#i hope this makes sense? i feel about her similarly to how i feel about theon. i can recognize she does fucked up shit but the reasons why
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moonstruckme · 1 year ago
Note
hey lovely! I was wondering if I could request a remus or poly! marauders where the boys (or just remus) are keeping his werewolf thing a secret from whimsical!reader bc remus is scared she’ll be scared of him, but she secretly already knows. I feel like she’d just KNOW(you know? lol) and one day hints that she does to Remus saying that it’s going to be a full moon soon as like a warning or something and he and the boys kinda look at her like….what does she mean by that? lol idk I hope that makes sense.
Thanks for requesting sweetheart <3
poly!marauders x whimsical!reader ♡ 1k words
They’re all always on edge as the full moon grows closer, but James thinks Sirius might be faring the worst. Two days out, he won’t let Remus so much as make his own tea, and when you’re still not home a couple of hours after you’re supposed to be, James has to talk him down from calling the police. 
Now, Remus is comforting him, though neither of them will admit it, the ailing boy’s arms banded securely around Sirius’ midsection where they lie on the couch. Every now and again, Sirius turns his head to kiss Remus’ chin as if to make up for it. James watches them both from the kitchen, wondering if he could get away with slipping some of the anti-anxiety tea you got Remus into Sirius’ brew. 
When they hear your key in the front door, he thinks he hears a relieved sigh go up from the couch. 
“Hi, angel.” James arrests you at the door, beckoning you into the kitchen. “Been missing you.” 
“Hey Jamie.” You set a couple of bags on the counter, letting him pull you in by the waist for a kiss. “Whatcha making?” 
“Lentil soup,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close. “Be extra nice to Sirius,” he whispers near your ear. “He’s been worrying himself crazy about you.” 
You pull back to look at him, lips parting bemusedly, but James just pecks you on the side of your head. “Go,” he urges. 
You do as he says, padding over to the couch. “Hi, Siri,” you say, kneeling by the couch. “How’s your—day been?” Your words become muffled halfway through when Sirius wraps his arms around you, pressing your face to his shoulder despite the awkward angle. 
“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, worry inlaid with fondness. Remus’ hand migrates to the dip of his waist, pacifying. “You didn’t leave a note or anything.” 
“Sorry,” you say, slipping free of his grip so you can see him. Your fingers find a piece of his hair, running the satiny tress through your fingers distractedly. “I didn’t expect to be so long, but I couldn’t find Remus’ chocolate anywhere. I think it must be the holiday.” 
Sirius pauses. 
“You were gone all that time getting the chocolate Rem likes?” James asks. He peers inside the bag you’ve left on the counter, and sure enough—bags and bags of it, enough to last for months. 
“Mhm, I had to go to six stores. I saw you were getting low,” you say, now to Remus, “and I thought you might be wanting it.” 
James lowers the heat on his soup, setting a lid on the pot so he can join you all in the living room. Remus’ expression is wavering somewhere between guilty and lovestruck. Sirius looks plainly besotted.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” Remus says, reaching over Sirius to stroke at your cheek. “Thanks, dove.” 
You lean into his touch, cheeks dimpling. “It’s no problem,” you promise. Sirius has a look on his face like he wants to eat you. James feels similarly. “Oh,” you say abruptly, “I set up my diffuser in the bedroom earlier, but since it looks like you’re going to be out here for a while, would you mind if I brought it out?”
Remus’ eyebrows twitch towards each other. “Course not. But what did you have it in my room for?” 
“I put some rosemary oil in it.” You get up, aiming for the bedroom. “I thought it might be good for your headaches.” 
When you return, Sirius apparently decides he can’t contain himself any longer. He sits up on the couch, opening his arms for a proper hug. You set up the diffuser hastily and go to them, letting him squeeze the life out of you without complaint. Your eyes slip closed. 
“Sorry I scared you,” you say softly. 
“You’re forgiven.” Sirius stamps a kiss on the side of your head, rubbing your back roughly. “You’re pretty hard to stay mad at, you know that?”
“That’s the goal,” you reply breezily. James laughs. 
“How’d you know I had a headache today?” Remus asks, watching you and Sirius amusedly. 
You hum into Sirius’ shoulder, not opening your eyes. “Well, it’s only two days until the full moon.” 
Remus goes shock still. So does Sirius, cutting a look James’ way over your shoulder. What the hell is that supposed to mean? 
James shakes his head, shrugging. He hasn’t let anything slip, though he does think it’d be easier if you knew. He and Sirius have tried to coax Remus into telling you a few times now, but the other boy is obstinate. He’s been spurned too much in his life to willingly open himself up to the possibility of it, even if they all know you could never be afraid of him. He’s just not ready yet. 
Still, James thinks sitting here in petrified silence is as likely to give him away as anything else. 
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” James asks you. 
“Mm, nothing,” you hum blissfully, seemingly too content in Sirius’ hold to think about much else. He thinks he can hear Remus’ breath shake a bit on the way out. 
“Right,” James says. “Would you mind helping me in the kitchen for a bit? I could use someone chopping while I stir, or the other way around.” 
“Sure.” You open your eyes, gently easing yourself from Sirius’ clutches. The raven-haired boy eyes you curiously as you go, quirking an eyebrow at James like What do you think she’s on about? James can only shrug again, putting a hand on the small of your back while he follows you into the kitchen. 
As he goes by, he looks again in the bags you’ve brought home. 
“Angel, why did you buy so many bandages?” 
You shrug, taking up a paring knife and beginning to chop celery with careful, even strokes. “We were running out of those, too. Usually you and Siri are more on top of this stuff, but I figured it’s time I started pitching in. I know it’s a difficult time of the month.” 
There’s a dull slapping sound from the couch, and James looks over to see Sirius with one hand covering his mouth, the other stroking soothingly at Remus’ hair. 
“Right.” James swallows. He glances back at you, but you’re just chopping celery, placid as can be. “Thanks for, uh, taking up the mantle.” 
You toss him an easy smile. “Anytime.”
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dallaji · 1 year ago
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Hope we make it to the Cloud.
♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗
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SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.
WORD COUNT: 10k
CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.
- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>
————— ୨୧ —————
The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is. 
“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”
Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.
None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.
It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.
Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.
And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.
“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off.  “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”
Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious. 
You had seen Bada around.
After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.
“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”
“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”
That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”
Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.
You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.
Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.” 
You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.
Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.
As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”
The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.
You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.
“They’ve been on your case, huh?” 
Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.
“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.
“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.
If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.
It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.
“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”
She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”
You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.
Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.
As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.
She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”
Right, of course.
“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.
Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.
It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”
Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. 
You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you. 
Proving you wrong, she smiled back.
“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.” 
You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.
Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”
You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side. 
As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless. 
You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.
You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.
But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.
“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”
You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”
“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”
“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.
“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks. 
Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording. 
“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.
“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her. 
You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.
“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”
You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”
“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”
You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of. 
“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”
“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”
————— ୨୧ —————
Her draft was good. Really good, actually. 
Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.
A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders. 
You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.
The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.
The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.
“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.
She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching. 
“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”
“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”
Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it. 
“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.” 
You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all. 
“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?” 
“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”
————— ୨୧ —————
Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy. 
On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager. 
On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.
Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.
However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.
“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”
You didn’t like the sound of that.
————— ୨୧ —————
By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet. 
The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor. 
You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.
You looked good together.
“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks. 
She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.
“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. ���I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow. 
She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense. 
In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for. 
Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”
You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.
Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.
“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”
You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.
It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.
The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines. 
As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.
At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly. 
But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could. 
You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.
Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded. 
You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.
“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.
But instead she said: “That was incredible.”
“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly. 
“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.
“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming. 
“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”
“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.
Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully. 
“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.” 
That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude. 
Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?” 
You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”
————— ୨୧ —————
The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work. 
The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.
It had changed.
Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.
But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on. 
Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest. 
“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.
“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly. 
You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.
“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.
“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.
Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.
Bada.
In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.
You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.
You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them. 
Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile. 
“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”
She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look. 
“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”
Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”
“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things. 
Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed. 
Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.
You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot. 
The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.
Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.
“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”
You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.
“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.” 
You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.
Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.
Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest. 
She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you. 
After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?” 
You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…” 
Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”
“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.” 
Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.
Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”
The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”
The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“Why?” You asked, genuinely.
For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it. 
“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”
Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.
You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.
But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.
Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.
There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further. 
You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.
You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.
She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you. 
Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.
She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.” 
The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you. 
The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.” 
The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.
“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”
She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.
She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”
You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.
She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape. 
“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”
In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care. 
You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting. 
“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips. 
It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.
One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it. 
“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.
“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.
She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in. 
“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand. 
She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully. 
Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.
“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”
Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat. 
She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.
You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted. 
Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.
You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer. 
You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans. 
As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.
You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.
Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.
“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”
“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately. 
“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”
“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.
After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs. 
When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.
“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.
“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.
As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.
A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.
“Hey, Bada.”
“Hm?”
“Camera’s still recording.”
She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly. 
“Oh, fuck.”
2K notes · View notes
planethibiscus · 3 months ago
Note
Hiii !! I was wondering if you could do some jealous Yandere hcs (similar to the ones you did for until dawn) but with mouthwashing? Ty!!
JEALOUSY 🌸 MW
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Jimmy is a vengeful and miserable man. He envies reader as they are, for who and what they are, no matter their situation. He's never satisfied, always wanting what he doesn't have. If he doesn't have you then it's all he can think about. When he finally does get you though, it still won't be enough. He'll adapt his victim complex to begin envying you instead of fully appreciating you. Oh how "good" you have it with him. You're so fucking lucky and yet you have no idea. Woe is Jimmy, the unwilling slave to your love.
Swansea is a tired and cynical soul. He envies readers likeness. Similarly to how he is jealous of Daisuke, he is jealous of your lot in life. He wants to feel nearly as important as you are to all who you bless with your glimmering presence. He has a wife, kids, a job, he's stable. But he's miserable. Even if you're also miserable, or you don't have nearly as many accomplishments as him, there's just this special spark about you that makes you worth so much more than he could ever be.
Anya is exhausted and unlucky. She envies readers security. There's this way about you that comforts her and she loves it, but it's this underlying sense of safety that she assumes can only come from someone who has their shit together. Things seem to work out for you, and they should, because you're so lovely that life must give you special treatment or else it's being cruel and unjust. She just can't help but think that maybe if things in her life went half as well as they do in yours, then she'd be a better, happier person. One you'd like to be with.
Curly feels stuck. He envies readers freedom. So badly does he want to wrap you up in his arms and squeeze the knots out of your back with one powerful hug. He's just so worried that he'll scare you off and it keeps him paralysed. He wonders if you'd be terrified of your mismatched power dynamic or comforted by it. He wants you so terribly but he has a responsibility that you don't, as your captain, to make sure that you feel safe. If pushing advances on you might make you uncomfortable then he wouldn't dare. Even if it's all he can think about.
Daisuke is enthralled by the sensations of love but insecure. He holds no true jealousy towards reader, yet often finds himself wishing that he was half as cool as them. He adores being around you. Not a moment spent in your presence is a waste of time. He desperately hopes that you might feel the same, and that you don't think spending time with him is a chore. He doesn't want to bore you or annoy you at all. Your opinion of him holds him in a death grip, but he loves how it chokes him. It reminds him just how lucky he is to be perceived by you at all.
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plaidos · 1 month ago
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I have no particular dog in this fight as I'm not a GF superfan or anything, but I would like to question a bit of your analysis.
I think you're right that the version of GF where Dipper is transmasc makes Mabel's canonical actions transphobic.
I would like to question the insinuation that those same actions would've been "normal sibling rivalry" (?!) were Dipper closeted transfem or even cismasc, as opposed to "worst sister ever" (!?) behavior. Especially if we're going with transfem Dipper, those incidents of bullying remind me much more of patterns of bullying against transfeminine people, and intersex people CAMAB (such as myself) that I've personally witnessed/experienced.
Also, to the idea that Mabel being transphobic fundamentally changes her character in some way. Like, sometimes characters we're supposed to like hold a bigoted attitude which they will unlearn over the course of the story. Sokka from Avatar and Weiss from RWBY come to mind. Mabel being one of those characters doesn't fundamentally change her storyline or arc.
you’re right, Mabel’s actions and teasings are still mean with a transphobic undercurrent — even if Dipper is a dyadic cis boy, to be honest. but she’s also a twelve year old born in 1999. i too have received the kind of bullying associated with the way Mabel acts towards Dipper about his gender, but i’ve also had similarly “jokes” from loved ones who didn’t realise how shitty they were being because they didn’t have the political framework to analyse what is fucked up about it.
but if we’re reading Dipper as transmasc, it’s like… everybody he knows is accepting enough of his identity to gender him correctly, but they’re still totally willing to say things to him that you would categorically know are bigoted even at that age. like a twelve year old cisgender girl who knows about trans people and respects their existence might not realise how needlessly callous she is being when she teases her (seemingly) cisgender brother for having “girly” interests, but that same cisgender girl would probably be able to identify that her openly transgender brother wouldn’t want to wear makeup and that it would be incredibly fucked up to make him. i’m not saying it’s “right” but Mabel needs to actively Be A Transphobe (rather than just having some twelve year old cis girl ideas about gender & masculinity) to treat Dipper the way she treats him if he is openly transmasculine, but I feel like there’s more of a plausible deniability. i feel like the Mabel we see in the show is a couple years away from being like “wow, that was spectacularly mean of me, i hope that didn’t have an effect on Dipper’s self worth”
i feel like if (in the crazy alternate universe where this is possible) there were an episode where Dipper came out as transfem after feeling hurt by Mabel’s jokes she would be really torn up about it. she’d say something like “i’m really sorry, i didn’t know you felt so strongly about gender… i thought we were just joking around but i should be paying more attention to how you feel, Dipper…. wait, maybe you don’t want to be called Dipper any more. Oh no I AM a bigot!!!” and then Soos would come in and be like “heheh. total hatecrime dude” and then we’d cut to Bill being like “i don’t care what gender you are pine tree… i’m gonna get that GIRL if it’s the last thing I do” except girl would be obviously ADR’d over in Alex Hirsch’s normal voice with his live action mouth over Bill’s animated mouth
also transfeminine Dipper has just always made more sense. the big argument was that he uses a nickname instead of his birth name which he keeps a secret. and that would make sense if Dipper had a girl’s name, but Dipper’s birth name is “Mason”. so he actually is choosing to not use a male name and instead use something gender neutral, even though he really loves matching with his twin sister & having matching names is a family tradition — so he probably has a pretty big reason to not use it, considering he still doesn’t even with all the reasons he has to.
