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true-blue-megamind · 3 years

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FAN THEORY SUPPOSITION SUNDAY: The Warden

SPOILER WARNING! It’s still a thing, and, if you haven’t yet, you still need to watch Megamind. (If you have seen it already, however, you need to see it again. Because it’s awesome.)

Yes, yes, the post is three days late this time. Real life has to take priority and such. So sue me. (Don’t really do that. LOL!)

For that same reason—or more accurately because this week has exhausted me—I will attempt to make this post shorter than usual. We’ll see how that goes. My money is on “not well.” LOL.

Anyway, today we’re going to look at a subject that often divides the Megamind fandom: the Warden and his relationship with Megamind. There are several fan theories—I mean, suppositions—surrounding this, but I’m going to be focusing on a few of the main ones.

The first of these is that the Warden was actually a father figure to Megamind when he was young, allowing him to be raised in jail not out of cruelty or disinterest, but because it was the only way to keep him safe from shadowy government agencies that otherwise would have performed all sorts of experiments on the blue alien. This both accounts for why a child would be allowed to grow up in what is clearly a high-security prison for dangerous adult criminals—something that, admittedly, needs some sort of explanation—and fits with widely accepted sci-fi and comic book tropes. (From Area 51 to mysterious “Men in Black” type organizations, fiction is full of government agencies created to study extraterrestrial life and technology.) Some even go so far as to suggest that the Warden may have tried to adopt Megamind officially, but was blocked from doing so by these same entities. On top of this, such an idea also offers room to re-imagine the Warden as a much more interesting, complex, and sympathetic character. Indeed, there has been some excellent fan fiction written about this pseudo-parental relationship.

Art: Fathers And Sons Day by tabbydragon

There is some evidence to support this. The first is that, although the Warden behaves harshly toward Megamind in the “jail-break” scene near the beginning of the film, Megamind himself seems to be trying to engage in a playful exchange: pranking the older man, wishing him a good morning, and even teasing him. While some say that this is simply Megamind’s personality as well as his determination to always appear indominable, others suggest that, perhaps, the blue man is trying to recapture a lost amiability between himself and the prison Warden. It is possible that, when he was younger and less villainous, Megamind might have exchanged friendly jokes and greetings with the man in charge of the jail he called home. It has even been suggested that the Warden is so hard on the blue man at the beginning of the film not because he hates Megamind, but because Megamind’s life choices have hurt and alienated his father figure. This idea finds some support in the facts that, when Megamind leaves jail to confront Titan, the Warden wished him good luck, and at the end of the movie, that same man seems genuinely happy as he watches the television broadcast of his one-time prisoner being named Defender of Metro City. Finally, there is some evidence from the comics which, although not truly considered canon, as I’ve mentioned before, do offer some material for fan theories. In the “episode” entitled Bad Minion! Bad! Megamind runs into the Warden in a bar, and the latter offers the former advice. There is certainly a somewhat fatherly feel to the scene.

The second theory is exactly the opposite: that the Warden either did not care for or outright disliked the former supervillain. Unfortunately, as fun as the Warden/Father Figure concept is, this second, darker idea has far stronger evidence to support it in the film itself. (Try not to hate me, everyone.) These clues range from the obvious to the subtle, but there are quite a few of them to be found.

During the first scene in which we see Warden interact with Megamind, he doesn’t behave like an angry, disappointed father—at least not a good one. He isn’t merely surly toward Megamind; he is absolutely nasty. The Warden verbally condemns the alien, telling him that he’ll “always be a villain,” and essentially steals what he believes is a gift for the blue man, even taunting him by saying: “I think I’ll keep it!” This hardly seems like the actions of someone who once felt any sort of affection for the extraterrestrial. That same portion of the movie holds another clue as well: the screens monitoring Megamind’s brain activity. Indeed, in original concept art for the film, the system appears both more invasive and more nightmarish. It seems that, far from protecting Megamind, the Warden may have actually allowed him to be experimented upon.

Next, there is the newspaper article at the beginning of the title sequence, which bears the headline “Hometown Boy Makes Bad.” It’s hard to see what the paper says, of course, even if you bother to really notice it, but luckily for us Liz (Demishock) wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post which, among other things, provides a transcript of the “news story.” In it, the Warden is quoted as referring to young Megamind as a born villain as well as abnormal.

You don't know this kid. I've watched the little criminal since he was in diapers. This kid is just a bad seed. I've got experienced, hardened criminals in here who are afraid of him - I mean, have you seen the size of his head?… It's not like he's a normal kid… I mean, have you gotten a good look at his gigantic blue head? I don't know where you come from, but where I come it's just not right.

Granted, there seems to be some truth to what the Warden is saying, as the article also mentions that Megamind, who can hardly have been more than seven years old at the time, has basically been put into solitary confinement for the safety of other prisoners following an unnamed incident, adding that the other inmates “refused to point fingers for fear of retaliation.” (This fits with the fan theory that young Megamind would have had to both fight and develop a fearsome reputation in order to protect himself. You can read more about that in the post How Strong is Megamind?) However, the Warden seems to dwell a lot on the fact that Megamind looks alien, and he displays an obvious dislike for the young boy.

Finally, there is evidence hidden in the school scene, although it’s easy to miss. In an amazing two-part video series, Megamind: A City of Deception. YouTuber The Theorizer illustrates several hidden clues about Megamind’s early life and how it it led him to embrace villainy. (I will very likely write another post going into more detail about that at a later date.) One thing that The Theorizer discovered is a seemingly innocuous detail in the background during the popcorn scene. Take a moment to examine the images below. Look closely at the blackboard and you’ll see a paper cut out of a school bus. Look even more closely at that and you’ll find something odd: the bus is full of crayon-drawn children except for one figure: an adult male, riding in the back of the bus, who looks suspiciously like the Warden as he appears at the beginning of the film.

In a movie where so much attention is given to small things—I mean, seriously, the animation team actually went through the trouble to write a news story for a paper that was on the screen less than ten seconds—this cannot possibly be a coincidence. (You can learn more about the artists’ amazing dedication to detail in my post What’s Hidden in the Animation?) Although it is vaguely possible that Megamind, painfully aware of how much his appearance was despised, chose to draw the Warden’s face instead of his own, most fans believe there is a darker reason for this oddity.

Think about it: the Li’l Gifted School for Li’l Gifted Kids is built close by a jail with a strangely similar name: Metro City Prison for the Criminally Gifted. It’s clearly a small academy, yet the only two known aliens in the city—who, by the way, have extremely different social backgrounds—both just happen to attend there. And now the prison warden appears to be somehow involved with the elementary school? It’s bizarre. Add to this the fact that the young alien adopted by a privileged family—a boy who possessed super-strength and laser vision—seemed inclined to be a bully, (as is made obvious by the kickball scene,) and a disturbing fan theory emerges. Adults realized that Wayne Smith, the child who would eventually become Metro Man, might prove dangerous if left unchecked, and came up with a plan to turn him into a hero instead. Wayne was showered with praise, conditioning him to seek public approval, but a superhero needs a nemesis. The strange-looking, unwanted blue boy who’d already been labeled a criminal would have seemed like the obvious choice. If this is true, then Megamind was purposefully, albeit covertly, groomed to become a supervillain from a young age, and the Warden played a major role in doing that.

So there you have it. Two competing fan theories concerning the Warden’s connection with Megamind. Both have some evidence supporting them, and there are fans who are firmly dedicated to one or the other. Which is true? Did the Warden care for Megamind like a son but distance himself when the boy turned to villainy? Or did he judge and despise Megamind but come around to liking him when he finally realized what sort of person the blue man was deep down? The fact is that those questions can be argued for hours on end. No matter which of these suppositions you prefer, however, the mere fact that even a minor supporting character is complex enough to offer room for this debate speaks to the impressive amount of work and devotion that went into creating this amazing animated film.

#Megamind #Megamind movie #Megamind fan theory #fan theory #fan theories #fanon #Warden #the Warden #connection #relationship #relationships

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gwynrielsupremacy · 3 years

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Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday PART. 6

Guys just so you know i need to think of a better name for this bc like THIS IS GETTING BIIIIG (I have a playlist on spotify called "what would gwynriel sing" and i think i'll draw inspiration from there lol)

IT'S GWYN'S POV AGAIN (and this one's a little shorter lol i'm sorry... Rhys is in this chapter bc i honestly share the headcanon that Gwyn and Rhys would be close friends!)

MY GIRLS: @starbornsinger @madie2200 @katiebellf here it is!! And check out the Chapter List here

Gwyn couldn’t deny. She was nervous. That morning the words just rushed out about leaving the library, because she truly felt inspired by Diane’s words. She had spent the previous night awake, even if Emerie and Nesta had long fallen asleep, thinking about what she had to do next. She was feeling braver. Maybe it was because that was the best birthday she had since Sangravah, or perhaps ever, due to the circumstances. She still missed Catrin like crazy during the day, still felt that familiar ache in her chest when she worked at the library in the afternoon, or went training in the morning. But somehow, after everything that has happened in the evening, the lingering image of her sister started being more of a comfort, a companion, than the sorrow and guilt she was accustomed to.

Still, she was nervous.

She did really want to leave the library, and Clotho seemed happy, maybe even proud, to let her go. Merrill didn’t care as long as she kept working for her, at least a couple hours a day. One day, Gwyn thought that would change too. But for now, one step at a time. The night she went to the Town House and dined with the Inner Circle was one of many small steps Gwyn’s been giving these last few months towards more autonomy, independence, and strength. Towards the life she wanted for herself. And now, the day where she decided to move out of the library was the day she took another one.

And Azriel… Honestly, she thought she would be more scared about the prospect of having a mate than she actually did. Most of all, she was happy. She felt lucky and had the confidence that if anything were to happen between the two of them, they would take it slow, at her pace. She wouldn’t have it any other way. That if Azriel were to find out about the bond any time soon; or if she would summon enough courage to tell him. Because if he did know, he would’ve said something by now, wouldn’t he?

Yep. She was very nervous.

What she dreaded the most was the fact that Azriel, well, he may not feel the same once he found out. The Cauldron could be wrong, after all. And all these last months of getting closer to each other, training in companionable silence, laughing together, bantering… She was more than grateful for their friendship, but she knew that Azriel still had some things to figure out – about Elain. If he truly still felt something towards her, that was enough to strain Gwyn’s hopes for the moment. To maintain the quiet feeling to herself, and what it meant; that she was indeed worthy of happiness not only alone, but with another one.

She tried to push all those feelings aside as she was getting ready for dinner at the River House, the High Lady and Lord’s official estate. She looked at herself in the mirror, spinning side to side. It wasn’t much – after all, she didn’t have any clothes besides her robes, nightgowns and training leathers – but the outfit the House provided was more than enough. Her baggy turquoise linen pants and her white, loose crop top made her extremely comfortable, even if the latter was slightly shorter than what she was accustomed to.

She still wore the necklace Azriel re-gifted her. When he told her a few months back about the whole story, she truly understood him. He was in a bad place at the time, but so did she. And even if he had indeed made a mistake, she was glad to have it now. To know that someone gave it to her willingly, that was the thought she held on to. First person considered or not. And besides, it looked great against her freckled skin.

A gentle knock on the door of her new bedroom sounded. “Gwyn, you ready?”

“Yeah, come in”

Nesta opened the door and something sparked in her eyes as she stared at Gwyn through the mirror.

“You look beautiful, girl”

She spun on her heels and smiled at Nesta.

“I do, don’t I?”

They both laughed as they linked their arms and left the room.

“So” Nesta begun, as they walked towards the main entrance together “How are you settling in?”

“It’s very cozy, and I just love that view. The House is providing me everything I need at the moment. Thank you for inviting me to stay.” She gave her sister a grateful smile

“Well, I was serious; you can stay with us for as long as you want.”

“That means a lot.” Gwyn couldn’t contain her smile as she gently nudged her head against her sister’s.

“Don’t mention. I know you’d do the same for me.” And Nesta was right. Without thinking twice, Gwyn would have done the same for both of her newfound sisters. She was so grateful and thrilled their paths had crossed this way.

“By the way” Nesta mentioned innocently when they reached the common area “The room you chose, well, that’s three doors up from Azriel’s. If you have a problem with that, feel free to say it.”

And as she was summoning his presence, that was the moment the Shadowsinger came to vision, talking to Cassian in the balcony – waiting for them.

Gwyn drew on a breath, staring straight at him. When he caught her eye, she couldn’t help her smile. And when his eyes glittered, scanning her from head to toe, she answered quietly to her sister:

“No. I think that’ll be fine.”

*******

The River House was beautiful. Gwyn admired it as the four of them stood by the front door. It was big, but the decoration made it seem comfortable and cozy, despite its size. A true home, Gwyn thought.

Feyre opened the door, a warm smile instantly on her face.

“Come in!”

As soon as they stepped on the entrance hall, Gwyn marveled at the big painting on display. It was a portrait of Nesta as she held the line at the Pass of Enalius. Her cunning eyes seemed to look directly at anyone who came in, daring and challenging. “This is amazing.” She said, tearing her eyes from the image at last and looking at Feyre. Cassian and Nesta had already entered the living room and Azriel stood by the doorway, lingering.

Feyre was still smiling at her when she answered. “Thank you very much, Gwyn. I have others I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I would love to. You have a beautiful home.” And she could barely conceal the emotion in her eyes as Feyre held her hand and sighed gratefully. She, maybe more than anyone, was well aware of how lucky she was to have such a family.

“We do.”

It was just when she reached the living room and beheld all of those who Feyre and Rhysand loved the most she felt Azriel’s presence still a few steps behind her, his eyes fixed upon her. A tendril of shadow curled up slightly at her wrist, as if saying We’re here. So she looked back for half a second before entering further into the room, only enough to meet his cryptic gaze and give him a half-smile. And couldn’t help the sparkling feeling in her chest when he gave her a reassuring nod.

*****

The night was going on peacefully. Gwyn didn’t say much, and it was rather content in observe. That way, she didn’t feel exposed, and also could get to know the Inner Circle better: their dynamics and bantering, how they acted around each other and discussed both serious and light topics. Elain, for example, was sitting in a chair in the corner, drink in hand. She only joined for dinner, ate quietly and then excused herself from the table for a long time. Rhys and Feyre took turns in watching Nyx, since this evening he went to sleep early. Emerie and Mor were having what seemed to be a very intimate conversation, knees touching and heads close, and Nesta and Cassian, well… They were being their usual selves.

And then she landed her eyes on the Shadowsinger. He was definitely the quietest of them all, even if during dinner he had participated in the more serious subjects of conversation and exchanged a few casual words with Gwyn. She could observe enough to notice he didn’t once glance at Elain, or her at him, and that they kept their distance. He actually seemed to have spent the evening doing the same thing Gwyn was, which was observing; except for him it was natural, a second skin. He certainly had enough time these hundred years to know well about the rest of his family, while she was doing that precisely to learn more about them. If it was easy for her to be like this, for him was instinct.

She couldn't stop but detain herself on the details of his face, though, as he now spoke to Mor, who had subtly approached him. He wore that inexpressive mask, but she could see the way his brows were slightly furrowed, his jaw set just slightly... There was something concerning him, making him uneasy. She wondered, maybe for the tenth time, when she would tell him. Or if she should let him find out by himself. And again, her heart fluttered as he put his hands in his pockets and nodded along, listening to Mor.

How could the Cauldron have chosen this? To have defined them as mates... He was the one who saved her, who’d seen her low, who helped her at the very worst moment of her life. And although she would be forever grateful for it, she was aware he had enough on his plate – to burden him with her feelings... She didn't know what to do. It was at that moment their eyes locked across the room. She didn't realize she had still been staring, and quickly darted her eyes away.

Only to meet with Rhysand’s staring at her from across the table.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry.

Oh, shit. Shit. Gwyn contained her gasp. He heard her. She didn't know for how long, but he could read her thoughts.

I was just going to ask you if you were feeling okay.

She knew what he meant. But still...

"Please. Please don’t say a word". She managed to whisper to that presence in her mind.

He doesn't know? She could feel his curiosity. Although they were still staring at each other, his face yielded nothing.

"I don't think so. Please, just…"

Don't worry, Gwyn. I won't tell him.

She could've cried in relieve. "Thank you."

He only nodded at her and raised his glass, and she could feel his presence fading from her mind.

*****

When they arrived at the House of Wind, a few hours later, Gwyn was still a little uneasy. She needed to learn how to shield her mind properly; even if she felt she trusted Rhys’s word, she couldn’t feel relaxed at the thought that someone else knew about what she’d only recently discovered and were still trying to figure out.

She could barely stare at Azriel when they flew all the way back. They remained silent all the way to the House of Wind, and her gaze remained fixed on the city landscape below them, or on the skies above. Never on him or their closeness, even if she’d caught him glancing at her a few times. They landed just a few minutes after Nesta and Cassian. When she meant to let go of his hand, he held it just for a moment longer:

“Did you have fun tonight?”

She nodded, managing to bring a smile upon her face. She didn’t want him to see how nervous she was; they were never like that around each other.

“A lot. Your family is very…”

“Extravagant?”

“I was going to say kind. But they might be a little extravagant, too.”

The corner of his lips tugged upward, and she let out a quiet laugh. “Are you going to sleep now?”

“In a few hours, maybe. I think I’ll hit the training ring first.”

She nodded. His shadows swirled a little at his shoulders. She seemed to forget about her nervousness for a second as she noticed his slightly furrowed brows, as if he was concentrating: “You know you don’t have to restrain them, if it tires you.”

“They should behave better.” It was all he grunted back, slightly annoyed at his dancing shadows.

“Well, I don’t mind at all. I like them. So at least around me, you shouldn’t worry about it.”

The seconds her eyes held his stare were enough to make Gwyn feel like she could burst – or touch him, again. So she turned away and smiled over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Az.”

All she felt before reaching the stairway was a tendril of shadow gently curling around her arm.

#would you please forgive me if i forgot about something canon like gwyn's mind shielding #is just this is mine now and that interaction between rhys and gwyn would be so cute and like UNDERSTANDING aw #this is fanfiction after all #ok more gwynriel now #me venting through tags #pls sjm make this canon #i live for gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #did someone ask for gwynriel moments #gwyns birthday #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel #gwynriel headcanon

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flyonthewallmedstudent · 4 years

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Re-watching House as a Physician. Pilot Episode. Neurology in the young.

