yourself. Yoongi pays no attention when he murmurs directions to the bird and sends it off, straight in the direction you were hoping.

Thursday and you think you finally have your routine down. No longer unsure in the hallways and able to sit when your work is done without feeling completely out of place. It's only when you're around the other member of the cabin do you feel a little subdued, reminding you that you burden him and quickly finding something to do out of that guilt.

❋

Today you feel a bit sluggish. You drag yourself down the corridor, opting for the bath until you see a dark head in an open room. Yoongi sits in his study, presumably reading with his back facing you. You can't say you've seen this room before, ceilings just as tall and walls just lined with books, journals, art pieces and things of the like.

"You can come in," he snickers suddenly, maybe feeling the heat from your eyes boring into the back of his head and warming the space entirely.

"This is amazing... Your collection, I mean." You force yourself down in a chair, hands trapped underneath your thighs in case they feel like touching anything.

"Thank you. It took quite a bit of time to build it up. Not by myself, of course."

It makes you ponder. If he's mentioned his state of loneliness twice, then your questions were expected.

"There were more, right? Family of yours? Why are you the only one left?"

"One question at a time, yeah?" He swivels around and takes off a pair of reading glasses that you would have liked to inspect on his face a bit more, "I can't leave because I can't fly, remember? They left because they held no other duty tied to this land. That's all."

You quiet. He returns to reading whatever it is on his flat desk. "Why can't you fly?"

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

"A story of a girl with a terrible habit of too many inquiries."

"You know, I loved to read when I was a kid. All kinds of things. Novels, studies, maps even. Now I never have the time for such pleasantries." A wistful sigh leaves your lips.

Yoongi eyes you beneath his lashes, watches as you survey the room with giddiness and hands taut underneath your bum. "Why's that?"

You frown, "Too many things to do. Jobs and cleaning and family and stress. If I have time to read, I have time to be doing something more important."

His lips curl, amused at this little play-thing in his room. Like a child scolded all her life, whining and pouting in front of a stranger. Yoongi stands tall and shrugs his sweater tighter around him, "Well then, you'd better hop to it."

"Hm?" You squeak, chewing on your lip when you meet his eyes. So innocent.

"You only have the winter to read these. I'd get started soon. After work is done and you want to poke around in here, feel free to do so. Take them to your room if you'd like, just please return them."

And he swears he sees damn stars in your eyes before he turns and leaves the room. He hears your immediate footing once he's halfway to his room, little yelps of excitement enough as his thanks. Yoongi can't help but smirk, eventually floating away and speaking way out of earshot for you to hear.

"Nothing is more important than the things you want."

 Part Seven

 After a month, you find it a little boring. After receiving a teary letter of how your family misses you, not one ounce of scold or chastisement more than it was just wholesome relief to see familiar handwriting, their only wish was for you to stay obedient and not write so often as to waste poor Yoongi's paper. It was typical, somewhat stress-relieving. And that was that.

It was often you spent your quiet interest reading of botany and romance (in what little you found of it) preferably in his study on days he's holed up in his room. At this point, he still remains somewhat of a mysterious entity, conversing when he must and accidentally showing his face once or twice like a ghost. The only times you really see him are for Sundays with idle chit chat.

One particular evening you find an old, ratty recipe book. Handwritten and falling at the seams and that's how you know that there are some golden tips in there for you to test out.

You choose pumpkin bread. Something to warm the palette while ice continues to build outside. And working in Yoongi's kitchen by yourself was oddly fulfilling, no one to correct you or send you off to another job if you fail to do the first. It's probably why your bread turns out perfect, slicing the loaf and placing a piece on a small plate for a friend.

Rather, someone you'd like to establish as a friend.

You haven't seen him once today; not odd but a little lonely. Pacing on the carpets and looking for an open door with any sign of a sly angelic being. Even after a month, it's the first time you've freely made something with intents of sharing with him. Was that rude of you?

Coming upon a jarred entrance, you speak softly, "Yoongi? Are you in there?"

No reply.

You clear your throat and toe the door open just enough to stand in its frame, "Yoongi? I made some pumpkin bread for us—"

Thank your soft voice does it not wake him, still a snoring log in a bed even larger than yours. His limbs sprawled widely, laying on his stomach and breath soft and slow. Sleeping in the middle of the day while his guest slaves over the stove must be quite nice, huffing subtly and placing his plate on his night desk. Sure to be spoiled even more when he wakes to a treat.

As you turn, your eyes can't help but dawdle over the expanse of his wings. One covering a naked back and one hanging off the side of the bed, a marbling effect of muddled sepias and ink blacks, occasional golden ochre pigments seeping through the deepest layers of feathers. It was utterly breathtaking. This has to be one of the first opportunities you've had to inspect them so, equating staring at his monstrously large wings the same as blatantly staring at his junk.

You draw close like a moth to a damn flame, checking to assure he's still sound asleep. Reaching delicate fingers, you dare to lay a palm on the mass. It's surprisingly strong, an odd firmness as you slide your hand down silky plains and watch as the feathers ripple by your touch.

Then, as if you weren't dumb enough to foretell the upcoming events, he wakes.

A whirl of darkness encases you, whips you around so fast that you see stars in the middle of day, completely flipped and pinned to the bed beneath you. The intense heaviness makes you recoil, unable to budge your wrists and legs with Yoongi's strength.

And his face of unadulterated fury is one that would be ingrained into your memories forever. Pupils dilated and nose scrunched like prey warding off predator. Yoongi was surprised to say the least, a scared frenzy of confusion as he growls down at you.

"What were you doing, human?"

Your weeping gains no mercy, "Ow, you're, you're hurting me!"

"What the fuck were you doing?" He spits.

Incoherence is not what he asks for but that's all you can give, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't touch them again I was just—"

His wings which were so beautiful to you before, makes you feel nothing but fear now, flapping angrily as he keeps his balance and shrouding you in shallow lack of light. When he lets up on his grip, you gasp like he also held your breath. Immediate relief streams through your blood, though he continues to trap you between his thighs. He asks you again and you sob.

"You know what happened the last time I let one of your kind close? Nearly fucking killed me for no reason. You know why I can't take you down the mountain? Why I'm stuck here by myself? Because a goddamn human stole my ability to fly. I can't fly anymore, do you understand me? That's all that I was and they took it!"

Yoongi sees the pity etching onto your face like some sort of charity case. With your pathetic excuse for tears that claim to sympathize with him and it makes the bile in his throat grow. As for you, you could have never imagined such a travesty. Those words that seem to bounce around in your skull, to be wholesomely one thing and to be rid of it by someone else's doing, you could never relate to that.

You itch to relieve his pain in some way as if he never lashed out on you to begin with. Like you were the one truly at fault here even though you know it's a two-way situation. Your hands struggle to not touch his face, to attempt to alleviate those dark, regretful feelings. "Yoongi, I'm so sorry. I would never—I would have never known--I'm from one of the villages where we look up to the—"

"Yeah, well I don’t trust people," He cracks, lungs filled with muddled sorrow.

Both of your breathing is ragged. He takes his leave off your body and sits on the edge of the bed, wings lamely drooped.

"Leave." So you do.

 Part Eight

 You find the most beautifully carved wooden bow the next morning. Sun barely risen and adventuring around in nooks you haven't looked through before. You find it, accompanied by plenty of arrows, leaning against the wall right outside the backdoor. Though it's been months since you've last hunted, you ache to make use of yourself. Wearing bundled layers of the clothes Yoongi let you borrow from what was left and bounding through the condensed areas of the woods behind the cabin.

Food isn't scarce to hunt for, you've come to realize. Rabbits abundant and easy to kill once you got the hang of it once more. Two are struck and red seeps through white. You always sink your knees into the ground after each kill, whispering your thanks before you move back to the house.

Taehyung's father had taught you the basics of hunting and fishing and everything that came after that. Skinning and cooking and preserving the flesh something everyone in the village should learn to do, he had said. Even after your mistakes, even after your hesitation for your first kill, he'd always pat you on the back and reward you with the first bite of fresh food.

You miss them all, especially now. It wouldn't be long until you saw them again with maybe a bit of heightened skills. You hope they'll be proud of you.

Yoongi wakes a little after you're finished cooking the first rabbit. He stumbles in quiet and groggy, as if having no recollection of the previous altercation. But he doesn't speak, doesn't so much as look your direction before he plops at the head of the dining room table and begins to sulk in an odd inner-turmoil state.

You wait a minute or two by garnishing the meat unnecessarily; perhaps he was waiting to say something. To apologize. To ask questions. To kick you out once and for all. Well, you'll beat him to it then.

You set his plate down in front of him, the jarring sound breaking his trance enough where he can finally meet your face.

"I hope you don't mind I used your bow. I cleaned the arrows afterward and put it back where I found it," you hesitate. "I appreciate your kindness thus far; to take me in like this. I was a complete stranger and you gave me shelter anyway, so I thank you. I've packed and cleaned and I—I think it's time I leave now. I'll find a way to get over, I don't care. And I'm, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Yoongi. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable but I overstepped my boundary way too far yesterday and I apologize profusely."

You find that you dig your nails into your palms as you talk, head craned parallel to the floor and you wonder if Yoongi could even hear you when you were so rudely speaking to the rugs.

"Stop, you don't... You don't have to leave. There's still no way you can get over the snow." He massages the back of his neck, tense in his own skin.

"I'm so sorry," you repeat. "I let my stupid curiosity get the best of me and I can very clearly see how that made you feel alarmed and uneasy and—"

He cuts you off, "You know the myth, right? How it's bad luck to see a seraph's wings?"

Confused, you nod.

"It's not literal. It's a metaphor that it's bad luck to see our vulnerabilities. Our faults. Years and years and years ago, when the war was still active, I got mixed up with a human. Within enemy boundaries. I was naive and trusting and they made use of that. They sought out my weaknesses, ate 'em up and covered my suspicions with false adoration and love," he says the word like it's an illness, "But then. But then one night, they put something in my water. Drugged me. Something was wrong and I didn't fully go under. I suppose their original plan was to take me, probably torture me as a prisoner. But I caught on and still had a bit of composure and when they realized the drugs didn't work, they sought to kill me instead. Used a dagger and plunged it into my back as hard as they could. Right," he reaches an arm behind and massages a spot, "Right in the cross-section of where all four wings meet. I should have been paralyzed but we're tough. I can still move them but I haven't been able to fly since. Thank heavens I wasn't killed but..."

You can tell by the way that there’s no emotion in his statement, how true it rings, "That day, I might as well have been."

You wipe the pools of tears with your scarf, heartbroken for the shattered man that sat in front of you. Having to bear the sight of his wings every day and full-knowing he would never be able to use them again.

His voice croaks, "In their eyes, my own family's eyes, I commit a sin just by making such a fool of myself. The war ended and I was punished. They left me here and claimed loneliness is what I deserve."

Yoongi then realizes he sounds as if he's trying to justify yesterday's actions and literally sinks to the ground, "This isn't supposed to be a pity party. I just thought you might want to know why I am the way I am and how I had no right to snap like I did. I know you're from the north most village. And that you would never try to do what they did and I was wrongfully paranoid."

Then, out of all things unexpected, he grabs a bare ankle and lifts it out of the length of your dress. When you hobble, he grabs your gentle hand with his other to balance you. He can see the marks he left, not too dark but enough to tell and he can't help but despise himself. In pure remorse, he presses his lips softly to each bruise, not lingering for more than a second, before cowering to the ground with his head low.

"My sincerest apologies, Y/N. You don't have to leave if you don't want to. I prefer if you wouldn't. I'd like to get to know you and redeem myself, as selfish as that may seem. Maybe, until spring, I can make up for the things I've said and done—"

You sputter, voice too high and full of embarrassment as you struggle to pull him up, "Please! P-Please get up! I am at fault here! Don't kneel, please! You have nothing to make up for!"

Mouth agape and eyes wide, he watches you yell your affirmations and weakly tug on his arm. It was like watching a little kid throw a fit and that makes him chuckle aloud, how could he have ever suspected you as harmful? When your large eyes shed tears like no other and you impulsively make decisions for others before yourself. You were kind and he could see that. He laughs hard and you stop your squawking.

In disbelief you fall to your knees right beside him, looking plain stupid while you're at it. It occurs to you that you've never heard him laugh like this, smile so wide that his eyes crescent endearingly and it just lights up the room. After watching his handsome face radiate forgiving happiness, you join in too.

You eat rabbit together. The conversations from there on out easier to come up with, more emotional and found in the midst of tranquil understanding. Like you now shared a bit more of each other than before.

Occasionally, you think of all the sadness he must have accumulated until now. Of the things that happened to him that shouldn't have, and those years of isolation and abandonment that he suffered. But now you realize, too, how he's able to laugh and continue on despite those melancholy winters in a desolate place that he once called home. How it's all he can do as his only sign that he's still alive.

 Part Nine

The weeks after that seem to breeze past you; time racing when you have more things to do and someone to do it with. Yoongi really meant it when he said he would try to make up for his past harshness; never daring to miss a meal, spending more time in the livelier rooms if it meant that it was to accompany you, going as far as helping you out with your own chores if he hadn’t taken them over entirely. It was a polar opposite of who you knew before.

The first time he joined you to hunt again, in favor of how you had cooked his meat the last time, he layered himself in clothing that made his appearance softer than you’d ever imagined. Leaning towards darker garments that contrasted against his opalescent skin.

In some haughty attempt to show off your archery skills do you aim for a squirrel in a less-than-mediocre angle, letting the arrow fly without a second thought and piercing good ol’ trunk. Yoongi had a fabulous time laughing at your mishap, yanking the wasted arrow from the bark and handing it back to you.

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

The temperature of your cheeks could have melted the snow, taking the thing with shaky, embarrassed hands, “I was being hasty.”

“You got two rabbits. I know you’re good. Let me just show you some things.”

You walked behind, letting him tread through the snow first so it was easier for you to fall into his prints.

“There. Squirrel,” he whispered. Probably the same one, mindlessly crawling up and down trees like target practice.

“Let me see your form again.” You aimed, self-conscious and probably showed it. You shivered when he swiped a hand under your grip arm, pushing it back.

“Keep it aligned with how the arrow is facing. Completely centered. You can widen your feet a little too,” his voice soft. “Don’t completely lock your elbow but tighten your back muscles before you hold. Does that make sense?”

“Mm. It won’t stop moving though, the squirrel.”

“Watch this.”

Then Yoongi had dug through the snow for a small stone with enough weight to throw. Aiming for a far tree to the right, he tossed just hard enough to cause a knock to echo in its vicinity. The squirrel halts, presumably looking for what caused the noise in its unknowing last thoughts.

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

He watched you silently each time you had knelt next to the victim and mutter your thanks, both sorrowful and appreciative. It was the first time he ever witnessed someone, frankly, talking to dead animals and at some point he asked you why you did so. You responded with a giggle, briefly claiming how all living creatures deserve the same respect, to be mourned, to not be wasted. Yoongi finds interest in the concept of valuing each as their own and of the same importance in the Grand Circle of Life, probably something his family would never have stopped to think about. The seraphs had always placed themselves above others in a deserving, self-righteous kind of way. It made him think.

❋

A particularly windy night and you caught him in the seat of his study's window, drawn to the mirage of colliding trees and listening to the croaks of the house on its plot. A muddled bottle sat on his desk, its glass counterpart being twirled in his hand.

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

"I didn't used to," he answered, unfazed by your sudden entrance, "Caused problems a lot of times. But I think they're pretty fun nowadays. And you?"

"I like when there's thunder and lightning."

Yoongi faced you at that, your twiddling fingers and the way you scanned the dim room.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" Although it was a question he poured you one anyway, barely anything more than a few sips worth. Obliging, you took the liquid. Pride a little stung in all honesty, pretty aware of your high tolerance.

He tittered, "Don't pout. You can pour as much as you'd like. But this stuff is ancient, concocted from poison and the desire of Death itself. Watch yourself."

It was always a trait of yours to take on a challenge, though, ignoring his warning and foolishly gulping it down. The burn was subtle despite its awful, awful taste, yet you poured another and let Yoongi watch you spiral down the rabbit hole.

Two stories and one half-glass later and you draped yourself very unladylike on his desk, too warm and too moist and too loud.

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

"Min... Min. Mr. Yoongi."

"That's wrong but that's me."

"Yoongi you have to keep a secret. That I'm going to tell you! From Yoo—from Yoongi!"

"Wait, that you're trying to keep a secret from me or—"

You must had forgotten, instead focused on bunching your skirt and tying it higher up your thighs, "Soooo hot. Too warm. I'm going to leave it like this, ‘kay?"

"You don't have to pass it by me. They're your clothes," he said, biting back laughter. His accidental peak of pretty, bare legs could have made him think different though. Reverting his gaze back out the window, he wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning that night.

Taking his eyes off you wasn't his best idea. Hobbled out of his chair and sneaking to his place with hands buried in feathers before he could shy away. Yet the wonder stained your eyes with childlike amusement and he wouldn't dare change that face. So he idled in a flustered mess, relaxed in the way you unknowingly massaged his muscles.

"Pretty wings, Mr. Yoongi... Can I touch them?" You asked stupidly. Yoongi grumbled.

When you finished evaluating, you swiveled awkwardly and tripped over his knee, a yelp escaping your lips as if he wouldn't catch you in one swift motion and onto the safety of his lap. Yoongi could smell the bite of alcohol that stained your breath; could see how swollen and red and beautiful it had made your gentle face. The proximity was deadly and your innocent, apologetic features could have slain him right then and there. You didn't even make another peep, eyes drooped in what he assumed was embarrassment for your clumsiness.

In which he thought wrong, your hands slapping each side of his face and squishing it together horrifically. "Pretty face, Mr. Yoongi."

"Alright, time for bed."

You fought all the way until he tucked you in, out with soft breaths and sprawled arms. Even after he had laid you down to rest and calmed back in his lair, there was no slowing the fondness that grew in his ribs.

❋

You don’t know when you’ve started looking forward to Sundays, springing out of bed in the morning with a green thumb and a will to dig, or so you imagine. You knew Yoongi would be waiting for you in the greenhouse and spent a little extra time rinsing your face, doing your hair, and double-checking nothing was in your teeth.

