#i think we should just accept that sometimes the answer is much simpler

[glorfindelssword]

Was talking to a friend the other day about how I don't think I'll ever feel like an adult and he started saying some stuff about people still feeling like the age they were in the pandemic but tbh I think you hit 13-16 and somewhere in that you just stop feeling like you're ageing

[avenirdelight]

Making An Effort (Fix This)

Son Heungmin

She flies to London to surprise Sonny. They haven't been talking after an argument that they had, where he says that she doesn't make any efforts for their long-distance relationship. [Requested]

The busy streets of London looked merry like always. People were out in the evening and the city lights were beautiful. On a normal occasion, looking at this view through the car window would usually make her feel calm and warm. But it wasn’t the case tonight, knowing that with every passing second, she was getting closer to reuniting with Sonny.

This was an impulsive decision. Very impulsive of her. But when it comes to love, sometimes you need to do things that your normal-self would call crazy. Especially when you know that you could only pull back your relationship from the brink of its ending only if you do something.

She had taken a leave from work and had booked the earliest flight she could find to London. She had travelled far and flown hundreds of miles—she’d only had restless sleep on the plane—but she was still very determined to go straight to Spurs’ stadium. She wanted to see Sonny play. She was making an effort.

They were on halftime break when she arrived. Emily, Ben’s wife, welcomed her in the family lounge with a big hug. The first thing she said to Emily was expressions of gratitude for willing to help her tonight.

“You sure you don’t want to go back to our place before dinner? We can go now and still make it in time,” Emily asked her, looking worried because she actually did look like a total mess right now. She had tried to freshen up earlier but not even her best concealer could hide those tired eyes.

“No, I’m okay. I want to see him play,” she answered. “I probably should make sure that our reservation at the restaurant is really secured.”

“Okay. Do you want some tea? Let me make you a cup of tea, yeah?”

She smiled and nodded. “That would be lovely, Emily, thank you.” She felt Emily giving her shoulder a light squeeze as she left, leaving her to make a call and run over her plan for the surprise dinner tonight.

—

She and Sonny had had an argument before the world cup. But somehow they’d just put it aside because he needed to be focused for the big tournament. They had been barely talking since. Even after the tournament had ended, she hadn’t heard anything from him at all and she had been hesitant to reach out.

“If you still want this relationship, then you must understand that I can’t be the only one making efforts.”

She remembered his words from the argument. The long distance between them was always the biggest issue. Not long after their first anniversary, she’d accepted a job abroad so for the past year they’d been living in different countries, different time-zones.

At first it was fine. But after some miscommunications, unhonesty, and lack of communication that they’d never really resolve and sometimes not even acknowledge, it became not fine. The problems had all mounted up and both of them had ended up hurting each other.

But she had had more than enough time for herself to think—to figure out where and why the downfall happened, to understand herself, and try to put herself in Sonny's shoes. She had realised that he wasn’t wrong when he said she wasn’t really making an effort. She had found the courage to admit that she hadn’t been the best partner for him.

She still loved him. And this relationship was worth fighting for. Those were the conclusions she’d gotten from her sleepless nights where she pondered about everything. With the hope that he felt the same way, she went the extra mile to fly out to where he was and try to save their relationship, reminding her that she’d used to do these extra miles to win his heart, when things had been so much simpler between them.

A couple of days ago, she’d reached out to Emily and Ben to ask for a favour. To invite Sonny to eat out and she would surprise him there. The couple, being the kind people and good friends that they were—saying that they believed that every relationship would have rough bumps and that she and Sonny deserved a chance to fix everything up—agreed to help.

She arrived at the restaurant before Sonny and the couple. She waited in the private VIP room that she’d booked. She kept shifting uncomfortably in her chair and checking her watch once every two or three minutes. She was only going to meet her own boyfriend, yet she felt ridiculously uneasy and nervous. Mostly because she knew this could either go very right or very wrong.

After what felt like forever, her phone suddenly buzzed on the table, making her heart jump. It was a message from Emily.

We’re here

She quickly stood up and went over to the mirror, making sure she looked decent. She’d had time to change into a better pair of clothes and put on more makeup; she wanted to look pretty for Sonny. It reminded her of the old days, where she would do anything to look at least presentable, because she knew that Sonny was always in public’s eyes and she wanted to look like a good pair for him.

She sat back down just in time before the door opened. Emily and Ben entered the room. She put on a smile on her face, eyes searching for the figure she was dying to see, who entered the room last.

“Surprise!” She said when Sonny finally saw her.

He stopped in his tracks, mouth agape as he realised that he wasn’t hallucinating. She was, in fact, there. Ben was making some comments, but she couldn’t hear any of them because her heart was pounding in her ears. She just stared at her boyfriend that she hadn’t seen for months.

Sonny didn’t take his eyes off her as he approached her. His face was blank, she couldn’t really tell whether he was glad to see her or not. But when she stood up, he wasted no time in pulling her into a hug.

She let out the biggest sigh of relief when he wrapped his arms around her. His hug still felt so warm, so welcoming. And truly, there was no better feeling than being embraced by the person you long for the most.

—

The four of them sat down together for a while, catching up a bit about their lives. But then the couple decided to leave despite her insisting that they should stay. They said that she and Sonny should have the time and the room all for themselves, making up for the lost times.

“What’s… What’s all this?” Sonny asked a moment after Ben and Emily left them.

“It’s just me making an effort,” she answered. “I missed you and I really wanted to see you, so… Here I am. Are you mad?”

“No, it’s just a little bit confusing. Why– Why didn’t you just call me? Tell me that you’re coming here? Thank you for the surprise, it’s nice, but– I’m just confused…”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a timid voice. “I was just scared to see you. Our last fight was… Bad. I was worried if you were still mad at me. I didn’t even know if you wanted to see me...”

“You could just call me and ask.”

She shrugged. “I was scared to even ask.”

“I’m your boyfriend…” Sonny shook his head and ran his hand through his hair frustratingly. “I feel disappointed in myself now. I couldn’t make my own girlfriend comfortable enough to talk to me... It shouldn’t be that way, innit?”

She slightly shook her head as she dropped her gaze. “But it’s on me too. I shouldn’t be scared but I do, because… I was afraid that I’d ruin our relationship even more.”

She heard Sonny letting out a heavy sigh. The next thing he did was reach out for her hand—he held it and gave it light strokes with his thumb. She just stared at their linked hands. The corners of her lips perked up ever so slightly without her even realising, as she felt a bit of relief washing down on her.

“It’s my fault too… I’m sorry for every hurtful word that I said to you,” Sonny started. “Babe, look at me.” She raised her head up and met his gaze. Her heart clenched when she noticed the regret written all over his face. “I’m sorry for saying you don’t care about us anymore, that you don’t make any efforts for us. I was selfish. I asked you for attention and I blamed you because you didn’t give me the attention that I wanted. But I didn't try to understand that you’re struggling too.”

She nodded. “It’s understandable. When we weren’t speaking, I had enough time to reflect on everything,” she said, shifting her gaze between his eyes and their linked hands. “I got to live my dream, I got to be independent like I’ve always wanted, but I got too comfortable. I detached myself from you… And I’ve realised that it’s not right. It’s not what I want.”

“It’s okay…”

“It’s not okay, babe, I– I lied and hid things from you. I tried to make things easier for us, maybe mostly for me. I got tired and felt like it’s okay for you not to know some things. It was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Sonny let go of her hand and her heart dropped for a second. She watched on as he got up from his chair and walked around the table. When she realised what he was going to do, she got up too and a second later, she was wrapped around his arms.

She couldn’t hold back her sudden tears, they rolled down her cheeks, and eventually fell onto his shirt dampening it. It seemed like Sonny realised that she was crying because he started stroking her back and her head, also planting small kisses on the side of her head. He let her cry and she honestly appreciated it. All this time she’d been crying alone, it felt nice to be able to cry whilst being embraced by him again—just like how it used to be—and she could just finally let everything out.

After a while, Sonny loosened his arms and he searched for her face. He held her face and erased her tears with his fingers before he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you for coming here, yeah? I really appreciate your effort. I love you, baby,” Sonny said with all sincerity. She couldn’t help to let out a sob, more tears fell from her eyes. “I’m sorry that our relationship became a mess but I know that I love you. Now let’s fix this. Me and you.”

“Together?”

“Yes. Together. I promise I will always be there for you this time.”

She softly nodded. “I love you too,” she whispered.

Sonny smiled as they gazed into each other’s eyes. She slowly felt like her chest was getting less and less heavy. They definitely still have so many things to talk about and obviously look for the solutions to fix their mess, but for now, she just wanted to be held by him and stare deep into his beautiful eyes.

They just needed to stay like that, reminding themselves why they loved each other, why this relationship was worth fighting for. This was just another hardship that they could overcome, because they believed that their love was stronger than they knew.

—

finally a sonny angst!! i revamped this fic THRICE, took longer than it should (i feel so bad😭). i made it too complicated, so i got very stressed out, but i think this is the best that i could come up with. i hope you liked it!

[son heungmin tag list: @smileytaa @delicateearthquakellama @luvelyxp @chicken-fifi @alotofrandomfangirling @natsuzoku @muglermami @landosmilkjug @koufaxx @charlesxavierenthusiast]

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[sweetestpopcorn]

So Visenia was an unwanted wife, Aegon was shackled to her by duty. Although nowhere is it said directly, only about the rivalry, but seems like Visenya hated her Rhaenys fiercely. There was something to hate about her younger sister, wasn't there? Especially considering that Visenya, who described as harsh and unforgiving, should have been the first and only lady-wife at all. This explains how she behaved towards her children and grandchildren in the aftermath

Hi there Anon and sorry for this delay!

While rivalry might be a part of the relationship between the two sisters - something George hinted at in an interview, though given a long time ago, and in later books no mention of such a rivalry is made - if Visenya resented Rhaenys she did not act like it. Not very much from where I am standing.

Upon Rhaenys's death, Visenya took an active part in avenging her sister and in the attacks against Dorne. She had no desire to end the attacks they set on Dorne as we see here:

"One Dornish knight, brought before Visenya as captive, insisted that Meria Martell would sooner see her people dead than slaves to House Targaryen. Visenya replied that she and her brother would be glad to oblige the princess." (Fire and Blood, pg. 37)

"Prince Nymor's peace proposals encountered strong opposition in King's Landing. Queen Visenya was hard set against them. "No peace without submission," she declared (...)" (Fire and Blood, pg. 37)

Of course that upon this one could claim that Visenya was only acting this way to conquer Dorne. However, this is noted upon:

"The king was weary of war, all men agreed, but granting the Dornishmen peace without submission would be tantamount to saying that his beloved sister Rhaenys had died in vain, that all blood and death had been for naught." (Fire and Blood, pg. 38).

You could still claim that for Visenya avenging Rhaenys was more about showing the world they could not f_ck with House Targaryen without an answer than about a genuine love for her sister. This is one way to look at it, yes. But I think this vision removes any complexity Visenya might have, and I want to give George more credit than that.

Visenya was not her son Maegor, yes she is described as "stern, serious, and unforgiving; some said that she played with poisons and dabbled in dark sorcery.", but we do see that time and time again her and Rhaenys ruled together and they got along well enough, even with very different ways of thinking. Visenya also had people who "(...) loved her best (...)" (Fire and Blood, pg. 9), she even had a favourite fool so she was capable of laughter and simpler pleasures, not just sword and bloodshed.

I cannot imagine Visenya as a “damsel in distress” who was just forced by Aegon to accept Rhaenys into their marriage. If she did not want her sister to join in, I believe she would have stood up to Aegon. While she respected Aegon, no doubt about it, she stood up to him when she thought him in the wrong, and she definitely didn’t act like she was afraid of him.

Her marriage with Aegon was never a passionate one, and we do see after Rhaenys dies that problems just pile up between them to a point where Aegon did everything to not be in her presence. Furthermore, Visenya didn’t seem to have anything against polygamy, her own son took multiple wives with her support. This was something that was done in House Targaryen before the Conquest and in Valyria as well, so for her, this could well be normal.

I think the points you raise are very valid, and a possible reading one could have in Fire and Blood. To me, I like to give more layers to the characters, more complexity. A character who is just one thing and nothing else doesn’t make for a very interesting story, and I like the interpretation that there was more to Visenya and she wasn’t a bitter sister just out to get her younger sister.

Harsh and unforgiving people love too, sometimes in their one way, maybe in ways others can’t understand. This said, Visenya loving Rhaenys wouldn’t mean that she would love her descendants, especially when Visenya had one of her own and wanted the best for him. Here besides her love for Rhaenys her love for Maegor comes into play, and while her actions were in the wrong I find them very congruent with the type of character she was, even in the more grey interpretation we can give her.

All the best to you Anon 😊

[notsp1derman]

other musings: why one piece should never be adapted into live-action

There is a certain trend lately of adapting unusual pieces of media to live action, and while I usually don't give a fuck, this time it touched something very dear to me, which is One Piece. I could spend hours here talking about my love for this saga and how this is just another consequence of capitalism and the urge to just squeeze out every last drop of money out of everything, but after the trailer for the new Netflix series dropped I just had to vent about something simpler. And boy do I have opinions about this.

Despite its very real portraying of very human problems such as racism and political instability, One Piece is, at its core, an absurd manga. The characters have such ridiculous mannerisms, the proportions are so exaggerated, and there are interactions so unserious that it can be even quite jarring at first; but hidden in its straightforward and sometimes nonsensical narrative is a masterful and ingenious thought process by Eiichiro Oda. Everything is a tad over-the-top, from the cartoonish style of the characters to the attention for detail in the backgrounds, in order to compose an universe that looks magical and whimsical but feels cohesive, realistic in some way. And it's through this exaggeration that Oda manages to convey so much emotion, and still make his readers feel such strong connections to his creation, even though it's far from our real world.

Those hyperboles are a vital part of what makes One Piece one of the most unique works of fiction ever made, and one with such a strong personality, at that. So when forced to accept the heavy burden of making a live-action series of the best selling manga of all time, producers are faced with two choices: either to try and capture this absurdness as best as possible by being extremely loyal to the source, or to make adaptations to the characters and the world to make it a bit more realistic and appealing to the public.

And the thing is, there will never be a right answer to this. Being too loyal to the source would make it a ludicrous farce, and taking liberties would create something too different from the thing everyone already knows and loves. So Netflix chose the path of creative liberty, and the price paid was a stiff, void, and most importantly, uncanny take on something that should never be brought to the real world at all.

Don't get me wrong, I have much love for the cast and believe they are doing a great job, but unfortunately the feeling of just... wrongness will never fade, no matter the approach. The colorful characters feel like people in bad costumes, the special powers just feel weird, the colors feel wrong and the world doesn't feel vast, just empty. One that got me thinking a lot was Buggy. Of course, he was one of the most unserious characters of the whole manga, but even he was a bit intimidating at the beginning, and had his moments to shine. Live-action-Buggy is just some weirdo in a bright blue wig that looks like a sad cosplayer, and I can't take him seriously no matter how hard I try.

So what about the more bizarre parts of the cast, like Hannyabal or Blackbeard or just the overly huge Admirals? What about the huge sea monsters or the weird fish people of Arlong Park? The latter parts of the manga go without saying, because I seriously doubt the live action will get renewed for one more season. How can we expect any of this to be remotely close to the joy we feel reading or watching the original work?

And I think that's the whole problem with live actions from anime. The freedom to bend reality that is possible within the realms of manga and anime just will never be translated well into something so western as a modern tv show. These boring adaptations suck the soul out of the original source, and manage to transform even the most expressive and heartfelt ideas into uncreative remakes without a single ounce of personality, and it will be forever depressing to see it happening to yet another thing so well made like One PIece.

[girls-are-weird]

more on the topic of latino trans representation 'ported over from the YR discord server. someone asked how positive latino trans rep could be introduced, rather than always making it about the negative side of the latino trans experience. i don't have a one-size-fits-all answer because it really depends on the context/theme of your story, but it did remind me of something that i think might give people some inspiration. crossposting here again in case anyone who's not a member of the server is interested.

maybe i can share a story that could serve as inspiration for the more positive way of representing latino heritage in trans expression. as you might know, my country is... not particularly progressive by any stretch of the imagination. regressive more like, if you ask me. gay marriage is not legal and i honestly don't have much hope that it will be anytime soon, trans people are still rejected and made fun of, and i'm pretty sure most people have no idea what "non-binary" even means. but LGBTQ+ people and their allies are fighting, pushing for change, and not giving up. the progress is slower than a glacier, but every once in a while there's something that gives us hope.

a few years ago (before i came to australia) there was a hubbub in the media because a trans activist wanted, for the first time in history, to change her official name on her national ID card. just her name, not even anything else. pretty sure her card still lists her gender as "male" because my country is ridiculous. but even just to change her name from her deadname to her actual name she chose herself, they made her jump through so many hoops. and the media kept following the story and sensationalizing it to hell and back, like she was trying to do something scandalous.

(and yes, i know this doesn't sound particularly positive, but stick with me here-- i promise i have a good point i'm trying to get to, i just need to give y'all a bit of background before i can arrive there.)

anyway, she did get to change her name on her ID card eventually, it just took a long while. but her ordeal has been stuck in my mind for years, and there is one particular interview i remember very clearly. see, our national dress is called a "pollera"-- it's a very intricate, delicate, handmade-by-old-ladies-in-the-countryside-who-zealously-guard-their-technique-passed-down-through-generations-since-colonial-times, luxurious and expensive af basically costume that is widely recognized as one of the most beautiful national costumes in the world.

pic here, in case anyone neds a visual:

(this is what we call the "pollera de gala," which are the fancier ones. there are simpler versions of the pollera which are not handmade and are supposed to be the "day-to-day" polleras, but the polleras de gala are the creme de la creme and certainly the most likely to be shown outside of panama.)

the pollera is not only a point of national pride, but also a symbol of status because it's so expensive and rare, as well as the ultimate symbol of femininity for any panamanian woman. sometimes people do, like, "traditional" panamanian weddings and the bride will be wearing a pollera instead of a wedding dress.