I’d actually recommend this as an exercise. Re-watching this as a means to motivate studying. It’s truly terrible watching it. So much so, that you want to do it properly or throw shit at the TV.

If I had students and we couldn’t physically see patients I’d probably tell them what episode to watch and we’d go through the cases together. Go through all the things the team does wrong. Then discuss the things you don’t know yourself.

Because that is actually how you learn best. Recovering from your mistakes. Identifying gaps in knowledge.

Unfortunately, all my current students are final years and they do have to see real patients.

Opening episode: 29 year old female, no past medical history has expressive dysphasia then a first seizure. How do we know it’s expressive dysphasia?

IN the episode, the patient notices she’s having trouble getting words out, and is able to write. Then has a seizure. Wilson actually has a good introductory statement here. House finds the case boring, this really isn’t boring. If it doesn’t excite a physician it should certainly terrify them. A la house of god, rule number X = Treat the dying young. With urgency. The majority of patients I see in IM are in their 70s-90s, have predictable issues like metabolic syndrome, heart failure, arrhythmias like atrial fibrillation, infections like community acquired pneumonia and dementia. These are my bread and butter.

More often than not, my primary role is to ensure a dignified end of life care. Many of them come in already at death’s door or will be imminently there. To continue to push them through medical treatment when they no longer have resilience to go through them, is to prolong suffering.

You can’t predict how someone young will respond even to the most aggressive of treatment. You give them every chance you have. OFten if the young are sick, it’s really bad. With the elderly, a common cold can make them really sick as their body is in decline.

Young patients with a single organ system issue will usually go to a subspecialty. Actually any medical subspecialty or IM in general is considered “diagnostic medicine”. It’s just different flavours of it.

1st seizures: - it’s rare to have a second. - usually the cause of underlying seizures is infection - follow-up is clinic with neurology. It’s rare to require further. - we could go into differential seizures, but that’s a whole other post in itself

(Epilepsy only occurs if you have a number of them and this is rare)

In the case of House, they jump straight to cancer like webmd.

Before they do much, she jumps straight to radiation therapy. This is completely unrealistic. This sort of thing requires multidisciplinary teams to pour over all her results and discuss the best way forward. Chemo and radiotherapy are notorious in the general public for having crazy toxicities. For obvious reasons.

It’s weird re-watching these, where medicine is no longer a foreign language. Actually, it’s watching someone for whom English is a new language and they haven’t really gotten it yet. The tense and grammar are all wrong.

I watched the Queens Gambit - holy fuck is chess a foreign world and language. I know the basics, but none of the strategies. Sicillian sounds like a great name for a tasty pizza. Or something else.

Anyways, it takes a whole lot of time before they get to differentials.

Honestly, you would be getting to these the minute you hear the presenting complaint. Then considering how to rule them in and out. For students, always have the surgical sieve in mind.

Differential diagnosis of expressive dysphasia in a young woman are then addressed in the episode. here’s what they consider: - Aneurysm and stroke (haemorrhagic stroke in this case if we’re talking aneurysm), incidentally most common cause of berry aneurysms is high blood pressure. this is a decent consideration. but you would have seen it on imaging from the start.

- CJD = very much mad zebra. I wouldn’t even suggest this. You would if it was rapid onset dementia or behvarioural changes and they came from high risk areas (eg ate burgers in the UK in the 1980s and 90s). But rapid meaning weeks to months. Not sudden onset within minutes. It’s more stroke. - Cncephalopathy: requires an LP to go over this, and she doesn’t present with a fever either. regardless, important to consider. would always consider an LP in addition to imaging. - Wernicke’s: only consider if they have a nutritional disorder like severe, chronic anorexia (which she doesn’t have) or heavy alcohol use. This is caused by thiamine/VitB1 deficiency. A thiamine level test takes days or weeks. We would never wait for a thiamine test to come back, you’d treat IV thiamine straightaway. I mean it’s vitamin B. This is a terrible differential to consider so near the top. She also doesn’t really have the other symptoms.

Then there’s the more obvious differentials they didn’t bother to consider: The greatest mimic for a stroke particularly in young women is migraine. You can have similar neurology, but it’s often associated with a headache. If we wanted to chase zebras in the young, you could consider a PFO (holes in the heart that are congenitally there) and thromboemboli causing stroke. (In other words, you develop a clot, normally the lungs will pick up the clot like a filter before it gets to the brain. But the clot can bypass the lungs via holes in the heart and give you a stroke). This is always the consideration in cryptogenic strokes (in which you have a young patient without any reason for having an atheroma causing stroke). Risk factors for thromboemboli can include the oral contraceptive pill (estrogen can be thrombogenic) and then long periods of immobility, think long haul flights or trauma to the long bones or surgery. IN rare cases, those who had particular types of heart surgery as an infant, like a Fontan’s. But this is very niche mind you. And they’re often already on preventative therapy. Infection is a key thing to consider, where there are risk factors. she’s not immunosuppressed or done any exotic travel or eaten raw foods she shouldn’t have eaten (raw pork, bad sushi etc.). It’s a shame they didn’t mention it early. THere’s a few infections that go to the brain but you’d often have these in mind with the risk factors as stated before. THe imaging is often a giveaway

Learning point here - always eat cooked pork! Finally, cancer. But it’d be obvious on imaging if you’d already developed seizures or focal neurology, the lesions would already be large enough to pick up. the sad part to many brain tumours is that they’re already very large by the time of presentation. Beau Biden for instance, presented with acute confusion before his diagnosis, preceding that he had weakness and altered sensation (the lesion was likely too small at the time to be picked up on imaging and was diagnosed as a stroke).

I would rarely be referred brain tumours, the emergency department will have scanned the brain and seen something that would prompt referral to the neurosurgeons. When you’re young and have a lesion/tumour, any team will try everything, including majority surgery, to salvage what life is left. it is very tragic.

Anyway, stopping here. Already too much stuff to dissect and unpack from just the first episode alone. Note that I’m in IM, no doubt a neurologist or neurosurgeon will have different opinions on this episode. Ha.

#medblrs #medblr #house

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

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i’m here. (a)

☙ pairing: bakugou x reader

☙ theme: angst

☙ cw/tw: profanity, grief, nightmares

☙ a/n-request: random heartbreaking idea i had to get out of my head after watching p.s. i love you one day. sorry everyone.

{ ** continuation here }

Jolting upright Bakugou panted, his red eyes wide open and heart hammering, sweat soaking his chest and back. There was a sick nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach as he tried to even his breathing and calm down.

Flinging the covers off, Bakugou growled and swung his feet off the bed and slowly stumbed to the bathroom. Turning on the light he winced at the brightness of it before getting used to it and turning on the faucet. The hero leaned over, splashing cold water on his face and literally cooling down in no time. When he was done Bakugou stood before the sink a bit longer, hands gripping the edges while his nightmare played over in his head.

You cradled in his arms and smiling, a hand brushing his cheek, his forehead pressed to yours and biting back all his tears and raw emotions. You bled out from a piece of debris impaling your abdomen, your sweet and wavering voice trying to keep him together.

“You’re so fucking stupid, why did you do that - I was supposed to take that hit!” He spat out through gritted teeth.

“And that kid too? I think you’re dumber than me Kats,” you spoke and tried to chuckle but a breathy choke cut it short.

He tried to scream out for help but his voice wasn’t fucking working.

Your body trembled in his arms and made him gasp, looking back at you again and shaking his head, hand cupping your face upon seeing your eyes growing heavier and that smile growing weaker.

“No goddammit, you’re staying with me, you’re not fucking leaving me - I’ll get help, I’ll save you!”

“Kats,” you breathed out and worked your smile back up, hand taking his own and kissing his cheek, “I’ll never leave you, ever. You’ve already saved me so many t-times, it was my turn to save you baby. I’ll be fine and you’ll be fine, okay?”

Bakugou’s lip trembled, he felt your hold on his hand loosening, his breathing hitched and he shook his head. Warm lips kissed every inch of your face, Bakugou savoring each one, remembering the taste and feel like muscle memory and feeling hot tears rolling down his face.

“I love you so much Katsuki.”

The sound of porcelain cracking made Bakugou come back to his senses and he realized his quirk was starting to act up from being so emotional. Quickly he removed himself from the appliance and strode back into the bedroom, palm rubbing at his head and groaning as he tried to shake off the nightmare but his stupid fucking brain couldn’t let it go.

The more it played on loop the angrier the blonde became. His palms were starting to steam at the mere thought that you’d be stupid enough to sacrifice yourself for him or that it would even be a single thought in your mind at all. After being together since high school and being married to him, you knew better!

Soon Bakugou’s emotions were running rampant causing him to yell out and swing an arm, clearing off the top of the dresser of books and figures in a fit of rage. The glass of a stand alone mirror shattered when one figure flew into it. In flashes, the images of you dying in his arms clicked over and over and over, they wouldn’t fucking stop!

Bakugou panted and tugged at his hair, pathetically falling to his knees and screaming, body trembling and chest heaving.

He grabbed a book that laid beside him and chunked it at the wall opposite to him causing a string of lights that was decorated with polaroids to fall down and tangle, making a few pictures fall from their clips. The blonde looked up to see what the noise was and panicked when he saw what he had done. In an instant he was crawling on his knees to the mess he made, hands grappling at the lights and trying his best to fix it.

“Shit she’s gonna kill me! I’ll never fucking hear the end of it - fucking shit why are these impossible to fucking untangle!”

Truly the task was simple but Bakugou was too unstable at the moment to chill and concentrate. He groaned in frustration and sat back on his calves, trying again until he heard the sound of feet padding across the carpet towards him. Bakugou sighed and shook his head.

“I’m fucking fixing it, don’t get your panties in a wad just yet!” He spoke.

There were no words in response, just arms wrapping around his neck and hugging him close. The tip of your nose pressed to his cheek and you kissed it softly with a smile. Bakugou briefly froze once your hands rubbed at his chest and you were smothering him in tiny kisses to his face and jaw, shushing gently on his skin and making him slowly but surely deflate in your arms.

“Kat calm down, just breathe okay?”

You whispered on his temple and started to run a hand through his hair and rested your cheek to his own, watching what he was trying to do and softly chuckling.

“It’s an easy fix you just have to take a fucking chill pill.”

Bakugou scoffed and lightly elbowed you, making you giggle, the sound like music to his ears and making his jaw un-clench.

The man took a couple deep breaths, listening and focusing on you humming softly in his ear. Even though he had matured since high school and for the most part grew out of his temper, there were still just a few selective things that set Bakugou off like the literal bomb he was and one of those things was your safety and life.

You both worked together as pro-hero’s, fighting the same fights and taking hard blows for each other, at least you’d try for him but almost always Bakugou was fast and protecting you first and foremost.

“I’ll be damned if I ever lose you,” he would always say.

So during these chaotic fits, you were the only one who could calm Bakugou and as prideful as he still was, even he himself would admit to that, not wasting a single heartbeat in saying that he needed you.

After a few moments passed, Bakugou was calm enough to start correctly untangling the lights in his hands. You praised him quietly with kisses and continued to watch him.

“What got you so worked up anyway baby?”

For a small second Bakugou stopped, refusing to let those images flood his mind again and only shook his head with a sigh.

“Just ... a stupid nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

After finally getting those dumb lights to cooperate, Bakugou turned his head to look at you, his red eyes smiling as he brought his hand up to cup you cheek and kiss your lips softly.

He breathed in deeply through his nose, taking in the smell of strawberries from his hand ruffling locks of your hair and making the scent of your shampoo permeate in the air. Pulling away from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and the man took just a few more seconds to register how soft your hair was between his fingers and how your chest lightly pressed on his back every time you breathed.

Bakugou turned back around and started to gather the loose polaroid's on the floor to re-clip them to the lights and shrugged when he explained his vivid nightmare back over to you. The entire time you held him, rubbing his chest and playing with his hair, kisses littering his face and neck or your face nuzzling into him.

“Katsuki, no matter what happens to us we’ll always be together, even if it’s not physically, I’ll always and forever be with you. You can be weak, it’s not a crime but don’t go losing your fucking head okay? You’ll be fine and you’ll get through anything, you know why?”

Finishing his task, Bakugou sunk back into you, letting out a breath and grabbing your hands that hung from around his neck. His head fell back onto your chest and he kissed your arm.

“Why?”

You smiled and wrapped around the shaken hero tighter - protectively. Hand running through his spiky locks and fingers massaging at his scalp as you laid your cheek to his temple.

“Because I’m right here baby, always! Anytime things seem too hard to take or like you can’t get through another day - I’ll save you,” you replied softly on the shell of his ear before kissing it. “You’ll be fine Katsu, I’ll never leave you ... I’m here, always.”

Bakugou nodded, his hand squeezing tighter around your own.

“You’re here,” he breathed out, tension and fear leaving his body.

You stood behind him, following as he went to hang it back up on the wall, your quiet words of guidance helping him along the way. When it was done, Bakugou took a step back and scanned over the pictures, the memories of each one replaying in his head, the nightmare now becoming a blur.

With a yawn the male stretched his arms above his head and rubbed his neck. Your hand could be felt grabbing his opposite wrist and making him turn to look at you.

“Come on Kats, you need some rest.”

Bakugou didn’t object, only followed you into the living room that was connected to the bedroom of the small apartment. Walking over to the couch Bakugou plopped down onto it with a drawn out sigh and his arms opening for you to join him. Once you were laid down, Bakugou turned to hold you close to his chest, now being the one to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck as his hands touched your cheeks and hair.

He smiled and kissed your cheek, his mind and body second by second relaxing and starting to power down.

“I love you so much.” He sleepily spoke and squeezed tighter, his eyes lazily looking to the tv that was on and quietly broadcasting the news station.

“Earlier this week the notorious villain, The Reaper, was finally caught after evading hero’s for months now. The city is rejoicing as the man will be brought to justice after the tragedy he caused two weeks ago that resulted in the death of the #2 hero, also known as the sidekick and wife of Katsuki Bakugou …… ”

The sound of the newscaster was slowly drowning out and exhaustion was creeping into Bakugou’s bones, his red eyes growing heavy with a yawn.

“You’re ... still ... here.” He spoke again while hugging a pillow close to his chest before finally drifting back off to sleep.

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #death #angst #xreader #reader insert #sorry baku #i love you baby

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

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Stay Safe, Stay Home Writing Challenge - (Call me if you need anything) @waiting4inspiration

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Modern Ivar x OC

Warning: Language, strong sexual content

Rating: M

A/N: First my apologies for taking so long to post this chapter. I lost the original version of chapter 7, but I hope you enjoy this slightly longer re-write. I think this story only has 1 or 2 more chapters and it’s done. I’m almost through telling the story I wanted to tell.

Next, I got the idea for this from experience I had with an ex, with whom I am still very close friends. We were actually talking about this particular encounter recently, and I thought it would be fun to write it. I will say, if you have never had sex with someone that you are truly friends with, you have no idea what you’re missing out on! I think the sexiest sex is the kind where you talk to your partner. Maybe it’s just the stage I’m in my life. What you’re doing doesn’t interest me as much as what’s going on in your head.

Finally, I used the lyrics to ‘Imported’ by Jessie Reyes without permission. I love her and that song and when I hear it, I see Ivar and Cash. I have included the video at the end of the chapter - the vibe of the song is how I see them as a couple.

Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

When Ivar moved across the floor, there was grace in his movements. His motions were fluid, and because he didn’t use his legs to aid him, how he curved his spine to usher his mobility gave him the agility of a big cat stalking his prey. One-shoulder worked in tandem with the hip on the opposite side of his body creating this... glide, that was simply fucking sexy. Cash found herself wondering how good the view of him crawling would look from underneath him.

Crawling for Cash, however, was anything but graceful. She hadn’t gotten very far, just from the dresser to the full-length mirror, but fuck a duck if it wasn’t hard. At first, she tried to be all sexy, and crawl on her hands and knees, but when she realized Ivar couldn’t use his knees, she switched to an Army crawl.

After the first pass across the floor, she knew this crawling idea was going to be short-lived. Not only did she not possess the upper body strength to keep it up, but she was also getting hella ashy. It was bad enough the rain had washed away most of her lotion, but now she was sliding around on the carpet. She was going to look like she had been rolling around in flour at any minute. Her mother would have a fucking fit if she saw the state she was in.

And how the hell was she supposed to get her toiletry tote across the room? It wasn’t like it was a backpack. It was hard enough trying to maneuver herself around, let alone bring something with her. She had tried dragging it and even pushing it in front of her. Both ways were taking forever. At the rate she was going, she and the tote would get to the mirror by her 30th birthday.

Ivar leaned against the bed watching with curiosity. He had never seen an able-bodied person struggle so hard to crawl. Why didn’t she just get up on all fours? He appreciated that view of her. It was much more seductive then whatever the hell she was doing now. Currently, she looked like she was trying to do the worm in a breakdance competition for quadriplegics.

“It may be easier if you use your arms. You have all of your weight on your elbows. Try using your wrists and hands. That way, you can move your bag with you.” Ivar laid on his stomach facing Cash and demonstrated, “See? Like this…”

“See, like this,” Cash mocked in a high pitched voice rolling her eyes as she continued to struggle across the floor. Suddenly, she felt the sting of his hand as it landed flat on her ass. It sounded much worse than it felt. It didn’t hurt in the least, but she still gave him the evil eye, “Did you just?” she feigned shock.

Being the youngest child, Ivar got away with a lot of shit. He was used to blaming one of his brothers for everything and he always got away with it. It became a little game he liked to play with them that he lovingly titled, ‘How much trouble can I get you in?’ It was during that time that he started doing this mocking, side to side head motion to symbolize his victory. As an adult, during a triumph, he continued to rock his head in this obnoxious manner, only now, it also included a shit-eating grin, followed by a dab.

Cash watched the most incredibly mischievous smile spread across Ivar’s face as he bobbed his head and then he dabbed the air. He spoke some foreign words and seemed mighty pleased with himself. “Oh, chuckle it up, Chuckles.” She rolled her eyes and sat up. “Ya, perv.”

God, he had been wanting to do that ever since she started crawling. He just wanted to see if her ass was really as soft as it looked. It was, and it had the right amount of bounce. “Sorry. I could not resist,” his smile was so big, it was hard to make out what he was saying, “You were making fun of me. It was all I could think to do,” he whined.

