#i think. when i love something a lot and see it as perfect (in my eyes) as it is | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neoneun-au · 3 days ago

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what the fuck

i was going to read one of the other (more recent) fics youve posted but when i went to your masterlist i remembered that i had never actually read this one. whether timing or whatever, i know i had started it a few times but i was just so distracted that i never got very far, though i knew one day would be the right time to sink into it. guess that was today

literally from the first paragraph i felt so so immersed in it. the setting, the narrative, the tone--everything was painted with such a fine, delicate brush. it just completely enveloped me and i was so so hooked immediately

i already knew youre a good writer. obviously. that was never in question. but there was something so transcendant about this one in particular. the allusions to fruit and food metaphors throughout, never too much but just enough to really pad the writing with such beauty and dynamism. it was just such a treat. such a complete joy to read.

it was so potent too, emotionally. i could feel it in the pit of my stomach the entire time. heart on edge, just waiting for a pin to drop. for the tension to let off. it walked such a fine balance of introspection and external forces and the whole time i just felt like i was on the edge of a cliff, wind whipping past, staring out over the horizon and just waiting for...something. waiting to jump, to fall, to be pushed, to see a ship come over a crest of a wave. it was just so deliciously paced and poignantly felt. im at a loss for words (obviously not literally since i keep typing but you know lol)

i was so immersed i didnt get much of a chance to clip out specific passages but there were a few that really stood out while reading enough to pull me out of my trance

this passage is everything. its the perfect example of how expertly crafted this entire thing was written as well. the choice of words, the sentence structure. it all comes together so well to convey the depth hiding in this humble farmer!au. it made me want to cry. very intensely. because havent we all felt this at some point. this yearning. this deep maw of need. greed for more.

then this line made me want to kill myself ! (in a good metaphorical way lol) these two back to back just. my god.

the readers imposter syndrome and their self sabotaging that always always ripples out to affect the lives of those that simply love them. so felt. so seen. so beautifully portrayed by you, dear writer.

"without your fingerprints all over him"

wow.

your writing is so lush. its so evocative. i have a hard time grasping for words that might convey how i felt about this and i continually come up short but im just in awe of how beautiful this story is. and to think i got to read it for free on tumblr dot com and it was written by such a dear, lovely, otherwise incredibly busy person lol

ill close my thoughts here by saying that ive read a lot of books in the last little while. a few classics. some that really resonated while i was reading them but that sort of drifted off as time went on and i wasnt present in their narratives anymore. i loved them. but i love this more. i can feel this slotting into my brain and lingering there at the edges. it makes me want to write.

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

#fic recs #madsfic #fic recs feels too paltry for this i want to sing its praises from the mountaintops

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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 days ago

Note

oohhh ok this is so self indulgent but do you think you could do a short fic with ford comforting his fem!s/o that's crying because she doesn't feel like she's pretty enough? thank you lots of love 🥺🩷

prettier than a supernova | Ford Pines x reader

some people give compliments. Ford Pines gives a full scientific breakdown of how breathtaking you are

a/n: this is my soft little love letter to anyone who needs a reminder that they're perfect as they are. sometimes you need someone like Ford to tell you you’re worth more than the stars themselves. angel i hope this makes you feel warm and loved. just a little something to remind you that no matter what, you are stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful (also this can be read as gender neutral too!! this photo here is bc i love it and i think it just suits ford bc of sweater)

You don’t mean to start crying, you don’t want to. You press the heel of your palm to your cheek, frustrated. But that ugly feeling has been sitting inside you all day, heavily pressing against your ribs. Stupid, you think, you shouldn’t be crying over something like this. But it happens anyway as tears starts streaming down your face before you even realise what’s happening.

It started earlier. You’d caught your reflection in the mirror and for a second you had seen yourself the way you feared everyone else did. wrong. Lacking. Not enough. You ignored it at first, shoved it down, swallowed the bitter taste of self-doubt like it was nothing. But then it came back.

You thought Ford wouldn't notice, being too busy in his studies. But in the perfect silence of the Shack, your quiet sobs sounded louder than his own breathing.

“Darling,” Ford sets his book aside without hesitation. “come here.” his voice, as always sounds so quiet and calm, but it’s the way he holds out his arms that undoes you completely. There’s no question, no hesitation, just him, offering warmth, safety, attention, care.

So you go, you let yourself sink into his lap, curling up against his chest and the moment his arms come around you, your sobs break free. You press your face into his sweater, gripping the fabric and shut your eyes tightly.

Ford just holds you. No words, no shushing, he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t tell you to stop crying, doesn’t try to fix you. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he lets you cry, lets you bury yourself in his warmth, lets you be small in his arms. And you cry a little harder because no one’s ever done this before, not like this. No one’s ever let you be messy and sad and vulnerable and still held you like you’re worth something.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs after a while, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. ”talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head because the words feel ridiculous and too embarrassing. But Ford just waits patiently, his hand never stopping its slow motions against your back.

After a while you whisper. “i. . . don’t feel pretty enough.”

Ford stays silent. The sentence you said doesn’t compute, the equation is missing a crucial variable. His brain thinks. You've just said something factually incorrect.

He is quiet long enough that you regret saying anything at all.

“Not pretty enough?” you wince at how ridiculous it sounds when he says it. You stay silent again. “talk to me, please, you’re too important to me to watch you do this to yourself.” last words didn’t come out the way he had planned, but it doesn't matter. The sadness in your eyes is enough to make him want to shield you from everything that ever made you doubt yourself.

“I don’t know, Ford, sometimes i just feel. . . just not enough.”

Ford takes a deep sigh and pulls back to see your face. His hands come up, six fingers framing your cheeks gently.

“But, love,” he brushes away the lingering tears on your skin. “who put that idea in your head?”

“Just. . . my brain, i guess.”

Ford frowns at that response, trying to figure out how to undo that thought that’s been rooted in you for too long.

“Listen to me, you are the most stunning, breathtaking person i have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

You sniffle, trying to look away, but he doesn’t let you, tilting your chin up until you meet his gaze.

“Not just beautiful,” he continues, “though you are, undeniably. But everything. Your mind, your heart, the way you see the world, i have never known anyone like you. And i never will. You are brilliant and strong in ways i could never hope to be.”

You avoid his gaze, looking down despite his tries to keep your eyes on him. Ford notices, of course he does, he always does and before you can fall apart all over again, he kisses you. So soft, a gentle press of his warm lips, reassuring you. “I wish you could see yourself the way i see you.” he says quietly into your lips. But you shake your head and pull away, laughing through your tears, feeling how emotions overwhelm you again.