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shalomniscient · 5 months ago
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“are you sure you have everything?”
lyney huffs a bit of a strangled laugh, but nods. he’s somewhat used to your fussing, but it still feels a little… not exactly embarrassing, but a warm heat makes its way from his chest to his cheeks nonetheless. he holds the magic pocket bag closer to his chest as you fix the fastenings of his fatui cloak yet again, fiddling with the clips and ensuring they’re secure and not about to fly off in the harbor wind as it blows freely around them all.
“i’m all set,” he assures you, then glances over at lynette. she’s still a little woozy—it is the break of dawn, after all, since father prefers moving under the dense cover of darkness, and though lynette is awake she’s certainly not ecstatic to be awake. as a result, she’s the next target of your fussing; you gently pat her cheeks to wake her up a little more, and she lets out almost a small, mewling noise before snapping out of her drowsy daze.
“you can rest a little more on the ship, lynette,” you say, and the young woman nods. “if you get seasick, i packed some medicine. and i made some food if you get hungry; it won’t last very long on a ship, so remember to eat it, okay? oh—i also packed earmuffs, be sure to wear them if it gets too cold, alright?”
“understood,” lynette answers, leaning into your touch as you pat her hair. she’s always been more physically affectionate with you, though she tempers herself when the familiar sound of boots and metallic heels on stone tiles echo behind all of you.
“i take it everyone is prepared to set off?” comes father’s calm, even tone. behind her is freminet; he isn’t dressed for travel, since he’ll be staying in fontaine, but followed along to see them off. she’s dressed somewhat similarly, but unlike lyney and lynette who seem to drown in their cloaks, father wears it like a mantle—the fur broadens her already broad shoulders, and she looks more like a king than ever. and yet despite that, you simply turn and stride over to her, your hands reaching out to smooth down the lapels of her cloak.
“just double checking,” you hum, though there’s a little bit of a sigh in your voice. “i think i packed everything.”
father offers you a mild look. “the children know how to pack their own things.”
“i know, but i wanted to help,” you reply, and lyney swears he sees the hard lines of her face soften imperceptibly. there’s a slackness to her normally tense posture as you do all your last minute checks—cufflinks? i have them. hand cream? yes. ID? all settled, dearest—and lyney has to marvel on the sway you have over their typically unshakeable father.
“we should head out,” she says gently, taking one of your wrists in a tender, dark hand. a brief flicker of stubborness flashes across your expression, before you sigh.
“ah, before i forget…” you produce a tiny pouch, and then place it into father’s open palm. she regards it curiously, tilting her head. there’s a rustle of plastic inside, but also the clack of a few hard objects hitting each other. “coffee candies,” you explain, “for when you feel sleepy.”
“thank you,” father says, her tone as warm and soft as it always is with you. she accepts the pouch, and slips it into one of her cloak pockets. “i will remember to have them.”
you huff. “you better. i’ve already told lyney and lynette not to let you skip meals, as you’re so prone to do.”
“is that so?” father asks mildly, glancing at them both, and it takes quite a bit to not shiver under her questioning gaze. lyney truly has no idea how he’ll convince father to eat later on this trip, but he figures dropping your name a few time should do the trick. he hopes.
“it is,” you say firmly, and then your tone softens again. you look up at father, and lyney cannot see your expression from here, but he knows the same is reflected in father’s—loving, with a hint of departure’s sorrow. “be safe. come home.”
“alwaus,” father answers, and lyney, lynette and freminet have the sense to look away when she leans down to kiss you chastely. they only look back up when father steps over to them, leaving you and freminet on the other side of the dock. she levels freminet with a look. “do not forget your duty, freminet.”
he nods resolutely, hugging pers a little tighter. “of course, father.”
(just a few moments ago, she’d pulled him to the side and gave him a direct order, as the fourth fatui harbingers and the knave.
“you will protect the house with your life,” she had said, her tone brookering no argument, though it wasn’t as if freminet was looking to argue. and though father has said ‘the house’, freminet had lived long enough there to know the truth of her words.
“yes, father. i won’t let anything happen to mom.”)
and then, with the bellow of a horn, their little ship sets off into morning light. lyney watches father’s face carefully as the dawn breaks, casting the harbinger’s expression in shades of warm gold. she’s uncharacteristically unguarded in this brief flash of a moment—not that she would ever admit such a thing, even upon threat of death. but lyney knows love is most felt when it is leaving, and so even as she turns on her heel to enter the cabin, he knows she’s already counting down the days before she can return home—return to you.
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amberlynnmurdock · 1 year ago
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Matt Murdock x Reader
Summary: Matt saves his wife from being held hostage by Fisk's men and helps her with the PTSD that comes from it.
From this request from an anon named melted butter!
I hope you like it, anon friend!
Warnings: brief mentions of violence, hostage situation, PTSD symptoms, heavy angst in the beginning
Words: 2.7k
Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude
There would never come a day when she wouldn’t associate that song with blood, torture, and darkness. 
There would never come a day when she wouldn’t remember the cloth wrapped around her eyes that felt like sandpaper on her skin and the way her head pounded from the tightness of the blindfold. She could still feel it sometimes—unprompted moments of weakness when she would put on a hat or earmuffs in the winter and the feeling of something being wrapped around her head transported her to that awful night. She’d rather leave the beanie and earmuffs at home and risk her head getting cold than be reminded of that torture. 
It was the way she hesitated to put on gloves because if her wrists felt too constricted she would be reminded of the way the rope burned her skin so badly it left scars. She’d leave those at home too, and risk dry and cold hands. 
“Sweetheart,” Matt said earnestly, wrapping his hands around her cold ones. “Your hands are so cold. Why didn’t you put on gloves?”
She didn’t reply—she just let Matt continue to warm her hands with his. She preferred it that way. She preferred him to feel the scars around her wrists than her to look at them. 
Ever since that night, she took the coldest showers. Every shower was an ice-cold one. The place they had her held hostage in was stuffy—hot. She remembers her own sweat dripping down her face and the salt burning her eyes even under the blindfold. She can’t feel too hot anymore or else she will again be transported back to that traumatizing night. 
And the song—that fucking song. 
She wasn’t sure if it was a torture tactic or if the Kingpin had requested it be played. The only thing that mattered was that they kept it on repeat, at a loud volume—so loud she could hardly hear her voice when they would ask her a question about Daredevil. 
“I don’t know,” she cried behind her blindfold. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I—“
SLAP!
The violins started to feel like her head was being woven in torturous ways. The sound filled her senses similarly to how cough syrup fills one's senses—bitterness from the smell to the taste on the tip of her tongue. It was nauseating to listen to the song over, and over, and over, and over again. Nauseating to be in a situation like she had just two months ago: alone, in pain, and scared. So very scared that she may not make it. 
Until he found her. He told her he would always find her. 
She didn’t know he was there until the music finally stopped playing, and the lights in the warehouse went out. She was blindfolded but the way the men started yelling about the lights told her everything she needed to know. She was shaking against the wall, sweating, trying to find that relief she should feel that Daredevil had come to her rescue—but even that couldn’t shake off her fear. 
“If you ever get taken from me,” Matt had whispered to her one night in bed as he fiddled with the diamond ring on her finger, “know I will find you. And when you know I’m there, I want you to whisper to me like I am now. Because I’ll hear you and I’ll come to you.”
She whispered to him as soon as she heard the music stop and Fisk’s men were shouting at each other. 
“Matthew,” she hushed even lower than a whisper, “Matthew. Matt…”
Matt has dealt with a lot of dark situations as Daredevil, even before he donned the name and had a red suit. Years ago, he saved a little boy from a Russian gang. He saved a group of young girls from trafficking. He has dealt with the worst criminals in this city and it never got easier. All he could do was save people. He just never bet on the fact that one day he would have to save her.
It was something they talked about before deciding to get married. After months of convincing himself he could never have a life like that, she told him that God didn’t put him on this earth to only bear other people’s burdens. God meant for him to have a life like everyone else—a life that included love and marriage. He agreed on one condition: that it be an intimate small wedding at Clinton Church. And by intimate, only Foggy, Karen, and Marci were invited. 
He never wanted to prepare for a situation like this. He never wanted this day to come. He never pondered on what protocols to teach her if someone were to take her—but after months of avoiding the subject, he thought that was still important in case the situation ever did come. And unfortunately, it finally did come. 
He remembers how still the apartment was when he came home—how silent and cold it was. She hadn’t been home since the morning, he could tell. Icicles started to form on the back of his neck when he realized he hadn’t received a call from her since she left work—which was over an hour ago. Matt felt weak in the knees suddenly. He had to support himself on the kitchen counter as he focused his senses on noises outside of the apartment. 
“Dear God,” Matt whispered, “please keep her safe until I find her. Please help me find her.”
The whispers didn’t last long, nor the prayers—soon, Matt was throwing a rage in the apartment. Shattered glass was on the floor. Broken plates. Matt’s agonizing scream when reality finally settled in him that she was taken from him—by who? There was only one possibility. 
In no time he changed into his Daredevil gear and was prowling the streets, rooftop to rooftop, to find where they had been keeping her hostage.
A warehouse by the pier. He could hear the classical music playing at an incredible volume, enough to hurt her ears and get in her head. As soon as Matt found the source of the music, he shut it off, along with the power. 
And then he let the devil out. 
He thought with his fists before using logic to fight these cronies—throwing punches and brutally throwing men over his shoulders, hitting them relentlessly with whatever weapon he found near him. His billy club wires wrapped around someone's neck so tight it made them pass out, using the metal billy club to throw right in another man’s face. Matt moved recklessly in the dark. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs so loudly it would feel like his chest was ripping apart but he didn’t because he knew she had experienced enough yelling on this night. 
And then, he heard her. 
“Matthew,” she whispered so quietly, it almost missed Matt’s senses. “Matthew… Matt…”
As soon as he made sure all of the men were out, he rushed to her side. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, he was shaking from it. He knelt before her and took off his gloves. 
“Hey,” he cooed, “it’s okay. I’m here. I found you,” and Matt’s voice was wobbly in his throat, tears threatening his eyes but no—he needed to be strong for her. He didn’t know what she endured—quite frankly, didn’t want to know—but he knew it had been a lot on her mentally. She was sobbing. He’d never heard her like this. The blindfold was wrapped so tightly around her eyes. Matt gently untied it and slid it off. He then smelt something metallic in the air—salty. It was blood. Her blood was around her wrists. Matt choked a sob in his chest as he untied her wrists. He could sense the tight friction of a bruise forming on her cheek. 
“I found you,” Matt’s voice cracked—he couldn’t help it. He was a wreck inside to find her like this. In pain, scared, alone. No—not alone anymore, he was here. “It’s okay now.” He gathered her delicate frame in his arms, holding her against his body tightly but not crushing her, and ran his hands through her hair, hushing her cries. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I have you now. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here.” 
Matt wasn’t sure what was more traumatizing for him—finding her in that situation or hearing her cries after, and the months that would follow. 
It made him question if marrying her was the right decision.
Despite these small things bringing her back to that dreadful night, there was one positive thing that she would never forget either: the feeling when she saw Daredevil—Matt—kneeling before her and gently pulling her blindfold off. The warm wash of relief that spread in her chest was so unexplainable, she could only feel it again if she really put her mind to it. It was like a warm, safe embrace when she knew Matt had found her like he said he would. She could describe the sensation as putting on a weighted blanket. 
The image of his red Daredevil helmet is ingrained in her mind: it was him against that dark warehouse. It was the glow of the red mask that brought so much comfort to her. She was safe. He had finally come—finally found her. God knows how hard it was to locate her. She was so relieved, that all she could do was sob into his embrace. 
It didn’t get easier when they finally made it home, it only got harder. 
She lay in his bed with tear-stained cheeks. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. She could only whisper. Matt was still in his Daredevil suit, helmet off. He paced the room anxiously, wondering how this could’ve happened, how he could have let this happen. He was thinking of every possibility and what he was going to do next—
“Matthew,” she wheezed as she watched him pace the room. “Matthew.”
He stopped instantly, bringing his attention to her. She was in so much pain, he could sense it from where he stood. It brought a strange heaviness on his shoulders. He knelt again beside the bed and took her hands in his, kissing each knuckle.
“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispered, tears falling down his cheeks—tears of sadness, tears of rage. “I’m so sorry—“
“Shh,” she hushed him. She wasn’t crying anymore. She didn’t think she had any left. “Just be here with me. I need to feel you here with me.” 