Cash turned toward the mirror and started to dump out the contents of her bag. She picked up her wide-tooth comb and folded her legs beneath her. Leaning into the mirror, she fixed her eyes squarely on his image, “If you wanted to cop a feel, all you had to do was ask.” She watched as his mouth opened and closed, like a fish.

“What are you going to do?” He asked, folding his hands in his lap.

Cash parted her hair down the middle and secured half of it with a ponytail holder. Carefully detangling the other half with a comb, she reached in the bag for a jar and struggled with the top, “I’m going to put my hair in two braids, so I won’t look totally crazy.” She held the jar out to Ivar. “Can you open this for me?”

Silently, he crawled to where she sat and took the jar out of her hands. With one turn he had the lid opened. “This smells wonderful. What is it?”

“A moisturizing mask.”

“It smells like coconuts and berries, and…and,” he took another big sniff but couldn’t quite place the scent, “I don’t know but it is amazing. It smells soft. Like you.”

“Jasmine,” she took the jar from his hand and tried not to blush. He thought she smelled soft? “I made this.”

“You make this?”

“It’s not hard,” she shrugged, “All you need are some essential oils for the smell and different kinds of butters. It’s pretty easy. It’s good to keep moisture in. I could even use it on your hair and it wouldn’t be greasy. See feel.” She titled her hair for Ivar to feel her hair without the moisturizer. “Now you know I must like you because I’m letting you touch my hair.” Then, she scooped a small amount of product onto her palm before rubbing it into her hair. After she had worked it though she tilted her head toward him again. “Now feel.”

His eyes grew with amazement. “That feels awesome.” Of course, he couldn’t help but bring his nose to her hair. “And it smells good.” His nose brushed the side of her ear before making its way to her neck, then back into her hair. “I like this smell.”

Cash giggled at the feeling, but she couldn’t ignore the tiny goosebumps that started to prickle every inch of her skin. “Do you know how to braid?” She asked feeling her neck slowly start to lean more into the warmth of this breath.

“Hmm?” He looked at her eyes in the mirror and noticed that he had been rubbing her arm. When did that happen? What the hell was in that jar? “Braid? A little. I used to help my mother when I was young. She has very long hair.” He watched as a smooth smile crossed Cash’s face. “Oh, no. I cannot. I am terrible at it.”

“Oh, you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she handed him a brush, “you do mine, and I’ll do yours.”

“And we can have a sleeping party, like girlfriends,” he mocked in a high pitched girl voice and twirled his hair around his finger, “...and paint each other’s nails and do make-overs!”

“That’s a slumber party, jerk. And as long as there are no pillow fights, I’d be okay with it.” She nudged his shoulder with her own. “But, I hope you don’t want to be my girlfriend.”

Ivar took the comb from Cash and looked at the floor. He didn’t want to chance to catch her eyes in the mirror, just in case, “I was really kind of hoping that you would want to be mine.”

“Really?” Cash asked said softly before capturing his lips for a soft kiss. “Good. It’s about time. I was getting gray hair over here, waiting on you to make a move...” Smiling into his lips, she wondered, how did her tongue always end up in his mouth? Was she capable of kissing him without needing to feel his velvety tongue on hers? She pulled away slightly and pecked him a few more times. “Now, I can’t be all kissing and everything with my hair looking like this. I’m too cute to be looking this tore up. So you helping or nah?”

Braiding each other’s hair had been the most intimate thing Cash had ever done with a man, besides Glenn, with her clothes on. Why was it so easy to trust him? She let him touch her hair – generally speaking, black women don’t let people other their mothers or their hairdresser touch their hair. Hell, Cash’s parents had been married for over 30 years and she seriously doubted that her father had ever touched her mother’s hair. She had known this man for almost 48 hours and she had already let him see her with ashy legs. What the fuck was really going on?

It was something more than just being comfortable around him being bushy and ashy, that’s for sure. Maybe it was the fact that the things that she normally would be embarrassed about she didn’t give a fuck about anymore. She was pretty sure that if she needed to fart in front of him, she would have, That’s how secure she felt with him.

Ivar was amazed that he stopped focusing on his the fact that his bare legs were showing and that he was crawling, hours ago. Whatever it was that he was nervous about before he had met Cash in person seemed like a distant memory. He had just let this woman braid his hair like he was a girl playing beauty shop.

Granted, the hairstyle looked badass, especially with the way his head was shaved on the sides – but he knew for sure none of his brothers would have let their girlfriends do that. Hvitserk would talk shit to him about it for years to come because of it, too. But, he didn’t care, it felt right. Everything about her delicate fingers gripping his hair and gently massaging his scalp felt incredible. If she wanted to take every braid out and start all over, he would let her. He would let her do whatever she wanted if it would make her smile.

Speaking of smiling, as he flipped through his phone for more music for them to listen to, his face lit up when he ran across their song. “You feel like singing?” As soon as the opening beat of Imported by Jessie Reyes ft. 6lack started playing, Cash let her head lean back and smiled.

Ivar grabbed a brush, and handed her one, too. If they were going to do this duet any justice, they both needed their microphones and to get into character. Mother nature was already setting the scene outside with the rain still beating down against the patio, creating the perfect backdrop for their music video.

Bringing the hairbrush up to his mouth, he wanted Cash to see how he had choreographed his movements to the song. He only wished that he had his braces on because he had an entire dance to go with it.

Hi, my name is 6Lack And sometimes people me SIX-LACK I don’t mind because they stubborn And my bank account is looking mighty fine We can skip the wine and dine Go straight for the wind and grind She wanna cum, I can make it happen, fuck trying

Ivar rolled his hips from his sitting position on the floor with a devilish look on his face that made Cash lick her lips. Damn, that boy could sing. Plus, he was sexy and gyrating…fuck! She was trying so hard to be good, but the song was talking about going straight for the wind and grind making people cum and sexy stuff and whatnot…she was only human.

Sometimes, I get messy, you can be my biggest secret I ain’t sliding if you wit him Baby, you gon’ have to have to leave him

Ivar wagged his finger at Cash to let her know that he wasn’t the cheating type. He winked at her when she smiled.

I got morals on Sundays, sometimes on Wednesdays

He shrugged his shoulder and raised a brow.

Really, it depends but,

Ivar tried his best not to laugh at the face she was making at his stage-worthy performance. He was giving her his best big dick energy vibes.

You, you’re in love with somebody else Maybe I could offer some help (Maybe I could offer some help) Get over them by getting under me

He watched as Cash closed her eyes and began to sing. He could listen to her sing all day. She had a beautiful voice and he loved the changes she made to songs. He especially loved what she did to Jessie Reyes’s part of this song.

But you might O.D. if you get too much of me Might O.D. if you get too much of me

Cash, too, had a routine for this song, but she was not going to do it for him. Instead, she just did what felt natural at the moment. She ran her hand down her throat to her collarbone then pulled her legs up to her chest. As she sang, she rubbed her cheek against her knee and gave him a vulnerable stare…

Hi, my name is not important I’m not from here, I’m imported I drink liquor like it’s water Hope my liver can afford it I’ve been lyin’ here with I’ve been lyin…, I’ll be lyin here I’m under the covers like

Her voice…that was the same voice he had listened to countless times over the phone, that was singing to him in person. It was a little overwhelming. He reached up and cupped her cheek, and when she opened her eyes he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss so slow and deep and it conveyed every thought and feeling that Ivar couldn’t put into words.

He had so much he wanted to tell her, too. Like how he was glad she replied to his comment that day on the Jessie Reyes blog for this song. He had been listening to Imported on repeat because he was still in love with Freydis. Even though they had been broken up for a couple of years and he didn’t want her back, he couldn’t get over her. He was stuck mourning for what they could have been. He had so many hopes and dreams for them. He thought he had found a beautiful woman that could love him despite his disabilities and he would have a chance at a normal life. But, it didn’t work that way. Nothing in his life ever worked out that way.

Enter this song and this girl: the song was about finding someone to help you get over a broken heart and the girl...she was feeling a certain way because her first serious boyfriend, who she hadn’t been for over five years, was getting married. Feelings had a funny way of fucking you up.

But there they were; keyboard gangsters, in their feelings and being flirty. They were two people on different continents who were never going to meet, so what harm was it to bare their souls? Nobody ever died from having another friend; especially friends that liked to sing loved musicals and could go into a monologue from a movie with just the last word of a sentence. Really, friends like that were hard to come by.

Now, if things kept going in the right direction, soon they would be lovers.

Thank you, Jessie Reyes.

Cash bit Ivar’s neck, causing him to groan and squeeze her body tighter. Good thing the rain hadn’t washed off the scent of Aqua di Gio that seemed to be oozing from his pores. Damn! How did he know exactly what scents got her going? Did this man always smell like walking sex? And was it natural for a man to have skin this damn soft?

She watched her fingers as they trailed the lines of his tattoo along his left shoulder. “What’s this?” She asked as her fingertips came dangerously close to his nipple, before tracing the line back up the head of the figure to the center of his chest.

Ivar watched her nail slowly move across his skin and tucked his lip in between his teeth at the feeling. “The mythical Norse dragon, Fáfnir.” Did his voice just crack? She made him feel like a teenager all over again.

Cash giggled. She loved the way he suddenly started rolling his “r” and how his “th” started to sound like a z. Had it always and she just not notice? “Your accent is stronger,” she let her tongue follow along the line of his jaw, “it’s so sexy.”

“It’s hard to concentrate on English,” he said matter-of-factly, making sure to slur his Norwegian tongue into his English words, hands still gripping her waist, gently rocking with her on his lap, “when you do that.” He pointed his chin toward the ceiling to grant her better access to his Adam’s apple, “You know, I don’t think I have ever been in this situation and had to speak English.”

Cash's eyes opened in bewilderment as she lifted her head. “You know what? I’ve never seen an uncircumcised penis.” The thought just hit her. If they were about to go there and she hoped to God they were, they needed to get all of this shit out of the way. She sat back on his thighs and looped her arms around his neck.

Ivar’s smile was so big, his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Now? You think of that now? Really?”

“I’m serious.” She said settling back with a slight pout, “Circumcision is a big thing in the US, like everybody does it. But here, not so much, right? I mean, you’re not Jewish, are you?” She raised her brow and nudged her head toward him. “You know what I mean?”

He shook his head. “You want to know if I am?”

“Kinda?” Talk about killing the mood. There were things that she might want to try with him, but she wanted to know what she might be in for first. Nobody liked those kinds of surprises during sex. “ Is that weird?” There were just certain things you need to be upfront about. Even though she suspected she wasn’t certain.

Ivar shrugged with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Perhaps you will just have to find out.”

“Oh, just tell me.” She slapped his bare chest and rolled her eyes when he made a face like it hurt. “I’ll tell you something.”

“I’m not telling you that. But, I will tell you, that I have never seen brown nipples.” He ran his fingers between Cash’s bra straps and her shoulders, slowly lowering the straps down her arm. When she didn’t protest, he continued to pull the straps lower. He looked her in the eyes while she bent her arms through the loops to free herself of them.

Sucking his lip, he let his eyes trail from hers down to her lips, then lower to her neck. He admired how her pulse quickened when his hands touched just above her cleavage and when his thumbs gently pushed the lace down to expose her to him, he wanted to lick the hollow of her throat. “You are beautiful.”

Brown, white, black or pink, skin was skin, and Cash’s was beautiful and the skin on her breasts was just as soft and warm as the rest of her. He patiently waited while she unhooked her bra and discarded it away from them, before he wrapped his muscular arms around her, burying his face in between her breasts. “I love boobs.”

“Really?” She said smiling, as he looked up at her from the middle of her chest. “You didn’t strike me a breast man.”

“I am an everything man.” He smiled rubbing his face across her soft skin. “What is that smell? God…”

“Ahh…that is Heliotrope Gingembre, my favorite perfume.”

“Mine now, too,” he said absently. Closing his eyes with his head laid on her chest.

She kissed him on the top of his head and started to rub the back of his neck, “You think I don’t know that you’re avoiding my question? I shared.”

“I did not ask you a question and you did not tell me anything.” He looked up at her and started to bob his head with that shit-eating grin again.

“I will pop that little bobblehead of yours off your shoulders. Now you’re just cheating.” She rolled off his lap and laughed when he pouted at her and started to reach for her like a child. “Not until you answer me.” She sat next to him, but faced him and absently rubbed her hand along the hair on his legs.

He watched in amazement as she did. She didn’t seem the least bit weirded out by his scars. “Okay, I’m sorry. You want to know if I was cut as a baby?” Ivar laid back on the floor and laced his hand with hers. He looked at their joined hands and held them up to his line of vision before rolling his wrist. Why prolong the inevitable? She was going to find out sooner or later. He figured, if she could see his legs and be perfectly with fine them, odds were she'd okay with an unsnipped prick. “No, I was not.” He laid her hand on his stomach with the laziest hint of a smirk on his face.

“Hmm. Interesting,” she responded wiggling her toes. She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment then shrugged her shoulders. “Okay,” she got up on her knees and knelt beside him. Cash let her hands trail down his muscular stomach and found herself smile when she realized that he was ticklish in the spot between his navel and his waist.

Carefully, her deft fingers slid under the grey waistband of his boxer briefs before she smoothed her hands around to his hips. Slowly, she lowered the shorts down his legs, never once taking her eyes off of his. Since Ivar couldn’t hoist his backside off the floor, he aided her by rocking from side to side as she continued to pull the garment down lower and lower.

And there he was. Ivar Ragnarsson in all of his birthday glory. He was a sexy man. It was the moment of truth and Cash didn’t quite know what to do or say. Was she supposed to comment or compliment? Was she supposed to touch him or ask questions? There was so much she wanted to do, but she wasn’t sure if any of it was okay.

“So?” Ivar placed one hand behind his head and the other on his chest. “No witty observations?”

“Well, you already know you’re sexy, AF.” She tilted her head and let her fingers trace the dark line of hair that traveled from his navel to the soft tufts at his groin. “But this…it’s different.”

“Different? What the hell does that mean?” Ivar laughed. “It looks the same to me.”

Her eyes got big and she nodded, “Well, you’ve seen it before. I haven’t…” She touched it. It felt the same as others she’d held in her hands. It was thick, had a nice length, and just the right amount of curve to it. The bounce back, when she pulled it toward her and let it go, so that it slapped back against his pelvis, made a good sound. By all accounts, it was a normal cock. It was hard, and hot in her hands and she even noticed how Ivar’s stomach clenched when she made contact with it. “So does it feel different?”

“Different than what?” He asked with a labored breath as she continued to hold and turn him over in her hand. “It feels the same to me.” Did she know what she was doing to him? She wasn’t jerking him or doing anything sexual, not really, merely touching and having a conversation with him. It was such a turn on.

“Let me show you.” He removed his hand from behind his head and placed it on himself. Lifting his head, he attempted some sort of origami thing with the skin. “This, I think, is what you are used to seeing.” He rolled his eyes in his head and sucked his teeth, “Whatever.” He released the skin and smiled. “My way is much better. Much more sensation.”

“Oh, really?” She was intrigued. If she were being honest, it wasn’t the cutest one she’d ever seen. But, that was because she just wasn’t used to it, yet. She was sure in a few days, she would think it was the hottest one she’d ever seen! “How so?”

“This part in there…feels everything, sometimes too much.” He picked up her hand and placed it back on his swollen member, before closing his eyes at the feeling, “Sometimes, you have to touch it through the skin…”

“Like a clit?”

Ivar shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know. I do not have one of those.” He let his hand travel up Cash’s thigh and settle right below her hip. “If direct pressure is applied to you, does it make you,” he wound his hands to try to drive the words forward, “finish faster?”

Now it was Cash’s turn to shrug, “Honestly? I’ve never had an orgasm with another person.”

“What?” Ivar sat up, instantly regretting the warmth of her hand leaving his body. “Are you serious?” This was great! Neither had he. But wait…if neither of them had, then this could be the worst awkward first sexual experience in the history of awkward first sexual experiences. They would either be eternally frustrated or their first sexual encounter could literally last indefinitely.

“Yup. Not ever.” Cash sat up on her knees so that he had full access to her hips. She placed her hands on his and watched as he slowly started to pull down her panties. “I think the guys that I’ve been with think all women like the same things. They don’t want to hear that you might want something different, or they just are in it for themselves. I just usually finish myself off.”

Ivar smoothed the lace down her thighs and held still as she used his shoulders to brace herself against him so she could lift each knee up to allow him to slide the material under her legs.

He didn’t want to seem like a total pervert but he couldn’t help but look at her. She was right next to him with the most neatly trimmed Mohawk he’d ever seen. “You’re into landscaping?” He didn’t reply when she nodded. Instead, he pressed his lips to her stomach. “So, when you finish yourself off, do you do it alone or in front of others?”

“Like do I perform?” She gently caressed his head, “It depends on how deserving the audience is.”

God, he wanted her. But, he needed to get one more thing out in the open before that could happen. He wanted total transparency between them, once and for all. “Me either.”

He felt his head being lifted from her warm skin and but he immediately dropped his eyes in embarrassment, “I have never had an orgasm during sex. The doctor thinks it was stress.”

“That is so sad,” she wanted to hug him, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad. She was used to it. There were millions of women who never had and probably never will have an orgasm – so was the plight of being a woman. But for Ivar to never experience it? He was too sweet a guy. It nearly broke her heart. “Do you at least get anything out of it?”

“Yeah. I like giving pleasure to someone else.” He tried to sound upbeat, but it wasn’t exactly a happy subject for him. What he was saying was true, he used to thoroughly enjoy making Freydis feel good. But, what about him? Didn’t he deserve to feel that way? Shouldn’t he get to experience an orgasmic high, at least once in his life? At least one time that wasn’t self-inflicted? “ And it does feel good.”

“Do you finish yourself off?”

“Never in front of anyone.” A devilish smile crept across Ivar’s face and when Cash saw that mischievous twinkle in those beautiful blue eyes, her face broke out in a smile, too.

Ivar had had many sexual conversations with women before but never before had he had a sex conversation with his partner. This whole thing, this talking and being together, looking at, touching, and getting to know about each other…all of this intimacy was amazing.