“Ford, no—“

“No,” he interrupts and you notice how his voice gets more serious. “you need to hear this. After spending thirty years traveling through dimensions, seeing entire different galaxies and universes, watching alien creatures with more eyes than you can count, none of them, not a single one of them, come close to how breathtakingly beautiful you are.”

You make a small, broken sound and Ford just holds you closer as he continues. You’re speechless, heart hammering in your chest.

“And don’t get me started on physics,” he laughs softly, pulling you against his chest and caressing your hair. “you are more fascinating than a perfectly symmetrical snowflake viewed under a microscope. More miraculous than the way hydrogen atoms fused together for billions of years just to create you. Darling, i’ve held technology so advanced it blurred the line between magic and science. But none of it, none of it, has ever left me as breathless as you do.”

He’s so serious, absolutely devastatingly serious. You don't know if it's the exhaustion or the overwhelming love in his genuine voice, but another real sob breaks out of you before you can stop it as you hug him tighter.

“I really. . . just really wish you could see yourself the way i see you. You are the most extraordinary thing i have ever encountered and i have traveled across the multiverse.” and it's damn truth because when Ford looks at you, he sees more than just a person. He sees a universe, complex and ever-expanding, a mystery he will spend his lifetime trying to understand and yet, always be awed by.

Your chest is aching. It’s too much, he’s too much. So you do the only thing you can think of. You kiss him. It's kinda messy, still wet with your tears, but Ford doesn’t care because the second your lips touch his, he pours all his feelings into it, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you closer until there is no space left between you, reminding you of just how much he cherishes you, in every universe, in every corner of space and time.

And that's all you ever needed, to be held like the most beautiful thing in his entire universe.

“If the universe is infinite, then so is my love for you. If the stars will burn for billions of years, then let me love you for all of them.”

Ford cradles you against his chest, rocking you in his arms in a slow, soothing motion to calm his beloved. And for the first time in a long time, the voice in the back of your mind, telling you you're not enough, fades away replaced with the warmth of Ford's love.

“So, no, honey. I don't want to hear you ever say you’re not pretty again. Not when you're the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. Not when i know you are worth more than every star, every dimension, every equation in existence.” you pull him closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart as you close your eyes, smiling softly.

The first rule of observation is to watch closely, to notice every detail, to understand what no one else does. And Stanford notices everything about you.

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #ford x reader #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #gravity falls x you #stanford pines headcanons #stanford pines x reader

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bagholes · 13 hours ago

Text

English subtitles for Johanne Sacreblue

You've probably heard of a parody of Emilia Pérez (produced by a Mexican trans woman!!!) called Johanne Sacreblue. The whole thing is in Spanish (and French, obviously), so I translated the whole thing to English (see read more)

While I wasn't involved in the production of the original short, I'm Mexican and I have a degree in Translation and Applied Linguistics, so hopefully you'll enjoy my translation. Please give the video some love and don't give Emilia Pérez more attention!!

!!!!!!!! ENGLISH SUBTITLES !!!!!!!!!

(Hey! I'm a professional translator, and I translated the whole thing in English. Please upvote so more people can enjoy this video!)

Ah, nauseating France.

Home of wonderful food such as baguettes, croissants, and more.

Lots of wonderful people live here.

Obviously, we’re French.

This might look like a love story,

but open your eyes and pay attention!

In France there’s rising burglary rates.

But why tell you about France when I can show you?

Welcome to la France!

♫

Welcome to la France.

A unique and special country.

Where you’ll know what it means to truly love. Love, love from France.

Live the experience of this place.

[Homer Simpson voice] Wow, classy.

Maitre D': Good evening, sir. Would you please leave without a fuss right now?

Homer: OK.

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back.

Crêpes? Les crêpes? I didn’t shower today.

I’m not worried. I smell just fine.

Like rats, sweat, and wine.

The cheese I eat smells better than me,

but my perfume can take care of it.

I love feeling superior.

Here’s some rapping just because.

Oh, mon ami. Merci. Sacré bleu. Comment tu t’appelles? Merci. Déjà vu. Bon voyage! Pizza, kwason.

It’s croissant, croissant, croissant!

Welcome to la France

where you’ll get your heart stolen,

and your wallet, too.

Welcome to la France,

but if you’re Muslim, homosexual, or Black,

I want you to stay back.

Hit it, Mbappé.

Viva Cinco the Mayo!

Long live cakes!

Marie Antoinette!

Long live cakes!

My fucking crêpe still hurts when I think of you

Part 1: surprise and challenge.

Maybe all those years living in a ranch were good for him.

He wasn’t living in a ranch!

He lived in Mexico City for ten years.

Same thing. It might as well have been a jungle.

Mexicans are savages.

Do you know what they do to cheese over there?

They eat it fresh!

I don’t think he copied their ways.

He’s still a good Frenchman.

He better be. I expect no less.

He’s my only son.

All the suffering in Mexico must’ve gotten rid of his rebel nature.

He’ll be the perfect man. The perfect male successor for the largest baguette company in France.

My son. My manly son.

Did I already mention that my son is a man?

He’s here!

Maman, papa… bonjour!

Son of a-

[title credits] Johanne Sacreblue. Directed by someone with ADHD.

What were you up to in Mexico?

I learned how to open a beer using a bill.

Jonathan is using a dress, Bridgitte. And he has breasts! What do you think he was up to in Mexico?

Now my name is Johanne.

Nonsense! You’re not getting the company. No way.

That’s fine. I don’t even want it.

Honey, it’s your future. You’re our only DAUGHTER. You have to take the position.

You’ll get the company. End of story.

You don’t even want me to own the company!

Because I didn’t think it’s what you wanted!

Why did we stop speaking French?

What did you say?

Nothing. I got confused.

I’ll tell you something: remember the Ratatouille? They gave us this letter. They challenged us to the national France competition to decide once and for all what’s better: baguettes or croissants.

Do you want to enjoy your fortune? Win this competition and manage the company. Or go back to Mexico to eat guacamole.

For the last time, no! You won’t get the company.

I’m the only one who’s always loved croissants.

I’m the oldest son. It’s my right.

Your right? How can think that about your brothers?

Any of them could do a good job.

Hugo can’t get over his artistic phase and he’s addicted to sniffing paint thinner!

I’m not just sniffing paint thinner! Yellow paint makes me happy.

Mario Hugo! Good luck with his twangy voice.

Mario Hugo: I agree with my beloved brother, but I love you, my family.

No one knows what you’re saying!

Dugo is young! Why can’t it be me?

Well, first of all, you don’t have a penis!

Oof. Gotcha.

I’m trans. Other than that, I haven’t changed at all.

Does it really affect you that much?

I’ve made myself clear: anything that affects our family affects me!

It’s not that we don’t love you, honey, it’s just that… you embarrass us.

You’re not even an Hugo!