Matt took off his Daredevil suit and silently crawled into bed next to her. He carefully brought her close to him so she was snug against his chest. Safe in his arms, nothing could hurt her now.
Months have passed. It’s a bright cold day. 
She and Matt are on their way to their favorite coffee spot uptown. They hardly ever leave Hell’s Kitchen, but she was in the mood for a specific hazelnut latte that only Rosie’s could make. And if it would make her happy to travel almost twenty minutes uptown for a cup of coffee, well, Matt wasn’t going to argue. 
He never brought up that night unless she did. So when she opted to wear a beanie and put on gloves, Matt couldn’t help but feel lighter in his step from the happiness he felt: she was on her way to healing from that experience. He felt like he could forgive himself now. 
“Ready?” She asked at the door, clearly too excited to get this cup. Matt laughed and kissed her before answering. He was so incredibly happy that she seemed to be happy again. 
“Ready.”
The coffee shop had wooden floors and matching wooden tables. In the back was a small bookstore, and on the side the place had a coffee counter. Soft jazz music was playing. Some people were already settled in: a man had his headphones on and was typing aggressively on his laptop, and a young college girl was studying her books. Matt sensed his surroundings everywhere they went to make sure there were no threats.
“Why don’t you go look at the books while I order our coffee,” Matt suggested lightly, untying the gray scarf around his neck. 
“Okay,” she smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go and exploring the back of the cafe. 
Matt waited in line at the coffee counter and sighed contently. 
She immediately was drawn to the fantasy books section. She took off her gloves and placed them in the pocket of her coat. Scanning each title, she picked one out that piqued her interest and frowned when the summary wasn’t what she expected. Another title made her laugh, but she didn’t bother to read the back. She found herself in a different section—romance. She smiled as she glazed over each book spine with her fingers. Romance books always reminded her of Matt. She often imagined what their story would look like in a romance novel. 
And then she heard it. 
Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude
The violins sounded like nails on a chalkboard, bloody fingertips leaving a trail. It sounded like a screech against the pavement. 
It suddenly felt like she no longer was standing in the middle of an aisle of books. Instead, her body was being pulled and sucked into a black hole behind her. Everything around her felt overwhelmingly large and she was small, like she was Alice. Fear crept over her heart like a spider weaving its web. She felt hot in her jacket. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest like a punching bag. 
The song got louder. And louder. And louder. 
“No,” she whispered to herself, shutting her eyes tightly. But closing her eyes and seeing darkness only made it worse. “No…” she opened her eyes and felt like she had tunnel vision. 
Matt was standing in line when he heard something pounding loudly in his ears. It only took him a second to hear the song that was playing, and he was immediately looking around for her. The pounding was coming from her—from her heart. 
In no time Matt was by her side, wrapping his arms around her and quickly walking her outside the cafe��away from the lingering glances, away from that horrible song. Removing her from the triggering situation, knowing she was spiraling. 
She was breathing fast now from panic. Matt brought her into a quiet alley and wrapped her in a bear hug, holding her tightly against him. Her hair covered his face as he turned to breathe in her scent. He took a deep breath, and at the same time, motioned for her to breathe with him. 
“I’m here,” he said into her ear softly, “I have you. Breathe with me, okay?”
“Okay,” she managed to say between breaths, feeling like her own air was choking her. She breathed with Matt and closed her eyes, his touch and warm hug bringing her back to reality. 
“Listen to my voice,” Matt guided, “I’m here. I have you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Matt’s voice was always soothing to her, but especially at a moment like this. His voice sounded like how velvet felt. 
Eventually, just standing in his arms holding her tightly, her breathing returned to normal and that song was out of her head, as were her memories of that night. A few silent moments passed. Matt kissed her head softly and held her longer. He’d hold her for as long as she needed. When she was finally okay, she pulled back and reached her lips to kiss Matt’s. He kissed her in return and placed his hands on her face. 
“I’ll always be here for you,” Matt whispered. 
Matt went inside to get their coffee while she waited for him outside. Soon enough, they were back at the apartment, finishing the last of their drinks and sitting on the couch. She rested her head in his lap and Matt drew circles in her hair, counting the breaths it took for her to fall asleep. He’d of course be there when she woke up. 
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blushingdread · 25 days ago
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The thing about Cold that gets me the most is that Cold barely gives a fuck about any of the vessels, the only one he feels anything about is Fury, and he talks about how he hopes your actions put the Adversary's spark out. This man is a little asshole who doesn't care about anything. Anything but change
What does Cold hate the most? Boredom, endless nothingness, doing the same thing over and over again... which is sorta of what he is. Both in the sense that he's a part of the Long Quiet, God of all those things, but also because Cold is the most stagnant of all the voices. He's resistant to pain, emotions, changing, everything except boredom, really. The only time he's ever changed changed is in Molment of Clarity, where he's a lot more terse and seems annoyed the entire time
On top of that, Cold is the most comfortable and intuitive about your godly nature. Poping in at the Tower Fury fight when she calls you noting and he immediately is like "yes,". When going into oblivion, he says it feels like home. He seems to be kinda subconsciously aware of what you are in a way the other voices aren't
So, Cold. The voice that most embodies stagnation, being frozen in time if you will, that seems to grasp the true nature of TLQ the best absolutely hates boredom and is constantly seeking out change. He's constantly seeking out their other half, the Shifting Mound
I think that in the same Wild and Stanger are "a smaller version of me" and "a peek behind the curtain" to the Shifting Mound, Cold is like that to the Long Quiet. He is kinda like TLQ at its most basic, cold, and unmoving, constantly seeking the waves of change to crash upon him. Constantly seeking her, while she constantly seeks him, going around and around getting what their missing from each other
But thats not all!!
Cold talks like the Shifting Mound. They share similar thoughts on what exactly "the end of the world" means
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They also feel similarly about all the horrible things that happen during the game
Cold doesn't care if what he's doing is good or bad, good or bad don't even register on his radar. The only thing that matters to him is new and interesting experiences
A perspective that's also surprisingly close to how the Shifitng Mound feels except she's affected by her emotions and about the other person in this lol
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I don't really have an end point with this, I just think the Cold and Shifting Mound are neat
It's just. So !!!!!!! that the most Long Quiet nothingness voice is both super into their other half as her entire domain and not just a single vessel and sees the world in a parallel way
What if there was a part of me that was so much like you that loved you more than anything that seeked you out in everything??? What then
BTW, can you imagine Cold and Wild together? Cold being plugged into eveyrhing? Connected to the Princess in the most direct way possible. Change would be constantly happening around him because he'd be interconnected to her. He'd be able to feel it all, and maybe her powers would even push through his eternal apathy and make him feel something like Fury did, but even more
Would Wild like that? Like him? Having a rock to wrap around and anchor herself to? Cold doesn't really feel hate except for the Narrator, so him getting mad at her wouldn't knock them out of being connected to each other. Would she drop her sorta mind control that made the voices much more willing to go along with being one than they frankly would otherwise because of this trait of Colds? Would she find his apathetic temperament comforting and grounding, able to keep her from violently trashing from calm to agitated
Unsure, but it think they'd have an interesting dynamic
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fairymousse · 7 months ago
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Omg, been fighting DLC Final Boss for ages, and I think while the lore is kinda shaky, the themes are perfect.
Spoilers below
So, everyone has been talking about how little base game connection Radahn really has to Miquella, which is true. But thematically, it's excellent.
Radahn styles himself after the two Elden Lord's Godfrey and Radagon. We can see evidence of Godfrey being kind, like his tender moment with Morgott, but general consensus is that he is a warmonger and complicit in Marika's order. Radagon as well is idolised, with his red hair being a symbol of pride. Similarly, the Consort Radahn boss fight emulates both of the Elden Lord boss fights. Radahn is silent, like Radagon, and Miquella on his back greatly resembles Serosh on Godfrey's back. Radahn promising lordship to Miquella makes perfect sense, he's emulated Lords his entire life. The refusal to honour the vow probably came from his loyalty to the Golden Order, which is why Miquella planned to have him killed, then revived.
And like, Miquella calls us "lord of the old order", which is true, but as you think about, Miquella's order is drenched in relics of history. For all his promises, his age of compassion mirrors the Minor Erdtree incantation: the kindness of gold without order. He returns to the site of Original Sin, in the Land of The Erdtree's birth, with a lord at his side who emulates previous lords who enforced a previous order. He is recreating an old order, in the hope it will be different this time. Yes, it's built on blood, but it'll all be worth it this time.
Omg even Marika herself harboured doubts about her order, leading her to shatter it to make room for a better one. Miquella removes his own doubts, meaning his flawed order so similar to the previous one, would be eternal.
Miquella's dream of a gentle world is well intentioned. But his plan to get there feels uninterrogated. As does his choice of Lord. To me, I think Radahn promised Miquella when he was still a Fundamentalist, and Miquella clung to it long after his order changed. And how could Miquella change his mind? He cast aside his doubts. (See my post on St Trina for my thoughts about that).
Miquella is a tragic figure, both self-sacrificing and manipulative, in search of an ideal that he cannot meet. The ends couldn't justify the means, and his order could never come to pass, but the dream was pure and kind. It's brilliant.
I wish this was more explicit though. The gut reaction still is to be quite confused.
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badgalsasuke · 3 months ago
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So Kishimoto has talked about how he referenced Raimi's Spider-man movies in the Naruto manga and we all realized he was talking about the iconic upside down kiss that inspired the panel of Sasuke looking at Naruto under the rain
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If you've read Naruto and watched Raimi's Spider-man trilogy then you would not be surprised that Kishimoto likes PeterMJ, after all Raimi used several romantic tropes that Kishimoto also likes and implemented in his own work.
So I've decided to make this post drawing the similarities between both couples.
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Both relationships are the core of their respective stories. Kishimoto states that without Sasuke there is no Naruto, and the story would be over in ten chapters. In Raimi's Spider-man, the first thing Peter Parker tells us is that his story revolves around a girl, Mary Jane Watson.
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2. Compassion for the outcast: Both Naruto and Peter Parker start their series as outcast losers who are made fun of by their peers and subjected to their cruelty. Mary Jane is the first person we see show compassion towards Peter with no ulterior motive; she demands for the bus to stop after Peter had been chasing them for blocks begging them to stop. Similarly, Sasuke is also the first person (as in a peer, not a father figure) in the manga to show compassion to Naruto; their team had been ordered to not share food with Naruto after he broke some rules of a test, otherwise they'd be all failed and their careers as ninjas would end. Sasuke didn't care about this and still fed him anyway after seeing how hungry he was.
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3. Both MJ and Sasuke are Peter and Naruto's driving forces. In the spider-man movie when Aunt May is at the hospital, Peter and MJ share a very heartfelt conversation where Peter says the following:
The great thing about Mj is… when you look in her eyes and she’s looking back in yours everything feels not quite normal because you feel stronger and weaker at the same time, you feel excited and at the same time terrified. The truth is you don’t know what you feel except you know what kind of man you wanna be, is if you’ve reached the unreachable and you weren’t ready for it.
In Naruto ch. 319 we see Naruto training a new technique but failing during the day. Then, at night he sees a shooting star, takes his hand to his heart and thinks about Sasuke, that's when he decides to get up and continue training all night, the next day he's finally been succesful in his new technique and Kakashi acknowledges his driving force is Sasuke. Sasuke inspires and moves Naruto to become the ninja he wants to be.
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Other examples of MJ and Sasuke being the driving forces of the MC are in Spider-man 2 Peter loses his powers when he thinks Mary Jane no longer loves him and wants nothing to do with him, but after she asks him to meet him in a café and confesses she wants to kiss him because she believes she still loves him, he regains his powers immediately and is able to detect with his re-gained spidersense Doc Ock has just thrown a car at them.
And in Naruto's ch. 647-648 we see a defeated and exhausted Naruto losing hope on winning the war they're fighting, then Sasuke jumps in and without needing to give a grand speech and simply saying "That's all you got? I'm just getting started" is able to move Naruto and encourage him to keep fighting to the point when Naruto shares his chakra with everybody else they all see his thoughts and sense his feelings on how important Sasuke is for him.
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Hehe Naruto is crazy for Sasuke. This is such an insane thing to do lmfao.
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4. Going berserk for their loved ones. In the first Spider-man movie Peter is being defeated by the Green Goblin and he tells Peter: "Had you not been so selfish, you're little girlfriend's death would've been quick and painless but now that you've really pissed me off I'm gonna finish her nice and slow. MJ and I... we're gonna have a hell of a time". After this, Peter Parker became furious and almost beat the Green Goblin to death. Then, in Spider-man 2, Doc Ock attacks Peter and MJ then tells Peter to find Spider-man otherwise he'll peel the flesh off MJ's bones, Peter Parker who had lost his powers, once again becomes furious.
In Naruto's case, in ch. 27 we see how Haku almost kills Sasuke but Naruto believed he had managed to kill him so for the first time in his life, he unleashes the Kyuubi powers and almost kills Haku. Then again, in ch. 291 Naruto unleashes 4 tails of the kyuubi after Orochimaru calls Sasuke "My Sasuke-kun".
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5. Miscommunication between the main character and their loved one. Throughout the Spider-Man trilogy we see Peter and MJ struggle to communicate with each other. Peter in particular, is unable to tell Mary Jane he loves her because he's also Spider-man and he believes that'd put her in danger, but he never explains to MJ the situation so she's left not knowing if Peter loves her for certain or not and she also doesn't understand all this back and forth he puts her through.
