#except i doubt either will get much attention on this platform

[bennysblabbering]

kinda funny that my two longest fics to date are both trigun porn

[deerydear]

I apologize for my actions and attitudes.

I've been approaching tumblr with the assumption that "the reader" is a depressed bastard, which gave me an imaginary free-license to make a depressed bastard of myself.

There is a lot of depressive writing and argumentation on the platform, yet there is still a Silent Majority that doesn't participate, just observes... like people coming to the coliseum to watch gladiators maul eachother to bits.

I remember back in 2013, when I was starting to get really into the SJW clique. I still had some fairly level-headed friends who had used tumblr, but they slowly backed off, because: "they're trying to make me feel bad for being a straight, white male".

I thought his sentiment was absurd, at the time... even though I knew exactly what attitude-of-the-party he had been talking about.

I thought it was "penance required".

Aside: before I jumped on the SJW bandwagon, I was in a Dom/sub relationship. My partner didn't really like me, so I started looking elsewhere for attention. (chorus of laughter) Anyways, if I would be honest about the details: this is not a blame on that person, but on myself. I didn't really like her for herself, either. I liked my own mental image of what I thought "she could become", but she didn't want to be that. Background, yeah... I was really young. This was ten years ago, dude. So I think we had the same feelings about eachother, when it came down to it.

Is all fair in love and war? I say not... but that's my opinion.

I had this really deep, weird, pain inside of me, "and I need you to make it deeper."

I want to be a cavern of flesh, a cavern of hell, one of Bosch's grotesque paintings come pulsating, flickering alive.

So this idea of "repentance", really.... appealed to me. Sickness attracts sickness. Illness compounds. A compromised immune-system...

One person will leave me, but an entire party? A rigorous system of thoughts and laws?

I created my own hell. I stepped inside the torture machine.

Something that lives inside. A parasite.

I wrote about this, in various elucidated forms... but when I was seventeen, I realized with a start.. that I actually deeply hated the social groups that I had made myself into a part of. The people spoke so gratingly, so "therapeutically"... To sum and retort it back:

...but I'm not claiming innocence, either. Who is? Are you?

Perhaps, perhaps. I don't believe innocence to be impossible. I believe in a goal. I believe in something to strive for. I believe in achieving that goal through honest means, not putting my thumb on the scale. An honest weight is the only one that matters.

It took me five years to actualize my rebellion. I still had fragments of rhetoric lingering in my mind, talking back to me... accusing me, wheedling and whining about what a terrible person I would become through this act.

Eventually, I banished most of that. It reduced back down to a more elemental form, its original form: "What if someone who feels this way would read my opinions? How would they react?" Do I want to pander? Do I make myself a depressive clown for the depressed bastards out in the world? Whose sensibilities am I appealing towards? Who am I? I realize how much that I, as a person, like to cling to stories. There is a story where a rogue FBI agent runs away with a psychologist. The psychologist has secretly been torturing and hypnotizing this man. The psychologist is a murderer. He executes a murder to place doubts in the minds of the agent's superiors. He then escalates further, to frame this agent as guilty. To his face, he had always been cordial and accepting. Concerned and fatherly. Yet, the agent has an inkling, a doubtful feeling in his gut... but the whole world begins to turn on him, and so he runs to the only pair of open arms left to him: Hannibal.

--------------------------------------------

He was lying on something that felt like a camp bed, except that it was higher off the ground and that he was fixed down in some way so that he could not move. Light that seemed stronger than usual was falling on his face. O'Brien was standing at his side, looking down at him intently. At the other side of him stood a man in a white coat, holding a hypodermic syringe.

Even after his eyes were open he took in his surroundings only gradually. He had the impression of swimming up into this room from some quite different world, a sort of underwater world far beneath it. How long he had been down there he did not know. Since the moment when they arrested him he had not seen darkness or daylight. Besides, his memories were not continuous. There had been times when consciousness, even the sort of consciousness that one has in sleep, had stopped dead and started again after a blank interval. But whether the intervals were of days or weeks or only seconds, there was no way of knowing.

With that first blow on the elbow the nightmare had started. Later he was to realize that all that then happened was merely a preliminary, a routine interrogation to which nearly all prisoners were subjected. There was a long range of crimes -- espionage, sabotage, and the like -- to which everyone had to confess as a matter of course. The confession was a formality, though the torture was real. How many times he had been beaten, how long the beatings had continued, he could not remember. Always there were five or six men in black uniforms at him simultaneously. Sometimes it was fists, sometimes it was truncheons, sometimes it was steel rods, sometimes it was boots. There were times when he rolled about the floor, as shameless as an animal, writhing his body this way and that in an endless, hopeless effort to dodge the kicks, and simply inviting more and yet more kicks, in his ribs, in his belly, on his elbows, on his shins, in his groin, in his testicles, on the bone at the base of his spine. There were times when it went on and on until the cruel, wicked, unforgivable thing seemed to him not that the guards continued to beat him but that he could not force himself into losing consciousness. There were times when his nerve so forsook him that he began shouting for mercy even before the beating began, when the mere sight of a fist drawn back for a blow was enough to make him pour forth a confession of real and imaginary crimes. There were other times when he started out with the resolve of confessing nothing, when every word had to be forced out of him between gasps of pain, and there were times when he feebly tried to compromise, when he said to himself: 'I will confess, but not yet. I must hold out till the pain becomes unbearable. Three more kicks, two more kicks, and then I will tell them what they want.' Sometimes he was beaten till he could hardly stand, then flung like a sack of potatoes on to the stone floor of a cell, left to recuperate for a few hours, and then taken out and beaten again. There were also longer periods of recovery. He remembered them dimly, because they were spent chiefly in sleep or stupor. He remembered a cell with a plank bed, a sort of shelf sticking out from the wall, and a tin wash-basin, and meals of hot soup and bread and sometimes coffee. He remembered a surly barber arriving to scrape his chin and crop his hair, and businesslike, unsympathetic men in white coats feeling his pulse, tapping his reflexes, turning up his eyelids, running harsh fingers over him in search for broken bones, and shooting needles into his arm to make him sleep.

The beatings grew less frequent, and became mainly a threat, a horror to which he could be sent back at any moment when his answers were unsatisfactory. His questioners now were not ruffians in black uniforms but Party intellectuals, little rotund men with quick movements and flashing spectacles, who worked on him in relays over periods which lasted -- he thought, he could not be sure -- ten or twelve hours at a stretch. These other questioners saw to it that he was in constant slight pain, but it was not chiefly pain that they relied on. They slapped his face, wrung his ears, pulled his hair, made him stand on one leg, refused him leave to urinate, shone glaring lights in his face until his eyes ran with water; but the aim of this was simply to humiliate him and destroy his power of arguing and reasoning. Their real weapon was the merciless questioning that went on and on, hour after hour, tripping him up, laying traps for him, twisting everything that he said, convicting him at every step of lies and self-contradiction until he began weeping as much from shame as from nervous fatigue. Sometimes he would weep half a dozen times in a single session. Most of the time they screamed abuse at him and threatened at every hesitation to deliver him over to the guards again; but sometimes they would suddenly change their tune, call him comrade, appeal to him in the name of Ingsoc and Big Brother, and ask him sorrowfully whether even now he had not enough loyalty to the Party left to make him wish to undo the evil he had done. When his nerves were in rags after hours of questioning, even this appeal could reduce him to snivelling tears. In the end the nagging voices broke him down more completely than the boots and fists of the guards. He became simply a mouth that uttered, a hand that signed, whatever was demanded of him. His sole concern was to find out what they wanted him to confess, and then confess it quickly, before the bullying started anew. He confessed to the assassination of eminent Party members, the distribution of seditious pamphlets, embezzlement of public funds, sale of military secrets, sabotage of every kind. He confessed that he had been a spy in the pay of the Eastasian government as far back as 1968. He confessed that he was a religious believer, an admirer of capitalism, and a sexual pervert. He confessed that he had murdered his wife, although he knew, and his questioners must have known, that his wife was still alive. He confessed that for years he had been in personal touch with Goldstein and had been a member of an underground organization which had included almost every human being he had ever known. It was easier to confess everything and implicate everybody. Besides, in a sense it was all true. It was true that he had been the enemy of the Party, and in the eyes of the Party there was no distinction between the thought and the deed.

There were also memories of another kind. They stood out in his mind disconnectedly, like pictures with blackness all round them.

He was in a cell which might have been either dark or light, because he could see nothing except a pair of eyes. Near at hand some kind of instrument was ticking slowly and regularly. The eyes grew larger and more luminous. Suddenly he floated out of his seat, dived into the eyes, and was swallowed up.

He was strapped into a chair surrounded by dials, under dazzling lights. A man in a white coat was reading the dials. There was a tramp of heavy boots outside. The door clanged open. The waxed-faced officer marched in, followed by two guards.

'Room 101,' said the officer.

The man in the white coat did not turn round. He did not look at Winston either; he was looking only at the dials.

He was rolling down a mighty corridor, a kilometre wide, full of glorious, golden light, roaring with laughter and shouting out confessions at the top of his voice. He was confessing everything, even the things he had succeeded in holding back under the torture. He was relating the entire history of his life to an audience who knew it already. With him were the guards, the other questioners, the men in white coats, O'Brien, Julia, Mr Charrington, all rolling down the corridor together and shouting with laughter. Some dreadful thing which had lain embedded in the future had somehow been skipped over and had not happened. Everything was all right, there was no more pain, the last detail of his life was laid bare, understood, forgiven.

He was starting up from the plank bed in the half-certainty that he had heard O'Brien's voice. All through his interrogation, although he had never seen him, he had had the feeling that O'Brien was at his elbow, just out of sight. It was O'Brien who was directing everything. It was he who set the guards on to Winston and who prevented them from killing him. It was he who decided when Winston should scream with pain, when he should have a respite, when he should be fed, when he should sleep, when the drugs should be pumped into his arm. It was he who asked the questions and suggested the answers. He was the tormentor, he was the protector, he was the inquisitor, he was the friend. And once -- Winston could not remember whether it was in drugged sleep, or in normal sleep, or even in a moment of wakefulness -- a voice murmured in his ear: 'Don't worry, Winston; you are in my keeping. For seven years I have watched over you. Now the turning-point has come. I shall save you, I shall make you perfect.' He was not sure whether it was O'Brien's voice; but it was the same voice that had said to him, 'We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,' in that other dream, seven years ago.

He did not remember any ending to his interrogation. There was a period of blackness and then the cell, or room, in which he now was had gradually materialized round him. He was almost flat on his back, and unable to move. His body was held down at every essential point. Even the back of his head was gripped in some manner. O'Brien was looking down at him gravely and rather sadly. His face, seen from below, looked coarse and worn, with pouches under the eyes and tired lines from nose to chin. He was older than Winston had thought him; he was perhaps forty-eight or fifty. Under his hand there was a dial with a lever on top and figures running round the face.

'I told you,' said O'Brien, 'that if we met again it would be here.'

'Yes,' said Winston.

Without any warning except a slight movement of O'Brien's hand, a wave of pain flooded his body. It was a frightening pain, because he could not see what was happening, and he had the feeling that some mortal injury was being done to him. He did not know whether the thing was really happening, or whether the effect was electrically produced; but his body was being wrenched out of shape, the joints were being slowly torn apart. Although the pain had brought the sweat out on his forehead, the worst of all was the fear that his backbone was about to snap. He set his teeth and breathed hard through his nose, trying to keep silent as long as possible.

'You are afraid,' said O'Brien, watching his face, 'that in another moment something is going to break. Your especial fear is that it will be your backbone. You have a vivid mental picture of the vertebrae snapping apart and the spinal fluid dripping out of them. That is what you are thinking, is it not, Winston?'

Winston did not answer. O'Brien drew back the lever on the dial. The wave of pain receded almost as quickly as it had come.

'That was forty,' said O'Brien. 'You can see that the numbers on this dial run up to a hundred. Will you please remember, throughout our conversation, that I have it in my power to inflict pain on you at any moment and to whatever degree I choose? If you tell me any lies, or attempt to prevaricate in any way, or even fall below your usual level of intelligence, you will cry out with pain, instantly. Do you understand that?'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien's manner became less severe. He resettled his spectacles thoughtfully, and took a pace or two up and down. When he spoke his voice was gentle and patient. He had the air of a doctor, a teacher, even a priest, anxious to explain and persuade rather than to punish.

'I am taking trouble with you, Winston,' he said, 'because you are worth trouble. You know perfectly well what is the matter with you. You have known it for years, though you have fought against the knowledge. You are mentally deranged. You suffer from a defective memory. You are unable to remember real events and you persuade yourself that you remember other events which never happened. Fortunately it is curable. You have never cured yourself of it, because you did not choose to. There was a small effort of the will that you were not ready to make. Even now, I am well aware, you are clinging to your disease under the impression that it is a virtue. Now we will take an example. At this moment, which power is Oceania at war with?'

'When I was arrested, Oceania was at war with Eastasia.'

'With Eastasia. Good. And Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia, has it not?'

Winston drew in his breath. He opened his mouth to speak and then did not speak. He could not take his eyes away from the dial.

'The truth, please, Winston. Your truth. Tell me what you think you remember.'

'I remember that until only a week before I was arrested, we were not at war with Eastasia at all. We were in alliance with them. The war was against Eurasia. That had lasted for four years. Before that --'

O'Brien stopped him with a movement of the hand.

'Another example,' he said. 'Some years ago you had a very serious delusion indeed. You believed that three men, three onetime Party members named Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford men who were executed for treachery and sabotage after making the fullest possible confession -- were not guilty of the crimes they were charged with. You believed that you had seen unmistakable documentary evidence proving that their confessions were false. There was a certain photograph about which you had a hallucination. You believed that you had actually held it in your hands. It was a photograph something like this.'

An oblong slip of newspaper had appeared between O'Brien's fingers. For perhaps five seconds it was within the angle of Winston's vision. It was a photograph, and there was no question of its identity. It was the photograph. It was another copy of the photograph of Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford at the party function in New York, which he had chanced upon eleven years ago and promptly destroyed. For only an instant it was before his eyes, then it was out of sight again. But he had seen it, unquestionably he had seen it! He made a desperate, agonizing effort to wrench the top half of his body free. It was impossible to move so much as a centimetre in any direction. For the moment he had even forgotten the dial. All he wanted was to hold the photograph in his fingers again, or at least to see it.

'It exists!' he cried.

'No,' said O'Brien.

He stepped across the room. There was a memory hole in the opposite wall. O'Brien lifted the grating. Unseen, the frail slip of paper was whirling away on the current of warm air; it was vanishing in a flash of flame. O'Brien turned away from the wall.

'Ashes,' he said. 'Not even identifiable ashes. Dust. It does not exist. It never existed.'

'But it did exist! It does exist! It exists in memory. I remember it. You remember it.'

'I do not remember it,' said O'Brien.

Winston's heart sank. That was doublethink. He had a feeling of deadly helplessness. If he could have been certain that O'Brien was lying, it would not have seemed to matter. But it was perfectly possible that O'Brien had really forgotten the photograph. And if so, then already he would have forgotten his denial of remembering it, and forgotten the act of forgetting. How could one be sure that it was simple trickery? Perhaps that lunatic dislocation in the mind could really happen: that was the thought that defeated him.

O'Brien was looking down at him speculatively. More than ever he had the air of a teacher taking pains with a wayward but promising child.

'There is a Party slogan dealing with the control of the past,' he said. 'Repeat it, if you please.'

'"Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past,"' repeated Winston obediently.

'"Who controls the present controls the past,"' said O'Brien, nodding his head with slow approval. 'Is it your opinion, Winston, that the past has real existence?'

Again the feeling of helplessness descended upon Winston. His eyes flitted towards the dial. He not only did not know whether 'yes' or 'no' was the answer that would save him from pain; he did not even know which answer he believed to be the true one.

O'Brien smiled faintly. 'You are no metaphysician, Winston,' he said. 'Until this moment you had never considered what is meant by existence. I will put it more precisely. Does the past exist concretely, in space? Is there somewhere or other a place, a world of solid objects, where the past is still happening?'

'No.'

'Then where does the past exist, if at all?'

'In records. It is written down.'

'In records. And --?'

'In the mind. In human memories.'

'In memory. Very well, then. We, the Party, control all records, and we control all memories. Then we control the past, do we not?'

'But how can you stop people remembering things?' cried Winston again momentarily forgetting the dial. 'It is involuntary. It is outside oneself. How can you control memory? You have not controlled mine!'

O'Brien's manner grew stern again. He laid his hand on the dial.

'On the contrary,' he said, 'you have not controlled it. That is what has brought you here. You are here because you have failed in humility, in self-discipline. You would not make the act of submission which is the price of sanity. You preferred to be a lunatic, a minority of one. Only the disciplined mind can see reality, Winston. You believe that reality is something objective, external, existing in its own right. You also believe that the nature of reality is self-evident. When you delude yourself into thinking that you see something, you assume that everyone else sees the same thing as you. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not external. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and in any case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party, which is collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds to be the truth, is truth. It is impossible to see reality except by looking through the eyes of the Party. That is the fact that you have got to relearn, Winston. It needs an act of self-destruction, an effort of the will. You must humble yourself before you can become sane.'

He paused for a few moments, as though to allow what he had been saying to sink in.

'Do you remember,' he went on, 'writing in your diary, "Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four"?'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien held up his left hand, its back towards Winston, with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended.

'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?'

'Four.'

'And if the party says that it is not four but five -- then how many?'

'Four.'

The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still extended. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly eased.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Four.'

The needle went up to sixty.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!'

The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision. The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably four.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!'

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Five! Five! Five!'

'No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think there are four. How many fingers, please?'

'Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop the pain!'

Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that came from outside, from some other source, and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.

'You are a slow learner, Winston,' said O'Brien gently.

'How can I help it?' he blubbered. 'How can I help seeing what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.'

'Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.'

He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs tightened again, but the pain had ebbed away and the trembling had stopped, leaving him merely weak and cold. O'Brien motioned with his head to the man in the white coat, who had stood immobile throughout the proceedings. The man in the white coat bent down and looked closely into Winston's eyes, felt his pulse, laid an ear against his chest, tapped here and there, then he nodded to O'Brien.

'Again,' said O'Brien.

The pain flowed into Winston's body. The needle must be at seventy, seventy-five. He had shut his eyes this time. He knew that the fingers were still there, and still four. All that mattered was somehow to stay alive until the spasm was over. He had ceased to notice whether he was crying out or not. The pain lessened again. He opened his eyes. O'Brien had drawn back the lever.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Four. I suppose there are four. I would see five if I could. I am trying to see five.'

'Which do you wish: to persuade me that you see five, or really to see them?'

'Really to see them.'

'Again,' said O'Brien.

Perhaps the needle was eighty -- ninety. Winston could not intermittently remember why the pain was happening. Behind his screwed-up eyelids a forest of fingers seemed to be moving in a sort of dance, weaving in and out, disappearing behind one another and reappearing again. He was trying to count them, he could not remember why. He knew only that it was impossible to count them, and that this was somehow due to the mysterious identity between five and four. The pain died down again. When he opened his eyes it was to find that he was still seeing the same thing. Innumerable fingers, like moving trees, were still streaming past in either direction, crossing and recrossing. He shut his eyes again.

'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?'

'I don't know. I don't know. You will kill me if you do that again. Four, five, six -- in all honesty I don't know.'

'Better,' said O'Brien.

A needle slid into Winston's arm. Almost in the same instant a blissful, healing warmth spread all through his body. The pain was already half-forgotten. He opened his eyes and looked up gratefully at O'Brien. At sight of the heavy, lined face, so ugly and so intelligent, his heart seemed to turn over. If he could have moved he would have stretched out a hand and laid it on O'Brien arm. He had never loved him so deeply as at this moment, and not merely because he had stopped the pain. The old feeling, that it bottom it did not matter whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy, had come back. O'Brien was a person who could be talked to. Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood. O'Brien had tortured him to the edge of lunacy, and in a little while, it was certain, he would send him to his death. It made no difference. In some sense that went deeper than friendship, they were intimates: somewhere or other, although the actual words might never be spoken, there was a place where they could meet and talk. O'Brien was looking down at him with an expression which suggested that the same thought might be in his own mind. When he spoke it was in an easy, conversational tone.

'Do you know where you are, Winston?' he said.

'I don't know. I can guess. In the Ministry of Love.'

'Do you know how long you have been here?'