Yes, I am! I’m [French accent] Arturo! (Translator’s note: the rhyme got lost in translation. Sorry about that).

“Arturo” isn’t “Hugo”!

Yes, it is! Ar-tu-ro!

Where did you get that?

Well… Chofls!! The letter!

The Sacrebleu have invited us to the Great Paris Competition. We will show once and for all what food item best represents our country! If you beat that family’s stupid transexual, you’ll get the company

I don’t know what to do, bestie. I don’t want to own that goddamn company.

And why don’t you learn how to do something?

Because if I do it, they’re gonna cut me off, and I’ll be an unemployed, 28-year-old trans woman who has no life skills.

Why don’t you just tell your father that you don’t want to do it and that you won’t do it?

It’s too late. I have no choice.

Bestie, I’m so sorry you can’t enjoy your fortune with no commitment.

It’s awful…

Good evening, ladies. What can I get you?

I’ll have some French molletes.

I’ll have chicken.

Of course, ma’am. How shall we cook it?

Anything is fine as long as you kill it as cruelly as possible.

Excellent choice, ma’am.

Anything else? Would that be all?

That’ll be all. Well, actually, I think I also want-

You said that would be all! You must assume the consequences of your decisions. Rot in hell! [spits]

Oh my, what a great service!

I know! They have the best customer service in France! Okay, so are you signing up for the competition?

I really don’t have a choice…

Bestie, you can do anything. You’re stronger than every woman I know, and I’m not just saying this because you used to be a man…

Thanks for the clarification.

You’re gonna compete and you’re gonna win.

Emily, you have no idea how much that means to me. You’re the only reason I wanted to come to Paris. I wanted to see my friend Emily in Paris. It was the only reason I wanted to come tot this city: see Emily in Paris.

Oh là là, I know! Everyone tells me that! What I don’t get is why you don’t want to compete. This is such an honor for France-

It’s just that there’s a lot of things I don’t understand since I came back. Why are we so impolite? Why do we love animal cruelty? And why exactly do we hate Muslims?

Because it’s fun!

Yeah, maybe, but have you ever considered that it’s wrong?

Oh my God! You’re right! I’d never thought about it! We’re awful!

Oui!

What we do to birds… we drown them in cognac! Why are we doing it? Who thought of that?

I don’t know.

I feel.. dirty! I want to take a shower!

I knew I wasn’t crazy!

Seriously… I never thought that we were doing something wrong. I always thought that people who get minimum wage liked how we treat them. No wonder they sent you to Mexico… You’re crazy.

I got sent to Mexico for being trans.

They sent you to Mexico because you’ve been hallucinating. You’re seeing Marie Antoinette.

I’m not hallucinating! It’s the actual ghost of Marie Antoinette.

Marie Antoinette: don’t listen to hear. She dresses like a Guatemalan. I’m as real as my tragic death. They should behead her for having such damaged hair.

There’s no point in knowing the truth about France. At the end of the day, I’m just an ordinary French millionaire with enough money to live for four days. There’s nothing I can do.

Marie Antoinette: [unintelligible] sleep paralysis at night.

If you win, all of France will listen to you.

Ladybug: Welcome to the most important competition of la France, where France’s most important families will make a very important decision.

Cat Noir: that’s right! We’re here to make a very important decision. What food best represents France: baguettes or croissants?

Our fellow citizens will know what we’re talking about, but for those dirty foreigners that only know how to use soap…

Wear perfume!

We’ll explain the rules.

There’s two events: whoever wins both will be victorious!

The first even will be a race! The first one to reach the Eiffel tower, touch it and say our catchphrase “we give up!” will be the winner!

Without further ado, we’re heading to the competition!

It’s the best race I’ve seen years!

The Ratatouille throw a croissant to the Sacreblue and almost slashes her throat. It’s cat-tastic!

But Johanne takes the lead with 400 rats, and she wins the race!

Rats! Meow!

Here she comes!

Vive la France!

Your love for croissants ends here. What an embarrassment!

Don’t feel bad, honey. I never really expected anything from you.

Arturo, I’m not gonna lie…

Brother, defeat will only make you stronger.

What?

You’re a great man. You’ll make it.

Can I have five French dollars to buy yellow paint? I want to paint.

Later that night in some French dumpster

♫

I’m just a trash man in Paris.

Another piece of trash in Paris.

But I’m also the greatest trash

I’m the trash man.

I’m such trash that I made a fortune using other cultures.

I’m such trash that I enjoy cancelling last minute

because I’m scared

that they’ll see my tiny baguette.

I don’t have the guts to say that I fucked up.

I’m scared to know what people think of me

If I’m a good guy or just a bald bad guy

I’m such trash that it’s embarrassing.

I thought Karla Sofia was from Puebla.

I’m such trash that I wrote a musical about narcos.

“Penis to vagina, woman to man.”

What the fuck was that shit, bro?

I’m disgusting, don’t you see?

Part 2: from hate to love

Why did you ask me to meet you here?

[sigh] I came to ask you to stop fighting over something as dumb as bread.

Baguettes are just bread, but croissants are France itself. It’s in our veins, in our wine, in the air we breathe!

Arturo, wait, don’t do it!

[coughing]

You can’t take a deep breath in France. Dumbass.

Whatever. You’re just saying this because you’ve been away for a long time. You’re nothing but a chimichanga lover.

Cinco de Mayo!

How dare you!

Does it make you feel good to be a man hitting a woman?

Actually, yes. Now I get why we do it.

I’ve had enough! I can’t take it anymore! What’s wrong with France? Why do they like to hit women? Why do they like racism? Can’t you see that what we’re doing is wrong?

Actually, no. I had never thought about it. I never considered that… Oh my God… We’re monsters! What are we doing? We must put an end to this!

But how?

You’ll do it with me. With your amazing arguments, we’ll change France.

Do you think it can be done? But how?

Oui, mademoiselle. If you let me win the second event, it’ll be a tie, and they’ll have to listen to us according to the French rules I hadn’t mentioned before.

I don’t know if I can trust you.

Trust me, mademoiselle. Trust this stinky French heart.

Alright. Kiss me.

Do you want me to kiss you?

Yes. Give me a French kiss.

Here it’s just “a kiss”, stupid

Welcome to the second competition!

This is the most fabulous competition! It’s the racism competition!

That’s right, Cat Noir! And for those stupid Americans who don’t know what we’re talking about, in this competition, participants are given a total of 30 minutes to deport and catch as many immigrants as possible.

Everything is allowed: from making up crimes to blackmailing!

Each Muslim is worth 5 points. However, participants can get extra points from hate crimes against Muslims, Black people, Latinos, members of the LGBT community, and fans of Emily in Paris!