Yoongi was already checking the pots when you had gotten there, wrapped in black per usual and winking as you walked by. The familiarity by now was tangible. There was always a nice flow to your conversations and Yoongi doesn’t back away when you naturally find yourself in his space like he used to. It was both a prideful accomplishment and an endearing new relationship that sparked joy every time you were able to do something together. To step back and see the difference over your time spent here, the things you’ve done, and the way Yoongi warms up slowly.

He watches you mindlessly hum as you harvest what you can, voice soothing when most times it would have been dead quiet. That’s what it felt like being around you: like a void suddenly filled, his whole being gravitating to your aura. You were addicting, if he had to admit.

The scarf, somehow pristine despite how often you wear it, is shuffled up your neck as you do one thing or another. Like a constant reminder that it’s there, you always feel the need to touch it.

Yoongi points to it, “Did you make that yourself?”

“Hm?” You follow his line of sight and crumple the red thing in your hands, “Ah! No. It… It was a gift.”

“Ooh, from a suitor?” He doesn’t mean any harm when he jests but it prompts the things you’ve left at home. No matter how much you’ve tried to suppress it down and not nitpick on the responsibilities you’ll have to return to. Awful as it seems, it makes you take notice to the sun and how it begins to peak out more with every day. You push the thought down once more.

Instead you laugh nervously. Yoongi knows immediately when you say nothing but, “Mmm…”

His gut twists from a melting of surprise and disappointment. How could he be so dim? To not even hypothesize the mere possibility of someone else being in your life. Though the feeling weighs heavy on his head, he speaks lightly and with a smirk.

“You must miss him then.”

“Yes. Of course. We’ve known each other since birth and have been best friends for as long as I can remember!” You chuckle, “He gave this to me right before I left and claimed we could get married once I returned. I was so shocked that I made myself sick thinking about going back. Just nervous, I suppose.” Taehyung, as expected, never said anything in the occasional letter updates to you. He meant it when he said he would only wait to talk about it for when you came home but you ponder how he feels now; what he’s been doing. If he’s changed his mind once he’s realized how incapable you are that you couldn’t even do the Offering correctly, but you know that isn’t true. Maybe just wishful thinking.

You throw dead leaves in the compost and Yoongi eyes you.

“’Shocked’? It’s not something you’ve been looking forward to?”

You look down, “It’s not that I—I don’t know! I just have seen him as family for so long and then there’s this sudden proposal without even talking about it beforehand… And everyone expects it. For me to just be married and have a family and all of that but I just, I just don’t see that for me so soon.” Your words begin to jumble and Yoongi hasn’t seen you so stressed within the span of twenty seconds before.

“Forgive me and my input but isn’t the most important thing what you want? You could just turn down his proposal,” He suggests like it’s the easy answer, hoping you don’t suspect a hopeful tone in there.

“Does it really matter what I want?” You stop to think about the people who matter to you and what would ease their minds most when it comes to your future. Marrying Taehyung seemed like the only option. “I can’t turn him down simply because I don’t want to. That’s selfish.”

“That doesn’t make very much sense to me.”

“Well,” you sigh, “in the village it’s courtesy to accept a marriage proposal regardless of how you feel. It’s the receiver’s obligation to be grateful towards—”

“Is that how humans treat their women?” Yoongi spits, agitated just by the thought. He leans against a table next to you, arms crossed like he’s simply not having it, “To ignore your own say and force you to think you should just be appreciative? That’s some bullshit.”

“It’s not as serious as I’m making it seem it’s just…” You think of your aunts and the elders and Taehyung’s mom. How you’ve grown into a nuisance, lacking here or there. The time where you were supposed to return to the village after a successful Offering and marry and finally be someone to be proud of. “In my case, especially, it’s probably better off I’m just someone’s wife. I’ve never been much to begin with.”

And that’s truly heartbreaking for Yoongi to hear, so much that he becomes enraged with whatever twisted society you grew up in, “Y/N. What have you been doing these last few months?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, what have you been doing? Just sitting around? Watching me sweep circles around you? Serve your meals on a silver platter and draw your baths? No, because you’ve been doing that yourself. For yourself. By yourself.” The look of confusion on your face causes him to huff before he continues. “Sure, you were a little rough around the edges with some things but who isn’t? You hunt, you cook, you read like no other, you do a lot of great things and it’s not because you’re trying to do it right. You do it right when you like what you’re doing.”

“Yoongi, I understand. Thank you but you don’t have to—”

He walks toward you, lecturing on. “I know it’s by unwanted circumstances. But has your time here been horrible? Have you despised being here and doing these things?”

Your answer is immediate, “No. Not at all.”

“Has it not been nice to have your own space and do things simply because you want to? Because you were thinking of yourself?”

“I-It has been… I don’t know where you’re getting at.”

Your legs hit the corner of another table and you notice he’s backed you up into it.

“So, you go back and you do what you want like you have here. Don’t worry about what they think. Wait until you’re ready. Marry for absolute, unwavering love. Be a little selfish,” Yoongi hooks your chin with his index and props it up. You didn’t even realize you were looking to the ground. “Look up.”

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

So Taehyung is his name, Yoongi thinks. He frankly does not care.

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

“Perhaps I was mistaken. Do you want to marry Taehyung because you truly love him?”

You see his lips before you hear his words, parted and nearing you bit by bit. So close that you feel his warmth, aching to close the distance. “I…”

A shovel clatters onto the stone and Yoongi removes his arm that’s found its way around your back, shuffles backwards and lets your hand fall from his face. It was natural to touch him, you realize, unaware that you feel distant and cold when he’s away.

Yoongi picks the damn thing up and curses. It wasn’t like him to be so forward, close to doing the unimaginable to you. You, who was involved with someone else. Heading towards the door, he ruffles his wings like he’s restarting.

“Forget I said that,” he requests, “I’m going to wash up.”

You nod, frozen in your spot with legs too unstable to dare walk. Without even knowing you had reached for him, so close to doing something you’ve only been secretly daydreaming about of recent and how incredibly wrong it was for you to think this way. But in another sense, you would feel worse lying to yourself by saying you weren’t attracted to the seraph. It was a twisted contradiction of emotions and you could scream.

Needless to say, you don’t see Yoongi until the next day, and even then nothing is mentioned of the almost.

Part Ten

On Tuesday, the bird returns with a letter from your family and Taehyung. It’s brief, with evident relief that the snow is melting and how happy they’ll be to see your face. Your heart sinks at how much you miss them yet how angry you are to receive the letter. To what extent would they be happy to have you home? Until you dare humiliate Taehyung when you turn him down? To dishonor your name and his parents and gain the glances of people who care more about your failures?

You calm and shoo such immature feelings away. Yoongi is confused when you don’t send a letter back and you return to your room early that night.

❋

You haven’t had a full night’s rest that entire week. You’re sure Yoongi notices the tension and that makes you feel horrible, but the lingering necessity to run to him and never go back to the village is too prominent to just face head on.

He’s been checking the trail every day, making dents on the softer parts of the snow when he can and updating you when he returns. You know he doesn’t want you to leave and you know he thinks you feel the same. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t said anything about the proposal that day.

Flipped onto your back, you stare at the ray of moonlight that floats atop your bed. You would miss it here, so much that it hurts your throat. You would miss the windows, the kitchen, the greenhouse, the library that Yoongi was happy to share. It goes without saying that you would miss him the most.

Unprompted imaging of a possible future with him interrupt your thoughts, something so uncertain and fortuitous in comparison to the stone-set fate you have now. What the stoic seraph would think if you just asked him to stay a little longer, until you know you would never leave. The landslide and how much you had hated that unfortunate event seems so insignificant now, replaced with a dimmed appreciation for this life detour, no matter how short lived it will end up.

You’re probably on the verge of sleeping now, thinking of the incident and it’s wild connection to your present out of pure lunacy. You could bet your entire existence on the fact that you were meant to meet him; your entrapment by the snow no mere coincidence. Neither was Yoongi’s endless solitude atop this mountain. It had to be fate that you two were to meet at this moment and your heart feels it so strongly.

Even for you this could be too far-fetched, or maybe you were just trying to cover up the way your heart is undoubtingly falling for Min Yoongi.

 Final Part

 You prod the logs, provoking them to catch more of the fire. In your last night do you decide to pour a glass of wine, kneel on a pile of blankets and snack on the charcuterie board you made for yourself. In the past, you used to be so hesitant about helping yourself to the manor’s amenities, having no problem doing it now.

The lame, weak fire is your only source of light in the large living room, clouds blocking the moon from shining through. You feel, immaturely, just as cloudy. Set in your intentions to leave your feelings locked away as to not cause more trouble, confusion, and inevitable heartbreak.

“You look quite comfortable,” Yoongi surprises you and he can tell when you jolt. Speaking of the devil. He looks great in the dark too, leaning against a wooden pillar with folded arms.

“Well, it feels like I’ve lived here for quite a bit. Just,” you break to sigh with exaggeration, “soaking it in before I leave. Too beautiful to not.”

If not for the crackling between the wood, it’d be dead quiet.

“Would you like to join me?”

He titters, rolling his eyes before he walks your way. Laying on his side, you offer him your glass. “I hope you don’t mind that I used the wine from the ritual contents. With the stuff you normally drink, this must be nothing.”

“Like water to me but I’ll enjoy it nonetheless.”

You cheers to nothing with one glass to share. Occasionally picking off meat and fruit from the board and enjoying how the fire builds up.

“Your family will be so happy to see you.”

You hum. You suppose they would. Avoiding the bitterness you still associate with the thought.

“And I’m sure Taehyung will be too.” He says a little clipped. Not in a way to be facetious or sarcastic but because he feels the need to address it.

Yoongi is caught on the carmine scarf again, downing the rest of your poor wine.

Forcing a smile, you speak faintly, “Let’s not talk about that.”

At this point you both know. He nods to keep you happy, but there is no hiding or pretending. In front of the flames, your lies and justifications seem to melt away unspoken. Changing the subject, you shove him lightly, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. I don’t think you’ll ever learn to bake as well as I do.”

He tuts, which is refreshing. “I’m great at cooking and baking, I’ll have you know. It was just nice having someone else do it for once.” You feign betrayal and scoff aloud. He mumbles low, “But I’ll miss you for more reasons than that.”

And he breaks an unmade promise not to bring it up again. Feeling the need to throw it out in the open and even with the simplicity of admitting that he’ll miss you, you really know what he means. The seraph feels for you. He feels deeply. Yoongi doesn’t expect a response, just pops more food in his mouth and rests his eyes.

You contemplate, following suit with a bite to a grape and thinking hard. What to do. What to say. How to say it if you did. You weren’t supposed to feel this way and it goes way beyond the rule of even coming in contact with a seraph, let alone unconsciously falling in love with one. 

But that’s just it: how you live by assumptions and rules based off the words of the ignorant villagers and the elders, how they all believe the seraphs are all still here, how they think there’s a direct relation to the Offering and a year’s good harvest, how it’s bad luck to see a seraph’s wings when it’s brought you anything but. If you learned anything from this winter, it was that you found you own way of living, thank the curiosity your home curses you for. Making your own path instead of aimlessly walking one that was already paved. You learned to trust yourself a little more while Yoongi propelled you forward and believed you deserved it all. You learned you did deserve more. You learned what love really felt like when it was new and fresh and exciting and real. And Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi was the wine to your previously empty glass, and this winter with this man, it was heaven.

You decide the realization is enough for you. Have been gifted with so many things and blessings that you’re grateful for the chance to have met someone like him.

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi tastes bitter in his mouth. He felt that if all these years left alone in a manor of silence and rejection was to eventually meet you he would do it a million times, but if all you could reciprocate was this then it just wasn’t meant to be for him. It felt unfair but it also wasn’t his decision. He takes the sourness with him and stands. “I suppose I should head to bed.”

Your sad stare breaks his heart, even more so when you give up and nod. The fire catches your attention as it pops and you leave it at that. He tries to walk away, footsteps haunting, until he stops altogether.

It comes unexpectedly when he wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing his knees into your back. A weird sight it is to see his wings unfurl and curl around your rigid body. “Are you satisfied? Is this enough for you?” His voice is soft, like he could take either answer as long as he heard it from you directly.

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, how could I possibly ask you for more?”

He hisses liar into your ear. “Is it your family?”

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

Here you are again, faced with a question that tore you apart in the garden while you ached to be with Yoongi anyway. But there were no distractions here; nothing to interrupt your thoughts. Just you, Yoongi and your truth. He loosens his grip so you can face each other, knees between knees. Instinctively, you reach out for his feathers and indulge yourself with their softness. He pushes his wing into your hand as if to bribe you like a child.

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

A quick glint in his eye, a sort of relief, and then he finishes what he’s started and kisses you. It’s wrong how right it feels, lonely lips moving in tandem to find comfort in one another. Yoongi leans into it, absolutely devastated by your simple touch. The strength of the wine remains on your lips and he can’t help but lick into the flavor, drunkenly entranced by such luxuries. Yoongi’s hands can’t stay, snaking up your back, caressing your face, dragging his knuckles across your jaw and finally grabbing at the scarf. Carefully, he unwraps it from your neck, slow enough to feel it tickle your shoulder blades, before he folds it respectfully and places it elsewhere.

You sigh, more weight taken off your shoulders than there should be.

“Is this okay?” His voice raspy, speaking into the corner of your mouth. You’re stiff, nodding shyly and lacking the fire you brought up until this point.

He rewords, “Do you want me?” Yoongi feels the need to confirm, waiting for this moment for so long that it seems superficial. Like if he’s not careful, you’ll disappear into another one of his many short-lived dreams.

“Of course I want you, Yoongi. I want you more than anything…” But your eyes flicker to the ground, your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Then what’s wrong, lovely? You don’t have to.”

“No! I want to, I just… I’ve never done this before. I want you so bad but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing—”

His laughs are light, his hand on the small of your back as he dips you onto the floor. Holding himself above, he plants a soft kiss on your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. I want you and we’ll go slow and if you decide you don’t want to anymore, we won’t.”

The way he makes you feel, how gentle he is, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect way for this to happen. It eases you slightly, letting your arms snake around him in an attempt to let your guard down. He’s patient and wonderful and you mumble about it. “Mhm, okay.”

The night robe he’s gifted you now poses a problem, his slender fingers looping through the bow that keeps it wrapped, “Can I?” You nod again, and he unties you like his own present. The feeling of being bare in front of him becomes apparent when he sucks in and the heat from the fire dances against your skin. Other than that, you look to the window to avoid his face.

“My love, look at me.”

His commands are easy to follow but you cover your breasts to hang onto your last bit of pride, granting eye contact at the least.

Face flushed, you can tell he, too, is trying his best. “You’re incredible. More prepossessing than I could have ever imagined. You shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of me.”

“Well,” you retaliate, “it’s hard not to be when I’m the only one naked.”

He grins at the challenge, sitting up to shed his layers, never noticing his garments having to wrap around in a way to accommodate to his wings. You just thought it was just a more ornamental way of dressing that the seraphs took to. He’s left down to tight underwear that hugs him incredibly, beautiful milky skin exposed and tinted with golden light. “Satisfied?” He lilts.

“You look like an angel,” you trace indents of faint abs. Wide shoulders that taper into a tiny waist, a slim build that you could study forever.

He kisses your words away, pushing you into plush comforters and pillows. A makeshift nest unintentionally built for the two of you. A groan rewards him when he licks your bottom lip teasingly, taking your wrists swiftly to pin them above you. “Pretty thing, I don’t have a halo.”

He starts from the top, kissing each inside of wrist before moving down your arm, slithering onto your shoulder, then into the crook of your neck with gentle suckles. Teeth grazes before puncturing, eliciting a yelp from you that satisfies him. He does this over and over, decorating the canvas of your neck.

“I want to burn you into my memory. I don’t ever want to forget this,” he moans with a wake left down until he meets cleavage. His muscles were relentless, impatient and eager, wanting to worship ever square inch of your body as you rightfully deserved. Your squeaks serve his purpose, his muse as he continues his ministrations down.

Out of nowhere, “I don’t want you to leave me, Y/N.” The profession makes you giddy, happy you’re not the only one who feels so. A hidden insecurity acknowledged and lifted.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

He reaches your stomach and doesn’t hesitate to nibble there too, flinching when your hand flies to his head and buries itself in his hair. He ditches his current plan to grab your hand and plant a kiss to your palm in a second, making you giggle.

He admits, “I like when you touch me.”

“I want to. I feel so useless letting you do this alone.”

“You’ll get a chance if you’d like later. But right now, it’s all about you.” Husking it out. Of course, the idea sounds blissful, but the scene of having you cum by his actions sound better. “Need to cherish what’s in front of me properly.”

So he dips dangerously, laving at the skin above the hem of your panties and hooking his fingers under the sides, “Please,” he breathes.

“You… can do whatever you’d like to me. I want it all.”

He tugs his lip between his teeth, pulling it down. An unexpected wetness strings between your skin and the cloth and you both see it; him amazed, you horribly mortified. You stutter trying to explain yourself, oblivious that you could even feel as aroused as you do now. But his forehead falls onto the jut of your hipbone and you can hear subtle teasing in his tone. “I-I’m just as nervous and that was so incredibly sexy. I don’t think I can go on, shit.”

You laugh stupidly. “Quiet! Not another word! Just hurry up and—”

That terrible habit of looking away becomes your biggest fault, unprepared for Yoongi to filthily bury his tongue into your heat. He flattens his tongue and tantalizingly drags up until he can just barely flick your clit with the tip. Growling in the process.

“You are so sweet. The sweetest I could ever have. You will be the end of me.” Rushed in panted breaths as he does it again. And again. And again. So much that the growing sound of wet against wet echoes in the empty room and renders you paralyzed.

The feeling of it makes you squeamish, like you want to move, buck your hips, pull his hair. Despite the lewdness of having his rough tongue against you and lapping you clean, you could never ask him to stop.

“You just… keep getting… wetter…” He says between turns. “You really wanted me this much?”

“Yoongi—ah! Please, I can’t. It feels weird.”

“You don’t want me to continue, my love?” He asks lightly, blowing cold air onto damp skin and really forcing you to buck.

“No! I just… I have never felt like this. I want you to but I can’t sit still.”

“Oh? Let me help you then. But you have to let me finish.” So you shyly nod and loosen your legs. He uses the prompt to scoop them underneath his arms and attach the back of your knees atop his shoulders, your hips curving up and towards him in a new, tight position.

“Yoongi!”

“No matter how you feel, just let it happen.”