ANYWAY, back to my main point, in this one interview, this woman was asked what would have to happen for her to feel that she was truly accepted and seen as a woman in a place as regressive as panama. and she said her dream was to wear a pollera de gala, with all the frills and the jewelry and everything, and being recognized as beautiful and as proud of being panamanian as any cis woman would be. i don't know if she ever did it-- once she managed to change her name on her ID card, the media pretty much forgot about the story-- but that one answer has stuck with me all these years. because i've worn a pollera (mine was my mother's), and i know how i, as a cis woman, felt wearing it. and i hope with all my heart that she got to feel that way, too. everyone should.

i don't know if there's an equivalent circumstance that could apply to a venezuelan trans person; i would have to do some research to know. and it may not be a dress-- it may be food, or music, or a book, or a photo of a specific location they want to visit-- that just, for that character, represents the intersection between their trans identity and their ethnic identity. but i know those little things mean so much to people, especially those for which the rest of the culture might be antagonistic to them being trans. it's those small positive expressions i would love to be included in latino trans representation, because lord knows there's not enough of that out there.

[heart-stomper]

Unspoken Trust, Unspoken Fears

Gathering my thoughts on Sasha and Marcy’s dynamic before S3 proves me wrong shows us what’s going on with these two.

It’s time to look at The Dinner and Battle of the Bands, and then use it as a guide to read the room in True Colors.

No worries! You just gotta speak their language. - Sasha, Reunion

Or in this case, know when to stay quiet. 

Sasha gets really really frustrated this episode. Like, so bad, that if that Volcakeno didn’t erupt, she might have been the one to end the friendship. Even Marcy and Grime couldn’t calm her down. But that’s the thing, before this point, they were the only ones to get through to Sasha without provoking her.

Grime keeps Sasha in line; she rolls her eyes and is clearly annoyed every time she has to hold herself back, but her willingness to keep it cool shows she ultimately agrees with Grime’s plan and sees it as the best path to success.  When Marcy chimes in, it’s with a helpful answer to Sasha’s question. She reminds Sasha of why they stopped Doing Thing by explaining how their plan failed. She avoids judging Sasha for it, and frames it as the repercussions of their actions, as a group. Marcy is on Sasha’s side, so Sasha doesn’t put up any defenses. When Sasha decides to avoid arguing with Anne however, it isn’t for Anne. It’s for the plan, for her and Grime.

Marcy has enough faith in Sasha to believe she’d never want to purposefully hurt Anne, but is careful about broaching the subject. Sasha feels attacked very easily, and will quickly trivialize or downplay things if she feels the other person is being unreasonable or doesn’t ‘get’ her.

And that is the only time Marcy speaks up besides The Big Argument. She only jumps into actual conflicts if things get too heated. Otherwise, she just lets Sasha do her thing, and lets Anne argue with Sasha... sort of.

This isn’t collaboration. It’s a hostile takeover. Why do things always have to be your way?

Now, for the bait and switch. Let’s talk about Marcy’s behavior in Day at the Aquarium and New Wartwood, and Sasha’s in Toadcatcher and Barrel’s Warhammer… while tying it all back to Battle of Bands!

You didn’t tell me you were writing a song! Let’s do it! I mean, if that’s okay with you, Sasha.

In A Day at the Aquarium, Marcy’s first instinct to Anne saying she’s going back with the Plantars is to make a plan. To show that it isn’t actually what will benefit Anne’s Goals. She doesn’t even consider opening up as an option, and avoids saying anything that could cause conflict. New Wartwood, Marcy tries to chat with the citizens of Wartwood and get to know them. But when that doesn’t work, she decides that impressing them with her knowledge and usefulness is bound to make them like her. It has to.

It does seem simpler.

Trying to win people over by claiming a plan is of mutual interest and necessary, carefully choosing which words to use, viewing relationships as a puzzle to be solved… this isn’t the sort of thing Marcy needs to do to get along with someone like Anne. It’s how Marcy copes with Sasha. Sasha lashes out and belittles bad ideas. Sasha has to be convinced the plan benefits her, suits her. Vulnerability and love aren’t enough to make her care, so Marcy does what she can to prove she’s worth being around. She might even sometimes wonder if Sasha actually likes her, or just likes what she can do for her. She rather not find out.

Whenever she’s afraid of people not liking her, or is worried that she’ll lose them, she dives right into those bad habits. She can give her opinions, but they aren’t supposed to get in the way of what Sasha wants. She’s supposed to say “That’s amazing! What do you think Sash’?” not “Let’s do it!”

Listen. There’s another reason why I’ve been training so hard. To protect the one person I know I can count on right now. You. You’re right, I already lost one friend. I’m not about to lose another. - Sasha, Toadcatcher

In Toadcatcher, there’s that scene, where Sasha looks at the BFF picture and the wind cuts off Anne for a second so it’s just her and Marcy. This is where Sasha is at. Anne might have rebelled, but when Sasha reunites with Marcy? Oh, she’ll show Anne, one way or another. They’ll get her back (like, joining the team or revenge wise, depending on Sasha’s mood.)

Listen here you buffoon! What’s it gonna take to prove that you should follow us? - Barrel’s Warhammer

Aaaand Sasha freaks out royally when she learns the two are alone together and doing just fine. On some level, she fears Anne and Marcy “getting along without her” because it means they might decide they don’t actually need her to make plans; that she isn’t necessary to have fun. In the The Sleepover to End All Sleepovers, we see that isn’t as big a catastrophe as Sasha seems to think it’d be. As time goes on, the girls do gain a healthier relationship to their feelings about Sasha, but that doesn’t mean they’d want her gone even if they don’t need her there. But Sasha doesn’t know that, she doesn’t even consider it till reuniting in The Third Temple. All she knows for now, is that she can be a bit... much... so if she isn’t in control, if her way isn’t “the best”, why would Marcy put up with her either? 

Listen. If things get too wild out here, just give me a signal and I’ll call the whole thing off. 

 For sure, teach it to us Anne. 

Every Sasha plan starts with an empty reassurance. So much of Sasha’s dialogue follows a pattern where she says stuff like “we’ll call it off” (she did not call it off) and “for sure, I don’t mind” (she did mind) that it could be it’s own game. Sasha talks the talk, until it gets in the way of what she wants.

Sorry guys, but we’re way to close to bail. I am not going back empty-handed.

It’s good. I just have a few tiny notes that I think could make it even better. ... Boom! Fiixed it! 

If they just follow her lead and let her fix it, everything will work out. They should believe in her and trust her. After all...

That’s not true! Besides, we did it. ... You’re not actually gonna throw this all away are you?

I just wanted all of us to succeed. I was just being a good friend. Why couldn’t they see that?

It all worked out, right? Percy and Braddock made it out okay even if she didn’t follow through on her promise. They won, she’s reliable. But of course, Sasha lost something more important than their belief in her abilities, she lost their trust. In Battle of the Bands however, Sasha recognizes that Anne and Marcy don’t want to follow her ambitions and will be pushed away by them just like Percy and Braddock were. So she takes it upon herself to end things, accepting that she’s lost.

Sorry it took so long.

Except this time, she manages to realize that maybe “what she wants” is to be there for her friends. Sasha’s finally had the space to relax and really think about what she wants, at least a little. This isn’t a real battle after all. Doing things her way all the time isn’t as important as she thought. Maybe she should trust in her friends more. A change of pace isn’t “wrong”, just different. It’s fun.

Sorry we lost, Sash’.

Just like Percy and Braddock, Marcy knows Sasha is capable. She understands that Sasha just wants the team to succeed. That’s why she apologizes when Grime beats them in the competition. She wants Sasha to know she appreciates what she did, but keeps it a bit indirect. She gets Sasha probably didn’t want to push them away. Marcy tried to catch herself and back Sasha up, but when Sasha had her argument with Anne, she stayed quiet. She couldn’t bring herself to go against Anne. 

That was ultimately for the best, as Sasha learned a valuable lesson. Except... She’s in too deep with the rebellion to back out now. This is the episode she’d spill the truth and give up on the whole thing, except... Grime. A part of her knows leaving would make Grime her enemy. She can’t risk that. So, she keeps going with the plan. She decides she’ll somehow win it all back. Because the thing she’s actually most afraid of, is losing another friend. 

Sorry things got a little crazy back there. You guys good? ... Sheesh, don’t be a sore loser. Look, I’m gonna stay here and get this toad regime off the ground, but I can totally send you two home if you want. Or, you can stick around and give me a hand! So what’d’ya say?

Sasha’s final offer; the last chance she’s giving the girls to stop acting weird and go back to being her obedient friends who do what she wants. Sasha lost at Toad Tower, but now she’s won. So Anne should go back to normal, she’s supposed to, like some unspoken “rule”.

And Marcy is supposed fall back in line too. The offer and apology are just as much a plea directed at her. Sasha’s trying to be generous, in her own awkward way. She has bit her tongue so far. She’s thrown a temper tantrum or two, but she hasn’t been this forward in asking Marcy for help till now. She wants Marcy to say that everything’s okay. Make it clear she doesn’t think she’s the bad guy, and that she forgives her and wants to be there for her. That they’re on the same page again. She wants Marcy to help make Anne look overly dramatic and silly for making such a big deal of all this. Sure, if Anne figures that out by herself, that’d be great, but if Marcy could just speak up.

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

Marcy’s too busy worrying about Anne’s reaction. Knowing that she’ll be upset about this. She doesn’t dare side with Sasha, and is disappointed and betrayed that she actually did something like this. Marcy already has her own secret plans, so when she finally tries to calm things down, all she can give is a non-descript “we can still fix this”. And then, she’s once again shocked when she sees Sasha threaten Anne and the Plantars. Seeing Sasha act so willing to actually hurt people rather than just push them around... it finally hits her just how serious “tried to kill them” was. And of course, losing Anne or being sent home with her would completely mess up her own plans.

Sasha’s isn’t a vulnerable person. She’ll go on about loving her friends if it makes her look good, but she actively avoids doing anything that could be seen as “weak”. She wouldn’t dare ask Marcy to drop Anne and choose her. If Marcy isn’t speaking up, she can take the hint. She still isn’t on her side, and so she gets sent to the dungeon along with the rest of them.

Marcy accepts that Sasha has become an obstacle, but a part of her still hopes the three of them can work through all this. If they do things her way, nobody has to get hurt. She'll figure out a way hold everything together, fix everything, like always.

And then Andrias betrays her.

Yeah, what plan?

Sasha stops talking once she realizes what’s going on. Quietly fuming as Marcy explains herself. The music box, the suggestion to take it back to Andrias... that wasn’t Marcy being the sweet, supportive friend who Sasha thought she could always rely on, who believed in her... that was Marcy using her. It was never going to become their plan; Marcy never trusted her and was actively working against her. Sasha lost Anne, and she never had a chance at getting Marcy back, either. 

Sasha smacks Marcy away when she desperately tries to justify herself. She doesn’t want to hear it anymore. She’s furious that Marcy thinks they could be friends after something like this, after she’s manipulated them and claimed it was for their sakes. This whole time, her goal had been avoiding the move with her parents. And coming here has only torn them apart even worse.

Marcy reaches out to both girls. And when Sasha rejects her, she clings to Anne, hoping at least she’ll find it in her to forgive her. That she’ll understand she cares about them even if she messed up. Marcy knows they’d probably never pick her over their families or ambitions, so she told herself this place offered those things too. Made them all better people. But as she says her excuses out loud, she can’t find a single one that feels right. She was just afraid of losing them, and now, she’s managed to hurt them on top of that. 

But the thing is. After all that. Despite how betrayed and hurt and angry Sasha was, she looks like this:

Sasha realizes this must be exactly how Anne felt about her betrayal. It isn’t just an abstract “hurt” or “bad thing” anymore. She can also sympathize with how Marcy feels and why she did it, at least a little. She can’t imagine being able to forgive this, and yet... when she looks to Anne with that apologetic look, she isn’t just hoping Anne will forgive her. She’s also asking for permission to forgive Marcy. Pleading that they all still have a chance to move past this together.

[painted-crow]

hey so i'm looking to figure my sorting out. i'm p sure of my secondary but honestly i've gone in circles so many times that i'd believe anything lmao

so i guess to start like. i'm fairly sure i'm an idealist, but with a twist. i care about making the world a better place-- i'm kinda infamous among my friends for being a little TOO outspoken about my opinions. on a small scale, i have strong opinions about a lot of things, but on a larger scale... idk. i don't think any one person can know what an ideal world looks like cause there really is no such thing. there are literally countless variables when it comes to implementing even small systems, countless ways to fuck it up, so i don't think i'd be choosing some grand ideal over the people i love anytime soon.

that being said, i think my idealist streak gets directed into something else most of the time. i'm very focused on understanding myself to a fault. i want to know why i do the things i do, why i believe certain things over others. when it comes to my beliefs about the world, they're strong but take it or leave it, but when it comes to myself they are not a good idea to push. i've ended relationships over not feeling like myself with them or feeling like i'm losing myself or they're pushing me to be someone i'm not. i make strong instant decisions about what the "right" thing to do is when it comes to how it impacts my perception of myself, especially with intimate relationships (i'm a lot less impulsive with things like friends and things i'm less personally involved in). i NEED to know who i am, way more than i care about any one specific person or thing. obviously i love people very deeply and would do just about anything to have both, but if i don't know who i am, if i'm not true to myself, then i have nothing. losing people happens.

the issue is, because i'm prone to doing that and not thinking as much about how it'll impact people, i've been called selfish a lot over my lifetime. recently i've started thinking more about how my actions impact people and their feelings, and i'm feeling a lot more torn. i want to do what i want to do, what i feel is best, but i feel immature for doing it a lot. i've started worrying a lot about being a bad person and hurting people, and i've been thinking about how the "right" way to be is. i went through a phase where i was repressing myself to make the "moral" choice, but i just felt so flat. ultimately i realized that it doesn't really matter how good i am if i have to repress myself to get there, cause then all it is is performance. tldr is i feel super guilty for making "selfish" choices rn, especially as i've gotten more aware of other peoples' feelings.

what i think is probably going on is that i'm an idealist primary with a badger model, but i'm not sure between lion and bird, and i'm still open to badger. pretty sure i'm not a snake.

the section on my secondary's gonna be a lot shorter, sorry this got so long! so i'm p sure i'm a badger secondary. considered lion and snake secondary too. whatever i am, i have a p loud lion model over it. i've always had a gift for making people trust me, for acting. i kinda blend in and become what i need to to both help them and get them off my back so i can do what i need to do. i have a serious passion for helping people with tough love (i like to think of myself as a p good advice giver, since i can both tell people what they need to hear and really get in their shoes and be kind where other people might not). i think i judge myself the least when i can kinda toe that line between pushing boundaries and stepping back-- i track where peoples' boundaries are constantly so i can push them to the limit without stepping over them. i'm very fluid when it comes to presentation in reality, even though i think people actually think of me as kinda controversial. i tend to see people who are ACTUALLY overstepping boundaries as lowkey selfish at times, even though i also really respect them. i like to do things the "right" way as long as i give a shit about them. the catch is, i don't want to blend into the background, and i don't think i do. a partner of mine called me a fox cause he noticed the way i constantly toe that line where i can get people to notice me and still keep them off my back, still make them comfortable. i'm also NOT a planner. people constantly give me shit for only ever feeling things out in the moment, and honestly thinking about the future freaks me out. i don't want to plan how i do shit i'd rather just get in the zone and figure it out from there. tldr i'm pretty sure i'm a badger secondary? but i could be convinced of snake. definitely see elements of both but my gut's telling me badger so take that how you will

anyway! thank you so much for taking the time to answer this, i know it's a lot.

also sorry one thing i forgot to add about my secondary! i think my lion model got so loud because when i do the shifty presentation thing, i have a tendency to lose myself and start perceiving myself as whatever i'm presenting. it's made it really hard to figure out who i actually am and so i started just being as clear about it as possible.

for my primary, i really care a lot about being right. i try to take every side into consideration to make sure i get the best conclusion. i can be super stubborn when it comes to certain things, but i don't want to just... hold to perceptions that are wrong. that being said it's important to me to trust my gut and i take it as a big input. i'm very felt out for most things, don't really have a strong system of how to be. i really wanna be able to trust myself but i just don't. i have a big habit of relying on other people to tell me what to think, which is uh. yeah.

Primary

You're a Bird primary with a Lion model, and you're trying on some Badger ideals. That's one of the easier Sorts I've done, lol! Possibly because your primary and models actually House match mine :p

Your reasoning process screams Bird xD and so does your writing style and just the length of the ask. Birds love self-analysis, it's part of how we make sure our systems stay as close to true as we can make them.

You've got some Lion too, but it's a model. It sounds like your Lion and your Bird have come into conflict before, and like most Birds with Lion models, it bugs the snot out of you when your Lion's intuition (which is important data!) doesn't line up with what your Bird knows.

You've prioritized Bird's conclusions before, but (as with many Birds) you don't entirely trust your own system and you're wondering if your Lion might have been right and you should give its reasoning more weight.

Also, you're consciously deciding that maybe Badgers' way of doing things is more moral than yours, and you're pulling in some of those ideals. That doesn't make you a Badger primary. Birds are notorious for this kind of thing actually 😂

The line between whether some ideals you've pulled into your Bird system vs. what counts as a model is fuzzy. It's up to you really, how important those pieces of Badger are to you.