Let’s watch the racism competition!

We apologize for the technical issues. Cat Noir had a fanatic episode.

It was amazing! With a great lead, our winner, Arturo, was victorious. So we’ll have to call this a tie.

Oh! For the first time in more than ten years, we’re getting some words from our ten French emperors!

Stop!

There… won’t be… a tie!

This decision will no longer be postponed.

Declaramos abierto el duelo final.

And it’ll happen right now.

Because I love Queen Marie Antoinette.

The final duel…

It’s the fight to the death with baguettes!

Good luck! And may the Frenchest win. Yes. Oui. Oui. Oui.

[Elmo]

Part 3: destiny

Fight to the death with baguettes?!

I think there’s gonna be a fight to the death with baguettes.

What? Fight to the death with baguettes? What’s that?

Oh, fight to the death with baguettes. I’ve heard about it. I think they’re gonna fight to the death… with baguettes.

[gasp]

Johanne: I don’t want to fight to the death with baguettes with you.

Arturo: Neither do I, but we have no choice.

J: Yes, there is. Haven’t they considered that this is wrong?

No!

Arturo: Papa Johns!

Papa Johns: I pitted your families against you with a little help from whom you love the most… your butlers.

Arturo: Chofls!

Johanne: Wigles, why?

Wiggles: I’m sorry, madame. I need the money, and you haven’t given me raise in 25 years.

Papa Johns: I’ll destroy you so the greatest French food gets recognition: French fries!

Johanne: You’re losing a lot of wine.

Johanne: you have a rat on your head!

Papa Johns: this tiny chef taught me his secrets, and I used them for evil.

Wigles: I think I got Stockholm syndrome due to so many years of labor exploitation.

And that’s how we got away from the bad guy, Mr. French ambassador.

Controlled by a rat… The nightmare of every French. Ladies and gentlemen, that’s how Johanne Sacreblue and Arturo Ratatouille restored the glory of France. What a captivating story you’ve brought us, full of pain and social commentary. Is there anything else you would like to add before we run out of funds?

Well, actually, yes. As many of you know, I went to Mexico, and my fellow Mexicans asked me to bring a gift to France when I came back, and what a better person to give it to than the ambassador?

Oh, what wonderful surprise have you brought from Mexico? Could it be some wonderful Mexican tortillas?

Wait… Is that-

Yes, a cake. Un gâteau.

[Credits]

And that’s the story of how your parents saved la France.

Thanks for telling me these stories, grandma.

My grand-son. My grand-son, a boy…

[sigh]

♫

Tito, my grandson Tito (translator’s note: another rhyme that got lost in translation. Sorry again). Tito, tito. My grandson Tito.

You smell like frog legs in the morning.

You smell like you haven’t showered in weeks.

You smell like a moldy baguette.

You smell like the omelette that I ate.

You smell like cheese. Smelly, smelly!

You smell like your grandma.

Tito, Tito, Tito, my grandson Tito.

You smell like snails. You smell like escargot.

You smell like France.

#emilia perez #johanne sacreblue #selena gomez #mexico #zoe saldana #karla sofia gascon #jacques audiard #trans rights

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a-rayneart · 2 days ago

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Just finished season 4 of MASH

I know this art blog is quickly becoming a MASH rampage (not intentional, I swear) but I really want to give my thoughts on the season 4 finale and this seems like the best place to do it.

An incomplete list of every moment that struck me in S4E24: The Interview:

Hawkeye's demeanour in this episode is entirely different than in 'Yankee Doodle doctor', particularly his behaviour toward the film crew. This is unsurprising, but still significant to me.

I loved hearing Radar talk about his earthworms. I love whenever the characters engage in genuine hobbies outside of their jobs in the army, but hearing Radar babble about his earthworms was especially lovely.

"War is just killing, that's all." - Klinger

Hawkeye is so honest this episode, and he does it all with this completely checked out look, eyes glazed over.

Hawkeye also sums up his whole entire character. He talks about putting on a 'coat' of morale just to make others stop believing in where they are because it's the only way he can feel present. He also get's asked how he stays sane, which is pretty significant foreshadowing, to which he answer with a list of frankly insane things to do. It reminds me of the S1 episode where he pretended to lose it in order to get time off, but also of all the little times in episodes where he did something that was a bit outlandish, a bit crazy, and somehow also made perfect sense, like when he (briefly) pretended to be a corpse in an attempt to get back to his father.

"There's so much more to care about," and "It just doesn't matter anymore," are two things Hawk says in basically one breath and boy is that relatable.

I've already seen this clip but Mulcahy talking about the steam and the bodies in the cold hurts every time.

Genuine, non-sexual focus and appreciation for the nurses and the jobs they do.

Referencing the episode where Radar get's drunk in Tokyo and him looking so abashed about it.

"If I knew all the answers, I'd run for God." -Klinger again

More on Klinger– Usually he takes advantage of any opportunity to display his insanity to higher ups. He doesn't do that here. He talks entirely sincerely about his joy for home and his hate for the war. You can really see every emotion on his face. He is so real.

Radar's compassion for the local Koreans. There's something special about it coming from him specifically that I can't quite pinpoint but I love it. Maybe because he comes from such a similar background but is now in a position where the people he answers to tell him that he's better than them. I think Radar must feel he has more in common with the local farmers than with his own colleagues.

I've never thought about it before, but it makes so much sense that Potter misses being around people his own age, and I could probably go on about that forever but I probably shouldn't.

Father Mulcahy looks so tired.

BJ smiles when he greets his wife and daughter, but when he looks down he looks devastated. How hard must it be to talk to his family through a TV screen. The acting in this episode it amazing.

I think it was BJ who talked about being torn between his love for the people he worked with and wanting to erase them from his memory, which reminded me of a line from the MASH fanfic I wrote before I even watched this episode; 'Nothing makes me happier than having people to miss, and that they’re far enough away that I can miss them.' (Check out my short fic, it's called After Life - Hawkeye's Poem)

The narrator ends by saying that they're doing what they do best but what they'd rather not do in a place they'd rather not be and I think that's just about the point of the show

All said, amazing episode, perfect acting, did what just about every episode of MASH does and gave me a deep sense of melancholy. I've seen a lot about this episode on here and I totally get why but I think we should also give some appreciation to the episode before it (Deluge) because I genuinely believe that that was just as good.

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musclesandhammering · 17 hours ago

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(sorry, I had to respond in a reblog because I ran out of characters in my reply)

I’m sorry if I had an attitude with my reply!! I feel bad about commenting now cause I usually make a point not to bring my anti attitude onto pro posts & vice versa. I really did get a laugh out of it just because of my *insert shocked Mr krabs meme* when I realised we were on different pages lol- not because I thought your tags were wrong, just because I expected it to go in a different direction.