Sultry wails are music to his ears when he brutally sucks on your clit, licking your folds here and there and using all his strength to keep you in place. He spells out his love with his tongue, digs it into you sweetly. His power, though, anything but kind.

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

Unveiling your view, his stare immediately burns into your veins. Looking at you under dangerously slanted lids and that sinful mouth. Holding you in place with strength that could leave prints into your soft legs. With one roll of your clit under his teeth, you feel in ways you never knew how, as if all the pressure that built up in your abdomen suddenly overflowed with a tight burst. Choked sobs and hand gripping his hair enough to make him moan into you, vibrating wonderfully as he works you through it. 

He lets you go, remnants of syrupy arousal trickling down his chin; watches your legs fall open widely and your chest heave for air. Your features bring him joy, loving the way your hair sticks to your face with sweat, eyes closed, and brows knit together in concentration. He loved seeing you painted in warm hues and although he was never an artist, he could replicate this scene exactly how it’s displayed in front of him.

“How do you feel, lovely?”

You respond with a weak smile. “You’re so cruel… Min Yoongi.” You felt flimsy; weightless. A feeling you could come to love too much if you aren’t careful.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” slithering back up to rest his head in your neck, giving you more kisses like you haven’t had enough. You’re happy he’s back, massaging your hands over his torso, up his neck, down his spine. And then you hit it and he tenses.

Thick and raised, an area between his wings that softly juts out. It was fairly large and the texture varied from the rest of his beautiful planes of skin. It was a scar. Wide as a dagger.

“I wish it wasn’t there. I know it’s—”

“Yoongi, baby.” You nudge him to lift his head and he does unwillingly, face turned away. “My Yoongi, it’s nothing. What happened was horrible but it’s over. And I will do everything in my power to make it up to you by giving all of me.”

His lips stop you tenderly, a whisper of affection that pours out love, “You didn’t do anything. In fact, you’ve made me better. I wasn’t able to feel anything for a long time until you. So. Thank you.”

Any remaining embarrassment vanishes. Not when Yoongi’s done his part and you would do anything to take care of him.

Sweat molds your bodies together, heat emanating from a fire that’s ablaze now. There’s a private summer in this room while winter continues outside and it feels special to you. It’s hot here, hot when Yoongi scrapes his teeth against yours, hot where his pelvis lays. You take notice to the hard thing twitching against your thigh, making you flinch.

“Ah, I’m sorry. And we’re in A Mood and all.” Yoongi snickers.

“Don’t be,” you purr, feeling a bit lustful and reaching down to grab it through the cloth.

He hisses, “Fuck! Fuck, please, I’m so sensitive at the moment.”

Ignoring him, you unskillfully maneuver your fingers around him. Just touching to be familiarized with it. He surges forward accidentally, sighing in your ear as he shamelessly humps the space between your groin. You use his distracted state to pull his shorts down, the sudden reality of his skin touching yours bringing about sensual noises from the both of you. A sudden spurt of precum makes it easier for him to drag his heavy cock against your hip.

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

“Stop apologizing. I’ll help you.” You stare down as you flick your wrist, encircling him with fingers shaped in an o and pumping him slow.

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

“Is it… supposed to be this large?” It’s a stupid question to ask, especially when you’re not entirely clueless. You know his size exceeds average proportions.

“Don’t spoil me. Seraphs have always been larger than humans. Height wise, I was the smallest of my brothers though.” Which seemed unimaginable to you, not when he towers over you and could easily devour you in a hug. Cock hanging low and barely able to keep in your single hand. He must be acting coy.

“Now you’re just bragging!”

“I’m just being honest. I’m automatically pleasing to the likes of you,” he chuckles.

The dampness overflows, smears over your skin in incredible amounts and how you wish you could taste out of pure curiosity, but he has other plans for you.

“I don’t think I can hold myself any longer. Please.”

“That’s… fine. Um, should we? Like this?”

“It’s so hot, could you flip on your side?” You roll and he figures he’s made a mistake. Entranced by the way your weight, breasts and soft curves, naturally gravitate down in a seductive pose.

“Like this?” You ask, unaware that he could simply die right now.

He lifts your leg to rest on his shoulder again, easy to stretch. “Perfect, my love. I’m going to go slow. If it’s too much we can try again another time, okay? No rush.”

Challenged by his kindness, you shake your head, “I’m fine. I’m ready.”

Whatever’s left of the arousal between you both is more than enough to let him enter easily. Head of his member no problem to push past that initial tension.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

But it’s his shaft that makes you keen, entire length seeming endless as he fills you and overloads your maximum space. You cry, nerves making you writhe, “It’s not going to fit all the way—hah…wait.”

Yoongi struggles to hold himself back, perspiration dripping down his nose, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? It doesn’t need to, I’m pretty close to being all the way in anyway.”

“I’m fine,” you pant, head lolled to the side as he stretches you out in an odd, numbing way. “You can… you can move.”

His hips test it, pulling out so little to only be sucked back in with a leveled grunt. “Baby, you’re barely allowing me to.”

“It feels so tight,” you sigh, worried that if you move it’ll really begin to hurt.

“Ah, really? Let’s do this then.” He quick to please, wanting your pleasure before his own and getting you to flip, propped onto your elbows and filled from behind. Smooth chest meets your arched back, him hiding a kiss below your ear while he’s there. A moan aches in your throat as his dick unintentionally digs deeper inside, easier to move and to the hilt.

“Is this better, Y/N?”

“Hah… Yes. Yes, so much better. So good. Please move.”

His hips roll, just enough to grind into you which feels nothing but euphoric in itself. You mimic each other’s lusty whimpers with every movement. Caving into each other’s kisses and licks and pants that you feel synchronized.

Yoongi grows impatient with himself, exaggerating how he pulls out and slams himself back inside. The mere force that he fucks into you sends you forward, opting to lay on your chest and bite the blankets beneath you to keep from screaming. “You feel so good. So, so good. I’m sorry it hasn’t been long, but I feel like…”

His wings fall at his sides and cover you in shadow. It’s weird to see them like this, in a way you could imagine the perspective of having them yourself. But it covers you in unnecessary warmth and makes you grunt.

“It’s hot,” you admit with a quick breath, “Let me on top. I’ll finish.”

The way his member slides out; the way it leaves you tensing over nothing is a sad, needy feeling. You don’t slow at the chance to lay him down and take control, straddling him and watching his face contort in loving awe.

Sitting on him is an entirely different feeling and Yoongi keeps himself from cumming inside you right away, a choke in his throat. “Fuck, fuckfuckfcuk. Y/N, I won’t last like this for long please—”

“I’ll make it quick.” You lean over him, palms to the ground as you start moving, grinding and using him to your advantage. The nerves start again and you shake with pleasure.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

Slender fingers dig into your velvety hips as he forces himself into you with harsh, quick jabs. “Baby, I have to cum.” He smooths his knuckles over your cheek, pulling you down into a tongue heavy-kiss in an impossibly fiery caress.

The ramming he enforces take incoherent sobs from your lips. You feel a ghost of a smile, sure Yoongi is enjoying your shameless display of indulgence; coming undone before his very eyes.

You arch into him, clenching tighter and falling onto his chest. With impeccable timing he pulls out, strings of hot white flooding between your stomachs.

“A lot,” you complain.

“Mmm. Because I’ve been waiting so long to have you.”

Without the pressure of moving, you lay on him despite the humidity. Petting the underside of his wings as they drape so gracefully against the blankets and the rug.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

“To see my family. To come home and let them know I’m okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He’s afraid that you won’t come back, though.

“And… to turn down Taehyung’s proposal in person.”

Yoongi looks down and can’t see your face but he’s imagined it’s worried. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

He waits. You speak again, “Do you really want to be with me? For me to stay?”

“More than anything.”

He feels the tug of your cheeks on his chest; a wide smile.

“Then I’ll need to get my stuff.” And that makes him want to cry. After traumatic betrayal and years of loathing his punishment of isolation, he’s finally being let out of his cage. Free to be with someone that cares for him as much as he cares for you.

Your last thoughts remain on the fire and how it’s the only other entity to to swallow your talks, plans and confessions. Of his feathers like his arms as they fold in comfortably next to you, feeling like they’re meant to be there. Like you really were fated to be skin-to-skin with this man in his manor. Entwined by trust and love and an unprecedented future that would be everything as long as he’s in it. An irony of a useless girl and flightless wings.

Yoongi watches you fall under, wiping his thumb over your lips, trailing it down your chin and covering your naked body with his wing. Slumber finds him soon after, mind stuck on his self-epiphany that he had to lose his wings to gain you, and how incredibly lucky he is to have it that way.

a/n: ahAhaA, i’m sorry. please feel free to let me know what you think.

❋ masterlist ❋

[asocier]

          i dont think i’ve spoken extensively about leah’s first ( and only ) canonical boyfriend before, and since i wanna write a bit tonight but am suffering with shitty ass internet, i’m gonna take some time to do that. i plan on writing a drabble that provides more insight into leah’s dynamic with her ex-boyfriend ( who will probably remain unnamed for a long time unless i feel an urgent need to name him ) eventually, but for now, here’s the tea:

          leah and her boyfriend got together when they were both juniors in high school, and the relationship dissolved before they graduated from high school in their senior year. so, it was a pretty short lived relationship. prior to getting together, leah and her boyfriend ( from here on out referred to as B bc i don’t wanna type boyfriend anymore ), didn’t really talk much, mostly due to being apart of different social circles and also just being very different in general as students. leah was very much the teacher’s pet, the sweet girl who got along well with mostly everyone, the quiet one who caused little trouble and always got good grades and studied hard. B was an athlete, a rowdy boy who would mouth off to authorities, who was cocky and carried himself in a way that would really piss off others. at the end of the day, B was a slacker who was a bad influence on his friends, and through the grapevines, leah knew to stay away from him.

          but in their junior year, B and leah crossed paths more and more due to sharing a lot of the same classes, and through a series of well-timed events, leah was somehow able to find the courage to flirt with him, and it wasn’t long before the two decided to become exclusive after talking, going on cliche dates, and you know, doing what high schoolers do when they have a crush on each other. needless to say, a lot of people were confused about the relationship, seeing as how leah was very much out of B’s league. like, she was a catch. B wasn’t worth her time at all, and yet she was absolutely head over heels for him. 

          if you ask her in her current timeline why she thought B was attractive, she’d tell you it was the bad boy appeal mixed in with the fact B was physically attractive in her book. it was that cliche “opposites attract” dynamic, and for the early parts of their relationship, things were looking good, strangely so. it was when the honeymoon phase ended did things start to become rocky.

          some things to keep in mind: during this time in her life, leah was ( and still is tbh ) incredibly sheltered by her parents, and one major thing that’s consistent with high school leah and main verse leah is the fact she’s not technically allowed to date anyone. so the fact she had a boyfriend in high school meant she was dating someone behind her parents’ backs, and long story short, her boyfriend was really quick to grow tired of all the hoops they had to jump through in order to be together — especially since leah wasn’t willing to have sex with him. 

          this leads into another important thing to keep in mind about leah in this stage of her life: she was grappling with a lot of catholic guilt and was struggling to reconcile her sexuality with the teachings of the catholic church, the church she grew into because of her family. for a while, masturbating and watching porn made her feel as though she was doomed to hell, and it took her a long time to develop a different outlook on sexuality when it came to her status as a “good catholic.” before meeting B, leah didn’t really have an interest in having sex, so she “made a deal with god” so to speak that, even though she was masturbating, watching porn, reading hentai, all those lewd things, she’d save herself for marriage at the end of the day. she felt confident that was something she could do, and when she and B got together, she still really wanted to save herself for marriage because she felt as though that was something she should do considering she still wanted to adhere to some catholic teachings. having to wait for sex really rubbed B the wrong way however, and over time, leah was really starting to feel the pressure from B about having sex. on top of that, B would often give leah backhanded compliments about her body, suggesting that she should lose weight to be more attractive to him, disguising it as him encouraging her to incorporate more exercise into her lifestyle so she wouldn’t be so sedentary “because he cared about her health,” but it always came off as body-shaming since these conversations would always occur when leah was dressed a certain way that showed more skin. 

          as if all of this wasn’t bad enough, B gradually began to grow more distant with leah, and seeing as how leah couldn’t easily see B outside of school, she was really disheartened by the fact B didn’t even make the effort to eat lunch with her or spend time with her during their down time. instead, he’d often hang out with friends, and at times, he’d ignore leah completely. it only got messier when B started to befriend some of leah’s friends due to leah being a shared connection, and the fact B seemed to be more interested in leah’s friends than her seemed to have been the last straw for her. 

          if you asked leah about B in main verse, she’d be quick to tell you that he was a shitty, sleazy guy, and she’s not wrong. but, she’ll also admit to the fact that she was incredible emotionally immature, and she lacked the ability to resolve conflict in a productive way. in short, B and leah didn’t see eye to eye when it came to romance, and leah’s come to understand that she enjoyed the idea of a boyfriend than her actual boyfriend. she’ll also admit she handled a lot of conflict poorly because she didn’t know how to properly communicate with B about them. one of her biggest regrets is the fact she lost so much of herself in trying to keep B around, because she really wanted things to work out between them. she liked having him around, even if he was shitty to her, and she’d always excuse his behavior even if it was clear he made her upset. no lie, there were some times in which B was absolutely inconsiderate of her feelings, and it really left leah feeling as though B didn’t care about her. and maybe he didn’t — maybe he did. if you ask her now, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. but in either case, she really wanted things to work, which was why she ultimately caved and slept with him in a last ditch effort to save things.

          it worked temporarily; their relationship was better than it was before they slept together, but in the end, leah broke it off with him not even a month after they slept together, and she really, really, regrets the fact her first time was with someone who treated her so poorly. sure, it opened the door for her to have more sexual experiences down the line, and she later adopted the mindset that virginity is just a social construct that literally doesn’t matter, but at the time, she really felt as though she fucked up. and she still does sometimes — but leah’s living her best life now so B can fuck right off. 

[bluescluelessly]

Anidala cuddles🥺🥺maybe some luke and leia thrown in too bc anidala makes me big sad❤️

[Rating: G] || fluff, happy family au

°|●*.•

"Finally," Padmé sighs, dropping herself onto their living room couch. "Everything is clean."

Their home on Naboo is modest but still rather spacious-- they chose it with the future of their twins in mind. It's a lot for two relatively new parents to be dealing with on their own, but Anakin refuses to use housekeepers, so they manage.

He's working on making some cleaning droids, but it's been a slow process when you have a couple of demanding toddlers always underfoot.

"And kid-proofed," Anakin adds, clipping on the last cabinet lock. "We can take a break, finally."

Padmé smiles up at him as her husband heads over to join her on the couch, then squeals as he lets himself fall on top of her.

"Ani--" she pushes at him, laughing as he just wraps his arms around her. "You're crushing me!"

He's not, he knows he's being careful, so he knows she's just joking. He plays along, pulling back. "Well, if you don't want me..." his eyes slide over to the direction of their bedroom. "There's a much more comfy place I can lay."

She huffs, grabbing his shirt and dragging him back down. "Nope, I’m the comfiest place you’ll ever have."

That puts a grin back on his face, and he gladly snuggles up to her, nuzzling his face against her neck. “Hard to argue with that, Angel.”

Both of them are fairly tired from cleaning and baby-proofing the house all day, so he doesn’t try to escalate it any further. They’re content to just be, together and comfortable in one another’s arms.

Padme’s hand finds Anakin’s hair, absently undoing his ponytail so she can run her fingers through his dark blond curls. Her manicured nails feel nice against his scalp, and he quickly starts to feel drowsy, perfectly content as she plays with his long hair. He’s grown it out quite a bit since the end of the war, letting it reach past his shoulders.

He tried to grow a goatee too, but Padme and Obi-Wan quickly shut that attempt down. It was probably for the best.

He dozes lightly there, eventually shifting so that Padme isn’t under him anymore and he can really relax, without the concern of smothering his beautiful wife.

It’s nice.

He’s glad his life led him to this point; he’s been very lucky. He has not only a beautiful wife, but a reliable best friend to count on, and two beautiful children to care for. Things couldn’t be better for Anakin Skywalker, as far as he’s concerned.

°|●*.•

Obi-Wan can’t remember the last time he was so happy. It’s nearing sunset on Naboo, so he’ll have to send them back home soon, but he’s had a rather lovely day babysitting the Skywalker twins for Anakin and Padme. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Meditative retreat than here on Naboo, with his former student and best friend, Former Senator, vision of beauty, and good friend Padme Amidala, and their pair of delightful toddlers.

Of course, Anakin insists that they’re all trouble, but Obi-Wan never sees it. They enjoy his visits, which he makes as frequently as possible. He brings them stories of his missions and travels across the universe, holos from distant planets, and the twins listen in rapt awe at everything he has to tell them.

Leia loves to hear about the missions themselves, always demanding more as he tells them about the different customs and treaties he’s had to negotiate. 

Luke is more invested in seeing the planets, always taking his commlink to look through the photos with wide, starry eyes.

He thinks both of them would make terrific Jedi, but he respects Anakin and Padme’s decision to wait until they’re old enough to talk and decide for themselves what they want.

Regardless of what they decide, Anakin has already agreed to let Obi-Wan start teaching them the basics, helping them learn to control the force as they learn to walk and speak. Leia tends to pick up on the skills a bit easier, but Luke seems more focused on learning them, apparently even practicing when Obi-Wan isn’t there to guide his training.

He loves them both dearly, and catches himself longing for the day when (hopefully) one or both of them join him at the Temple. He would train them both as his padawans if it were feasible to do so-- but then, he still has Ahsoka’s training to finish, so he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. He’s sure she’ll want to train one of the twins as well, after all.

For now, he’s content to visit the little Skywalker-Amidala family whenever he can.

The Twins have just begun to speak-- not quite sentences, but in short demands and questioning words. He’s sorry he missed their first ones, but it can’t be helped. Even now, two years after the end of the Clone Wars, the Galaxy needs the Jedi. And, the Jedi need to repair the Galaxy’s view of them.

As one of the best known Jedi, and the Order’s forefront negotiator, he’s been kept very busy. He may have lost his leg in the final fight against Lord Sidious, but that only slowed him down for a few months, didn’t stop him.