For me, I think the line might be--is it wired into your sense of self on its own, or does it get filtered through your Bird and Lion? It really sounds like your Lion is a strong part of your sense of self: if you ignore its advice, you feel not totally like yourself. You don't have to feel all your models equally strongly, but thinking of it that way might help.

(It's also hard because Birds often feel like they kind of are their systems, or they are their ability to reason, that's a core part of their identity. ...It's complicated.)

Secondary

You sound really really Snakey. I'm not sure where you're getting Badger, actually!

Badgers are more than the mirroring ability. They also bury themselves in work or community, and it can sometimes look like they're neck deep in so many responsibilities that they couldn't possibly handle any more problems--and then they do have a problem, they do need something, and they stand up and all that stuff they were buried in turns out to be armor and tools.

Snakes, otoh, are improvisational and tend to be very aware of their surroundings. Unlike Badgers, the Snake brand of social shapeshifting involves a lot of keeping track of other people's reactions to what they're doing--trying something and then watching the response, then adjusting, rinse and repeat. You turn yourself into exactly the right person for this situation.

Badger mirroring is usually simpler. You reflect the other person's energy back at them: it's an empathetic response that says we're alike, I accept you, you're safe. A lot of Badgers do this without thinking--it can be hard to turn off.

Snakes also don't go in for prep work as much, it tends to trip them up (Snakes with Badger or Bird models notwithstanding). They're Improvisational secondaries, unlike Bird and Badger which are Built and rely heavily on some form of preparation.

The Lion model sounds legit, but just check for yourself: you might be learning to use Snake's neutral state. Snakes will sometimes drop all their layers of acting and maneuvering and suddenly they're just themselves. Different Snakes have different relationships with neutral state. For some Snakes, it's a relief to drop the mask; for others, it feels vulnerable and they only trust certain people with their full authenticity.

It does sound like you really admire Lion secondaries, though, so you might indeed have a model there! This is just something else you could check on.

Hope that helps!

- Paint

[siderealscribblings]

T&c 2.0 :)))

This is the Mending Warped Designs working doc. Have some of the next chapter (very rough draft):

“Does he look old to you?" 

"...didn't he always?" 

"I know, I know, but he looks old, right?" 

"...yyyyeah, he's always looked old." 

"Very old," Master Fu said, causing the whispering teenagers behind him to jump as he looked up from his book. "But not deaf just yet." 

Ladybird and Cat Noir had the courtesy to blush. "S-Sorry! It's just…been a while since I've seen you." 

"Oh dear," Master Fu chuckled, looking over the rim of his glasses at Ladybird. "I do hope I left you with plenty of instructions before I disappeared." 

"Some," Ladybug said, shifting in her seat as her tea grew cool in front of her. Seeing the young Ladybug (Ladybird, he reminded himself) made Master Fu strangely nostalgic for a simpler time. "It's been a little tough to handle things on my own-" 

Master Fu couldn't help but notice the way her partner's lips twisted ever so slightly. "I don't think you ever should be asked to handle something so serious on your own…if your master ever asked you to, then he's as much a fool as I am."

Master Fu dogeared the book as he turned his attention to his young charges. "I wish I had some concrete answer for you, but as Ladybug explained, we haven't seen our Rabbit in years." 

"Well…w-wouldn't Bunnyx have shown up right now if we really were messing with the timeline?" Cat Noir butted in. "That's what happened last time, right?" 

"Yes…although there is a distinct possibility that our worlds being destroyed isn't enough of a threat to reality for Bunnyx to care," Master Fu mused, stroking his wispy mustache. 

“Oh, well that’s nice,” Cat Noir grumbled. “So we get tossed to the wolves because we’re an acceptable loss?!” 

“Bunnyx is not supposed to be nice; they are supposed to maintain the rather wobbly balance of reality across timelines,” Master Fu said. "Regardless, I do not know if we can rely on outside help this time…if we are to survive this, we must look to ourselves and each other to pull through.” 

It was that sort of gentle, resolute encouragement that Ladybird missed the most about her old master; a promise that she wasn’t as alone as she felt sometimes. “...does that include Ladybug and Chat Noir?” 

Master Fu’s eyes lost some of their twinkle, drifting over to an old newspaper clipping of his pupils after their first Akuma encounter. “Well…they may take a little while to see eye to eye again.” 

Time, unfortunately, that we are rather short on, Master Fu privately thought as noise drifted through his slightly cocked kitchen door. 

[arihi]

Do you ever have the problem that when you try to be positive or think positively it sounds sarcastic? Like, you tell yourself its going to be a good day, or that something won't bother you, and you want to believe it, but when you force yourself to think it, you know instantly that it isn't true and the words sound fake in your head?

Oh absolutely. Anxiety is a roaring monster above it all. It also extends into when other people are kind and try to cheer me up.

Though I'll take the opportunity to make this a different post. Sometimes what you're describing is toxic positivity - which just adds another layer of guilt on top of your bad feelings a lot of the time. For me, I'll specify, it's often much more comfort to confront my feelings or emotions and accept them. It sounds really quite basic, but a lot of the time in response to negative feelings we try to 'think positively' instead, or rationalize/intellectualize how we feel instead of just...feeling the feelings.

Don't spend time trying to convince yourself that things are alright when maybe you don't feel alright. I can be bothered by a thing, no matter how small, but if I tell myself to ignore it it always comes back threefold. Instead it's just, okay to be bothered by stuff. I won't take action on it necessarily. It might not even be fair of me if I were to do it. But sometimes you can be upset or dislike or hate that something went or happened a certain way, and it sucks. It's a bummer. (When stuff like this happens, I try to use simpler language and words to connect with it more instead of overthinking it and trying to reason out why I should ignore it.)

It's like how kids are. Sometimes they're really upset about their favorite ice cream not being in the store, and that does suck. Yeah you could get a different ice cream, but it wasn't the one they wanted and it can still suck. I think as we get older and smarter we try to make excuses for our feelings and ironically become more disconnected from them, from simpler times.

...Anyway, I'm on my rambles-too-much train. TL;DR, if you're feeling deep in your gut that anything positive is ringing sarcastically or insincere, it's worth examining your emotions. Maybe you're having a shitty day. Positivity won't always help with that. Acknowledging rough feelings and giving yourself the space to be upset and validating that it's okay to feel that way might help it pass better.

OR, you could generally just be talking about anxiety. Which is also a super understandable thing. But that's another post! Thanks for the ask, by the way. I'm not as active on here anymore, but I always loved asks and answering them with my own life tidbits. I hope you're doing okay, anon.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 21)

So this is another mobile post. Will put it under the cut when I get to my desktop.

He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed promptly; Lady Dimitrescu, though she is still much taller than he, is actually quite small. He wonders if the woman is aware silent in his embarrassment he strikes his forehead with the heel of his hand, stupid stupid Salvatore, of course the lady I knows! She is a smart woman and a change so big…? Small…? Profound, wouldn't go unnoticed. It is somewhat comforting if he were to be honest. Before she was such an intimidating presence to be around. So much so that he sought to avoid her if he could help it.

But the woman who sits before him, shifting in the chair with a look of mild disgust is infinitely more approachable.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Dimitrescu shakes her head and is hear sinks. He is loathsome, repulsive, repugnant! Of course she doesn't want anything that has been delivered by his grimy hands.

"You got any beer? I haven't had a good beer in a while." Ethan requests. "I could use one."

Salvatore nods eagerly. He hasn't had company in so long, much less company that is willing to let him be hospitable. Only Mother Miranda let's him be hospitable.

He plops a can into the man's hand. He visibly cringes when the slime runs down the side of his his palm. And for a second Salvatore thinks that he will put the drink inside. Instead he wipes the can clean and pops the cap.

"Are you sure that you don't want anything, Lady Dimitrescu?"

"To eat or drink, absolutely."

He thinks that he hears Ethan grumble, "you should eat, those vitamines are only supplements."

"But there is something else that I would like." She carries on as though she hadn't heard the man sitting next to her.

"How can I help?" He has asked the wrong question. He knows that he cannot help. He wonders why she is asking him rather than Donna or even Karl. Surely even Karl is a more desirable option.

"Winters and I are looking for his daughter. I imagine that Mother Miranda has given you a role to play? I am asking you to... reconsider your alliances."

"Betray Mother Miranda?" He squeaks. He could never! He doesn't understand how she could ask such a thing! To betray the only person who has seen his value.

"I-I couldn't possibly, Lady Dimitrescu! Mother Miranda has been good to me."

"By turning you into a gross and gushy fish...man...thing?" He chuckles to himself, "manthing." And then he clears his throat, reverting back to tealitibe seriousness, "I wouldn't call that good."

"I...well it's...nobody, mostly nobody, messes with me anymore."

"That's because you isolated yourself in a swamp." Lady Dimitrescu drums her claws...former claws upon the armrest.

Salvatore slinks back. "Mother Miranda sees my value." Even where he doesn't, she always has.

.oOo.

"She doesn't see your value, Moreau. She sees you vulnerabilities and she uses them." Just as she had used her. And how lovely it had been to believe those lies. "I see your value, Moreau." At least she hopes that she will in time. She thinks that even he can tell that she is telling pretty lies.

"I know how you look at me and my dwelling." He gestures about the place. "You want to use me."

"So then what does it matter? You're being used either way, what difference does it make who's using you?" She scoffs.

Ethan nudges her. "What she means to say is that we would really appreciate your help."

"I meant what I said, Winters!" She snaps.

Ethan inhales deeply, "I would value your help. And I wouldn't use you. You gave me a beer, we're friends now."

"Friends?" Moreau tests the word.

"You ever have a friend before?"

Moreau meekly shakes his head, "none at all, Winters."

"Well now you do and you can start by calling me Ethan."

Now Moreau looks far beyond anxious. The pathetic creature is all jittery and stuttering.

"B-but you won't like me. You'll find me repulsive eventually."

"I already do but friends look past that. I was able to look past Alcina's occasional blood baths. She smells like a corpse when she comes out of those and it's pretty awful."

Alcina clenches her teeth, cheeks coloring ever so slightly. "How dare you--"

"I look past a whole lot of that too." He jabs his thumb at the snarl on her face. "She's pretty cranky all the time but she isn't so bad once you get used to traveling with her."

"Blood and mucus are not the same. At least she's nice to look at."

Ethan smiles a lopsided awkward smile. "Yeah she's a beautiful lady. Her eyes are alluring, her face is charming, she has nice hair and a fantastic…"

"Winters, stay focused!" She demands sharply.

"Ass." He whispers to Moreau.

She shoves him off of the couch, "have some tact or sit yourself down next to Moreau, you loose lipped oaf."

Ethan rubs his own rear. "Well anyways, to show you that I am not repulsed by you I will gladly sit next to you until Alcina wants to be nice to me. She rolls her eyes as one cretin seats himself next to the other.

He does his best to keep the appalled expression off of his face even as the stench of death and fish assaults his nostrils. His eyes are watering and Alcina smirks. She must admit that the man is very good at feigning acceptance.

For a heartbeat she wonders if he is only pretending to accept her, wonders if he will stab her in the back as soon as he has his Rose back. She bites the inside of her cheek.

"So what do you say Moreau? Trade a heartless cultist for a real companion?"

"I'll consider." He twiddles his thumbs.

But she knows him, she knows that he won't want to venture beyond his comfort zone. And his comfort zone wears a bird mask.

"If you can stay the night, I will have the answer by morning."

.oOo.

It was exactly what he was hoping to avoid; staying here with the putridly smelling miasma of sea and decay. And on a makeshift hammock that is damp and slicked with what could either be mold or algae.

He doesn't want to rest which it is. He is rather content in his blissful ignorance. He can't deny that he is quite pissed that Alcina has taken the dry cot. He can't even get to sleep in a perfectly hammock and has no idea how Moreau can possibly sleep in what looks to be a large and repurposed fishing net.

He groans and makes his first attempt to scramble onto the hammock. By the fourth, he is ready to sleep on the floor.

He pretends not to hear her when Alcina slips into the room. A feat made harder by the very obvious cracking of the floorboards.

“Winters…” She looks off for a moment. “I’d like you to spend the night with me again.”

With only a sentence, his anger dissipates, "shit,I thought you'd never ask."

"After your," she coughs, "crass commentary, I wasn't going to. But I changed my mind."

"What made you do that?"

"This place is damp and chilly. You are warm."

It sounds like an excuse to him but he isn't one to question a mercy no matter how small.

This cot is even smaller than the one at House Bennivento. Ethan is certain that Alcina is plenty aware of this. She climbs onto it anyhow and gestures for him to join her.

"Shouldn't I get in first?"

She shakes her head, "lay down before I change my mind."

He crawls atop her and tries to make himself comfortable. It isn't particularly hard, Alcina is very pleasant and charmingly soft and kindly warm. He hesitates for a moment before resting his head upon her chest.

He feels her fingers weaving through his hair. "Comfortable?"

"Very." He confirms. He thinks that he is more comfy here than he would be in a bed of his own.

She sighs. The exhale is followed by a brief duration of silence. At last she fills it, “it has been a very long time since I’ve been in pleasant company. And longer still since that company has been a man.”

"We're there any women?" The question comes forward before he can curb it.

"Several of them have warmed my bed. Good girls, they were." She muses.

"What happened to them?"

"Well I used them for my wine, of course."

Ethan cringes and she chuckles as though she has only told a simple little joke. "I was thinking of doing the same to you but your blood was so stale." She continues to stroke his hair.

"Well that's reassuring." He grumbles.

"I suppose that it doesn't matter anymore."

This time it is he who is responsible for the silence. He as he tries to make sense of a woman who doesn't seem to, by her very nature, make any sense at all.

"Why?" He finally musters.

"Why what?"

"Why am I sharing a bed with you again?"

She furrows her brows as though he is the confusing one. As though it is he who has been sending all sorts of conflicting signals.

"It's just that, one minute I'm a stupid manthing and the next I'm a charming gentlemen." He continues. "Do you like or not?"

"You are indeed a stupid manthing and a gentleman. I wish that you would just pick one, preferably the latter of the two."

And she is dodging the more important question. "And if I decided to pick 'stupid manthing' what would you do them."

She makes a sound, perhaps something to indicate both amusement and annoyance at his audacity. "I would…" she trails off. "I suppose that it depends on the extent that your idiocy reaches."

He has to laugh at this, how can he not--it is her quaint prose and relief that she is even considering humoring dumbassery to any extent at all.

"Your antics can be endearing and entertaining sometimes." She confesses. "But they are also terribly annoying."

"So do you like me or not."

With no way to dance around it she falls back into her silence for a very long time before she mumbles, "I'm trying my hardest not to…"

"But you do?"

"I...yes. I think." This mumbling is even softer.

"Care to figure it out for sure?" He asks. Though there any enough room to contact his preferred test, he thinks that something simpler will suffice.

Her hair stroking comes to an abrupt but brief halt. "I suppose that I wouldn't mind."

"Good." He props himself up just enough to kiss the woman's forehead and then her lips, a gentle testing of the waters before he kisses her neck. And when she doesn't bat him away or shove him off of the bed he lays one on her collarbone and then her chest.

He is met with something between a hum and a purr, her fingers tap upon his back. "How was that?"

"It was well enough, Ethan." She replies. "Perhaps we can double check when we find more comfortable lodgings."

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 272 “Ipopte”

New chapter and I didn’t think I would feel so bad for what happens here but I do so sorry if I won’t deliver everything well but this chapter... it was really painful.

The sentence is a reference to Giovanni Falcone’s quote “Gli uomini passano, le idee restano. Restano le loro tensioni morali e continueranno a camminare sulle gambe di altri uomini.” (“Men pass, ideas remain. Their moral tensions live on and will continue walking on other men's legs.”).

Kiro, Boutarou and Ariko’s deaths weren’t useless, they sacrificed themselves to protect other lives. The shame is on those who killed them, not on them.

Anyway...

We start with a colour chapter that basically sums up Sugimoto and Asirpa’s first meeting as it’s the scene in which Asirpa helped Sugimoto to get up after they killed the bear.

In a way it tells us that things are coming to full circle.

We’ve started this way, now we’re really close to see how we’ll end.

The worst part is maybe to see how cute this image that started the chapter is, now that I know how tragic the chapter itself is. And the story might be going on the same track. Everything started so nice and optimistic… and now…

Anyway we begin with a flashback, the flashback of how, during the battle of Mukden, Kikuta and Ariko’s trench was bombed and they had to spend the whole night there before being found, talking each other to make sure they were alive, only a sliver of moon visible (chap 207).

For Kikuta that moment was a really important moment of bonding with Ariko, but we weren’t explained why. Now we’re about to be told about it.

We start the scene with Kikuta checking if Ariko is still alive, which Ariko confirms. They had bandaged their wounds and, apparently can’t move. Kikuta tells Ariko to talk so they’ll know they’re alive. Everything is fine. Trapped there, seriously wounded and forgotten or assumed death, in almost complete darkness with only a tiny sliver of moon visible… their situation is clearly scary.

Kikuta, the officer, realizes they need to talk. To tell each other they’re alive, to distract themselves, to comfort themselves by reminding each other they aren’t alone.

And, since he’s an officer, he asks Ariko to talk because that’s the best way he has to make sure the latter is alive and properly distracted. He’s willing to listen him whatever Ariko wants to say, even if he points out something upbeat would be nice (superior officers normally didn’t listen to soldiers talking about what they wanted).

Ariko says once back home he would like to practice making a Makiri. Kikuta knows what a Makiri is, an Ainu knife. He probably learnt it when they met Ariko’s father, Siromakur, who told them he was making a Makiri for his son.