I probably did let some passive aggression slip in there, though, just because I always feel like Dean is largely a fandom sweetheart (especially among shippers) and usually when he’s criticised, it’s met with outrage and accusations. I should’ve been more careful not to project that onto your post, though, because i don’t even disagree with anything you mentioned.

Like… people trying to make Sam into the one who always pushed back against John and stood up for the “good” monsters and tried to protect Jack and didn’t want to kill demon vessels, while Dean did all the opposite? Yeah, definitely not. Part of the complexity of their dynamic is that they were both problematic in different ways and a lot of their issues overlap. I SO agree with you on that.

That being said, I will mention that a large part of my issue with both the character and the fans (not you in specific, I’m just speaking generally) is the exact thing you made the post about- just in the opposite direction. People insisting certain things about him are hard canon when they’re either strongly up to interpretation or just flat out fanon. I see the things I mentioned as examples of this.

And I really think like 80% of it (particularly the early seasons stuff- the porn thing and the slut shaming and jailbait comments etc etc) is that, at the time, the writers just genuinely didn’t see anything wrong with any of that stuff, so they didn’t intend those things to be negative traits on Dean’s part. They just wanted to give him some edginess and some funny one liners. Which is annoying but understandable. But now we can look back at it and say “yea so that was.. iffy” and it results in some Dean fans either calling it ooc (which.. unfortunately, it’s not) or twisting themselves into knots to explain why those things weren’t actually that bad or he only said them because of internalised whatever whatever etc… that’s a bit irritating.

The only other issues I have are how some deangirls have a slight disconnect when it comes to his actual personality (ie emphasising his protectiveness/brotherly love and brushing over his domineering behaviour and anger issues). But I mean samgirls and casgirls do that too- it’s just kinda natural to focus on your fav’s best traits and ignore their worst ones.

The other thing is his sexuality. …Listen. I’m queer myself so I know how frustrating it is to see such a perfect opportunity to make a character bi/gay- to see so many little hints and offhand comments that could have been developed into something if the writers weren’t cowards- and have to admit that all those bits of “evidence” never got solidified into anything… but they just didn’t. I’m being completely genuine. It’s so so easy to read Dean as bi via interpretational subtext, and I don’t disagree with anyone doing that… but canonically? He’s not. It’s a missed opportunity and it’s unfair as hell but he’s just not. Jensen has said he’s straight, the writers have, Dean himself has. Every bit of bi evidence can be explained away as a joke or coincidence.

And it really pains me to say that, because I get why people are so ready to die on the “Dean was intentionally queer coded” hill. But stating it as a fact, calling anyone who disagrees homophobic, letting the writers off the hook for chickening out by deluding themselves into believing bi!Dean is as good as canon when it likely never will be?? It’s so annoying. Especially when there’s other characters who (imo) were a bit more intentionally queer coded (like sam) or were outright confirmed to be lgbtq (like cas).

Again, I’m not shading you with any of this, cause I have no idea if you’ve said any of those things before. I’m just ranting out my opinions. I’d love to see your take on it, though! Seriously, I think it’s really cool that you were so nice about it and I’m really interested to hear your thoughts!!

(Reading back over this, I feel like my tone here sounds a little standoffish too, but I swear it’s not! I just don’t know how to convey emotions on the internet!! 😂😭)

so much supernatural discourse boils down to claiming a thing we actually see dean do on the show is something he would not do, claiming a thing we see dean specifically not do on the show is something he would do, claiming something all the main characters do is something dean alone is doing, or claiming something sam does on the show is something dean did.

and im so confused. because the answer is comically simple and it's a thing we all allegedly love doing and that is... watching supernatural?

#spn wank #anti dean winchester #anti destiel #supernatural #btw I know this is SUPER long so if you don’t want it clogging up your notes then feel free to lmk and I’ll delete it! no hard feelings :)

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dock57 · 16 hours ago

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Do I Choose to be Embarrassing Today? Perhaps.

[Well, possibly embarrassing for me to say out loud. I am, a shy fan, not going to lie- so often I don't really post a lot about what I love about a series. I often sit in the back, trying to find the perfect moment to escape through the back door before anyone can see how flustered I can get. This blog is the first fan blog I have ever made.

Anyway, this was not exactly what I was planning on talking about today, but, now its on my mind, consuming it.

Monkey Wrench is an adult show. An adult show I appreciate that gives us characters I would absolutely take on a date as well. I am a hopeless romantic...

So where am I going with this? I'm going to list what I find attractive, like, and reasons why I would date Beebs or Shrike.

Only those two, because they're the ones I would date the most. Everyone has their different tastes and attractions, so don't think I am saying that the others are not dateable, that would be a lie. Just two are my taste.

Shrike still needs work, let's be honest. I do mean in character development as well. Shrike as I would describe right now is going through his "rebellious" phase at a later age. He's the type I would be interested in, but, would really encourage to clean up his act before he considers a deeper bond, no one is going to fix him, that's his own work, and he needs to realize that before he thinks of going into a committed relationship. If he does.

The funny thing about my interest in Shrike- is that physical appearance wise- I am not really attracted to. I like to call Shrike my only "Twink Husband." Because he is. Though, I also would not really call him a typical twink either- A twink is more than just the looks.

Really it is Shrike's character that attracts me.

Shrike is humorous. Yes as a character he is supposed to be. He does end up usually being the one to be the end of a joke. I know there are times when Shrikes tries to be funny, and times when he is not- but I cannot help but to find Shrike cute when he is accidently funny. I find most of the time that Shrike focuses too hard on being someone he is not- and the times when he is more himself, are the times I think that when he is funny- in a good way. I mean let's be honest, anyone who is being themselves, is way better than being who they are not, especially if being themselves is harmless. I also would like to add that Shrike can make some pretty funny jokes at time. I think of the one when Beebs and Shrike are caught up by everyone in Ghost Egg at the Shuttle Station. I know there might be better examples, but I find what he said here to be funny to me.

I also need to add this part when they arrive to the station and Shrike is strolling along like this. In general, Shrike is just a goofy fellow, sometimes I wonder if he knows that.

2. I love when he is passionate about what he loves. This can be done to an extreme, but I think Shrike's passion is just the right amount of being healthy. I love how Shrike is passionate about what he holds close to him- I like that in people. I think not having a deep passion in interests can be a bit concerning, as I feel like that there could be an issue of being passionate to another as well. I enjoy the moments when Shrike speak about his interests and the excitement in his voice for them. I think that Shrike can also slowly learn to become passionate for others in their interests, even at the end of Us & Them when Shrike tries to attempt to play his acoustic guitar again for Beebs.