Kishimoto is a sucker for the miscommunication trope, he loves that shit and in his manga that's basically what's moving the plot forward. Throughout the entire manga Naruto is discovering what his true feelings for Sasuke are but he's never truly clear whenever he tries to explain them to Sasuke, hence why the latter is constantly asking Naruto why is he doing everything he does for him, basically going "what are we?" lol
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thr0wnawayy · 4 months ago
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"Canon" Perception: Why MHA's World Building SUCKS!
I figured I'd make this post because it's about time I discussed my views on "Canon" or as I like to call it
The Vanilla-verse
Why?
Because Hori's version of events feel like he opened a choose your own adventure game and clicked the most straight forward options available.
Quirk Awakenings Make No Sense (JJK mentioned)
@bibibbon might like this one.
It's no secret MHA's world building is, lackluster. It feels empty.
Characters not allowed to speak out or back against favored ones, Plot lines dropped, Victims shuffled off to the side.
But where Hori fails most of all is his power system:
But first Jujitsu Kaisen
Similar to Hori, Gege (I hope I spelled that right) also struggles with world building.
Firstly the concept of Cursed Spirits.
Monsters being created from "bad" or negative emotions can work as a concept. But it also heavily depends what is considered bad.
It could allow for the tackling of what makes emotions "bad" and tie in with the shows setting of a restrictive society that forces people to either mold to the pressure or be crushed by it.
Suppressing their true selves and emotions in favor of fitting in with the norm. (to evade social subjugation)
Instead, it demonizes what is a fundamentally intrinsic part of human existence, if nor most sapient life.
It also brings up too many questions that go unanswered: Like the historical implications. If spirits have been around for so long, then why aren't places like Japan (with it's bloody history and bleak present) overrun with then.
Why are spirits trying to replace humanity if humans act as the sole reason for their existance. After all: No Humans = No Cursed Energy = No Sprits
What exactly counts as a "negative" emotion and how much does it take to give birth to a cursed spirit. Stuff like that doesn't seem to have an answer.
[This is also coming from someone who has never interacted with JJK in their life]
Similarly Hori has the same problem with almost every detail in the Vanilla-verse. Stuff like: Eri's bullets, Quirk Singularity, Trigger and so, so much more is never elaborated on.
So pray tell, why did I chose Quirk Awakenings to be the subject of this section.
Because they prove that Hori has no idea what he is doing.
Quirk Awakening or QA's might just he the most frustrating thing in MHA. Doesn't matter if it's in Hori's-verse or someone else's.
It hardly fucking ends well and that's because it's so broad.
Take Himiko's quirk awakening.
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At first glance, it seems alright. A tad off but not something to raise hell about.
That is until you look at her quirk.
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Transformation is a quirk that relies on blood to work, Himiko cannot copy quirks partially because quirks are stored in the DNA of an individual and Transform can only copy the outward appearance of a person.
She needs to learn the individuals mannerisms and habits on her own, she doesn't achieve those by the default of her quirk.
(The same could be argued for her voice, it would be much more impressive if she trained it)
It would make much more sense then, for the evolution of her quirk to allow her to better mimic people. Expanding the scope of who and what she could change into and how accurately she could become a subject.
It also would fit the theme of 'becoming who you love' with the saying 'imitation is the sincerest form of flattery'
Instead, though. Hori decided to make her AFO lite and it is broken.
If she copies AFO, does she obtain his quirks?
Would her quirk awakening account for other quirk awakenings. Say she transforms into Shigaraki would she be as strong as him post MVA or would she be stuck with USJ-level Decay?
Ignoring the blatant retcon-ex machina of it being dependent on Himiko's connection (not like it mattered during the Forest Camp Raid!), It is massively over powered and it doesn't fit Himiko's themes.
Now, let's look at Twice.
Twice's quirk (Double) allows him to produce identical copies of anyone through a sludge like substance that excretes from the palms of both his hands.
Each copy is a little weaker than the original, if a copy makes a copy then that fragility doubles.
Twice's quirk is ties to his character by his trauma. To the point he's so fearful of turning to sludge, that he actively goes out of his way to avoid conflict.
This guy had to watch himself kill himself, clone against clone and until MVA, Twice isn't even sure he's the original.
Twice's quirk awakening works.
It works solely because of Twice's character and themes, it simply fits.
It makes sense, Twice was so traumatized that he actively suppressed a part of himself and by breaking through that barrier he can begin to grow stronger by accepting himself.
Twice's quirk awakening works because the peice were always there. It wasn't that Twice pulled this out of his ass, he earned it.
He not only unlocked a part of himself, he came back stronger. In this way the formula works
Quirk + Effort/ Character Growth = Stronger Quirk.
Rather than replace or rebuild, Twice's QA works with what was already present and it comes off wonderfully.
I wish I could say the same for our next "challenger"
I have plenty of complaints about Shigaraki as a character, plenty.
His quirk awakening is certainly up there, not on the top. But it's up there.
It takes the weaker aspects of what I mentioned above and uses it as a crutch.
Besides Shigaraki remembering and accepting his past, this QA has nothing going for it.
It's almost boring.
There's only so much you can do with a quirk like Decay.
All it does is expand the speed and radius. And while that works for what Decay is, a quirk made to destroy things. It's really boring from a story perspective.
Seeing Deika and later Jaku was cool, but just that, cool. It only really served to push things forward and what it pushed was horrendous.
Stepping away from the narrative side, let's discuss the In-Universe side.
Post MVA Decay has two advantages. It spreads really fast and it makes things explode:
So why doesn't it work like Twice's did?
Themes. Nothing about Shigaraki's QA ties in with the themes expressed in MVA.
As the protagonist of the arc, we should feel a connection with Shigaraki, but we never do. Mainly because we don't get that much time with him.
Besided the bonding he does with the LOV we are given little reason as to why Shigaraki ticks like he does, there's little to no theme-ing with Shigaraki.
Doctor Garaki says it best with this line:
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What does Shigaraki have to show us outside of his past and the PLF.
Hardly anything.
We know he's an avid gamer and likes to destroy things.
That's it.
Even Magne had something before she died, somekind of concrete goal that aligned with her character.
Tomura has nothing we can attach that to and as such his QA falls flat.
And this set the standard for every other quirk awakening in the series, no I'm not counting that monstrosity Hori bulled with Bakugo .
Uraraka's, Midoriya's, Shoto's (implied) Awakening, they all fall flat because they don't match the themes that were set literal years ago. Hori doesn't know how QA work despite having written them.
If your at the point where you, as a writer, don't understand your own in-universe system. Then maybe it's time you take away some stuff.
Why Shigaraki fails as a antagonist (featuring: Nine and Hana)
I already brushed the surface of this topic in the last segment. I'll elaborate on it here.
Shigaraki sucks as an antagonist. I don't like to use Reddit due to the attitudes on there but had found something while looking for information.
I managed to find a post that I think sums up my issues with Shigaraki pretty well, even if I don't agree the rest of the post (mainly blaming Shigaraki for Hori's failures)
The main one being what is the LOV even doing?
Spinner brings up a good point why do they even follow Shigaraki, what can he provide them as a leader that they can't get by sticking it out on their own.
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Shigaraki is spoon fed practically everything and once you notice, it kills any possibility of him being taken seriously.
Let's see:
Dabi, Himiko: brought in by Giran, AFO's associate.
Spinner, Mangne, Compress: Came aboard under the false pretense that Shigaraki had cooperated with Stain.
Gigantomechia: Kurogiri has to draw him out, gets arrested while doing so.
The MLA: Has to gain a quirk awakening just to match ReDestro's output and ReDestro hands him the keys almost immediately. Only reason the merger happens is because ReDestro and Spinner planned it.
Every single goddamn thing in this story is because of factors external to Shigaraki. He literally stands around until Garaki gives him a new quest-line like a fucking Bethesda NPC.
It was understandable in the USJ because Shigaraki needed to be introduced. He was at his base form and needed to grow, except that growth never happens.
The story just dances around him, he doesn't need to try because Hori will just force things to happen.
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The entire Jaku arc is him throwing a tantrum and the benefits just falling onto his lap. It is sheer luck that the public made that correlation.
Because the Nomu's behavior don't line up at all with Stains ideals. Nor does Shigaraki's "philosophy", and that was what partly triggered the whole Hosu arc in the first place!
Realistically nearly every member of the LOV should have turned tail the moment they met Shigaraki in person and spent time with him for over five minutes.
The LOV only exists and works because Shigaraki takes the backseat.
The entire Camp Raid, the focus is on everyone but Shigaraki who does fuck-all until Bakugo gets captured and we see him at the bar.
You could pluck Shigaraki from the arc and nothing would change because the central focus was on Dabi and the Vanguard Action Squad. How is anyone supposed to take Shigaraki seriously, when he is second fiddle to his own team.
And it's pretty much the same in the Overhaul Arc what does he direct contribute?
Again, nothing. I've heard the term 'Talk no jujitsu' used and it perfectly encapsulates his response to Himiko's anger.
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No one in the LOV has any reason to believe him, to put faith in him because the fuck up was so colossal.
Let's review:
Shigaraki knew someone (someone important, a villain) was coming, made no plan if things went south. Dabi had actually left the base to recruit on Shigaraki's orders! Meaning that Shigaraki is primarily to blame for the casualties dealt during this fight.
Already bad, but maybe he does something to reaffirm their belief in him as a leader. Nope.
His revenge plan hinged on Overhaul not deciding to kill two of his team members on a whim, or use them as bargaining chips. Sends them directly into enemy territory with no resources.
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Put his teammates on a position where they are forced to kill a hero in order to evade capture, making them a priority target for society at large* and further pushing them away from possible resources. (*A society, mind you that openly mutilates and kills outlaws)
His relationship with his team members is near non existant: from the Reddit Post
Spinner. Shigaraki plays videogames with him off-screen. Never even shows any concern for his whereabouts after Spinner starts losing his mind and almost goes full Nomu off of his quirks.
Kurogiri. Shigaraki never shows any wonder or comment as to Kurogiri's presence, despite the fact that Kurogiri was his babysitter for a long time and he apparently missed him after his capture.
Mr. Compress. Shigaraki never shows any wonder or concern as to his capture.
Dabi. Shigaraki never interacts with him in any way that suggests real friendship.
Toga. Shigaraki never interacts with her in any way that suggests real friendship.
Twice. Shigaraki never shows any kind of wonder or any concern as to his death.
Magne. Shigaraki never interacts with her in a way that suggests real friendship. Side Note: he never really reacts to her death either.
Y'wanna know who does have a relationship with his team?
Nine:
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Nine might be one of the few characters Hori has ever created that managed to make me give a shit about them outside of alternative (or fanon) materials.
He is everything Shigaraki tried to be as a character:
A solid goal: To create an ideal world for his allies and himself where their idea of the 'strongest' rule.
Connections: Everything Nine does, he does himself. His teammates ate intertwined with hin through their history, he actually saved Chimera's life and it's implied he also did this for Slice and Mummy.
Effort: Nine puts himself in harms way numerous times for the sake of his allies and their mission. He even goes through with Garaki's experiments knowing he will likely wind up as the experiment himself.
Nine is phenomenal for what he was: A character from a spinoff movie.
youtube
And then he was killed.
God Fucking Damn it Hori.
===============================
Something that always bothered me about the defaced All Might statue was the laziness of it all.
In a way it reflected the direction MHA was headed, headlong into a kerosene coatdd dumpster.
I Am Not Here.
That's the best thing you could come up with? The falling action of the Arc and all you could conjure was that!?
When MHA ended, I said no, no fuck that and began putting some of the concepts I had made during MHA's decline to good use.
The logical conclusions went into Crownless Monarchy. Which serves as a continuation to what Hori failed for finish.
The rest?
The rest had been going into a side project of mine called:
I Am Nowhere
Or Nowhere for short.
Total Timeline Derailment is a phenomenon I noticed pop up in specfic works.
It occurs when an author throws out all stages of canon in favor of crafting their own story and shedding the limitations of the source material.
The story of Nowhere starts off modestly, following an alternative line of events where Hana's quirk causes a much larger scale massacre upon it's blossoming and the expands to show just how different this universe really is.
Such changes include: Hana's quirk being named and shown:
Soundwave: evolution of Nana's quirk and takes inspiration from Hana's name meaning (Flower)
Present Mic and Jirou losing their quirks in their youth (or as an infant in Jirou's case)
Himiko's parents making a deal with the Symbol of Evil himself.
Expanding upon Doctor Garaki's past and friendship with AFO.
The Yakuza going a different route (Overhual gets a new brother)
An alternate USJ: Christmas came early
AFO and Garaki both having successors.
And a ton of other things I need to flesh out more!
One may wonder what this has to do with my critiques on Hori's canon.
Besides being a pitch of sorts, this allows me to elaborate on how Hori seems to make mistakes one wouldn't expect of someone with as many years under the belt as Hori.
The one thing Hori always forgets is consequences. In Nowhere, Consequences are everywhere.
Enji shipping Rei off to the mental ward to cover up his abuse?
AFO takes interest and decides to pull some strings to get Rei transferred to Jaku General.
UA slacks on security?
Ok! Just let Hana bring Warmonger (USJ Nomu) along and have her kill Thirteen and nearly kill All Might in the same hour. Oh, and Himiko is playing the insider (of her own volition)
Bakugo rejects Midoriya's hand?