Ariko explains for Ainu they’re important because girls will accept them as husband according to the craftsmanship of the one they give to them as a present. Kikuta thinks this is because Ariko is afraid to be turned down by a girl he likes.

Ariko explains that’s not the case, the Makiri will be for himself.

He explains some parents might teach in details how to make Makiri to their sons, but his own father thought Ariko could learn doing one just by watching him doing one. Ariko though admits he wasn’t interested in watching him.

The way this scene is structured is good. There are three panels. In one there’s Ariko, in the other there’s Kikuta, in the middle there’s Siromakur.

Unknown to Ariko both of them are thinking to Siromakur as he carved the Makiri. Noda places them in symmetrical position but Ariko’s eyes are looking away from the central panel, as if unable to look at his father as he admits he wasn’t interested in what he was trying to teach him. Kikuta instead seems to look straight at him, straight at the guilt he feels for that man’s death.

Ariko goes on explaining at that time he basically didn’t see any difference between Wajin and Ainu. He would fight who were to make fun of him even if he were an Ainu and he would help who were to need him even if he were a Wajin.

Ariko believed worrying about the Ainu's future is a burden, something he doesn’t care about. Basically he’s saying to him they’re all humans, there’s no Ainu and Wajin, but also that he believes he has no special ties with his traditions and culture and he’s not interested in carrying them in the future.

He probably would prefer to be just a ‘nihon-jin’ a Japanese, without divisions between Ainu and Wajin.

It would be beautiful if everyone could be just like Ariko, if we could respect each other without having to defend our identity and without seeing it being trampled upon or misrepresented, or appropriated, or condemned.

The world though, is not so nice, and sometimes you’ve to fight just for the right to... exist.

Yeah, the world is actually a terrible place.

Ariko doesn’t wish for a conflict between Wajin and Ainu… but the conflict exists and he can’t sit out or turn his eyes away from it… which doesn’t mean to take an extremist position, but just being aware and take a stance.

Still, maybe because when he talks with Kikuta he is a little older than how he looks in the flashback when he watches at his Ainu clothes and thinks the Ainu business is a pain, he is starting to understand the importance of his own tradition, of his own culture, of how sad it would be if it were to go completely lost.

Each culture is precious, when it gets erased is a loss for the whole humanity. We know this now, we clumsily try to protect them, but GK takes place in the past and few had this awareness.

Ariko still manages to realize how his father’s Makiri had a design passed down for generation. It’s a design that ties him to the past generations, to the history of his family. It’s part of his history but, in more simpler terms, it’s also part of what ties Ariko to his father. A line that travel from Ariko to the past of his ancestors, or from them to Ariko as Ariko believes his father wanted to pass it down to him as well... in the hope Ariko would pass it down too, tying past and future together.

Ariko’s father has probably realized Ariko at the time had little interest in Makiri making… but that the interest might come in the future. Siromakur accepts Ariko is young and wants to fit in the world he’s in, instead than just being concerned with the Ainu problems, but he seems to think by growing up Ariko might also grow to understand the importance of his past, of their past and traditions.

That’s why he was making for him a Makiri when Ariko became a soldier, because even if Ariko at the moment had no wish to learn how to make a Makiri, as long as he had a Makiri with himself, he would be always able to duplicate it should he wish to do so.

And, although I think he handled the whole gold thing very poorly, a side of me loves Siromakur as a father.

He accepts and respects his son’s wishes but, at the same time considers Ariko might grow to change his mind and doesn’t want for it to happen when it’s too late.

Ariko doesn’t want to learn to carve a knife now?

Fine, he’ll give him the means to learn to carve one when he will feel ready to do so. I think he genuinely wanted Ariko to learn. I think although he too didn’t want a conflict with the Wajin, he loved his culture and wanted to pass it down to Ariko… but still, he respected Ariko’s will and gave him space.

However Ariko admits his father didn’t make in time to end the Makiri but died while carving it. Siromakur was hoping Ariko would have time to learn through the Makiri he would make for him… but fate is a cruel master and died before finishing the knife.

His Makiri went missing too, so Ariko can’t replicate it and regrets it, regrets what he now has lost and can’t recover. With tears in his eyes he admits he should have watched his father more closely and it’s clear it’s not just about the Makiri that he won’t be able to duplicate.

That Makiri, the memories of him watching his father making one and teaching him, could have been something to whom he could latch now that his father wasn’t alive anymore. Ariko though wasted that time and now his father is dead and he’s left with nothing in his hands.

And his wish to learn to make a Makiri is an attempt to recover what he has lost, to reconnect with his father now that his father is no more. In chap 247 Ariko reminds him as a gentle man who never spoke much.

He can’t believe he was planning to buy weapons and he’s right. Siromakur wasn’t. He wanted to mediate. Maybe the fact Siromakur was silent made Ariko feel like his father was distant… but the fact he was gentle clearly told Ariko he cared.

And so we see this grown man crying because he lost his father… and his pain is real and easy to empathize.

As Kikuta doesn’t comment, Ariko asks him if he’s alive. Kikuta confirms he is and apologizes. Ariko reminds him to make a response once in a while if he’s alive. In answer Kikuta rests his hands on Ariko’s shoulder and apologizes.

He’s clearly not apologizing for having fallen silent but for having been what caused Ariko’s loss. Kikuta regretted Siromakur’s death and now he regrets it even more as he knows he’s responsible for Ariko’s pain. In a way I think Kikuta subconsciously grew so close to Ariko also due to this, it’s as if he wanted to ‘adopt him’ to make up for the loss he has caused him.

We’re back in the present and we’ve another page with a good panel structure.

On the top we see Kikuta, head down, likely still bothered by the situation. I’m pretty sure he can guess what Tsurumi is doing to Asirpa and he’s not liking it… but he’s not fighting it either. He regrets but doesn’t act because it wouldn’t be advantageous to him. Kikuta plays safe.

On the lower part of the page there’s Ariko, Ariko who instead is going to act, to fight. He’s more aware of his position now and he’s going to take a side, to take a risk. Now he’s letting the whole matter affect it. He has grown up and he’s aware he lives in a terrible world and he’s going to take a position and try to fight for the right cause… even if it might be disadvantageous to him. Ariko is going to take a risk.

In the middle the church where everything is taking place.

Ariko gets in the room as Tsurumi, who has heard the code from Asirpa, grabs the skins, tosses them on the ground and scans them quickly, trying to decode the code with Asirpa’s keyword.

Ariko approaches, his arrival surprising Tsukishima who’s still spying the scene.

Ariko claims he’s there to tell him the location of Hijikata’s hideout so they can attack it. Asirpa is surprised but Ariko is actually using that as an excuse to cut Asirpa’s rope with his Makiri. I wonder if that Makiri is the one who stayed unfinished or his father’s one.

Tsurumi easily sees through him and doesn’t even bother move.

Ariko crumbles, clearly afraid, he’s a honest person and a fail as an actor, points his gun at Tsurumi and demands for him to give them the tattooed skin. As Tsukishima takes his rifle, Asirpa finishes freeing herself.

Tsukishima and Koito comes in, weapons in hands, Tsukishima wounding Ariko. Asirpa frees Sofia even if Ariko hurries her to escape.

Sugimoto and Shiraishi, hearing the shoots, run toward the church with the bottle-mobile, Kikuta also runs there while Sofia grabs a bench and tosses it in Ariko and Tsukishima’s direction, causing the door to close. The bench then falls on Tsurumi but he’s so caught up he doesn’t care.

Sofia, Asirpa and Ariko runs out. Sugimoto doesn’t even stop but the trio tries to jump on the bottle-mobile as it’s running. Ariko raises Asirpa so that Shiraishi can help her to climb up, Sofia gets in Ariko… Ariko is shoot in the leg and falls.

Tsukishima and Koito are out. The bullet was clearly shoot by Tsukishima, I’m not sure if Koito also has shoot. Ariko shoots back but gets no one. Asirpa calls him but Ariko urges them to go without stopping. He knows he’s giving his life to help her, he knows he’s entrusting their future to her.

He has no hesitation as he tells her to go.

The bottle-mobile passes in front of Kikuta. Sugimoto and Kikuta see each other and confirm they’re really the vagrant boy and Kikuta-san.

As Sugimoto realizes so, his eyes seem bigger and they’re really clear and shiny. I wonder if the idea is that seeing Kikuta brings him back to a time in which he was younger and less jaded.

Kikuta then sees Ariko on the ground and moves toward him, asking him what’s going on.

Ariko is still on the ground and says his name as he sees him moving closer. Ariko knows Kikuta cares about him, he knows Kikuta wanted to save him. They had a bond in a way.

He trusts him, he doesn’t try to aim his weapon at him.

I don’t think he hopes Kikuta will save him though, I think he’s just sad... but at least he’s not alone...

... he’s not alone as Tsukishima is next to him and shoots him in the heart, killing him immediately.

I would like to think maybe Tsukishima did so because he thought Ariko would have tried shooting Kikuta... but it’s clear that wasn’t going to be the case. Ariko has made no attempt to aim at Kikuta.

Tsukishima is just mercilessly getting rid of Ariko, a man who dared to oppose to Tsurumi and his ‘oh so wonderful goal of salvation for those who bow his head to him’.

Kikuta is clearly shocked beyond belief. His eyes go all white, with no irises or pupils.

Asirpa calls Ariko’s Ainu name, the only name she has used for him, ‘Ipopte’. She’s shocked too although her pupils are really tiny dots.

We can’t see the face of who’s with her. Will Noda draw them in the volume version? Or is the idea she’s the only one who truly cared and suffers, suffers for the loss of a man, an Ainu like her, who gave his life to save her own?

I don’t know but still what Noda does is interesting because he shows Ariko, who believed Ainu and Wajin were no different, mourned terribly by both a Wajin and an Ainu.

There’s no difference in that moment between Kikuta and Asirpa. Both suffer for Ariko’s death. They’re the better world Ariko believed in where people is just people, not Wajin or Ainu but humans.

Sadly they aren’t the only ones in this world.

Tsukishima walks past Kikuta.

For the first time in the story, with the exclusion of the flashback with him and Igogusa/Harumi Chiyo, we can see there’s light in Tsukishima’s eyes.

His eyes aren’t anymore completely black, they’re shining, there’s light in them.

He has killed Ariko, but he’s no more Tsurumi’s mindless executor. He’s a believer now. He believes Tsurumi’s cause with all his heart and therefore Ariko’s death isn’t something to regret, but something he had to do in order to reach his goal.

He can go back to the church, leaving Ariko’s body under the rain.

In a past meta I wondered if Tsukishima would overcome his vice of Acedia and find salvation or not.

Well, this scene feels like an answer to it.

This new Tsukishima… now cares for his goal, but not for the people who’ll have to die for him to reach it. He won’t feel bad anymore, he’ll march on.

He likely now believes his place is with Tsurumi, not out of obligation but because he wants it.

He decided so and his decision gives him life. And, I think, this is Noda’s way to prepare us to when the Tiger’s curse will strike. Tsukishima is no more a victim of his own Acedia. He’s an active and willing participant. And I’m sad.

Because I knew the Tiger’s curse would befall on him but still I was hoping Tsukishima would… I don’t know, find a way to… get forgiven, that he would grow and manage to pull himself out of this situation and toward a better path and instead… he has grown but he also has decided this is what he wants. And this is maybe the saddest thing, that even if Tsukishima changed, even if he grew… well in the end not only it changed nothing but it made it worse.

Still, it makes sense it’s Tsukishima who kills Ariko, because both, in a way, didn’t want to take a position, Tsukishima blindly following Tsurumi even though he didn’t know if he were trustworthy, Ariko wishing he wouldn’t have to follow anyone.

In the end they both took a stance, Ariko decided he would help who’s in need of help, Asirpa, his people, Tsukishima decided to trample over those who would get in the ‘salvation’ Tsurumi claimed he would offer to those who would submit to him.

Ariko dies, but his sacrifice isn’t pointless. He died to do a good thing, to save someone, and by saving Asirpa he will allow others to live.

Tsukishima lives but I’m willing to bet nothing good will come for him or his cause by taking Ariko’s life, because really, nothing good can come from taking a life, especially if it was the life of a good man. Tsukishima can walk away with light in his eyes but, to me, it feels like with this act he has willingly killed what was good inside him. He’s killing the companions he believes Tsurumi would save who can see there’s no salvation in Tsurumi’s words. He’s self destroying his goal and he’s not even realizing him.

He comes to side with the worst of the world. Same as when he took part to the murder of Kiro but now worse. At this point… I don’t think there’s a chance of salvation for him, and while it’s sad because Tsukishima was a character I like… well, Tsukishima has done his choice. And it was the wrong one.

[practicalmagicintuitions]

Hi sorry for the messy long rant, but i have some things to get off my chest that probably makes no sense sorry

First off i am SO conflicted about all of this bc one way I think everyone has their right to express their opinions and connect that to their personal experiences, but i think we should also remember that we have no idea how HC and NV met, i barely know anything about her, and while yes it does look like she gave up everything in the US and that she doesnt post anything on her instagram of her going to tourist places so it seems like she is really isolated and cooped up in that rental, but again we dont really know that 100%…? We have literally no idea how theyre doing rn and what theyre doing. Everything we talk about her is just the same old assumptions and theories that we’ll never know the truth off.

I dont excuse her problematic actions, her apology was awful and maybe she was in utter panic that the first thing she did was just send those messages because shes ignorant on these social issues. But on the other side shes also gotten A LOT of abuse and bullied by people online, making fake shit thats practically career ending. Henry tried protecting and standing up for her with the FO post, but he could have worded some of that better. But like im in the minority of that. Practically everyone thinks the FO post was good.

The hate has taken a big toll on Henry and im surprised people havent noticed this. Hes totally disconnected himself from his fans and seems pretty much everyone and i dont even blame him. I hope he talks to someone about this, but i doubt he doesnt.

Hes gotten these types of rumors about him for years, but theres never really any backup to prove these rumors. I dont rly know what to say on this matter, but its just oof that Henry is either known for being a creep, a bad actor or hyped to infinity of how great of a geeky sexy guy he is. Theres no inbetween

Im glad this acc is a safe place for people to share their opinions, but sometimes i think people get too biased and read too much into these messed up rumors that they cant differenciate between whats actually true and just fake speculation to stir drama all because he dated a 19 year old in 2015 as if that isnt a common thing with rich men…i dont like it and i still hate that he would go down that ruite but it is what it is :/

I cannot really argue with your first paragraph. We know nothing specific or very less. People basically should stop taking about him and them if we olny can discuss the proven facts.

The made up stuff especially the porn was awful but his FO was before that. He tried to protect themselves after the S16 backlash and the awful photoshop theories. (somehow those were simpler times because those were so obviously made up “discoveries”) After her blackface photo we got the FL pictures and her pictures from the tental but he went completely silent. Maybe except the Meat picture in his story.

I think people noticed this, they just don’t feel pity for him. I mean the hate is never acceptable but I cannot say voicing some sort of disappointment especially if it’s not on their SM is something people should stop. This situation is partly his fault. I am sorry if he is getting hate, no one should, but even before NV his started to change. His presence on IG. ( and maybe NV has been in the picture already we just didn’t know.) So it’s not 100% because of the bad reception of their relationship.

I cannot really add anything more, you put everything together so well and I cannot actually argue with anything you said. Thanks for this ask and sorry for it took me so long to answer.

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Part 38 - Senses

As you devour the smooth, soft skin of her neck Momo’s hands reach for your belt, working the latch with quick, experienced fingers, having done it a thousand times before. With the belt undone she hooks her thumbs into your waistband and pulls your pants down, taking your boxers along with them.

Almost as soon as your cock springs free her hand is on it, and you let a loud sigh escape your lips at the feel of her hands on your shaft again - a handjob wasn’t exactly hard to come by these days for you, but to have Momo’s hands on you again drove the pleasure to another level. The history, the past emotions - it heightened every little ounce of pleasure, every little touch and taste.

Your cock hardens quickly in her grasp, every pump of her soft, long fingers creating delicious little spikes of pleasure that shoot up your spine and directly into your brain. Momo gasps as you suck on the warm spots of her neck and jawline, her pace with your shaft quickening with each moan of pleasure that leaves her lips.

She eventually has enough, and she draws her neck away from your hungry lips to make eye contact with you. You see the same look in her eyes you’d seen so many times before - hazel pools filled with lust and need and want. She licks her lips, drops to her knees, and you feel the breath leaving your lungs involuntarily as she takes you into her mouth.

“I should’ve known you’d be here early.”

“There’s a lot to do,” Hirai Momo says, raising her head from the laptop only briefly to nod a greeting of good morning to you as you enter Red Velvet’s apartment, “I double and triple checked all the tech in here along with all the cameras we placed at the entrances and exits. I had to do it before the sun came up - you know Irene’s thugs could be casing this place as we speak.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” you answer as you step inside the bedroom where Momo had set up her recording equipment on the wooden desk. You take a seat on the bed, where Seulgi had had her way with you the day before.

It was the day of Seulgi’s scheduled meeting with Irene, and a few hours before noon, which was when Seulgi said Irene should show up. You’d arrived early to ensure everything was in place; the others weren’t due to arrive for another hour or so.

“I have to think of everything. This is a big op,” Momo states.

“I know. You’re really going all out.”

Momo stops whatever she was doing on the laptop. Her back is turned to you, but you still notice her head has dipped slightly, as though she weren’t looking forward to the conversation you were about to have. Her hair, done up in a high ponytail, leaves the creamy skin and graceful curve of her neck bare. Her shoulders slouch slightly.

“This needs to go well. I need to take Irene down. I need to prove that I can do this on my own. Without you.”