'I don't know. Days, weeks, months -- I think it is months.'

'And why do you imagine that we bring people to this place?'

'To make them confess.'

'No, that is not the reason. Try again.'

'To punish them.'

'No!' exclaimed O'Brien. His voice had changed extraordinarily, and his face had suddenly become both stern and animated. 'No! Not merely to extract your confession, not to punish you. Shall I tell you why we have brought you here? To cure you! To make you sane! Will you understand, Winston, that no one whom we bring to this place ever leaves our hands uncured? We are not interested in those stupid crimes that you have committed. The Party is not interested in the overt act: the thought is all we care about. We do not merely destroy our enemies, we change them. Do you understand what I mean by that?'

He was bending over Winston. His face looked enormous because of its nearness, and hideously ugly because it was seen from below. Moreover it was filled with a sort of exaltation, a lunatic intensity. Again Winston's heart shrank. If it had been possible he would have cowered deeper into the bed. He felt certain that O'Brien was about to twist the dial out of sheer wantonness. At this moment, however, O'Brien turned away. He took a pace or two up and down. Then he continued less vehemently:

'The first thing for you to understand is that in this place there are no martyrdoms. You have read of the religious persecutions of the past. In the Middle Ages there was the Inquisition. It was a failure. It set out to eradicate heresy, and ended by perpetuating it. For every heretic it burned at the stake, thousands of others rose up. Why was that? Because the Inquisition killed its enemies in the open, and killed them while they were still unrepentant: in fact, it killed them because they were unrepentant. Men were dying because they would not abandon their true beliefs. Naturally all the glory belonged to the victim and all the shame to the Inquisitor who burned him. Later, in the twentieth century, there were the totalitarians, as they were called. There were the German Nazis and the Russian Communists. The Russians persecuted heresy more cruelly than the Inquisition had done. And they imagined that they had learned from the mistakes of the past; they knew, at any rate, that one must not make martyrs. Before they exposed their victims to public trial, they deliberately set themselves to destroy their dignity. They wore them down by torture and solitude until they were despicable, cringing wretches, confessing whatever was put into their mouths, covering themselves with abuse, accusing and sheltering behind one another, whimpering for mercy. And yet after only a few years the same thing had happened over again. The dead men had become martyrs and their degradation was forgotten. Once again, why was it? In the first place, because the confessions that they had made were obviously extorted and untrue. We do not make mistakes of that kind. All the confessions that are uttered here are true. We make them true. And above all we do not allow the dead to rise up against us. You must stop imagining that posterity will vindicate you, Winston. Posterity will never hear of you. You will be lifted clean out from the stream of history. We shall turn you into gas and pour you into the stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you, not a name in a register, not a memory in a living brain. You will be annihilated in the past as well as in the future. You will never have existed.'

Then why bother to torture me? thought Winston, with a momentary bitterness. O'Brien checked his step as though Winston had uttered the thought aloud. His large ugly face came nearer, with the eyes a little narrowed.

'You are thinking,' he said, 'that since we intend to destroy you utterly, so that nothing that you say or do can make the smallest difference -- in that case, why do we go to the trouble of interrogating you first? That is what you were thinking, was it not?'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien smiled slightly. 'You are a flaw in the pattern, Winston. You are a stain that must be wiped out. Did I not tell you just now that we are different from the persecutors of the past? We are not content with negative obedience, nor even with the most abject submission. When finally you surrender to us, it must be of your own free will. We do not destroy the heretic because he resists us: so long as he resists us we never destroy him. We convert him, we capture his inner mind, we reshape him. We burn all evil and all illusion out of him; we bring him over to our side, not in appearance, but genuinely, heart and soul. We make him one of ourselves before we kill him. It is intolerable to us that an erroneous thought should exist anywhere in the world, however secret and powerless it may be. Even in the instant of death we cannot permit any deviation. In the old days the heretic walked to the stake still a heretic, proclaiming his heresy, exulting in it. Even the victim of the Russian purges could carry rebellion locked up in his skull as he walked down the passage waiting for the bullet. But we make the brain perfect before we blow it out. The command of the old despotisms was "Thou shalt not". The command of the totalitarians was "Thou shalt". Our command is "Thou art". No one whom we bring to this place ever stands out against us. Everyone is washed clean. Even those three miserable traitors in whose innocence you once believed -- Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford -- in the end we broke them down. I took part in their interrogation myself. I saw them gradually worn down, whimpering, grovelling, weeping -- and in the end it was not with pain or fear, only with penitence. By the time we had finished with them they were only the shells of men. There was nothing left in them except sorrow for what they had done, and love of Big Brother. It was touching to see how they loved him. They begged to be shot quickly, so that they could die while their minds were still clean.'

His voice had grown almost dreamy. The exaltation, the lunatic enthusiasm, was still in his face. He is not pretending, thought Winston, he is not a hypocrite, he believes every word he says. What most oppressed him was the consciousness of his own intellectual inferiority. He watched the heavy yet graceful form strolling to and fro, in and out of the range of his vision. O'Brien was a being in all ways larger than himself. There was no idea that he had ever had, or could have, that O'Brien had not long ago known, examined, and rejected. His mind contained Winston's mind. But in that case how could it be true that O'Brien was mad? It must be he, Winston, who was mad. O'Brien halted and looked down at him. His voice had grown stern again.

'Do not imagine that you will save yourself, Winston, however completely you surrender to us. No one who has once gone astray is ever spared. And even if we chose to let you live out the natural term of your life, still you would never escape from us. What happens to you here is for ever. Understand that in advance. We shall crush you down to the point from which there is no coming back. Things will happen to you from which you could not recover, if you lived a thousand years. Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.'

He paused and signed to the man in the white coat. Winston was aware of some heavy piece of apparatus being pushed into place behind his head. O'Brien had sat down beside the bed, so that his face was almost on a level with Winston's.

'Three thousand,' he said, speaking over Winston's head to the man in the white coat.

Two soft pads, which felt slightly moist, clamped themselves against Winston's temples. He quailed. There was pain coming, a new kind of pain. O'Brien laid a hand reassuringly, almost kindly, on his.

'This time it will not hurt,' he said. 'Keep your eyes fixed on mine.'

At this moment there was a devastating explosion, or what seemed like an explosion, though it was not certain whether there was any noise. There was undoubtedly a blinding flash of light. Winston was not hurt, only prostrated. Although he had already been lying on his back when the thing happened, he had a curious feeling that he had been knocked into that position. A terrific painless blow had flattened him out. Also something had happened inside his head. As his eyes regained their focus he remembered who he was, and where he was, and recognized the face that was gazing into his own; but somewhere or other there was a large patch of emptiness, as though a piece had been taken out of his brain.

'It will not last,' said O'Brien. 'Look me in the eyes. What country is Oceania at war with?'

Winston thought. He knew what was meant by Oceania and that he himself was a citizen of Oceania. He also remembered Eurasia and Eastasia; but who was at war with whom he did not know. In fact he had not been aware that there was any war.

'I don't remember.'

'Oceania is at war with Eastasia. Do you remember that now?'

'Yes.'

'Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia. Since the beginning of your life, since the beginning of the Party, since the beginning of history, the war has continued without a break, always the same war. Do you remember that?'

'Yes.'

'Eleven years ago you created a legend about three men who had been condemned to death for treachery. You pretended that you had seen a piece of paper which proved them innocent. No such piece of paper ever existed. You invented it, and later you grew to believe in it. You remember now the very moment at which you first invented it. Do you remember that?'

'Yes.'

'Just now I held up the fingers of my hand to you. You saw five fingers. Do you remember that?'

'Yes.'

O'Brien held up the fingers of his left hand, with the thumb concealed.

'There are five fingers there. Do you see five fingers?'

'Yes.'

And he did see them, for a fleeting instant, before the scenery of his mind changed. He saw five fingers, and there was no deformity. Then everything was normal again, and the old fear, the hatred, and the bewilderment came crowding back again. But there had been a moment -- he did not know how long, thirty seconds, perhaps -- of luminous certainty, when each new suggestion of O'Brien's had filled up a patch of emptiness and become absolute truth, and when two and two could have been three as easily as five, if that were what was needed. It had faded but before O'Brien had dropped his hand; but though he could not recapture it, he could remember it, as one remembers a vivid experience at some period of one's life when one was in effect a different person.

'You see now,' said O'Brien, 'that it is at any rate possible.'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien stood up with a satisfied air. Over to his left Winston saw the man in the white coat break an ampoule and draw back the plunger of a syringe. O'Brien turned to Winston with a smile. In almost the old manner he resettled his spectacles on his nose.

'Do you remember writing in your diary,' he said, 'that it did not matter whether I was a friend or an enemy, since I was at least a person who understood you and could be talked to? You were right. I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be insane. Before we bring the session to an end you can ask me a few questions, if you choose.'

'Any question I like?'

'Anything.' He saw that Winston's eyes were upon the dial. 'It is switched off. What is your first question?'

'What have you done with Julia?' said Winston.

O'Brien smiled again. 'She betrayed you, Winston. Immediately -- unreservedly. I have seldom seen anyone come over to us so promptly. You would hardly recognize her if you saw her. All her rebelliousness, her deceit, her folly, her dirty-mindedness -- everything has been burned out of her. It was a perfect conversion, a textbook case.'

'You tortured her?'

O'Brien left this unanswered. 'Next question,' he said.

'Does Big Brother exist?'

'Of course he exists. The Party exists. Big Brother is the embodiment of the Party.'

'Does he exist in the same way as I exist?'

'You do not exist,' said O'Brien.

Once again the sense of helplessness assailed him. He knew, or he could imagine, the arguments which proved his own nonexistence; but they were nonsense, they were only a play on words. Did not the statement, 'You do not exist', contain a logical absurdity? But what use was it to say so? His mind shrivelled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments with which O'Brien would demolish him.

'I think I exist,' he said wearily. 'I am conscious of my own identity. I was born and I shall die. I have arms and legs. I occupy a particular point in space. No other solid object can occupy the same point simultaneously. In that sense, does Big Brother exist?'

'It is of no importance. He exists.'

'Will Big Brother ever die?'

'Of course not. How could he die? Next question.'

'Does the Brotherhood exist?'

'That, Winston, you will never know. If we choose to set you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it will be an unsolved riddle in your mind.'

Winston lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little faster. He still had not asked the question that had come into his mind the first. He had got to ask it, and yet it was as though his tongue would not utter it. There was a trace of amusement in O'Brien's face. Even his spectacles seemed to wear an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Winston suddenly, he knows what I am going to ask! At the thought the words burst out of him:

'What is in Room 101?'

The expression on O'Brien's face did not change. He answered drily:

'You know what is in Room 101, Winston. Everyone knows what is in Room 101.'

He raised a finger to the man in the white coat. Evidently the session was at an end. A needle jerked into Winston's arm. He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.

...

------------------------------------------------------------

Furthermore:

I think that that previous relationship ended up failing, because I wasn't really into it for sex. Sex was an aside. Sex was secondary to the primary goal.

It was an attractor, a bait, a reward. A sign of penance and giving. It was a sign of nothingness and total submission.

That's all.

At a later date, I ended up with another man. He saw that same look in my eyes and he stopped, and he held me. I realized how much it wore most people down on the inside, to hurt another person like that. I thought it would make someone like me. That's such a strange sentiment, said out loud… but this thing festers best in stagnant, silent waters.

The implication.

I was making murderers. I sought a destroyer.

"I".

[magalidragon]

Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it is the overwhelming anxiety and uncertainty I feel as an XX chromosome entity with a uterus in the United States. Maybe it’s just the pics of Keet and my wishy-washy feelings about the new show. Either way, here’s a drabble I wrote in 30 minutes and barely proofread. Enjoy! For @youwerenevermine ! 😎

The really hot guy with the ass that wouldn’t quit was fighting with his girlfriend. Again.

Dany sipped her beer, watching the dramatics, waiting for the next band to perform. She was looking forward to it; it was called Iron Bull and the lead singer was exceptionally cute. She obsessed over one of their songs "No One" when she was feeling extra moody and needed a pick-me-up. Seeing them at Dunstonbury was going to be a highlight of the three-day festival.

Except for the performance being put on beside her, with the really hot guy who had been in the same lawn block as her, who wore way too tight jeans and Henleys that appeared to be specifically designed for his no-doubt sculpted torso. She swore yesterday's white one was painted to his abs, each one visible under the thin fabric. It was enough to make her miss most of some of the bands yesterday, watching him dance, imagining the fabric must have also been made of some titanium strength cotton to keep from shredding with his moves.

And such adorable moves they were too. Rather poncy, she thought, the little shoulder dance thing he did, but she liked it.

She had noted that he was there with a group of people. A redheaded woman who came for short periods at a time and then left for longer periods, her wrist filled with VIP bands-- Dany thought her name was Sarah or something, perhaps Sansa?-- there was the tiny woman with a mullet-like cap of dark hair, boots with about four-inch platforms, and a very metal-like fashion aesthetic. There was the other hot guy and his hotter girlfriend, who disappeared for long periods of ftime as well. Robb and Margie, maybe?

And then there was this guy. And the other redhead.

Missandei poked her hard in the shoulder. "HEy, stalker. Got you another beer."

"Thanks, here, take it. It's too hoppy for me." Dany traded the beers, returning her attention to the couple fighting. Their voices were raising; they were Northern, but the chick's accent was way harsher. The Linguistics major in Dany told her it was definitely far North, perhaps even Beyond the Wall, while the guy's was almost certainly a bit farther south of the Wall. She nodded to the couple. "They're fighting again."

"It's like a soap opera."

"You know they haven't had any PDA, not like everyone else around here." At Dunstonbury there was a good chance you saw a bit of everything. So far, all she'd seen is them fighting and the guy was only smiling and laughing when the redhead was somewhere else. It was a three-day festival and they were almost done with day two. She narrowed her eyes. "It seems that Red there thinks Crow is a cheapskate and that he doesn't care about her as much as he should."

"Crow?"

"That's what she calls him." He kind of looked like a crow, she supposed, with his jet black curls that today were pulled into a messy man-bun. He had been wearing mostly black. Except after he'd changed earlier. Red had tossed a drink at him in anger. She pushed her fedora up a little higher on her head so she could get a better view at them while trying to not appear as though she were actually watching them. She chuckled. "I guess he didn't splurge for VIP tickets."

"She would not do well in the VIP area I don't think."

Dany agreed silently; Red was definitely not someone who seemed like they could hobnob with the high and mighty of Westeros society and celebrity, who were often in the VIP areas where they didn't have to wear muddy wellies and ripped jeans. Or if they were, they didn't have a speck of dirt on them. She shrugged. "That other redhead with them has the VIP tickets."

"Maybe he got them for her."

Dany didn't think so; the other redhead seemed disgusted by everyone in the party. It was more likely she was a sibling, judging from her interactions. She nodded again at the fighting couple. "Watch, Red is going to say something about how he doesn't care about her anymore."

Sure enough, the woman raised her voice even higher, throwing her arms out. "At least pretend to give a shit Jon! You can at least hold my hand!"

Jon, so that was the hot guy's name. Dany hadn't heard it yet. It suited him. Simple. Jon turned away from Red, trying to play off her fighting. His pale cheeks, above a scruffy beard, were pink in embarrassment no doubt. "I'm not doing this with you again, we're not even together!"

That was new information.

Red stomped her feet, tears in her voice. "This was supposed to be us trying again!"

"Can't keep trying with you Ygritte, and no, it wasn't, you invited yourself!" He waved his hand. "Go find Val, you brought her with you, you can't seem to go anywhere without your cousin, I was dating you, not both of you!"

"I only bring her because you shut me out!"

"And how do I do that Ygritte? That would require me to actually care about what you have to say which right now I do not."

Oof, burn, Dany thought, sipping her beer and swishing it around a moment to savor the taste before swallowing. She narrowed her eyes, wondering what else was going on between them, and they continued to bicker, until she heard it, confirming her inner suspicions.

"We broke up, Ygritte, you're my ex-girlfriend, I'm not doing this again."

"I wasn't really your ex girlfriend when you called me a month ago after having too many drinks with Tormund and wanted me to come over!"

"My mistake, clearly!"

He looked pained, this poor hot guy. He was trying to be nice to the woman, who Dany would have smacked already given her nasty comments she'd heard the last couple of days, her constant whining, and seemingly never to have her wallet on her so the guy-- the ex-boyfriend-- was always payin gfor her stuff, while she was also compalining that he didn't get her VIP tickets so she was in the mud and could barely see and hear the bands. If she was from Beyond the Wall, Dany was shocked she didn't seem to enjoy the mud and being with the peasants.

Except maybe she had high tastes, but the designer shoes she woere were battered beyond belief and didn't match the rest of her outfit. Dany didn't judge the mismatched clothing choices-- she was wearing a fedora with an exposed dragon-scale bra and camisole with her cutoff shorts and her knee-high wellies. She was the queen of mismatched fashion. It was probably just this woman's clear hypocrisy.

She felt bad for the guy. Plus, she wanted to talk to him. They'd shared a few smiles here and there, catching each other's eye the last day or so. They'd even chuckled at each other when they'd almost bumped into each other in the bar tent earlier. She pursed her lips and made an executive decision.

"Hold my beer."

Missandei frowned. "Where are you going? The band is about to start!"

"Watch the fireworks."

Dany sauntered off, sliding between a few people in the short distance between where she and Missandei were camped and where the hot northerner and his ex were still bickering. She caught his eye and he frowned momentarily, before she plastered a wide smile on her face and threw her arms out. "Jon! Oh my Gods! I was looking for you, can you believe how packed this place is!?"

And she flung her arms around his neck, her nails digging into the back of his head, dragging his stunned face towards her and planted an open-mouthed sloppy kiss on his-- wow, incredibly soft-- lips.

He froze for a second and then melted towards her, his hands resting on her hips, just above the low rise of her shorts, his thumbs pressed to her hipbones. They burned hot and she forgot herself a second, wanting to savor this and even extend it, but then she remembered what she was doing. She let go and patted her palm against his cheek, knocking her hip into his. "Hi!" she exclaimed, offering her hand. "I"m Dany! You must be Ygritte, Jon told me you were with him. Nice to meet you!"

Ygritte's mouth dropped, her blue eyes wide, stunned. She snapped her mouth closed and swallowed hard, turning her head slowly to Jon. "Jon," she breathed. "Who is this?"

"She's uh...she's..."

"Dany," Dany repeated. She beamed. "We met just before the festival, I finally got here, was looking for him. I've been in the VIP area the last day. My brother is one of the organizers." That’s wasn’t even a lie either.

"What!?" the redhead sputtered. She grabbed a backpack from the rumpled blanket on the ground, beating the hot guy on the shoulder with it for a second. "You stupid son of a bitch! You fucking crow! This is it, we're done!” She hit him one more time for good measure and stormed off, screaming for someone named Val to come with her.

The packed crowds aroudn them screamed in excitement, the music starting up on the stage, as the band appeared. She looked up at the guy, shrugging. "I do apologize about that, I realize the double standard, if you had done that to me it would not have been as well received."

"Uh..." he stammered, his forehead wrinkling. "I do'nt..."

"I mean I just assaulted you. I kissed you without your consent." She smiled. "Although towards the end there I think one might argue there was consent but I won’t assume. I am sorry."

He laughed, raking his fingers over his hair. He had a few bracelets around his wrists and a bandana wrapped around another one, which he undid and went to tie back his hair again. "Aye, I...well...you surprised me."

"I really am Dany, by the way."

"And I'm really Jon, how'd you know?"

"I've heard you guys."

He turned bright red, shouting above the band that began. "Sorry about that! She's my ex, she kind of invited herself and wlel...I have trouble letting go sometimes."

"I gathered," she laughed. She gestured back towards her area. "I'm going to head back. I'm glad I didn't misread the entire thing." She went to step away, but he thrust his hand out to grab her wrist, preventing her. She cocked her head, quizzical.

Jon licked his lips and gestured up towards the stage. "The band? Iron Bull? The lead is my cousin's boyfriend. Gendry Waters, you want to come back to the VIP area? I think I owe you for saving my ass with my ex."

Her heart jumped up to her throat. "Oh, you don't have to..."

"No, I...I've been watching you." His eyes widened when she burst into laughter. "No, no! Not like that, that's...Fuck! I suck at this!"

She waved her hand. "No, it's fine, I've been watching you too. Thought that's why I'd come save you, she seems like a handful."

"IT's why she's an ex!"