It was scary as hell for both of them, but damn it all if it didn’t feel natural. Even if their first time together wouldn’t be perfect, or they would have figure out who couldn’t do what because of physical limitations or just plain dislike, it would all pay off in the end. Neither of them had a point to try to prove to the other or to themselves. All they needed to do was enjoy each other. Who cared if neither had an orgasm? For the first time, they both were feeling something they hadn’t felt in a very long time. They felt at home, and safe with each other.

Cash closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his, “Bed or floor.” She laughed when he laid back and put both hands behind his head. “Oh yea, carpet burns and group masturbation...I knew you were freaky.”

Tags: @oddsnendsfanfics @a-mess-of-fandoms @waiting4inspiration @simsadventures @chipster-21 @tgrrose @alicedopey @thelastemzy @naaladareia @alexa4040 @absolutelynotanidiot @pokeasleepingsmaug @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @skadithegoddess @dina-m16 @tiyetiye @synnersaint @lostinthoughtsandfeelings@moonlightsspirit @geekandbooknerd @dreamlesswonder86 @inforapound @youbloodymadgenius @cruelfvckingsummer @mummybear @flowers-in-your-hayr @honestsycrets @thatendymion @jzr201

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kumoriyami-xiuzhen · 4 years

Text

Japan Girl’s Fest 3 - Hakuoki Drama “Screen Door Encounter” Translation

First post of the month, so I’ll start by asking you to please support me if you can either on ko-fi, through paypal or through patreon which gives early access to my stuff and blog translations…. also let me know if you have any hakuoki drama cds that you’d be willing to share that are on my looking for list since i either do not have audio for those cds or do not have audio that i can share...

Also, Happy Canada Day~!

Anyway, when I decided I’d try my hand at translating Hakuoki content, this was one of the very first live dramas that I really wanted to have translated (for the record the 2011 otomate party reimeiroku drama was 2nd tho i only found tl for that recently)... and while I did have translations for the drama itself, I am missing CH TL for some of the introductory dialogue that occurs before it... and the JP>ENG translations (not done by me) that I’ve included on this are from people who don’t really really Japanese (they both weren’t certain), which are for the two sets of words on pink backgrounds (first 2 images attached under the cut). If anyone can translate that text better, please send me a message since i’ll be cutting the intro off what i post to youtube otherwise [will include credit and can provide clean video +srt file if helping].

On top of that, I also didn’t have the drama’s name for the longest time (hence why i referred to this as ‘Unknown Drama’). Thankfully, the TL help I received from my friends was enough for that tho...

The format for this post has been done a bit oddly due to how i had to copy the subtitles for this line by line (it was off a video), and I never bothered to properly put the text into paragraphs and sentences due to how this was done off of community created subtitles (basically viewers contributed to the translation via the text barrage) on bilibi that showed up on the video at odd and not exactly precise timings....

As always, final edits will be done on the video... will have it done for this month.

link of the video i used for CH TL at the very bottom if interested in watching.

Enjoy~ this month is all non-game translations!

Japan Girl’s Fest 3 - Hakuoki Drama “Screen Door Encounter”

Translation by KumoriYami

^???? one of my friends says this should be something like: “The dark battle of the Shinsengumi begins quietly in the shadows of the Shogunate's conflict" while other says “The dark Battle of the Shinsengumi opens quietly in the shadow of the Battle of the shogunate.”

Narrator: [is this a time of] A time of repelling foreigners or the opening of a country?

All kinds of sweeping change occur [during the] country's age of unrest.

Bakumatsu.

In order to look for your father who is a Western doctor,

you've left home to live with the Shinsengumi,

Experience these turbulent times with the members of the Shinsengumi

^ also have no tl for this or what is narrated here, though google mtl says the text’s pronunciation kinda matches the audio here

TL is something among the lines of: “what begins here is the determined story of men thrown around by the voices of deception.” (TLN: I don't really know how to accurately translate 閉ざされた先, but it essentially means a predetermined destination) or “It starts with the story of a man who is at the mercy of a closed-off, untruthful voice.” so I’d guess something is among the lines of “What begins here is the fateful story that begins with being at the mercy of a man with a cold and uncaring voice.” or something or other?

Hakuoki

“Sliding Door (Fusuma) Encounter” [well should be anyway. i don’t have formal CH tl for this tho... also Fusumu can mean room dividers but i don’t think that sounds or looks as good.]

(Kazama enters)

Kazama: My wife, I have kept you waiting!

(crowd screams)

Kazama: My wife, I have kept you waiting!

(crowd screams again)

Kazama You must be filled with a deep sense of loneliness during the time we were separated by the hateful Shogunate's dogs [either that or hateful dogs].

but since I have arrived, you don't need to worry about anything. Just close your eyes, listen to my words and entrust yourself to me. That's it.

Today, you'll become mine.

Kazama: hahahahaha!! The love letter I wrote is truly wonderful. [this laugh count may or may not be accurate lol]

My wife will surely become infatuated with me once she reads it

But I am rarely able to avoid the eyes of the Shogunate's hunting dogs.

I went straight to her room but she's not here right now.

Really, to make her husband wait.

I can't just leave my love letter here then head back.

(footsteps)

ah, footsteps! I've been waiting for you, my wi—

Saito: Yukimura? It's me. Saito.

Kazama: Ugh....

Saito: it looks like you're in your room. I have something to say [tell you], can i come in?

Kazama: Don't come in!

Saito: Uoh? What’s wrong, Yukimura? Did something happen?

your voice sounds so low which is very strange

ah! is it....

Kazama: che! found out already/discovered already—

Saito: Are you sick?

Kazama: Mmhm......

Saito: Mm. that being the case, I will not come in.

Souji: Areh? Hajime-kun? What are you doing here?

Saito: ah, souji.

Souji: Sorry, but can you move aside? I have something to tell that child.

Hey, is that alright? i'm coming in.

Kazama: I said that you can't come in [I didn't say that you could come in]!

Souji: Hey, Hajime-kun, that voice just now came from behind this door.

Saito: Ah, it seems that Yukimura is sick.

Souji: Sick?

Saito: yes. I wasn't allowed in.

She's probably worried about passing it to us.

Souji: Hm...? (begins trying to open the door)

......Wah! It won't open. Is it blocked from the inside?

Saito: Souji, stop it. Don't forcefully enter a girl's room.

If something happens, how will you respond/react/take responsibility?

Souji: What happened [What do you mean]? What do you need to say [What are you trying to say]?

Saito: Ah... That's.... for example, if you went in and she was wiping her body down...

Souji: You're so embarrassed while talking that I'm feeling embarrassed.

Saito: This isn't something that can bee spoken aloud!

souji: Well, if she's not coming out of her room, that's easier for me.

Saito: What's going on [What do you mean by that]?

Souji: Just stay on the other side of the door and listen to what I have to say.

Just now one of the soldiers reported seeing Kazama near headquarters.

Saito: Kazama Chikage? In other words, his goal/target is to obviously...

Souji: That's right. That's why I came over to tell you [her] to stay inside your [her] room and not come outside.

Saito: So it's like that. I understand.

However it's Kazama again.

Souji: Indeed.

He really must be bored to be coming over here so many times.

Kazama:...mrgh....

Saito: The person herself has clearly said several times that she didn't want to go with him.

Kazama: Rgh...

Souji: How about saying "I hate you the most" to Kazama next time?

Kazama: How could that possibly be!

(silence)

Souji: Hey, Hajime-kun, where did that voice/sound come from just now?

Saito: The sound echoed everywhere, so I'm not entirely sure.

It might have come from inside headquarters

Souji: I think it sounded like it came from inside here.

(souji struggles with the door again while Saito tries stopping him and Kazama works to keep the door closed)

Souji: Sure enough, it's not opening.

Saito: What are you doing Souji. Kazama might already be inside headquarters.

We can't delay and must go and increase the watch/strengthen the guard.

Souji: mah, fortunately the First and Third Division are all here today.

They have plenty of combat power.

Saito: Then I’ll go tell the members of Third Division— (VA fumbles)

Saito: Then I'll go and tell the members of the Third Division to be on high alert [reword later. more literally it says raise vigilance].

Souji, what will you be doing?

Souji: I'll stay here.

The other person's target is on the other side of this door, it can't be left unguarded.

Saito: understood.

I'll leave protecting Yukimura to you then.

(Saito exits)

Souji: Well then, Hajime-kun's gone now.

hey, are you listening? I heard you were sick, [so] it's probably because of that.

That time when you and I went out alone together that night.

Kazama: Two people together?

Souji: Do you remember/You remember, right?

Although the wind was cold, the starts were quite beautiful that night.

You hands turned red from the cold, so I held them in mine.

"How is it, is this warm?"

I didn't hold your hand like that since it was cold, [rather] it was because your cheeks became very red.

Really, although I only did that as a prank,

seeing such a cute expression, it makes me wonder what will happen if I get serious

Or is it, that you want me to be serious?

I'm just making fun of you right now. You don't need to answer now.

So next time there's an opportunity, let's go on a walk together with just the two of us at night.

Kazama: You bastard! What did you do to my wife!

Souji: Ah? Sure enough it is Kazama. such a savage voice, [might have] deceived Hajime-kun, but not me

Kazama: Heh. I didn't intend to lie, it was you guys who misunderstood.

(sword gets drawn) Anyway, you bastard, is what you said true?

If even a fraction of what you said happened...!

Saito: Wait Kazama Chikage, stop this at once!

Souji: Hajime-kun? Could it be that you simply pretended to get tricked, and you were in fact already aware of Kazama?

Saito: Hm? hm.....of course!

Souji: Really?

Saito: Mm.....

Souji: Re~(poke)~al~(poke)~ly (poke)?

Saito: To tell you the truth, I bumped into Yukimura herself while looking for the other members. After thinking about which locations were suspicious, I came back here.

Anyway/Putting that aside [?]. Kazama! Prepare yourself!

Kazama: Che, Shut up, I'll cut you down later.

I must first cut down the man who put/laid his hand on my wife!

Saito: Put his hand—? Souji, what did you do to Yukimura?

Souji: Then, let's move to somewhere with more space. I'll cut you down today, it'll give me a peace of mind.

Kazama: You talk big! I'm going to/ I'll kill you first!

Saito: Eh? ah, wait, (they exit) Souji! Kazama!

Saito: I'll have to ask Souji what he did later...

end~

------

video will be done later this month.... tho not sure when since juggling a bit too many srt files right now (you’d know if you saw my patreon’s latest post and extrapolated from that lol).

link: https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1dx41177dj?from=search&seid=13990360835510964870

also i can’t believe that takeda is actually on one of the hakuoki shinkai drama cds. and on the sakamoto/nakoa one at that.... which makes miki the only shinkai char i know of who doesn’t appear on a drama cd.

oh and for the record, i only have translations for 2 of the 3 Japan girl’s fest hakuoki dramas (this being one of the 2).

#hakuoki #hakuouki #hakuoki drama translation #hakuoki live drama #saito hajime #Kazama Chikage #Okita Souji

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letterboxd · 5 years

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Bong Hit!

Today Parasite overtook The Godfather as the highest-rated narrative feature film on Letterboxd. We examine what this means, and bring you the story of the birth of the #BongHive.

It’s Bong Joon-ho’s world and we’re just basement-dwelling in it. While there is still (at time of publication) just one one-thousandth of a point separating them, Bong’s Palme d’Or-winning Parasite has overtaken Francis Ford Coppola’s Oscar-winning The Godfather to become our highest-rated narrative feature.

In May, we pegged Parasite at number one in our round-up of the top ten Cannes premieres. By September, when we met up with Director Bong on the TIFF red carpet, Parasite was not only the highest-rated film of 2019, but of the decade. (“I’m very happy with that!” he told us.)

Look, art isn’t a competition—and this may be short-lived—but it’s as good a time as any to take stock of why Bong’s wild tale of the Kim and Park families is hitting so hard with film lovers worldwide. To do so, we’ve waded through your Parasite reviews (warning: mild spoilers below; further spoilers if you click the review links). And further below, member Ella Kemp recalls the very beginnings of the #BongHive.

Bong Joon-ho on set with actors Choi Woo-shik and Cho Yeo-jeong.

The Letterboxd community on Parasite

On the filmmaking technique: “Parasite is structured like a hill: the first act is an incredible trek upward toward the light, toward riches, toward reclaiming a sense of humanity as defined by financial stability and self-reliance. There is joy, there is quirk, there is enough air to breathe to allow for laughter and mischief.

“But every hill must go down, and Parasite is an incredibly balanced, plotted, and paced descent downward into darkness. The horror doesn’t rely on shock value, but rather is built upon a slow-burning dread that is rooted in the tainted soil of class, society, and duty… Bong Joon-ho dresses this disease up in beautiful sets and empathetic framing (the camera doesn’t gawk, but perceives invisible connections and overt inequalities)—only to unravel it with deft hands.” —Tay

“Bong’s use of landscape, architecture, and space is simply arresting.” —Taylor Baker

“There is a clear and forceful guiding purpose behind the camera, and it shows. The dialogue is incredibly smart and the entire ensemble is brilliant, but the most beautiful work is perhaps done through visual language. Every single frame tells you exactly what you need to know while pulling you in to look for more—the stunning production design behind the sleek, clinical nature of one home and the cramped, gritty nature of the other sets up a playpen of contrasts for the actors and the script.” —Kevin Yang

On how to classify Parasite: “Masterfully constructed and thoroughly compelling genre piece (effortlessly transitioning between familial drama, heist movie, satirical farce, subterranean horror) about the perverse and mutating symbiotic relationship of increasingly unequal, transactional class relationships, and who can and can’t afford to be oblivious about the severe, violent material/psychic toll of capitalist accumulation.” —Josh Lewis

“This is an excellent argument for the inherent weakness of genre categories. Seriously, what genre is this movie? It’s all of them and none of them. It’s just Parasite.” —Nick Wibert

“The director refers to his furious and fiendishly well-crafted new film as a ‘family tragicomedy’, but the best thing about Parasite is that it gives us permission to stop trying to sort his movies into any sort of pre-existing taxonomy—with Parasite, Bong finally becomes a genre unto himself.” —David Ehrlich

On the duality of the plot: “There are houses on hills, and houses underground. There is plenty of sun, but it isn't for everybody. There are people grateful to be slaves, and people unhappy to be served. There are systems that we are born into, and they create these lines that cannot be crossed. And we all dream of something better, but we’ve been living with these lines for so long that we've convinced ourselves that there really isn’t anything to be done.” —Philbert Dy

“The Parks are bafflingly naive and blissfully ignorant of the fact that their success and wealth is built off the backs of the invisible working class. This obliviousness and bewilderment to social and class inequities somehow make the Parks even more despicable than if they were to be pompous and arrogant about their privilege.

“This is not to say the Kims are made to be saints by virtue of the Parks’ ignorance. The Kims are relentless and conniving as they assimilate into the Park family, leeching off their wealth and privilege. But even as the Kims become increasingly convincing in their respective roles, the film questions whether they can truly fit within this higher class.” —Ethan

On how the film leaps geographical barriers: “As a satire on social climbing and the aloofness of the upper class, it’s dead-on and has parallels to the American Dream that American viewers are unlikely to miss; as a dark comedy, it’s often laugh-aloud hilarious in its audacity; as a thriller, it has brilliantly executed moments of tension and surprises that genuinely caught me off guard; and as a drama about family dynamics, it has tender moments that stand out all the more because of how they’re juxtaposed with so much cynicism elsewhere in the film. Handling so many different tones is an immensely difficult balancing act, yet Bong handles all of it so skilfully that he makes it feel effortless.” —C. Roll

“One of the best things about it, I think, is the fact that I could honestly recommend it to anyone, even though I can't even try to describe it to someone. One may think, due to the picture’s academic praise and the general public’s misconceptions about foreign cinema, that this is some slow, artsy film for snobby cinephiles, but it’s quite the contrary: it’s entertaining, engaging and accessible from start to finish.” —Pedro Machado

On the performative nature of image: “A família pobre que se infiltra no espaço da família rica trata a encenação—a dissimulação, os novos papéis que cada um desempenha—como uma espécie de luta de classes travada no palco das aparências. Uma luta de classes que usa a potência da imagem e do drama (os personagens escrevem os seus textos e mudam a sua aparência para passar por outras pessoas) como uma forma de reapropriação da propriedade e dos valores alheios.

“A grande proposta de Parasite é reconhecer que a ideia do conhecimento, consequentemente a natureza financeira e moral desse conhecimento, não passa de uma questão de performance. No capitalismo imediatista de hoje fingir saber é mais importante do que de fato saber.” —Arthur Tuoto

(Translation: “The poor family that infiltrates the rich family space treats the performance—the concealment, the new roles each plays—as a kind of class struggle waged on the stage of appearances. A class struggle that uses the power of image and drama (characters write their stories and change their appearance to pass for other people) as a form of reappropriation of the property and values of others.

“Parasite’s great proposal is to recognize that the idea of knowledge, therefore the financial and moral nature of that knowledge, is a matter of performance. In today’s immediate capitalism, pretending to know is more important than actually knowing.”)

Things you’re noticing on re-watches: “Min and Mr. Park are both seen as powerful figures deserving of respect, and the way they dismissively respond to an earnest question about whether they truly care for the people they’re supposed to tells us a lot about how powerful people think about not just the people below them, but everyone in their lives.” —Demi Adejuyigbe

“When I first saw the trailer and saw Song Kang-ho in a Native American headdress I was a little taken aback. But the execution of the ideas, that these rich people will siphon off of everything, whether it’s poor people or disenfranchised cultures all the way across the world just to make their son happy, without properly taking the time to understand that culture, is pretty brilliant. I noticed a lot more subtlety with that specific example this time around.” —London

“I only noticed it on the second viewing, but the film opens and closes on the same shot. Socks are drying on a rack hanging in the semi-basement by the window. The camera pans down to a hopeful Ki-Woo sitting on his bed… if the film shows anything, it might be that the ways we usually approach ‘solving’ poverty and ‘fixing’ the class struggle often just reinforce how things have been since the beginning.” —Houston

The birth of the #BongHive

London-based writer and Letterboxd member Ella Kemp attended Cannes for Culture Whisper, and was waiting in the Parasite queue with fellow writers Karen Han and Iana Murray when the hashtag #BongHive was born. Letterboxd editor Gemma Gracewood asked her to recall that day.