Her words sting you a little bit, and Momo seems to immediately regret her words, at least partially.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, “I don’t mean to say that you haven’t done your part in bringing Irene down. I guess... I just… when we worked together, when I was on your team, I always just followed your lead. You did all the work, made all the decisions. I guess that now that I’m on my own I need to prove I can do it myself.”

She’d started to say ‘I guess’ again.

“Momo, you don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”

“I need to prove it to myself,” she answers quickly. 

A few quiet moments pass in silence. Since her reappearance you’d wondered why Momo had been so cold and driven; now that you knew it was because of her desire to prove herself, it explained a lot of the way she acted and spoke to you.

“I’m sorry, Momo. I didn’t know that that was what you wanted.”

“It’s fine,” she answers, shaking her head softly, “I could have been a little more straightforward with you instead of being a bitch to you for no reason.”

“Either way, when we get Irene today this’ll be your win.”

“No, it’ll be ours,” she corrects, “it was your team that got all that incriminating intel right from under their noses. Without it we wouldn’t have anything to prove she did what she did.”

“But it was your team that will actually bag her. The intel is useless if she keeps getting away.”

Her back is turned, but you could sense a small smile appearing on the girl’s cheeks.

“I guess we can call it a team effort,” she admits, and you are happy to find a little levity in her tone. “A team win.”

“You do remember what we used to do after each of our wins back in the day...”

“Take a cab back to the hotel room and fuck like rabbits?” Momo quickly answers, with a snort and a giggle. She turns her head halfway toward you, and you are glad to see a nostalgic smile on her lips.

“Yeah. Sometimes we wouldn’t even wait for the hotel. Remember the supply closet in the convention centre when we were in Frankfurt?”

“Of course I do. Or the cab in Lima? The driver must’ve been wondering why the hell I had your jacket over your lap in the summer heat.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t the first handjob ever given in that backseat,” you say with a smile, “either way it was real awkward making it from the cab to the hotel room with a raging boner.”

Momo giggles, and the sound is soft, musical; it lifts your spirits to hear something so wonderful, because you wondered if you’d ever hear it again. Memories of days gone past run through your heads, and bittersweet smiles paint themselves on your lips. Things were so much simpler then. No danger or drama, hurt or betrayal - only the next business deal to make, the next plane to catch, and evenings of passion and lust with someone you were falling in love with.

“I want things to be that way again,” you say, softly, the words leaving your lips before you even knew you were saying them. 

“Me too,” Momo agrees, “but we can’t go back.”

“Why not?”

Momo turns her head back away from you, staring blankly at her laptop screen again.

“It was different back then. It was just me and you, without a care in the world. Before all these other girls entered your life. I don’t mind who you fuck - you know that - but these girls… They all want to be with you.”

“Momo, I-”

“Would they ever leave your life?” Momo asks, pointedly. “Sana is one of the most passionate people I know - and she’s crazy for you. She’d do anything for you, even if it meant risking her career or her friendships. That cop - Nayeon, was it? I know you have history together. Maybe you would still be together, if it weren’t for this job. How do you know she’s not the one? She came halfway around the world for the chance to start over with you. And Jeongyeon-”

Momo’s voice cuts out, a sudden rush of emotion keeping her from finishing her sentence. She raises a hand to her mouth, almost as if physically covering her mouth could keep her from saying something she would regret.

“...she loves you. I guess I always saw it in the way she looked at you, but I just ignored it. I thought it was just a schoolgirl crush. And she pissed me right the fuck off with how she told you about her feelings while she knew we were together… but she was right there with you in that alleyway, before we rescued you. That wasn’t a girl standing by her boss. That was a girl standing by someone she loves.”

Momo takes a few deep breaths to compose herself, and although only a few seconds pass, the time in silence felt like hours.

“And I… I love you too. I guess I’ve always loved you. I guess a part of me always will, no matter what happens today or who you choose to be with. But if we’re going to be together I want to know you’re mine, truly mine, and mine alone. I don’t care about where you stick your dick. I just care about who’s in your heart. That’s what I want. What I’ve always wanted.”

More quiet breaths, more thoughts and memories and emotions running rampant through the heads and hearts of two confused young people - more silence covering it all like an unwanted, uncomfortable threadbare blanket that provided little warmth.

“You’re such a lucky little douchebag,” Momo says with a chuckle and smile that had little humor. “All these stupid young girls, tripping over themselves to let you know how much they want you.”

The silence returns - but so does your answer.

“What about what I want?”

Momo doesn’t answer, perhaps unprepared for your question.

“All of you, you’ve all told me what you want, and why you’re each better than the others. Why I should pick you. But never once has anyone asked me what I want - what I was looking for. And not one of you has considered that maybe, just maybe, I have other things on my mind besides choosing a girlfriend.”

The words spilled from your lips before you could even know you were speaking them, because you knew they came not from your brain but from somewhere deeper inside you. Momo had brought up a good point; each of the girls had made their case clear to you over the past few days and weeks. Each had made clear their desire for you, how much they wanted to be with you. And you’d accepted their declarations and considered each in turn - but not until now had you considered what you wanted.

You decide that what you want at the moment is a little time alone. You stand from the bed and with steps that felt heavier than they should, you begin to make your way to the bedroom door. When you reach the door and begin to open it, Momo rises from her chair and places a hand on your wrist.

You move to step around her, but she steps in front of you as well, her head lowered, as though she were afraid of what she might see if she looked up at you. Behind her, she closes the door, the click of the handle sounding uncomfortably loud in the quiet room.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, her voice low and quiet. “What we want doesn’t matter if you don’t want the same thing.”

“It’s fine, Momo,” you say, trying your best to control your frustration and the sudden rise of anger in your head, “it’s fine. It can wait until after we bag Irene and finally move on from this mess.”

You move to step around Momo, but once again she blocks you from leaving by stepping in front of you - but this time she moves her face closer to yours, your noses grazing softly.

It only takes a few seconds and a light graze of your faces - but almost immediately the passion that once existed between you reignites. She was once such a central figure in your life, someone you saw almost every day and spent almost every night with; but to have been away from her for so long, combined with the dangerous and intense circumstances you’d both found yourselves in when you finally reconnected - it had all built up, waiting to be released.

Her lips press lightly against yours, and the kiss starts off tamely, as though both of you are testing the waters - but it soon ignites into an ember and then a flame, your lips crashing against each other as you both give in to your desires.

Momo wraps her arms around your neck and you wrap yours around her slim, perfect torso, both of you relishing the feel of each others’ bodies once again. Her tongue swipes across your lips and you let her into your mouth, your tongues duelling the same way they had on so many days and nights. She tastes of peach lip gloss and sweet candy, a treat you’d gone too long without, one that reminded you of simpler, carefree days gone by.

You give her a deep kiss before releasing her lips, diving into her neck and the warm spots there that you knew she loved. She lets out a wordless gasp as your need to press yourself against her in turn presses her back against the closed door. The soft smell of her perfume fills your nostrils like an intoxicating drug, one you long thought you’d sworn off, but one you now greedily fill your hungry lungs with.

As you devour the smooth, soft skin of her neck Momo’s hands reach for your belt, working the latch with quick, experienced fingers, having done it a thousand times before. With the belt undone she hooks her thumbs into your waistband and pulls your pants down, taking your boxers along with them.

Almost as soon as your cock springs free her hand is on it, and you let a loud sigh escape your lips at the feel of her hands on your shaft again - a handjob wasn’t exactly hard to come by these days for you, but to have Momo’s hands on you again drove the pleasure to another level. The history, the past emotions - it heightened every little ounce of pleasure, every little touch and taste.

Your cock hardens quickly in her grasp, every pump of her soft, long fingers creating delicious little spikes of pleasure that shoot up your spine and directly into your brain. Momo gasps as you suck on the warm spots of her neck and jawline, her pace with your shaft quickening with each moan of pleasure that leaves her lips.

She eventually has enough, and she draws her neck away from your hungry lips to make eye contact with you. You see the same look in her eyes you’d seen so many times before - hazel pools filled with lust and need and want. She licks her lips, drops to her knees, and you feel the breath leaving your lungs involuntarily as she takes you into her mouth.

The other girls were no slouches when it came to oral sex, each of them pleasuring you in their own way. But none of them knew you like Momo did; and combined with the pent up tension and emotion that had pervaded your every interaction with her since she left your team, it made every entrance and exit of your cock into her wet, warm mouth that much more pleasurable. 

Her tongue swirls in circular patterns, focusing mostly on your head, swirling around the tip and beneath it, her right hand pumping at your base in time with each thrust into her mouth, the same way she had a hundred times before. And the reaction she creates in your body is the same; a quickly building pleasure that overtakes your senses from your head to your toes, the kind that removes the existence of anything else in the world aside from the beautiful young woman on her knees before you, and the wet, hot cavern of her mouth and tongue.

You brace yourself against the closed door with one hand, your other reaching down to cradle the side of her head as it bobs back and forth on your shaft. You let a sigh escape your lips - a needy, lusty sound - as you watch Momo work. When she looks up at you her eyes are just as wanton as yours, but there is more than just lust there; there is a look of affection, a look of a need fulfilled.

You want more - you needed more.

You draw your saliva-coated cock from the Japanese girl’s lips, and she moans in disappointment at your decision to stop her in the midst of her work. But when you reach down and grasp her by the shoulders and pull her up to her feet, her objections quickly flee from her mind.

You turn her around so she is facing the door, her hands reaching out to brace herself against it, leaving your hands free to explore her tight, perfect frame. She is wearing high-waisted black leggings that cling like a second skin to her small waist, full hips, and the round cheeks of her ass; and as great as the sight of the black spandex was, it looked even better once it was pulled down to her knees. Momo’s perfect, vanilla skin almost glows in the early morning light, creamy and soft, begging to be touched and held and squeezed.

You press yourself against the young woman’s now naked midsection, your slick cock pressing between the round cheeks of her ass and the small of her back. Momo gasps at the touch of your cock on her body, the gasp turning into a long, soft moan as you thrust softly between her cheeks, a prelude, a tease of what was to come.

She squirms against you, grinds her hips and ass against your crotch, her body moving like liquid as she struggles to find release for the need building within her. But you deny her for now - you had to feel more of her, had to indulge in more of the perfect body you’d gone for so long without.

You continue to thrust between her ass cheeks, but as you do so you bring your hands up her naked sides, enjoying the feel of her soft, creamy skin beneath your fingers and palms. When you reach the edge of the short blue crop top she is wearing you dive beneath it, finding that she is wearing a black sports bra beneath it. You dig your fingertips beneath it’s hem and pull upward, feeling her large, round breasts bounce free as you pull it above her full mounds.

Almost immediately your hands are on her breasts, indulging in the feel of her perfect tits in your hands, enjoying their weight and the soft creaminess of them. Your thumbs and index fingers find her nipples, delighting in the fact that they were already stiff with pleasure. You would’ve given anything to have them in your mouth, but you settle for teasing and pinching them with your fingers, twisting the stiff little buds until Momo’s gasps and whimpers turn into full on moans, filling the small bedroom with vocalizations of the physical pleasure coursing through her young body.

Momo’s butt grinds even stronger against your crotch until she is thrusting your cock between her ass cheeks all on her own. With a satisfied smile you release her right breast from your grasp, reaching down past sculpted abs and a flat stomach to the heat between her thighs, finding her almost dripping with need. Her own right hand joins yours at her crotch, her middle finger pressing your own against her drenched lips, pressing your finger down until it slips between the slippery lips of her pussy.

Momo moans - not a simple moan of sexual pleasure; a moan of need, of want, of pure lust. ���Fuck me, please,” she gasps.

You decide she’d had enough teasing. Bringing your hands to her slim waist, you position yourself to take her. Momo’s hand at her crotch brings your tip to her wet, slick entrance, the head of your cock pressing between her needy lips.

You thrust into her with one long, smooth stroke - and you both feel the air rushing from your lungs in a loud, unhindered gasp of pleasure.

You both take a few seconds there as you fill her to the hilt; both of you getting that first hit of a drug after a long absence, that sinful depravity of an unexpected relapse.

But you both need more than just that first hit; more than just a promise of pleasure. And so you withdraw your shaft from her body, her pussy hugging it tightly as though unwilling to let it go. It glistens with her juices. She trembles with need. 

You thrust back into Momo, then a third time, then a forth - until you settle quickly into a rhythm, fucking the gasping, mewling Japanese girl against the door of the bedroom with quick, strong thrusts. Her body is rocked with each entry into her pussy, the round cheeks of her ass bouncing deliciously with each impact, her spine and back easing into a delightful curve as she settles into your rhythm.

Her gasps and whimpers and moans fill the room, unheeding of the presence of neighbors or teammates or anyone else that could possibly interrupt the pleasure you were building inside her body. You cannot help but join her, her tight, hot body and the wetness of her pussy turning the pleasure in your loins into wordless grunts and gasps.

“Oh, fuck, fuck me please,” she gasps, her words light and breathless, as though she were having more than just lust fulfilled - there is a happiness in her tone, a joy, almost, that something she’d lost had finally come back into her life.

“Fuck, Momo,” you say in return, not capable of coming up with the words to say any more. When you’d fucked in the past your words were dirty, vulgar; now they were filled with some other emotion. Was it joy? Happiness? Nostalgia, at the way things used to be? You didn’t have the time or mental capacity to interpret it, not when Momo’s perfect body was taking you in and out, the tight wet heat between her legs driving you insane with each thrust into her pussy.

You settle fully into your rhythm, fucking her for a few beautiful minutes, neither increasing nor decreasing your pace; both of you enjoying the moment, the pleasure rising within your bodies. You drink in every inch of Momo’s body as you pump in and out of her - the graceful curve of her back, the round softness of her bouncing ass, the glistening wetness of her pussy lips as they take you in and out, lathering your cock with her slick juices each time. Your hands wander - over her hips and back and ass and breasts, never once breaking contact, never once without creamy vanilla skin beneath your fingertips.

You reach up to the bun of hair at the back of her head and give it a light tug, pulling her head back, her throat opening up into a long, lustful moan.

Her hands search for something, anything on the wall to grasp as an outlet for her pleasure - but failing to find anything, she reaches for the desk next to her. The task is made impossible by each thrust into her body, causing her hand to bounce frantically around on the desk; her movement knocks a few notepads and pens to the floor, not that she minded, not that she gave a damn or could even process the mess she was making, not when every thrust of the stiff, long cock into her body was driving her insane with pleasure.

“I… I, oh god, I’m cum-”

You’d seen and felt Hirai Momo orgasm hundreds of times, but the orgasm that overtakes her now is perhaps the strongest you’d ever given her. Her perfect, sculpted body is reduced to a quivering, mewling mess as your next thrust drives her over the edge. She moans. She gasps. But mostly, she trembles and shakes as she cums, her gaping mouth frozen in a seemingly endless moan of pleasure.

Her pussy clenches and pulsates and tightens deliciously around your cock - and it takes every effort not to join her over the edge. For as wonderful as she was from behind you had to have her face to face, needed to see those perfect features while you filled her.

Momo seems to have the same idea, for when she eventually recovers from her orgasm she turns around, letting you regretfully slip out of her body. She almost tears her leggings from her body before turning to the desk and sweeping half of the stuff on it onto the ground. Locking eyes with you, she hops onto the desk and spreads her legs, allowing you between them.

Within seconds you are inside her again, fucking her face to face. 

She was a sight to behold from behind, but nothing quite beat watching her face as you filled her again and again with your slick, hard cock, those pretty features contorted in pleasure and lust and fulfilled need. Each thrust into her body gives her breasts a beautiful shock, her stiff nipples bouncing deliciously with each clap of your crotch against hers. The flex of her sculpted abs with each of her breaths, the soft creaminess of her thighs as she spreads them widely to take you inside her, the shaved mound above a glistening pussy and its splayed lips as your cock pumped in and out of her - it all became too much, all became too much to take in at once. It almost embarrassed you to admit you were closer to orgasm than you thought.

Momo lies back on the desk until she is resting on her elbows, giving you a perfect view of her body as you continue to fuck her. She captures both of her large breasts for a moment to pinch her own stiff nipples, before releasing them both so you could watch them bounce with each thrust into her body - just the way she knew you liked. Her eyes, locked on yours, are half-lidded and dripping with wanton desire.

For a few long, beautiful minutes you fuck the young woman on the desk, relishing the feel of every thrust, every entry and exit into her impossibly perfect body. But the feel of her wet, hot silk wrapped around your shaft, her needy and wanton cries of lust and moans of need - they all built up to an orgasm you were simultaneously craving and fearing, because you knew it would mean an end to this experience.

“Fuck, Momo, I-”

“Just cum for me, baby,” she replies, raising her torso from the desk to press her mouth against your ear as she wraps her arms and legs around you, “Please. Cum in me like you used to. Fill me again. Fill me with your cum.”

“Momo… Momo, I-”

“Cum inside me!”

When you finally cum it is like your world has ended; the pleasure overtakes every ounce of your being until you’re unsure whether you’re still alive. The pulsating of your shaft inside Momo’s hot, tight pussy, the feel of filling her body with thick, creamy semen, and the light, airy gasp of her moans are the only physical sensations you are aware of.

You almost forget to breathe - and when you finally regain consciousness, holding yourself up with weak hands on either side of Momo’s exhausted body, you have to remind yourself to do so, taking in large gulps of oxygen to feed tired lungs.

It’s Momo that raises your head with her hands until you are face to face with hers. Her eyes are heavy with fulfilled lust, but also genuine affection. She was someone you loved and someone you might still love - and you see, in those dark brown pools, that she perhaps still felt the same.

She kisses you, and it is a kiss that confirms the way she felt.

---

“This is a pretty big deal, huh?” Minatozaki Sana asks.