"I get it!" She nodded, agreeing, and bit her bottom lip. "Sounds good, let me just tell my friend." She pushed back through the crowd to Missandei and grabbed her beer back, guzzling half of it and swallowing hard. "See you later girl, I'll call you."

Missandei looked over her shoulder at Jon, who was waiting, watching them. She howled laughing, smacking Dany's ass. "You go! Call me later, let me know you're safe."

"Later." She grabbed her jacket and jumped away, dodging a mud puddle and joining Jon, who reached into his back pocket and took out a VIP wristband. She hooted, delighted. "You had this all along and she wanted one and you didn't give it to her? You're cruel Jon."

He smiled sheepishly. "It's a long story, but...well...she just was so demanding about it!"

"Don't have to explain to me."

"What's Dany short for?" he shouted, pushing through dancing people to get to the edge of the lawn.

"Daenerys!"

"Daenerys? Well I'm Jon, like you got already. Jon Snow."

"Nice to finally meet you, I've just been calling you 'The Hot Guy' in my head!"

He pinked again, but said nothing, breaking free of the main crowd and working towards the side of the lawn towards the metal gates that separated out the VIP area from the peasants. He paused under an overhang, near one of the drink tents, and smiled again. "The Hot Guy, huh?"

"Sorry, I know that diminishes you to a sex object when I know there is more to you than that."

"Are you always this direct?"

"Are you always this shy?" she shot back, still grinning. She shrugged. "I don't believe in wasting time."

Jon laughed. "Well I should apologize for saying that I've been calling you the Dragon Queen in my head."

Dany's eyebrows arched. "Oh?""

He pointed to her wrist, with three dragons tattooed just under her palm, and then to her ribcage, visible when she moved forwards and her shirt gaped at the side. There was the outline of a dragon making its way along the pale skin there. "And your silver hair, like a queen."

"I appreciate that." It took a second, but she finally processed what the actual meaning of what he said meant. She giggled, poking his chest-- whoa, it was crazy taut, he had to be ripped-- saying, "So why didn't you say anything earlier? Could have saved you some pain with your ex."

He flushed again. "I didn't know how to talk to you....if I'd known you would just walk up and kiss me, I suppose I would have just said, hello, my name is Jon, do you want to get a drink?"

Dany's violet eyes glittered, meeting what she now recognized were his gray ones-- an odd gray, not black like she'd thought-- which fixed intensely on hers. She leaned closer to him, her arm reaching up around his neck, murmuring into his ear, feeling him shvier under her. "Why don't you ask me now?"

Jon brushed his lips over her ear, whispering, "Hello, my name is Jon, do you want to get a drink with me?"

She sealed the answer with another kiss, before tugging him away, saying something about needing to evaluate his dance moves before she could be completely certain. Truth be told, she really needed to see this "shoulder dance" up close and personal.

[ynscrazylife]

Could you do a request where the superfriends are misjudging the reader because Lena is just super detailed with them and everyone think they are a gold digger so they treat them badly, mostly ignoring them so they put some distance between them and Lena since they knows Lena needs more her friends than them but Lena proves them wrong. Thank you!

Gold Digger

Summary: The Superfriends suspect that Lena’s new girlfriend is a gold digger. When Lena finds out why they’ve distanced themselves from her and Y/N, she’s furious.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting!

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

DCEU Masterlist | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/lkromanoff

“Do you see how many gifts Luthor gives her?”

“I doubt she’s actually attracted to Luthor, I mean, who would want her? It’s the money, I bet.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if Y/L/N magically got a promotion too!”

In the beginning of their relationship, Y/N had gotten awfully upset when she heard those comments. Lena found her crying once and when she found out the reason, she scolded her employees and the news reporters that said such things and that stopped them . . . For a bit.

Around the holidays when Lena had spoiled Y/N and gotten her the most beautiful of clothes, the rumors started up again, growing bigger and bigger. Y/N learned to brush it off and was used to it by now; since Lena had always told her to pay them no attention, they were just desperate people spewing silliness and lies. 

Her brunette girlfriend also introduced her to her friends, the “Superfriends” as they were nicknamed: Alex and Kara Danvers, Winn Schott, and James Olsen. Y/N was charmed by all of them and, perhaps it was because of how much she was used to the public’s behavior, she didn’t notice the reason why they were acting a little cold, standoff-ish, with her. 

In fact, when Lena and Y/N were running late for game night, the group took it upon themselves to gossip. “Did you see the necklace Y/N was wearing the other night? So fancy . . . Lena said she got it for her,” Alex commented. 

“I know,” Kara murmured, going through her file of memories. “Lena bought her that dress, too!” 

“Doesn’t Y/N work at L-Corp, too?” Winn asked, oblivious to what the sisters were getting at. 

“She’s probably dating Lena for a promotion or money,” Alex said in a sing-song voice before taking a gulp of her wine. Her words made the rest recoil. 

“You think so?” Kara asked, scrunching up her face. 

Alex shrugged and then thought. “If she comes in wearing a new thing that Lena bought her, will you consider it then?” She proposed. 

The group thought on it and to humor her, they said yes. 

Alex claimed victory, though, when the fashionably late couple waltzed in, Y/N wearing some shiny new earrings. From then on, they began to conspire a bit; talking, judging, until one night they reached a decision. 

It was a couple weeks later and Alex and Kara had pulled Lena aside to talk to her. 

“Is everything alright?” Lena asked, crossing her arms and glancing between her friends. 

“We’re a bit concerned, Lena,” Kara began softly and slowly. 

Lena laughed off her nerves. “What about?” She said, unable to think of anything that would worry them. 

“It’s . . . Y/N. We’ve seen everything you’re buying for and we’re just a little concerned that she may be using you . . . for your money,” Alex admitted. 

Lena’s jaw dropped in horror and her eyes practically glowed red, body seething with the newfound and big wave of anger washing over her like a wave. Except it didn’t settle down like a normal wave would into the tide, as more waves came, each bigger than the last.

She opened her mouth, hoping to form her raging and rushing swarm of thoughts and feelings into a coherent sentence, but a loud, shrilled gasp cut her off. 

The there turned around to see Y/N rooted in place at the doorway. Her eyes were wide, tears glossing them, utter hurt and confusion in her orbs. “I was just coming to get Lena because her phone was ringing . . . You left the door open,” she said, defeated, before turning around and rushing out. 

Lena took a big breath and turned back to her “friends”. “How dare you?!” She exclaimed, shocking them. “You know little of our relationship to be making these kinds of accusations! Y/N is not using me for money. Yes, I buy her gifts, because I love it when she’s smiling, and you know what she says every time I get her a gift? That she doesn’t deserve it . . . God, you are cruel,” she said, leaving no time for them to react or to form a response, as she rushed out, in pursuit of her girlfriend. 

Lena almost ran past her where she stood at the elevator, her sobs echoing off the walls. The anger in her dissipated and she let her caring nature kick in, wrapping her arms around Y/N and pulling her into a hug. “Don’t listen to them, okay?” She whispered, playing with Y/N’s hair. The woman sniffed and nodded into her girlfriend’s shoulder. 

Lena then leaned back and took Y/N’s face in her hands. “They know nothing,” she said, maintaining eye contact, and then kissing her before putting her arm around her waist. The couple went back to their apartment and shared a lovely night, just the two of them.

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes

DCEU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @basiclesbianbitch @extraordinary-fangrl @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok

[alderaani]

more than gold

summary:  A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

-

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

[dodgefred]

do you have any ideas as to how you would direct abh/certain scenes if you had the chance

short answer: yes

long answer:

i think overall i would do similar things from mcc because the directing in mcc was exquisite and jessie nelson did a wonderful job, but i would also incorporate some other elements into the show like having an ensemble onstage at all times, having the ensemble integrated into the set like the spring awakening revival does, and i would want everything to feel much more intimate. mcc already does a great job with the intimacy but i really would want to expand on that feeling and make the audience feel as if they’re a member of the bunker listening to this story too.

another thing i would keep is the parallels between bunker visuals and wonderland concepts, like the gas mask flamingos. i would like to expand on this, though, and make the parallels used in the costumes much more noticeable.

the plot structure of alice by heart, in my mind, is alice spencer telling the story of alfred’s death (whether she realizes it or not). i’d have alice begin and end the show reading her book. the music of west of words would begin as soon as alice opens to page one, and the sirens wouldn’t get introduced until after her first verse. this lets us get introduced to alice as a character before we’re introduced to her situation. this also should be the only time alice is alone onstage, and the stage would be bare.

after the siren, the rest of the ensemble would run onstage with furniture and build the bunker in a flurry of bodies and chaos surrounding alice. alfred would run in front of alice before running to his cot, and the rest of this scene would proceed with alice still standing in the middle of all of the chaos around her. her book is still open in her hands. she is our narrator.

my next major point of change would be with down the hole. the bunker kids changing into their wonderland forms would be more clear, and would feature more dramatic onstage quick changes during each of their respective verses or lines. instead of alice twirling into her blue dress, she manipulates the rest of the cast into changing themselves. i don’t think alice would change into her blue dress until alfred sings his “down and down we fall” verse. alfred would playfully remind her to change herself, too. they’re best friends and have played this game countless times and we need to show it onstage. also i think alfred deserves to wear rabbit ears. that’s all.

an alternative decision would be alice starting the show in her blue dress in order to represent how she’s constantly with “[her] head in wonderland.”

i think mcc didn’t do enough with still. a bit of a spoiler for later is that i really want to keep the lobster dance, or at least something similar to it. however, i’d introduce it in still rather than in those long eyes. i’d introduce it as an overarching theme of their relationship. just like wonderland, the lobster dance is something they do quite often; often enough for alfred to know how to do it even when he isn’t fully paying attention. in still, alfred would still try to be evading the discussion and escape alice’s grasp, but she’d try and do their dance together. they don’t finish the dance before the end of the song.

the only major change i would make to chillin the regrets is i’d have the caterpillars lay down more for the scene before. they can get up and do fun choreo with alice afterwards (during the song) but i think she should work more for the attention they give her (during the scene), like alice has to in the original story. they should definitely be more apathetic towards her at first. i’d also like to introduce some sort of dance motif in chillin that alice echoes to alfred in the key is when she tries to get him to smoke. in chillin, i also think it would be cool if there was a smoke machine onstage making the stage as foggy as alice’s head is. if she as our narrator doesn’t know what’s going on, how are we supposed to? i think the smoke can fade for the key is, because we actually need to see that one for the plot, but i think even so there could be some sort of playing with shadows and silhouettes that would be really cool.

i think the bird scene would be really fun with puppetry! the puppets could be made out of items that would only be found in the bunker, like the same fabric the cots are made of, buttons that match the ones on the characters’ clothes, and the gas mask beaks. the birds would just be so much fun as puppets. skipping ahead a bit here, but i also think the duchess in manage your flamingo should have a pig puppet to reference the original a bit more closely.

as mentioned earlier, those long eyes would have a dance motif that would continue throughout the show, and i think while the dance in those long eyes lasted longer than it did in still, it still should be cut off by the sirens and shouldn’t be complete. alice still doesn’t have closure for their relationship by this point, so the dance shouldn’t either.

for most of the show, the cheshire puss should be hooded and perched on an upper platform whenever shes giving alice advice. when alice wont listen to her, she finally snaps and sings some things fall away. she gets on alice’s level and finally reveals her face.

i don’t have many more specific ideas until the end because most of the songs in the middle chunk of the show are just alice running around wonderland and i’m not a choreographer so i’m not really sure what i’d do exactly with these. but i do want to bring up the jabberwocky. i’m obsessed with what mcc does by making alice’s fear of the doctor and the soldiers physical, but i think we could take brillig braellig as an opportunity to bring back the puppets. i think it could be an entirely dark stage except for alice and the jabberwocky. the jabberwocky can be made entirely of white fabric and have images of war and alice’s other fears and traumas projected onto him. the stage can be lit from below so we get some interesting shadows. if we want to incorporate something like mcc did with butridge literally being the jabberwocky, he can be dressed in all white as well and have the puppet follow him around the stage to have more physical interaction with alice. in this scene, i imagine the puppet being pretty big so the ensemble’s place onstage would be helping in puppeteering so the stage would feel emptier than it actually is.

i’m obsessed with the falling rose petals and the coughing before another room in your head in mcc but i think that part could really benefit from some modifications. instead of them being in an empty stage, i think there could be a carpet of white roses beneath them and soap blood could literally come from alfred all over them and all over him. the roses aren’t the only roses in that scene.

in i’ve shrunk enough, i think it would be cool for the characters to go up in a puff of smoke and exit out of a trap door in the stage when alice poofs them out of existence. alice should be the only one poofing everyone away, as she is our narrator. i also think there could be a moment where alfred quickly runs backstage and changes back into his original hospital gown for the final scenes. (in terms of logistics i think the hospital gown could stay beneath his white rabbit costume so he’s able to more quickly change). when he returns onstage, it should be the end of the song. in the vassar reading, at the end of i’ve shrunk enough, alfred says “time’s up” after the final notes of the song. i would want to bring that back. alfred says it as he returns onstage, and the lighting suddenly shifts to two spotlights — one on alice and one on alfred — that merge as the two get closer throughout the next scene.

in afternoon, we bring back the lobster dance. this should be the only time the dance comes to a close. alice isn’t ready for alfred to die, but she’s a hell of a lot more ready than she was during still. she can continue doing the dance by herself after alfred leaves.

after alfred leaves the stage, alice also picks up the book. throughout the show it was probably left downstage in one of the corners of the stage, so here alice picks it back up and finishes it on alfred’s cot. the spotlight follows and doesn’t disperse to reveal the rest of the ensemble until the final notes of the song when alice finally closes the book.

throughout winter blooms, the characters should dismantle the bunker like they brought it on in the beginning. they each change into their wonderland costumes once again (or at least bits and pieces of them, since winter blooms is a pretty quick song, but i doubt their wonderland costumes are too drastically different from their bunker costumes regardless) throughout the rest of the song. at the very end, i’d have alice come centerstage once more, standing in the same place she was during alfred’s death. she’d sing to an empty stage, for the most part, until her final “and there you are.” alfred comes onstage (whether he comes onstage himself or he’s brought up through the stage on a lift or a turntable, i don’t know) in his white rabbit costume once again, and alice pulls him into an embrace as the stage fades to black once more.

[aomineavenue]

Homesick (Miya Atsumu x f!Reader) | 001. the unexpected.

Summary: Six years ago, L/N Y/N wouldn’t exactly say that she loves her life. It had always been problematic but her best friend, Miya Atsumu, since she was eight when she moved to Hyōgo, has always been there for her, and she wouldn’t change it for the world. However, things would always fall apart for her ever since, so she should have expected of such. Running away from her problems seemed like the easiest route to take at the time, so what happens when the past comes barging back into her life demanding answers? Will she be able to confront her demons?

Pairings: Miya Atsumu x f!Reader

Updates: irregular.

Genre: Angst, ANGST I LOVE ANGST, a lil bit of fluff here and there.

Warnings: Language, etc. (Will be mentioned once posted because I don’t want spoilers huehue)

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters except for the reader and my ideas. I do not claim any images used for content in this fic, everything goes out to their respective creators unless it is mentioned that it is mine.

Status: ongoing. | series masterlist

↩ intro | the unexpected | a mother’s nightmare  ↪

mia’s speaks:

Okay, so before we start the story. I’d just like to explain that this may be a slow burn kinda thing because I fully want everyone to understand yn’s point of view after she ran away six years ago. We will eventually enter Atsumu’s point of view along the story, but for now, I hope you guys like this! Let me know what you guys think! 

It had been six years and to this day, it still haunts you. Well, what they say is true anyway. Everything you run away from will eventually continue to haunt you until you decide to face it head-on. Needless to say, you were feeling pretty pathetic. Six years later, and that is still what you felt to this day. Pathetically sad.

The cool air emitting from the air conditioner set up in the living room, mixed with the early morning cold winter atmosphere that engulfed most of Japan with its beautiful white coat, brushes against the patches of exposed skin causing you to shiver slightly, silently cursing to yourself for forgetting to turn the appliance off during the night before. You had awoken too early for your liking, the sun barely peeking as you left the comforts of your bed to grab a cup of coffee. You were never a morning person, only because it was the time where you were often left with your thoughts as the time slot was usually unproductive.

During such unproductive hours, your thoughts usually consumed you. If it weren't about work or the handful of people you hold close to your heart, it often leads you to thoughts of your life six years ago. You wondered what it would be like if you hadn't opted to run away from reality a few years back during your high school years. Your train of thought often wandered to countless possibilities if you had faced your problems earlier on. To you now, running away seemed almost petty. Well, sorta.

Would you have been happy? Would they have accepted things? Would you have grown apart? Would they have pushed you away?

Sadly, you'd never know. This is only because you fear the truth so you refuse to return and seek certain answers that no doubt will only lead to ultimate disaster. You fear the consequences of your actions. To simply put, you were a coward.

It had been six years and to this day, it still haunts you. Well, what they say is true anyway. Everything you run away from will eventually continue to haunt you until you decide to face it head-on. Needless to say, you were feeling pretty pathetic. Six years later, and that is still what you felt to this day. Pathetically sad.

You move your gaze away from the hot cup of coffee on the kitchen counter over to glance out of the window from your apartment, watching the dark skies slowly fade away to signal a brand new day on the horizon, the sun painting the sky a bright calming hue. Any minute now, your friends that had decided to crash at your place during the previous night are bound to wake up. Your tiny space had become some sort of safe haven for when they needed to hide away from their own problems, or when they needed you to nurse their drunken states.

Despite it sparking irritation within yourself, you could never bring yourself to deny them. The group had been nothing but a solid help for you the past six years when you fled from Hyōgo and where you settled yourself in the comforts of your late father's best friend back in Kanagawa, Suwa Riku, reconnecting with one of your childhood friends, Suwa Reiji. The loving Suwa family accepted you with open arms, practically calling you their own despite the situation you dug yourself in. Honestly, if they had turned you away, you would have probably ended up in the gutter somewhere in Japan as you had no other place to go. It wouldn't have even shocked you if they were to turn their backs at you when you had first came knocking on their front door, practically drenched from the pouring rain, it was barely enough to conceal the tears.

However, despite the past they barely knew, they accepted you with open arms without an ounce of judgment. If they were curious, they asked politely, and if certain questions were too difficult for you to answer, they respected your need for privacy.

When you had left everything behind in Hyōgo, you wanted to forget. You had deleted your previous profiles from any sort of social media platform that you had and changed your number when you had the chance. To everyone in Hyōgo, you completely disappeared, a mere ghost that residents either often gossiped about or have completely forgotten, it wasn't as if you were well known within the community, but—still, your disappearance had quite the impact. However, since no one has found you yet in the past six years, it probably meant that your mother didn't care. You assumed the same for your handful of friends. You stayed with the Suwa Family in Kanagawa for at least a year and a half, time for yourself and to get adjusted to your new life before you convinced yourself to get a job that will lead you to a somewhat peaceful life, you needed it for support, now more so than ever. Once again, you are in debt when your childhood friend Reiji offered you a job as a manager for their group. Of course, how could you say no? Despite the busy schedule, you managed enough, sometimes giving you the ability to be flexible.

Ah, yes. Suwa Reiji, the lead singer for the famous boy band, Galaxy Standard. The two of you had been friends before you had moved to Hyōgo when you were eight years old. Despite the distance between the two of you, when your father was still around since your fathers were close friends, the two of you did keep in touch. However, as you grew older and found new friends in Hyōgo, the need to keep in touch disappeared almost instantly. Thankfully, despite years of not having any contact with each other, the two of you reconnected, happy to be back in each other's lives.

The past six years, as you tried to find yourself and finally settle independently, Reiji was there.

And despite the exhausting job of managing a boy band, you adored it. It kept you occupied. Despite the boys being famous, you opted to keep your social media platforms private, or rather secret, only your friends and a few of Galaxy Standard's fans knew of it. Although the fans knew of your existence, you wanted your personal life private and thankfully, the management and fans respected that with the help from your friends who are aware of your situation. You wanted to stay hidden. Accompanying the boys in certain events, despite being a girl where it was typical for fangirls to grow upset because of the close contact with their idols, the fans respected you and often held polite conversations with you.

Yes, despite the troubles you have, you wouldn't deny the fact that you were indeed happy, but lately, something in the back of your mind has been irking you, making you feel extremely uneasy for not knowing what it could be. It frustrated you to no end.