Take us back to the day that #BongHive sprang into life. Ella Kemp: I’m so glad you asked. Picture the scene: we were in the queue to watch the world premiere of Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite at Cannes. It was toward the end of the festival; Once Upon a Time in Hollywood had already screened…

Can you describe for our members what those film festival queues are like? The queues in Cannes are very precise, and very strict and categorized. When you’re attending the festival as press, there are a number of different tiers that you can be assigned—white tier, pink tier, blue tier or yellow tier—and that’s the queue you have to stay in. And depending on which tier you’re in, a certain number of tiers will get into the film before you, no matter how late they arrive. Now, yellow is the lowest tier and it is the tier I was in this year. But, you know, I didn’t get shut out of any films I tried to go into, so I don’t want to speak ill of being yellow!

So, spirits are still high in the yellow queue before going to see Parasite. I was with friends and colleagues Iana Murray [writer for GQ, i-D, Much Ado About Cinema, Little White Lies], Karen Han [New York Times, Vanity Fair, Vulture, The Atlantic] and Jake Cunningham [of the Curzon and Ghibliotheque podcasts] who were also very excited for the film. We queued quite early, because obviously if you’re at the start of a queue and only two yellow tier people get in, you want that to be you.

So we had some time to spare, and we’re all very ‘online’ people and the 45 minutes in that queue was no different. So we just started tweeting, as you do. We thought, ‘Oh we’re just gonna tweet some stuff and see if it catches on.’ It might not, but at least we could kill some time.

So we just started tweeting #BongHive. And not explaining it too much.

#BongHive

— karen han (@karenyhan)

May 21, 2019

Within the realms of stan culture, I would argue that hashtags are more applicable to actors and musicians. Ariana Grande has her army of fans and they have their own hashtag. Justin Bieber has his, One Direction, all of them. But we thought, ‘You know who needs one and doesn’t have one right now? Bong Joon-ho.’

And so, you know, we tweeted it a couple of times, but I think what mattered the most was that there was no context, there was no logic, but there was consistency and insistence. So we tweeted it two or three times, and then the film started and we thought right, let’s see if this pays off. Because it could have been disappointing and we could have not wanted to be part of, you know, any kind of hype.

SMILE PRESIDENT @karenyhan #BongHive pic.twitter.com/Dk7T8bFYtv

— Ella Kemp (@ella_kemp)

May 21, 2019

But, Parasite was Parasite. So we walked out of it and thought, ‘Oh yes, the #BongHive is alive and kicking.’

I think what was interesting was that it came at that point in the festival when enthusiasm dipped. Everyone was very tired, and we were really tired, which is why we were tweeting illogical things. It was late at night by the time we came out of that film. It was close to midnight and we should have gone to bed, probably.

Because, first world problems, it is exhausting watching five, six, seven films a day at a film festival, trying to find sustenance that’s not popcorn, and form logical thoughts around these works of art. Yes! It was nice to have fun with something. But what happened next was [Parasite distributor] Neon clocked it and went, ‘Oh wait, there’s something we can do there’. And then they took it, and it flew into the world, and now the #BongHive is worldwide.

I love the formality of Korean language and the way that South Koreans speak of their elders with such respect. I enjoyed being on the red carpet at TIFF hearing the Korean media refer to Bong Joon-ho as ‘Director Bong’. It’s what he deserves!

I like to imagine a world where it’s ‘Director Gerwig’, ‘Director Campion’, ‘Director Sciamma’… Exactly.

Related content:

Ella Kemp’s review of Parasite for Culture Whisper.

Letterboxd list: The directors Bong Joon-ho would like you to watch next.

Our interview with Director Bong, in which he reveals just how many times he’s watched Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho.

“I’m very awkward.” Bong Joon-ho’s first words following the standing ovation at Cannes for Parasite’s world premiere.

Karen Han interviews Director Bong for Polygon, with a particular interest in how he translated the film for non-Korean audiences. (Here’s Han’s original Parasite review out of Cannes; and here’s what happened when a translator asked her “Are you bong hive?” in front of the director.)

Haven’t seen Parasite yet? Here are the films recommended by Bong Joon-ho for you to watch in preparation.

With thanks to Matt Singer for the headline.

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cinaja · 4 years

Text

Before the Wall part 12

A canon-compliant fic on the time of the War. For the summary and the entire story, click here

Disclaimer: Acotar and all characters belong to sj maas.

----

This is a nightmare. It has to be.

Miryam keeps thinking that she'll wake up any moment. Because this can't be happening. It can't. But deep down, she knows that she won't wake up. This is real.

They will take her back to Ravenia's palace and they will kill her. Slowly, painfully, drawn out over weeks. She has seen the punishments for those who tried to run and can only imagine what they will do to her. Still, Miryam doesn't beg for mercy - she knows it's no use and she decided a long time ago that she wouldn't die begging. (Even if she knows that she'll likely beg for death before the end. They all do.)

The female takes another step towards Jurian, the dagger glinting in her hand.

"Don't!", Miryam calls, "You don't need to kill him, just leave him be. It's me you want.

The female turns to her, her red aura (fire magic) glowing around her. "Be glad I kill him here and don't take him to Ravenia as well."

Something cold settles in Miryam`s stomach. Her power is beginning to rise, sensing her roaring emotions. "If you touch him", she hisses, "I will kill you."

The female just laughs.

Miryam just stares at her, going still in the faeries' grasp. She feels like her blood is on fire, lightning shooting through her veins. She feels like she's standing in the middle of an ocean, power tugging at her like a strong current.

Miryam lets it. What does it matter, anyways? She is already dead.

She doesn't know the spells, never learned to control her power properly, but worry is a distant thing. She barely feels the two faeries grab her hard enough to bruise. Her body might as well have belonged to someone else - there is just the power, tugging at her, begging her to just let go.

Still, she sees the High Fae angle her dagger over Jurian, who is still kneeling on the ground.

Miryam erupts. Her power is pulsing through the air and the female spins around to her. Miryam is burning, floating in an ocean of power, but it is unfocused, unguided - and harmless, because Miryam never learned how to direct it the right way.

She looks around, searching for anything to grab onto, and only finds the auras, glowing brightly around her three captors. Miryam imagines squeezing her hand shut around them, pressing the glowing magic right into the Fae. Choking them.

The female takes a step towards her. "What-"

Then, she screams. The faeries who hold Miryam let go, both of them start screaming, too. The female clutches her head. Drops to the ground.

"I warned you", Miryam says in a voice that doesn`t entirely belong to her.

She doesn't feel anything. Just power, thrumming through her. The Fae continue screaming.

Until they fall silent.

Jurian is staring at her, wide-eyed. He gasps.

This is what pulls Miryam back. She snaps back into her own body. Her power is still there, pulling at her, but she isn't drowning anymore.

Oh Cauldron, what has she done?

The three Fae are lying on the ground, limp, but Miryam rushes towards Jurian. She can see red, burnt skin through his clothes, but if she can tend to the wounds quickly enough, it should be fine. He has to be fine.

She crouches down before him. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

She reaches out, to pull his ruined tunic back and get a closer look at the burns, but Jurian flinches back. Only then does she notice the look on his face.

Fear. Mixed with horror.

Miryam stumbles back like he struck her. Her head is spinning, her power still pulling at her and there are three dead people lying on the ground around her. People she killed. Oh, Mother.

She spins around and flees. Without seeing or caring where she's going, she runs through the trees. Branches snag at her clothes and scratch her skin, but the pain is nothing.

She just killed three people. And Jurian knows what she is. He hates her. Miryam sobs.

Her foot catches on a root. Before she can react, she crashes to the ground. The skin on her hands rips open, but the pain barely registers. She doesn't bother getting up again. Instead, she simply curls up into a tight ball and begins to cry.

Slowly, her magic calms down. In its place, it leaves a burning pain. Miryam doesn't care.

She hears steps approach, but doesn't move. Maybe it's another Fae, come to kill her after all. She doesn't care. Everything hurts.

"Miryam", a concerned voice says. Helion. What is he doing here?

Strong hands grip for her and Miryam begins to struggle. She doesn't want him to touch her, doesn't-

"Easy", Helion whispers, "It's fine. Everything's fine. I'm just taking you back to the camp."

Miryam stops fighting back, but he still keeps talking to her, softly, like she's a frightened animal to be soothed. She isn`t entirely sure how she ends up in her tent, in her bed. She curls up into a ball. She focuses on her breathing, tries to shut out the pain or the image of the look in Jurian`s eyes.

“Miryam!”, Helion says (from his tone, not for the first time), “Could you please tell me if you`re hurt? Because otherwise, I`ll have to take a look and I feel like you won`t like that.

“I feel like my insides are on fire”, Miryam says into her cushion.

“I won`t claim I know much about witches”, Helion says, “Given that you guys are secretive as hell, but from what little I do know, that isn`t unusual. Just your body telling you to slow down before you burn yourself up. It isn`t fatal, though.”

It sure feels like it is. “I killed them”, Miryam whispers.

“I know”, Helion replies.

“I`m a monster. I`m just like them.”

“It speaks highly of you that you feel that way, but it`s war, Miryam”, Helion says softly, “Show me a single soldier who never killed anyone. And these people wouldn`t have hesitated to slaughter you and Jurian. You did the right thing.”

Miryam jerks upright. “What about Jurian?”, she asks, “Oh, Cauldron, I just...”

“Calm down, he`s fine. A bit scorched, maybe, but nothing a healer can`t fix.”

“He`ll hate me.”

“If he does”, Helion says, “he`ll be the biggest fool ever. But I`m sure he`ll understand.”

Miryam isn`t that confident. She has seen the look on Jurian`s face. Pure horror. But she doubts that Helion would ever be able to understand what being a witch means to humans. But she doesn`t feel like explaining.

Finally, Helion says softly, “You really are that young, aren`t you?”

“What?”

“I...” She can almost hear Helion shake his head. “I knew what you were from the moment I saw you in that war tent. But I thought... I thought you were older. Experienced. I thought you were lying about your age and your abilities to fit in better but I would never have imagined...” When Miryam still doesn`t reply, he adds, “But why? Why are you lying?”

“Why?” Miryam glares at him. “I have had my experience with the noble Witcher`s Guilt. Have watched them slaughter countless of my people. You think this ability is a gift?” She shakes her head. “It`s a curse. This”, she gestures to herself, “will ruin everything I have built for myself.”

Unable to stand that thought, Miryam gets up. The world sways beneath her feet and Helion reaches out to steady her.

“What are you doing?”

“I`m going to talk to Jurian. Before this gets any worse.” By the doorway, she hesitates. “Thank you. For your help”, she says, “Truly.”

Helion just waves her off. “If you want to thank me, take a little care of yourself. Your body is exhausted. You should rest.”

“I will”, Miryam says, “After talking to Jurian.”

For all her brave words, walking through the camp is exhausting. She has to stop every few steps because she feels like she`s going to pass out. But Miryam has some experience in ignoring pain (if a slave in the Black Land couldn`t work, they were killed). She is pretty sure none of the soldiers notice that something is wrong.

She enters Jurian`s tent without knocking, only to find out that he isn`t alone. Tia is sitting on his desk and they are both studying a map. When Miryam enters, Jurian looks up. There is nothing pleasant in the look he gives her.

“Can you leave us alone, please”, he says to Tia, voice cold.

“But...”

“Leave!”, Jurian snaps.

Tia merely arches an eyebrow and looks between them. Then, she shakes her head and pushes past Miryam out of the tent.

“Are you...” Miryam hesitates. “Are you hurt?”

Jurian just stares at her. Slowly, he rises from his chair.

“I`m sorry about what happened”, Miryam says.

“That`s it?”, Jurian asks sharply, “That is all you have to say? You were a personal slave to Ravenia of the Black Land, you stole her damned lover, for Cauldron`s sake! And oh, yeah, on top of all that, you are a gods-damned witch!”

“I`m sorry”, Miryam whispers.

“Sorry?” Jurian shakes his head. “Was anything you ever said to me true, or did you lie about everything?”

“I never lied to you”, Miryam says, proud of how even her voice sounds even though she`s dying inside. “Maybe I should have told you more, but I never lied. I told you I didn`t want to talk about my past and you accepted that, so don`t blame me for it now.”

“And what about you being a witch? You just decided not to mention that, either?”

Miryam`s hands are shaking, she curls them into fists. “You truly think I wanted that?”, she asks, “You think I feel good about it?” She takes a step closer the Jurian until she is standing right in front of him. “If you knew half of the shit I`ve seen witches do, you would never sleep through the night again! I can barely even use my powers!”

“But. We. Are. Friends.”, Jurian says, each word clipped, “Friends tell each other things. They trust each other. That`s how it works, Miryam.”

He is hurt, she realizes. Not angry, not really. Just hurt. And if Miryam is being honest, he has every right to be.

“I know”, she says, “But I couldn`t tell you. I couldn`t.”

“You couldn`t? That`s all you`re going to say?”, Jurian asks, “Don`t you think I had a right to know?”

The utterly wrong thing to say. A part of Miryam knows that he doesn`t mean ill, but the words still make her go entirely still. “The right?”, she asks, voice deadly calm, “Am I your possession, now?”

Jurian flinches. “I didn`t mean that”, he says, all traces of anger gone (he almost sounds panicked), “Please, you know I didn`t mean it that way!”

Miryam just shakes her head. She is so very tired. And nothing she can say will change anything. At the end of the day, she will still be a witch. And Jurian will still hate her. So she just turns around and leaves.

----

Drakon has always hated the Mountain of the Dead, the highest peak in the mountain range that borders the capital of Erithia. Ever since he was a child, going up there scared him. This place isn`t meant for the living and he feels like an intruder every time.

It's been two days since the battle. The dead have been buried and the wounded who survived so far will likely make it. Everything is calm enough that he dared to leave the fort for a few hours to winnow back to Erithia. (He told Sinna he was going to check in on his council. Not entirely a lie, he did visit them for a short while).

But the true reason he left is a different one.

Drakon crouches down before the four newest statues they erected on top of the windswept mountain, next to the ones of their ancestors. The statues for his parents are ornate and vivid enough that they almost look alive. His sisters' statues are different. Still beautiful, but the features are a bit off in places. (Drakon knows that his father had his and his mothers' statue hewn before his death, as most rulers do. But his sisters were young enough that they hadn't seen to the preparations yet, so their statues had not had a living model. The sculptor did his best, but it is still not quite the same.)

He knows that their bodies aren't here. Seraphim get burned after their death, the ashes carried away by the wind. Still, this is the only place where he can talk to them.

"I'm sorry", he says softly, "I'm sorry things went so wrong, I'm sorry you had to pay for my mistakes." He turns towards his sisters' statues. "It was supposed to be you. Either of you." He shakes his head. "You would have been better than me. You would have been confident and strong. True leaders." The statues don't reply. "But I'll do my very best", he says, "I will take care of our people and I will be a good leader. I swear it."

With that, he turns around. Flaring his wings, he takes off, soaring between the mountaintops and down to the city sprawled below. He lands in front of the gates of a small temple standing just beyond the city gates.

The High Priestess is leaning against the gate. She is ancient, her brown skin wrinkled with age and her black hair long since turned white. But her brown eyes still glint with intelligence.

Drakon inclines his head, the female returns the gesture.

"I was wondering", she says, "when you'd seek me out, Prince."

"You think I should have come sooner."

She shrugs. "You are given 21 months. It is not my place to judge what time you choose."

"My father went the night of his coronation", he points out.

"Yes, but he had months to prepare, since your grandmother, Cauldron bless her soul, abdicated. She took the entire 21 months back when she inherited the crown, by the way." She gives Drakon a sharp look. "You doubt too much, Prince."

Drakon doesn't reply (what would he say, anyways?). He just holds out a hand to the female. She takes it and he winnows them away.

The sensation, as usual, is far from pleasant. He blinks in the bright light and takes a deep breath, trying to fight the rising nausea. This is why he prefers flying.

He looks around. They landed inside a jungle. Monkeys and colourful birds are jumping around in the branches, small animals scurry off. Drakon only came here once before, when he was ten, but even then, it struck him how different this island is from Erithia. Colourful, soft. Unreal, somehow.

“Lets go”, Drakon says with a lightness he doesn`t feel.

He offers the High Priestess an arm to help her through the bushes. It is at least a mile to go, as far as he remembers, but the wards around the cave keep them from winnowing in and the High Priestess is old, her wings to frail to get her airborne.

Slowly, the way becomes steeper. The High Priestess leads the way through the trees like she has been here a million times (Not true, Drakon knows. Cretea is holy. The only people permitted here are the High Priestess and members of the Erithian royal family, and even those only with good reason.)

Finally, they reach the cave. Its entry is blocked by a door. Bronze, although it is filled with lead, meant to mask the power contained within. The High Priestess takes a key from her necklace. She whispers a prayer, then opens the door. Immediately, the power in the air intensifies, making a shiver run down Drakon`s spine.

The High Priestess turns to him. “You know what has to happen?”

“Yes.” He reread the ancient texts until he could recite them word by word.

“Then you also know you have to continue alone from now.”

Drakon nods. “I`m ready”, he says, trying not to sound like he wants to convince himself.

The tunnel is not dark. Along the walls, fluorescent plants glow in a pale light. (When Drakon`s father brought him here sixteen years ago, he thought they were ghosts). With each step, the power in the air intensifies.

Finally, the tunnel ends in an artfully carved doorway. Mist rises, then solidifies into a body.

Drakon stares at his father, blinking. This isn`t what he expected. The first time he was here, a big spider sat in the doorway, but he isn`t ten anymore. He knew his biggest fear was bound to have changed, but he thought it would be Ravenia now. Not this.

“Hello”, he says awkwardly, watching his father (the illusion of his father) who still stands in the doorway.

“So you`re the Prince now”, his father drawls, “Congratulations. Got yourself a position you were never meant to have as a reward for your incompetence.”

“This isn`t real”, Drakon says, “You are dead.” It doesn`t make the words hurt less, though.

“Because of your mistakes”, his father hisses, “I asked one thing of you, one simple thing. And you couldn`t even manage that.”