3. Is Shrike caring? Its in process. Shrike is considered to be selfish and pretty irresponsible. This is something I cannot turn blind to. He uses the company's money on irresponsible costs such as the Bucket becoming red, and of course blowing it at the Casino.As for being selfish, it usually is for when he looking for any opportunity to get money, which, doing favors and expecting money from it, is a selfish desire. Such as when in Us & Them, they response to the distress call. Beebs says "We should check it out-" Shrike points to Beebs' wrist and says "There could be money in it for us~"

You can also say he is selfish in Lythop Liberation as well, as Shrike only seem to start going after Dr. Agnes after she throws his Ship. As he does say "Grind up an entire species on your own time! But when you wreck MY ship... IT GETS PERSONAL!" Though, at the same time, Shrike does care about them being grinded beforehand as well as Shrike does shout out "WH-WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN'?" after they were put in the blender. This is why I say he is caring, but in process- it is definitely something he is starting to develop. I think Shrike is a caring person but does not show it really from the outside. I think he does it more through motives. I mean, I would love to do a post more in-depth about this scene in particular, but

The tension, the expression. This is what I mean when I think Shrike does care. He does try to help. But, he doesn't always make the right choice to do so. Shrike does respect Beebs and really has shown to care about him. Even earlier in the episode in Plague Walkers when Shrike is at the bar with Ricket- he only praised Beebs.

I believe that Shrike can become a caring person, I think as of right now, he needs the right push and motivation to do so. So although a process, a caring guy? Who starts to think about others and their interests too? Yeah I think that's a good trait to have.

As of right now, Shrike is a loser. A very lovable loser. One who I also love because I think Shrike might be the type to reflect on himself as time goes on and be open to change as it continues in the series.

Or, that's what I wish for- who knows?

Well then you have Beebs.

Beebs is definitely more of my type when it comes to physical attraction. I like the bigger guys, but its so rare to find good ones in media...

I appreciate Monkey Wrench for going with the approach of Beebs not being the stereotype for fat characters, especially fatter males. Usually they're the ones to be the joke in the end of the day, and not good jokes I might add, usually referring to their shape. Other times, usually fatter males are also just either the evil character arch types or the annoying ones, making them even more unappealing.

So Beebs is such a nice fresh of breath air from media. I have no idea if the creators were even trying, but they did make Beebs attractive, and as I said, not just physically, but as a character as well. I am so glad that Beebs breaks the norm for fatter males.

Oh that's a Caring man, all right. Oh we all know that Beebs is caring, as well as being sentimental. There are so many examples where Beebs shows it. Even if Norbert was annoying, Beebs cared about how they present themselves to him, especially when Shrike was threating to shoot him- Beebs tried to be reasonable and take the time to understand Norbert. Of course in Lythops Liberation, we know he cares about those little guys and what happened to Punti. We know even in Us & Them, that Beebs through out the whole episode tried so hard to think about others, not just their wellbeing but even their feelings as well.

Even though Us could have propose as a threat, Beebs took the time to know them first before making a judgement call- he tries to see the best in everyone. He cares to listen first, he cares about others and shows it through words and actions as well. I love that so much in a man- I think that's something everyone can agree is something that everyone should be.

2. Strong. I know I know, a overrated one. But look, I love me a strong man, especially when the strong type is. done right. I am not going to go over in details about how being physically strong in media is portrayed often incorrectly. Because what we are taught to be "strong" is not the strong you want. Now, will say that not all larger males are just magically strong, its a combination that often overlook. Beebs is the combination of fat and muscle that actually creates a strong character physically. He is what strong is. Of course he is strong as well when it comes to mentally. I give Beebs an applaud for not losing it yet... I bet it is exhausting. He has a good head on his shoulders and manages to keep it together in the most stressful of situations. But he also is strong when it comes to not reacting as well, or returning a reaction. Such as in Plague Walkers when Ajax wanted Beebs to turn back for what he said about his mother- and I KNOW Beebs was really the urge, he still managed to walk away and leave until Ajax comes after him. Though, every strong man- I hope knows- need a time to break down and let it out too...

You Know- You Know...

3. Responsible. And a good thing to counter Shrike who right now- is not. Really who doesn't like a responsible person? Not just getting tasks done, but even when it comes to admitting their mistakes, flaws, or actions. Beebs has been through a lot, and although he is not sure where he fits in the galaxy, Beebs has learn a lot already. From what I watch, I think Beebs has experience of what its like to see when his actions catch up, or when to take up on a task and not. He also questions or steps in when he knows what should be done and not, such as when Dr. Agnes blended the Lythops. Even though Mercs are not suppose to ask questions, Beebs definitely knows when its time to step in and decide between what is morally right and wrong. It is a bit hard to say what happened to Beebs and in his past, but he definitely carries whatever he did with regret, and knows that even he's not 100% clean himself. For all we know, he might be wanting to try and kindle that past, or not, even if running away can be seen as irresponsible, I think Beebs had a good reason, and a reason that may have been a question of moral choices. I think what I am trying to say is that, I find that Beebs is self aware of his own character and is also trying to improve himself as well. Beebs know he is flawed, and is trying to work on himself as well. I like that in a guy...

Beebs also has some work to do, but at least he is aware of it. Still though, I love Beebs and how they did such a good job at making him attractive, despite not being the particular and common types that would draw attention. Beebs is attractive for overall just being a really well thought out character who has good morals and traits, something that be rare to find...

Well, that was a long post. I'm going to now hide behind this screen by putting Tumblr off to side where I can't see it for now. Hope you guys, enjoy! And tell me if there is anything else that you guys think also makes them dateable...]

#monkey wrench #cartoon #dock57post #indie animation #indie cartoon #indie animated series #i love them

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autistic-value · 16 hours ago

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Hi! Do you think Hordak is autistic? I've seen people talking about it, but I haven't found any symptoms of ASD in Hordak.

I think so!

Maybe it's the way he "grew up" or was conditioned, but he acts like he's masking. I think Entrapta and Hordak are two opposite spectrums of autism. One masking, one not.

For example:

While Entrapta is openly expressive of her interests and emotions

Hordak is more reserved and closed off

Before he meets Entrapta, he's reserved, he's angry, he never shows any kind of vulnerability and isolates himself in his sanctum.

Then he meets Entrapta and he slowly starts to unmask. He opens up more.

He realizes that Entrapta is a lot like him in a lot of ways

He's socially awkward and doesn't really understand what to say most of the time, especially to Entrapta.

He opens up to her more and shares his vulnerability with her, tells her of his past and eventually loves being lab partners with him, to the point where he wants the portal project to last longer so he can spend more time with her.

So when he's told by Catra that Entrapta betrayed him, he breaks, he goes back to his self isolating ways, back to masking as much as he could so he could no longer feel the pain of being betrayed again.