"Someone looks like a vein in their head might pop," you hear Reiji tease as he approached. You roll your eyes before turning your attention over to the man that intruded your thoughts. Bless him, you were slowly becoming crazy with all the thinking. However, you weren't going to praise him or anything, despite Reiji's calm and humble personality towards others, he was a completely different person towards you; often teasing, most days very playful.

You snap back playfully, "Good morning to you, too." He occupies the seat across from you, despite stumbling to your apartment the previous night completely drunk from a party, the man before you showed no sign of a hungover, you were used to it by now. "Seriously, you and Shizuma need to find some other place to crash. I don't even know how you roped him into drinking, he was absolutely thrashed when the two of you arrived. Normally, he'd be the responsible one."

"Yeah, but once he starts drinking, there's no stopping him. And Nah," he chuckles as he leans against the counter, a yawn escaping his lips as he spoke midway, "Your place is comfy but also because I get to see the cute faces of my favourite nephews almost instantly, it's a bonus."

"Uncle Reiji!"

"Where's Uncle 'zuma?"

Speaking of the little devils. Both of your attentions snaps at the two identical figures that stepped out of their shared room and into the vicinity that you and Reiji occupied. 

The sight of their sleepy states warmed your heart at just how cute they have grown. Ah, yes. Your two boys. One of the two reasons why you preferred to keep your personal life, private. Of course, there was also Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro to think about. Your precious boys, your utmost priority. Everything you could ever want and more. They were the two that you could finally call home. As much as you know that your existence wouldn't be much of a big deal to the fans since you weren't entirely famous, you refused to let your boys get caught into any unnecessary drama that your friends have often got themselves into, so despite having famous uncles, you kept them shielded whenever you can. Of course, the fans of Galaxy Standard were aware of the existence of your little boys, often swooning when one of their idols were photographed with one of the twins. Needless to say, it always made the fans crazy, but you were grateful that the fans were respectful and never crossed the line whenever your boys were included.

Of course, the main reason why you wanted everything to be kept private was that you didn't want certain people to know the secret you've worked hard to stay hidden, but Japan was big, wasn't it? You often reassured yourself that it was impossible for paths to cross.

"Why are you looking for your Uncle Shizuma when I'm here?" Reiji asks, feigning hurt in his expression as both six-year-old boys approach, yawning and sleepily rubbing their eyes.

Atsuhiro, or rather Hiro, as he liked to be called sighs as he shakes his head at his uncle, "But Uncle 'zuma is the best."

"Now you take that back young man!" He scoffs as he playfully places his hands on his hips, "Who do you think raised you?"

The little boy tilts his head to the side as he watches his uncle in amusement of his antics, "Uncle 'zuma helped too! Mommy says he even helped out changing diapers which you didn't do!"

"But Uncle Reiji's the best! He always plays with us!" Atsuhiko, Hiko, retorts as he rushes over to his uncle to give him a high five, "Mommy, Uncle Rei said he's going to teach us some tricks like he did back then in Stride! Isn’t that cool?"

You send a glare towards the man that was mentioned by your son, who only avoided your gaze as he ruffles your son's hair, "Maybe something else. You can ask your uncles to teach you how to sing and dance like they always do, just not that dangerous sport."

Atsuhiko groans in protest while the other twin approaches you, wrapping his short arms around your leg, "Do you think they can teach us volleyball?"

"Oh yes!" Atsuhiko yells out happily agreeing with his twin, his dismay for his mother's earlier disapproval flying out the window as he looks at you with hope in his eyes, "Volleyball is so cool! Can we mommy?"

Almost instantly, a lump formed in the back of your throat at the mention of the mere sport, a reminder. It wasn't as if you were against the sport, but what caught you off guard was the interests your boys clearly showed. How ironic.

As you raised the two, whether at times you were alone or had help, you often pushed the twins away from certain reminders of your past. What was that? Anything that reminded you of your past in Hyōgo was pushed aside. It was rather petty, you knew that yourself but as the twin boys grew throughout the years, it didn't get unnoticed how their features screamed of the one and only Miya Atsumu. Well, you expected that—he is the father of your twin boys, but you silently prayed during your pregnancy and as you raised them that their features would come from your side of the family instead of his.

But of course, somehow you've upset the Gods for your pettiness. This was your consequence. A daily reminder. There's no denying of your love for your boys. They were your life and you wouldn't change anything because then they wouldn't exist. However, you've grown hateful of your past as years gone by. Your hatred for the awful memories had made it more difficult to forget.

You expected the interest in volleyball before they even mentioned it to you today. The clues in their shared room were enough for you to pick up that they were most likely to take after their father in a sense, not that they know of such.

Earlier, about two years prior when they first started in kindergarten, it was inevitable for such to talk about your families, you remember experiencing such back then despite it being foggy. They returned home, despite being young, they were smart for their age and bombarded you with questions without holding back; wondering about who was their father and where he was, or if Uncle Reiji or Uncle Shizuma were their fathers. Back then, you couldn't bring yourself to tell them the truth or even utter a single word about the man missing in their lives.

You experienced a whole week of silent treatment from your two boys because you refused to answer, their stubbornness hard as a rock. You refuse to answer their questions? Well, they, of course, fight back by refusing to talk to you. Oh, children, right? Of course, Reiji and Shizuma were a big help because to the twins, the two of your friends were practically the only father figures that they had. Since Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro refused to utter a word to you, they tried their best to talk to the twins, avoiding certain parts that they were too young to know about, and explained that when they grew up and they were ready to know, you would eventually let them know.

Bless the heavens because, after that, your two boys returned to their loving yet sneaky nature, never asking or mentioning about their father again. However, the majority of the conversations about their father were kept in secret between the two. Atsuhiro wanting to know more while Atsuhiko pushing the idea away, but not wanting to upset his brother, he keeps his dismay of their missing father from Atsuhiro, who grew more eager to find his father as years go by.

"What's with all the excitement at such an early hour? You two always have so much energy. What's this I hear about wanting to play volleyball?" Shizuma saves you from answering and you share a silent communication to send your gratitude for the interference.

Atsuhiro breaks out into a grin at the sight of his favourite uncle and immediately approaches him, "Uncle 'zuma, do you know how to play volleyball? Can you teach me and Hiko? Please?"

Shizuma chuckles in response, ruffling the little boy's messy locks, "I'm not that good but if you and your brother are serious about wanting to learn volleyball, I know a friend that may be of help."

"You do?" Atsuhiko asks, excitement in his voice.

You repeat, arching a brow in curiosity, "You do?"

"Well he's more of Asuma's friend than mine but we're good acquaintances," he answers with a shrug of his shoulders, "I'll see what I can do for my two favourite nephews."

"Yes!" The twins exclaim happily at the same time before running towards each other to share their routine handshake.

"Now that's settled," Reiji starts, clapping his hands together to grab the attention from everyone in the room, "Aren't you two supposed to be getting ready for your day with Grandpapa and Grandmama Suwa? You wouldn't want to keep those two waiting, I heard they have a really big day planned ahead for the two of you."

Ah, Grandpapa and Grandmama Suwa. Reiji's parents, and well—your substitute parents and the twins' substitute grandparents. Despite not being biologically related, they treated the three of you like a real family. They helped you throughout your pregnancy and at the same time raising your two boys. They did what any grandparent would do, discipline and spoil them. You wouldn't change it for the world. The love they had for your boys was overwhelming, and Atsuhiko and Atsuhiro completely adored their substitute grandparents just the same.

Atsuhiro releases a gasp from his lips at the realization of the big day, he had been excited, to say the least, rushing to get prepared whilst Atsuhiko frowns and stays rooted in where he stood, "But today's Uncle Asuma's birthday! I want to go too!"

"No can do, kiddo." Shizuma shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest; an indication the twins are familiar with that meant it was not up for any negotiation. "You know this party isn't for little boys, your Uncle Asuma already told you this, but he promised to take both of you out tomorrow to make up for it. You and Hiro can celebrate his birthday tomorrow, I promise."

Atsuhiko releases a dramatic sigh, throwing his little hands in the air as he stomps his way to get ready, knowing that if he were to argue, he would inevitably lose. Oh well, he thought to himself, Grandpapa and Grandmama are the best anyway. 

"I don't know how you do it, 'zuma." You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Those two have become spoiled to the core because of all of us, yet when it comes to you and their Grandpapa Riku, they suddenly become little angelic-slash-monsters who obey every command."

Shizuma lets a grin spread on his lips, "Some things can't be taught. Anyway, I'll get going. I have to help prep Asuma's party. I'll see you guys there."

"I'll get going too," Reiji declares as he stands up from his seat, "Don't back out of the party, I'll drag you there if I have to, I swear."

You roll your eyes at them, more so at Reiji than Shizuma, shooing them with your hands as you follow them to the front door, "Yeah, whatever. I'll be there. Stop worrying."

Dropping the twins at the Suwa Residence after eating lunch together was often smooth sailing as the twins always adored spending the day with their substitute grandparents. However, Atsuhiko expressed his dismay of being left behind once again insisting of wanting to attend his Uncle Asuma's birthday party, you had to pry his hands away from his grip on your leg. Thankfully, you had help from his Grandpapa Riku, and after waving goodbye to a smiling Atsuhiro and a scowling Atsuhiko, you were off to get a few errands done before heading to Asuma's apartment to celebrate his birthday, taking your sweet time to avoid your favourite, yet rowdy bunch of friends, only because they probably wanted you to help them set up the party, which you didn't want to take part in.

Honestly, you could have chosen otherwise but decided against skipping the errands that would most probably pile up despite the break Galaxy Standard was having. Plus, you may or may not have, forgotten to get a gift for Asuma and if you showed up empty-handed, well, you weren't going to hear the end of it.

Hours went by as you got through your list of errands, you were left with messages and certain phone calls that you ignored throughout the day, you were finally able to buy a suitable gift for your friend. All there was left to do was show up to the party that was apparently already in full swing. Thankfully, your friend's lavish apartment was around the corner.

You waited for the traffic lights to signal the safe journey across the busy streets, your grip on the neatly wrapped gift on one hand slightly tightening against you as you shiver from Japan's cool winter breeze bustling through the air, something you're still obviously not very fond of. For as long as you can remember, you hated the cold. It was a bitter reminder of the times you were utterly alone. You always preferred the warm temperature, whether it was from a fireplace or someone else, it kept you from going numb, made to remind you of reality.

The sound of your phone ringing startles you from your thoughts and you pull the device from one of your pockets, Reiji's name flashing across the screen. You grumble to yourself of his impatience before answering the call, bringing the device up to press against your ear. Before you could utter a word, he beats you to it in a demanding tone, "Where are you? You're late."

"Hold your horses, Rei." You answer in irritation as you look up ahead to check the traffic lights that still had the signal to stay where you were, "I'm almost there. Be patient." However, you couldn't process the words Reiji muttered next from the other line. Someone calling out your name catching your attention, your eyes widening slightly at the realization of who it was. Immediately, you cut off Reiji's rambling from the other line and ended the call, slipping the phone back into your pocket as you feel your shoulder tense at his presence standing next to you. "Osamu."

"So it is you," he blinks in disbelief, his eyes drinking your features bit by bit to check if he was dreaming or not, "You look different, I barely recognized you if it weren't for your voice, but it really is you."

You nod stiffly, "I suppose I would since it has been six years and all. What are you doing all the way here in Kanagawa?"

Suddenly, a memory flashes across your mind. A memory of earlier in your apartment, Shizuma mentioning a friend who knew how to play volleyball. No, it couldn't be, right?

"Ah, I'm actually checking a few spots around here for my business," he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "So Kanagawa, huh? This is where you've been hiding all this time?"

Your lips press into a thin line, feeling uneasy under his gaze. Of course, you would, you're practically hiding a really big secret. "I'm sorry, I don't have time to chat. I have plans and my friends are already egging me on for being late."

The traffic lights save you from a painful conversation, signalling that it was safe to cross but before you could take a step away, you feel him grasp onto your shoulder to pull you back. You turned your head to face him, ready to fight him off but you halted your actions at the sign of sadness his features displayed. You took the time to examine his features, your heart practically leaping as you were able to take in everything unlike seconds ago where you were purposely trying to leave. Of course, back then when you were friends, you considered Osamu as handsome. I mean, why wouldn't you? You were practically in love with his twin brother who you found extremely handsome at the time. However, that wasn't what ran through your mind. You began thinking that Atsumu probably looked just as good, and suddenly you felt a shitload of bricks slamming right down on your shoulders, the feeling of panic surging through your veins, wondering if Atsumu was around too that you failed to notice Osamu pull out a small card from his wallet, holding it out for you to take. He seemed to read your thoughts as he spoke to reassure you, "Don't worry. He's not here, but..." He trails off, looking at you with hope in his eyes, "take this, it has my number on it. When you're ready, I'm here to listen. I always have been. I want to know what you've been up to. I want to catch up."

At Osamu's reassurance, you feel your shoulders slowly relax as you take the card from him, your eyes scanning the printed numbers and words, Ongiri Miya, making you realize that he hadn't pursued Volleyball like his twin often rambled on. You flicker your gaze up to meet his once more and he gives you a small smile. You slowly nod as you slip the card into one of your back pockets, "I have to go."

He watches you leave, the smile he had instantly morphed into a frown as he watches you walk away once more and eventually disappear from his line of sight. He silently prayed that you would contact him when you could, wanting to reconnect with you after all these years, to know why you left. He promises to himself that when you do decide to reach out, that you wouldn't mention anything to his idiot brother.

He noted the shift of your body, how your shoulders relaxed at the mention of someone not being around, he knew that you had thought about his brother. And it only confirmed his suspicion of you leaving because of what his brother had done six years ago, the last day people saw you in Hyōgo. However, something still was missing, he still craved an answer. You couldn't have left just because of Atsumu's actions. So what was it?

Either way, he was determined to find out. You may have not known it then, but Osamu cared about you a lot. However, due to you being blinded by his twin brother's light, you failed to notice. He wasn't going to let you go this time, he'll find a way to get you back in his life. His phone blares his ringtone, snapping him out of his thoughts. As he brings his phone up, he grumbles underneath his breath at the sight of his brother's incoming call. Speak of the devil.

"What is it?"

He hears his brother whine from the other line, "Can't I just call my brother once in a while?"

"You only ever do that when you're in trouble or need something," he retorts with a roll of his eyes.

Atsumu laughs in response, "How'd the shop searching go? Anything interesting so far? When you coming back?"

"Hold up, what's with the questions?" He laughs at the sound of his brother's enthusiasm. It's true, they often disagreed with each other but when it came to supporting each other's passion, they were always there for the other. He shifts his gaze over to where you stood moments ago, a smile ghosting his lips at the memory of the brief conversation the two of you shared. "Yeah, maybe something interesting here in Kanagawa after all." He listens to his brother speak excitedly over the phone causing him to shake his head at the ridiculous tone. "Oh? He's here? Maybe I can hit him up..."

After the encounter with Osamu, you practically quickened your pace to Asuma's apartment, your heart beating erratically. You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until you were gasping for air. Luckily, the majority of Asuma's guests were preoccupied that they hadn't noticed your entrance. You were sure you looked embarrassing looking extremely flustered.

You hear your name being called and as soon as you caught your breath, you notice Shizuma calling you over, Asuma and Reiji along with someone you seem to recognize but can’t seem place in your mind. Walking over, your lips curl up to a small smile as you extend your arm to hand over Asuma's gift, "Happy Birthday, 'suma. Here's my gift."

Asuma's eyes instantly light up, retrieving the gift from you, "I was going to get mad at you for being late but since you have a gift for me, I'll let it slide. Did the boys pick this for me?"

"Gee, aren't I lucky." You drawl sarcastically, a laugh being shared within the group as you shake your head, "No, you think those two would let me give them your gift? They said they'll give it to you tomorrow when you take them out. Hiko was upset when I left him with his Grandpapa Riku, though. He had this cute little scowl." Your three friends laugh, imagining their nephew in their heads. You flicker your attention over to the person who was watching you interact with the others with amusement, you smile at him politely. "I'm sorry. How rude of me."

"Oh, right!" Shizuma speaks as soon as your name slips out of your mouth to introduce yourself, holding out your hand for a shake which he grabs, "This is the friend I was talking about that can teach the boys volleyball."

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" He starts with a grin as he shakes your hand firmly, his enthusiasm infectious. Releasing his grip on your hand, he sends a little wave, "Bokuto Koutarou I'm a friend of Asuma's. Shizuma here was just telling me about your boys and how they were interested in volleyball and I wouldn't mind helping them out."

Asuma adds, "He's a professional volleyball player for Japan's V.League in Division 1. MSBY Black Jackals was it?"

You watch as the man who you thought kind of resembled a horned owl nod his head towards Asuma's direction, something about him oddly familiar. You hum along, eyes widening slightly at the information. "Professional? Wow, colour me impressed. Wouldn't you be too busy to train two six-year-olds, then?"

"I'll speak for everyone who knows her two boys that they're absolute devils," Reiji chuckles with a shake of his head, "Fast learners though. We'd teach them how to run like in Stride if we could but their mother over here refuses."

You scoff, "Because that sport can be dangerous!"

"Stride, huh?" Bokuto butts in, interested. "But yes, I have some time to teach. I'm sure they'll be okay. I owe Asuma anyway. I don't mind."

The corners of your mouth twitch to an unsure smile. You didn't know if you were going to go through with this if you were honest, but it isn't exactly something you can reject as your three other friends were present, and they would do anything for their favourite set of twins, spoiled rotten those two were.

"Don't worry," Shizuma claims, nudging you with his elbow as he gives you a reassuring smile, "They'll be in good hands, one of us will find the time to attend their little training. We're not as busy lately due to our little holiday anyway."

You hum softly as you continue to examine Bokuto under your gaze before something in your mind clicks, eyes widening ever so slightly. “I think I know you! Weren’t you at the Christmas Party last year that Reiji held?” 

He nods with a grin, “I was actually. Asuma invited me and I went along with a couple of friends. Funny how we’ve crossed paths before and yet we’re only meeting now, ay?”

“Ah, yeah. I think I remember now, sort of.” you laugh, nodding your head in agreement, “That party was crazy anyway. I don’t think anyone wants to remember that crazy night. Especially Reiji.” 

The man mentioned scoffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s why whenever I plan parties it’s never at my place anymore.” He shudders at the memory, “Drunk bastards doing the nasty at my place. And that model’s awful moaning could be heard even when the music was blasting.” 

You scrunch up your face in disgust, “Thankfully I left early then,”

An awkward laugh escapes Bokuto’s lips as he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “Yeah about that...” 

“That was you?” you and Asuma let out a gasp, eyes widening while Shizuma bursts out laughing. Reiji on the other hand, obviously not amused at the information. 

“Dude, what the heck!” Reiji exclaims, brows furrowing, “The least you could have done was choose a guest bedroom rather than on my own bed!” 

“Oy!” he laughs, holding his hands out, “I didn’t say it was me. I was just saying I know who it was. It was one of my friends, but I’d rather not say who.” 

Asuma joins his older brother Shizuma in laughing at the side while you try your best to calm down Reiji by tugging on his arm. “Anyway, Bokuto. I think we should talk about the schedule of your training with my boys. I’m sure they’ll be excited when they find out someone will be training them volleyball.”

Somehow, a part of you was screaming at you, telling you that this wasn't going to end well. Of course, you didn't realize at the time that you would come to regret such a decision, not like you had any say against it either. Your little boys were spoiled rotten and often got their way whether through innocent means or their sneaky tactics. It didn't help that their group of uncles were wrapped around their little fingers.

Ah, yes. You hadn't realized it yet, but it was the start of a roller coaster ride.

[vs-redemption]

I JUST CAME UP WITH THE CUTEST THING EVER!

Okok so UA prom night. Bakugou and reader have had secret crushes on each other but like it’s obvious to everyone except each other. Prom is prince/princess themed ok? Everyone goes in groups rather than singles bc no one wants to be left out right?

Bakugou and Reader are crowned prom king and queen!!! And they get their own dance while everyone watches — the song is the Beauty and the beast (a perfect fit for the two). And I think it’s adorable and maybe maybe they kiss 🤭

-🐱❤️

From Cindy: Okay so... lol inspiration for this suddenly smacked me in the brain and it ended up being so long (1,761 words). I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t stop. I had so much fun writing this so thank you 🐱 anon for another great idea.