His abuses attract the attention of the Pale Sculptor herself, leading to him loosing both his parents in a "gas leak" ignited when Marsaru clapped his hands and caused an mini explosion to occur. [They get Rei's version of Nomufication] setting Nomufication forward by a decade in the process.
Ideally this story won't leave things out. Speaking of that I have one last thing to discuss
The whole debacle with the Winged Nomu and how some people don't know that it's apparently supposed to be Tsubasa
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(yk the obscure character who only shows up twice and who we didn't get a name for until said reveal)
"What a Bomb to Drop", yeah it would have been better to "drop" it without needing to cram it into volume extras.
That right there is what gets me about Hori's writing, the lack of storytelling.
We shouldn't have an entirety different series just to understand why a character is they way they are (I'm looking at you Oboro)
I will say Vigilantes is leagues above it's parent series, even with the glaring flaws that plauge it.
Moral of the story: LEARN TO WRITE!
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sincerelyneo · 4 months ago
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i don’t know how to properly articulate my feelings at the moment so let me just rant.
when sm announced that they’d be making a new boy group (riize) i was super excited; especially since the group was set to debut shotaro and sungchan (ex members of nct) who i really liked. and when the group eventually debuted and had good music i was fully ready to tune in and support those boys.
however, when seunghan’s hiatus was announced, my feelings toward the group shifted. all the content and new music just felt off, like there was sad tension around it. for me this was weird because i consider myself ot7, and i love those other six boys a lot (don’t get me wrong), but for me, i couldn’t fully support the group on principle.
this was because every time i saw content of the group i had this gnawing feeling in my mind that would ask the question ‘in what world is it acceptable to punish and penalise a person for having a life?’ people keep pointing out that seunghan was a teenager in those pre-debut photos that were leaked (without his consent, btw), as if it changes anything. whether he was 17, 23 or 40, having romantic relationships is normal, and the fact that he’s being punished for that is just disgusting and disappointing.
i was really excited yesterday when seunghan announced his return. i even thought about officially launching a separate blog that i’ve been working on for riize, which i’d put on the back burner since i was keeping my support minimal. but now, with him withdrawing from the group, it’s honestly left me feeling sick.
i really do love those boys, but i can’t support the group in good conscience—and i feel guilty about it. i think it’s because it’s obvious those boys aren’t being protected. it makes me wonder if the fandom and company would turn their backs on another member if their privacy was similarly violated. that’s what i mean when i talk about it on a principle level.
this whole situation feels dystopian, honestly. it’s insane. and sm keeps allowing it to happen—like with karina apologizing for her relationship not long ago. it’s heartbreaking to see talent and hard work thrown away because people can’t accept that idols are real human beings with lives and emotions, not products to buy and sell.
this is so rambly, and i hope it made sense. i’m just really frustrated by the news and disappointed. and like i said, i still love all seven of those boys, but i’m struggling to fully support the group knowing that sm and these fans have ruined a man’s career without a shred of remorse or care. it’s terrifying, truly.
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muffinsin · 4 months ago
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Hi muffin!
Can you please do a dimitriscu fam x age reg r?
Except r is around 19 so in general she's also the youngest and she never had a loving mother so she lives to call alcina mama a lottttttt.
Let's say she was abused by her previous family a lot, little to no food, made to clean ho after them, not allowed to eat at the table and made to sleep outside at some point. And the Dimitriscu family undoes each one of the damage slowly
(Ur fics are so comforting, I hope you have a good day )
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Awhhh, absolutely! Some platonic loving and fluff is super needed, I feel XP I’m happy to see my work bringing comfort🙇‍♀️!
Let’s get into it :)
Masterlists
Arriving at the castle, you didn’t have high hopes
In fact, following the whispers and rumors heard in the village, you were sure you wouldn’t last one month
Hell, they called it. The devil’s den
Full of monsters
A place bringing only despair. Blood, and death. Pain, helplessness. Isolation
Yes, there is pain, and death, and isolation
But, that isn’t quite the whole story
Sometimes, innocent maids are hurt
Often, they are not nearly as innocent as the villagers and other maidens like to make them out to be, some outright trying to hurt the castle’s inhabitants directly or indirectly
You don’t want to hurt them, and not only because you’re sure they’re able to kill you instantly, should they choose to
No, you… you find humanity in them, more than you have in the villagers and maidens around you, more than you have found in your parents
Alcina Dimitrescu is…stern. But not mean
She expects loyalty, and efficiency. She expects the staff to do their work, to think critically when needed and obey mindlessly at other times
Bela Dimitrescu, you find, thinks similarly, not standing for incompetence and laziness
Cassandra Dimitrescu cares little for the maids, seeing them as playthings only. And still, you find humanity even in her
You see how bored she is, how very annoyed at times
Knowing this, you’ve never once been at the receiving end of her blade, staying away when you sense she’s frustrated, offering and listing things to do that you’re sure the sadist will like when she gets a little too close
And lastly, Daniela
She’s the first to have truly interacted with you
While attempting to flirt at first, quite usual for the redhead, her gaze shifted after a little while of talking to you
While described as manic and dangerous, you find Daniela is the most like a human, desperate for love and happiness
She’s eager to have conversations with you, to genuinely get to know you
She’s curious about your life, even tells you a little of hers
At the beginning of your time working at the castle you already find a friend in her, finding it easy to talk to her
With her cheery, youthful attitude and behavior, it’s easy to see she’s the youngest, easy to imagine she isn’t all that much older than you, years instead of centuries
Then, one day it changes, when the castle is attacked by lycans hunting in the nearby woods
You know the procedures, know what to do, have been trained
Yet, raw fear is what’s eating you alive, fear you haven’t felt since leaving your family to work at the castle
And abandoning all instructions, you decide to hide in the nearest room you could find
A room that just happens to be Alcina Dimitrescu’s private chambers
For most, this would mean a swift death. The staff is not welcomed into any private chambers unless specifically selected and tasked to enter them
Alas, even when the abnormally large woman stands before you, her claws out, she recognizes you as the little human befriending her lonely, youngest daughter
The loyal one, Daniela calls you
The sweet one
The honest one
The young one
And looking at your face, the matriarch immediately saw it. Your youth. Your fear. Your helplessness. Your desperation that drove you to hide out here
She pulls in her claws again, looking you over
Such a little face, such fear in your wide eyes
This is no place for a thing as young as you
Who of her staff has employed you?! You’re barely of age
When the door rattles and another lycan is heard breaking into the other side of it, trying to claw its way in, she does what comes instinctively for her, even when back then she doesn’t yet know why
You squeak in surprise and terror as you’re lifted, high off the ground, just out of reach when the door eventually gives in
Instead, you’re safe as the few Lycans at the other side are slaughtered easily, hiding away your face to spare yourself the brutal display of metallic claws digging through fur and flesh
You realize; she’s holding you by your waist, has gently raised you to her hip, where you can hold onto her shoulder for balance and hide in the fabric of her dress as growls are all that is still heard before the lycans die down
Alcina, on her part, feels- odd
The way you cling onto her dress in fear, hide away, the way you feel fitted against her
It reminds her of the times her three daughters were but newborns, clinging to her as she carried them, their little legs, while adult sized, not nearly strong enough to hold them up yet. How they had wobbled unsteadily like baby deers, holding onto their Mother and whining and screeching to be lifted when they inevitably became irritated at their inability to walk just yet
You aren’t one of them
And still…
You feel so familiar in her arms
So right
Like you are hers. Like you do belong to her
She thought she saved you for Daniela, thought she saved you to keep her daughter’s one friend alive. Alas, that isn’t the only or main reasoning behind her action
Instinct, rather, which she feels again now Alcina feels your little, human hands on her dress, holding tight even as you’re too shy to ask to be let down or to ask to stay with her
You want to stay
She saved you
She’s holding you so…kindly
You feel safe, maybe the first time in your life
Never has your family held you like this. So…gentle
You can tell she’s holding back her strength on purpose to avoid hurting you, easily displayed by how quickly she destroyed the intruding lycans
As though stuck in this position, you only hold onto her as she walks out the room, ducking too when she ducks through the doorway and reaching up automatically to hold her hat for her when it dares slip from her
At this, you hear a surprising, new sound
Laughter
Fond laughter
No mocking is evident in her tone, only wonder and fondness, even glee
You can’t help but blush, and when you’re sure she isn’t looking, hide back against her shoulder
Against her, you feel and are so incredibly small, held easily with one hand, lifted high above the ground and all threats
You’re brought to a room you don’t recognize, though soon figure out it must belong to Daniela by the many romance books on the shelves, the fluffy pillows and unorganized mess on the ground
Embarrassingly, you almost whine when you’re set down on the bed, losing the comforting touch of the older woman
You refuse to make a sound, can’t make a sound, only look up with wide, somewhat teary eyes
You can’t help that, even as you actively force yourself not to reach for her again already
You’re scared, and don’t want her to leave
As if sensing this, her large hand raises, and your cheeks burn up when the woman cups your face in her hand
This comfort…you can’t help but let a few tears drop, utterly overwhelmed by your fear of the lycans and the strangeness of the situation
Never have you heard of any of the ladies of the castle treating a human like this, except maybe a lover
You know though, a lover isn’t what the older woman sees in you. Still, you don’t yet know what she sees instead
“You will be safe here, little one”, she promises, her voice sure and steady. You gulp, nodding at her words
You don’t know what else to say, what else to do. Can only obey as you have all your life
She shoots you an involuntary smile, the soft kind that is normally only reserved for her precious daughters
When she leaves the room and blocks the door behind her, you immediately miss her
You frown, confused
You don’t even know her that well, know practically nothing about her
Oh; but you felt so, so safe in her arms
You sit in the large, comfortable bed for a little bit, but soon get up, feeling guilty and wrong for being in such a nice room, such a nice bed
You know, this isn’t yours
This is Daniela’s
Will she be furious to find you here?
You whimper as your own thoughts threaten to overwhelm you
Instead, you decide to help out, cleaning the messy room and putting lost books back onto the shelves and pencils back to the desks, clothing to the closet or a pile at the corner of the room, pillows back into the bed
You think, Daniela will like it. You know how she wants her things cleaned by now, know she doesn’t necessarily care about a specific pattern and organization system like her eldest sister
Hours pass, the monstrous sounds from the outside of the room slowly dying down a little
You jump when flies surround you, flinch when arms wrap around you
“You’re okay!”
Huh?
You find yourself smudged against Daniela’s chest, the one disadvantage to your clear height difference, whining a little as you try to turn your head away
She giggles at this, but doesn’t release you
“You’re fussy today!”
You almost immediately freeze up, thinking she’s scolding you, but her tone is light and her words accompanied by giggles
She holds you tight, but her grip is not too tight, doesn’t hurt you
“I just wanted to check on you, little one. We’re almost done!”, she promises
You’re so confused…do they all care for you?
Why?
Simply because you’re considered Daniela’s friend?
When no response comes from you, the redhead simply talks again
“Oooo, you cleaned my room! Perfect!”, she coos, giggling when she grabs one of the daggers you found and placed on her desk
Then, something unexpected
You freeze when she leans down, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead
Your eyes nearly go cross trying to see, and your cheeks are bright pink when she pulls away
Immediately, she coos and cups your warm cheeks
“Sit tight, little one!”, she giggles as she swarms off again, leaving you flustered and confused yet again
Standing still for a few moments, you eventually manage to move again, until you stand at the mirror and see the black lipstick mark left on your forehead
For the first time she feels less like your friend, but rather- familiar
Almost like the older sister you always wished you had, the caring and loving kind, the one to protect you from the cruelty of this world and your family
You never got this lucky, sadly
But…it feels so nice, you don’t even brush the lipstick mark from your forehead
Staying in her room, you find there isn’t much to do, really
You don’t want to snoop around, don’t want to touch Daniela’s things without permission
You sit at her desk, try hard not to touch anything of hers
That is, until your eyes catch sight of the little bottle standing on her shelf
Could it be?
You rise from the chair you’re sat on, gently hold the small bottle in your hand
Soap bubbles?
Despite your worry regarding touching her things, you just can’t resist
You unscrew the top and coo at the shape and the soap glistening inside of it
Blowing, your eyes widen at the colorful bubbles now floating through the room
You giggle happily, blowing some more
Never have you felt this happy, this carefree. Never, unless maybe before, carried and held tight to Alcina Dimitrescu’s large and warm body
You playfully poke one of them, giggling as it pops
And another. Another
You blow more, set the bottle down and chase them around the room eagerly
When you manage to catch them all, you blow more, more and more
The beautiful, colorful bubbles move about in the room, and you can’t help but chase them yet again
Only when you’re about to climb the bed to reach the highest ones, the door opens
Startled, you nearly fall off the large, high bed. In fact, you’re sure you do, even squeal in shock and close your eyes, bracing for impact
Only does it never come
Strong arms hold you, catching your body just before you fall
When you look up, you find Cassandra staring down at you, her eyebrow raised, her face smeared with blood as usual
Your bottom lip quivers automatically, assuming you might just be next
Alas, pain does not greet you
In fact, noticing your reaction, she lifts you almost gentle, settling you to sit at her hip. With your height difference, you find you sit even rather comfortably, if not as comfortable as you were by her mother’s hip
You’re rocked, soon find comfort wash over you
You’re so exhausted, having worried for the past hours, cried at every little noise from outside the room
You can’t help but rest your head against her shoulder, can’t help but raise your hand to your face and suckle at the tip of your thumb softly
Perhaps, you will die, as the many villagers and maidens predicted, as your family teased
But you’re so comfortable, so happy to be held for the second time in your life, you can’t bring yourself to care or even to pull away
Listening to the buzzing sounds of Cassandra’s blowflies, you feel your eyes sleep shut and sleep take you, exhaustion and worry at last catching up to you
When you awaken, it’s on top of something comfortable and warm, soft and hard just the right amount
You think you’re alone for a moment, but then voices prove you wrong
Even before you can open your eyes, you recognize Daniela’s voice
“Is she up yetttt? I want to play with her, Mother!”