But it does happen again, this time with Catra.

He grew to trust her, respect her, even seeing an equal ally in her

And then it all comes crashing down once Double Trouble reveals the truth.

He becomes angry, confused, completely losing it and chasing Catra down with his arm canon.

Then Horde Prime happens. He reads his memories and sees what went on with Entrapta. And he erases his memories of it.

Hordak's whole theme is to mask perfection because to him, he's not worthy of Prime's attention if he isn't seen as perfect. He masks himself so much that even the return of his memories after Catra says his name, he goes and gets in the pool, torturing himself so he'd forget again and again.

Then he finds the luvd crystal and this time, he doesn't reveal his memories to prime, but keeps it to himself. Then he meets Entrapta again and he curses to himself, thinking if she goes, that the memories and imperfections will go with her. And she reminds him.

“Remember! Your imperfections are beautiful!”

And this sparks something in him. The next time we see him, he is helping Prime as Entrapta is captured and he struggles with himself to do what he thinks is right. And finally....FINALLY he breaks the cycle and embraces his true self. Breaking the mask.

He IS Hordak! And he defies your will!!!

In my opinion, his theme is about breaking the mask you put on yourself as an autistic person, or at least something similar to that, because it's just so relatable. Breaking away from who you pretend to be and embrace the true you.

But that's just my idea of it, haha. It's alright if you don't see Hordak as Autistic. I'm just giving my own analysis on it.

Hope this helps!

#entrapta #spop #hordak #entrapdak #autism #autistic #autistic hc #she ra and the princesses of power #she ra #shera #autistic headcanon #autistic hordak #Autistic Entrapta

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museofzia · 1 day ago

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♱ i have the same s/o in every desired reality.

here's my experience and reasoning.

this post is also an excuse to

talk too much about my bf.

my significant other is Bill Kaulitz of Tokio Hotel. (2007 era primarily.) This is the era where he's 17-18 years old, and if you even dare to bring up how much of a disappointment he is in present day i MIGHT choke you out ;)

i scripted him into one of my first desired realities, my Tokio Hotel desired reality. I never really saw any purpose in a significant other, but I wanted to "fit in" with other people. it was a standard "this is my first dr i need it to be perfect" moment for me. however, i didn't really connect with him fully until the final moments before shifting for the first time.

when i first shifted, the first thing i saw was a text from him that he sent at 3:00AM (I was in Korea, he was in Germany.) and i remember exactly what it said.

"You're probably asleep right now, but I was out late. You're coming soon. I love you and miss you! See you soon :-)"

I think that was the moment where i began to fully digest that I'm there because I felt my heart jump and genuinely realized that this is a man that i'm dating. a man. that im dating. the random celebrity id keep looking at on my phone just sent me a text telling me that he loves me. and that was the best welcome to this "new" environment.

🀥 how we click

i'm a 5'11 Korean woman who wears pink and spends 3 hours on her makeup. Bill is a 6'4 German man who wears band t-shirts and blasts Green Day in his barely-working headphones.

why do i like him?

at first, i really liked him for hours appearance. i was interested in his style-- it was neat, which is why i was a bit drawn to him. however, seeing more media of him made me appreciate his authentic and bubbly personality. once i shifted, i really liked just how appreciative he was to his loved ones, while he also found the good in things even in the worst possible moments. Bill didn't have the easiest childhood. the appreciation and genuine love he radiates whenever he's with people who make him feel comfortable feels priceless to me. he knows he's not liked by everyone, but he finds reasons to like everyone. he smiles a lot, he's affectionate, and he's authentic to himself. he values connection, and it's really helpful. he's communicative. i never feel nervous to tell him whenever i feel upset or conflicted. he always helps me with those decisions. it's never felt like a chore or a difficulty to be around him. it felt more like basic routine, it even feels out of place to not be with him sometimes. i connect with people well, but i can never read someone's mind. however with bill, we know exactly what to say to eachother and when. it makes things so easy, knowing someone so well is so reassuring. i feel like there's no one else id rather be vulnerable with. in arguments he focuses more on ending the conflict rather than winning it. he's so expressive with his emotions that conflicts are almost always avoidable. he's not a pushover but he's not too insistent. he's ambitious but not annoying with it. maybe he's not everyone's cup of tea, but i can name so many things i love about myself that he taught me to love. he's the one who taught me im worth loving, and he showed me what loving should look like. i've never even been genuinely romantically attracted to anyone since. who needs to find love when i have love sitting right next to me?

i suppose what i'm trying to say is, i just feel like there isn't even a title for the fondness i have for him. so many people have told me that we somehow find each other in every reality, and it's true. even in desired realities where i don't script an s/o, or i don't script he likes me, we somehow always connect romantically. something just clicks and it makes me feel like a piece of my soul is back with me again. no desired reality is fully desired or real to me if i don't have that kind of company there for me. with one look, i can feel so much of my emotion settling down and finding its most comfortable state. he's not even my comfort person. he's the person that i can just think of in order to calm myself down. knowing that i've been blessed with that kind of company in ANY possible reality makes me happier than anyone can imagine. my connection with Bill goes beyond any kind of romance.

I don't engage with terms like "situationships" or anything of the sort. i've been shown what genuine love and communication looks like. if i ever feel unsure or panicked in a relationship, i know it's not the place i want to be. Bill didn't only raise my standards, but also changed my outlook on love entirely. i'm not saying ill never find love here, but I know what i want love to be like for me ever since i've been introduced to my own.

i think i found the person who helped me in endless ways.

anyways, thanks for listening :-)

love, zia.

#pretty symbols #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting content #shifting realities

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actuallysaiyan · 2 days ago

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Une Belle Histoire II(Mafia!Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, virginity loss, vaginal fingering, fluff, love confessions, tattoo mentions, abusive/neglectful parent, forced marriage, angst word count: 4.3k pairings: Mafia!Toshinori Yagi x Fem!Reader summary: the bike ride is on after you find out your father will be gone for the weekend. Toshinori bares his soul to you, and you show him yours. after lovemaking and lots of time together, you two are inseparable. yet your father comes home with the news of you being betrothed to someone else, which hurts Toshinori completely. a/n: part 2 to this fic! banner art is from the lovely artist(freesilverwind)

dividers: @adornedwithlight

taglist: @thissaintjessi. @cherryblossombankai, @sunflowers-heart, @erebus-et-eigengrau, @pixelcafe-network

@thoraeth

You aren’t sure if Toshinori knew when your father was going away on a business trip or if it was just a perfect coincidence. You waited with bated breath all week to see him once more. Your pillows and sheets smelled of his beautiful cologne for what felt like ages. At night, you would hold onto your pillow and smell it. It was like Toshinori was here with you.