“Yes, yes it is,” Yoo Jeongyeon answers, although most of her attention is focused on the bank of laptops and screens in front of her.

Sana sighs to herself, seeing that Jeongyeon was too preoccupied with making last minute adjustments and preparations on her laptop to provide her with conversation. The two are sitting in the back of the van that belonged to Momo and her team, parked in an alleyway a block from Red Velvet’s apartment building. Jeongyeon was in charge of keeping an eye on all the cameras Momo and her team had planted the day before.

Sana fidgets with the backpack on her lap, playing with the zippers the same way an impatient child might while waiting for class to start. Jeongyeon turns her head from the monitors to give Sana a sharp look - and the Japanese girl gives her an apologetic bow of her head before ceasing her play with the zipper.

But soon she is tapping a beat on the backpack with her fingers.

“Sana,” Jeongyeon finally snaps.

“I’m sorry,” the Japanese girl replies, “I’m just… nervous.”

“We all are,” Jeongyeon replies, her tone relaxing somewhat, “but we’ll be okay. This time tomorrow we’ll be laughing about how we’ve finally bagged Irene.”

Sana seems comforted by the Korean girl’s confidence, and she offers her a smile.

There is a knock on the rear of the van, and the door opens to reveal a smiling Yeri.

“Ready to go, Sana-chan?” the young woman asks, her bright face beaming, showing no trace of nervousness given the gravity of the day’s upcoming events.

“Ready!” Sana answers, as brightly as she could. The Japanese girl gathers the backpack that is carrying her recording equipment and hops out of the van, giving Yeri a high five as she does so. Taking a deep breath to gather herself, she begins to walk away towards the cafe opposite the apartment building, where she was to set up her lookout point. Her role was to inform the rest of the team the second Irene arrived on the premises.

After watching Sana leave and giving Jeongyeon a reassuring smile, Yeri returns to her place in the passenger seat of the van. 

Chaeyoung, sitting in the driver’s seat, doesn’t even turn her head to welcome Yeri back into the cabin. Her eyes are locked on Sana’s swaying hips as the girl walks towards the cafe. “Damn, Japanese girls are hot,” she says under her breath.

“They sure are,” Yeri agrees as she retakes her seat. 

Had Chaeyoung been able to tear her gaze from Sana, she might have noticed something tucked into the back of Yeri’s pants.

---

“She’s here,” Momo says from her seat in front of the recording equipment, “Sana reports she’s alone. Jeongyeon says she’s at the main elevator.”

“Finally,” Jihyo says. She closes up the bulletproof vest she is wearing and draws her sidearm from the holster at her belt before racking the slide and chambering a round. On the other side of the bedroom Nayeon does the same, the thick dark blue vest looking almost out of place on her tiny frame.

The sight of Nayeon handling the weapon disturbed you somewhat; not that you felt she was incapable of handling herself - rather, you had trouble difficulty reconciling the image of the young, naive schoolgirl you once knew with the strong, confident woman who now stood in front of you. As Nayeon reholsters her pistol, some sort of compact Glock variant, she catches your eyes and gives you a sheepish smile. You are comforted, somewhat, in seeing a little bit of the girl you once knew in the woman’s soft, beautiful features.

You open the bedroom door to speak to Seulgi, who is waiting on the living room’s couch.

“She’s here.”

You wonder if there is anything else you could say, any small words of encouragement you could provide the former member of Red Velvet that might help her in some way. But when you see the determination and conviction in her eyes, you realize she didn’t need to be told anything further.

Closing the door, you step back into the bedroom, where the other three girls are standing by.

“Let’s recap. When Irene gets here, Seulgi has five minutes to confront her. Only after those minutes are up do you two go out there and arrest her.”

“I still don’t understand why she gets five minutes at all,” Jihyo states. “This is a criminal matter. We need to arrest her the second we’re able to. Every extra second she spends out there is a second she can use to get away.”

“I promised her five minutes,” you answer. “It’s the least we can do for the work she’s done to get Irene here. Without Seulgi, this doesn’t happen.”

“She deserves it,” Momo adds, giving you a reassuring nod.

“Fine. But the second those five minutes are up, Nayeon and I go in there and arrest her. Then we take her straight to the station for processing.”

“Understood,” you answer. 

Satisfied that the plan was in place and the four of you were on the same page, you take a seat next to Momo, accepting the pair of headphones she offers you that are connected to the listening and recording devices in the living room. On the screen of her monitor, you watch Seulgi pace nervously back and forth as she waits for the knock on her door.

--

“Seulgi, I-”

“No. You don’t get to speak. I ask the questions, you answer them. That’s how this goes.”

“I… I thought you were-”

“What did I just say?”

“Is Yeri-”

“She’s fine. Now stand there and shut the fuck up.”

Their first words are contentious and confrontational. You’d wondered how their first interaction would go; Seulgi, as she often did, set the tone.

Irene looked confused, almost unsure of herself - and it seemed out of place for her character, given your only other direct interaction with her. In her office at SM HQ all those months ago, Bae Irene was cold and calculating, with a ruthless streak that pervaded every aspect of her character. Now she seemed rattled, as though merely seeing Seulgi again had shaken her to the core. Understandable, given what happened the last time they saw each other.

“Do you know… what I had to go through… when you left us behind?” Seulgi asks. While she was obviously trying to remain as cold as she could, the small hints of weakness in her tone betrayed the strong front she was trying to put up.

“Seulgi… please. Let me-”

“Y’know, all those months we spent in YG’s dungeon… I thought about giving up. About letting it all go. But only one thing kept me going, Irene. Just one thing gave me the strength I needed to make it through the day. Only one thing gave me the drive to escape YG. Do you… do you know what that was?”

Irene is shaken as she listens to Seulgi’s words. She fidgets nervously with her jacket, her feet shuffling on the floor nervously. But her face - her expression - was what gave her away. She is  a broken woman, as though the very sight of Seulgi had torn down the cold ice queen persona she was so well known for.

She seems unable to even answer Seulgi’s question, and so she merely shakes her head.

“It was the possibility… the idea that I might see you again some day. That I might stand in front of you and ask you just one question. Just one word.”

Irene’s lip quivers, as though she were fighting a vain battle to hold back her tears.

“...why?”

Irene lets an exasperated gasp leave her mouth, as though it were something she were struggling to keep inside. She covers her lips with a hand, her eyes closing.

“Why?” Seulgi continues, “Why did you leave us behind? We cried and sweat and bled together, and when it came down to it - when we needed you most - you left us behind!”

Seulgi’s anger is at the fore now, and she does nothing to fight it, nothing to save her words. She is shaking, her hands balled into tight fists.

“Fucking tell me, Irene! Tell me why you left us behind!”

Through the camera feed, you witness Bae Irene do something you never in a million years thought you’d see - she cries. The tears fall from her cheeks in a glistening spill, down perfect, porcelain skin. She covers her face with her hands, as though her hands could somehow keep her from facing the accusations of her best friend and the dark memories that accompanied them.

“I’m so, so sorry, Seulgi. I-”

“No,” Seulgi demands, and while her back is turned to the camera you could tell from her tone that she too was crying. “No, you don’t get to apologize. You only get to answer the question. Now. Tell me. Tell me why.”

A few moments pass as Irene struggles to control her emotions. Your view of her is shaken; you long thought of her as a cold and calculating villain, heartless and cruel, especially as you navigated the many challenges and dangers she and her company threw your way. But that was all a far cry from the broken, teary girl on the screen of the laptop in front of you.

“I… I… Do you, do you remember… when I was first assigned to take down YG?” she asks, with uncertain words, wiping away tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She keeps her gaze locked on her hands as she struggles to compose herself, unwilling or unable to match Seulgi’s eyes.

“Yes. You got in close with the YG CEO.”

Irene smiles at the floor, despite her tears, as though she had just heard a joke.

“I lied to you, Seulgi. I lied to all of you. I told you I had the upper hand, had him wrapped around my finger. It was the opposite.”

There is silence for a few moments as Seulgi tries to comprehend what she was saying, and while Irene tries to compose her next words.

“I tried to overpower him, bend him to our needs, the way we always did with other men. But he was scarier than I thought. Instead, he turned it around on me. He used you four to get to me.”

“...what?”

“He suddenly had pictures of the four of you. He knew where we lived, where we worked, where we went out for dinner. He threatened to hurt you if I didn’t do what he said. And through us, he wanted to bring down SM as a whole. But even that wasn’t enough - he threatened my family too, and yours. He even had pictures of Wendy’s family in Canada. I didn’t tell you any of this. I got us into the mess, and I thought I could get us out of it.”

“But I thought… I thought you had him under your control? And that was how you found out about Blackpink, and how we needed to rescue them?”

Irene laughs again, a sad, ironic smile on her lips that carried little humor.

“That wasn’t a rescue mission, Seulgi. That was a kidnapping.” 

Seulgi doesn’t answer, seemingly shocked into silence.

“YG relied on Blackpink. They were YG’s corporate espionage division - not their R&D team, like I told you. Blackpink were the ones that stalked our families and got YG their information. Without them their company was going under, thanks to all those scandals they were involved in. Taking Blackpink down was a form of revenge on them - and I thought that it would keep him from threatening us ever again. Once he promised to leave us alone, I’d let the girls go. The less you four knew about it, the better off you were. But things went south during the mission...”

“Jesus, Irene…”

“...and I had to leave you behind. I thought… I thought I could exchange the Blackpink girls for you and Yeri. He insisted I release the girls first. I was desperate and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to make sure you two were okay - so I released them. But YG didn’t hold up their end of the bargain. They kept you two. And they used you against me, as revenge.”

“How?”

“They threatened to hurt you if I didn’t comply with them. They knew JYP was their next closest competitor, so they told me to do whatever it took to bring them down.”

“So all that backstabbing, hiring Chou Tzuyu and Minatozaki Sana to bring down JYP, hacking their servers - that was all on YG’s orders?”

“Yes,” Irene answers, the word a soft gasp that leaves her lips, as though she didn’t want to say it. 

When Seulgi speaks, it is only after long, agonizing minutes in silence.

“That… that’s not enough, Irene.”

“...what?”

“You… you still left us there.”

“I had the Blackpink girls. I thought I could-”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you left us behind. It doesn’t take away the pain-”

“Seulgi-”

“I would have never left you behind, Irene. I would have stood there and fought with you. I would have been captured with you. And I would have been right there with you while those YG fuckers-”

“Seulgi, please. YG-”

“No. No, Irene, No. I don’t give a shit about YG or SM or JYP or whoever the fuck else was involved. No. You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not anymore.”

Tears have begun to fall down Irene’s cheeks again, although she makes no effort to wipe them away, facing Seulgi with as brave a face as she could possibly make. Perhaps she knew, somewhere deep down, that facing Seulgi’s accusations was a punishment she deserved.

“I loved you, Irene!” Seulgi says, her words desperate. “I loved you. I still love you. And when I saw you leave us behind it shattered my heart into a million pieces. That pain, and the pain we endured at YG - it was all because of you. You deserve to feel the same pain I did.”

In the bedroom, Jihyo rises to her feet.

“That’s it,” she says with a hushed whisper for fear of the two in the living room hearing, “that’s all we need. Her time is up, and she’s about to go ballistic. We go now.”

Before you can stop her or say otherwise, Jihyo is already opening the bedroom door, Nayeon close on her heels. 

“Seoul PD! Bae Irene, you are under arrest,” Jihyo announces, ignoring the confused protests of Seulgi, Momo and yourself. She begins to read out the list of Irene’s crimes as Nayeon steps behind her and handcuffs her.

The next few seconds are a whirlwind of confusion, an overload on the senses. Seulgi’s anguished cries of anger; Momo trying to reason in vain with Jihyo; Nayeon reading Irene her rights in both English and Korean; Irene’s cold, sad eyes, and the defeated look on her tear streaked face as her wrists are cuffed behind her. It all almost seemed to move in slow motion, the angry and sad and stern tones all blending into one long, incomprehensible blur.

Some time later, you’d look back at what would happen next and remember the utter chaos that erupted all in the space of a few seconds. You remember the way it felt - the sudden, unexpected rush of air pressure. The way you felt it in your skin and especially in your ears. The bright, wicked flashes of light that stole the attention of your eyes before temporarily blinding you with their unwanted brilliance.

And later you’d wonder how someone who’d seen and heard many thousands of gunshots on TV, movies and video games was still utterly unprepared for the sound of a gun firing twice, indoors, from only a few feet away. Gunshots, you realized that day, are greedy, possessive things - demanding every ounce of your attention, against your will, ignorant of your preparation or readiness for the sensations that accompanied them.

When the gunshots finally release your senses from their grasp, your eyes are the first to recover. They register two bodies on the floor lying in crumpled heaps. Your last glimpse of Seulgi is as she’s dragging Irene out of the door and into the hallway, a smoking pistol in her hand.

---

Author’s Note: :O

[itsclydebitches]

A weird defence I've seen of RWBY's conflicts has been that it's good writing simply by the virtue that people can disagree on what's the right thing to do in said conflict. Which doesn't work when one decision is being presented as the only valid choice while every other option is either not addressed or demonized. This isn't a story leaving a nuanced set of stances to explore, it's a guy on stage signalling the crowd to boo whenever someone goes against the Protag's decision.

Real quick, I want to talk about RWBY by not talking about RWBY. I’ve seen this argument a lot too and the tl;dr is that just because your audience debates the right action in a conflict  — something that is inevitable given how subjective media is  — doesn’t mean the story encouraged that reflection in any way. As you say, RWBY pretends that those disagreements don’t exist and that This Is The One (1) Right Answer... which entirely defeats the purpose of a morally nuanced situation in the first place. That lack is bad writing because it demonstrates the author’s inability to provide an accurate picture of the conflict while still ensuring we come out of it liking the parties involved. The conflict was too complex for them to manage alongside equally complex characterization, so they just pretended it was far simpler than it actually was. That’s not something to praise. 

But to get to the not RWBY part. I’ve mentioned this a couple times before, but one of the scenes that I think manages these sorts of conflicts really well is the funeral fight in The Haunting of Hill House, episodes 6, “Two Storms.” So warning from here on out for spoilers. Sometimes, the best way to see what’s not working well in one show is to look at another show that does (basically) the same thing successfully and compare the two. 

Normally I’d include screenshots, but Netflix doesn’t allow that :/ So I’m forced to rely on bullet points. 

The basic premise is that the Crain family has assembled in daughter Shirley’s funeral home, the night before they bury their sister, Nell. A lot of secrets are about to come to light. 

The scene kicks off when their father, Hugh, relays the call he got from the housekeeper the night of Nell’s death. She had committed suicide in the family’s childhood home. 

Though everyone knew how she’d died, son Steven is distraught at hearing the details and reveals that a few weeks prior Nell crashed a book signing of his. This shocks the others given that this was very unusual behavior for Nell. 

Shirley likewise reveals that she got a call from Nell who’d been worried about their brother, Luke, but hadn’t spoken to her the night of her death. The implication is that no one did. They’ll never know what was going through her head the night she died. 

Hugh reveals that she did call him. “I talked to her.” 

Stunned by this news, his children demand to know what was discussed and Hugh is clearly reluctant to continue. However, he eventually says that Nell wasn’t just worried about Luke, but also the “Bent Neck Lady,” a specter from her childhood.

The viewer knows that ghosts are real in this show. The kids don’t. Or rather, they all experienced supernatural occurrences in their childhood, are still experiencing them now, but only some of them are willing to admit they’re real. Steven is the diehard skeptic of the bunch and starts yelling at his father, accusing him of aiding Nell’s delusions and ignoring a family history of mental illness. In particular, he declares that this “makes you culpable [in her death].” 

Steven continues to accuse Hugh of “holding back information” about Nell and Hugh shoots back that “If I held back anything it was to protect you kids.” The viewer understands Hugh’s dilemma: the only reason he keeps things to himself is because Steven and the others refuse to believe the truth, with an added dose of this supernatural stuff being very dangerous. Steven asks, “Why do I need protection from the truth?” 

Before their fight can go any further, Shirley tells Steven, “You might want to check yourself before you start talking about the truth.” He published an autobiographical book about their childhood trauma and notably capitalized on a supernatural angle he doesn’t believe in. Shirley calls it “blood money.” 

As the argument about the ethics of his book rages, Shirley defends herself primarily with how everyone else thinks this is “blood money” too. No one took a cut when Steven offered one, proving how despicable they all think it is. 

Meanwhile, sister Theo has been getting heat for being drunk (a coping mechanism for her own supernatural troubles) and Shirley eventually pushes her far enough that she admits she did take Steven’s money and used it to get her degree. “It’s good, fucking money.” Suddenly, Steven has someone in his corner and Shirley’s main defense has crumbled. 

Shirley is furious that Theo had this secret income but was still living with her and her husband. Theo reminds her that she offered to pay rent, but Shirley isn’t interested in hearing that. She demands that Theo move out immediately and uses this betrayal as the new way to protect herself. She’s the victim here. 

Steven, sensing another secret in the works, cautions Shirley to “get off your high horse before you fall off.” 

Shirley maintains her position until her husband blurts that they also took Steven’s money. Shirley hasn’t been running the funeral home well and they would have sunk without it. 

Despite being the punching bag for the second half of this fight, Shirley is offered both reassurance and dignity. Her husband emphasizes that the only reason they’re struggling is because Shirley is a good person. She does too much work pro bono. Shirley also delivers the line, “Do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?” calling into question the husband’s choice to admit this now, purely as a way to prove her wrong. 

Shirley leaves to get some distance and discovers that someone — something — has put buttons over Nell’s eyes. The shock of this keeps the fight from continuing and, as plot intervenes, gives the characters the space needed to eventually start healing and forgiving one another, notably by sitting with the various truths they all now have to grapple with. 