What?
Then, another voice. Lady Bela
“Will you calm yourself, Dani? You know you aren’t supposed to play with her yet. You’ll just hurt her!”
A scoff. A sound that implies Daniela just stuck her tongue out at her sister and exhaled sharply. Met with a playful shriek
“Nuh uh! I won’t! I hugged her before and she was completely fine!”
And lastly, another voice, deeper and more mature than the one of the sisters
“Calm yourself, dragas, and don’t forget yourselves. Such little humans are sensitive”. She speaks as if she’s looking at one sister directly. Daniela or Cassandra, if you had to guess
And still, you don’t quite understand
You open your eyes and blink away the exhaustion, finding your cheek smudged against a soft, white fabric
Pondering on it for a moment, you recognize it as Alcina’s dress even before you lift your head and find out, to your surprise, embarrassment and slight horror:
You’re right on Alcina’s lap, dozing when you should 100% be at work
You scramble up immediately despite the remaining exhaustion you feel, causing all of their attention to shift to you
The smile Alcina shoots you…you almost can’t take it, it’s so sweet, so gentle
You flinch automatically when a body throws itself against your back, a little too enthusiastic, a little too playful and eager to talk to you again
In your tired state, you’re somewhat shameless, automatically squeaking as you lunge forwards, gripping onto the front of Alcina’s dress as you press yourself against her
She coos only, whereas you hear a few giggles from behind you
Flustered, you merely stay as you are, whimpering and trying to resist the urge to bite into the soft fabric at your face
You find yourself turned though, held gently on top of the tall woman’s comfortable lap. You’ve never felt so small, so little in mind and body, surrounded by women older, taller, and oddly caring
Your eyes meet the dark golden ones of Cassandra, then drop down to her hands, lazily playing with her sickle. She sends you a smile, more genuine than you have ever seen her wear before
Flustered, you turn to watch Bela, draped along the sofa with her younger sister, her head in Cassandra’s lap, her eyes closed as though ready to fall asleep
And lastly, Daniela, halfway on top of her mother’s lap too, smiling and waving at you
Shyly, you wave back at her
You feel a large arm wrap around her, gentle fingers holding you
You’re so confused; what’s happening? Why are you here? Is this the end?- it doesn’t feel like the end. It’s warm and comfortable, happy even
You feel Daniela hug you first, her grip tight at first, but she quickly holds you a little gentler when Alcina reminds her to mind her strength
“We’ll have so much fun together!”, she cheers
You only nod, unsure what she means by this
Then, she turns, and you giggle as she swarms over to Bela upon seeing her asleep. Being the younger sister she is, she shakes her sister’s shoulders roughly, laughing in delight when she’s chased in return
You watch them all for a moment, content to blend into Alcina. Despite somewhat knowing them, you can’t help but feel shy and out of place
Ignoring the two women’s bickering- which eventually drives them to tackle each other and roll onto Cassandra’s lap, who joins in hissing and growling- the tall woman lifts you a little
You find yourself on face level with her, your wide eyes looking into her golden ones
You even see your reflection in them and must resist the urge to wave at it
“Tell me about yourself, little one”, she asks- or demands? You aren’t too sure, but don’t question her either
Being too exhausted and confused to be anything but truthful, you tell her everything, tell her about your family and how they sent you off to die at the castle the moment you outgrew your use
You wish you could tell her more, could tell her of interests of yours, about your friends
But you weren’t encouraged to explore, to express yourself, to define interests, to make friends
As such, you have painfully little information you can provide her with, but she doesn’t seem to mind
Her heart breaks to hear your family abandoned you, yet, a flash of possessiveness sparks within her too
She doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why now; but she must have you
She wants to hold you, day and night, your precious eyes set on her, to keep you safe and happy
But Alcina Dimitrescu has lived long, far too long to play and act coy or insecure, and far too noble and powerful to ask for permission
You’re hers, she has decided, and claims so out loud, too, something you assume the three sisters have known ever since she left you in Daniela’s room, thus the reason the castle’s sadist was so uncharacteristically gentle with you
“You’re mine now, little one”
You know the words should scare you, should make you worry
You don’t fully know what they mean, but you know you’ll embrace whatever is to come, pain and happiness alike
From this day on, your relationship to the Dimitrescu family changes dramatically
No longer employed as a maid, you’re given a larger room, nearby Alcina’s and Daniela’s wing
True to her promise and claim, you are Alcina’s, and everyone knows it
Still getting used to the affection they all effortlessly grant you, you like to stick near the head of the family, often sitting rather quiet and merely cuddling into her
Dinners and breakfasts are shared with them, though being the youngest allows you to stick with at least one member of your new family at nearly at times
When Alcina is too busy to even hold you on her lap, you’re allowed to play with Cassandra, usually chasing or playing hide and seek together
She always wins, but you don’t mind. It’s just nice to have someone to play with. A sister, not only to play with you but ready to snarl at all who as much as give you a mean look
When Cassandra is in the basements, there’s still always the option of being with Bela
You find you sleep best around her, her voice comforting, the quiet atmosphere of her room a nice break from the chaos you and your other two older sisters get up to
Often, you’re allowed to sleep on top of her lap, sucking your thumb idly as you do
Sometimes, she even takes a break and reads to you, or teaches you new things
Daniela is always a joy to be around and often makes time for you, giddy she gets to be an older sister at last
One by one, day by day, they slowly help you understand right and wrong, slowly correct the mistakes made in the past
At dinner, you’re allowed a seat at the table, often even allowed to sit on one of your family’s laps instead when you’re feeling clingy
You get to eat as much as you want, yet never have to empty your plate when you don’t want to
You no longer are made to take the leftovers and sit outside, instead feel the warmth and happiness of a family dinner
With Alcina, there is only one rule: no playing with your food, which especially your two older sisters like to break occasionally while Bela scolds them
Unlike with your family, Alcina never gets scary, though, even when they do this
Instead, she drags giggles from you and Bela when she sighs dramatically, rising from her chair and catching the two sisters before they can swarm off
They’re usually held by the hoods of their dresses like misbehaving cats held up by their scruff, whining about this and that until they promise they will be good and are let down again
Alcina never yells at any of you, never hurts any of you
Bela is never mean to you, never mocks you when you don’t understand what she’s saying
You’re still so young, after all
Cassandra, despite her reputation, never gets rough with you, always protects you from pain
She never grants you a look at exactly what she does in the basements, especially after she told some of it to Daniela once and you had nightmares for a few days
And Daniela is never mean to you, never switches up with her moods around you. She teaches you to express yourself, shows you so many things to help you find what you truly like
You feel safe around them
Do you feel loved? Well, you aren’t entirely sure what that feels like. You don’t ever want to lose them, and know they feel the same way. You’re happy to see them, and you know they feel the same way. You trust them, rely on them, you’d protect them with your life
You love your family, and they love you
As even more time passes, weeks turning into months, you too become more comfortable
In the time spent, you’ve become even more comfortable around them all, especially Alcina
While you love your older sisters, you’ve somewhat turned into a Mama’s girl, wanting to be with her at all times, giggling when she playfully tickles you or lifts you high above your head
The first time you refer to her as this, mama, had her shocked in the best way
Curled up by her side and about to fall back asleep after a nightmare, you let the word slip
“Thank you, mama..”
A tiny whisper in the darkness
A whisper enough for her eyes to widen and a huge smile to spread on her lips
Her little one calling her mama!
You don’t quite recall it in the morning, but when she automatically begins referring to herself as your mama, your heart tightens and tears spilled over
She’s your mama, and she’s the best mama in the entire world!
You love to refer to her as this, too, smiling wildly whenever you get to do so
Alcina never grows tired of hearing it, even encourages you by occasionally asking things like “What has mama’s baby got there?” when you’re about to show her something you’ve made for her or even “How does mama’s little one feel today?”
Soon, she comes up with a new nickname for you, calling you her “little cub” to differentiate from “little fly”, a nickname often used on your older sisters due to their biology
You don’t mind at all
With mama being the big mama bear, you’re happy to be her cub
With your mama and sisters by your side, you’ve never felt happier
No more are the days of skipping meals, not when you’re sat at the family table, giggling when Daniela and Cassandra once again make a scene, humming happily when Bela occasionally spoils you and feeds you, or simply smiling and holding onto your mama as you’re cradled once you’re full
No more do you have to sleep outside, having your own room
Still, you find yourself hardly sleeping there, preferring your mama’s bed, or even one of your sisters’ beds when you crave their attention or affections instead
And, no longer must you fear, because you know your family will forever look out for you, forever encourage you, forever love you
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solecize · 11 months ago
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  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.
despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. writing fluff has drained me prepare to only feel pain from this point on
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part four: the routine, the posters and the dancefloor  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist
 ix. the routine
  like many residents in the town, the saloon eventually became apart of your regular weekly routine. you found yourself in a booth every weekend, not necessarily to wind down with a drink on each visit, but to enjoy the company of those around you. after hitting the commencement of your mid-twenties, you lacked a ‘third place’ and a community you could lean on.
  “can you guys pay attention? this is the call to adventure in the hero’s journey,” yoongi snapped, interrupting a poorly hidden conversation between jungkook and namjoon. the two ceased talking in a way a child caught by their mother would. 
  similarly, the saloon served its purpose as a third place to your newfound friends. you learned about a book club hosted bimonthly by yoongi, which you were encouraged to observe, in hopes that they would gain a new member. there was a regular karaoke night, which jimin was apparently the reigning champion of, with the highest score seen amongst patrons. then, there were people like taehyung and seokjin, who came regularly to just participate and engage in whatever was going on that night.
  hoseok, as the manager of the pub, made every other friday fun with themed nights. tonight was salsa night and apparently, he did not warn yoongi of this, who also did not inform hoseok that book club night was moved.
  “i can barely hear you!” jungkook defended himself, hands in the air. 
  you’d been smiling and nodding the entire time in oblivion yourself, as the rapid dance steps and salsa music drowned out most of your surroundings. at least someone spoke up, you just wanted to be polite in consideration of yoongi’s invite to the club. 
  to your left, seokjin was dancing with mrs. oh, who was the middle-aged lady that owned the general store where jungkook worked. he originally arrived as a member of the book club, but was swept away by the addicting beat of salsa. he’d spent the last 10 minutes trying to convince the group to join in.
  “are you guys done now?” seokjin called out, having watched yoongi shut his book in frustration.
  namjoon nudged yoongi. “let’s postpone today’s meeting!”
  you laughed as yoongi made a dismissive gesture, which was cue for everyone to disperse from the corner that the club occupied. the others stood up, presumably to either grab a drink or join in on the festivities. meanwhile, namjoon tapped your arm when you rose, indicating for you to wait.
  “just wanted to check in to see how the farm’s going,” he began. “you know, our families have been close for years, so you’re basically family, too - even if i wasn’t around much during your time here before.”
  you got a sense that namjoon had his head on straight and while grounded, seemed so much bigger than the town. those around you seemed to respect him a lot. his kind attitude showed you why.
  “it’s a work in progress,” were the only words you could use. “i’m very lucky that my mom was looking over the property after my grandpa passed and even more lucky that jungkook was also looking after it.”
  namjoon’s raised eyebrows as if this was the first time he was hearing about this. “oh, he was? dang.”
  it was kind of sweet to think about - jungkook sneaking around to take care of the place out of the goodness of his heart. amidst that, though, it seemed like there was a lot on his plate, so you brought it up to namjoon.
  “yeah, he has jiwon and jiwon’s a good kid, but she’s still a kid to look after. of course, no one wanted to see her split up from jungkook and she would have likely been sent out of town to be matched with a foster family,” he sighed. 
  a few weeks prior, when jungkook first showed up to your front door to fulfill his promise of helping you fix your windows, is when you first began wondering about jungkook’s home life and where jiwon was. you also learned that day about how selfless he really was.
  summer vacation was in full swing by that june morning, with the sun beating you to a pulp and the only thing on your mind being corn season. that, and the anticipation of a handsome man expected on your doorstep at any given moment.
  your day begun at five a.m, but you made your best efforts to not let that show by ensuring your appearance was kempt prior to your visitor’s arrival. after tending to your morning tasks, you soon received the text that jungkook was at the front, as you were elsewhere on the property. specifically, you were fighting for your life attempting to close the garage shut. yet another repair needed to be addressed.
  hey, i’m out back. give me a few.
  it took twenty minutes out of your morning to shower and change into clothes that didn’t smell like cow shit because you didn’t want to look like a mess in front of jungkook. all for it to get ruined getting sweaty from putting all of your bodily strength into a broken garage door. there was no way you were going to admit you did all of that - though, you did mentally prepare yourself when you sent your reply to his text.
  a few minutes passed and you could make out jungkook approaching you from a distance. you waved, even though you wanted him to stay put and not walk all the way around. the sight of him briefly reminded you of when the two of you used your grandpa’s farmland to play hide and seek, running across the same fields you stood on. 