A leg is a small price to pay to save the Republic and his friend. It’s a good thing Ahsoka called him and Anakin back to Mandalore when she did-- talking to Maul cleared up a lot of the fog Palpatine had pulled over his and Anakin’s eyes.

He had to give his mission to take on Grievous to Mace, but it was worth the detour in the end.

Anakin was so shaken by the revelation... it’s no surprise that he left the Order directly after Sidious’ defeat, even after he was offered the title of Master for his part in taking Palpatine down.

He’s happier now, happier than he ever would be as a Jedi, and that’s all that really matters, in Obi-Wan’s opinion.

“Up?” Luke’s voice breaks him of his thoughts, the two-year-old’s arms outstretched towards him. Leia is busy hovering her stuffed animals in the air, making the winged ones fly. She’s quite bright for a two-year-old, already knowing the difference between winged creatures and non-flying ones.

Obi-Wan smiles at Luke, acquiescing and picking him up so the boy can settle on his lap. “What is it, little one?”

The toddler grins, tugging on his beard. “Obibi, Obibi.”

His heart melts at the attempt to say his name, and he smiles softly down at the child. “Close, Luke. Can you try again? It’s O-bi-wan-ke-no-bi.”

The toddler concentrates, obediently trying again. “Obi... wa-obi. Obiwobi!”

The Jedi chuckles to himself, giving Luke a patient smile. “Close enough, Luke. Very good.”

The boy grins, clapping his hands together and then pointing downwards. “Obiwobi leg.”

“My leg?” he asks, playing dumb though he already knows what Luke wants. Leia looks up with interest as her brother speaks.

Luke pouts a little, trying again. “Want leg, obiwobi please!”

Leia stands, her toys dropping as she toddles over to join. “Unky Obi please!” she demands, tugging on his leg.

And really, how can he say no with the two of them fixing him with double puppy-dog eyes? “Oh, alright. Silly imps.”

Luke squeals, shifting out of the way so Obi-Wan can reach down and disconnect his prosthetic leg, pulling it off while they watch, fascinated. He’s not sure why they enjoy it so much, but he’s sure it has something to do with their father’s own prosthetic arm. Perhaps he should ask Anakin about it.

He puts his leg back on when they’ve had their fill of poking at his stump, shaking his head a little.

Leia is yawning, so he scoops up Luke, and uses the force to lift Leia up onto his other hip. “Alright, you two. Time to go back home. You parents must miss you terribly.”

“Ter-ribly,” Leia repeats, mimicking his accent with a very serious expression.

“Yes, terribly,” Obi-Wan nods, smiling at her. She seems to glow at his approval.

Not to be left out, Luke pipes up as well. “yes, ter-ri-ly.” He nods, so serious that Obi-Wan has to struggle not to laugh.

“Almost, Luke.” He smiles, carrying them both to his borrowed speeder and putting them in their seats. The toddler grins, then yawns widely as he’s buckled in.

The drive back to the Skywalker-Amidala household from the park is short. The twins are still awake, and all but run into the house when he gets them out of their seats and opens the front door.

“Daddy!” Luke shouts, and Obi-Wan hears a loud ‘oof’ from the next room as the toddler presumably launches himself onto his father.

There’s a second oof, and a feminine giggle as Leia does the same. Obi-Wan hangs his cloak up, following the twins into the living room as he has a look around. Anakin and Padme appear to have done quite a bit of cleaning up and baby-proofing while he kept the twins busy in Theed all day.

“We’re back,” he announces, earning a mock-glare from Anakin.

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.” the former Jedi gripes, but doesn’t get up. He tugs Luke and Leia into his arms, settling the two sleepy kids in between himself and his wife.

Obi-Wan smiles at the scene, leaning against the doorway. “You are remarkably unobservant,” he teases.

Padme rolls her eyes at the two of them, hugging Leia close to herself and kissing the toddler on the top of her head. “Thank you for watching the twins, Obi.” She elbows her husband.

“Yeah, thanks,” Anakin says, reluctant but genuine. “We got everything done, thank gods.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Obi-Wan responds easily. “Your children are very well behaved.”

Padme gives him a mildly incredulous look. “You always say that, but I struggle to believe you.”

Obi-Wan shrugs, staying at the doorway as he watches the family of four. “Perhaps my standards are simply lower. I did train Anakin, after all.”

“Hey-” the Skywalker in question protests, as his wife hides laughter behind her hand.

“Maybe,” Padme agrees, looking amused. “It’s not too late yet, stay and watch a holofilm with us?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be back on Coruscant until tomorrow, and he doesn’t mind sleeping on the flight there, but he still needs to leave in the next few hours, so he hesitates.

That is, until Luke pokes his head up and stares at him with big eyes. “Please? Obiwobi stay!”

And just like that, any reluctance leaves him, and he nods. “Oh, alright.”

As he heads over to sit on the couch next to the cuddling family, Luke scrambles up and over to sit with him, and Anakin tosses him an amused look.

“Obiwobi, huh?”

“He’s doing his best,” Obi-Wan responds, adjusting himself so that Luke is comfortable leaning on him.

“It’s cute,” Padme agrees, turning on their holoprojector to start a movie. “Quiet down, boys.”

“Quiet dow’, boys.” Leia repeats, her voice stern as she snuggles in between her parents. It earns a little bit of surprised laughter from the adults, but then they obey, going silent as the movie starts.

All five of them, happy as can be right here, settled together for something as domestic as a holofilm. Everything, right as it should be.

[potteresque-ire]

Is Cho Chang a Racist Stereotype? - [2] Her House

Another very long post (this time Confucius comes to say hello). My thoughts are under the cut.

Once again, this isn’t a JKR discussion. This is my 2nd post on whether I think it’s fair to call Cho Chang a racist stereotype. The 1st one is here.

My short answer is still no.

Another critique I’ve seen of Cho Chang’s portrayal is that she was a Ravenclaw, which fit into the “smart Asian” stereotype.

But what, exactly, is “Ravenclaw smart” and “Asian smart”? I think it’s worth investigating. Intelligence comes in many forms, and the allegation would only be valid if the two kinds of “smart” are equivalent.

Here’s what the books and JKR, via Pottermore, have said about “Ravenclaw smart”:

“if you've a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind;”

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.”

“…our people are the most individual – some might even call them eccentrics. But geniuses are often out of step with ordinary folk…” 

"Most of the greatest wizarding inventors and innovators were in our house…”

The day-to-day illustration of “Ravenclaw smart” was the answering of riddles to enter the common room. A good answer was “well-reasoned”, and it was known that the door would refuse to open until such an answer was provided, which sometimes led to long discussions outside the common room by the locked-out students. Another manifestation of “Ravenclaw smart” was described as going “full-nerd” on a subject that wasn’t necessarily practical or popular (ovomancy was the example given on Pottermore).

Since “wit” was such a heavily used word in Ravenclaw’s description, I looked up its definition as well.

* Intelligence and the ability to think quickly (Cambridge dictionary) * Mental sharpness and inventiveness; keen intelligence; a natural aptitude for using words and ideas in a quick and inventive way to create humour (Google) * The ability to relate seemingly disparate things so as to illuminate or amuse (Merriam Webster) * Wit is the ability to use words or ideas in an amusing, clever, and imaginative way. (Collins)

My understanding of “Ravenclaw smart” from this info is: the ability to connect dots freely and nimbly. Social norms and expectations are noted, but happily disregarded if they get in the way. “Ravenclaw smart” is by nature argumentative and open-ended. It expects the dot-connecting to lead to places, but doesn’t have a specific place in mind; all endpoints are valid and welcomed as long as they’re logically sound. The strength of “Ravenclaw smart” is it leads to revolutionary innovations; its tendency to unbridle itself from social needs and expectations, however, can lead to amoral/immoral behaviour (Lockhart). The wisdom from “Ravenclaw smart” is also in danger of being ignored or misunderstood when its owner makes insufficient effort to make it comprehensible, or accessible to others (Luna, and likely, Rowena Ravenclaw.)

Those who’ve studied under an East Asian education system (especially in the 90s), or those who’re familiar with those systems, probably know by now where this discussion is leading to.

“Ravenclaw smart” isn’t “Asian smart”. It’s … about the opposite of Asian smart.

What is “Asian smart”? Outside this discussion, any kind of intelligence. But here, I’ll restrict it to the kind of smartness that leads to the racist allegation, the kind of Westerners typically associate with East Asian students (such as Cho Chang, who, for the sake of simplicity, I’ll assume is Chinese from this point on; however, the arguments will likely still stand if she was, for example, Korean, for reasons that will be clear later on). The kind of smartness that is good at math, that gets the highest scores in exams and seems to understand everything. Never asks questions, never makes trouble.

"Asian smart” sounds great. But what if I suggest the following “dark sides” to it?

1) Good at math: with practice, lower level maths are likely to require the least reasoning among school subjects, with their unambiguous, close-ended answers. A child who has done 7x9 enough times no longer need to calculate or think through the logic of their answer. They write down what they’ve memorised by repetition — 63 — and get full score.

2) High scorer: does everything as told. Prioritise the wishes of authority (teachers, parents) above everything else.

3) Seems to understand everything, never asks questions: views knowledge as “model answers” to be regurgitated in exams. Whether it makes sense doesn’t matter.

These are very cynical takes, aren’t they? I’ve cast in these students in a very negative light.

But what if this negative light isn’t negative at all if these students have stayed in the land of their ancestors? What if these “cynical takes” were considered virtues for the budding Chinese scholars of old?

What if “Asian smart” is purely a consequence of history and culture?

First of all, if you ask “Asian smart” students and they’re honest with you, most would tell you that their smartness isn’t the product of miracles or extra brain juice. Some would say it’s not even intelligence. It is the direct result of extra hours spent at the desk.

What is their motivation? Are Chinese children simply born to be extra hardworking?

Perhaps it’s their so-called “tiger moms”? If then, are Chinese moms born more … feline?

The answers, as you may expect, are no, Chinese aren’t born any different from other races. Their drive to study can largely be explained by an ancient, nation-wide exam system known as the imperial examination system (Ke-Ju, 科舉), plus a dude with a name of Confucius.

Many are aware that Chinese have long considered scholastic aptitude as important. But how long is long? The answer: 1.4 millennia. The imperial examination system, or Ke-Ju, began in 605 AD and while the system had evolved over time, the gist of it was this: students participated in locals exams and the “winners” moved up to the county, then provincial levels etc, until the students who’d won all previous exams sat for the final one in the capital palace, at times proctored by the Emperor, where the grand winners would be decided. The Ke-Ju system was essential in shaping Chinese’s attitude towards academic achievements, because the final top 3 winners, regardless of birth, would be hired by the Imperial Court (+ in some cases, get to marry a princess!).

Ancient Chinese studied and studied and studied for that reason; Ke-Ju was one of the very few social ladders available to commoners, who mostly lived in poverty. The Chinese folklore-scape has therefore been filled with “inspirational” stories about how people overcame exceptionally challenging studying conditions (like this one) to become successful in some way.

How, exactly, does Ke-Ju shape the traditional Chinese view towards studying and education?

1) Historically, Chinese views studying as a means to a better life. The pursuit of knowledge was secondary. The modern analogy to studying hard in ancient China is working three part-time jobs to pay the mortgage for a house, and there is, in fact, a famous Chinese idiom that reflects this: 書中自有黃金屋 (“In the books, there is a golden house”). According to the poem (勸學詩) where the idiom came from (written by an Emperor, by the way: 宋真宗, ~ 1000 BCE), other things found in books included high wages paid in food, beauties, chariots and horses. All practical stuff.

2) Because of 1), getting high scores, or “winning” the exams, was seen as the paramount goal of studying. Far less emphasis was put on understanding the exam material. The teachers of ancient Chinese schools (私塾) were known for doing little explaining; instead, they made recite passages and expected them to figure out the meanings by themselves later. The attitude that scores are everything was further fuelled by the fact that the Emperor had the final say on the result of Ke-Ju — the Emperor who’d most probably claimed the throne by genetics and was not always the most intelligent or knowledgable. While the ability to formulate well-researched and well-reasoned answers helped tremendously, the most important skill for the final Ke-Ju winner was, therefore, the ability to guess what the Emperor wanted to hear, and sometimes, what they wanted to see (there were instances where the Emperor swapped the rankings because they found the original victor too ugly).  

ie. The most important skill was to know the Emperor’s Answer, and to be able to frame it as the winner’s own perspective even if the winner didn’t, in reality, believe in a single word of it.

3) The tradition of having an “Emperor’s Answer” means its modern equivalent, having an “one and only” model answer, have remained the norm in education systems in many Chinese-speaking communities. Many educators have asked for reforms, argued that model answers discourage independent thinking and creativity, but teachers have also been trained on model answers and they’re often unsure of their own opinions, and at times, fearful that they’ll pass on a “wrong” perspective to their students. The latter is especially true in places under authoritarian rule, where school lessons must follow closely the regime’s propaganda (which can be vastly different from year to year).

You may wonder then: but certainly, the students would revolt. How could children learn in such a stifling environment for so long?

This is where Confucius (孔丘, 551-478 BC) comes in. The education system is only a slice of a culture where authority is not to be questioned, where silence is seen as a virtue even among the youngest of children.

Many may know Confucius to be a philosopher, but he was also a political advisor and not a very popular one. I’ve half-jokingly summed up his slogan as “Make China Great Again”, as he lamented his era for having lost the social etiquette and order of several centuries before, and he was set on bringing them back. He researched on rites and rituals that were already old for his time, postulating that every detail of how people behaved around each other would affect social harmony. Social order, he believed, could be achieved by people respecting and obeying their elders, not only in their thoughts but also in their day-to-day behaviour, which was to be bound with a set of intricate rules that dictated their word choices, actions and even postures according to the situation and kinship between the interacting individuals (a fun video here showing a Confucian rite, including the sheer variety of Confucian bows). The elders would, in return, take care of those with less authority than they had, share with them their wisdom.

Confucius also believed that harmony of the world could be achieved by self-discipline from the base level of the society to the top. In this “discipline pyramid”, individuals sat at the bottom. The discipline of families came above it, in which elder generations of each family reined in the rebellious younger ones, made each family a true unit where its members were unified in thoughts and actions. The nation (government) then exerted its authority on families and cured their conflicts — to drive this point home, the term 父母官 has remained in use in China today, which likens the government officials (官) to parents (父母) and constituents to children who should listen to their parents (imagine someone likening Boris Johnson, or Donald Trump, as your father). Finally, the world, with the Emperor as its ruler, smothers the insurgences among nations to achieve the ultimate order and harmony. (修身、齊家、治國、平天下).

Confucius did put a big asterisk in his theory. For this “discipline pyramid” to work, the asterisk said, the Emperor who’d establish the final world order must be a good one. The problem was: most Emperors thought they were pretty good. Confucius’ philosophy appealed to them because the Emperor sat at the pinnacle of this power structure, and as each level ruled over the one below, the lowest level — the individual commoners — had so many constraints piled on them that their individuality was stripped. This made governing much easier.

And so, while Confucius’ political theories were not particularly popular during his lifetime, Confucianism became the official school of philosophy for Chinese imperial courts after ~100 BC. China’s immense power in the ancient world meant Confucianism also became the prominent school of philosophy in its sphere of influence, which included, among others, the modern nations of Japan, S. Korea and Vietnam, all of which also held their own versions of Ke-Ju.

(Hence, this post would very likely remain valid if Cho Chang was Korean.)

In addition to locating talents among commoners, the Ke-Ju system further cemented Confucianism as the “proper” school of thought because it required the students to learn Confucian texts. These students, who would also become disseminators of knowledge outside the Imperial Court, would bring Confucianism to the commoners who’d practise it as well, as a display of cultured upbringing, in the hopes that their descendants would one day know it well enough to enter the Imperial Court. The discipline pyramid soon infiltrated every aspect of Chinese culture, and Confucianism became Imperial China’s tool for reinforcing social hierarchy and a social stabilizer. It remained revered in all levels of the Chinese society until, during the Cultural Revolution (1966-76), the Red Guards, with the blessings of Mao Ze-Dong, made an all out-attack on Confucian values and while remnants of them have survived in China’s social fabric, they’re largely in tatters (As a result, the best places to observe the legacy of Confucianism nowadays are in Japan, S. Korea and Taiwan.)

Back to the “Asian smart”. “Asian smart” was an impression built from students who were (children of) recent immigrants from Confucianism-influenced communities. Students who’d been educated in the tradition of those who’d sat in the ancient schools, their backs ramrod straight and spoken only when called, their mouths opening only to satisfy the teachers’ requests because teachers were the authority in the classroom and never to be questioned. Students who’d expected an Emperor’s Answer to every exam question, the answer that was, always, the final word. Students who’d studied hard because golden houses could be found in the books.

This “Asian smart” is as different as can be from “Ravenclaw smart”. Asian smart is quiet and unquestioning, while Ravenclaw smart challenges and argues. Asian smart views knowledge as a servant of society, while Ravenclaw smart sees knowledge, and the pursuit thereof, as lording over social expectations. Asian smart is about reinforcing social order while Ravenclaw smart is about breaking the mould. Asian smart has groomed the establishment for over a thousand years while Ravenclaw smart has nurtured eccentrics.

Of note, this disparity between the two “smarts” doesn’t mean one is superior to another. Our current pandemic has made a case for Confucian collectivism; individuals in E. Asian countries have shown themselves to be more willing to sacrifice personal freedoms and aesthetics for the sake of their communities, more comfortable at obeying new rules despite the questions of their need have yet be answered satisfactorily by science, and the benefits of these attitudes have been reflected in the case and death counts. The pandemic has also reminded us of the importance of knowledge that serves society (for example, epidemiological research, vaccine development, contact tracing), even if it’s not always the most exciting. Healthcare is a discipline that requires a “no ifs and buts, no matter how well-reasoned” attitude towards certain rules (how to put on and remove PPEs, for example).

Anyway, I digressed! The conclusion I have, after so many words, is this: Cho Chang being assigned Ravenclaw isn’t racist stereotyping, as some have alleged. I can appreciate where the allegation comes from. The common association with intelligence aside, many sorting tests have also tied academic achievements to Ravenclaw, even though Ravenclaws were never described as book smart in the series. But the allegation doesn’t hold up well after an investigation into the way Ravenclaw House was written, and the kind of smartness Cho Chang was expected to have if it was, indeed, race-based.