Prom (Bakugo x Fem!Reader)

When your friends decided to attend your senior prom as a group rather than go through the trouble of finding dates, it was both a blessing and a curse for you. On the one hand, going with the social circle that you’d spent every moment of your high school years with provided the guarantee that you’d have a good time at the prince and princess themed dance no matter what. Plus, you wouldn’t end up in the awkward situation of either being rejected or getting stuck trying to make conversation with a single person the entire night. The downside though was that you had a very specific person in mind who you’d been dreaming of going to prom with ever since he’d caught your eye during the entrance exam to get into UA.

That person was Katsuki Bakugo.

It wasn’t as if you thought you had a chance with the explosive boy in question. He was in the same class as you after all, and although you had formed a weird sort of friendship over the years, he’d never shown any signs that he might return your feelings. And boy, did you have feelings. Through all the intense hero trainings and group study sessions, you’d really been able to get to know the ins and outs of his personality. You knew Bakugo came across as arrogant and abrasive at first glance, but somehow you’d never been able to see him that way. In your eyes, he was the most hardworking and passionate student in the whole school. You couldn’t help but admire how confident he was in his own strength and determination. Ever since his admittedly wild behavior during the sports festival in your first year, people had doubted his choice to pursue a career as a hero and criticized the way he interacted with other people. Never once did he waver in his goal though. He just continued to blaze forward, studying and training hard with that same unwavering persistence that you both loved and envied.

“You look amazing in that dress!” Mina winks and throws you a thumbs up as you all crowd in the dormitory bathroom to help each other get ready.

“Yellow really is your color,” Momo agrees with a smile. “People might actually mistake you for a real princess.”

“Stop!” You were blushing a little from all the attention and from the way your thoughts ran wild with fantasies of Bakugo finally noticing you as more than just a fellow hero course student. “We’re all going to look amazing tonight.”

“Good,” Hagakure chimes in, her pink dress fluttering around her invisible body as she twirled in front of the mirror. “We can’t make it too easy for the judges to pick the prom king and queen!”

Once everyone was ready, the group made their way down to the common room where all the boys were waiting. They all looked handsome and uncharacteristically dressed up in their suits, but you only had eyes for one of them. It was almost unfair how good Bakugo looked. His spikey blonde hair and fiery red eyes were already enough to give you butterflies, but the way his dark blue suit jacket fit perfectly over his broad shoulders and tapered down to show off his narrow waist had you feeling even more flustered.

“You idiots finally ready?” He asks, shoving his hands into his pockets casually. You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the way he’d carried on about dances being lame and how there was no way he’d go. You knew from the start that it was all talk. There was no way he would’ve allowed himself to disappoint his friends like that. He cared about all of them more than he’d ever admit.

The dance coordinators at the school had gone above and beyond when decorating the gymnasium which now looked like a scene out of a fairytale. Everywhere you looked had twinkling lights and cutouts of castle towers and horse drawn carriages. You and your friends made your way inside, smiling and waving to familiar faces from other classes and taking in the atmosphere created by the lighting and music. Finally, you noticed the platform set up in the back of the room where two empty thrones sat for the prom king and queen.

“All right! I’m ready to dance now!” Mina cheers once most students had arrived and the DJ, also known as Present Mic, had started to play more upbeat music. You followed her and the rest of the group to the center of the room and jumped right into the action. Time passed quickly as you got lost in the music and dancing, taking breaks every now and then to get something to drink and rehydrate. Never once though did you lose track of Bakugo’s presence. Whether he was on the dance floor, or off to the side talking to one of the others, you always seemed to know where he was like there was some sort of magnetic pull. It didn’t stop you from having a good time, but it made you wonder how much more magical the night would be if you could just steal even a single moment alone with him.

“All right! It’s that time of the night kids!” Present Mic announces later in the evening. “It’s time to announce this year’s prom king and queen!”

The room quiets down and everyone huddles together, feeling the building anticipation over the big reveal. You knew it was only the popular and good looking people that usually got chosen, but you were still excited, hoping that someone from your class might get the chance to wear the symbolic crown or tiara. Present Mic holds up a note that he must’ve gotten from one of the judges and looks down to read the names.

“And the results are in!” he says overdramatically, “Everyone give it up for your king and queen.”

The first name to come tumbling out of the man’s mouth was Bakugo’s, making you freeze up a bit and turn to look at him in shock. Of course he deserved it, but you couldn’t help but feel jealous already of the girl that would get to have the one on one dance with him after being crowned. The noise in the room seemed to fade out as you watched your crush turn and start walking right toward you, suddenly offering you his hand.

“Wh-what?” You didn’t understand, especially since the rest of the girls were suddenly squealing in your ear and patting you on the back.

“He just called both our names, dummy,” the insult comes out as a term of endearment which was normal for Bakugo, but the slight pink blush covering his cheeks was definitely new. He takes your hand into his and you awkwardly follow him up to the platform almost in a daze. You hadn’t even heard Present Mic call your name, but suddenly he was placing a glittery tiara on top of your head and a crown on top of Bakugo’s.

“Are you two ready for your dance?” the teacher asks. Truthfully you weren’t but you find yourself nodding anyway, your mind still trying to catch up with your body.

“You all right?” Bakugo asks, sounding just as uncomfortable as he pulls you into the middle of the room which was now clear of people. You were kind of surprised he was going along with all of this so easily, but before you could think about it any further “tale as old as time” starts to play over the sound system causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. You nod wordlessly again, answering his question. Suddenly he’s pulling you closer, one hand holding your own and the other sliding cautiously to the middle of your back.

For a moment, you are way too caught up with wondering how you’d ended up in such a situation to actually enjoy the way Bakugo starts to gently sway you back and forth to the music. A quick squeeze to your combined hands forces you back to the present and you look up at him nervously. “There you are, princess,” he lets out a short laugh. “I was starting to get worried for a second.”

“P-princess?” You stutter out the nickname. Bakugo’s confidence slips for a second and he averts his eyes, the pink on his cheeks becoming more pronounced.

“Well… it fits the situation, doesn’t it?” he mumbles before glancing up. “We’re royalty now.” Some of the tension leaves your body at his predictable behavior and you let out a small laugh.

“Only for tonight,” You point out, your lips forming a sad smile as you both continue to move across the floor to the music.

“It… uh… it doesn’t have to be,” he blurts out, his eyes continuing to look down.

“What do you mean?” your question comes out sounding breathless and the intensity of his gaze when it meets yours makes your stomach do a flip.

“I mean, this is kind of how I originally pictured prom to go before all those idiots suggested coming as a group.” He was still mumbling a bit but you heard every word.

“You were going to ask me to be your date?” You ask, your voice laced with shock and disbelief. He swallows thickly and then nods his head. The simple gesture fills your heart with happiness and you lean closer into him and tuck your head into his chest. All too soon, the song comes to an end and you’re forced to pull away. You don’t get too far before Bakugo is tugging you back and pressing a warm kiss to your cheek.

“If it’s all right with you,” he says softly while lifting up your hand in his, “I’d like to hold onto this for a little while.” You smile happily and lean forward to return his kiss.

“Bakugo, you can hold onto it for as long as you like,” you tell him honestly. His eyes light up at your words and he looks very much like the prince you had always imagined him to be.

After a moment, a new song began to play and the dance floor filled up with students again. You and Bakugo go back up to the platform to sit in your designated thrones while all your friends crowd around the two of you, congratulating and teasing you both. Surrounded by your closest friends with Bakugo’s hand clutched firmly in your own, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect ending to your prom night fairytale.

[btsandvmin]

Ask: Reply - 2021.03.18

I don’t know what might be the best way to go about asks, but for now I’ll try to answer asks as they come and when I can/want to I’ll collect them together in a post instead of answering indivudually. I’ve seen other Vminie blogs with similar formats and have done a few collection posts like this before, and it really seems to be the easiest way to digest your questions.

Let’s go through what you’ve sent me today as I finally opened up this blog for asks again. :)

Topics:

Ask 1 - Vmin’s emotional connection vs ship moments Ask 2 - KTH1 and creative control Ask 3 - What makes a ship big? Ask 4 - Thoughts on Tae/kook’s relationship (+ edit on other post) Ask 5 - When did they first mention the dumpling fight? Ask 6 - A little about me and my big analysis Ask 7-9 - Thank yous and nice things

Thank you all for waiting. <3 Read more under the cut.

Ask 1 -  Vmin’s emotional connection vs ship moments

I agree with you. I might not look at other ships as focused as I do with Vmin, but I would guess no other ship comes close to how much Vmin have shown their emotional intimacy in many ways over the years. Not to mention how many times even BTS themselves point out Vmin’s bond as special. Not to mention to begin with we shouldn’t be insecure about their bond based on their interactions with others. We should judge Vmin based on how they interact with each other.

All members have skinship (though some more than others), but both Jimin and Tae are super comfortable with touching, sometimes even with strangers. Looking at moments you can ship all ships, and there are even those that believe their ship to be real for almost all ships in BTS at this point. Why? Well because if you focus on your ship and put emphasis on the moments between them as bigger or more important, you can find “proof” for anything. Because that’s just how close and shipworthy all of the dynamics in BTS are. They all love each other, and shippers can find their own preferred love amongst them. 

I think we also need to remember all the things Vmin has CONFIRMED that other shippers try to prove with their own ships. How is tae/kook hugging or ji/kook cuddling supposed to make me feel insecure about Vmin when they have that too AND call each other soulmates in a song that made one of their procucers cry and other things like Namjoon getting goosebumps thinking about their bond? Taehyung cried reading his letter to Jimin and Jimin said no other member would likely truly understand why he cried. Taehyung has called Jimin the warmest person he knows and his one and only best friend. AND AGAIN, SOULMATE. The years of material we have show us again and again how important they are to each other and how they grow and work hard together to make their bond even stronger.

Vminies, please appriciate what we have because we are spoiled.

Ask 2 - KTH1 and creative control

Honestly this is a difficult one. The thing is that we know that likely to some degree Big Hit will always be involved with what the boys do and release. But I also think their freedom to express themselves is better than most idol companies, and BTS whole brand is to be as genuine as possible. As for what Tae would be asked to tone down is hard to say exactly, but we do know that Yoongi and Namjoon (and other members) have been pretty dark and honest in their lyrics. I know from a Vmin perspective it could be something either LGBT+ or even directly Vmin related, but there isn’t enough to go on for me to make a good guess. We literally just know that he was told to tone it down. It doesn’t even have to be about the subjects or lyrics, even though that does seem the most likely. But we do know that Taehyung wants to release something that reflect him and that he can be proud of, so I am sure no matter what we get they will be his honest feelings. I am very excited and a bit scared thinking about Tae’s mixtape if I am being honest.

That being said, I think there could be lines that they should be careful not to cross. I think it’s possible with Taehyung’s personality who “doesn’t beat around the bush” that he might want to express more than what might be appropriate. Not just from Big Hit’s perspective but for his own sake. Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying Tae is an idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for him. I just think at times he might be rebellious against his own better judement because it is something so important to him. For me talking about the Christmas song is partly such a moment, but I still think he was careful and ambiguous enough about it, even though he allowed himself to complain. Still, I am sure if it is about sexuality or even a relationship he knows the risks of being too open about it and would likely understand the need to be careful, or tone things down, if that was the case. A mixtape/album is not something done rashly or in the moment, so no matter what we get I am sure it will have been checked and considered by Tae and by Big Hit.

So basically I suppose the delay could be about creative control but mostly I really think it’s about Taehyung wanting to do well and writing when he feels like it without pressure. Which I feel is a very healthy approach by him honestly. We know mixtapes takes time and we know how Hobi felt about his first one, so I really think we should just give him time and I am sure we will get something amazing.

Ask 3 - What makes a ship big?

Aaaaaaw~! Thank you so much for your love and compliments. I feel like am very lacking in many areas still, but regardless I am glad my posts are appriciated. If I can bring a smile to anyones’ face that is an acomplishment to be proud of. Thank you. <3

As for what makes a ship big or not is of course quite subjective. For me at this point I would say ALL BTS ships are big ships. Not comparing them to each other but just by the huge amount of fans they all have. (I hope you don’t have to learn the pain or liking a rare-pair from a small fandom T-T). Almost all the ships in BTS even have analysis and people who believe in them, and I think that is partly an effect of size as well. That being said I think the bigger a ship is the easier it is for it to grow more. Which is why it is no surprise a lot of BTS ships that were popular right at the start are still the biggest ones now. But with more material and more fans there comes communities focused on their own ship, and they all grow as they get more moments. Vmin too have had a few times when they blow up for a while and gather new curious shippers. Friends is clearly a great example of this. Even Sweet Night seem to be something of a turning point for some to start shipping Vmin. All ships will grown in size with each passing year as we are always given new material. Even if a ship doesn’t get a lot, it will likely get enough to keep fans engaged.

For me I would say the loudest and the most agressive are often the biggest  (more bad apples the bigger the basket you know) and I think we can see some size indications by what ships trend more often etc. Ships can also be big in different ways and in different forums... Like how ji/kookers have taken tumblr as their platform while tae/kookers seem to be on youtube comments a lot.

All in all I don’t think size matters much though. Especially not with BTS where all ships get a lot of material and has their own fans who create for, share and dicuss about their pair. Popularity to me is not really something I think too much about, and honestly I think the way only the most popular pairs seem to get attention in the form of “worry” etc. is very telling. If JK and Hobi share a bed and cuddle and celebrate JK’s BD together, or Hobi post them having a picknick outside their house at night no one bats an eye... But if it was JK with one of Vmin? Confirmed to be dating and all other shippers get worried. 

Going into detail why ships gets big is a different conversation though. :P I hope I understood your ask correctly. Basically I consider all BTS ships as more or less big (perhaps with the exception of 2seok).

Ask 4 - Thoughts on Tae/kook’s relationship

So I got two Tae/kook asks today, seemingly because Tae/kook has had a lot of moments recently. I deleted the first one, but this one I feel is safe enough to share. I’ve talked about tae/kook before... (HERE for example) and I stand by that now too. I don’t have to dismiss other ships to feel confident about Vmin’s love for each other.

Tae/kook has always had a very physical and playful dynamic. Even when Tae changed and toned down this side of him we got moments where he played with JK or they hugged or cuddled close. I do see a little change now after ITS but mostly in that Tae seems to initiate more, not that it looks different in nature. I think when Tae changed his dynamic with JK lost a lot of it’s “main focus” as Tae wasn’t as playful. Look at JK with Jin as a comparison and I think JK in general is drawn to hang with people who are happy and fun to tease. 

Anyways, about their bond I do think tae/kook are close but as grown men they don’t have the same relationship that they used to when they were younger. They simply grew up and their dynamics changed. They haven’t had a lot of more serious conversations, but I think now that distance have become a little shorter after ITS. I think Tae/kook has a great bond that is underrated by many in the fandom but overrated greatly by their shippers. They clearly love each other and have fun with each other and can be very comfortable physically. 

But are they as close as Vmin? Personally I really doubt it. And even if Tae/kook would be real why should that have any impact on Vmin? Surely you wouldn’t think they are together but cheating or something drastic like that. I am also not sure why you would be particularly worried about tae/kook based on physical interactions alone though... I mean, both Hope/kook, Tae/jin, Ji/kook and Vmin also have a loooot of very intimate looking moments if you ask me.

You don’t have to worry about Vmin. If Tae has gushed about Jimin being special to him from 2013 to 2020 I don’t see why 2021 would be any different.

I also got a reply to this post where I mentioned the tae/kook ask I deleted. I must first say that it was my mistake to write JK’s lips and not his lip mole. I have edited the post to make clear he talked about the mole and not the lips.

Either way, thank you anon for giving perspective and adding your thoughts to the moments. Not to mention moments like this happen for all members and I don’t think we can draw any strong conclusions from them saying another members is sexy or something similar. But yeah, people pick and choose what they will remember, and often focusing on the negative will leave a bigger impact than the positive.

Ask 5 - When did they first mention the dumpling fight?

Hi and don’t worry. I honestly think a lot of Vminies don’t know about this because the first time was such a small moment not many would pay attention and remember it. We knew about it since 2016 where Tae offhandedly mentioned him and Jimin fighting about dumplings once.

I don’t even have the actual source for the first time Tae mentioned it, but it was all the way back in July 2016 in an interview with @star1 magazine, so we know it happened before that.

Then Tae got asked about it on a post it during a BST era fansign as well. Also, did you know the reason they fought was 💜?

Yeah.... Let’s just say I am not surprised at all to hear their dumpling fight having more meaning than first let on. As with most things brought up in the lyrics of Friends it’s something we already knew about since before. I also talked about this in my post Vmin analysis - “Friends”. (Though at that point we hadn’t heard them speak much about it and didn’t know how big of a deal it seemed to be.) It makes me wonder if the other things they talk about in the lyrics might also have more meaning than we know. 

Personally I think the reason we even got them talking about the dumpling incident so much is thanks to JK in the carpool karaoke. When asked what Vmin would fight about he was the one who mentioned dumplings and likely brought more attention to it than if it would simply have remained as one of the many lyrical anecdotes in the song. I am glad we got to know more, because honestly the dumpling incident seems to have been a pivotal moment in Vmin’s relationship.

Ask 6 - A little about me and my big analysis

Hi and thank you so much for the lovely compliments. Trying to consider all kinds of possibilities I feel should be obvious if you truly want to analyse something, but sadly I think when it comes to observing real people and being invested emotionally that becomes really difficult. Me too have to hold myself back a lot, because in the end there is always going to be room for error. And if I am wrong, who will be hurt? Likely all of you who listen to me and take my words into consideration. So I rather be upfront about the risk of being wrong than to speak too confidently and accidentally ending up misleading someone. I am really so happy and proud over Vminies who can stand back and not become delusional despite everything we actually have (this includes myself, because it’s not always easy to not get caught up in theories).

As for who I am it’s of course ok to ask. I am from Sweden and is 30 years old. (English isn’t my native language so I hope you forgive my mistakes, I know I have a lot of them in my posts). I’ve been a BTS fan since 2016 and Vmin fan almost since the start. I have been a fan of other groups long before BTS too and was pretty deep into the Japanese idol culture before fell for K-pop. For some additional info I also work with marketing and project managing and have a degree in conflict resolution. Thanks for being curious about me. :)

About my big analysis I am working on it still, and of course I hope to post it as soon as I can. I am a bit hesistant in bringing attention to some things though, as I have seen some of my previous theories and speculations be regarded as fact. I don’t want Vminies to run with my interpretations in a way that make them confident in Vmin being real. So yeah, I do want to post it, but I am also a bit worried what reactions it might get. I try very hard to remind you all that my theories are only speculations and we won’t know anything for sure (unless it would be confirmed). It still isn’t finished yet though, but I’ll keep working hard.

Ask 7 -  Thank you for the fic rec

Thank you! I am glad you enjoyed it. I haven’t had too much time to catch up on reading and just added a lot from my bookmarks, but good thing it was so appriciated by you all. Vmin writers truly are amazing aren’t they? :) 

(And don’t worry about me getting bad asks. I think I would have quit a long time ago if I let them bother me too much.)

Ask 8 - Just a very sweet anon

Thank you! I’m ok. Not great, but ok. Life goes on, you know? But I feel like I finally have the energy to blog again, and honestly that feels pretty great. It feels like I’ve been gone forever, but I hope you will still enjoy my musings and thoughts as you send me questions and I write new posts. :3

Ask 9 - The whole world is different from yesterday~ Just with your joy~

Omg what a sweet thing to say, thank you so much, you are putting a big smile on my face right now. I am glad you enjoy and understand my thoughts so much. I know many of you have missed my thoughts and even asked me when I would open my asks again, and so much always happen with Vmin too... (There is literally enough material to write books about them.) Thank you for waiting and being so understanding. I am happy to be back too. <3

Thank you everyone for you asks and I hope you liked this new format. :) I’ll try to keep it up and if you have any thoughts and opinions feel free to share them.

[spnasylum]

My notes while listening to Misha’s comments on the podcast: (grab a snack!)

In light of the most recent fandom drama I decided to listen to *that* podcast and take notes as I went along about what was actually said and then give my take on it as objectively as possible. This is basically an essay so strap in!

He complains about not getting a trailer on set that’s the same as Jared and Jensen’s. Even though he has one that can accommodate 3 people. This was the first point of discussion inspired by opening up the interview with a brief chat about Misha currently being in his camper van and how he’s sleeping in it even though he’s still home in Bellingham. The whole hour and 26 minutes has an undertone of complaining and ego stroking by all involved. 