“That`s not fair!”, Drakon replies (so much for not letting the illusion meant to chase him away get to him). “Ravenia is a monster. You knew that, and you still tried to get into an alliance with her. What were you thinking?” It`s what he has been asking himself for the past years, anyways.

“You weren`t ever meant to have that position”, his father tells him, “What are you, hm? The third son, the unwanted one. Too stupid for Continental Politics, unfit to rule.” The male smirks. “The entire Continent laughs about you. And you will fail. You will fail your people and when it all crumbles around you, you will remember me.”

The illusion had a point - that is his biggest fear.

Drakon lifts his chin. “My father is dead”, he says, “You are just an illusion, meant to scare me. And you are wrong.” He thinks of Sinna and Nephelle, who both believe in him and of the vow he swore to his dead family. “Because I will never let my people down.”

His father watches him for a moment longer. Then, the illusion dissolves into mist, leaving the entry free.

Carefully, Drakon steps into the circular room behind the doorway. The power in the air is like a punch to the stomach. He turns towards the vitrine in the center of the room, where an ornate sword is on display, puts a hand over his heart and bows to the waist. He waits a few seconds, then straightens.

The sword is beautiful, its steel like lightning given form. In the hilt, there is a dark stone embedded. It looks like a void, eating up the light around it. (They say the sword was forged by the same people who created the Cauldron, the stone in its hilt the first thing to ever be made by the Cauldron.) Drakon takes a step towards it, then another.

“Wonderful, isn`t it?”, a voice says from behind him.

Drakon yelps and spins around. He only barely keeps from cursing (this is a holy place, after all). Even if what he sees would absolutely warrant a few curses.

A shadow is standing before him. A shadow in form of a male.

“All that power”, the shadow-male says, “Imagine the possibilities. Use it to free me and I´ll give you whatever you wish for.”

Drakon sighs. “I`m kind of busy right now, you know?”

“Ah, yes. The initiation. Saying your pretty little vows.” The male laughs. It sounds like a crow. “I have been trapped here for five millennia. Free me and I`ll do whatever you ask.”

“Isn`t that how you ended up in your situation in the first place, witcher?”, Drakon asks, “By trying to steal this power and use it for your own gains. You committed a sacrilege and you got what you deserved.”

“What if I could find your mate?”, the shadow-witcher asks, “Or kill that female – Ravenia.”

Drakon ignores him and puts his hands on the sword`s blade. He winces as the blade cuts his skin. Blood runs up the blade, towards the hilt and the stone embedded there (defying the laws of physics in the process, but with magic this powerful, those rarely apply anyways). The stone begins to glow as it sucks up the blood.

Slowly, Drakon begins to recite the words of the vow. The language is unlike any he ever encountered. Each word burns on his tongue, halfway through, his throat already feels like it must be bleeding.

“Do you even understand what you`re swearing?”, the witcher asks.

Drakon ignores him. (He does not, but he isn`t about to admit that. Besides, those vows have been sworn by every ruler of Erithia since their nation was founded millennia ago.)

By the time the vow is done, it is all he can do not to collapse on the ground. But it is over. Now, he is recognized as the new Prince not only before his people, but also before the Cauldron.

“I could make you the greatest Prince in history”, the witcher says, “No one would ever laugh at you again.”

“Thank you, but no”, Drakon says, “Not now, not ever.”

He takes his hands off the blade. They are bleeding, but it barely hurts. He wipes the blood off on his clothes, bows again to the sword (ignoring his unwanted companion who rolls his eyes) and turns around to leave.

“Anything you want!”, the witcher calls after him, his voice echoing on the walls, “Mark my words: Before the end, you`ll remember my offer!”

----

Jurian is in a bad mood.

Almost a day after the disaster with Miryam and the bounty hunters, he still hasn`t managed to talk to her. A part of him feels bad for the harsh words between them and the silence that followed. That same part wants nothing more than to go looking for her and beg her for forgiveness.

But Jurian is also proud and angry and if anyone should make the first step, it should be Miryam. Miryam the witch, apparently. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn`t have believed it.

She should have told him. They were almost in a relationship, for Cauldron`s sake! Maybe he didn`t have the right to know (and he should have known to avoid any phrasing that implied owning her in any way), but it`s just how relationships work. Trust - something she apparently never had in him. Not really.

So Jurian doesn`t go to Miryam. Instead, she trains until his body is aching. It still doesn`t help his mood. Then, he gets into a fight with Tia, who ends it by snapping at him to keep his frustration away from her.

To keep from angering any more friends, he hides in his tent. That`s where Helion finds him.

“I don`t want to talk to you”, Jurian tells him.

“Too bad for you”, Helion replies, “You`re an idiot, by the way.”

“Why?”

“Talk to her.”

Jurian glares at him. “One”, he says, “stay out of my private life. Two: I`m not the one who lied about everything.”

“That`s your problem? That she lied?”

“My problem”, Jurian snaps, “is that she didn`t trust me.”

“So now you`re proving to her that she was right not to?”, Helion asks, “Because this is how she will interpret it. As you hating her for being a witch.”

Jurian sighs. Like he could ever hate her. “This is not how it is.”

Helion crosses his arms. “I don`t get it”, he says, “She was a slave in the Black Land. And I know that you have a basic idea at the very least of what that means. So what were you expecting? An uncomplicated relationship? For it to be easy?”, Helion laughs, “If that`s what you want, then you should find yourself another female.”

“I don`t want anyone else”, Jurian says. That had been what he`d told Miryam. That he`d chose her over any other female. And that he knew it would be hard, but didn`t care.

And then, at the first true test, he`d failed. Had proven quite thoroughly that it did matter. Had gotten angry and made the situation about himself.

Jurian jumps to his feet. “I`m such an idiot.”

“My words exactly”, Helion says, but Jurian is already running past him.

Miryam isn`t in her tent. Both Tia and Mor have no idea where she is. But Jurian knows her better than either of them, so he has an idea where to look.

He finds her just outside the camp, sitting under an old oak, back leaning against the trunk, Kiel on her shoulder. The falcon shrieks as Jurian approaches, but Miryam doesn`t so much as look at him.

“May I sit down?”, Jurian asks. Miryam nods and he sits down next to her.

“I`m sorry”, they both say simultaneously, then look at each other, “Why?”

Jurian snorts, a smile tugs at Miryam`s lips.

“Me first”, she says, “I`m sorry for not telling you the truth. And for snapping at you. You were right, but that... it was a sore point.” She shakes her head. “I should have told you. I wanted to tell you. But I couldn`t.”

Jurian nods. “I`m sorry for the way I reacted”, he says, “You were right - you never made a secret of the fact that your past was private. I told you it didn`t matter and then I acted like an ass.”

“To be fair, that was a bit more than what you could have possibly expected”, Miryam murmurs.

“Doesn`t matter. I should have stood by you.” He closes his eyes. “Can you forgive me?”

Miryam makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Of course”, she whispers, “Of course I can. But... I`m a witch, Jur. Doesn`t it matter at all?”

He should have known. The fact that she kept this a secret was never about trust, never about him, but all about her hating her powers and expecting everyone else to do the same.

He turns towards Miryam and carefully reaches out for her hand. “No”, he says, “I couldn`t care less, actually. Because it is just power. Nothing else. And power is never good or evil - it`s all about who has it.” He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “And you, Miryam, you are good.”

Miryam is shaking now. Her breathing is going uneven. She wipes a hand over her eyes and Jurian sees that she`s crying.

“I`m sorry about how I reacted”, he says, “I was just so hurt that you didn`t trust me. Like you being a witch could ever change anything about the fact that I love you.”

Miryam turns to him. “Could you... could you say that again?”

“I love you”, Jurian whispers.

Miryam smiles. There are still tears in her eyes, but also happiness. She pulls him closer, Jurian leans down to her

And then, they are kissing

Jurian never wants this moment to end. But unfortunately, Kiel isn`t pleased at all by what they are doing. He flaps his wings, shrieking. A wing catches Jurian at the head. Him and Miryam pull apart. She gently chases the bird off, then turns back to Jurian.

“Sorry”, she whispers.

Jurian smiles and pulls her close again. His lips brush against hers and they are kissing again. He should have done this sooner. Much sooner. Looking back, he can`t understand anymore why he didn`t.

Somehow, they end up lying in the grass under the oak. His fingers are searching for the buttons of her tunic and-

"Wait!"

The sheer panic in Miryams voice makes him stop short. Hastily, he untangles himself from her and pulls back.

"Did I hurt you?", he asks.

Miryam shakes her head, but she is trembling.

It takes him a moment too long to understand. Looking back, he should have considered the possibility a lot sooner.

Carefully, Jurian steps back, bringing some space between them. Miryam is still shaking. He wishes there was some way to comfort her, but he feels like getting closer will make things worse.

"I'm sorry", he says softly.

Miryam shakes her head. "It's not your fault", she whispers, "I'm a mess."

Jurian wonders if he can get her to tell him the name of the Fae bastard (he prays there was just one) who did this to her. So that he can find him. And end him. Slowly. Painfully.

Miryam pulls herself together surprisingly quickly. Voice steady, she says, "I'm sorry. That was..."

Jurian shakes his head. "You don't ever have to apologize for that. I should have asked if you were fine with this.”

When Miryam doesn't reply, he asks, "Do you want me to leave?"

She shakes her head. "Stay. But just... Can we not..."

"We don't do anything that you aren't comfortable with, all right?”, he says, “Every step of the way, you get to decide. And if you decide that you don't ever want to have sex, then that's fine, too."

Miryam smiles a bit shakily. "Thank you. For understanding."

Carefully, Jurian sits down next to her. Miryam reaches for his hand.

“I love you, too”, she whispers.

Okay, this was LONG. Maybe I should have split it up, but I kind of didn't want to, so here it is. This chapter is a bit of a turning point. The set up is completely over now and things begin in earnest.

#miryam #drakon #jurian #helion #morrigan #mor #nephelle #before the wall #the war

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gaminggrabs184 · 4 years

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kagehinataboke · 5 years

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idk if you're still taking prompts... (and is totally okay if you aren't!!! you must have a lot already...) but IF you have the time AND I F you want to do it, can i please (with a cherry on top) request tdbk 1+17?? like maybe something in wwii?? like maybe they're both jews ot something along the ´the boy in the striped pajamas´ storyline, with todo as bruno (or maybe baku as bruno...) or maybe they're japanese and in japan... (1/2)

… i mean, japan was a big part of the wwii too. anyway, whatever is fine! i’m just really invested in the idea huh. but if you can, obviously!!!! no pressure!!! your writing is perfect!!!! (2/2)

first of all: thank you ❤️ second of all: HELL YES. YES. anon, you don’t know this, but i’m obsessed with history and have been wanting to do a WWII au FOREVER ;-;

also i listener to this song while writing and it increases the sadness level by about 100000% if anyone is interested

tdbk, [1] Historical AU and [17] War AU

***

“Are you still having the nightmares?”

“I’ve been doing the breathing exercises before bed.” Bakugou avoids the question, as he always does when Aizawa asks. “I think things are a bit better.”

That’s a lie. He still has the nightmares, and things are the opposite of better. But how is Bakugou supposed to tell his doctor that, after a year away from the war, he still has the same nightmare day after day? That it never gets any better no matter what he does? He can’t, and he doesn’t.

Every night, he goes to sleep terrified of the images that live deep in his mind. The memories that only come out in dreams. The nameless boy he doesn’t know, yet somehow knows all too well. The screams of that boy, which echo in Bakugou’s head for hours after he wakes up. The heat of blood. The overwhelming smell of saltwater. The smoke-filled sky over the murky Pacific. Fragments of things he used to know.

The only thing he can think of that will get rid of this burden is finding the person stuck in his head. If only things were that simple. Bakugou has been checking the records of every soldier in navy battle, but he can’t connect a name to the face that flickers behind his closed eyelids. Why can’t he remember?

After waking up in the hospital thirteen months ago, he could only recall three things: his name, his age, and that he was a soldier for the Japanese navy. Nothing else. Now, he’s regained most of his childhood memories, but his time spent fighting in the war remains hazy. He’s blocked it out due to severe trauma, the doctors say, but Bakugou wants nothing more than to remember.

“Make sure you come back in a month,” Aizawa tells him, as always, when he dismisses him. “And don’t go poking around the recruitment office anymore. They’ll think you’re well enough to be re-drafted.”

Bakugou just nods, pulls his hat low over his eyes, and steps out into the rainy afternoon smog. He’s got dark circles from lack of sleep, and he seriously doubts the army would want him back given his severe memory issues. It’s not like he chose to have his ship blown up or to get amnesia. Whatever. He doesn’t need to go back to the recruitment office, anyway: they won’t tell him anything. If he’s going to find this mystery boy, he’s going to have to do it alone.

He’s starting to recover bits and pieces, at least. The dreams, although horrifying, are becoming clearer. He can remember sights, sounds, sensations. The smell of the ocean. The feeling of a hand on his wrist, and the sun on his face. The smile of the boy with no name—the boy Bakugou’s heart aches for. He knows him, if only he could remember how.

That’s why he can’t tell Aizawa about the nightmares. He’ll try to get rid of them, and then Bakugou will have nothing left to remember. The more he dreams, the closer he gets. That boy holds the key to what Bakugou knew in the past. He’s going to remember everything, even if it fucking kills him.

His friends, however, think he’s lost it.

“You come back alive with nothing more than some scrapes and amnesia, yet your head is still living in the war? I don’t get you,” intones Kirishima, one of Bakugou’s old high-school classmates. He stayed back in Japan to design planes—helping the war effort in a different, arguably smarter way. It certainly didn’t make him any less annoying, though.

“You don’t get it,” Bakugou replies irritably, digging through the papers piled in front of them. “I’m not living in the war. You’d be frustrated, too, if you had things you knew you remembered but could never fucking remember them.” He nudges Kirishima roughly. “Keep looking. I know I’ll find him eventually.”

“How can you expect to dig through thousands of records with nothing more than a face to go off?” Kirishima whines, opening a new box to dump out piles of photos. “I obviously won’t know if it’s him, so how can I even be of help?”

“Use this.” Bakugou pulls a sketch from his jacket pocket and presses it to the table. It‘s the only thing that survived his trip to the ocean. He can’t remember drawing it, but it’s definitely his handiwork: A profile of the mystery boy, leaning against a ship’s railing. There’s half a smile on his face, and his eyes are peaceful. Serene. So out of place in a war zone.

“When did you draw this?” Kirishima squints at the paper. “Wow… it’s really good. You got better while you were stuck on that ship, huh?”

“Shut up and look, Shitty Hair.”

Bakugou spreads the pictures apart, but no face jumps out at him. Why is it so hard to remember someone he clearly knew so well? He’s so frustrated that he wants to rip his hair out. Where is this damn guy, and why does Bakugou need to get back to him so badly?

***

“Shouto, it’s past noon. You need to get up.”

Todoroki doesn’t stir. He keeps looking out at the sea, ignoring Fuyumi’s impatient presence at his back. The scent of saltwater is always strongest in the early morning. The harbor is already full of fishermen’s ships, heading out for a day of hard work.

Unfortunately, like the ocean, Fuyumi is immovable. “You need to get out of the house today. It’s been three weeks since you came back, and you’re starting to reek of despair.”

“Despair doesn’t have a smell,” Todoroki sighs, finally rolling over to look at her.

She folds her arms over her chest. “False: it’s what little brothers smell like after locking themselves in their room for a month. Get up. Bathe. Go to the market for me.”

Todoroki knows she won’t give up, so he pushes himself up, accepting the crutches she passes to him. She already has a tub ready, and as much as he hates to admit it, the hot water feels soothing on his aching limbs. They’re stiff after being in the same position for so long. Most of them, anyway. Todoroki has to marvel at the way the feeling in his left leg just ends at the knee. He’ll have to get used to it eventually, he supposes.

When he’s changed, Fuyumi gives him some money and kicks him out into the dismal afternoon drizzle. After the end of the war, Japan is healing slowly from its wounded pride and broken cities. Todoroki was lucky to return to his family home in Matsue, untouched by the carnage. If only his body and mind shared the same fortune.

The market is scarce with rationing still in place, but Todoroki manages to find most of Fuyumi’s list before he runs into a long line at the fish market. He settles in for the wait and picks up snippets of a conversation ahead.

“He’s raiding records and stirring up trouble with the army left and right, so much so that he’s infamous, even way out here.”

“What? All that to find one person? Kyoto men are their own brand of crazy.”

Todoroki reaches the front of the line, collects a parcel of fish, and heads home. His mind replays the strangers’ words. Kyoto is one of the only big cities unscathed after the war. Once upon a time, Bakugou had said he was from there.

Bakugou… Todoroki has been trying not to think of him. His name only brings pain. When they were separated at sea and Bakugou’s ship went down, Todoroki had minutes to panic before his own ship suffered the same fate. A slaughter, they called it. So many men lost to the sea that it was impossible to keep track of them all. Many are still lost, and even the ones that returned haven’t truly been found. They all left parts of themselves out in those bloody waters, Todoroki included.

He searched the records of their platoon and could find nothing of Bakugou Katsuki. It was almost as if he never existed. Todoroki would believe it, if not for the memories. They come on nights when the sea is calm and the sky is clear. Only good memories, which are somehow all the more painful.

Bakugou used to draw him. He was trying to be an artist before the draft, he said. He would only let Todoroki see some of his work, and never what he drew of him. He did draw him, even though he never admitted it. In every spare moment, Bakugou’s head was buried in a notebook, gaze trailing Todoroki across the deck, hand moving as if it had its own eyes.

“Shouto?” Fuyumi opens the door, which Todoroki has been standing in front of for a while. “What are you doing?”

Todoroki looks up at her, feeling clear-headed for the first time since returning home. “I want to visit Kyoto.”

***

Bakugou fiddles with a charcoal pencil. He still has to stop himself from using it. His fingers itch to sketch out the shape of familiar cheekbones. Of eyes that used to watch him. That still watch him in his nightmares. He’s afraid of what his hands will unleash if he gives them access to paper.

“Still can’t draw?” Kirishima sits beside him, an engineering journal in hand.

“No.” Bakugou sets down his pencil with a sigh. “Everything just feels so damn bland. There’s nothing beautiful here.” He’s not here, his mind corrects. He was here and now he’s not. He’s missing from me.