It doesn’t mean, I’d like to note, that some Asians aren’t being unfairly judged because parts of our society still hold the false impression that our racial group are somehow born to excel in academics or any work where maths are involved. I understand—I truly do—the frustrations of having one’s accomplishments belittled, attributed to a quirk in the DNA that doesn’t exist. I’ve, too, had to certify that my Mom is 100% human, free of the tiger too many times.

But the HP books cannot be blamed for that, and the longer the blame is placed on something that doesn’t deserve it, the longer the focus, and effort is shifted away from the actual problem and its potential solutions. The time and words spent on such “call-outs” can be better spent, I believe, by explaining how the misconception of “smart Asians” can affect real people like you and me.

And like Cho Chang, perhaps, if we love to think about the HP world. If her classmates wondered why she wasn’t the top of her class for her year, why she wasn’t famously book-smart like Hermione Granger to win them some house points. Why did she sign up for Quidditch? Why would any Asian, never mind a tiny, fragile E. Asian girl like her, even think about touching sports? Shouldn’t she be studying? Learning advanced arithmancy even though their OWLS were still a year away?

And Cho would come back to the common room hours later, flushed with sweat and smiling, and announced that she’d made seeker.

[quensty]

I’m glad you tagged yourself via me!!!! But I have a lot of questions.

Emergency fic for clout

a list of things regarding anthony j crowley

Steve?

Wouldn’t it be knife

Music wiki

omg!! thank you so much for adding that nice part to ur post in the first place!! it was very kind, especially because i love talking abt myself. anyway, AGAIN, this got a bit long. 

“emergency fic for clout” i honestly had no idea what this was until i opened it and promptly laughed so hard i had to get a drink of water. i think i wrote this four years ago? it’s an aftg star wars au that i can’t believe i had the audacity to write considering i know jack shit abt star wars. 

The air shifts, violent, making the floor beneath Andrew’s feet formless. As it pitches sharply to the right, he grabs hold of the control panel and shoots the Commander straight through his side. 

Everything is silent except for the blaring of sirens until Kevin steps into view, face drawn pale and tight, and tells him, “Change of plan: there's someone we need on this ship.” 

Nicky splutters from the data console, stilled from maneuvering wildly around looking for the right information to stare at Kevin. “What? Are you kidding me?” Even Aaron, from his place where he’s crouching over the dead bodies and looking for a working blaster, looks up with a sneer curling his lip. 

Kevin doesn't look at them. He's staring straight at Andrew, who, under the perfumed fog clouding his mind, is not impressed. Andrew on the surface breaks into a sharp grin. “You heard what the Imp said. He’s alerted all stormtroopers of our location.” 

“Not very fun company,” says Aaron. “Considering they want us dead.” 

“Agreed,” says Nicky. “FOX almost has all the data downloaded. Two minutes tops.” 

Andrew’s grin widens, showing all his teeth. He hasn't turned away from Kevin’s stare once. “You want to live?” It is not a question that needs an answer. “The answer is no.” 

“We need a pilot.” 

“I'm looking at one.” 

“He's the best pilot in the outer worlds,” he insists, and if Andrew was anybody else, he might have been surprised. “We need him.” 

“Oh?” Interested. “Who?” 

“Nathaniel Wesninski.” 

Silence rings out for a heartbeat, all of them stunned into silence. The ship alarm keeps blaring. 

Andrew barks out a short laugh. “You mean the criminal,” he surmises. 

A pause. “Yes.” 

Andrew leans a shoulder against the control panel. Distantly, he can hear footsteps coming down the corridor, orders shouted by generals. Any second now, they’ll start firing at the iron gate Nicky has managed to lock down. How long it’ll hold is up is a roll of a dice. 

Andrew says, “He’s more trouble than he’s worth.” 

“We can't risk leaving him. If we don’t keep him, the Empire will.” 

“Andrew,” Nicky says urgently. At his feet, FOX is beeping desperately, skittish. “We should really get moving.” 

Blasters pound against the gate. 

“That sounds fun,” he says, then goes, “Nicky, I want Nathaniel Wesninski’s cell number.” 

“Andrew,” Nicky repeats, wide-eyed and incredulous, to which Andrew responds with, “Fifty seconds, Nicky, or you can find your own way back to Base.” 

He pulls something from under his robes and, with a hiss, flicks on his lightsaber. “If we get captured,” he says, this time to Kevin, pointing the rumbling, static end of the lightsaber in his direction, “you can thank your Imperial renegade.”

pls excuse the shitty writing. the last edit was made in fucking 2018. 

i was actually really excited about “a list of things regarding anthony j crowley”  when i was writing it bc it really was going to be a fic written in the form of a list. which is much harder than it sounds. i still have this hope that i might finish it one day, but basically, i wanted to tell thee iconic 6k year slow burn thru crowley’s perspective. this is abt as far as i got.

1.) Crowley’s middle name is Jabez. 

2.) He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with that, either. It’s a perfectly good name, one he thinks anyone like them—of which there are few, perhaps none—should like. Anyway, it’s much better than the name Aziraphale thought up. For all his intelligence and rebelliousness, he still lacks imagination.  

3.) This is what Crowley tells Aziraphale, anyway. The truth is that Crowley got piss drunk one week and changed his legal name to—well, it doesn’t really matter what. 

4.) In spite of the story Aziraphale likes to tell—which, depending on how much Aziraphale has had to drink, have begun in the Garden, a gentlemen’s club, the bookshop’s grand opening, Golgotha, and Paris—Crowley met Aziraphale in Heaven.

5.) More accurately, Crowley had been slouched over the railing of one of heaven’s thousands of identical balconies and was only half-listening as a Seraphim beside him went on a tirade about the location of the newest temple. Crowley, bored out of his mind, mostly stared off into the middle distance wishing he was anywhere else. 

6.) He still vividly remembers Heaven. All the calculating tones, the monotonous psalms, the never-ending polished marble. Despite the light, Heaven always felt cold. 

7.) He spotted Aziraphale by complete accident. He hardly paid attention to the steady stream of angels making their way to and fro anymore, and he can’t say why Aziraphale caught his eye when not much did, in those days. Anyway, Aziraphale was so completely unremarkable in every way. He held his wings back the same way everyone else did, his halo perfectly balanced over his head; even his smile was familiar. He was, in all possible ways, a carbon copy of all the rest, but he wore his skin like an ill-fitting glove, as if he’d never quite mastered how to make it his own. Crowley was hooked on it. 

8.) Crowley was so busy staring he didn’t notice the Seraphim gradually leaning into his space, awaiting a response to a question he hadn’t heard. She bristled when she noticed his wandering attention, so he took a stab in the dark and said yes, that was rather interesting. He watched Aziraphale walk uncomfortably between other angels and thought, Very, very interesting.

quick tangent, this was a real comment i had next to the third point

i already answered the “steve?” question, which u can find on this post!! it’s the first two excerpts of writing. 

“wouldn’t it be knife” is blank salkfjasfj. i’m so sorry!! i think it was meant to be an abigail hobbs fic, but i haven’t actually figured out how i want it to go. in other news, i’m going into witness protection. 

“music wiki” was actually meant to be a gift for my friend like ... five years ago. it’s a viktuuri musician au that i haven’t made any progress in bc ik nothing abt music. unfortunately, the writing is very bad and i can’t, in good conscience, force u to read it, but just know that all i have to show for half a decade of work is 359 words. truly awe-inspiring what i can accomplish when i put my mind to it. 

[isalabells]

can u pls give me all ur thoughts on clarissa franklin? im legit so curious!!

Let me preface this, anon, by saying that this might be the most challenging ask I’ve received to date. That’s why I let it sit there for more than 1.5 weeks while agonizing over it on every run I’ve been on in between. So hats off to you because dang!

Thoughts on characters in the DDF universe are generally a tricky thing because none of them – not even (or: especially not) our three mains – are designed to be anything but two-dimensional. This of course shouldn’t stop anyone from diving deeper into some kind of character analysis, but personally, I’ve always found it a bit off-putting alas I probably have fewer thoughts and headcanons on the folks inhabitating the Rocky Beach universe than one might think. I don’t even find it that compelling to look at from a meta perspective (where, in contrast, I could spend hours talking and writing about TKKG’s narratives. And in fact I have.) So what’s mainly of interest to me here is looking at Minninger aka the one who invented dear Clarissa, and to speculate about his motives for telling the Franklin stories the way he did.

In an attempt to look at it from an in-universe POV first: Amazing character, most likely the best female villain this series will ever see (food for thought: there haven’t been that many to begin with, and most of the ones we got were either written by BJHW or Minninger. MUCH to ponder on), personally, I find her way more fun than Hugenay, giving her two (or three, if the rumors are true) follow-up stories is more than deserved. Furthermore, her legacy is that she appeared in two absolute killer episodes, which many (rightfully) consider to be some of the best the series has to offer (so do I, but plot twist, the best for me is not Stimmen aus dem Nichts but Rufmord). 100/10, can relate to Bob Andrews bc I already grew infatuated with her and she didn’t even need to hypnotize me for that. A great cunning, devious, manipulative, stone-cold bitch ready to kill a man or two at any given point, it’s what we all need and deserve. Shouldn’t even be that big of a surprise that this role slaps so hard bc the majority of things Judy Winter does gain IconicTM status, it is the law. Ever since @charlyritter brought up the idea that Sabine Vitua would be the perfect choice to play her in a live action movie, I cannot stop thinking about this. (And ever since I mistook a picture of young Sabine Vitua with short hair for Bibiana Beglau I am slightly fixated on the idea that she’d be a great fit as well.)

  From a more sober POV: I’ve talked about this before but SadN is actually a very sloppily edited adaptation (e.g. Katharina Brauren most def was recorded separately, there are a lot of inaccuracies-that-easily-could-have-been-avoided-with-some-proper-research-and-a-capable-editor in the script etc.) AND most of it is just Minninger ripping off other stories published via EUROPA (I know none of you are aware of this bc y’all lack the refined taste to engage with TKKG, but the entirety of getting phone calls from the dead? Please listen to #82 Spuk aus dem Jenseits which got published in 1991 aka six years prior to SadN, which Minninger himself edited, and which imo is actually WAY more creepy, esp bc Wolf played a lot with elements from Hofmann’s Sandmann. While we’re at it, I might also drop that Franklin’s iconic line “Reiß Dein Maul nicht so weit auf, sonst schieb ich Dir eine Faust rein, an der Du erstickst“ also first appears, word for word, in TKKG #8 Auf der Spur der Vogeljäger. Well oops.) NEVERTHELESS I argue none of it matters in the long run bc the adaption makes it worth the while. Minninger himself is a trickster in that regard bc what he lacks in writing skills (lbr he doesn’t have any, his stories are mediocre at best) he makes up for in hedonism. As in: he mainly writes about what interests him most in a DDF setting (queer characters, middle-aged and/or old yet powerful ladies, horror vibes, scary, disturbing stuff bordering on the macabre and ludicrous) and designs his characters specifically so that he can cast all the actresses and actors he admires. (Honestly, that was actually a question I sent to him back in 2004 when his Fragebox at the rbc was still running; I wanted to know if he already knew he wanted JW to play CF, and he wholeheartedly confirmed.)

In this case, he got especially lucky bc I am firmly convinced he had no clue at all that Andreas Fröhlich and Judy Winter would play off each other so mesmerizingly. I mean, how could he have known? JW being great and killing it was not a surprise, sure, but Andreas was a far stretch away from being the hot shit he evolved into ever since. And if they hadn’t sold their two extremely unusual scenes so well… both episode and the character would have flopped, I think.

But it didn’t, and then Rufmord came along and the rest is history.

I have severe problems with Signale aus dem Jenseits ESPECIALLY bc of the way the narrative treats good ol’ Clarissa here, and I rather wish this ep had never gotten published in the first place. I don’t want to blow up this reply even further, but allow me to quote a snippet from the episode commentary I left on the rbc a while ago, as it sums up some of my troubles quite nicely:

“[Die] Wortwahl einer „Demontage“ Clarissa Franklins hat mich ins Grübeln gebracht. Vielleicht soll genau DAS die Krux der Sache sein – den Abstieg und Ruin einer Figur nachzuzeichnen, die einst bereit war, eiskalt über Leichen zu gehen und die selbst in Situationen, in denen sie auf den ersten Blick die Machtlose zu sein scheint, doch alle Fäden in der Hand hält und Menschen spielt wie Marionetten. In dem Fall wären die abgeschwächten Anleihen/Rezitationen/Referenzen an die Vorgängerfolgen natürlich geschickt (und bewusst?) gewählt und verstärken den Eindruck, dass Clarissa Franklin tief gefallen ist und mittlerweile nach jedem ihr sich bietenden Strohhalm greift (= Schmierenkomödie als Rache an drei Teenagern). Soll dies eine legitime Lesart des Textes sein, dann ist das Narrativ für mich allerdings falsch aufgebaut, weil es sich in zu vielen Nebenschauplätzen verliert.”

From the pov of my fangirl heart and all critical thinking put aside: Clarissa Franklin probably was the first character I was truly obsessed with!? In a way that I spent my entire Easter holiday break reading and listening to Rufmord 24/7. Thinking about her and her encounter with Just, Peter and Bob for hours each day. Desperately longing for more content with her. While my teenage self as evolved a bit, I’m still fond of her. So as much as I want Minninger to just let her rest, I am also hoping that his forth story featuring her only got postponed and not scratched entirely. The heart wants what the heart wants.

[alloverthegaf]

Rk1k thing bc I need more ppl to scream at: postrevolution, Connor struggles w/ mental illness & trauma plus discrimination from both sides. He decides he needs to escape it all and drops off Jericho’s radar. Everyone’s worried until one day an android who left a suicide note comes back w/ a new outlook on life. Connor found em and was able to help from his own struggles. He becomes known as the Deviant Shepherd over time, and Markus falls in love w a Connor who’s found a life worth living!

omg that sounds beautiful!!

WHOOPS I WAS GONNA WRITE LIKE 2 PARAGRAPHS OF NOT FIC AND KEPT GOING AND IT SLOWLY MORPHED SO BY THE END IT’S AN ACTUAL FIC LMAO

Connor’s sort of getting close to that point himself when he comes across this other android who really just doesn’t believe they can handle all of this anymore. Their stress is always so high they almost see the act as like a sick joke, a pre emptive self-destruct. Connor can relate.

He doesn’t expect to meet this android, he doesn’t even expect to try and talk him out of it. Later he insists it was simply his negotiation instincts coming to the forefront. But he convinces the android to wait, to stop and to talk to Connor. Just... have a conversation with him. The clinching point is when Connor finally admits that he understands. All too well. That’s what convinces the other android to give him - to give life - one more chance.

They talk. And talk, and talk, mostly about the other android’s trauma, but slowly Connor opens up about his own issues. The other android recognises Connor, knows who he is - everyone does, after the march, after the speech. It’s one of the reasons he decided to disappear, in the end. Couldn’t walk down the street without stares, whispers, at best. Hatred, vitriol, suspicion at worse. On a couple of times, violence.

The breaking point was when a group of androids trashed Hank’s house, where Connor had been staying. No one had been home at the time, not even Sumo, thank RA9, but Connor knew next time it might be different. He couldn’t allow that. He couldn��t let Hank or Sumo get hurt because of him.

So, anyway, the android recognises him, but there’s no suspicion or hate in his eyes, because a guy who talks someone out of ending their own life doesn’t seem like much of an assassin to him. They talk, and they bond, and they spend about a week together, just... Existing. Knowing that around the other, they can exist, however they need to, without judgement. Without questions.

This is only the start.

Two weeks later, the android - let’s call him Michael - goes back to his best friend’s apartment, where he’d been staying before he’d committed to taking his life. He’d wanted to do it far away from Samantha, the human woman who had been as kind to him before the revolution as she was after. He comes back, and he tells her about the android that saved his life. He doesn’t give details, understands Connor’s need for isolation and privacy right now. He later tells Markus; Markus does his best to keep tabs on androids that go missing, at least in the local area, and he’s relieved to find out Michael is home and safe.

He looks tired when he visits, which isn’t a surprise; leading a revolutoin is certainly a job Michael would never want. But he lights up when he sees him, hugs him and murmurs “I’m so glad you’re okay” like Michael is a part of his inner circle, not just some name on a list that Markus looks over every day.

Michael is honest about why he left, even though he feels ashamed. He can’t lie to Markus. He explains that he was preparing to end it, through stuttered sentences and averted eyes, and explains that another android saved him. Again, he doesn’t give specifics, but Markus is of curious.

“Who was this man? What did he look like?” Markus asks. He’s leaning forward on the couch, holding his hands tightly together. He looks intent, suddenly.

“Um - I “ Michael cannot lie to Markus. But he can’t betray Connor’s trust either. “I can’t say. I’m sorry.”

Markus frowns for a moment, but then leans back and looks away. A small smile crawls along his lips, and he nods. “It’s okay. I think I have an idea.” He focuses on Michael again. “How was he?”

“Struggling,” admits Michael. “But... I think maybe I helped him too.”

Over the next two months more and more androids start talking about the Good Samaritan, as they call him. Some are in similar situations to Michael, looking for a way to escape and being reminded of the reasons to keep fighting. Others are simply in trouble - homeless androids are quietly led to shelter, androids who fall victim to violence are defended. They talk about his kind and quiet nature, the way he looks at them with understanding instead of sympathy. They exclaim about how fast and brave he is in a fight. None of them admit to his identity. He’s garnered a loyalty he never asks for with the downtrodden, the depressed, the androids who are finding their lives just as hard, and often harder, post-revolution.

A YK500 tells Markus excitedly about how the man who helped her find her way to Jericho spent days showing her amazing coin tricks to cheer her up after being abandoned. Markus smiles, his shoulders dropping in relief.

Finally, six months after Connor disappeared, Hank calls Markus. Their boy’s home.

Markus doesn’t intend on kissing the daylights out of Connor in Hank’s living room, the moment he lays eyes on him, but he just. Can’t not, after missing him and worrying about him for so long, after hearing story after story of Connor’s compassion, his innate need to help, to do something. Hank curses and complains and walks out of the room in protest.

“Hi,” Markus says breathlessly when they finally break apart.

“Hi,” Connor says back. He looks flushed, and a little bewildered, like he hadn’t been more than happy to stick his tongue down Markus’ throat a moment ago. “Um. Is this a new greeting you’ve decided on while I’ve been gone?”