 Says he’s sad he didn’t get to be there for the final days of filming.  

 Seems a little nervous about if friendships made during the shows run will last now it’s over. 

 Admits he has no plan in place or anything coming up career wise and he’s unsure of his future. This is where he brings up Walker and The Boys and says if he had shows like that to go to he wouldn’t feel SPN ending was so monumental. It is said with a slight tone of bitterness. 

 Side note: the hosts Alaina and Malik seem to be fine with running with the narrative that Misha was part of the show it’s entire 15 year run. Misha clears this up eventually by saying he joined in season 4. 

 Misha says that he realized about six years ago that SPN could run as “we”  wanted it to, implying he has any say in keeping the show going or not. He asserts that he would have been on the show up until the very end in any case. But he didn’t feel that way the first few years he was on the show. So that makes me think something or someone involved gave him the feeling he could be confident in being in the cast for however long SPN aired. Maybe this was after Sera left? Maybe this was when he agreed to a significant pay cut and demotion? Either way it seems he felt SPN = job security. 

 Misha doubts he’ll have the feeling of job security again. 

 Says from around age 11 he wanted to be a politician. 

 Says he saw “successful, untalented” actors and decided “I can do that”. He realized that was naive and it’s actually not easy to be that successful and by the time he got his career going he was basically just in it for the fame it’s not anything he took seriously. 

 We find out his wife did a doctorate in gender history... for some reason. 

 That Marilyn Monroe was some sort of baseline for him about creating a public persona (🤷🏽‍♀️) except for getting cosmetic surgery he points out. 

 Talk about how he got started. Acting classes, improve groups. Moving between Chicago, DC and LA. 

 Discussion about the differences and similarities between Hollywood and Washington. 

 States he got a consultant to help him cultivate a fan base and image to connect with an audience after getting on SPN. Admits that was a double edged sword because an anonymous public start thinking that they really know you and things start getting weird. 

 Mentions trying to find a balancing act of being authentic and having a private life but still keeping your fans. 

 He admits that the fan base he grew for himself by seeming accessible has caused him to attract people who don’t have any boundaries. This is when he claims the “dialing it back” in regard to how much he shares and mentions his kids specifically as something he doesn’t feel comfortable with putting out there. Uses the word “unhinged” to describe them. 

 Malik mentions “crazy fans” who seem to know too much about you and finding out where you are etc. Using the example of fans turning up at an airport wanting autographs and you wondering how they even knew you’d be there and what flight you taking. He asks Misha to share experiences about his own crazy fans. 

 This is when Misha uses the example about having fans who think that when he tweets something out he’s communicating with them personally. 

 Alaina then says that in the Supernatural fandom people fight each other to protect Jared, Jensen and Misha and it’s “very bizarre”. She volunteered that people think Misha secretly hates Jared and that it’s not true. Not sure why she decided to direct the conversation to a place that would cause drama and give Misha a chance to play victim. 

 And then...

 That’s when he claims that he was public enemy number one with super fans of the show because he’s taking attention away from Jared and Jensen. 

 That’s when he brings up the alleged organized attack to take down his Facebook account. He says they reported him for... *pauses... claims to not know what. But that whatever it was “Facebook bought it and took it down”. Facebook deleted/deactivated his account but he eventually got it back. 

 Side note: Facebook (like all social media) have always been bias when it comes to people with leftist views and let them have free reign on the platform. So he must have done something that they would decide to suspend him. I don’t think J2 fans can be blamed for the content he posts and if it violated any ToS. As we know he can post some inappropriate things on social media. 

 He then brings up the allegations of him taking money out of his organization. Stating it’s “categorically untrue” is all he brings forward as evidence to the contrary. 

 Side note: I don’t know why then that there’s no receipts or transparency. Why is his mother a beneficiary, why do people who mention he owns Stands get blocked, why set everything up in Delaware and have your for profit and so called non profit interests so entangled etc etc) I guess fans are just supposed to have faith and take his word for it. 

 He says that ALL of them (Jared, Jensen and himself) have people who hate them in the fandom. But overall the fandom is lovely and supportive of the cast and each other. Makes an attempt at stating there’s no kind of competition or animosity between he and Jared. I think this is like the 3rd or 4th time in the interview either he or Alaina bring up Jared but keep the focus on how Misha is the one facing “character assassination.”

 Finally says that all of them have nasty things done to them and they all have had to consult security because of threats to their families etc, doesn’t specify which faction of the fandom that’s coming from. Mentions people filing police reports in the fandom but doesn’t say regarding who or what. Alaina reacts like it’s the first time hearing of this happening. Misha just goes “yeah!” Then they move on to talking about living situations. 

 Apparently Alaina and Misha were neighbors in LA but didn’t take advantage of that. She doesn’t live in LA anyone, wants a new adventure. 

 Misha mentions Bellingham is another thing about his future he’s unsure about and how his kids flourished there. 

 Brings up not being present with his kids even when he’s home because of work and side projects and that the one thing he’s enjoying right now it spending time with them. That he used to operate from a place of guilt because his kids felt like they only have one parent. He and Malik briefly spoke on how their careers have negatively affected their love lives. 

 Misha says he’s not really involved with Random Acts or running it anymore. (Ummm... what) 

 He and Alaina discuss Haiti and Nicaragua for a while. 

 Says he may try to get into directing. Says he likes having creative control. Mentions he likes doing his art installations. 

 Admits that getting a bit of success made him very entitled and wanting of special treatment. But claims he’s trying to keep that in check (where?) and he’s just like everyone else (well duh!). But he “trades on his celebrity” to get stuff and it makes him feel dirty (I think everyone with any kind of following does that though so nbd)

 Talk of how TV/film is more diverse in telling minority stories these days. 

 Was asked by Malik if he has any kind of chip on his shoulder career wise and Misha says the chip on his shoulder is being bored. But says he needs to work on being more engaged. 

 He then abruptly wants to end the interview. Saying he has to pick up his kids. Malik wants another question. He asks how Misha has been hurt or healed by his career. 

 Misha then brings up the movie Karla. Again admitting to becoming more like Paul psychologically irl. But says knowing he has that type of evil in him somewhere (and says that we all have that in us) made him more empathetic to the human condition. 

 They then say their goodbyes. End of interview. 

 ——

 My takeaway. The worst thing he can think to say the people who don’t like him in the fandom did was trolling to get his Facebook deactivated? Also that people can see the suspicious nature of his businesses? It would be really easy to settle that with actually being transparent about the finances, which they aren’t and not having close family as benefactors though. Also, I can only speak for myself. But I never hated him. I actually loved Castiel (before his character was there just to be there in recent seasons and Cass wasn’t Cass anymore. I think Misha’s need to pander to shippers/stay on the show was a great disservice to Castiel and his arc) I was a huge Misha fan, and participated in RA and Gish a lot. I absolutely adored Misha, I led myself to believe he was the most amazing person in the world, obviously that’s the reaction he wanted to cultivate from us. Unfortunately I learned too much, experienced first hand and heard too much to be able to keep cheerleading for him. I feel bad for the people still under the spell of feeling like it’s their job to keep being defensive and unreasonably loyal to someone who you can’t and don’t really know and only have a superficial “relationship” with. Seeing the ever more unhealthy and toxic lengths people feel they need to go to to prop up his ego etc. The constant investment emotionally and financially that goes into it and the “sunk cost” if you let reality in makes it hard to let go I guess. Even he knows that what he’s done to gain and maintain relevance has attracted what he called multiple times an unhinged fan base he has to try and balance without losing his influence. I think he maybe had or has good intentions but his fame hungry drive and narcissistic personality traits win out in the end. The Heller’s seem to have, as always, taken what was said and blown it out of proportion, twisted things and created their own narrative. I do see them using key words from the interview a lot suddenly though to bully for him. So, I guess the dog whistle to the sycophants worked out. I hope that a time comes where they can have a more healthy relationship with the media and public figures they choose to gravitate towards. We can all get over zealous with things but there’s lines that shouldn’t be crossed. For some that seems sadly unlikely. I hope that Misha does indeed one day get himself in check as he calls it and I can feel comfortable to support him again. But so long as he’s being enabled and not held accountable again that seems sadly unlikely. Even though I do occasionally find myself being drawn in by the facade again a little and quickly retreating because the issues remain the same. There is a problematic dynamic in the Supernatural fandom for sure. That’s why for a long time I opted out and just watched the show separately from fandom. It’s why when I found out it was ending I had this odd sense of relief I wasn’t expecting to feel and it made me sad. I hope that now the show has aired its finale we can all reflect on things, hopefully be more self aware and objective and most importantly honest about what really has gone down and why. When things started turning sour there have been plenty of times it could have been nipped in the bud yet wasn’t. People who used this silly yet special show in selfish ways, times when walking away would have been better than sticking around trying to make things and people into something never intended to be, giving into tribalism while claiming we’re a family... for that I think we all hold a little piece of responsibility. 

  You can listen to it yourself on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0m07her5JUf0JGGtDVohtJ?si=c-RdyZzFQmSzffgNzZhkQg

[nostuntmanneeded]

we should definitely stop giving her any kind of attention. wether it’s a view of her story, a follow (although i doubt people on this blog follow her), posting anything about her at this point, even on tiktok, instagram, twitter, tumblr etc. it’ll just give her the satisfaction that she’s being talked about, therefore she thinks she’s important. and honestly, considering how everyone reacts to every single thing she does, say or post, isn’t she ? i mean y’all give me this impression, some of you went crazy over A FINGER in an instagram story. and wether this is pr or not, she made it very obvious that she (and/or her team) is checking out these blogs. and i believe at this point, considering how everyone reacted to her CA at first and everything that went after, how much hate she received from seb’s “jealous fan girls”, she knows that whatever she does has an effect on us and she’s using this to her advantage, and she definitely enjoys it, that’s a fact. pap walks, paid articles, “random” sightings, instagram stories/posts etc. we all react to it on here (and other platforms), and that satisfies her. she’s being talked about. besides giving her attention (and that’s EXACTLY what she wants, attention and fame) she also has fun messing with us. so why play her game? why not stop giving her attention? why give a narcissist, selfish, racist, attention-seeking, fame-craving and dare i say cheater what she wants? as you’ve probably noticed by now, hating on her, calling her names and what not has no effect on her, besides playing with us, she’s got the upper hand considering she’s “in a relationship” with seb. yes, she’ll go frustrated and probably do something extreme to get a reaction from us when she’ll notice no one’s talking about her anymore, but if we don’t give any reaction, she’ll realize that seb’s not getting her any attention anymore and she’ll get bored, possibly breaking up with him. there are plenty of people just like her or even worse in this world, and we don’t know about them, we wouldn’t have known about her either if it wasn’t for sebastian. why give someone bad what they want? at the end of the day, we can’t change anything by hating on them, calling them names, predicting, inventing things about them etc. we’re only feeding her already giant ego. and whatever they do (about this pr i mean, not the traveling part) won’t affect our lives. that’s what we should always keep in mind. i too had a time when i was constantly checking everything she did, but guess what: it didn’t change my life. i don’t know them personally and i realized, why waste my time giving someone bad what she wants? why not use it do something good instead, for me or others? why use my energy to hate on someone problematic when i can use it to support someone unproblematic? no hate to this blog tho, as i’ve noticed this is the only blog that has a somewhat calm and nice vibe, and that’s what made me stay in the first place, except for my constant worry about what will happen at the time:)) hope you are all well and please, don’t let this person affect you, don’t let her think she has that power over you. whatever happens, happens. as much as we like to think we do, we don’t have the power to change it. stay safe and take care!

Yes! I've been trying to say this for weeks.

We shouldn't view her stories or even follow her. We can't follow her every step. Every single view, follow, like or comment gives her the attention she wants, even if it's only because you want to see what she's up to.

Alejandra just wants attention. There is good and bad attention, but it's still attention nonetheless. Don't give her what she wants.

[bettsfic]

You may have answered this before, but what happened your experience been like writing for/getting traffic to fics for dead or old fandoms? Eg breaking bad or the secret history. I always find myself thinking it’s not worth writing for an old fandom even if i have ideas but i’ve never actually done it so idk if that’s accurate

i love writing for small/old fandoms and rare pairs. my westworld fic is the only one in the caleb/dolores tag somehow, even though i shipped it so hard it launched me into breaking bad. i spent nearly all of last year hopping around in old/nonexistent fandoms and i had a really great time. if you look at the comments on my small fandom fics, they’re amazing. they’re so thoughtful and insightful and personal. i really love them. 

i’m not going to sit here and tell you traffic doesn’t matter. it matters to all of us to some degree, although possibly in different ways and for different reasons. it’s hard not to see traffic as a metric of belonging. you put yourself into something, you give it a platform, and perhaps its reception allows you to feel accepted or loved, or less alone, or briefly reassured that your existence has meaning. there’s nothing wrong with that. there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be seen. 

when i started writing fic, traffic and comments meant everything to me. i was absolutely in it for the attention, because i’d never received good attention before. i’d been accused all my life of “attention-seeking behavior” like it was a bad thing, like the solution to that often destructive behavior was to just ignore me until i suddenly grew a sense of self-acceptance and existential security all on my own, like getting mad at a plant for dying without any sunlight. a plant can only stretch toward a window so far.

my relationship with traffic was not a healthy one. for a long time i couldn’t separate myself from the work, so negative comments hurt me and positive comments defined me. i mistakenly believed that people who liked my writing liked me, when that’s the very opposite of the purpose of pseudonymous community writing. it took me a long, long time to realize and accept that nothing is about me. but that’s probably a post for another time.

after a few years of writing and posting fic, and attending workshops and receiving good mentorship, a very unexpected thing happened: i got enough attention. i didn’t think it was possible. i thought i’d just spend my life wanting more and more and never being satisfied. i couldn’t conceive of what “enough” of anything looked like. enough time, enough money, enough love. some of us spend so much of our lives hungry that we don’t know what fullness feels like. we don’t know what it means to be able to bear moments of emptiness because we know the things we need will always be in our reach. many of us, maybe even most of us, do not know what it means to trust that all our needs will be met on any given day, at any given time. 

something similar happened with sleep. i’d lived most of my life in a state of extreme sleep deficiency. waking up was the hardest part of every day of my life. then when i was 23 i was finally in a position where i could sleep as much as i needed to. for months i slept for 10 to 12 hours a day, and then slowly as i made up for all those lost hours of sleep, it slipped down to 9 and then 8. i fell asleep when i was tired; i woke up when i was ready. i let myself nap, but i found that i no longer needed to. i’d never known a life without fatigue, and then finally i was awake.

once i’d received enough attention, i started to see everything differently. whenever i wrote something, i started seeing it, not in terms of fearing its failure, but readying for its potential success. because i’ve found success is much, much harder to deal with than failure. once you separate yourself from failure, once you don’t let it affect your self-perception, success becomes terrifying. i have never met a single person who is emotionally prepared for the harrowing fallout of success. 

whenever i post anything, a tweet, a text post, a fic, i ask myself, “what if this goes viral?” what happens if i post a multi-chap fic in a new fandom that ends up becoming the next juggernaut? what happens if that fic gets 10k kudos and a thousand comments? 

a viral tweet or post eats up your activity feed for days. you don’t get anything for it, except every once in a while you might see yourself on a buzzfeed listicle. once, a student showed me a screencap of one of my own tweets that she’d seen on facebook. writing a popular fic is fun but it’s also, for me anyway, overwhelming, because i don’t see writing fic as a content/consumer situation. i see myself as a member of a community, and when you’re placed too high on a pedestal, you’re no longer a member of that community. you’re a content creator. it’s the difference between telling a story to your friends over drinks and acting on stage. when you’re done telling the story to your friends, they speak back to you. when you bow at the end of a play, all you can hear is applause. both are good things, but conflating the two is a bad idea. you’ll never be happy if you’re seeking applause but getting conversation, and you’ll never be happy if you’re seeking conversation but getting applause.

there are plenty of people well-suited to entertaining, who thrive on popularity and strive for fame. i’ve learned that i am not one of them. nor am i one of those people with a billion sock accounts, who hates attention so much they drop fics anonymously, or maybe don’t post them at all. i’m in a place where no matter what i post, i’m content with the reception i get. if i post a fic that gets 10 kudos and 2 comments, i’m grateful to those people who kudosed and commented. if i post the kind of wip that, when it updates, people tweet “X JUST UPDATED” and drop everything they’re doing to read it, and each chapter gets 50-100 comments, i’m grateful for that too. it’s very fun, waking up to lots of excited and kind comments. either way, i’m doing the work i enjoy: helping people, or myself, feel something, or escape, or believe in love and kindness and beauty if they’re in a dark enough place to doubt it. to me it doesn’t matter if that’s for me and two other people, or two thousand, or twenty thousand. it’s all good and worthwhile work to be doing.

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 8 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Another update for Tumblr!

This work goes by On the Courtship of Monkey D. Luffy on AO3, and I’ll be updating over there tonight as well!

A quick question....do people like reading the updates here on Tumblr? Or now that it’s on AO3, would people prefer to read there? And if so, would you be okay waiting for new updates until AO3 catches up? I’m a little torn because I’m not sure if people are enjoying reading on here, and it’s quite a hassle to format for Tumblr, and it’s getting a bit difficult for me to juggle updating these stories on 3 separate platforms...

ANYWAY, in this update, Thatch has some Thoughts, and there is mention of Ace x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 4

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 5

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 6

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 7

~~

What are her 3 sizes?

(For the wedding dress, of course.)

"The fuck! Like I'd tell you!" Thatch roars, startling the blue gull into momentarily leaping off the rail, before it circles back, landing again to peck at his  sleeve to express its displeasure. Thatch ignores it, because he's fuming.

So apparently all of his and Koala's secret debates over whether Marco intentionally proposed or not were for naught, because here's the fucking evidence. And it comes from Izo of all people, because Thatch would recognize that lopsided handwriting anywhere (the man insists that his handwriting is beautiful in his native language of Wano, but he never quite got used to writing any other way).

And well, if Izo, an unrelated third party but professional snooper knows, then Marco himself must know.

And apparently, they're already planning a wedding.

Thatch feels like an idiot. He'd been defending Marco against Koala, and the lil Revolutionary was a tough opponent, one he'd had to chase out of the kitchen with a ladle more than once when he was tired of her word games. Thatch had insisted, like a fool, that no Marco's not that kind of guy, he really isn't the type to play with people's emotions, he would never propose for a joke, nor would he do it seriously without good reason. It must all be an accident, a little misunderstanding, Marco was just ignorant like Thatch himself was!

Except, apparently he did know and it wasn't an accident, and now Thatch feels completely lost because he doesn't know what Marco's thinking at all. Marco, who's not just his his first friend on the Moby, but arguably his best friend; Marco, his brother over several decades; Marco, who Thatch thought he knew better than anyone, except perhaps Pops himself...

Thatch's also pissed, because if Marco wants to start drama after they all reunite and he's introduced to Luffy, that's one thing (not that that would be great either). But right now, they're still near the beginning of Paradise with almost half the circumference of the world to go until even the halfway point, and Marco is WAY on the other side of the Red Line. If this ship explodes in flames or whatever that batshit Revolutionary brother might do, Mister First Division Commander is completely unaffected, but there are plenty of innocents here (like hello! Thatch!) who would find that pretty devastating.

Also, Thatch was the one who passed on that gift to Luffy! Even if he didn't know what it meant at the time...doesn't that make Thatch complicit? And even if not, Marco's strongest connection here is clearly Thatch. If Marco's actions cause chaos, then the blame and responsibility to clean up the mess naturally falls upon Thatch. Which, he definitely did not sign up for.

Pops, Thatch thinks miserably, I thought I was supposed to show them they can depend on us Whitebeards, NOT that us Whitebeards will fuck shit up for them...

But more than anything, there's a shocking large part of Thatch that absolutely balks at just the idea of Luffy getting married. And it's shocking because Thatch shouldn't feel this upset.

Marco, for all the complaints Thatch wants to hurl at him at the moment, is still a really great guy. A guy who, in literally any other situation, Thatch would be the first in line to enthusiastically encourage, and also to congratulate.

And sure, Thatch knows he has a crush, and his little Seastar's carving out a larger home for herself in his heart by the day, but--Thatch admittedly has crushes a lot. Sure, this one feels different, but...Marco, to his knowledge, has never had a romantic crush. He only sometimes but very rarely even has a night out, and Thatch doesn't think he's ever held a relationship longer than three encounters. He's always so serious, so diligent, so sincerely and whole-heartedly dedicated to Pops and his family. He almost never does anything selfish for himself, and Thatch would know.