  “oh, i should’ve warned you about that,” jungkook started, putting a slight jog into his step as he came closer. “that garage door broke just before your grandpa passed.”
  you made an exaggerated, wide-eyed expression. “broken? oh, i was just fighting the door for fun, what do you mean?” you made sure your glare intensfied when he laughed at you. “would have been great to mention before i lost years of my life trying to close this thing.”
  “sorry, bunny,” jungkook replied, as he stepped past you carefully and put a hand on your arm as he did so. 
  he looked up at the door from the inside and smiled thinly. you mimicked his moves, trying to make out at what exactly he was inspecting. you knew farm and you knew finance, but you certainly did not know anything about repairing things. 
  “how did my grandpa get the tractor out if this door has been broken?”
  “crop production lowered in recent years because his body couldn’t handle as much. it was a low priority repair because we used the smaller one parked out by the front shed,” jungkook explained. “honestly, it’s quick fix, just looks like the cable and rollers need to be replaced.”
  you shrugged it off and checked the time. “well, this is a problem for another day.”
  as you began walking off, jungkook followed you with the same pace. you genuinely did not want to have another to-do item in your sight before you were finished with the rest of the day ahead of you. a list dedicated to repairs was an idea that you’d been toying around with, but you were afraid of how overwhelming it was going to be.
  “not to rain on your parade, buuut on my way, i noticed that your coop’s fencing might need to be replaced.”
  it was as if he read your mind. you would’ve been frustrated, but the irony was too funny to ignore. you did notice the fencing and it was definitely already on your hypothetical repair list. as a response, you only grunted and moved along.
  as you led him back into the house, the two of you made small talk. it was still odd to you, picking up a friendship where you left it off from thirteen years ago. the dynamic seemed to ease up, the more time you spent together, but you had to remind yourself that it was indeed thirteen years since you last saw jungkook and that meant thirteen years of catching up.
  “so, are you off work today?” you asked, as jungkook brought in a toolbox from the porch. 
  jungkook set his tools down by the front shoe rack, rolling up his sleeves slightly. “kinda. i don’t really have a set work schedule, i’ve just been helping out mrs. oh whenever she needs me. i did tell her i would be busy this morning, though.”
  you met remembered the oh family from when you were younger and they always gave you and jungkook free ice cream and twenty bucks each when you cleaned their store’s front windows. mr. oh was a high-ranking military general and mrs. oh owned the town general store since taking it over from her mother. their youngest son was born the last year you had visited amber valley as a child. 
  “their kid is old enough to man the front counter, huh?” you joked.
  he chuckled. “yeah. he’s in that weird pre-teen phase, though, acting like he’s cooler than everyone and anything. he used to hang out with jiwon all the time and now his new best friend is his ps5.”
  “aw, poor girl.”
  “right? too bad, hope he grows out of it. you know,” jungkook paused, glancing at the picture on the wall, “they reminded me of me and you.”
  the picture was of you, no older than eight, in faded overalls and the toothiest grin. it was untouched when you moved in and must have been framed sometime after you stopped visiting the town, having not recognized it when you came in. you didn’t have the heart to move it, knowing your grandpa put it up while you were gone. 
you weren’t sure what to say. “i hope she’s a better behaved kid than you were,” you remarked teasingly.
  “i was an angel compared to you,” jungkook shot back, rolling his eyes. “but, yeah, she’s a great kid. hardly gives me trouble. besides, anything i’ve ever needed help with? my friends, the oh family, mayor kim - i got the best support in the world.”
  pride and gratitute were intertwined in jungkook’s voice, as if he watched back the last six years before his very eyes. you couldn’t even imagine what that could have looked like. he was so young, just two months younger than you, and the idea of having the responsibility over a child at your age, much less younger, was unfathomable. 
  you didn’t want to push the subject of jiwon too much, knowing the circumstances, but you were appreciative of how jungkook allowed himself to open up to you. you leaned on the wall, listening to him talk about his little sister and it was clear he loved her very much.
  “you’re lucky to have that kind of community around you,” you said.
  “it’s your community, too, now.”
  you didn’t realize it, but you soon had spent a good chunk of time talking to jungkook, as he began the process of replacing your windows. there were other things you had to tend to outside, but the conversation flowed so naturally. at some point, you brewed a fresh pot of coffee and handed a mug to jungkook, interrupting his installation of what he explained was exterior stop moulding. 
  you were nodding your head, listening to him explain his employment situation with the oh family. “that’s real nice of you.” although jungkook had a very flexible schedule, he essentially helped with the operational portion of the store that mr. oh used to cover before he was first deployed overseas.
  “thank you for the coffee - anyway, they did so much for me when i first started taking care of jiwon, of course i would lend a hand.” he took the hot cup gratefully, cautiously taking a sip. “mr. oh hasn’t always been overseas, but even when he comes back, it’s just my full-time job at this point. they pay well and mrs. oh watches jiwon when i need it.”
  you replied, “if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing before you worked at the store?”
when you were little, jungkook had always been academically gifted. he loved books and always used to brag about how he got better grades than you did. you always thought he was the type to leave amber valley and find success elsewhere.
  “honestly, there wasn’t really a ‘before,’ bunny. it kinda just went from me being in high school to me having to look after my sister. i worked part-time with jimin’s family when i was a teenager, sorting fish bait, if that’s what you mean,” jungkook was trying to be light-hearted, but you felt bad. 
  he noted your silence and said, “remember when we were kids and we promised to go to the same university when we grew up? and you’d show me the city instead of me showing you the valley?”
  “that was the plan,” you sighed. you nearly forgot about that and you could vaguely recall a pinky-swear being attached to that promise. “maybe there’s a universe where that happened.”
  in a phone call sometime earlier with your mom, she casually joked that she always thought that you and jungkook were going to get married. she and his mom made that bet when you were kids, mirroring the competitive spirit passed down to the two of you. you tried imagining falling in love with jungkook on campus - study dates in the library and sneaking into each other’s dorm rooms, all while being academic rivals in the lecture hall. 
  the man in front of you was neither the jungkook in your youthful fantasies or the little boy that collected seashells with you. nostalgia and daydreaming were dangerous things that couldn’t be trusted. just like you, he grew up. 
  eventually, you declared yourself a distraction and excused yourself from the living room to take care of the rest of your chores. catching up was nice, but you thought it would be better to take it slow. checking in on jungkook every half hour, it was early in the afternoon when he was finished replacing both sets of windows. 
  the sun was still unforgiving and the humidity was no different. the air conditioning system in your house was mediocre at best and there was a stand fan right where jungkook was working, along with two in the living room. you came in to offer jungkook another water bottle when he excitedly showed you his finished product.
  “not bad, huh?” he folded his arms across his chest.
  you observed his work and shook your head, impressed. “more than ‘not bad,’ jungkook. the new panels look amazing - thank you so much. i really, really appreciate it.” 
  it was hard to believe that he installed brand-new windows in such a short time span and the contrast was especially stark, given how old the broken set was. you’d been prepared to pay him for his work, but he warned you earlier that he would “beat you up” if you did so. something about revenge for spending years throwing rocks at him. 
  he grinned, as he began gathering his tools. you were a bit sad, which confused you until you realized why. however, you decided that this unresolved attraction would best be dealt with on a day where you didn't waste almost two hours talking to the man in question. you still ended up deciding this while staring at the way his tattoos looked against his flexed muscles. 
  “so, i’ll come by again for the fence?”
  “wait, what?” this question snapped you back into reality. the fence? you remembered what jungkook pointed out upon his arrival.
  he looked at you, seemingly feigning confusion. “yeah, you said you’d let me fix the fence.”
  “no, i didn’t. are you messing with me?” you narrowed your eyes at the way he slowly blinked at you. 
  “yeah, you said i can come by sometime in the middle of the week.”
  there was no way you promised such a thing. “you brat, when did i say that?”
  the conversation diverted your attention away from the way jungkook quickly bounced up and was opening the front of your door. he waved you goodbye and that he would text you before you could even process it. you made a beeline from the door, but that man was a damn fast walker.
  “have a nice day, y/n!” he yelled from afar and you could hear the laughter jump out in his tone. he knew what he was doing. 
  from that day on, you continued finding yourself in the whirlwind that was jeon jungkook. it’d been a few weeks and about two days in each week where jungkook has paid you a visit with a different excuse of a repair to “help” you out with. though you knew it was bullshit, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes everytime he greeted you at your front door showed that he knew the same.
  there was a silent agreement between the two of you that no one paid attention to when it was just the two of you in the farmhouse. even though you would have refused back and forth had jungkook actually asked if you wanted help, you took anywhere from one hour to a couple just talking to him. one of the times, he insisted he check the condition of your chimney for you. this occasion was more than obvious for the both of you, as you sat on your grandpa’s stiff, old porch bench the entire time and didn’t seem to mind.
  the routine of jungkook helping you out on the farm was getting dangerous. when you packed up all of your worldly possessions and abandoned your old life, you promised yourself that this was a new chapter for yourself. there was never a man in the picture or the end goal and the last person you thought it would be was the little boy that you once called your best friend.
  on the third day of jungkook’s mission to use your grandpa’s property as a level of house-flipper, you made lunch for the both of you. 
  “it’s really not a big deal, i ate before i came here.”
  jungkook was busy smashing a rail into place with a mallet when you approached. you clutched your cardigans a little closer to yourself, as the wind outside took aback. you looked up and silver clouds muddled in the sky. it was hard to tell because of the lack of sun, but it was nearing two p.m. 
  “you came here in the morning!” you huffed, tapping your feet. 
  it was a great deal of confidence in your chest for you to think that no one was more stubborn than you were. as much as you deflected help from jungkook, you were certainly beating his level of persistence. at this point, you would just have to shove food into jungkook’s mouth for you to take it over the top.
  he made an exasperated sigh. “bro, i forgot how annoying you can get.” even though jungkook stood firm with “helping” you with repairs, he was no match for your insistence.
  “let’s go - chop, chop.” your voice was dry, as you took the hammer from his hand yourself. 
  you turned to place the hammer back into jungkook’s tool box when you felt the first kiss of a storm on your bare legs. the sky never lied. you tilted your head up to meet the clouds again, but this time, the rain was sharp and doubled, then tripled. you heard jungkook call out your name from behind you.
  “this doesn’t look good, let’s go,” he said, taking the denim jacket tied around his waist. the cold sensation lightened on your back and you realized it was because he was holding the jacket between the two of you, with his right arm pulling you to his side and his left arm enveloping your body. 
  a clap of thunder interrupted your daze. you wondered if amber valley always stormed like this in your childhood or if you only embraced the happy, sunny parts. the town lived in your memories surrounded by dazzling waters and a rainbow, just like everything else did when you were nine. 
  you tried keeping up with jungkook’s pace, but your legs were failing. “can you slow down?” you panted. 
  jungkook couldn’t help but snort aloud. “if this was a zombie apocalypse, you’d be dead right now.” when you stomped on his foot with intention, he finally relented and slowed down for you, laughing when he did so. 
  the chicken coop was on the other end of the property from the farmhouse, so you were struggling for several minutes trying to make it back. the whole time, you and jungkook continued laughing at one another and cracking jokes. it made you momentarily forget your surroundings of a growing storm.
  the two of you stumbled onto the back porch, up the steps and nearly fell on top of each other. jungkook tightened his arms around you when he saw that you were about to miss a step and you let out a breathy “thank you” through your giggling. he shook his head and dropped his grip when the two of you made it under the gable roof. you shivered when he did so.
  “you didn’t check the weather forecast?” you wheezed, checking to see if your phone was in your pocket. 
  jungkook defended, “neither did you, genius.” 
  you two paused for a moment, before bursting out into laughter again and you looked out to see the unrelenting rain. when you looked back, you wondered if jungkook was standing this close to you the entire time. you also wondered if he could tell that you were trying not to look at the way his wet t-shirt clung to his body. daring to meet his eyes, you nearly choked on your own breath when you saw that he was looking at you, too. 
  his gaze lowered and then he cleared his throat. “well, that’s too bad. i was making good progress,” jungkook also turned to stare at the grey skies and flashes of lightning.
  “i guess you can just come tomorrow.”
  the statement surprised even yourself when it left your lips. jungkook raised an eyebrow at you, before nodding slowly and the corners of his lips quirked to form that charming, gentleman smile. you couldn’t help but turn around to hide your own smile, instead telling jungkook to stop standing outside like an idiot. the agreement was no longer silent.
  x. the posters
  around your newfound friends, the dynamic between you and jungkook never changed. it did leave less room for tension, though, and you saw more of the upbeat, heart-of-gold jungkook that he displayed for the rest of the world. despite that, some caught on faster than the others.
  “if i knew you guys were going to bicker the entire time, i would’ve just asked someone else. seokjin literally offered. or, actually, i’m pretty sure that even jiwon would have been better than the two of you. doesn’t matter if she can’t reach up that high.”
  the day prior, namjoon asked you if you and jungkook wanted to help him put up posters around town for the midsummer fair. it didn’t occur to you to question why he asked you for jungkook’s presence, but you ended up roping him into it anyway. unfortunately for namjoon, the two of you ended up arguing the entire time.
  “but, i’m right. aren’t i, namjoon?” you prodded. “jungkook’s idea is horrible!”
  jungkook shrugged. “why? it’s eye-catching.”
  “there is no way anyone will agree to dressing up as a clown to hand out fliers. we’re going to scare the kids away.”