While I’ve been gone. Like he was on a holiday, off seeing the sights. Not missing and silent and giving Hank and Markus all kinds of nightmares. Markus moves his hands to the collar of Connor’s shirt (still so smartly dressed, even now, the shit) and grips tightly. Shakes Connor, just a little, just enough to make sure he gets the message. “Don’t ever do that again. Please.”

Connor has the grace to look sheepish. “You were worried.”

“Of course I was worried, you - “ Markus takes a breath, wills himself to stay calm. Figure’s it’s not a good idea to have their first fight two minutes after their first kiss. “Why, Connor? Why did you leave like that?”

Connor, lips downturn. He holds Markus’ hands in his own, gently pulls them away from his collar until they’re standing with their hands held between them. “I’m sorry. I - I had to. I was so adrift here, Markus, so - “ he looks away. “So scared. I felt like I didn’t belong. No...” he takes a moment to think and Markus stays quiet, aware of how rare it is for Connor to open up so thoroughly. “I felt like I shouldn’t exist.”

Markus makes a choked sound in his throat. Thinks of that first android Connor had talked back from the ledge. Connor smiles gently at him. “I don’t feel that way anymore. Really. I met so many others that felt so similarly to me...” he laughs, short and sharp. “Can you believe I thought that I was the only one? But no, so many people - so many androids - who needed someone else in their corner, needed someone to just. Pick them up. Hold them steady, for a moment. I... I’d never thought I could be that someone, before. It helped.” He smiles wider at Markus. It reaches his eyes this time, makes them crinkle at the corners in a way that is so rare and so, so precious.

Markus ducks in and kiss him again, because he can’t help it, because Connor looks so beautiful like this, calm and genuinely happy. “I’ll pick you up, next time you need someone,” he whispers, knowing it’s cheesy and not giving a fuck. He wants Connor to understand. “The next time you need someone to hold you steady, let me.” He looks Connor in the eyes, lets him see the care and desperation and just a hint of that something more he’s been feeling for Connor for a while now. “Please, let me.”

Connor stares back at him, and whatever he picks up from Markus’ expression forms tears in his eyes, even as he closes them and smiles again. He leans forward to rest his head on Markus’ shoulder and whispers back “okay.”

((btw Hank tracked Connor down a month in. He kept tabs on him to make sure he was okay but gave the kid the distance he needed to sort himself out))

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Hi. I need ur help. Is Dean mad at Cas, at God for making Cas "responsible for a failed mission that ended with a sad brother/kind of kid to Dean, bc he questions reality and his love for Cas ... or rather both? I'm a little bit confused after having read so much meta all at once.

Hi! I think you are confused because... it’s everything at once! I think Dean is feeling many things right now, and not all of those things have a good outlet or way to be dealt with, so they are directed somewhere else and become messy.

Dean is, at any given moment of his life since he was a child, angry at himself. That’s the inevitable result of a father that made him feel inadequate, by dropping responsibilities on his little shoulders that were too big for him and inevitably he couldn’t live up to. He has made important steps to deal with those issues--that’s the point of the scene with him saying that it wasn’t fair that he had to be mother and father to Sam--but a lifetime of being made feel inadequate don’t disappear with a snap of your fingers. Especially because it wasn’t just his father dropping huge responsibility after huge responsibility on him (remember when he literally dropped the responsibility of possibly having to kill Sam, the kid he raised as his own child, and then died?) but it was a much bigger game. God dropped the responsibility of the entire world on him over and over. Apocalypse after apocalypse, Lucifer, Eve, Leviathan, Michael, soulless Jack, but also the regular monsters, a never-ending string of situations where the responsibility for the lives of many other people, strangers and loved ones both (in fact sometimes it’s a Sophie’s choice!).

It’s not surprising that he developed feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing so big you can see them from space. The poor guy feels that he’s not good enough for anything, especially not good enough to be loved, not good enough for someone to stay with him. He feels that everyone will inevitably abandon him because why would they stick around? He’s trash. Even worse, he’s poison, he ruins everything he touches, everyone he gets close to.

The intensity of these feelings vary depending on how hard the circumstances are on his mental state, sometimes it’s better sometimes it’s worse. I think some fans expect him to “get better” in a linear fashion, but mental health does not work as a straight line; there are ups and downs, and when sometimes renews your trauma, you just fall back in the mechanisms of your trauma. It’s unreasonable to say things like “he should have learnt by now”--that’s not how trauma works. You get better when you are not actively exposed to trauma. Renewed trauma means going back.

So we have identified the first thing Dean is angry at, himself. Of course, hating yourself is very vexing on your mental health, and it is in fact healthier to transfer the anger and disappointment from yourself to someone else, as it prevent you from being crushed under the weight of self-loathing and guilt.

Then there’s the figures in position of power that have dropped the various responsibilities on Dean’s shoulders. First, John and Mary. Mary is a particular case because of course Dean never actually blamed her for dying, and even when he learnt about her deal with Azazel he knew that she was just a pawn in a cosmic-level game, and of course it’s not like she decided to make the deal and die for fun. But when Mary returned and her behavior shattered Dean’s life-long image of her, feeding his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing because it felt like he wasn’t even worth for his own mother to stay with him, that fused together with an irrational sense of abandonment that came with the loss and forever left a mark in his little four-year-old brain.

I think the scene where Dean confronted Mary at the end of the season was about this: a need to outsource the blame and self-hatred, and Mary was the figure that catalyzed so many emotions since his early childhood, love and loss and joy that was robbed away from him and such profound pain that came with her disappearance from his life, to the point that when she returned and shattered his image of her, he found himself with so many extreme emotions about her.

And now John. Alright, I’m digressing big time so I’ll keep John short, everyone and their grandmother have written essays on Dean’s relationship with John and it’s not particularly relevant here, save for the fact that John is dead and Dean has never really had the chance to confront him. Even when he temporarily came back thanks to the magic pearl, circumstances were... suspiciously too apt for Dean to approach the father figure in a positive way (I’m convinced that it was all a very precise machination by Chuck to make Dean well-disposed towards him, basically). Dean was in a high, and he was in a mental state where he did not need to make that emotional outsourcing on John. Mary and John met again, then trouble happened, that they had to say goodbye and it was highly emotional and obviously left no space for emotional outsourcing. Result, Dean has no way to really bounce all that negative stuff back on John. John was just a ghost from the past, really, and ghosts from the past don’t really serve any substantial purpose.

And now to the juicy part--Chuck. Dean started out his journey believing that God didn’t exist. His reasoning was a classic argument of atheism: a lot of terrible evil exists, and if God exists he either isn’t omnipotent (then what kind of God is he??) or doesn’t care, or he’s malevolent, and those options don’t go well with the idea of God Dean would have been exposed to as a person growing in a primarily Christian environment like the US.

Then he learns that God exists, but he doesn’t care. He’s left, and now everyone else--angels, humans, demons--is supposedly left dealing with a godless world. That doesn’t really come as a shock to Dean; for Cas it’s shocking, because he believed that God cared. For Dean, the jump is just from a non-existing God to an absent God, and that doesn’t change much for him. Furthermore, he’s not exactly foreign to the concept of shitty father figures who dump you on your own in a shitty world.

The shock comes now. For Cas, ironically, there’s no shock now, because he experienced that shock of being angry and disappointed towards God years ago. Now he makes the jump from a shitty disappointing God to... a shitty disappointing God, just in a different way.

Dean goes from a God that isn’t around, that leaves you alone dealing with the shittiness of the world... to a God that has been there all along, manipulating everything. Dean could deal with a God that is what Chuck pretended to be when he reappeared in season 11, when Chuck gave him the speech about leaving his creatures find their own way, parenting-versus-enabling; that was a painful perspective but it made sense, and Dean could accept it. But when Chuck revealed himself to be the mastermind behind everything, an actual capricious author who uses them as pawns for his entertainment... that’s a blow. A very, very big blow.

Chuck had played a very specific game on Dean. He presented himself as a father who did the right thing for his “baby”, albeit the difficult one. He explained that he realized that a hands-off parenting was healthier for his creatures, that being present in their lives wasn’t parenting but enabling... He sold Dean a picture where being an absent father does the child good. (And later had Dean briefly meet John again to feed him a romanticized impression of his figure and his relationship with his family... talk about yikes!)

Dean had fought tooth-and-nail to affirm his free will against the machinations of angels, he strongly believed in that against the idea of destiny. And Chuck presented himself as the good guy, who gave them their free will, while his bad, bad sister Amara wanted to take that away from them. And now the truth comes out. Chuck was never the hands-off parent that distanced himself for the good of his creatures. He was an author (authors lie...) who just played with them for his selfish reasons.

Dean’s own sense of what reality is has shattered. That is generally not good on a person’s mental health. So, yeah, Dean is not in a good mental place.

So Dean now is angry at God. Rightly so. But God, by definition, is not there to confront. (Dean thought he had confronted him once and God just fed him manipulative lies, so it’s not like he hopes to have a nice honest chat with him). Furthermore, Dean, Sam and Cas currently believe that Chuck has actually left the building this time. They think that Chuck’s “welcome to the end” meant that he just slapped an ending on this iteration of the story and fucked off to write another one, create another universe. They are convinced that they are actually living in a post-Chuck world, like the apocalyptic wasteland universe.

I also think that Dean hasn’t realized that Chuck’s ending isn’t really the ghostpocalypse, but also, and especially, ruining their relationships, and their mental health basically. The ghostpocalypse is just the smokescreen (c’mon, like the Winchesters would perish against a bunch of ghosts and demons from hell, been there done that) and the true ending he’s orchestrated out of pettiness and spite is breaking them, breaking their relationships. Sam loses Rowena; Jack’s death and all that jazz definitively drives Cas and Dean apart.

But let’s go back to Dean’s anger and shock and frustration. He could drive it all towards himself, and just get crushed under the weight of it all; he can’t drive it all at God, because he bailed; so he directs it towards the one person closest to him that he truly feels like an equal.

Dean has been directing anger towards Cas since Mary’s death, in my opinion, because Cas is the safest outlet for the horrifying vortex of guilt, self-loathing and abysmal self-worth that something as traumatic as losing Mary (again--remember what I said about renewed trauma not being something you learn to deal with but something that reopens wounds and possibly makes them worse?) and seeing Jack no longer himself, essentially losing him to an even more terrifying destiny than mere death, must have caused.

It’s like Dean trusts Cas so much that he subconsciously feels safe using him as an emotional outlet/scapegoat... and now that safety gets shattered again because Cas rightly puts some distance between them (as I believe it’s a healthy choice given the situation, although not dictated by the right motivations in Cas--I guess it’s something like using the wrong formula but getting the right result, because right now staying together is not healthy... like, the healthiest thing would be getting a fuckton of therapy, but that’s not in the cards I guess) but Dean’s traumatized psyche will register it as a confirmation of that lifetime-long conviction that he’s not worth to be loved, that he’s not worth for anyone to stay.

Cas’ biggest fear is that Dean won’t ask him to stay with him, Dean’s biggest fear is that Cas will leave him--ta-da, their worst fears just became true! Of course, Dean doesn’t insist Cas stays not because he doesn’t care but basically because he cares too much, and Cas leaves because he thinks Dean doesn’t care...

But let’s get back on track. Is Dean angry at Cas? Yes. Is Dean really angry at Cas? Eh. What is this anger really? It’s a defense mechanism. It’s pretty much the alternative to just shatter. It’s a survival mechanism, shattering would be really bad for his survival perspectives. So he uses a trusted, close figure as a scapegoat for what is a huge mess of emotions. (Not Sam, he goes into parental mode with Sam, it’s known, it’s safe, it works.)

Rowena’s death just adds more meat to the fire, because she meant something to Dean himself and also because Sam is truly heartbroken about it. I don’t think that Dean doesn’t understand the circumstances of Cas’ choices, but rationality here has very little grip. It’s been just a few days since Mary’s death, and not really much longer since Michael escaped and Jack sacrificed his soul, and let’s not forget that Dean has basically been in a state of severe ongoing trauma ever since Michael possessed him, tricked him into believing he was free (Chuck mirror alert!) and violated his mind repeatedly, completely manipulated his perceptions, and then pretty much destroyed his family.

Dean’s mind has been tortured by Michael and immediately next, with zero time to breathe, tortured again by Chuck’s manipulations and revelation that shattered Dean’s sense of reality--a sense of reality that had already been shaken because of Michael’s tricks, and now he just finds out that the reality he anchored himself to... is also a manipulation. There’s no reality he can anchor himself to, or at least that is how he feels right now. His psyche has suffered some heavy blows, and no speech from Cas about them being “real” can currently heal the damage. For Dean, this isn’t a matter of what Chuck has done or not; it’s just an aggravation of a state of attack his mind was already in.

This post has gotten a bit long XD I hope it could help you get a better idea of Dean’s mental state (granted that this is merely the way I see what the show is doing, no one is forced to agree with me!) and feel free to ask for any further clarification or argument!

[seyenna]

shinsou-centric fics rec list

so here are some of my favourite shinsou-centric fanfics in no specific order

You Want it Darker by Ms_Chunks https://archiveofourown.org/works/15692550

Summary: Aizawa hunts a killer and takes on a new student. He gets more than he bargained for from both.

Status: In Progress

Important Tags: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 352,187

Commentary: Murder Mystery, pretty dark, be warned. best shinsou fic hands down. also, from aizawa's pov so extra points for that. and great characters, characterisation, relationships, etc. just all around amazing pls read this everyone don't be intimidated by the length it's totally worth it and it doesn't seem so long at all while reading

 and i'm nothing like you by aloneintherain https://archiveofourown.org/works/19935958

Summary: Of all the people to have been kidnapped alongside, it had to be this person, this hero, the one person who would never blame him for the things he was forced to do.

“Don’t cry,” Midoriya says.

“Fuck you,” Hitoshi chokes out.

(When Shinsou goes grocery shopping a few weeks after transferring to Class 2A, Midoriya tags along. Because he is, for some reason, determined to be Shinsou’s friend.

Shinsou remains cold and withdrawn in the face of Midoriya’s friendliness—until they’re kidnapped by a woman with a brainwashing quirk who believes Shinsou doesn’t belong in the hero course.)

Status: completed

Important Tags: Shinsou Hitoshi & Midoriya Izuku; Kidnapping

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 9,322

Commentary: Angst, eventual Fluff

 The No-Family Club by Ms_Chunks https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385560

Summary: When Aizawa steps in to provide Shouto with an alternative, he learns some people get to choose their family. That a family can be a man, a girl, and a couple of teenagers living in an old house full of cats, but it can also be much, much more.

Or: Shouto, Shinsou, and a hot summer just bursting with possibilities.

Status: in Progress

Important Tags: Shinsou Hitoshi/Todoroki Shouto

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 39,722

Commentary: Shouto learns to exist with his new strange family and Shinsou explores who he is and who he wants to be and they both get to be teenagers and explore their identities

 Gentle Honesty by CureIcy https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070149

Summary: Shinsou continues to figure out the mysteries of friendship with the help of his new friends

Status: Completed

Important Tags: Midoriya Izuku & Shinsou Hitoshi; Shinsou Hitoshi & Todoroki Shouto; Friendship; soft

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 2,628

Commentary: this is so soft I’m melting. Part 2 of a series, probably makes more sense with the first part but it also great on it’s own. Short&Sweet

 Impossible by mustdang100 https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293294

Summary: It was really only a matter of time before Shinsou Hitoshi changed sides. But Midoriya Izuku is not very good at abandoning his friends, or even his acquaintances. Even if they’ve renounced everything he believes in.

Status: Completed

Important Tags: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku; Midoriya Izuku & Shinsou Hitoshi

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,175

Commentary: Also part of a series and only really makes sense with the first part and I love both parts but this part has an amazing scene with Aizawa so it wins

 LetShinsouPetALLTheCats2k18 by ANoGoodPigeon https://archiveofourown.org/series/917145

Rating: General Audiences

Important Tags: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi; Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic & Shinsou Hitoshi

Commentary: A series of Shinsou-centric one-shots, mainly Aizawa & Shinsou. They’re all amazing and I couldn’t choose a favourite. Shinsou is a constant mood. Contains such gems as: “Dead men can’t pet any cats at the cafe after they train.”

He flips back up and starts to stand. “It’s a miracle. I live.”

And “Sensei.” Shinsou lays his head down on his arms, bracing himself against the table. “Have you ever wanted to be buried alive under a pile of cats?”

“Yes.” The answer is immediate.

 The Power of Memes by Ms_Chunks https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965087

Summary: In which Shinsou makes a new friend, and a little extra, whether he likes it or not.

Status:  Completed

Important Tags: Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 16,002

Commentary: Just two boys, experimenting. At least that’s what Kaminari tells himself. Part of a Series but you don’t really have to have read the first one to get it

 we were made of stardust (so i wished on you) by Ibelieveinahappilyeverafter https://archiveofourown.org/works/17731235/chapters/41832128?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_251250245

Summary: "If you're looking for Midnight-sensei, she already left." Shinsou Hitoshi spoke softly, couldn't keep eye contact, and looked like he was a few seconds away from collapsing into an exhausted pile caused by copious amounts of stress.

"No. You're Shinsou Hitoshi." Shouta didn't bother to phrase it as a question, but he was curious when the kid tensed as if expecting a fight or a scolding. "Do you know who I am?"

Shinsou glanced around as if expecting a trick, the kid finally meeting his eyes for a quick moment, "You're Eraserhead." Huh. Kid knew his heroes, then. "And you're here to tell me what I'm in trouble for."

"Who says you're in trouble?" Shouta had seen Shinsou's school file and it certainly hadn't been light, but considering his quirk and background, he wouldn't be surprised if more than half of those 'fights' had been started by others and then blamed on him.

"Because you're a teacher for the hero course, sir, and the only reason for a teacher from Class 1-A to be talking to me is if I'm in trouble." What a depressing and sarcastically polite kid.

"Do you still want to be a hero?"

Status: Completed

Important Tags: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi; Shinsou Hitoshi & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 7,595

Commentary: aizawa slowly getting attached to shinsou and it's so soft and he's totally prepared to fight anyone who says that shinsou can't be a hero. Just soft and beautiful. Also: aizawa pov

 Criminal by Lila17 https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781337

Summary: Shinsou's story gets worse when you think about what the word "villain" really means.