If, for whatever reason, Marco is genuinely serious about Luffy...then Thatch should, and would, step to the side, regardless of personal feelings. If this is the path Marco wants, then he deserves it, and Thatch will always be the first to say it, no matter how craptastic the circumstances. And Thatch knows that Marco would give his bride the world.

Without them even having met, Thatch doesn't doubt for a second that Marco would make Luffy happy, till the end of her days.

The fact that Thatch knows all this, yet still feels near unbearable reluctance...says more than he's willing to admit.

And so he decides to avoid thinking about the most obvious reason (his own feelings), and instead contemplates his second very compelling reason: Ace.

His littlest brother isn't so great at being honest with himself, and never has. But this, Thatch feels, isn't just a matter of denial.

The boy literally has no clue.

Oh sure, Ace knows he loves his little brother. He makes sure everyone else knows it too, both here on the Merry and back on the Moby once he opened up enough to talk to people. He's so damn proud of her, yet also concerned for her, while also trusting her with his life and more. It's clear to anyone who sees them together that he absolutely adores her.

But it's more than that, isn't it, Thatch thinks. It's in the little gestures, the way Ace raises his arm up without looking at her and she slides under it, also without needing to look at him. It's the casual way they lace their fingers together, like it's nothing, when they're snoozing out on the deck. It's the way sometimes they have unspoken conversations, just staring into each others eyes, before moving forward in synch to meet in the middle to bump their foreheads together in some secret mutual understanding.

It's the reason why Sanji, for all his extravagant flirting, knows when to shut up and return to being a normal human (and, Thatch grudgingly admits, this applies to himself too). It's why Zoro never lets his gaze linger more than two seconds longer than it needs to (but he'll always take those two seconds), why Nami always looks like she wants to sit closer but doesn't, why Koala hasn't said anything when she's probably usually a much more proactive flirter.

Everyone on their crew can see it, except the two in question.

Ace, Thatch thinks, heaving a huge sigh as he looks down at the crumpled note from Izo in his palm. Little brother, you are so fucking in love.

It might not necessarily be romantically. It's certainly not particularly sexually, if Ace's lack of reaction to Lu's aggressive physical smothering is any indication. It could very possibly be platonically.

But either way, there's no room for Sanji, nor Zoro, nor the girls, nor even Thatch himself...at least, until those two figure that out.

Until then, everyone aboard the Merry is here because they love and respect their captains. No one would dare encroach on something so special, yet so potentially immature, not yet ready to be dragged out to be recognized.

Thatch knows Ace has known Luffy for years, he practically raised her. But he was also away at sea for three years. Luffy was a child when he left; she's an adult now.

Thatch once asked him if she had changed at all since he last saw her (Ace most certainly had, according to Deuce). And Ace looked blank, then horribly confused, before saying No...but also, yeah, I guess. Thatch understands; Ace isn't used to not knowing something about Luffy. And something...something had changed.

That something might very well be the thing that needs to be figured out. And for that, Ace hasn't had much time yet, since reuniting with Luffy. Only as much time as the rest of them, in fact. And they deserve time to figure that out, and as the two captains' loving crew, the ASL pirates have an unsaid agreement to watch over them...at least until they have.

(After that, Thatch thinks grimly, it might be open game.)

But of course, there's also the question of Luffy herself, and as much as she's the heart of the ASL Pirates, she's also an enigma. Thatch, for all that he adores her and honestly wants more with her, genuinely has a hard time imagining her as anything but clueless as someone's romantic partner (he's carefully not thinking about anything sexual). It very well may be that the whole "figuring out" that she and Ace have to do...ends up being nothing. And that's fine as well.

Either way, as much as Thatch loves him, there's no way that any of them here on board the Merry will stand to let Marco shatter this delicate...whatever it is that's going on between their captains, that the rest of them are so patiently respecting. Even if it ends up continuing indefinitely.

As strained as it can feel at times, they're comfortable like this. There's the little spark of joy when Seastar gives him a little extra attention, a little burn when Sanji kisses her hand, but comfort in the stability that no one will go any further. If anything it's a nice little spice to their daily lives, just the right amount, and not enough ruin the dish so to speak. This is fine.

Except, that there's just one teeny little problem...

"What did the blue gull bring you today, Commander?"

Thatch doesn't jump, because he's not an amateur and did realize that the Revolutionary was approaching, but perhaps later than he should have. Damn the kid's good at hiding his presence, and Thatch wonders if he'd have noticed at all if Sabo was being serious.

"Just a stupid request from a stupid brother," Thatch says cheerfully as he turns around to face Sabo. The boy isn't even trying to hide his curiosity, his gaze pinned to Thatch's hand.

Thatch contemplates chucking the letter into the sea, but then he realizes he isn't sure Sabo wouldn't just dive after it, and as a devil fruit user, Thatch wouldn't be able to stop him from reading it underwater.

So he casually uncurls his fingers, watches Sabo visibly perk up--before Thatch opens a black hole in his palm, letting the crumpled paper get sucked into the void.

(Perhaps he should be using his power as more than a secure second dimension pocket expansion, but hey, so far it hasn't been so helpful in the kitchen.)

Sabo sags and sulks, rather cutely, Thatch thinks. "You coulda let me see it," he pouts, looking up at Thatch with an expression uncannily like Luffy's. Fuck.

"Collecting intel, Chief?" Thatch winks, expertly hiding his horror that for a moment, he'd actually been tempted. Little sneak.

"Perhaps." Something slightly manic enters his gaze, and alright, that's nothing like Seastar, not so cute after all...

"Nice try, but it's a personal family thing, can't really share," Thatch says, and it's not really a lie.

Sabo grunts, letting it go, before his gaze flicks to the gull, who still has a beakful of Thatch's sleeve. "It waiting for something?"

Thatch sighs. "Yeah, yeah, my response, which I should probably give..." Because, right, Thatch needs to send a message back to the Moby, even if no, he isn't going to answer Izo's idiotic question.

Which, is actually a fine excuse to extract himself from this situation.

"So, sorry, the response also is personal, hope you don't mind," Thatch nods, and Sabo easily opens the way for him--which, Thatch belatedly realizes, he'd actually been blocking. Scary, little Chief, scary...

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry." Sabo sounds genuinely apologetic, and tips his hat at Thatch as he passes by, and Thatch inwardly heaves a massive sigh of relief. "I'm working on it, but I know I can get a little...pushy, when it comes to things that involve my baby brother."

Thatch continues to walk away.

But inside...

Oh. Yikes, he thinks.

~~

Thatch is in the privacy of the currently empty men's sleeping room beneath the deck, and has just finished writing and giving instructions and bribes to the gull when the hatch creaks open.

"Thatch, we're in trouble," Koala announces as she stomps down the stairs, making her sneaky opening of the door rather pointless.

"I noticed," Thatch says dryly.

Koala pales. "He didn't break any of your toes, did he?!"

"What."

"Well, you're a cook, you make food Luffy likes with your hands," Koala shrugs. "Just wanted to make sure."

"What the fuck."

"I don't think he will! You're Luffy and Ace's crew, and you're a Whitebeard pirate, but..."

Thatch groans. "I already thought your Chief might be trouble, but holy shit I didn't know he was that batshit."

"He might not be!" Koala sounds defensive, but it's not particularly comforting. "He's usually reasonable, kind of, but since his memories came back..."

Thatch throws up his arms. "So, how'd he get it out of you?"

Koala flushes. "I didn't say anything!"

"Sure."

"It's not my fault that Sabo's a damn--!"

There's a loud knock, before the hatch flings open, and Ace pops his head in. "Hey Thatch! What's for snack--"

"NOT AGAIN!" Koala cries.

At the same time, Thatch shouts, "IN A SECOND!"

Either way, the hatch slams shut with a, "SORRY!"

Thatch and Koala stare at each other with their hearts beating uncomfortably rapidly.

They slowly heave a slow sigh of relief as the tension drains.

"I really need to apologize to Ace," Thatch mutters.

"I really need to work on my Observation Haki," Koala groans.

"HEY THATCH, I WANT A SNACK," Luffy shouts, and Thatch and Koala's heads whip around in horror, only to sag with relief at seeing that Luffy's not in the room, but only for a second--

--because after that second, a mermaid's crashing through the hatch, ripping it from its hinges as she slams, hatch and all, into Thatch's chest.

The room fills with dust and debris, and there are shouts outside.

Koala gingerly peers into the wreckage where Thatch is now buried in the wall, a terrified blue gull  perched on her shoulders peering alongside her, its claws digging through the fabric of her shirt.

"We're fine," Thatch coughs, peering down to make sure he'd successfully caught and shielded Luffy from damage, even as he peels himself from the wood. Luffy seems unharmed, though her eyes are wide; she clearly hadn't expected to do quite this much.

"...Armament?" Koala asks, noticing how the back of Thatch's hair is black from where it's fanned around him.

"Armament," Thatch agrees, keeping the entire back of his body coated until he's safely pulled himself and Luffy, still in his arms, away from any sharp wood.

"Sorry, Thatch," Luffy says, not particularly apologetic, if anything sort of curious. She peels herself back from his chest, scritching her cheek while looking down at what was once the hatch to the mens room that had shattered between them. She then reaches back to tug at Thatch's black locks, and oohs when they fade back to auburn.

"No worries, just make sure to make it up to Deuce and Usopp when they have to fix this," Thatch sighs, before grinning, letting his arms fall away from Luffy once he knows she has a secure grip on his shoulders. He then begins carding his fingers through her hair to make sure no splinters got in, and likewise dusting off the front of her vest, taking care not to let his touch linger. Luffy nods frantic agreement, more like rubs her head into his palm, and Thatch feels his heart skip a beat.

Koala sighs.

"Hey Thatch, what's this?"

Thatch blinks, then inwardly curses.

Luffy's holding Izo's crumpled piece of paper. His control of his power's still shoddy, and it must have accidentally spat it back out in the commotion.

Please, don't be able to read that, he prays. He luckily doesn't have much confidence in Luffy's reading abilities.

"It says 'what are her three sizes.' What are those?"

In the background, Koala slowly raises her fist.

~~

A few days later, Marco's scouting when a blue gull rapidly approaches him.

Delivery! it squawks. Delivery for you, Boss, and don't show Izo! Don't show Izo! Don't show Izo or the bread man will be mad!

Thank you, noted, friend, Marco responds, and catches the note from Thatch in mid air.

The gull trills acknowledgement, then wheels away to rejoin its brethren, while Marco changes course for the nearest island, a safe forest haven in Pops's territory, still a ways away from the Moby. It's uninhabited, save for the wildlife, and it would be good to land once before returning home anyway.

Marco lands lightly on the tallest and oldest tree on the island, from where he can survey the island of pure greenery, and the endless blue stretching beyond. The branch he's chosen looks deceptively thin, but he already knows it can support his human weight, which is why he shifts, passing the note from his claw to his hand before completing his transformation.

Marco frowns. The other Commanders (and to be honest, the entire crew) have been acting a bit strange recently, but for Thatch, who isn't even on board with them, to also be in on it...

True, this may or may not be related to that at all. But still.

Marco feels like he's missing something.

Marco, Thatch's message starts, and Marco already knows it's going to be serious because it didn't start with a jibe at his appearance.

Marco, I think I'm actually serious about her. Thoughts, brother?

Her, meaning the Ace's little brother, the mermaid girl.

If Marco remembers correctly, in Thatch's first note back to him, he'd written, She's stolen my heart, I think I want to marry her.

Marco had assumed Thatch was joking at the time, or just light-heartedly flirting, as he always did. Marco's used to hearing Thatch spew these kinds of words, and he'd taken it to mean that the girl's exceptionally Thatch's type, but hadn't thought further.

The words had made him remember a little trinket he'd had stored in a chest at the back of his closet, one he'd received from an elderly couple on Fishman Island around two decades ago...

But that's not important now, Marco thinks, focussing on Thatch's message.

In all his years of flings and casual relationships and jokingly asking ladies (and some gents) Won't you marry me...Thatch has not once asked for Marco's opinion. He's certainly had plenty of opinions himself about whether someone would be a potential good match for Marco, which Marco always ignored. But Thatch has never asked Marco about matches for himself.

Thatch really is serious.

Marco finds himself slowly smiling. "Finally, you sap," he murmurs, though no one hears him but the other birds in the trees around him.

He knows he ought to think more about what to say, but the answer is so obvious that Marco takes Thatch's note, and carefully tears the paper so that his brother's words aren't damaged. Gently tucking Thatch's note into his pocket, Marco pulls out a pen for the remaining small blank strip of paper.

Shortly afterwards, two birds depart from the island, in opposite directions: one, a phoenix, wings burning cyan against the clear skies, and the other, a blue gull headed to Paradise.

~~

~~

~~

Part 9, things start Moving as Sabo confronts Ace.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! And again, please do let me know if you actually like reading the story here on tumblr or not >.<;

As always, any comments are immensely appreciated and help motivate me to create more for this AU! ;A;

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[keytomythoughts]

Perfection Imperfections | Chapter 1

Chapter Index 

»»—————————————-　

Finally, summer break. It’s been a while since I was able to go home. Having to attend high school rather far from my home in Seoul, I never thought that I’d adjust to the new environment. Fortunately, I wasn’t entirely alone, since I stayed with my aunt for the four years of my high school life. School wasn’t so bad, but the homesickness is what killed it for me. Even though it was my parents' idea to send me a rather vast distance—me not being too excited about it, but I knew I wouldn’t get my way in the end—there was some good that came from it. The two only good things, actually. 

I glance outside the train window, the buildings of Busan zooming past me. Sure, it may not be my home, but I won’t lie. I’m really going to miss this place. My phone suddenly vibrates in my lap, glancing down to see a text from my group chat, smiling as I respond.

(Binnie)

R u still on the train?

                                                               Yeah have been for the past like 30 mins

(Eunuwu) 

Going back to ur parents? Or r u moving out?

                                                                                                                      Funny

                                                                        Yk I can’t move out, at least not on                                                                            my own. My parents won’t allow it

(Binnie)

:/

What about Jaehyun?

                                                                            Idk, they rlly dc what he does tbh

                                                                       They’re just hell-bent on me getting                                                                                    into the top schools and shit

(Eunuwu)

Damn, rough

                                                                                                                        Mhm

(Binnie)

Try talking to them, u never know

They might change their minds?

                                                                 Nah, I already know how it’s gonna end

                                                                         Me crying and stuffing myself with                                                                           pints of ice cream

(Eunuwu)

Doesn't sound so bad

(Binnie)

¬_¬

(Eunuwu)

Except for the crying part ofc

But c’mon it cant really be THAT bad

I’ve been over plenty of times, they seem nice

(Binnie)

U’ve been to her house??

                                                                         Yeah him and oppa are friends too

(Binnie)

Righttt forgot lol

                                                                  And that’s bc you were there dumbass                                                                    and half of the time ur either in oppa’s                                                                    room or out somewhere

                                                                  Interaction with my parents = minimal

(Binnie)

That sounds awful ngl :( sorry Hyuna

But hey we should all hang soon!

(Eunuwu)

I’ll be in Seoul for the summer too so y not?

                                                                                                           I miss y’all :’(

                                                                   Ok I should be there around like 5 ish                                                                     so I’ll text then

(Binnie)

Aww I miss u toooo 

(Eunuwu)

*puke*

                                                                                           Shut up, ur just jealous

(Eunuwu)

Me? Jealous?? Of what, ur face?

Yea no thx, Ive got a great face already

And personality 0:)

                                                                               Gr8, explains why ur still single

(Binnie)

LOLL

She got u there bro

(Eunuwu)

Shut up

Ur talking as if u’ve got a gf

Idiot

(Binnie)

At least I didnt reject them as coldly as u did lol 

                                                                                             See? My point exactly

                                                                               Your fAcE scared off every girl                                                                                   in sight bc of tht pErSoNaLiTy

                                                                           I almost feel bad for them, u little                                                                             heart breaker

(Binnie)

He made a couple of em cry I heard

                                                                                                                     Rlly?!?

                                                                                                                         YAH

                                                                                                               U MORON

(Eunuwu)

Bin wtf

(Binnie)

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

                                                                                    U JERK HOW COULD U??

                                                                                              Those poor girls omg

                                                                               Im so kicking ur ass when I c u

(Binnie)

Me 2

(Eunuwu)

Wtf?? Y???

(Binnie)

No reason lol, just feel like it

                                                                                         And this is why ily Binnie

(Binnie)

:D <3

(Eunuwu)

GROSS

                                                                                                        Can it u demon

                                                                                                         Read 4:02 PM

I snort, turning off my phone and placing it back down on my lap as I go back to staring outside my left-hand window again. Meet Cha Eunwoo and Moon Bin, my two best friends. The only reason I got through high school how I did without major setbacks. Sure, there was the occasional homesickness and all, but had I not met these two, I probably wouldn’t have even attended and graduated. 

Being so far away from the place I grew up never really suited me, and they saw it right away from day one how lonely and upset I looked. I didn't seem to fit in, especially since I skipped a grade and was placed in classes that were very advanced for me. Not that I minded the vigor, but it was hard for me to socialize, let alone make friends. 

That’s when I met them. Freshman year in homeroom before my first literature class. Moon Bin, a boy with parted, coppery-golden hair accompanied by his shy, puppy-eye smile and sweet nature, offered me an empty seat next to him in class, even going as far as to share his textbook and asking how I found the school. No doubt, I was embarrassed and immensely shy, stuttering over my words and failing to meet his soft gaze. However, he didn’t make fun of me nor find me odd. All he did was smile, laughing lightly at my slightly flustered state. He stuck his hand out, introducing himself (most people just call him Moonbin or Bin) with that smile of his, thus the start of our new friendship. Since then, he became someone who always knew how to cheer me up when I was feeling down. No moment was ever dull with him by my side. 

Eunwoo, the tall, brooding black-haired and charismatic student almost everyone knew (and crushed on) of, was usually with Moonbin when we hung out together, but he normally kept to himself. Though quiet and sometimes reserved with his intimidating looks, it didn’t take long for him to break the ice with us, the three of us becoming close friends. Promising to stay like this until we went to college and beyond. Regardless if we all diverge and tread different paths, we would always converge and come back to one another. 

Four years flew by and graduation was upon us. Just like that, the two became like family to me, my ride-or-die duo. The two who were able to turn my world upside down, finding solace in a time where I thought it was nearly impossible for me to.  

My thoughts are interrupted by my “Move” ringtone—yes, I’m a huge Lee Taemin fan—looking down at my phone again to see it’s my brother calling. I sigh, picking up the call.

“What?” 

He gasps dramatically. “Is that any way to address your loving older brother after being away for so long?”

I snort, shaking my head. “Loving my ass, oppa. How are mom and dad?”

“They’re fine, living. Didn’t you tell them you’re coming home?”

“Nope, I don’t even text them that often. You already know this..”

He sighs. “Yeah, I figured.” 

There’s a slight pause on his end, but he continues. “You took the three-thirty train, right? So you’ll be here around five or so?”

“Yeah, give or take.” 

I look out the window again to see the endless stretch of greenery and flowing springs, sometimes even children playing in the fields. I grin mischievously, deciding to poke fun at my brother when he doesn’t respond right away. 

“What, you miss me?”

He makes a sound similar to throwing up. “As if. I got so used to the peace and quiet. I’m not ready for it to go away.” 

“Yah!” I realize that I had yelled a bit too loudly and eyes were now trained on me, and I bow my head in apology. I lower my voice, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Oh, I know, but you still love me anyway.”

“Shut up.”

I can hear his laugh resonate through the phone and a smile unknowingly tugs at my lips. I wouldn’t say it out loud, but it’s true. When I lived with my aunt in Busan for the duration of high school, I missed Jaehyun a lot. Though two years older than me, he didn’t seem to alienate me the way my parents do. While I hate the notion that they spoil Jaehyun endlessly and let him do as he wishes, I won’t lie and say that he was a prick about it. He could’ve been, but he never came off as selfish. I’m really close with my brother, shocking as it may be. Sibling relationships are like that—one minute you want to strangle them with their intestines and the next you’re singing duets together. Crazy, but that’s how it is for us. My parents don’t really pay me any attention, so Jaehyun decides to do that instead. Not complaining though. I’d rather take his pranking and teasing over my parents’ demands and reprimands any day.