“You’re in a spiral,” Kirishima says. He doesn’t mean it maliciously, but it still pisses Bakugou off, even before he adds, “If you waste your life chasing after ghosts, you’ll always be living amid war.”

“What the fuck do you know?” Bakugou snaps, hugging his knees to his chest. He considers jumping off the train railing they’re perching against, but he isn’t suicidal. Yet.

“You’re stuck. That’s all I’m trying to say. This mystery person you can’t forget is like a rope. He’s keeping you tethered in a past you can’t even remember.”

“But he’s the key to remembering!” Bakugou snaps. “I know he is! If I can find him, I… I know everything will come back to me.” Bakugou’s hands clench into fists. “I’m not living in the past. I’m chasing it, but it’s moving too damn fast for me to keep up.”

Kirishima doesn’t say anything to that. How can he? Bakugou is sure he’s being clear about how desperate he is. One more dream and he’ll remember his name. Just one second longer and it will come to him. He can’t stop searching, or he’ll lose this part of himself. The part his heart won’t let go even when his mind has forgotten.

“I’m going back home.” Bakugou gets up, pausing before sticking the pencil in his coat pocket. “I’ll see you later.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he pulls a sketch from his back pocket. Its edges are worn from constant unfolding, but the subject is as clear as when his unclouded eyes gazed upon it. There are thousands of other images like it living in Bakugou’s head, and he wonders now if it might be better to draw them. To set them free will be to experience them in the light of day. The light may be exactly what he needs most.

His hands agree all too quickly. Bakugou can’t rip new sheets of paper off fast enough before they’re filled with him. His eyes, his smile, his hands, his face, his everything. The pages spill across the floor, just like water spilled over the decks of that sinking ship so long ago. How his memories flowed out of his head and into the sea.

The sea… He lived by the sea, didn’t he?

Bakugou can recall his voice in whispers softer than crashing waves. My home is called Matsue. There’s nothing very exciting about it, but… the ocean is so close. When I wake up, I can hear it and smell it. The scent of saltwater is always strongest in the early morning.

Bakugou pauses mid-sketch. A stoic face looking out to sea watches him.

Matsue… isn’t very far away. If he’s alive, he’ll be there. He must be there. And even if he isn’t there, Matsue still might hold the key to who he is. And, just maybe, who Bakugou is.

***

“Are you sure you can handle taking the train by yourself?”

“I’m not a child, Fuyumi. I’ll be fine.” Todoroki lets her adjust the bag across his shoulders before nudging her away. “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll call when I arrive.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you later.” She hugs him goodbye, and Todoroki finally boards the train to Kyoto.

The ride only takes two days, and in that time, Todoroki has things to keep him occupied. He’s supposed to be studying his medical books to get back into school, but instead, he gets distracted by the paper tucked in his coat pocket. It’s a sketch of the ocean that Bakugou gave him for birthday. Fuyumi must’ve put it there. When he first arrived back home, he wouldn’t let go of it for a week.

Todoroki wonders what Kyoto is like. Bakugou spoke little about his home and himself. He always wanted to hear about Todoroki, instead. Perhaps Kyoto will reveal a new part of Bakugou. Or, with any luck, all of him.

The city is, however, not as Todoroki expected. It’s dark and rainy, but in a different way than Matsue. Kyoto rain is overwhelming and hard and doesn’t smell of the sea. Rather than wet sand and gravel underfoot, the city streets are muddy and antagonistic.

Todoroki wanders aimlessly through the center of the town, which is ablaze with activity. There are people as far as the eye can see, but none of them are the one Todoroki searches for. He should’ve come here with more than memories and a name, but it’s too late to go home now. If there’s one lesson the war taught him, it’s to always keep looking ahead. Literally, in this case.

“Watch where you’re going!” A stranger pulls Todoroki out of the way of an approaching car, which splashes then both with mud.

“Thank you,” Todoroki mutters after collecting himself. “I… I got lost in thought.”

“You seem lost in general.” The stranger pauses, doing a double-take for reasons Todoroki doesn’t understand. “Whoa, wait a second— Hey, weird random question, but you weren’t… in the navy, were you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh. Oh man. I can’t explain, but you really need to come with me.” The stranger takes him by the arm. “I’ll tell you on the way. Actually, before that—do you know someone by the name of Bakugou?”

“What?” Todoroki’s heart skips a beat. He pulls the stranger to a stop. “Bakugou? Bakugou Katsuki? He’s still alive? Do you know him? Is he here? Can I see him?”

“Slow down. That’s too many questions. He’s here and alive, I’m his best friend, Kirishima, and I’ll take you to his place right now.”

“He’s… he’s really alive?” Todoroki presses a hand to his chest, feeling his pulse hammer against his fingertips. “You’re not kidding?”

“I’m serious. And from the looks of it, you’ve been searching for him as hard as he’s been searching for you.”

“He’s been searching for me?” Todoroki follows Kirishima down the street, feeling his heart slam into his chest. It’s been so long since he let himself hope… To think that Bakugou has been alive, and looking for him, this whole time is unreal.

“He’s been obsessed with finding you since he got back.” Kirishima glances at Todoroki nervously. “You probably don’t know this, but… he has severe amnesia. He regained most of his memories, but he says the time he spent in the war is hazy. Your face was the one thing he couldn’t forget.”

Todoroki wipes away a few sudden tears before Kirishima sees them. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”

“I just can’t believe I ran into you. He’ll lose his mind.” Kirishima stops outside a small housing unit and knocks on the door. His excitement noticeably dissipates the longer the knock goes unanswered. “Er… let me get the spare key.”

Todoroki takes a moment to cool down. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, even now. He needs to be prepared for the worst. But when the front door opens, his heart blossoms with nothing but hope. Drawings flood the room, lying across the floor in crests as big as ocean waves.

Him. It’s all him. Todoroki stares at himself on every page, staring out to sea, tying ropes, playing cards, smiling.

“He’s not here,” Kirishima says, bending down to pick up one of the drawings. “I don’t know what happened, but… I guess this probably confirms everything I said.”

“Where did he go?” Todoroki has to stop himself from grabbing Kirishima’s shoulders. Irrational panic is clawing its way to the surface. Todoroki has to reassure himself that he isn’t losing Bakugou again when he hasn’t even gotten him back yet. “Do you know why he isn’t here?”

“I’m not sure, but—“

“Oh, you’re here, Kirishima?” Someone new appears in the open doorway, shaking rain from his blond hair. “Who’s this?”

“Kaminari!” Kirishima practically jumps on the startled newcomer. “Do you know where Bakugou went?”

“Huh? Yeah. He went to Matsue to chase after that guy that he…” Kaminari pauses to look at Todoroki, then at Kirishima, then back at Todoroki. “Oh. Well. Bakugou is in Matsue, but I guess… the person he’s looking for isn’t.”

***

Matsue is completely different than Kyoto. Rather than being simply untouched by the war, it’s as if it never existed here. The people seem almost carefree; happy, even. Bakugou wanders the streets in wonder at the change. The war has touched here—it’s easy to tell—but things are already on the mend.

Bakugou finds himself in a crowded market, where rationed goods are being bartered for and carried away. His eyes comb through the rain, searching for a familiar face. He doesn’t find it, but he does spot someone who sparks the faintest recognition. He’s seen a picture of her before.

“Excuse me.” He startles her by tapping her on the shoulder, so much so that she almost smacks him. “Sorry. You just look familiar.”

The girl is about to brush him off when she does a double-take. “You’re—“ She cuts herself off; shakes her head, as if in understanding. “You missed him,” she sighs slowly. “He left for Kyoto two days ago.”

Bakugou’s hands clench into fists. She knows. “He’s looking for me?”

“He thought you were dead.” She readjusts the basket on her arm. “He only just arrived home a few weeks ago. Nothing would console him when he couldn’t find any trace of you. He‘s... well, he wasn’t well enough to searxh for you.”

“He thinks I’m dead?” Bakugou swallows thickly. He could ask her for his name, or ask when he’ll be back, but his tongue can’t form the words. “I have to go,” he mutters instead, backing away. She doesn’t stop him, so he turns to run.

He sprints all the way to the train station, the street passing by in a blur of moving feet and mud. He’s so distracted that he runs head-first into someone on the platform. They collide, Bakugou grabbing an elbow at the last second to keep them both from falling. “Sorry. I’m in—“

The world fractures, and Bakugou is suddenly back in the war. Not the violent parts, but the calm ones. The days where he would sit and sketch the same person over and over, but would never let him see no matter how much he begged. The afternoons where they played cards and swapped stories from home. The nights where they snuck into empty places and got lost in each other.

Bakugou‘s fingers have suddenly settled against his cheeks, holding his face up into the dreary evening light. His skin is soft and his eyes are lost in memories, just as Bakugou’s must be.

His name… His name is…

Bakugou feels himself smile for the first time in months. “Todoroki.”

He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s never been so soft. So close to breaking. But then again, he’s never experienced this type of relief before. The final pieces of his memory settle back into place, and his heart becomes whole again. The war that’s been waging inside of him ever since he woke up has finally been won.

Todoroki hugs him, his arms solid and achingly real. He pulls back to look at him, tears trickling from the eyes that used to haunt Bakugou’s dreams. “I missed you,” he says, so softly it’s almost a whisper.

Bakugou kisses him to steal the sadness from his voice. Then he kisses him again. And again, until he thinks he might know he is. Who they both are.

The war is over. This time, for good.

#hi #i am posting one tmore temporarily-off-hiatus-before-getting-back-on-hiatus request #and i'm dead #rip #i physically cannot handle this #;-;#answered asks #calla.txt #todobaku #trope prompts

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italianfootballtheories · 4 years

Text

Are We There Yet?

March 8, 2020

Two and a half years on from the Sweden debacle and Euro 2020 (we hope) on the horizon. By coach Mancini’s own admission, 2019 exceeded all expectations for Italy.

Credit: AP/PA Images

The Azzurri are currently on an 11 game winning streak which includes 10 out of 10 in qualifying, eclipsing legendary Vittorio Pozzo’s longstanding record. Qualification was sealed with three games to spare and ended with the rare symphony of nine goals smashed past Armenia. Fans will be wondering if the boys in blue are back among the big, for real. Things seem rosy (and green) again at Coverciano, but is the renaissance only shirt deep?

Time, and possibly even the upcoming friendlies against Germany and England, will tell if Italy have re-established themselves among Europe’s elite or if the numbers from a (supposedly) modest group have flattered. Many have pointed to the lack of stern opposition faced in 2019 and some will be watching Bosnia’s performance in the play-offs from the corner of their eye for some clues on how accurate that claim has been. With Greece in transition and Bosnia inconsistent, humble Finland was Italy’s biggest threat in Group J and eventually went through in 2nd.

But even if the pessimism is true and Italy truly had a soft group, Roberto Mancini’s achievements are still impressive with all things are considered. When the former Zenith coach landed from Russia (with love), the entire set-up was in disarray; from federation to coaching staff, from the squad right through to fans and a disenchanted nation. Mancini himself was only selected by a commissioner awaiting a president elect for the FIGC - Italian football’s governing body. During 2 friendlies in footballing limbo, interim caretaker Luigi Di Biagio did little to help his future incumbent by naming a largely status quo squad while the country cried for revolution and rejuvenation.

This left Mancini balancing experimentation with League A survival in the inaugural Nations League. Initially, Mancio was criticized for not using the competition to as an opportunity to restore pride and morale after the World Cup failure. Italy’s Nations League performances did shown progression, but a lack of goals (2 in total) had stifled optimism. Mancini’s vindication would eventually come in Euro qualifying.

Depending on who you are in football, how you win is as important as winning itself. Mancini would have been forgiven for adopting pragmatism in order to churn out results in Italy’s precarious situation. Many were pleasantly surprised when Mancio gave them positive football; high pressing; playing out from the keeper; and controlled possession in the center with the deployment of both Verratti and Jorginho, defying those who said they couldn’t play together. Far removed from the archetypal Italy teams of the past; an attacking 4-3-3 dotted with exciting youngsters, always trying to score and never resting on the laurels of a 1-goal lead. Italy sides of recent history often scraped in 1-0 victories against the likes of Malta and the Faroe Islands. Each of the Azzurri’s 37 qualifying goals would have been liberating for fans across the peninsula (and beyond). Mancini deserves a lot of credit for flying in the face of tradition in a country that lives and dies by them.

Of course Italy didn’t fly through the qualifying campaign without the odd bout of turbulence. Mancini’s men really struggled to deal with Dzeko, Pjanic and co in the home fixture against a Bosnia side that rightfully felt they deserved more. Had it not been for 2 moments of magic from Insigne and Verratti, the 100% record would have been nothing more than fan fiction. Away to Armenia, a controversial red card for the home side at 1-1 played a big part in Italy’s underwhelming victory. While away to lowly Liechtenstein, the minnows’ tempo caught Italy on the back foot for sections of the game, drawing fine saves from Sirigu before the flood gates opened late on. Optimists will remind us that great teams win even when they’re not playing well, but the coaching staff should nonetheless be re-watching those performances.

A lot of time (in footballing terms) has now passed since the festival of goals against Armenia. At rest since November, the following few months will be delicate for the Azzurri, especially for Mancini who’ll want to make sure the momentum hasn’t frozen over during the winter. One of the Azzurri’s strengths in qualifying was their unity and desire to fight for each other under one flag, temporarily putting aside club interests for the greater good. The C.T. has intimated on several occasions that the bulk of his Euro 2020 squad has already been determined, with only 2 or 3 spots up for grabs, so the core looks set to remain intact.

Mancio does have some other knots to untie though. Zaniolo’s injury almost counts as double, given his flexibility to play in midfield or as part of the front 3. Sensi too, after a superb start to the season, has struggled with injury and subsequently with form; a situation complicated further by the arrival of Eriksen at Inter. Chiellini returns, but this creates as many problems as it solves. Does Mancini reinstate his captain to the starting 11 or keep faith with his vice, Bonucci, and the in-form Acerbi? An ACL injury can be damning for players of an age; it effectively ended Marchisio and Montolivo’s careers, who were both younger than Chiello at the time of injury. The Juventus defender’s experience and dressing room presence alone merits inclusion, but his application on the pitch is still open to assessment.

Other pillars of the successful qualification run are enduring their own share of troubles in some shape or form. Insigne was instrumental in Italy’s exceptional 2019, but back home in Naples he’s been at odds with club, coach, and fans. Bernardeschi’s form and game-time has been far from desired under Sarri, who’s appeared confused by the former Fiorentina forward’s instruction manual. Speaking of Fiorentina, Chiesa’s form has also been intermittent under the perpetual cloud hanging over his future in Florence. Belotti has stopped scoring of late, coinciding with Torino’s abject form, and even Lorenzo Pellegrini is going through a less than ideal moment in the capital.

The full-back positions are where most of the uncertainty regarding Mancini’s selections lie. Biraghi’s profile has risen since his surprise selection by Mancini and further solidified by his solid performances. Moving to Inter in the summer, the left-back has proved his on-pitch ethic and generosity, but he represents an option of quantity over quality. Spinazzola has played well when called on by club and country, despite the on-off saga of his failed move to Inter. Although the Roma man has struggled with fitness issues of his own and sometimes doesn’t offer enough defensively as he does going forward. Emerson Palmieri is a similar profile and he too is dealing with insufficient playing-time at Chelsea.

Florenzi seems favorite to start at right-back in his adopted position. The versatile Roman now finds himself on loan at Valencia after being a marginalized captain in the capital. Napoli’s Di Lorenzo seems favorite to be the back-up, even if Spinazzola can also play on the right. Gianluca Mancini and Izzo have deputized on the right, albeit unconvincingly in a role unfamiliar to what they’re used to at club level.

Upcoming friendlies later this month (if they go ahead) will give more clues on how Mancini plans to mitigate these issues and how the Azzurri fare against a more intimidating measuring stick in the shape of England and Germany.

In addition and on a final note, Serie A players will now have to contend with a fixture list bottle-neck due to coronavirus postponements. Of course, it goes without saying that football is not the top priority when an epidemic and human lives are concerned, but just as Jurgen Klopp suggested, we’ll leave that discussion to the virologists and scientists. My profession doesn’t come with an ist attached to it, so instead I’ll be following recommendations from experts qualified on matters such. As a human being, however, I’m qualified enough to see the all too evident panic driven discrimination and a distinct lack of compassion in a time that desperately needs it. Europe, in particular, seems more divided than ever in a year when the European Championships will be hosted across the continent. A decision intended not only to celebrate the tournament’s anniversary, but to also symbolize the region’s unity. In Italy, as in all of Europe, the irony of that message is spreading faster than the virus.

#euro2020 #azzurri #mancini #robertomancini #italy national team #italianfootball

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howtobuytech · 5 years

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How to Free Up Storage on Your iPhone

You’ve probably seen the dreaded pop up telling you your device is out of space, especially if like most people you don’t pay the extra cash for a higher tier of storage when you buy a phone. Sometimes it can be confusing what your options are. Given that Apple wants to sell you additional iCloud storage, they don’t have much incentive to make it clear. Fortunately, there are a few quick solutions for offloading the most common storage hogs.

Photos

Having too many photos is probably the top cause of limited storage, but it turns out it’s actually pretty easy to deal with this. You could plug your phone into a computer to offload those photos onto a hard drive, but there are also easy ways to store them in the cloud for easy access from all your devices.

iCloud Storage: If you have multiple Apple devices or your want to be able to share your photos with friends and family, iCloud is the easiest way to store your photos. The problem is that Apple doesn’t give you much free iCloud storage space. If the meager amount you get for free isn’t enough to store all your photos, you can always pay the few dollars a month for additional storage. It’s annoying, but it is convenient and you’ll have easy access to everything right from the Photos app on all your devices. Simply open Settings, tap your Apple ID at the top, tap iCloud, and make sure photos is set to “On.”

Google Photos: This is another option that might be better for most people. First of all, it’s free and unlimited. Simply download the Google Photos app and it’s a pretty simple process to upload your photos from there. Of course, nothing is truly free and there are a couple of downsides that may or may not matter to you. First, Google Photos has a file size cap, so if you take a bunch of high resolution photos, it will compress those photos during the upload so you may lose some detail in the image. Most people won’t be able to notice this though. Second, Google isn’t exactly known for protecting its users’ privacy. It’s very likely that Google is using some of these photos for its own data purposes, like training its algorithms to recognize objects in images. Again, that may or may not matter to you personally.