  “tell her otherwise, future mayor kim,” jungkook said to namjoon, who groaned. 
  the reason why namjoon was tasked with the promotion of the midsummer fair was simply because his father told him to. it was a town event and he was always expected to lend a hand to whatever his dad needed him for. it seemed like every time he had to do something, it was all performed with reluctance.
  “oh, god. don’t start, you have no idea what speech my dad gave to me earlier today about ‘being a leader,’” namjoon shook his head. 
  you furrowed your brows. “oh, are you planning to run for mayor soon?”
  “definitely not,” namjoon instantly responded, not an ounce of hesitation in sight. “i have a master’s degree in fine arts, the last thing i want to do is be a politician.” the laugh namjoon gave was hollow. 
  “what we would all do to not be trapped here,” murmured jungkook and you almost missed it. 
  your gaze met his and quiet smiles were exchanged. there was an air of comfort grounding the two of you, now that you knew the weight behind those words and jungkook’s sacrifices. you did, however, miss the way namjoon caught this shared smile and turned around, keeping it to himself and letting the moment remain between you two only. 
  xi. the dancefloor
  during salsa night at the saloon, jungkook seemed to be in every corner of the room except yours. it had been a few days since you last saw him, with his latest excuse for the farmhouse being chalking on your silo’s roof. you didn’t even know what that meant, but you stopped arguing the same way he stopped insisting that you didn’t have to make him food. instead, you began texting him about what time he was coming, while he began taking leftovers home, since you always “accidentally” made too much food. 
  you and namjoon continued to chat when jimin breezed by, plopping down beside you. he was sitting off to the side of the dancefloor the entire time, lazily sipping a beer and talking to hoseok.
  “because i would embarrass everyone with my moves,” was jimin’s answer when you asked him why he wasn’t participating.
  namjoon chuckled. “he sounds like he’s joking, but he’s an insane dancer.”
  “it sounds like you’re good at everything, park jimin,” you teased.
  “you know who’s not good at anything?” it seemed like this wasn’t his first beer of the night. “jungkook. he’s horrible at pretending to not look at you. you should go up to him, i think he wants something.”
  there was a sense of confusion, but even with jimin under the influence, you also saw the way namjoon leaned back in his seat. it was as if he was relieved that someone other than himself spoke up about it. turning your head, you immediately caught jungkook’s stare, which he retracted like touching fire. 
  you widened your eyes. “is there something on my face?” 
  “no, you’re just a woman that he likes that’s wearing a nice dress,” jimin deadpanned. 
  “you’re a funny drunk, jimin,” you shook your head, chuckling. what he said didn’t even register in your brain. 
  to your side, namjoon only sighed. he stood up all of a sudden, tugging jimin in the opposite direction. you were confused even more. in a second, jungkook appeared in front of you and your words immediately left your body. 
  “book club over?” he asked, scanning the room to where the others dispersed off to. 
  bewildered at the dissolution of the club meeting, you could only shrug. you weren’t sure what even happened. then, you looked up at him and smiled. 
  you said, “jeon jungkook, you’re not going to embarrass me by asking me to dance, are you?”
  “i would never embarrass you. i’m definitely a much better dancer than you, anyway.” jungkook winked and extended his hand, gesturing for you to join him. 
  without missing a beat, you grabbed his hand and got up from your seat. thankfully, the senior community of the town was loving salsa night and made up most of the crowd. you and jungkook were able to hide your horrible dancing in between the retirees going wild.
𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822@taiwan0618 @seokout @firelcrds @xwniazx
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insomaniacat · 6 months ago
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tbh after i read orv i had to say that hsy was the character i understood the least - i couldn’t understand her motivations and actions, and by the second half of the novel she’s someone else entirely. but I think as i almost conclude my first reread it makes more sense why
first of all, hsy’s lived 50+ years by then. she’s mellowed out. she may have gotten rid of most of her memories from that time by the time kdj finds her again, but she’s still had to live thru those 50 years and has been semi-conscious even after Yuri di Astriel’s ego tool over her body.
we didn’t meet the whole hsy at the beginning of orv. she was only about a half of the ‘original’ hsy. it seems like the hsy that went to the 1863rd worldline was evidently the one who knew more about twsa (given how she was able to get to the 95th scenario AND became a constellation similarly to kdj (1864 hsy was convinced abfd was the sponsor she needed so was not able to become a constellation in the scenarios)
so when 1863 hsy bestowed visions to hsy and her story [Predictive Plagiarism], hsy changed. i feel almost as if she matured after 1863 hsy helped her. before, when she started the scenarios, she was self-centered and repeatedly described to be someone who would betray others for her own benefit, and her change was even unusual for kdjc (evident thru the amount of times jhw clashed with her later on).
hsy is a different character by the second half of the novel - whole. and maybe this is why she was one of the first people to realize 49% kdj was not the whole kdj. because she was once a ‘half’, too. from the beginning, we only knew the ‘selfish’ part of her, which has never really left her. she was ready to sacrifice the world for her one reader if she could, ultimately resigning herself to to cling onto hope and write twsa and orv for him.
i can’t claim i fully understand hsy yet - maybe that will take a few more rereads for me. maybe it’s because i personally do not empathize with her as much as everyone else in kdjc. but i think maybe reading orv - a story longer than the bible that she wrote - brings me a little closer to her
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poetrysmackdown · 1 year ago
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what makes a poem a poem? does it have to be written in a certain way? is this question a poem if i want it to be?
Fun question! This is just my personal sense as an avid reader and less-avid writer of poetry, but for me it’s useful to distinguish (roughly) between poetry as a genre and poetry as an attitude or philosophy through which language and the world can be understood. And of course these two go hand in hand. I see poetry the genre as essentially a type of literature where we as readers are signaled, somehow, to pay closer attention to language, to rhythm, to sound, to syntax, to images, and to meaning. That attentive posture is the “attitude” of broader poetic thinking, and while it’s most commonly applied to appreciate work that’s been written for that purpose, there’s nothing stopping us from applying that attentiveness elsewhere. Everywhere, even! That’s how you eventually end up writing poetry for yourself, after all. There’s a quote from Mary Ruefle floating around on here that a lot of folks have probably already seen, but it immediately comes to mind with this ask:
“And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something, until in the end, you begin to suspect that a poet is someone who is moved by everything, who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps.”
Similarly, after adopting the attentive posture of poetics, there’s plenty of things that can feel or sound like a poem, even when they perhaps were not written with that purpose in mind. I’ve seen a couple of these “found poems” on here that are quite fun—this one, for example. The meaning and enjoyment you may derive from the language of a found poem isn’t any less real than that derived from a poem written for explicitly poetic purposes, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t be called poetry.
That said, I do think that if you’re going to go out and start looking for poetry everywhere, it’s still important to have a foundation in the actual language work of it all. Now, this doesn’t mean it has to be “written in a certain way” at all! But it does mean that in order to cultivate the attentiveness that’s vital to poetry, one needs to understand what makes language tick, down at its most basic levels. It will make you better at reading poetry, better at writing it, and better at spotting it out in the wild.
Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook is an extraordinary resource to new writers and readers, and a great read for more experienced folks as well. Mary Oliver’s most popular poems are all to my knowledge in free verse, and yet you might be surprised to find her deep appreciation for metrical verse (patterns of stressed/unstressed syllables), as well as for the most minute devices of sound. In discussing the so-called poetry of the past, she writes,
“Acquaintance with the main body of English poetry is absolutely essential—it is the whole cake, while what has been written in the last hundred years or so, without meter, is no more than an icing. And, indeed, I do not really mean an acquaintanceship—I mean an engrossed and able affinity with metrical verse. To be without this felt sensitivity to a poem as a structure of lines and rhythmic energy and repetitive sound is to be forever less equipped, less deft than the poet who dreams of making a new thing can afford to be.”
In another section, after devoting lots of attention to the sounds at work in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, she writes,
“Everything transcends from the confines of its initial meaning; it is not only the transcendence in meaning but the sound of the transcendence that enables it to work. With the wrong sounds, it could not have happened.”
I hope all this helps to get across my opinion that what makes a poem a poem is not just about the author's intention, and not just about meaning (intended or attributed), but also about sound and rhythm and language and history, all coalescing into something that rises above the din of a language we would otherwise grow tired of while out in our day-to-day lives.
I'll always have more to say but I'm cutting myself off here! Thanks for the ask
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thewingedwolf · 2 years ago
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@sanguinem-di-virginis i think both the blacks and the greens are idiots who are going to set the realm on fire because of their egos, because targaryens have a tendency to set whole continents on fire when they feel insulted which is why i dislike them. i love to shittalk the lannisters but at the very least, for all tywin does a lot of damage before he gets elvis’d, the red wedding is something that took a lot of plotting & backdoor deals & is going to pale in comparison to the damage dany is about to do to kl in a single day completely on her own, bc dragons are more dangerous than the freys, boltons, and lannisters could ever dream of being. however, i am perfectly capable of finding specific targaryens compelling & i find rhaenyra (and jace) -
a) far more interesting than basically everyone else involved in the dance on either side
b) show wise, the only character who stops for a single minute to think about the cost of this war, and also, explicitly worries about the long night, which is way more than you can say for like 90% of the lords in the main show, including dany herself, who is also the personification of targ restoration
c) in the same vein that i can acknowledge cersei experiences a shitton of sexism while still being a decidedly bad person, or acknowledge that melisandre is a really awesome character who experiences horrific powerlessness but deals with it by enacting that horror on others, it’s very clear that in the show & books, the push against rhaenyra as queen, whatever other motivations exist (and obviously there are some other motivations) is rooted initially and obviously in sexism. in fact, targaryen men (and therefore the kl power structure) are so much more patriarchal and worse about that shit that it makes sense to me that targs have sooooooo many Evil Girlboss characters - you raise someone to believe they’re a god amongst mortals and then make it clear to them that they’re also not worth shit because of their gender, and it’s going to lead to a lot of very violent, very politically angry women who are often more capable of extreme violence than their male counterparts specifically because of the way they chafe under the patriarchy while being the most powerful women in the realm.
The difference for me is that I find Rhaenyra more sympathetic & compelling as a character than Dany, and I feel for her on her path to War Crimey Evil in a way I simply do not for Dany but at the same time, I don’t want any Targs to rule, i just think Rhaenyra is the most compelling of the Targs that exist during the dance. And i also find a lot of pro-green people to be deeply annoying bc the hightowers are not targs but still use awful, violent means to get what they want and fuck over the poor in the process (like, cole is a creepy pos in the books and has zero redeeming qualities & in the show he hate crimes Joffrey & calls Rhaenyra a spoiled cunt after she is forced to walk across the castle while literally still pushing the placenta out of her fucking body. and alicent just like, overlooks his very real violence bc he hates rhaenyra & rhaenyra is her political enemy. it’s not great!!) and also, crucially, the hightowers literally are still fighting to put a targaryen on the throne!!!!! and their targaryen, show wise, is a rapist who passes his time in BABY MURDER PITS.
anyways tldr i just think Rhaenyra is compelling and i fucking hate aegon, criston, & otto with the fire of a thousand suns, but also, i am an anarchist at heart who thinks the people should rise up and overthrow all these dumb bitches & while I’ll definitely be crying over my blorbo dying at the end, i’m really excited to see the people of kl storm the dragon pits bc the targaryens are all idiots & monsters who keep untamed animals capable of slaughtering whole cities in the middle of king’s landing!
me switching wildly between house of the dragon, game of thrones, and asoiaf fixations (yes they are different!!!) so my followers understand that my stance is anti greens < anti dany < pro rhaenyra & jace < anti lannister < anti targ restoration < pro house stark and a time for wolvessssss bitch <<<<<<<< pro “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace. They never are.” peasantry overthrowing the whole system, a stance that is tied to my pro stark stance bc the real threat is the never ending wars of succession that engulf the realm in fire and the literal ice zombie apocalypse north of the wall, stop fighting each other and slaughtering innocent people u fucking dweebs
#i hope this makes sense? i feel about her similarly to how i feel about theon. i can recognize she does fucked up shit but the reasons why#she does that shit & how she becomes the person she becomes are interesting to me. and also just like i find a lot of the ‘but theon was#mean to the starks’ criticism of him to be shallow and obvious i find the ‘but rhaenyra is a bitch and a bad queen’ criticism to be shallow#and obnoxious and i am a creature ruled by spite aksjdj. yeah she’s a bitch & war criminal so are alicent & aegon what’s ur point#rhaenyra targaryen#anti greens#crucially u will see i am pro ‘rhaenyra & jace’ and not pro blacks bc i’m well aware that even if i think he’s a fun character daemon is. a#mess aksjdjdjd and clearly not really fit to rule in any sort of capacity. but whereas daemon is constrained by his status as consort aegon#has no such constraints on his behavior. no way in shit are alicent & otto gonna be able to keep control of him for very long & that is why#i dislike the greens. they want to keep one loose cannon off the throne by placing another considerably more dangerous cannon on it instead.#also i cannot stress enough how much i despise cole in the books & show. fabien is so talented bc i cannot even think about how hot i find#him bc i am too busy shaking with rage over every single thing that comes out of cole’s mouth aksjdjd#house of the dragon#a song of ice and fire#got verse#i do find alicent interesting but i feel more similarly to cersei in that i just find her too frustrating personally to be that invested#this is not to say she is not compelling. or that she does not suffer under the patriarchy the way rhaenyra does. it is just that the way#her character is written is annoying to me on a personal level#i am sorry in advance if u stan dany or alicent i tried to be fair to them and im happy to explain my feelings on them in more detail.
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