“Aight, I’m heading out for a bit. Text me when you arrive.”

I smile again. “Will do, but make sure to get me food!”

“Let me think…” He hums, and I can practically sense the smirk on his end. “Nope. Get your own.”

“Oppa!”

Jaehyun laughs. “See you in a bit, Hyuna. Get here safely. Bye!”   

He hangs up the call before I get a chance to retort, and I scoff. Typical of my brother. He knows how much I enjoy street food, and every time he goes out, it’s almost certain that most of the time he stops somewhere to eat. Did he ever bring food back? Sure, but by the time I’d get to it, most of it was gone anyways. That only lasted a little while before I had gone upstate anyways, so he had more food for himself, I guess.

As the train barrels down the tracks, I feel my heart racing in excitement, but there’s also a slight ounce of dread. I really don’t know why. I want to believe it’s because I’ve been away for too long, but part of me knows it’s the fact that I’ll have to face my parents again. Knowing that I only have two months to decide where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do, I know the bitter truth is that those decisions won’t be left up to me. Last time, I was sent to Busan.

God knows where I’d be sent to now.

***

“Final destination of the KTX Busan-Seoul train at Seoul Station is approaching and will arrive at 05:30 PM. The doors to alight are on the right hand side. All passengers are requested to dismount the train upon arrival. Thank you.” 

That’s my stop.

Gathering my bag and hand luggage, I patiently wait for the train to pull up at the station. Seeing the familiar shops and buildings around me makes my legs bounce up and down in both excitement and anticipation. 

Four long years away from Seoul...

Before getting off, I quickly text the group chat and then my brother, letting them all know that I’ve reached safely. Side-stepping the other passengers exiting the subway doors, I carefully land onto the platform with my luggage in tow. I breathe in the air around as I stretch my arms up into the sky, the grin widening on my face.

It sure as hell feels good to be back home.

I try my best to maneuver through the crowds, but it doesn’t stop the rush of people knocking into me. At times like these, I curse my genetics for favoring my older brother instead of me in terms of height. Eventually, I come to a clearing and when my eyes glance upwards, I spot a rather familiar dark brown-haired six-foot-tall male amongst the small crowd waving me over.

“Hyuna, over here!”

I gasp, my eyes widening. “Oppa!”

He smiles as I begin walking towards him, my feet hurriedly moving across the concrete. The distance between us shortens and I abandon my luggage as he opens his arms wide. 

Only for me to sucker punch him in the stomach.

He yelps in pain, grimacing as he holds his abdomen. “Shit, that hurt. What has Aunt Sua been feeding you up there? Rocks?”

I smack his shoulder, my blood slightly boiling in anger. “Yah, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?! Do you know how much money I blew off for the bus fare?”

He straightens his back before going to rub his shoulder, then behind his neck.

“Fine, fine. My bad. I wanted to surprise you, but I guess that didn’t work, did it?” 

I cross my arms over my chest, huffing in annoyance. He sighs, nodding.

“Okay, okay, I’ll compensate you. Dinner’s on me.”

At this I grin, blinking excitedly. I grab onto his arm and shake it vigorously. “Really? You mean it? You’re the best, oppa!” 

“Look at this brat..” he taunts, shaking his head. In a flash, he headlocks me and rubs the top of my head harshly with his knuckles, upsetting the neatly-tied auburn ponytail. 

“Yah! Quit it!” I smack his arms and flail in protest, but he chuckles, saying this is what I get for cunningly finding a way to exploit him the minute I stepped back into Seoul. 

What can I say? It’s a talent. 

He lets go eventually, and I try to smooth down my already-tangled hair. I grumble incoherently but Jaehyun pulls me into his embrace, wrapping his arms around me. His free hand gently pats the side of my head in comfort.

“Welcome home, sis.”

I stand there stiff for a second before hugging back. He squeezes me tighter and I find myself smiling into his shoulder. 

“Good to be back,” I whisper. 

We stand like that for a moment before he pats my back a couple of times, us pulling away from each other soon after. He reaches behind me to grab my hand luggage as he shoulders my bag. I tell him that I can carry them just fine, but he starts walking away from the platform to the parking lot. I call out after him as I run to catch up, and I can see the corners of his mouth twitch. Jaehyun leads me to his car, a sleek matte-silver convertible Mustang. My mouth drops open in shock at its stunning beauty, my body forcing itself to remain composed for the sake of avoiding public self-embarrassment. 

He throws my luggage in the back seat before he turns to me, smirking at my expression. “You like it?”

“Shit, do I like it? I love it!” I run my fingers over its metallic surface, the silver exterior gleaming in the evening glow. Grinning, I stare up at my brother who catches my gaze as I stand next to the driver’s seat, my fingers already curled on the handle.

“Can I—”

“No.”

“Please—”

“Nope.”

I pout as I pull my hand away and step to the side. Jaehyun chuckles, rubbing my head playfully before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car. The engine purrs to life as my brother pulls out his shades and wears them. He looks at me and cocks his head to the passenger seat. 

“Don’t just stand there. Get in.”

Smiling, I quickly make my way over to the other side and slip into the passenger seat. I barely have time to buckle in before Jaehyun speeds off. I scream in fright, but he laughs heartily, telling me to let loose.

With the wind harshly whipping around us, I close my eyes and tilt my head upwards, absorbing the remnants of my childhood in a place I’ll always call home. A place where my heart always feels at ease.

My name is Jung Hyuna. I’m eighteen years old, and this is my story.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |  

[lunnanunna]

Yeou

ATEEZ Extra Member AU

Summary: Yoori films her solo shot for Inception.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @hyunmijung​ @galacticstxrdust​ @giant-puppy-yunho​ @kimonmars​ @soobinssmile​ @nlost21​

A/N: So I tried, but it was really hard to describe her routine, so I apologize. Also, let’s pretend like this would fit in the MV, lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Requests are open! Please let me know what you think.

Yoori walked down the hallway of the building that they rented out for the MV shoot behind Jia. She was on her way to film her solo shot, which would include not just her rap, but also a pole dance routine. Yoori was nervous to say the least.

“You’ll do fine, Yoori-ah,” Jia smiled, putting an arm around the girl. Yoori wasn’t at all surprised that Jia knew what she was thinking. Jia could read her, or any of the members for that matter, and know what they were thinking. Though for Yoori, it might have to do with the fact that she wasn’t the best at hiding her emotions.

“Just kinda scared. The first time I showed Atiny a routine, they loved it, but now I feel like I have to do even better to meet their expectations and go beyond,” Yoori said, chewing on her lip, playing with the fake piercing. She had spent a little over two weeks working on this routine, always finding something wrong with it. Even as she mentally went over it, Yoori could pick out some things that she didn’t like.

San had assured her that the routine was perfect. He sat with her every time she went to practice and gave her feedback. Yoori had always trusted his opinion, and knew that she should now as well, but she was still doubting herself.

“I’m sure Atiny will love whatever you give them,” Jia said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Yoori looked up at her and smiled sheepishly.

They passed by a room and Yoori saw Seonghwa inside. He was filming his solo scene, and from the looks of it he was almost done. He made eye contact with her as the lighting crew fixed something real quick, and gave her a wink and thumbs up. Yoori giggled, sending her own thumbs up.

Yoori continued to follow after Jia, soon entering another room. This one was barren except for stray sheets of paper all over the ground. A lone chair stood by a window and a pole in the center of the room.

“Okay, Yoori. I’m really excited for your shot,” the director, Jonghyun, smiled, walking over to Yoori. The girl gave a small smile. “Okay, so here’s what we have planned,” Jonghyun said, pointing to the chair. “Over here, I’ll have you sit however you feel fit. Or stand. Whatever feels comfortable for you. This is where we’ll have you rap.”

Yoori nodded already thinking about how she’ll sit. She was in a mini skirt that was modeled after a blazer, wrapped around and sewed together, so she needed to be careful of how she sat, even with her safety shorts.

“Okay, so we’ll start here, then,” Jonghyun smiled, gently pushing Yoori towards the chair. She nodded, and made her way over.

Yoori sat in the chair, legs crossed, leaning back, and body facing the window. Her head turned to look at the camera. Jonghyun gave her a quick thumbs up, and Jia quickly came in to fix a few strands of her lavender hair.

“Fighting,” she cheered softly as she finished and walked off to the side.

“Fighting,” Yoori repeated, smiling.

The camera soon started rolling, along with the music. Yoori waited for her part, then began lip sync her part. She moved her hands, looked to the side, then back at the camera. Her finger came to twirl a piece of her hair, the way it always did during her raps (Kind of a signature thing for her.), then she changed her position.

Yoori uncrossed her legs, opening them slightly, making sure to not flash the camera man. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands collapsed together, and raised a brow at the camera as she finished her last line.

Soon the first take was done, and the director was looking it over to see what could be changed. This pattern continued for at least ten more takes. Either the director wanting to change something, or Yoori feeling like she could do better.

Once they were both satisfied, Yoori walked over to him to monitor the last shot. She smiled excitedly, liking how it came out.

“I’m still so amazed with this group’s duality,” Jonghyun chuckled, shaking his head in awe. “And you, Yoori. I literally saw you running in circles with San-ah earlier, giggling, and here you look ready to attack Atiny. Lord help them,” he laughed, giving Yoori a pat on the head.

Yoori beamed at the compliment. She was proud of her duality, seeing as Atiny loved it so much.

At first she didn’t get it, but soon the boys pointed out how she basically adopted a totally different persona when performing. Atiny had dubbed it Yeou-ri, Yeou meaning fox. They said that not only did she slightly resemble one, but that she also had tricked Atiny like a fox would, into thinking she was a sweet, cute, little thing (Their words, not hers). And while she was all those things, she became a little demon on stage (Jongho’s words).

“Okay. Now let's move on to your next part.” Yoori followed Jonghyun and listened as he explained what would happen as she did her pole routine. Jia came and fixed her makeup and hair again, and Yoori smiled at her, but still focused on the director.

“So, you’ll do your routine, and at the climax, this will happen,” Jonghyun directed, and motioned towards the sides where fire was now spewing from a tube like system. (Yoori had no idea what it was called.) The fire then ran around a large circle enclosing the pole that was raised on a platform.

Yoori grinned, clapping her hands. “This is so perfect!” she gushed watching as a valve was turned off by a staff member, and the fire disappeared.

“Hongjoong said that you would like it,” Jonghyun smiled. The leader had a vision of how he wanted to incorporate Yoori’s routine into the MV, so he worked with Jonghyun to make it reality. And here it was. Yoori found herself, not for the first time, mentally praising her leader’s brilliant mind.

Yoori walked over to a closed off space with Jia, which was set up as a makeshift changing room. Jia helped remove her thigh high boots and skirt, and replace them with a pair of high waisted black shorts.

Once ready, makeup and hair fixed, Yoori walked over to the pole and got ready. Jonghyun gave her the signal, and the music started to play. Yoori soon, as if on auto pilot, moved fluidly through the sequence of moves.

She spun, and dropped.  Climbed back up, and twirled. Held on with one hand then another, legs spread into a straddle. These moves continued, interchanging with the speed and rhythm of the song.

The fire had appeared midway through the routine as promised, and Yoori spun lower, head near the bottom of the pole. She could feel the heat from a few feet down.

Flipping herself back up, and twirling again, she moved her way up, then hooked her legs to the pole, arms spread behind her. She spun a bit then dropped as the music finished. Yoori hung, legs still hooked to the pole, back arched, fingers grazing the floor.

She waited for Jonghyun to say cut, but instead she was met with applause. Looking up, she saw not just the staff, but all of ATEEZ standing behind the camera watching. Yoori’s cheeks heated up, and she knew it wasn’t from the fire below, seeing as it was turned off.

Grabbing the pole and flipping herself upright, she hopped off the pole, then off the platform. She carefully made her way towards them, maneuvering through the props and tubes.

“I told you you had nothing to worry about,” Jia smirked, walking up Yoori, giving her head a pat.

“You went above and beyond my expectations,” Jonghyun beamed, clapping. Yoori flushed again, ducking her head.

“Yah, Bean! That was perfect!” San said, scooping Yoori up and twirling her around. She giggled, latching onto him.

“That was so good,” Mingi praised as San placed Yoori back on the ground.

Yoori smiled. “Thanks,” she said, then smiled at Seonghwa who passed her a pair of slides for her to put on, seeing as she was barefoot. The rest of the boys continued to praise her, and she quietly basked in the attention. It wasn’t that she liked the spotlight, but everyone liked being praised every so often.

As they all watched the screen, rewatching the routine, Yoori felt an arm wrap around her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Yeosang. He was looking at the screen, smiling. “Good job, Yoo,” was all he said, but the way he held her, bringing her closer to him, said more.

Yoori bit her lip to hide her smile, and continued to watch herself on the screen. Luckily for them, Yoori had always been touchy with everyone, so the staff didn’t bat an eye at the two. 

She wrapped her arm around his waist, and to make sure no one was suspicious, she held onto San’s hand. Yeosang saw this, then snorted, shaking his head and smiling. He then reached over to Yunho and placed his elbow on his shoulder. He looked at Yoori then sent her a wink.

Yoori’s Masterlist

[boltwrites]

this week has all the best kinks! i was too early last time so i'm sending it again but could you do sub!bolin x afab dom!reader with a fucking machine?

kinktober 2020 | this week’s list

A/N: oh here we go boys (this is another long one, so be prepared)

by clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

so, you’ve definitely been introducing Bolin into kinkier shit at this point

you’ve been pegging him for ages now, and while in public he’s as sweet and loving and supportive as ever, in the bedroom, he feels like he can really open up with you and share that more submissive side of himself

so, you secretly ask Zhu Li for some help designing a fucking machine

you were a little disappointed that when you fucked Bolin, you couldn’t see his face all the time, since it was easiest to give it to him from behind. you wanted to be able to watch him come apart, and this seemed like the perfect idea

and you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Zhu Li could not only make one for you, but also wouldn’t tell a soul. she was in your book club - you two were tight, and she was more than willing to help

Bolin probably gets concerned at some point during the design and construction process because you keep taking “long shifts at work.” while he doesn’t think you’re cheating on him (at least, he fucking hopes you’re not) he is a little worried that he’s boring to you and that you would rather be out somewhere else instead of with him

in reality, you and Zhu Li are not only having a bunch of fun designing the contraption (”Y/n, I have to say, as much as I love Varrick - you’re so much easier to work with” Zhu Li laughed) but have started to add a bunch of extra features. not to mention the safety measures you two were installing so that you were positive you wouldn’t hurt Bolin

Bolin was like, a few days away from finally gathering the courage to confront you when you approached him - home early, before him - excited, bouncing on the balls of your feet

“hey, babe,” you grinned at him, giving him a little kiss as he entered. he was clearly shocked to see you

“hi?” he replied, a little confused. “I thought you were at work?”

“i took off early,” you replied, still grinning wide. “you know these past couple weeks? I haven’t actually been taking extra hours,” you admitted. “I’ve been working on something special for you”

Bolin immediately felt horrible for thinking otherwise “you have?” he asked, hopeful. his heart was probably flipping in his chest - he loved you very much, and he was so excited that you had done something with him in mind. 

“yeah. it’s in the bedroom,” you looked at him with lidded eyes, hoping he would get the message, and he blinked, quickly turning red. oh, so it was that kind of surprise. he shivered, even more excited now. what would have take you so long? “wanna see it?”

“yeah,” he mumbled, his voice a little softer, already anticipating his fall into subspace. you tugged him towards the bedroom

and when you opened the door - 

his jaw dropped

the machine itself was decently large. it, of course, had its own motor, which was around 2 feet on either side (we’re working with lok tech, remember?). it rested on an adjustable base so that the height could be corrected for any situation, and next to the machine, a remote rested on the bedside table. 

Bolin’s mouth fell open and he went absolutely beet red

“is that...”

“yeah,” you nodded, grinning broad. it already had the dildo you usually used on your strap attached to the machine, all ready for him

you waited a beat, and when Bolin didn’t say anything, you got concerned.

“Bo? is this... is this ok?” you asked, getting a little worried

he jumped like he had been shocked, still so red.

“no, no it’s - uh,” he tugged at the collar of his shirt “...when can we try it out?” he squeaked, his voice quiet

spirits, he was fucking adorable. you giggled, wrapping your arms around him in a big hug. you thought he would like it, but you were glad he was just as into it as you were

“whenever you want, baby” you mumbled, covering his face in little kisses. he made a soft noise, wrapping his arms around you 

“now?” he mumbled, grinding against you, and oh boy, he was hard. you were so fucking excited.

“yeah, let’s get it set up”

Bolin was just as interested in the machine itself as what it could do to him, so you had him help set up the scene - pulling the bench that you usually had at the bottom of the bed out, to be used as a platform to him to bend over on. you had him lay on it as you adjusted the machine, and he whimpered at the feeling of it, even through his clothes

you told him a little about it, told him how much you wanted to watch him fall apart, wanted to see him get fucked good from a different vantage point, and as you told him all these dirty things, he started breathing deeper, slipping further into it all

by the time he was finally naked and bent over the bench, the machine poised at his entrace, Bolin already prepped, you were breathing heavy too, spread out on the armchair on the other side of the room

“ready, baby?” you asked him, breathless. he looked at you with such lustful eyes - needy for it, as you watched his hips rock against the cushions on the bench

“yeah, please-” he mumbled, pressing his cheek into the bench and nuzzling into it. you gasped at just the look of him already - so ready and waiting

you turned the the machine onto its lowest setting, so that it could enter Bolin at first slowly, to make sure he was properly prepped

he moaned as it pressed into him, pressing back, canting his hips beautifully as the machine pressed into him and bottomed out. he moaned, so pretty, like when you fucked him, except this time, he eyed you from across the room, and you could see from his expression just how much he needed it

“i’m ready, please -” he begged, but his voice was still somewhat composed. it was your job to fix that. you grinned devious, leaning on your elbow as you kicked the machine into its base setting - a steady pace, one you’ve used on him before, one you know he likes. the machine whirred to life, fucking into him deep and without hesitation

Bolin screamed in pleasure, his jaw going slack as he grabbed at the fabric in front of him, searching for anything to give him some grip

“oh, fuck - Y/n-!” he moaned, his body practically vibrating as the machine fucked into him without pause. you looked at him, worry in your eyes

“Bo, green?” you asked, concerned. you were using one of the methods common in your play - green was an enthusiastic yes, yellow was a stop and re-evaluate, and red was a full stop “i’m done with sexy stuff for the night”

“Spirits, yes, more -” he keened at the end, the room filled with obscene noises as Bolin was fucked into the bench, his body tense as he was overstimulated - but he loved it. he had no control over the pace, no control at all, and it was hard and deep and he needed more, even though his nerves were on fire. he wanted more

“more?” you asked, a quirk to your grin as you turned the machine up a notch. while this was your typical pace, the machine didn’t have to worry about stupid things like stamina. the higher settings were paces you would never dream to keep going for more than maybe a minute, at most

“yes - ah!” Bolin arched hard when you turned up the dial, the machine fucking into him faster, and his mouth fell open, plastering him to the bench, unable to do anything but take it - unable to even rock his hips in time, just assaulted by sensation. he felt like jelly, and he needed - 

“more,” he moaned, and you could barely make his voice out. he was a mess - he was drunk on it, but he was clearly loving it, so you made the executive decision to do as he asked - and turned it up one more setting

“oh!” Bolin’s voice was knocked out of him as the machine pushed him harder into the bench, this setting not one that increased speed, but instead, power. Bolin moaned louder than you’d ever heard him, a cry that could have made you come just from how full of pure bliss it was. 

Bolin saw stars - he was close already, but this setting had him coming untouched, pressing his face into the cushions of the bench as he painted it, his grip almost ripping the upholstery

you saw him arch hard, then go limp, his body convulsing as the machine kept fucking him, and you turned the settings down to something slower, something you hoped would help ease him through his orgasm. Bolin keened soft at it, looking at you with such love as he thanked you with his eyes for being so attentive, and knowing exactly what he needed

he opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a low whine as he nuzzled into the bench. you grinned, carefully stopping the machine so that the toy would still be inside him as you stood up - your own legs wobbly just at the sight of him, to pet through his hair, lean down to kiss his forehead, his cheeks

“how was it?” you asked, gentle. Bolin moaned in response, his entire body slack

“great,” he mumbled, his voice cracking, but you could tell he was sincere. you showered him in kisses, before you started your aftercare routine. oh, you were very glad you had taken the time to make this for him