After backing up your photos in the cloud–it might be wise to actually backup your photos on a hard drive and in the cloud–you can simply delete the photos on your phone by going to Settings > General > iPhone Storage.

Messages

The options for messages are much the same as for photos, except there’s really not a Google Photos-like option. You can back up your messages by plugging your phone into your computer and opening iTunes. Using the exact same process as for photos, you can also keep your messages stored in iCloud.

The only real free option without a computer or iPad Pro is to simply delete old messages. It’s not ideal, but some people don’t have a need to go back and read messages from a year or years ago. Simply go to Settings > General > iPhone Storage.

Unused Apps

We all download apps from time to time just to use them once and never open again. Annoyingly, these unused apps can still take up a ton of space. Fortunately, this one has the simplest solutions.

Delete Apps Manually: You can simply delete apps by long pressing on them until it goes into jiggle mode. From there, just tap the X on the app icon. Don’t worry about losing those apps if you paid for them. You can always re-download them without paying again.

Second, Apple has already built a feature to offload unused apps. Go to Settings > iTunes & App Stores and make sure Offload Unused Apps is toggled on. Apps offloaded in this way will still show up on your home screens but will take a minute to re-download if you try opening them again.

Unused App Media

The last common storage hog is media data stored by apps like Spotify and Netflix. If you frequently download playlists or TV shows, these can fill up your phone very quickly. The process for solving this is simple. Go into Spotify (or other music app) and toggle off Downloaded for any playlists you don’t need frequent access to. In video apps like Netflix, check if you have any shows or movies downloaded and delete any you don’t need or have watched already.

Alternatively, you can look at a full list of apps ordered by how much space they take up by going to Settings > General > iPhone Storage. If anything looks fishy or you see apps that don’t need to be storing so much data, you can simply tap on them and then tap on Offload App.

If you’re still having trouble with space after dealing with these common culprits, Apple often has helpful recommendations for things that can be deleted. As usual, go to Settings > General > iPhone Storage and these recommendations should appear near the top. If this still doesn’t, you may want to consider paying up for a higher tier of storage next time you upgrade your phone.

#tech #technology #tech tips #phone storage #iphone #android

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vanaera · 6 years

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Your Side of the Bed

Synopsis | Hoseok will bask in the crumpled sheets of your bed until you learn to erase your past’s name on the duvet and replace it with his. It’s been long since the sheets were changed. He’s got a better one, a much warmer one and he hopes you could see the permanence laced in its every thread.

Genre | slight angst, fluff

Wordcount | 1,749

Play Your Side of the Bed by Loote

Have you ever felt happy in something that you’re not supposed to want?

The eight o’ clock daylight seeps through your blinds, stirring Hoseok from his sleep with an answer on the tip of his tongue. The question has long loomed over his head for some time now, the answer clear to him everytime he has to assure himself of his stand in your life. But today was too early and what he can only do is look at you - hair a mess, bare face, tired body engulfed in the sheets by his side. Hoseok smiles and tucks the few stray strands of your hair behind your ear. The steady rise and fall of your chest makes him reminisce the steady pounding of last night’s rain.

The clouds weren’t gray that evening; a darkish cerulean even, yet the rain was heavy, dropping on the pavement like thunderous claps, hitting the hood of his car in a clangorous downpour. But to him, it was ironically mellifluous – to find beauty and calm in tragedy and noise. It shouldn’t even be therapeutic to him. He liked it in a kind of a pathological extent. And the same goes for you. He turns his head to look at you picking at the bits of the worn rubber on the handle by your side. He refuses to have another image of you leaving so he speaks up, “Have you ever liked something that is quite mismatched?”

The pale peach of your lips curve a little. Your wine red lipstick he knew you always liked has long served its purpose. The hour ago was intimate, having you straddled on his lap to “just kiss,” peppering his jaw in butterfly kisses and breathy wonders of “I really like the way your lips feel on mine.” Your lips are satin on his heated skin and wasted no time reciprocating the intensity you paced, devouring your mewls and moans with the plush of his chapped lips. But what he liked most was the aftermath, the scene after the onslaught of his affection on you – tousled hair, smeared lipstick, and trying to catch the breath you lost because of him. Toning down your aggressiveness, balancing out your edges with his softer ones, he thinks you’re pretty in peach. Well, you’re pretty everyday. It’s just the way you looked now that only he is privileged to see, was stupefyingly beautiful.

Your voice makes him divert his eyes from the plush of your lips toward your eyes. You let out an amused laugh, “Stop staring at me,” and Hoseok giggles. Grinning wide, you answer his question, “I don’t know, maybe some of your parts.”

"Why just parts of me?“ He chuckles, quickly drowning the bitterness that unexpectedly dropped in the pit of his stomach.

You look at the gray ceiling of his car, pondering on thoughts warring in your head. You always tend to think too much and Hoseok knows this ever since he’s been by your side in high school. Until now when you’re living the rest of your prime years as adult-like the both of you could be. He’s still wishing you could let some of them bother his mind too, so you won’t need to always endure the mess your thoughts create. Someday, if you’d let him, he’d always gladly do so.

He watches you clear your throat, body angling to your side to completely fill his view of you. You lean, body facing towards him just in time he did the same. “You make me…feel happy. Sometimes,” you quickly add, “Especially when I need to. Yeah, you do that to me.“

Legs crossed on the leather of the passenger seat, your fingers twiddling the frayed ends of your plum-dyed hair. He’s only a few inches away from you, fingers aching to tuck those strands behind your ear. But he’s not in that place…yet. He keeps his hand on the wheel and focusses on the monotonous symphony of the wipers for his beaten-up car and beaten-up heart.

It’s only hopeless because he knows there are weaknesses that will weigh down on your back until you’re on your knees. He just chose the wrong time to give in. “Why sometimes?”

Especially when you are his weakness.

"Hmm?“

Hands leaving the wheel, he leans on the side of his locked door, fully facing you. It’s no use to refuse when temptation and desire has always been in his reach. "I said, why sometimes? Don’t I make you happy always?”

You only look at his imploring eyes, snickering before you tore them to settle on the fogged glass of the window. “I’m happy, Hoseok, I really am. It’s just-”

"Him?"

You pause before affirming, "…yeah."

And someone else happened to be your weakness. Someone who left you for another woman. It was two years ago, why are you still holding on your pointless hope like a naïve child? Hoseok clenches his fist, nails digging crescents in his palms. He wishes he could also do those impressions on your mind just to wake you to your senses, but he can’t do so. He loves you and he can’t hurt you that bad. He can only say something that has been established true from the start. “You know he’s not coming back, right?”

"I know, I just-“

"Wait?” He faces you one more time; you’re still looking outside. “You know you’ve been doing that for a very long time.” Waiting for nothing, refusing to look at him - he meant both of these but he doubts if you could actually notice them. Your eyes had been long blinded by the scraps of his so-called love.

“I know.”

The prolonged silence suffocates the air conditioning inside the confines of his car. He revs up the engine and pushed his foot on the pedal. He talks about his yesterday’s dance class and you animatedly joined him with another misadventure in your office. He’s always been good in diversion.

By the time the downpour has receded into a shower, Hoseok has already pulled the vehicle in front of your apartment. You beckoned him to stay for the night, just like always, and he finds himself stumbling inside the threshold of your home.

But last night was different, and he could assure that because he felt it too.

You didn’t ask him to make you forget, to erase him from your mind, to make love to you. It was the first for the countless nights you invited him to fill the empty space of the bed on your side. It has always been lonely to keep a large fraction by your side empty and cold. For the years that has passed before you met him and after he left, Hoseok has been trying to tell you that your bed is not designed to just hold two lovers engaged in physical passion. For overnight tornados of desire and lust cannot warm up a frozen heart when it could easily leave wreckage and ruins that may lacerate the fragile organ.

Hoseok admits to his faults - he’s given in too many times to your pleas, a hipocrisy in act when he’s trying to keep you away from the toxic waters but is willing to toe them until he’s knee-deep if you ask him to - an excuse to touch you, a motive for him to love you. His Achilles’ heel you truly are.

"Can you just…lie by my side? You don’t have to do anything, I just-“

"Need someone to fill his space?” Hoseok didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter before he could think about what he spewed.

But it’s not what’s on your mind. “No, I just need you to be by my side.”

Hoseok was astounded and can only nod.

That night, he curled to your side and pulled you close to him, the warmth emanating from his chest lulling you to sleep. In the thin line of consciousness and sleep as he closed his eyes, Hoseok felt you tug his hand draped on your waist to lay them on top of yours. One, two, three - you enclosed your fingers and locked his hand with yours. Like what lovers do. Like what he usually dreamt of doing with you. And while the night is dead, Hoseok pressed a loving kiss on your hairline.

The indigo dips and creases on your bed are now cream and white and Hoseok looks at you snuggled deep in your sheets. Loving you may hurt but it’s not enough to drive him away. You turn to your side, facing him, and still asleep. Looking at you with peace unusually painted on your un-creased brows and parted mouth, the porch of your chest vulnerable and opened wide, Hoseok decides to drape himself onto you, to embrace and inhale the scent of you with his hands wound around you like the lover who’s capable to hold his love in his arms. He can only grant his heart some peace when you’re sleeping, all his wants and needs muddled in a plethora of affections he could only lay on your doorstep:

I want to be your friend you can hopelessly fall in love with, the one you could take willingly into your arms, into your bed, into the world you keep to your head unvisited by anyone. I need to love you and know how to touch you – how I could make you stare at your pains in one of those sleepless nights and only feel my love supersede anything that is contrary.

And Hoseok could only wait until you decide to bask in the daylight, to go out and pick up everything you need to know about him, you, and the both of you.

Have you ever felt happy in something that you’re not supposed to want?

You slowly opened your eyes, meeting his.

He doesn’t need to think twice; the answer has always been clear. Loving you is something he has always wanted and needed. He’ll always be happy when it comes to you, regardless of conditions and conventionalities - he will be happy through and through, no second thoughts, no regrets. Just you and him, him and you. You don’t have to toss and turn anymore.

Hoseok smiles. “Good morning, Y/N.”

You return his smile, your hand in his hold squeezing his. “Good morning, Hoseok.”

He would wait.

What are you doing?

Re-arranging the furniture.

Why so sudden?

It’s been a while since I gave my home a make-over.

View more songs in my masterlist

A/N | Hello hons! I experimented a new writing style for this and hmm, I’m not sure whether to be happy with it or not (everything feels too new!) Anyway, I liked the new experience! Hope you liked reading this!

BTW!!! I have 3 consecutive exams coming up this week (uni is killing me) so I may not be able to post your requests soon but be assured I’m working on them! (I’m actually already editing some of them as my breather in-between studying) I just don’t want to rush them because I want to give you guys a good content! :D So for the mean time, enjoy my following posts that I queued for these weeks that I will be freaking busy studying and writing papers :’D

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

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I’m Here

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Word count: 1,853

Contents/Warnings: Angst, profanity, its a surprise!

Jolting upright Bakugou panted, his red eyes wide open and heart hammering as sweat soaked his chest and back. There was a sick nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach as he tried to even his breathing and calm down. Flinging the covers off, Bakugou growled as he swung his feet off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Turning on the light he winced at the brightness of it before getting used to it and turning on the faucet. The hero leaned over, splashing cold water on his face and literally cooling down in no time. When he was done Bakugou stood before the sink a bit longer, hands gripping the edges as his nightmare played over in his head.

You cradled in his arms and smiling, a hand brushing his cheek and as he pressed his forehead to yours biting back all his tears and screams while you bled out from a piece of debris impaling your abdomen, your sweet and wavering voice trying to keep him together.

“You’re so fucking stupid, why did you do that - I was supposed to take that hit!” He spat out through gritted teeth.

“And that kid too? I think you’re dumber than me Katsu,” you spoke and tried to chuckle but a breathy choke cut it short.

Bakugou held you tighter, his body going numb and hearing turning into white noise except for your own voice and his. Gritting his teeth he looked down at the wound you tried to hide under your hand then back up and around the chaos as he tried to scream out for help but his voice wasn’t fucking working. Your body trembled in his arms and made him gasp, looking back at you again and shaking his head, hand cupping your face as your eyes were growing heavier and that smile growing weaker.

“No goddamnit, you’re staying with me, you’re not fucking leaving me - I’ll get help, I’ll save you!”

“Katsu,” you breathed out and worked your smile back up, hand taking his own and kissing his cheek, “I’ll never leave you, ever. You’ve already saved me so many t-times, it was my turn to save you baby. I’ll be fine and you’ll be fine, okay?”

Bakugou’s lip trembled as he felt your hold on his hand loosening, his breathing hitching and head shaking as he kissed you as many times as he could, savoring each one, remembering the taste and feel like muscle memory and feeling hot tears rolling down his face.

“I love you so much Katsuki.”

The sound of porcelain cracking made Bakugou come back to his senses as he realized his quirk was starting to act up from being so emotional. Quickly he removed himself from the appliance and strode back into the bedroom, palm rubbing at his head and groaning as he tried to shake off the nightmare but his stupid fucking brain couldn’t let it go. The more it played on loop the angrier the blonde became. His palms were starting to steam at the mere thought that you’d be stupid enough to sacrifice yourself for him or that it would even be a single thought in your mind at all. After being together since high school and being married to him, you knew better! Soon Bakugou’s emotions were running rampant causing him to yell out as he swung an arm and cleared off the top of the dresser of books and figures in a fit of rage. The glass of a stand alone mirror shattering as one figure flew into it. In flashes, the images of you dying in his arms clicked over and over and over, they wouldn’t fucking stop!

Bakugou panted and tugged at his hair as he fell to his knees and screamed, he grabbed a book that laid beside him and chunked it at the wall opposite to him causing a string of lights that was decorated with polaroids to fall down and tangle, making a few pictures fall from their clips. The blonde looked up to see what the noise was and panicked when he saw what he had done. In an instant he was crawling on his knees to the mess he made, hands grappling at the lights and trying his best to fix it .

“Shit she’s gonna kill me! I’ll never fucking hear the end of it - fucking shit why are these impossible to fucking untangle!”

Truly the task was simple but Bakugou was too unstable at the moment to chill and concentrate. He groaned in frustration as he sat back on his calves and tried again until he heard the sound of feet padding across the carpet towards him and he sighed.

“I’m fixing it, don’t get your panties in a wad just yet!” He spoke.

There were no words in response, just arms wrapping around his neck and hugging him close, the tip of your nose pressing to his cheek as you kissed it softly and smiled. Bakugou briefly froze as your hands were rubbing at his chest and you were smothering him in tiny kisses to his face and jaw, shushing gently on his skin and making him slowly but surely deflate in your arms.

“Katsu calm down, just breathe okay?” You whispered on his temple and started to run a hand through his hair and pressed your cheek to his own, watching what he was trying to do and softly chuckling. “It’s an easy fix you just have to take a fucking chill pill.”

Bakugou scoffed and lightly elbowed you, making you giggle, the sound like music to his ears and making his jaw unclench. The man took a couple deep breathes, listening and focusing on you humming softly in his ear. Even though he had matured since high school and for the most part grew out of his temper, there were still just a few selective things that set Bakugou off like the literal bomb he was and one of those things was your safety and life. You both worked together as pro-hero’s, fighting the same fights and taking hard blows for each other, at least you’d try for him but almost always Bakugou was fast and protecting you first and foremost. “I’ll be damned if I ever lose you,” he would always say. So during these chaotic fits you were the only one who could calm Bakugou and as prideful as he still was, even he himself would admit to that, not wasting a single heartbeat in saying that he needed you.

After a few moments passed, Bakugou was calm enough to start correctly untangling the lights in his hands. You praised him quietly with kisses and continued to watch him.

“What got you so worked up anyway baby?”

For a small second Bakugou stopped then only shook his head with a sigh. “Just a stupid nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

After finally getting those dumb lights to cooperate Bakugou turned his head to look at you, his red eyes smiling as he brought his hand up to cup you cheek and kiss your lips softly. He breathed in deeply through his nose, taking in the smell of strawberries from his hand ruffling locks of your hair and making the scent of your shampoo permeate in the air. Pulling away from the kiss your foreheads pressed together and the man took just a few more seconds to register how soft your hair was between his fingers and how your chest lightly pressed on his back everytime you breathed. Bakugou turned back around and started to gather the loose polaroids on the floor to re-clip them to the lights and shrugged when he explain his vivid nightmare back over to you.The entire time you held him, rubbing his chest and playing with his hair, kisses littering his face and neck or your face nuzzling into him.

Finishing his task, Bakugou sunk back into you, letting out a breath and grabbing your hands that hung from around his neck. His head fell back onto your chest and kissed your arm.

“Why?”

You smiled and wrapped around the shaken hero tighter and protectively. Hand running through his spiky locks and fingers massaging at his scalp as you laid your cheek to his temple.

“Because I’m right here baby, always! Anytime things seem to hard to take or like you can’t get through another day - I’ll save you,” you replied softly on the shell of his ear before kissing it. “You’ll be fine Katsu, I’ll never leave you...I’m here.”

Bakugou nodded, his hand squeezing tighter around your own. “You’re here.”

You hummed in response and smiled when Bakugou turned his head and looked at you. A small smile grew on his own face and he tapped your arms, you released him and let him stand to his feet while picking up the string of lights. You stood behind him, following as he went to hang it back up on the wall, your quiet words of guidance helping him along the way. When it was done, Bakugou took a step back and scanned over the pictures, the memories of each one replaying in his head, the nightmare now becoming a blur. With a yawn the male stretched his arms above his head and rubbed his neck. Your hand could be felt grabbing his opposite wrist and making him turn to look at you.

“Come on Katsu, you need some rest.”

“I love you so much.” He sleepily spoke and squeezed tighter, his eyes lazily looking to the tv that was on and quietly broadcasting the news station.

The sound of the newscaster was slowly drowning out as exhaustion was creeping into Bakugou’s bones, his red eyes growing heavy with a yawn.

“You’re...still...here.” He spoke again while hugging a pillow close to his chest before finally drifting back off to sleep.

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha writing #mha #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #mha writing #angst #myamericanhero #bnha scenario #mha sce #bakugou scenario

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