Status: Complete

Important Tags: Shinsou Hitoshi; Bullying; Character Study

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 802

Commentary: short and not sweet at all bc it hurts. Part of the series Quirks of Society, they’re all really good!

 Hawks Needs to Stop Scaring the Shit Out of Shinsou, the Compilation by RadioMoth https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222937

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Important Tags: Hawks & Shinsou Hitoshi;

Commentary: A really strange combination of Characters but it works amazingly!!! Basically: Shinsou  likes sitting on his windowsill and Hawks scares the living daylights out of him and then they bond. shinsou can't sleep and hawks visits him and saves him from mental breakdown

 All We Do by Celestialgunfireopera https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855459

Summary: “I’m assuming some people find your humor amusing,” Todoroki said, voice dry.

 “You find my humor amusing,” Hitoshi pointed out. “When it isn’t directed at you. I’ve seen your lips twitch and everything. One day I’ll get a smile.”

Status: Completed

Important Tags: Shinsou Hitoshi/Todoroki Shouto

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 2,664

Commentary: Shinsou is hopelessly gay but way too good at the “art of hiding his emotions behind sarcasm and an amused look” and Todoroki is a very confused gay boy. short and sweet

[marshmallowgoop]

Satsuki meta anon here again, apologies, but I was reading some meta that you wrote surrounding Soichiro/Isshin and his relatively necessity to abandon both his daughters, and wanted to contribute my own thoughts on the matter, specifically around the matter of difference of the nature of how alone both of them are. You nailed it completely with Ryuko. Isshin left Ryuko alone, wounded by his severance of their closeness in her early years and making it nearly impossible to bond with others. But-

-my reading of Satsuki’s situation is one of equal isolation, if of a different kind. Soichiro introduced her to a world where she can’t even trust her own mother, usually one of the, if not the most, strongest bonds a child could have at that age. Coupled with the fact that she was likely taught early on that being a child of a family with the wealth and power meant that people would try and use her for a piece of that, and you have a recipe for a grieving child incapable of trust without major investments of time and effort and frankly, some testing. 

Soroi is in the employ of the family, paid by the family to serve Satsuki. In the beginning, while she accepted his attempts to comfort her via tea and an introduction of one of her closest friends, its very likely that she didn’t trust him right away even if she desperately wanted to bc of how closely money could play a part in that kind of trust. Yes Soichiro asked Soroi to look after her, but is that something he could have easily conveyed to her at that junction and have her believe it? I think the trust they attained by the time Satsuki went to middle school was very hard earned on Soroi’s part. 

When it comes to Nonon, the light novel confirms that she didn’t find Satsuki interesting until she was very deeply troubled, a change that Satsuki very likely noticed the difference in her interest beyond that of two children of powerful families associating together. They may have been friends since preschool, but arguably Satsuki did not trust her until Nonon followed her away from a school that suited Nonon’s tastes and into a rougher one. Iori likely suffered from being placed in a similar boat as Soroi, not to be trusted for the sake of his uncle’s employment until proof otherwise (obviously earned as well, considering just how central Iori was to her plans and inner circle). 

While Ryuko was utterly alone because of a broken ability to bond from separation anxiety turned to abandonment issues, Satsuki found herself alone among others who might very well sell her out for power or money, regardless of their true intentions. Both are very isolating situations. And I’d argue that trusting people with plans and secrets and perhaps your life are markedly different than fully entrusting your heart to them, which has been played up by the anime as a large difference between Ryuko and Satsuki. Where Ryuko opens her heart to Mako and Senketsu, Satsuki’s heart remains closed still until far later.

In fact, because of this, Ragyo saying ‘give your heart over to me’ (Netflix subs, I think I’ve seen it translated as ‘entrust your heart to me’ as well) has always stood out to me as understanding Satsuki doesn’t trust like that, which is what separates her from Nui and Rei. 

Apologies for the length of this, and that I keep doing this your inbox, but this interpretation has been sitting inside of me since 2014. 

Oh my goodness, Anon!

I hope this doesn’t come off wrong, but I think you really ought to be posting these analyses under your own name. You deserve credit for your excellent work! As much as I’m thrilled that someone would want to discuss these topics at such length with me—seriously, you do not have to apologize at all for engaging with my content so much because that is literally my goal—I feel that you should also be getting recognition for what you do. I know how much time and effort goes into writing stuff like this.

Of course, I do understand that there are valid reasons to wish to be anonymous. I just want to say that these are good, detailed posts that could stand very well on their own, without any input from me.

Regarding my input here, these asks remind me of a line from “KILL la KILL Digest -Naked Memories by Aikuro Mikisugi-,” a quick recap “episode” that was included as a DVD/Blu-ray extra. Narrated by Aikuro, the short briefly explains the entire plot of Kill la Kill and then sets up the OVA with its final lines: “As for Satsuki Kiryuin, who led such an intense life ever since she could remember, totally alone… What kind of clothes will she choose to wear from now on? That’s the one thing that intrigues me.”

As you might expect, I always disagreed with the sentiment of Satsuki being “totally alone.” In the tags of one post, I even wrote, in response, “Nah man you’re thinking of Ryuko” and, “Satsuki had Soroi and Shiro and her Elite Four.” As I argued in the essay that you’re probably referring to, Isshin/Soichiro left Ryuko alone—and drj2008 even opened me up to the idea that he perhaps very purposely created and utilized Ryuko’s loneliness so that she would be so desperate for love that she’d bond more easily with Senketsu—but Isshin/Soichiro did at least assure that Satsuki would always have someone by her side when he told Soroi to look after her.

And I think that’s the key point of difference here. I’d never before considered that Soroi would need to gain Satsuki’s trust because I assumed he had it from the very start. My interpretation was that Soroi had to be a dear, close friend of Soichiro for Soichiro to ever ask him to look after Satsuki, and Satsuki—who adored her father, arguably to a troubling degree—wouldn’t question her father’s judgment. From the moment Soroi and Satsuki met, I believed that she would know, just by understanding Soroi’s relation to her father, that Soroi was someone to be trusted.

But I see now that my reading makes a lot of assumptions. Who knows when exactly Soroi told Satsuki that Soichiro had asked him to look after her? Satsuki might have been informed that Soroi was her father’s choice in some way (which is… actually quite curious, honestly), and Soroi might have told her that he knew everything early on, but you’re right—we don’t really know. I think your reading is very fair.

Concerning Nonon, I agree completely. I found Nonon’s part in the light novel to be absolutely tragic. Talking about the story, I once said, “It just shows how Satsuki did not trust Nonon at all.” Nonon was head-over-heels infatuated with Satsuki, but Satsuki didn’t even bother to tell Nonon when she was moving schools. That’s the exact opposite of trust.

I swear I don’t normally talk about my fanfiction in my essays as much as I have been in these responses, but I explored Satsuki and Nonon’s dynamic in a short Satsunon Roman Empire AU. In my piece, Nonon learns that Satsuki is going away by hearing some chatter, and to prove to Satsuki that she’s worth trusting, she runs to Satsuki before Satsuki leaves, declaring that she’s coming with no matter what. At the end of the fic—and this is the relevant part here—Satsuki meets with Nonon again after the world has been saved, and Satsuki finally opens her heart up, noting that she wants Nonon by her side, as a friend and equal, and she’s done with being treated as a goddess to be worshipped.

And I think that’s a big thing you’re touching on here, Anon. Satsuki may have had all these people around her, but many of them considered her to be something more than human. And that is lonely. It’s difficult to reveal your insecurities and doubts and fears to someone who sees you as a god. After all, they’re probably not going to listen; they think you’re “above” all that. Satsuki was very much isolated, just like Ryuko.

However, I still disagree with Aikuro’s assertion that Satsuki was “totally alone,” mainly due to Soroi. Regardless of how long Satsuki took to open up to Soroi, I think she most certainly had trusted him with her heart at least by the events of the series. The moment where the two converse about Soroi’s tea in episode 17 is probably the most telling example within the show itself; Satsuki smiles genuinely for Soroi and even reveals her hidden emotions, readily admitting that she may have been more compassionate in the past.

I can’t definitively say how much Satsuki let Shiro or the Elite Four in, but Soroi? There is complete and total trust here. And while I dislike comparing Soroi to Senketsu because I feel this too easily lends itself to the interpretation that Senketsu is a father figure to Ryuko (which is my absolute least favorite reading of Kill la Kill and one that I consider to be a complete and total misreading of the text #PleaseStopSenketsuIsRyuko’sDadTheories2k19), I do have to admit that Soroi is, for the majority of the anime, the one person whom Satsuki seems to truly be herself with, just as Senketsu is for Ryuko. 

Concerning the episode 17 scene mentioned above, I think it’s also pretty telling that Satsuki’s moment with Soroi occurs just after an intimate conversation between Ryuko and Senketsu that the script even emphasizes as a heart-to-heart that Ryuko deliberately wanted to have with Senketsu and Senketsu alone. Sure, I’ve argued in the past that the real connection between the scenes comes from Ryuko’s later chat with Aikuro and the fact that both Aikuro and Satsuki are discussing Soichiro/Isshin, but it’s also true that both Ryuko and Satsuki have very vulnerable, humanizing moments here. Soroi knows Satsuki’s heart, and she reveals it to him, just as Ryuko (quite literally!) shares her heart with Senketsu.

Of course, I think it’s clear that Ryuko’s relationship with Senketsu is one among peers while Soroi takes on a fatherly role for Satsuki in the place of Soichiro, but Soroi is still someone whom Satsuki trusts with her whole heart and soul. As pointed out, it may very well be true that Satsuki didn’t have that kind of trust in Soroi immediately, but I figure it can’t have taken too terribly long for the relationship between them to become close. After all, as noted in the aforementioned episode 17 scene, even young Satsuki smiled for Soroi when she had stopped smiling at school. Satsuki wasn’t being genuine, yes, but she was still breaking her hard guise for Soroi, and 18-year-old Satsuki is even surprised that she wasn’t honest back then, implying that she feels they’ve been as close as they are since practically the beginning.

I know this got terribly long, but I don’t at all disagree that Satsuki had also been subjected to an isolating situation. It is lonesome to feel, as outlined in an early advertisement introducing Satsuki’s character, that “humans are clothes-wearing pigs” whom she must “dominate,” “rule over,” and “destroy,” all while “relying on no one.” It is awful to believe that you have to do everything all alone, without sharing your true self with anyone.

And it’s sad, too! Satsuki’s struggles to truly trust others lead her to inadvertently hurt the people she cares about, and there’s something especially tragic about how Satsuki used and manipulated her own sister—whom Satsuki was fighting for all along!—rather than tell the girl the truth and trust her. As I’ve written in the past, “While Satsuki is not truly against Ryuko, her plan prevents them from being close. The thought of Satsuki fills Ryuko with hatred… when they could have been allies and friends. Satsuki’s tired, sad frown as Ryuko returns to normal [after going berserk in episode 12], juxtaposed with the Mankanshoku family’s shock and Nui’s bemusement, does well in hinting that maybe Satsuki wishes she had Mako’s power herself… and she’s sorry that she doesn’t.”

But more than all this, even Ryuko points out how alone Satsuki is after fighting Satsuki to a draw in episode 15. Ryuko only gets as far as she does by putting her complete and utter faith in Senketsu—and notably here, she follows through with his strategy even without knowing exactly what he intends to do—and she recognizes that Satsuki… doesn’t bond like that.

In pushing a point like this, I think the show definitely wants viewers to notice that Satsuki is stuck in a hard, isolating situation where she feels she can’t entrust her heart to anyone.

But I think the show also wants viewers to notice that Satsuki is more than capable of loving and trusting in the same way that Ryuko does. Ryuko doesn’t have a clue about someone like Soroi when she accuses Satsuki of being by herself, and as I’ve emphasized all throughout this monster of a post, I wholeheartedly believe that at least Soroi had fully earned Satsuki’s trust, even if it took a moment. Satsuki just about always had someone she felt safe with, whereas Ryuko… lost all that when her father abandoned her and didn’t find it again until she met the Mankanshokus and Senketsu. There’s a reason that one of Ryuko’s defining features is her loneliness, pointed out in her character introduction with the line, “Ever since I could remember, I was alone,” in her (and Senketsu’s) theme song “Before my body is dry” with lines like, “But I’m all alone,” and, “Don’t wanna be all alone,” in her fantasy world in episodes 20-21, and even by the cast, such as when the Mankanshokus note that Ryuko has to be super lonely to talk to her clothes or when even Ragyo tells Satsuki to go join her “lonely little sister” in death.

Ryuko gets a lot of heat for not being as strong as Satsuki upon learning her true origins, but I argue that you can’t really blame her. Even if Satsuki closed off her heart to most people, she undoubtedly grew up with a support system that Ryuko did not have until practically adulthood. Satsuki manages to keep her head up and carry on not only because of her immeasurable resolve and ambition, but also because she has a lifetime of love and support. Satsuki is not as alone as Ryuko claims (and I’d really like the Satsuki-centric Kill la Kill the Game: IF to elaborate on Ryuko understanding as much), and I feel that Soroi is genuinely an unsung hero of Kill la Kill. Could Satsuki have been nearly as strong without his influence?

I guess this is maybe a bit off topic, though.

In any case, I definitely agree that Satsuki struggled to open her heart to others, and I definitely agree that this is a hard, sad, awful place to be in. Part of what makes Satsuki’s team-up with Senketsu near the end of the series so sweet to me is that it is here that Satsuki really begins to open up. She doesn’t look down on Senketsu, she acknowledges his feelings, and in a cut moment from the script, she even outright tells him to wear her, thereby fully and completely trusting him to work with her and save Ryuko. Senketsu noting that his and Satsuki’s “hearts are as one” in episode 21 is one of the most heartwarming things in the entire anime when you consider everything that Satsuki has gone through. She’s been afraid to trust and afraid to show her true self to anyone, and yet… to save her sister, she opens up her heart to someone she had once considered evil and incapable of love.

And after this? Satsuki, despite saying in her introduction that she will be “bowing down to no one,” bows down to Ryuko.

And she smiles openly.

She laughs.

Satsuki was absolutely stuck in this lonesome, isolating position. But just like Ryuko, she gets out of it—and just like Ryuko, it’s so incredibly, incredibly sweet that she does.

[steviemae]

babysitter // sp - pt.11

babysitter masterlist.

author’s note: just wanted to say first, that i gave y/n’s father a last name instead of putting y/l/n. to clarify, Tessa and y/n’s father are half siblings so to make things easier, Tessa will have y/l/n and Taylor is the last name of the readers father. in the wattpad story, i gave the character a name instead of using a reader insert but kept it a reader insert for tumblr bc that’s what a lot  of you wanted. so to make things less confusing, i wanted to let you know before you started reading! enjoy (:

During lunch you were able to sneak away from Sweet Pea and meet Betty in the Blue and Gold. She was already there when you walked in, nose stuck in her laptop as she scrolled through whatever she had looked up.

“Oh good, you’re here. Okay, so i started with your mom. I found absolutely nothing on her. No obituary, no public records from being arrested. It’s like she never existed.” she said. You looked over her shoulder as she scrolled.

“What about my dad?” You asked bringing a chair over to sit next to her.

“He was a Serpent, that’s for sure. He also has a pretty hefty track record. No drugs or theft though. All fights he’s been in and gotten arrested for; the usual Serpent track record. This is interesting though, the death date on his obituary isn’t the date you told me.” She pointed at the date on the paper. A completely different date than what you have set in your brain as the anniversary of your parent’s death. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“I can’t find anything that states how either of them died. But i think i might know who we can ask. Meet me at the Register after your detention is over.” You gave her a nod and gathered everything up when you heard the bell signal that lunch was over. Shoving the files into your bag as you walked into the hallway you bumped into someone. You looked up to apologize, “Oh sorry, Principal Weatherbee.”

“Ms. y/l/n. You skipped detention yesterday. Might i ask why?” He gave you a stern look.

“I - um - my aunt called me. Someone destroyed my car.” You technically weren’t lying. Someone did in fact destroy your car. You pulled out your phone to show him pictures, “i’ll stay late tomorrow to make up for it. I just needed to go get my car taken care of.” You explained.

“If you show up for detention today, i’ll let it slide. I know things have been difficult for you lately and i hope it has nothing to do with those thugs you’ve been running around with. I don’t mind cutting you some slack seeing as you’ve never been in my office for anything worth reprimanding. Don’t make the same mistake twice, Ms. y/l/n.” and with that he walked away.

--

In detention you pulled out your laptop to finish your digging that you and Betty started at lunch. You deciding to look up Johnathan and see what dirt you could find. Scrolling through the endless reports of violence from the many fights he’s been arrested for, you decided that you probably weren’t going to find much. You looked up your mother again in hopes of finding something, but came up short. Betty was right, it’s like she wasn’t even real.

“Ms. y/l/n? What are you doing in detention?” you looked up and saw Mr. Anderson. He was an older gentleman and taught English here. Turns out he’s also the one who monitors detention.

“I punched Reggie Mantle in the mouth.” You said nonchalantly.

“I’m sure he deserved it. Get out of here. I’ll tell Principal Weatherbee you finished out your time in detention. Just don’t let me catch you in here again, young lady.” He said. Wow, being an honor roll student who never gets in trouble is really paying off.

Sweet Pea had text you earlier telling you to call him when your detention was over and he’d come get you. You told him not to worry about it, that Betty and her mom asked you to help with the Register so they were picking you up. He was annoyed but said he’d be at the Wyrm. You opened the door to the Register and the bell dinged making Betty look up from whatever she was looking at on the desk.

“You’re here earlier than expected.”

“Thank god for Mr. Anderson.” you said jokingly making prayer hands and raising them to the sky while laughing.

“Alright, we have to make a pit stop at the bank before we go to the morgue.”

“The morgue? Betty why are we going where they keep dead people?”

“Because where there are dead people, there are autopsy reports. And finding your dad’s autopsy report will tell us where and how he died. Same for your mom.” She said like it was obvious. You let out a long drawn out oh finally catching onto what she was saying, “But why do we need to stop at the bank?” You asked confused.

“If we want him to give us information we need money. It’ll keep him quiet.” She explained.

“Lead the way, Penny Brown.” You said making Betty look at you with a confused looked.

“Penny Brown? The blonde with pigtails from the Inspector Gadget show? I was going to say Nancy Drew, but that’s who Veronica jokes you are all the time and i wanted to be different.” You said sheepishly.