Phew! A long summary, but I’ve put this much detail in to highlight the nuance of the scene. Obviously RWBY would differ in many ways  — less cursing, for one  — but the core elements of any morally complex scene should be the same. The important takeaways here are that no one in the Crain family are “pure” or “evil” and everyone gets their chance to be both right and wrong. Hugh is right that Steven won’t listen to him and wrong in that he didn’t do enough to help his kids. We get Steven and Hugh’s frustration, their understanding of the world at odds with one another. Steven is wrong to put everything on his father and justified in starting his writing career with their story. We watch the scene move from “Steven is Wrong and everyone agrees” to “Oh shit nm, more and more of the family are revealing that they benefited from his money, complicating how “wrong” he actually is.” Shirley is right to point out that Theo is getting drunk during their sister’s funeral and Theo is right to point out that being drunk doesn’t erase having a good point. Theo is allowed to scream at the group and then immediately be offered help when she falls. Shirley pretends she’s better than all of them and is slowly, horrifyingly proven wrong, but is then still extended compassion and is allowed to point out how horribly they’ve just treated her. The husband is right about the money, wrong about keeping it a secret/revealing it the way he did, right in how he tries to diffuse the other fights, and VERY wrong by getting caught kissing Theo down in the storeroom! 

The scene twists and turns in a way that highlights everyone’s points and their flaws, the moments when their perspective should be upheld and questioned. The end result is a scene that has space for the audience to debate everyone’s choices without imposing the single view of This Person Is Obviously Wrong/Right and If You Think Otherwise You’re Not Watching The Show Correctly. The show itself acknowledges the complexity and nuance of these problems. It asks, “Hugh should have tried harder, but what more can he do when his kids literally don’t believe this stuff exists? Was Steven really justified in writing a book about their collective experiences? What does it mean that something his family sees as capitalizing on their trauma also helped them keep businesses and schooling afloat? Was it okay for Shirley’s husband to keep that money a secret, even if it helped them? How might he have told her in a less cruel manner? What about Shirley’s life has led to her intense need to be on that ‘high horse’?” 

And of course: “Who is really responsible for Nell’s death?” By this point the viewer already knows that there is no “really” here. This is too complicated a tragedy to lay the blame at any one person’s feet. Everyone in this room has moments of justified accusations and moments of chastisement because they’re well written, well rounded characters who are neither saints nor devils. The length of the scene (done in a single shot!) emphasizes that if you just wait long enough, even the most perfect looking person will eventually have a skeleton pulled from their closet. No one is above mistakes. 

RWBY has NONE of that. Zip. Nada. Nothing. RWBY gave us a scenario with many of the same, core themes  — secret keeping, secrets unwillingly revealed, blaming others for your mistakes, hurtful actions with helpful consequences, questioning who is responsible for a tragic death  — and instead of even attempting to give us some of the above nuance, RWBY said only that Ruby was right, Ozpin was wrong, and demanding that the audience ignore the nuance they could already see in order to accept the canon. 

RWBY’s scene asks the audience to play dumb and look at the world as a Black and White place, despite the show simultaneously insisting that “the world isn’t a fairy tale” and is, in fact, filled with shades of gray. 

Just not any shades of gray that mess with that dichotomy that now drives the story.  

That’s not good writing. It’s oblivious and contradictory writing that makes the audience frustrated. Not satisfied, surprised, contemplative, or curious. Just frustrated. 

[arieswonjin]

softbound; p.1

title: softbound; (modern royalty au)

pairings: bookshop owner!allen ma x princess!reader

genre: fluff, some angst

word count: 4.3k (p.1) 

navigation: teaser; p.1; p.2; epilogue;

warnings: none

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

story playlist; (pls this is cute)

a/n: first part of my fic exchange with @cravicton​

the one-seater sofa you were nestled in was threadbare and faded, but its old charm was what made it the perfect finishing piece to your little nook. 

it sat between two wooden shelves, the excellent fit making it look like it's been specially made to be placed in that very corner of the downtown bookshop. the seat dipped down significantly after hours and hours spent carrying weight as people momentarily escaped from their mundane days and glided through one fictional world into another where they could live some other life apart from the one they had in this modern 21st-century town. 

it was probably fate telling you to savor life’s simpler pleasures, having found the bookshop in one of your low-profile tours of the kingdom—one of your responsibilities as a ruler in training. you’ve been coming here ever since to no one but your assistant’s knowledge.

in the three years that passed, you couldn't remember if you have seen the seemingly insignificant yet inviting piece of furniture you were sitting on ever look new or if there was anybody in your town who has used it as much as you have.

what you did know was that every time you came to get lost in reading, a new trinket prepared by the bookshop's only owner, allen, would always be waiting on top of it. a book with a marked page, illustrations that reminded him of you, or simple items that made you smile were always accompanied by a mug of dark cocoa placed on top of a nearby shelf with a neat coaster. and don't forget the little note signed with a tiny, almost reluctantly-drawn, heart. 

tonight, it was a newly-bought knitted blanket the color of lush forests in autumn. you wrapped it around yourself the moment you sat down and you noticed that it smelled like old books and oat-scented candles. "because it's almost your favorite season," the note said. 

“how's my best customer enjoying their favorite spot tonight?” allen's face appeared peeking through a small space between the books to your right. he smiled, eyes and all, seeing you cradled in the knitted blanket with a book propped up with your knees, his warm mug in your hand.

allen was doing his nightly rounds, making sure new book arrivals were well stacked and sorted before he called it a day and went home. seeing you still immersed in reading a few minutes before the shop's closing time was not a new sight to him. in fact, it was how he finished many of his more enjoyable workdays.

"you know, if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you." you took a sip of the dark cocoa and raised an eyebrow at him, ignoring the question. "with hot cocoa like this every time they're here? i'm surprised people aren't lining up outside."

allen didn't stop smiling and raised an eyebrow back to tease you, "so that means you're enjoying it?" he asked, making his way around the shelves and towards your sofa, plopping himself down on one of its arms.

the answer to his question was apparent with the relaxed way you were sitting, but you answered him anyway. "yes, allen. as always. thank you." you looked up at him, smiling sincerely and noticing how his warm stare didn’t falter.

"i like this one." he tapped the spine of the book you were holding, the white palace, by tom lee. allen always liked discussing books you’ve both read, going over details you yourself would have missed. he looked at you, taking the softbound item in his hand. “princess…”

you kept yourself from choking on your drink. for the past three years, a set of unusual circumstances led to allen still being clueless that you, his bookshop’s most avid patron, were indeed a crowned princess. 

did he finally hear about who you were? you really wanted to be the one to tell him and you were planning to do it soon, but he must’ve found the timing impeccable, seeing you read a novel about royalty then and there. 

you braced yourself for the questions, gathering up remnants of an unfinished explanation that you wanted to save for later.

“….princess mary, was that her name? the main character?” you inwardly sighed in relief and nodded.  maybe not. but soon.“how are you liking it so far?”

"i think it's quite exaggerated, the way they described the king and queen's private life. you know, they have an ordinary side to them, too. more than you would think.” you replied.

"mmhmm." he nodded thoughtfully like he always does when you expressed your opinion, like he was doing his best to grasp your perspective. “fiction has that tendency. and what are the chances of the princess getting married to a commoner?” 

you shrugged and patted the small space beside you on the one-seater. what are the chances of the princess getting married to a commoner? you turned the question over and over in your head. 

"i already closed up the entrance, but we can stay for another hour again if you want? wouldn't be the first time," allen said, accepting your silent offer and laughing at how both of you fit snuggly on the sofa, his chest pressed against your shoulder and his arms draped behind you. 

"how about just another five minutes? i actually have to go earlier today. work." you offered him a sip from the mug to which he obliged, putting his hands over yours as he sipped up the warm drink. "but this is just too comfortable to pass up." you finished. 

after a few lovely minutes, you helped allen close the bookshop. both of you walked side by side, taking the small path to the main road. the space between you two was almost nonexistent as the cold fall evening made you seek for each other’s warmth, however slight. 

you loved this, the comfortable silence he always gave you when you were about to part. he wasn’t too keen about asking you questions and was contented with listening only to what you wanted to share. he never asked, for instance, why you always refused to let him bring you home. instead, he told you almost a hundred times to be careful on the way. 

"i'm glad you enjoyed your nook today.” he faced you and you smiled at his words, giving him an intuitive peck on the cheek to which he scrunched his nose in delight. i enjoyed it too much, you thought. sometimes, being there made you forget that you were in line to rule an entire kingdom. you wanted to say this but decided against it. next time. i promise. “be careful on the way back, okay?” 

you nodded at him to go ahead. he never ever failed to look back at you at least thrice while walking away. 

tonight, you counted four. 

finally, he turned a corner and you sighed.

"your highness." a car stopped in front of you not even a minute after, its front windows rolling down to reveal your assistant. you remember specifically asking him not to open the car door for you when he drops you off and picks you up a block away from the bookshop, things he still remembers to do until now. 

you opened the door and sat yourself down on the backseat. "thanks, serim." 

upon getting in, you knew serim was ready to update you about any developments on your current dealings, the most pertinent one being the donor’s ball, the first-ever palace event your parents, the king and queen, were letting you host on your own. 

“there are some catering concerns that need to be finalized and i was told the guestlist for the donor’s ball is ready for you, your highness. when would you want to view it?” 

“tonight is fine. it would be great if it was brought to the drawing-room when we arrive.” 

“i’ll have it arranged. and a slot needs filling. one of the donors said they were withdrawing the donations for the children’s home, your highness,” serim reported, an undertone of annoyance just barely showing through at the said withdrawal.

“is it kim’s pages inc.?” you leaned your head on the window of the car and saw serim nod. “that’s fine. we have two weeks. that should be enough to find a replacement. let’s have a message sent to similar companies in town.” 

“right away, your highness.”

you made a mental list of your commitments for the rest of the week, knowing you’d have no free time to have another one of your nights at the bookshop with allen for a few days. but this was your reality and you weren’t complaining. you were bringing people the help they needed. telling allen would have to wait.

"oh, and serim?” you leaned forward to peak at his face through the rearview mirror. 

"yes, your highness?” 

“remember when i told you not to call me ‘your highness’?”

“yes….your highness.” he shifted in his seat, holding back a snort.

"you don't have to call me that when we're alone. we're practically siblings and it feels weird. just casually, okay? and take those sunglasses off, it’s evening.” you patted his shoulder playfully from the backseat, all the walls of professionalism crumbling down with your high-pitched laughter.

"alright, y/n." he laughed and cleared his throat, loosening up at your signal. 

serim, the only person inside the palace you could freely confide in when you were growing up, became your assistant at your request. his family has worked for the palace for years and no one could do the job better than him. ”since we're acting like actual buddies now, how's that bookshop owner doing? you told him already?” he asked, pulling up to the front gates of your residence which opened automatically at the sight of your vehicle.

"i will. soon.” 

your decision to not appear on television, or any platform for that matter, even while you were accomplishing work for public service was something your family never questioned. in fact, they supported it, knowing what scrutiny could do to a young woman still finding her character. 

that said, allen not knowing that you were a member of the royal family was not a big surprise, as you were less of a household face than the rest of the monarchy. you deliberately avoided media and the public eye with the help of your dedicated staff, but this didn't mean you dodged your responsibilities. you were busy as can be, meeting partners in private meetings, arranging food and basic support for local shelters, and making sure the palace helpers were well-compensated. 

allen’s bookshop was your breath of relief after a long day. in fact, the morning after spending hours at your small second home always made you feel like you were living a double life—from the worn-down sofa and aged bookshelves to the grand halls and luxurious decorative pieces of the palace.

“honey, i heard you were working until 2 am last night. you should really be getting rest. you know how busy we’ll all be on the day of the ball.” the queen greeted you with a frown as you approached the breakfast table set under a small gazebo in the middle of the palace garden. you sat down and were faced with a complete breakfast setup of the best eggs, toast, fruit, and all kinds of beverages, ready for you like they always were in the mornings. 

“good morning, darling.” the king greeted you after taking a sip of coffee. he eyed your mother, urging her to greet you good morning before the rest of her concerned reminders. “have some breakfast. you’ll need it with the way you’re bustling nowadays.”

“yes, father. and don’t worry, mother, we just had some unexpected things to iron out,” you assured your parents. with you taking care of the event for the first time ever, you knew they just wanted things to go smoothly.

the donor's ball was hosted every fall. its main purpose was to gather potential partners that will support the charities under the royal family’s care. it did mean going out and being seen more than you would like, but it was the perfect opportunity to bring more to your constituents. you couldn't pass up the additional support for your advocacies. 

but to add to that, your parents seemed to think the donor’s ball had another purpose.

“the kangs are on the guestlist. i heard they were bringing their heir, minhee,” your mother shared, trying to sound nonchalant, but you knew exactly what she was hinting at. “right?” she nudged your father who almost choked on his buttered roll. 

“right. jungmo is coming too. remember him? your horseback riding partner?” your father asked. 

“when i was 12? yes, father. i remember. and for the nth time…” you smiled at both of them patiently. “i’m marrying neither minhee nor jungmo.”

the king and queen merely looked at each other. their attempts to push you to meet potential grooms in the donor’s ball were now out of the picture. 

“it’s alright, i got it, thank you.” you smiled at the palace helper and took the pot of tea from her hands, pouring your own cup. 

“then who will it be, y/n? you know we always let you do what you think is best for you, but we only had one request: good in-laws.” the king asked, still sounding gentle as ever despite his hard exterior and the ever-so-pressing question. 

“you get a choice, dear.” your mother smiled at you over the breakfast table. “you can find someone to marry yourself or you can entrust the task to me.” 

“i’m on it.” you said almost inaudibly before taking a bite of your breakfast. 

“come again?” your parents were all ears now. never hearing anything about the state of your heart was the norm for them, so you suddenly saying that you were ‘on it’ was quite the surprise. 

you figured that if you were going to tell allen who you really were and how you really felt about him soon, your parents might as well know before they did anything funny, like set you up with kang minhee for example. minhee was great, but he was not allen. 

“what if i want to marry the owner of that small bookstore?” you asked more confidently than before. they were silenced for a few seconds, again exchanging looks, but later on, they merely shrugged like they realized just who they were talking to. by now, they would have gotten used to how unpredictable their only child could be. 

“then they had better pass their background checks. oh, and of course, we will have to interview them.” your mother explained. “—and don’t worry, i’ll tell your father not to scare them away.” she added after seeing that you were about to protest. to this, your father simply rolled his eyes, making the palace helpers giggle behind you. they always loved witnessing the rather casual exchanges you had with your parents. 

“alright.” you smiled, grateful that you three reached an understanding. you were anxious, yes. how is he going to take this? but you were also visibly giddy. you had too many butterflies in your stomach to worry about anything else. the technicalities would have to be taken care of some other time. “you’re going to love him.”

your parents smiled at you purely, “we can’t wait to meet him.”

“if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you.” allen shook his head, chuckling by himself inside his humble studio apartment. he was cooking up a simple lunch when he remembered what you told him the day before. unconsciously, he caught himself hoping that it was a masked confession. allen knew it was a reach, trying to deduce how you felt just from those words, but seeing how close you two have become—the lingering gazes, warm hugs, and pecks on the cheek—he hoped he had a chance to have his feelings reciprocated openly. it’s probably time to clear out where both of you stood. it’s been 3 years after all. 

the first time you ever stepped inside the bookshop, allen thought you were terribly overdressed. it was just at the break of spring and summer. you entered the shop alone and almost unnoticed, with allen’s back turned and you making the door chimes sound softer than they usually do. he actually only realized you were inside the shop when he saw you perusing the aisle containing contemporary mystery novels. with the beige sundress and huge sunglasses that you wore, one wouldn’t assume that you were from that town. 

“hi, uhm, are you a tourist?” allen asked, ready to offer his help if you said yes. however, he was not looking directly at you but at the book you had in your hands. it was one of the novels in his shop he was not very fond of due to its unnecessary wordiness and lack of research. 

“uhm, no. but i am new to this shop. they have a good selection, huh?” you paused and chuckled at the expression on allen’s face. “don’t worry, i’m not fond of his writing, either.”

“huh?” with a confused expression, he looked up at your face for the first time.

“i noticed you were squinting at it,” you said, raising the book up to eye level. 

“ah, i’m sorry.” a bashful laugh sounded throughout the bookshop. allen looked like he could be your age but he carried himself like a young child meeting someone for the first time. “but you have to admit, his book covers feel very satisfying.” 

“that’s the only reason why i was holding it. to feel it.” you laughed along with him and noticed that he was carrying a stack of at least 10 books. you removed your sunglasses to have a closer look at the titles. “you’re buying all of that?” 

“no, no. i— uh, own the shop, actually. just reorganizing.” he said shyly, not used to introducing himself to a customer because everyone in the neighborhood who came to buy from him already knew this fact.

“oh! and here i was asking you about your own selections! lovely shop, by the way, sir…?” 

“allen. just allen.” he held out his hand. when he asked for your name with complete curiosity and with no trace of recognition on his face, you knew that this was going to be a new and interesting place to be. from then on, his bookshop was the only place outside the palace to witness your unquenchable thirst for reading. 

with every visit, your relationship with allen bloomed from awkward exchanges of greetings and smiles to a routine of long-winded discussions—ranging from the sweet and the natural to the borderline debate-like—a welcome sign that you have grown comfortable in each other’s presence. aside from the fact that he still did not know a single thing about your family background, both of you could say that you’ve come to know each other well, even up to the smallest habits and preferences. 

allen could not remember when he realized that he always missed you terribly on the days you wouldn’t come. he did not know when he started to want to hold you while you had your nose up in a book. he also couldn’t tell at what point in time in the past three years his heart started beating faster at every soft tinkling sound of the door chime, always wishing it was you who entered when he turned and looked.  

although he was not sure exactly when he fell for you, he’s more than certain that he wanted to be able to spend time with you and maybe have a future with you outside of the confines of his store. 