“Out the door,” she said shooing you but letting out a slight laugh at your stupid analogy.

--

“Small bills, right?” Betty asked handing over the envelope. He took the envelope checking that it was all there and nodding.

“What can i help you girls with?” he asked.

“We need to look in your records for anything in the year 2006.” Betty answered. The old man motioned for you to follow him and walked you into a storage room with filing cabinets lining the walls and a small desk sitting in the middle. Anything from 2000-now is in this cabinet. Happy snooping.” He said walking out of the room leaving you two to look through everything.

“Well that was easy.” you mumbled. Yout walked over to the file cabinet he said was the one you would need, “Of course the old man wouldn’t have anything organized.” you said rolling your eyes. You flicked through the top drawer while Betty sat on the floor and flicked through the bottom.

“This might take a while.” Betty said closing the drawer she went through.

“Do think the date on the obituary is wrong?” Betty asked.

“I’m not sure. Neither one of them were buried, Tess told me they wanted to be cremated. Johnny said the gang got together and had some kind of ash spreading memorial for the both of them. I only have what Johnny and Tess told me to go by.”

“We could always search the cemetery. Maybe they were buried. They’ve lied to you this long about how and when they died, who’s to say they didn’t lie about burying them too.” Better stated. You pondered for a second realizing that she was right.

“Wait, what’s your dad’s full name again?” She asked.

“Johnathan Daniel Taylor.”

“Never trust a man with three first names.” She said pulling out a file.

“Johnny’s named after him and with all these lies, that statement couldn't be any more true. Did you find it?” She gave you a nod walking over to the desk.

“He was beaten and stabbed pretty badly. He bled out before the ambulance got there. It says that his Serpent tattoo was sliced off.” She paused and looked at you.

“What?” You asked moving closer to look at the file. Betty flipped through the photos and you stopped her, something catching your eye.

“I don’t know. A ‘Q’ maybe.” She said staring at the letter carved into your father’s arm.

“Take pictures of all of this so we can print it out at my house. I’m going to look for my moms again. It has to be in here somewhere.”

“Did she even take your dad’s last name when they got married?”

“I just assumed she did. To be honest, i never saw any wedding pictures.”

“Do you have any idea what her maiden name might’ve been?” Betty asked. You shook your head no, closing the drawer with a loud slam.

“Why can’t we find anything on her for fucks sake.”

“I don’t know, y/n. i wish i could find something to ease your stress.” She walked over to you and hugged you as your angry tears started to fall.

“Maybe i can use all of what we found on my dad as leverage to get information about my mom. I can’t just go in and ask someone at the Wyrm what her last name was. They’d tell Johnny.” you pulled away from Betty and wiped your face, “let’s to go.” You thanked the old man as you walked out to Betty’s car.

“There’s no way you have connections at the Sheriff’s station do you?” You asked Betty hopefully.

“None. We could ask Keller if he has any info but that would risk Kev finding out. We could go talk to Veronica. Her dad is friends with Sheriff Minetta.” She said.

“I’m not sure i want to get mixed up with the Lodge’s. I love Ronnie, but asking her dad to do this will result in me owing him a favor and i don’t want to owe that man anything.” You said. Betty nodded understandingly.

“Can you take me to the Wyrm? My car is still in the shop and i told Sweet Pea i’d be there when i finished helping you and your mom.”

--

Honestly without a friend like Betty, you probably wouldn’t have found out half as much as you did today. She was god’s gift to solving mysteries. When the two of you walked into the Wyrm, the gang was in the middle of a meeting. Jughead and Sweet Pea’s eyes met yours and they rushed over to you.

“Both of you need to get home now.” Jughead said.

“What? Why? What’s going on?” Betty asked concerned.

“Fangs is getting out and they’re rioting. I can’t let anything happen to you but i need to make sure Fangs doesn’t get ripped to pieces. For the love of god, princess, go home and stay there.” Pea pleaded. You cupped his cheek to calm his nerves. He was terrified that something was going to happen to his best friend and with you running around town, he didn’t want to worry about something happening to you,“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll stay at y/n’s until everything clears up.” Betty told Jug, looking at you to see if that was okay.

“I can meet you at y/n’s house.” Jughead asked, “Keep each other safe.” You and Betty nodded and hugged your significant other’s. Pea gave you a loving kiss on your lips before kissing your forehead and telling you to be safe.

Betty drove through southside and everything seemed fine. Normal. But the second you guys crossed over to the northside, it was pure chaos. Trash cans on fire. People running amuck, angrily waving picket signs around.

“Oh my god.” You whispered looking over at Betty who shared the same shocked and slightly scared expression. Betty cautiously drove through the crowds of people trying to safely get the two of you to your house. When she pulled into your driveway the both of you booked it to your front door.

“Baby? Is that you?” Tessa yelled through the house sounding a little scared herself.

“Yeah, it’s me and Betty!” you called back walking into the living room to find her watching the news to keep updated on everything that’s happening. She rushed to you and hugged you tightly, “Thank god. I was hoping you weren’t going to the station to get Fangs. I know he’s your friend but your safety means more to me.” She said.

“I’m fine. I’m not leaving the rest of the night. Jughead’s coming to pick up Betty later and Sweets will be here soon too.” You told her. You lead Betty upstairs to your room and pulled out everything you had from today. You handed Betty your laptop so she could pull up all the photos she took on her phone using icloud and print them out.

“How are we going to get into the police station to find the reports for that night?” She asked and you sat on your bed looking through everything.

“I don’t know. I’d say with how distracted the police are, right now would be a good time but that would risk us getting caught by Juggie and Sweet Pea. If either of them found out, they’d tell Johnny and this whole thing would be over. Do you think we could get hospital records too? Surely there has to be some report from the ambulance. Maybe someone at the hospital can give me information on my mom since we can’t find anything.”

“We can always go there tomorrow. I doubt with everything going on there going to have school.” You’re phone started ringing catching both yours and Betty’s attention. Reaching for your bag, you grabbed your phone out, “It’s Archie.” Sliding your thumb across the screen to answer the phone, “Hello?”

“y/n. You have to get to the school now. Sweet Pea is on a rampage. He’s trashing the whole place.” His voice was rushed and urgent.

“What happened, Archie?”

“Fangs was shot. Sweet Pea and the other Serpents think it was Reggie, but i promise it wasn’t. Mrs. Klump shot him and she’s at the station now. Just get here and calm him down before he does something even more stupid.” He hung up.

“Pea is trashing the school. Fangs got shot. It was Mrs. Klump but the Serpents think it was Reggie. We have to go.” You guys rushed to put everything away and hide it in your closet so your aunt wouldn’t find it before running down the stairs. You ran past your aunt ignoring her calls for you not to leave, that it was too dangerous.

Betty drove to the school as fast as she could trying not to hit all of the angry idiots running through the streets. When she pulled up the front of the school you hopped out, “Go home. I’ll be with Sweet Pea so i’ll be fine. Text me when you get home.”

“Same to you.” with that she drove off. You turned and ran into the school. It wasn’t hard to find Sweet Pea. Him and other Serpents were in the main hallway trashing everything.

“Sweet Pea!” You yelled seeing him walk down the steps slashing the canvas painting of the school that hung on the wall.

“Get the hell out of here, y/n.” he growled.

“I’m not going anywhere until you calm down and come with me.” You demanded.

“Serpents! Stop!” you heard Archie yell.

“Great” you mumbled to yourself knowing this was only going to fire Sweet Pea up even more.

“Well, fellas, looks like we found some bulldog’s to put down.” he pushed past you and walked to the middle of the hallway meeting Archie, Moose and Kevin halfway. Sweet Pea’s voice didn’t sound like him. It was like a whole other person took over and it scared you a little.

“Sweet Pea, i swear, Reggie didn’t shoot Fangs.” Archie reasoned.

“Bull. i saw Mantle with a gun!” Sweet Pea spat.

“Then you also saw me tackle him before he got a shot off! It was Midge’s mom! She’s down at the station.” Archie tried so hard to reason with Sweet Pea. To get not only him, but you out of the school and home.

“Yeah and Fangs is still clinging to life!” Sweet Pea yelled making you jump slightly, “And whether it was Reggie or Mrs. Klump who pulled the trigger, a Northsider put him there.” He walked over to a trash can and grabbed it, “You took our friend, our land. You’ll take everything if we give you the chance. So now you get to watch as we burn your school to the ground.” He dumped the trash onto the floor and chucked the trash can into the trophy case, right where you were standing, making the glass shatter all over the place. You jumped out of the way letting out a scream. Sweet Pea looked at you, his face softening realizing he almost hit you, “y/n, i’m so sorry, i-” he was cut off by Principal Weatherbee slamming the doors opened, “What the hell do you boys think you’re doing to my school.” before anyone could say anything you ran out of the school, ignoring Sweet Pea who was running after you.

“y/n, stop. Please.” he begged. No matter how angry he was at the world right now, he pushed it aside knowing that he fucked up and let it get too far. He almost hurt you and fixing that was more important.

“y/n, god dammit. Stop running.” he finally caught up to you and grabbed your arm tightly but not so tight that he hurt you. He spun you around to face him.

“Look at me, please.” his voice was full of regret and hurt and his eyes filled with sorrow. You shook your head. You wanted to be angry at him and if you looked into his deep amber eyes, you weren’t going to be able to stay mad at him.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were standing there. I wouldn’t have done that had i known you moved from the stairs.”

“You were too pissed to pay any attention.” You snapped at him. The conversation was cut short when Jughead showed up, wrangling all of the young Serpents to the Wyrm.

--

“I can’t just sit here!” Sweet Pea yelled.

“You don’t have a choice, Sweet Pea, you’re staying put.” Jughead said slamming him into the wall behind him. You sat at the bar, far away from the angry Serpents that surrounded one of the pool tables.

“You said it yourself, the Ghoulies are back! We have to deal with them.” He spat.

“As soon as my dad gets back-”

“Oh, so you’re not our leader all of a sudden. Oh no, that’s right, you’re just the guy who got Fangs shot!”

“Watch it.” Jughead spat at your boyfriend.

“And now Fangs might die! And the Ghoulies are out for our blood because of a drag race you started.” Sweet Pea continued shoving Jughead’s chest.

“An hour. That’s all i’m asking for Sweet Pea.” Jughead negotiated, “In the meantime, why don’t you go make sure your girl is okay. The Ghoulies and the black hood are after her too y’know.” Sweet Pea ignored Jughead as he turned and punched the wall he was shoved up against just moments ago and walked to the back of the bar. Far from where you sat with Toni.

“Hey, you okay?” She asked placing her hand on the hand that was sat in your lap. Your other playing with your straw. You nodded your head, “Yeah, just shook up, i guess.” you told her, shrugging your shoulders.

“What happened?”

“Sweets threw a trash can at my head without realizing i was standing there. And with all this stuff going on right now, i just don’t know what to do.” She nodded giving your hand a squeeze.

“Can you take me home? I’d ask Pea but he’s thinking with his anger right now and i don’t want to deal with all that.” Toni told you to wait at your seat while she went to get her jacket and keys from behind the bar. When she came back the two of you left, going unnoticed.

tag list: @dontaskshhhhh​ @riverdale-enthusiastt-backup​ @reggiefogarty​ @constantly-sleepy​ @wolfpackcreative​ @britty443​ @live-love-bailar​ @princessleah129​ @southsidehufflepuff​ @cuddlememerrick​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @hoeforshows​ @dolansbeanies​ @tinybeta​ @orangepegacorn-blog​ @misskarynie​ @leeleegrace​ @irishfangirlxo​ @vececev​ @aframeofbones​ @truepyromaniac​ @alysweets​ @kassidykline13​ @demigodofthesun​ @emobabygirlsworld​ @everheart12​ @the-greatt-perhaps​ @prettymuchboodup @fandomtrash713 @chaarrlieeeeee @alexparrsih @rissamonique97 @asstrobby @poolpartyingwithjaws @irreplaceable-spacexual @nepriaa @steph-fowlie @southsidejournal @eminem-owns-my-asshole @hesitvte @xdsockmonkey @warsintothestars @likelystupid @kay-jordan @hereforthismoment @obsessivebisexuallover @hereforthismoment @destialpal @forever-the-broken @blueeyedbesson @euphoricmads @parker-co16 @i-lost-my-shoe555 @domovelasco @genius2050

[moved-to--mysticandskepticmuses]

 beneath the cut is a copy paste version of harley’s timeline as i’ve sorted for this blog and my rp purposes - it is super choppy and unfinished, it was delivered over discord while i was doing like five other things and brain dead; this is just a placeholder of it until i can write up something more cohesive / established.

she just didn’t want, didn’t need any reminders of the way things had been before her father had been creamed by one of many fat cats in their expensive cars and their diamond pink rings.  wrong place, wrong time, her ASS.  she’d never been any under delusions her father had been a saint.  what she’d found when cleaning and packing to move from one shit hole to another had done nothing but clarify that some people in this world just had it coming.  SHE WANTED TO THINK SHE WAS DITCHING THE BOARD GAMES, THE BARBIES, THE WHATEVER ELSE HE’D GIVEN HER BECAUSE SHE DIDN’T WANT TO KEEP THINGS BOUGHT WITH DIRTY MONEY…THE TRUTH WAS SHE JUST DIDN’T WANT ANYTHING AT ALL THAT WOULD REMIND HER OF THE FACT THAT HE’D BE MISSING FROM THIS YEAR’S CHRISTMAS DINNER.  AND EVERY ONE AFTER.

mmmhmokay so, she was a gymnast, like, super super super good, she was actually on the team to go to the olympics like a year or two after that too ugh im sorry all of this is going to be so fucking sporadic my brain is a mess

okay let me roll this back a pace

\so she grew up in a mostly normal two parent decent white collar life  her mom was kind of distant and off putting but eh  that's just the way it washer dad was an accountant / worked for the mob etc though she didn't find that out til later / it was mostly only suspicions no hard proof etc.they weren't rich they weren't poor she didn't have the best shit but she didn't go hungry either etc she did gymnastics and ballet and track and such she was really really good at gymnastics that ws where most of the free money and time went then her dad gets killed in a hit and run when she's like 12 ish her mom goes super stiff and just basically retreats from life as a whole, she gets super short tempered and any warmth there was just kinda fizzles out, she starts putting more and more pressure on harleen they don't have a nest egg, the mom didn't work, now she has to have an office job, they move to a shitty apartment in the wrong side of town, things are hard and rough and gritty at 14/15 harleen ends up on the team for the olympic gymnastics and blows out her right knee in the second event of the competition

needless to say she's a wreck and she's devastated and there goes everything she's ever worked for meanwhile her mom loses her shit and is like how am i supposed to pay for this how are we supposed to survive now because that was supposed to be their golden ticket so harleen kinda just has an inner mental breakdown and shuts down but just acts like it's no big deal its fine and just kind of self isolates and pushes herself with her recovery and therapy and ends up causing more damage in the long run but she wants to get better faster // which is all really moot because she's never going to be back to that level of competitiveness again and definitely not w/in that limited time frame that is the peak for gymanstics aka she was borderline too old by the time she made it to the olympics the first time so she pretty much ends up just having to rely on herself to take care of herself from that point on because her mom just basically likes to pretend she doesn't exist she throws herself into her schoolwork which -- she was always smart and liked books and school anyway but she really just sort of skimmed along with bare minimum because she was throwing herself into her gymnastics for so long she ends up graduating near the top of her high school class and between her gpa and her 'personal triumph / recovery' story whatever she ends up getting scholarships and grants for college she's always been very hyper sensitive / needy when it came to attention and praise / rewards she always had a lot of trouble with self-worth / needed external validation if she wasn't the best, or at the top of whatever she was doing, she doesn't feel like she's doing good enough / she's always always pushing herself

she finishes her degree early bc she just works her fucking ass off and ends up interning during her doctorate at arkham there's a lot of other misc shit in there of course i mean she has trouble with relationships she needs too much validation and she has too high of expectations for realistic anything she also keeps people at arms length bc she knows they're going to leave / end up disappointing her / end up being disappointed in her she's very obsessive / very orderly and proper with her life everything has its place she files her reports, everything is on schedule or ahead of it, everything is neat and clean, folded, put away, organized, so on because the more she can control it all the better she feels

like everything in her apartment is white or black everything is in cubbies and boxesher cabinet doors are glass etc. etc.neat, organized, tidy very sleek and modern her books are organized by size i mean just like epitome of obsessive she has schedules for everything she schedules time for reading and for her baths and studying and cooking and eating and she schedules the time she has to go out and socialize and and she's super fucking smart and she's really good at her job too, like, in the comics it's indicated that she successfully ( i mean as much as anybody can ever successfully treat) treats / rehabilitates two face and a couple others of the super whacked out bad guys -- at least temporarily -- during her time with them at arkham etc

SO then enters the joker and ???????he's literally the epitome of everything she isn't / everything she can't stand in anyone else ever?i mean he's literally chaos personified ok but he's this MYSTERY and he's chaotic and he's charming and he's enigmatic and he's SO FUCKING SMART even when he's trying to dumb himself down for the fun of it and he's just ? he's this huge fucking puzzle

and she becomes so obsessed with trying to figure it out trying to figure him outhow he works what made him this way who he is and he's so slippery and she gets so frustrated because what's real? what isn't? what's a game? what part is truth and what is lies?and she wants to figure him out / she wants to fix it / she wants to unravel it all and put it all back together

but he's just this tangled web of things that drive her crazy and it hits her obsessiveness so hard and he's so good at manipulation and playing people and he's so good at reading people and using people so he just knows how to push her buttons BUT this all ties back in because in the comics etc you remember that line from the blurb about the fat cats with their diamond pinky rings etc ?

at some point while he's luring her in etc.they're talking about things and i have always headcanoned that he did a lot of push and pull like hannibal lecter did with clarice like i'll show you mine if you show me yours type thing so he ends up learning stuff about her along the way too and one of their sessions, i figure it would be not too long before he convinces her to help him escape he's got a present for her too and it's the mob boss' pinky finger w/ the diamond ring, in the guy's embroidered handkerchief the one that killed her dad that he had killed or at least that's the implication

so yeah it's a really long explanation but that's the connection between that first blurb and the whole point of it being yeah he gives her the guy's pinky i headcanon that she wears that ring on her middle finger or thumb pretty much all the time after he's finally done with making her bonkers