“if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you.” the next time you came, he was going to tell you that he’s never done special gestures like that for any other customer. his heart simply becomes happy making you smile and he’ll be glad to continue doing so for as long as you let him. 

allen smiled by himself again, thinking about the mug of hot cocoa and heartfelt confession he was going to give you when you come back.

it’s been a few days since you last got the chance to take a break from your endless meetings. the two weeks leading up to the ball clouded your mind with nothing but work, work, and work. the one free night you had before the ball was tomorrow and you would usually be feeling excited at the thought of seeing allen and being cradled by pages of fiction in your spot between the shelves. but with the case at hand, all you could do was worry. the excitement upon telling your parents about him was now replaced with a rabbit hole of concern. 

“i can hear your heart racing through the phone lines, y/n…” your best friend said through the phone call. staying in your room cooped up with your thoughts just wasn’t going to do it. you needed someone who was not on edge to put you in the right mindset for tomorrow and no one could do it better than your childhood best friend, who just so happened to be the young prince of a neighboring kingdom. 

“i know, hyeongjun. be the prince that you are and give me your thoughts, please.” you leaned your back on one of the pillars of your balcony, staring out at the wide expanse of your town and the few flickering lights in the distance. you wondered if allen was closing up his shop right this very moment. 

“before that… tell me. why do you like this allen?” hyeongjun asked. as you knew he wasn’t one to judge based on status or occupation, you obliged. 

“well…” you started to fill him in right from the very beginning. your eyes were still looking out at the town, but your mind was replaying your typical visits to the shop like a movie reel. 

you told hyeongjun about how your heart would do somersaults seeing allen sitting on the front desk, looking dashing even in just a simple sweater; about how his eyes would light up when he turned and saw you enter the shop; how he would look down and have a tint of red on his cheeks, catching himself in the middle of a rant when you listened to his stories with a loving gaze and undivided attention.

you smiled dreamily as you continued to narrate how you found the very first note allen left for you. it was placed on top of a stack of aged books at the shelf you frequented. the note said: “y/n. because i noticed you seemed to love horror fiction. these are some of my favorites. tell me what you think about them? :)” you looked over at the front desk, meeting his eyes which were already looking in your direction. you gave him a thumbs up, earning an excited smile from him. 

before you left the bookshop that day, you noticed a bunch of crumpled post-it notes inside the bin beside the front door, some of them with longer messages, some with scribbled out hearts and more smiley faces. you chuckled, imagining how flustered he must’ve been while deciding what to write before finally settling for the simpler message instead. 

you jumpily described your surprise at how, several months after you first met, allen dared to hold your hand and pull you between the wooden shelves to show you the seat he set up just for you; how he would smile when you told him his shop brought you comfort; how the hours spent with him are the longest you could go without being served or addressed as a noble, but as a beloved friend and maybe even more.

“and his mind… he knows more things than i could possibly know. he’s smart. but he still listens to me like everything i say is brand new to him. he’s no prince, but he’s left me more to think about than any other prince i’ve met. no offense, hyeongjun. you know i love you.”

“none taken.” hyeongjun breathed out, taking in everything you said. “just now, it sounded like you were reading me a fairytale. y/n, i know you’re already a real princess, but you saying such things makes me think you’re a princess out of actual fantasy.”

“hyeongjun…” you whined, not understanding where he was going with this. 

“okay, look. i don’t think it was for the fear of him treating you differently that you still have not told him about your background,” he rationalized. hyeongjun has always been a bubbly friend, but you could rely on him to be wise and objective when you needed it the most. “it was the comfort that he brought you after a long day. maybe it was the way he treated you like an equal that kept you contented with what he knows about you at this point in time.” 

you stayed silent and felt the waves of worry ebbing away because of how accurately he described your situation.

“my point is, y/n, if he was everything you described him to be, he would understand why you took this long to tell him. don’t get ahead of yourself, okay?” hyeongjun asked. “but if he reacts negatively, i can always send some of my personal guards to talk it out with him and—“ 

“hyeongjun!”

“i’m kidding! i just wanted to make you laugh,” he said giggling. you shook your head and laughed along with him, feeling yourself gaining more will to face the next day. the sigh you had now was one of partial relief

“thank you… i mean it.” you told him. “see you at the ball?” 

“it’s your first donor’s ball. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

[southsidestory]

The Ghosts We Make

RATING: Explicit

SHIP: SasuSaku

SUMMARY: The Sasuke she knew is gone, but this savage stranger in his place is close enough that she can forget. For a night, Sakura loses herself in his arms, and pretends that the boy she loves is still here with her.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is an alternate take on what could have happened after Sakura offered to join Sasuke at the Samurai Bridge. To be 100% honest, I mostly wanted to write some enemy SasuSaku smut. If that sounds like something you'd enjoy, please read on! 

Oneshot. Complete.

Read on FFN or AO3

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This isn’t the Sasuke that Sakura once knew. That boy, the one she loves, is dead. And in his place stands a man far beyond salvation. A stranger in Sasuke’s skin, corrupted by the vengeance he sacrificed everything for. Including her.

On the Samurai Bridge, she made him an offer, one she didn’t expect him to accept. He did, though, and now Sakura walks by his side. Only a few scant inches separate them; that and the betrayal she intends. Because allowing him to live is an insult to the boy he once was, kind and protective beneath that cold facade. The facade has finally fallen away, but the heart beneath it is long gone.

“Here,” Sasuke says, pointing towards the small village hovering on the horizon. “We’ll stay the night.”

So he won’t take her to his hideout yet, wherever that is. Doesn’t trust her enough, she supposes.

Well, he always has had good instincts.

“All right,” Sakura says. “That’s fine by me. I’m tired.”

It’s been a long day, a long week. A long four years without him. She wonders how long the rest of her life will feel, once he’s not in it. Endless, probably. Either that, or she’ll fail, and the rest of her life will be very, very short.

The village can barely be called such, and there’s only one inn. A traditional looking establishment with a tiny, grey-haired woman behind the front desk. She narrows her eyes at them, and Sakura supposes they must be quite a sight: travel worn, obviously shinobi, Sasuke’s left cheek streaked with dried blood, like rust-red tears. For a moment, Sakura thinks the old woman is going to kick them out, but she accepts their ryo without complaint and hands over the key to a third floor room—just one room, with one bed, which Sasuke asked for.

She should be thankful. Sharing the same bed will make this—simpler. (Not easier. Nothing will make it easier.) It's hard to feel thankful, though, because she can't stop wondering what Sasuke wants with her. She's a medic, the perfect replacement for that poor girl he left to die, but there are plenty of medics in the world, if few of her caliber. Why allow her to join him when he has to be suspicious of her motives?

The answer may be as obvious as it is base, and found between the sheets of the one bed he requested.

No sooner than the door has closed behind them, he says, "I know you're trying to trick me."

Sakura swallows. "I've missed you, Sasuke. So much. I just want to be with you."

She's never told a lie with so much truth in it before.

Sasuke's jaw relaxes a fraction, but his eyes are all wrong. No warmth, no hidden softness—and on a purely clinical level, he seems unwell. His left eye has been bleeding, and both are clearly strained.

"Let me heal you," Sakura says.

Which is stupid. A weakened Sasuke with dulled vision is a Sasuke she might have a chance of killing.

He dismisses her with an abrupt wave of his hand. "I'm fine. Danzou was no match for me."

Whether or not that’s true, he looks sick, but Sakura lets it go.

Their rented room is clean enough, if plain, but the bed is small.

Sasuke catches her looking, and his lips turn up at the corners. "Nervous?" he asks, a cruel edge to the question.

He's playing with me. Like a cat with a mouse. Batting her one way and another before striking the killing blow.

"Why would I be nervous?" Sakura asks.

He walks over to her, so close that she can smell him. Exertion, fresh air, the smoky scent of some fire jutsu. And blood. Sasuke wraps his hand around her throat, the gesture gentle and ominous at once. A threat, but a tender one.

"Why do you think I asked for only one bed?" he whispers.

"To save money," Sakura says flippantly.

His hand tightens, and she can feel his thumb pressing into her pulse point. It should terrify her, but it isn't fear that's making her tremble.

"You used to be bolder than this with me," he says. "You told me you loved me so much you couldn't stand it."

That night… it all comes back to that, doesn't it? The night he left.

Sasuke bends down, until he's only a few inches away, and asks, "Can you stand it now?"

She swallows, feels her throat flex against his hand, which loosens and then quickly works to unfasten her cloak. It falls from her shoulders, leaving her in her combat gear, which suddenly feels immodest.

The way Sasuke is looking at her—it's not right. He seems unbalanced, that cool calm he always exudes utterly shattered. More than that, he seems shattered. There's a manic glint to his weakened, dark eyes. Anger and energy ready to burst free at any moment. She's a fool to come here, to risk this. Sasuke has always been dangerous, but right now he's wild. There's no telling what he might do.

So it really shouldn't shock her when he kisses her, but it does. Nothing has ever shocked her more in her entire life than his lips pressing against hers. Not at all like she imagined her first kiss, because this is rough and demanding. He bites her lower lip, and it hurts just enough to make her gasp. Then he's kissing her more deeply, and Sakura can't care whether this is a good idea or not, whether he loves her or hates her. All that matters is this kiss, and she throws herself into it, wraps her arms around his neck and gives in.

When he finally breaks away, his breathing is as ragged as her own. "You didn't answer my question, Sakura. Can you stand it now?"

What a hateful way to ask, Do you still love me?

Sakura steps backward, but that new distance does nothing to diminish the heat and want that charges the air between them.

"No," she admits. "I can't."

That must be the answer he hoped for, because she's suddenly in his arms again, and he's kissing her throat. Nipping, licking, sucking in a way that's sure to mark, and she lets him do it. Because soon that's all she'll have left of him—

Sasuke jerks at the zipper on her shirt, yanking it down. Her nipples harden just from that, which he must see through her bra.

"Did you think about me?" Sakura asks.

His answer will either hurt her or make this harder, but she can't take it back.

He stills, his hands grasping her sides, fingers on her ribcage, just below her breasts. "I tried not to," he says, and for one fleeting moment he sounds like her Sasuke again.

Maybe she doesn't have to do this. Maybe he isn't beyond salvaging—

Then he says, his voice harder, "It doesn't matter now."

"If it doesn't matter, why did you bring me here?" Sakura asks.

"Why did you come?" he snaps.

It's the cheap way out, answering her question with a question, and he doesn't even give her a chance to respond. Just kisses her again, hard and unyielding, like this is a fight instead of an embrace. Perhaps in a twisted way it is.

He manhandles her onto the bed, then his lap, his hands buried in her hair. There's a desperate edge to his kisses now, and Sakura knows hers are just as needy. Because this is it, her best chance, and it seems horribly wrong that it will happen this way. That she'll lose the boy she loves at the moment when she finally gets to have him.

Now, now. She has to do it now.

Sakura pulls a poison-edged kunai from her pouch, and she has a split second to stab him before he notices—

But she freezes. The deadly point of the kunai is pressed against his stomach, not quite close enough to prick, and she can't muster the force to carry out the deed. Her chance slips away like sand spilling through open fingers. He'll kill her now.

Sasuke grabs her wrist and squeezes so hard that she drops the kunai. He snatches it up, throws it away, and flips her onto her back, arms pinned over her head. His expression is vicious and furious, but worse than that, hurt.

"So much for love," he says, and he sounds choked. "I should kill you."

Sakura bites her quivering lip. She's shaking out of shame, not fear. Because she failed; because she attempted this in the first place.

"Go ahead," she says. "I'm ready."

And she is. Because a world without Sasuke is not one she'll ever find fulfillment in anyway. Her heart has been tied to his for what feels like forever, strung together by an invisible thread, and he's so far gone. It’s just a matter of time until she follows him. She closes her eyes, waiting. For a kunai to slit her throat, for his capable hands to break her neck. Surely he'll at least make it quick.

He releases her, and when Sakura looks up, she finds him frowning down at her. Still angry, still wounded, but saner.

"Either get out or take off your clothes," he says. "No weapons anywhere near you. No tricks."

Sakura sucks in a sharp breath. "You—you still want me?"

He glances away. "I want a willing girl. Are you willing, or was that a ploy to get close to me?"

"Both," Sakura says. The least she can give him now is that truth. "You're more handsome than ever. I'm sure you could find plenty of willing girls."

"None like you," he says. The words are ground out of him, like he's angry at himself for admitting it.

None like her. He has no idea what that does to her. To be wanted, finally wanted by him.

Get out, or take off her clothes, he said. She finishes what he started, and undresses.

.

.

Back at the academy, before she knew anything about loss or passion, she sometimes daydreamed about making love to Sasuke. In the vague and distant way that a twelve-year-old girl could conceptualize, mostly focused on having done it rather than the particulars. Later, once they were genin together, those daydreams turned both baser and more emotional. She imagined getting married someday, and the night that would follow, in more detail than she should have. In the time since he left, she has tried not to indulge in such fantasies. They only make her yearn more. But that doesn't stop the dreams, which only grow more heated with every passing year. Dreams in which a shadow Sasuke is on top of her and inside her, leaving her flushed and wet when she wakes.

She's fantasized about making love to him a thousand times, but she never imagined anything like this. A rough fuck in a rented bed, with her face pressed into the pillows while he pins her down with his strong body. She can't look at him in this position, but she can feel him. Rocking in and out of her, using her, driving her pleasure higher and higher with every thrust. It hurts so sweetly that she can hardly bear it. It's not supposed to be like this, and Sakura doesn't know what's worse: how little care he's putting into their fucking, or how much she's enjoying it anyway. She can't help but moan and arch her back, giving as much as she can with him holding her down this way.

Sasuke grasps her chin, turns her head to the side, and presses a messy, lopsided kiss to her open mouth. He swallows her whimpers and somehow takes her harder. She's not going to come this way, not without more careful attention, but she doesn't give a damn. Nothing could be better than this, even if it's ruining her. The Sasuke she knew is gone, but this savage stranger in his place is close enough that she can forget for a moment.

She can tell he's close from the sounds he's making, rougher and needier, and then he gasps—

"Sakura."

Her name, he said her name, and that's so much better than a climax could ever be.

She thinks, anyway. Then he pulls out of her, flips her over, and starts caressing her between her legs. It's clumsy, too much pressure in the wrong places, but then he finds the right spot and Sakura cries out. She's so wound up already that the slightest touch feels electric, the pleasure coiling tight so quickly that it doesn't matter that he's clearly never done this before. It's Sasuke touching her, taking the time to get her off even though he's already gotten his, and that's enough to push her right to the edge—and over it.

Sakura rocks up against his fingers, her back arched and legs painfully taut as bliss washes over her in luxurious pulses. He doesn't stop until after she falls to the bed, breathing hard in a way that��s almost like sobbing. Then it is sobbing, because something so wrong has no right to feel so good, but even pleasure this profound can't fix them.

"Come home," Sakura says. "Just come home, and we'll figure out the rest—"

He clamps a hand over her mouth, smothering her plea. "Konoha isn't my home anymore. And it's not the place you think it is. Everyone's hands are bloody, they're all guilty, every one of them—"

Sasuke jerks away from her and pulls at his hair. He seems broken, half mad, and Sakura tries to soothe him. She touches his hands, gently pries them away from his head, and whispers nonsense: “It's all right” and “You're safe.”

And, "I love you."

He looks at her then, frowning. "You tried to kill me."

"I thought it would be merciful. I'm sorry, I—I was wrong."

"No, you were right."

He lets out a feral, startling burst of laughter without one bit of humor in it. He looks crazy, less like himself than ever, and Sakura hates it.

"Stop that!" she shouts.

He does, abruptly, and says, "The only reason I'll ever return to Konoha is to destroy it.”

No. No.

Sakura grasps his beautiful face between her hands. "You don't have to go this way."

"Maybe not, but I want to."

That mad laughter is gone, but she would almost take it back over the deadness in his eyes and voice.

"Did you ever love me?" Sakura asks.

It's a selfish question, but she needs to know. The curiosity has been eating her alive for years.

He softens when he says, "I did. But not anymore. I can't love anything anymore."

That's the last thing she hears before his sharingan awakens. In another moment she's lost, dragged into blank, black unconsciousness.

.

.

Sasuke must have put the covers over her and tucked them around her snugly, because that's how Sakura wakes up the next morning. Sunlight peeking around curtains, surrounded by warmth, the ache of latent pleasure between her legs. It takes a moment for the world to right itself around her, and when it does, she feels strangely at peace. After such a tumultuous night, she has no right to be so calm, but she is.

Sasuke said he can't love anything anymore, but she doesn't believe him. Because there was something in his eyes when he told her that, a hesitation. A lack of confidence in his own words, the kind that means he's lying to himself.

He's not gone, not truly. And as Sakura lies on her side, savoring every scratch and bruise from their brutal lovemaking, she makes a promise to herself: that she'll never give up on Uchiha Sasuke again, and she'll do whatever it takes to bring him home.

.

.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: I hope you enjoyed this angsty, smutty little oneshot. I certainly had fun writing it. ;) I know this fic ends a little abruptly, but I really need to focus on The Valley of the End and didn't want to let this expand into another multi-chapter WIP. The title for this fic comes from Laurie Halse Anderson’s novel Wintergirls: “In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves.”

If you have a minute, please let me know what you thought!