Soon, your father mentioned he was going to be out of town for the weekend. You would be mostly alone at home outside of the many people who make up the household staff. Though they would be there, it wasn’t like they took note of when you left and came home. Most of the time, it was mostly just your father who kept a close watch on you.

“Remember, I want you home at night. Be home before ten pm, could you?” Your father reminds you as he’s making his way out the door.

“Don’t worry, I will be. I don’t have anything important planned.” You fibbed as innocently as you could.

He smiles and ruffles your hair so softly. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll be home Monday morning, okay?”

You wave him off, watching as he gets into the car and it drives off. Something about this took a big weight off your shoulder. Considering you didn’t know how you were going to sneak out to meet Toshinori for the bike ride had your father still been home. But now, you could spend most of the weekend with the man who captured your heart.

All day, you were thinking about the bike ride. You had no way to contact him, so you weren’t sure if he’d come over late at night or maybe he’d be early tomorrow morning. You occupy your time with reading books and listening to music. Still, you’re almost jumping out of your seat every time you think he could be on your balcony.

It’s late at night when there’s a knock on the window. You get up from your bed and open the door. Toshinori stands there with a bouquet of wildflowers. He hands them to you and you can see a soft pink tinge on his cheeks. You take them in your hands and bring them to your nose. They smell so floral and so sweet.

“I saw them and they reminded me of you. I needed to bring you some.” He explains as you guide him into your bedroom.

You take one of them and place it between the pages of a book. “Thank you, Toshinori. They are so lovely.”

He sits on your bed, fidgeting with his hands. He seems a little nervous, but not necessarily in a bad way. Neither of you have seen each other since the last time he was in your room. You place the bouquet in a vase on your vanity table. You take the water from a water bottle and fill the vase. Then you join him on the bed.

“My father’s gone for the weekend.” You say with a sly grin.

His eyes widen. “Then…our bike ride is on! I was thinking, tomorrow morning? Would that be okay with you?”

You lean in and kiss his cheek. “That’s perfect.”

He smiles so sweetly. You can see a few marks on his face that would suggest he’s been in some scuffles in the last week. You tenderly caress his cheeks, which makes his heart race in his chest. You are so precious, and for you to see him like this and still want to love him, it’s an incredible feeling.

“Are you alright?” You whisper.

He laughs. “I’m fine, doll.” He takes your hands in his and presses kisses to your knuckles. “It’s nice to be cared about, though. It’s a different feeling.”

There’s a melancholic tone to his voice when he admits this. You do understand that feeling too in your own way. Your mother died when you were younger and you didn’t have any other siblings. Your father had been the only one to dote on you, but even he often claimed to be too busy. You spent your life raised by nannies and teachers.

“I care about you a lot,” you whisper once more.

This makes him pull you onto his lap. He kisses you softly on the cheeks, then your nose. Then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. You know that maybe he won’t always be the best with words, but he can clearly show you how he feels about you through his actions. When you pull away, you feel dizzy from how good that kiss was.

“I care about you a lot too,”

Toshinori then hugs you close, his hands rubbing up and down your back. The softness of your sweater makes him feel warm inside. You deserve pretty things. He’ll spend the rest of his life working his fingers to the bone if it means to bring you the most beautiful things this world has to offer.

Your hands are so soft on his rugged face. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and you can feel a little stubble under your fingers. He smiles genuinely as you caress his cheeks once more. Getting lost in your eyes was certainly the most enchanting and breathtaking experience for Toshinori. He would forever look into your beautiful eyes if he could get lost in the loving gaze.

“You’re precious,” he kisses you once more.

The two of you lay on your bed after he gets a bit more undressed. He lets you lay your head on his chest, playing with your hair. He tells you about where he’s going to take you tomorrow. There’s a little town nearby that he thinks you will find charming. It sounds really wonderful and you’re excited to go there.

“Stay the night?” You ask him.

He chuckles. “Only if you promise to sleep tonight.”

You nod and smile. “Promise!”

He holds you close, keeping you warm all night long. Toshinori even manages to sleep peacefully for the first time in a long time.

-ˏˋ♥̩͙♥̩̩̥͙♥̩̥̩ ⑅⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ

The next morning, you wake up with Toshinori still clinging to you. His face is now pressed against your neck, and the soft tickle of his breath feels good on your skin. You gently run your fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to each eyelid before you kiss his lips. The smile that spreads on his face is angelic. You wish to always wake up next to this beautiful man.

“Good morning, kitten.” His voice is raspy with sleep.

“Good morning.”

He snuggles closer, inhaling the smell of your scent. It’s like berries, flowers and soft blankets all wrapped up in one smell. It’s intoxicating in so many ways. He stays lucid though he wishes he could just spend the day in bed with you like this. Though, he knows he promises he will take you for that bike ride.

“Get dressed. I’ll climb down the way I came. I’ll meet you out front in twenty minutes.”

Toshinori gives you one more kiss before he leaves through the balcony door. You’re quick to get up, going to your vanity to begin getting ready. With your heart pounding in your chest from the excitement, you get dressed in something cute but also comfortable to wear.

And in twenty minutes, you’re out the door. You didn’t even have to tell anyone that you were leaving. The household staff was busy taking care of things inside. You did manage to leave a note for your maid, considering she would probably worry. You lied and said you were headed to a bookstore convention in the next town.

You walk down the street and then you get a glimpse of Toshinori on his bike. He revs the engine in an attempt to show off before he parks it right next to you. You notice the saddlebags seem full. He then hands you a helmet that matches his.

“Put it on, kitten. Safety is important.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at his words. You put on the helmet and then you get on behind him. He instructs you to hold onto him tightly, which you do. Slowly, he begins to take off. The air on your body feels divine as he picks up more speed.

On the highway, you begin to feel even more liberated. This was the first time you were on a motorcycle. This is the first time you even do anything remotely close to this. With excitement, you let out a squeal of happiness. Toshi looks back at you and he can see how happy you are.

“Put your hands up, I’ll go slow.” He instructs.

Though you’re nervous, you go ahead and do as he says. You put your hands up and Toshi takes more controlled movements as the bike moves down the road. You feel like a bird in flight; completely free and in your own element. Soon, you wrap your arms around Toshinori once more and he speeds up. You feel like your life has just begun today. It’s the first time that you are who you want to be.

Once you two approach the town, he slows down and parks at the viewpoint. The two of you look down at the town and just bask in the beauty of this scenic place. It’s gorgeous and you can’t wait to go visit and see everything that’s in store.

Slowly, you two make your way into town. Toshinori finds a garage to park his bike and he pays for the place handsomely. You like that he doesn’t often flaunt his wealth, but that he enjoys spending money when he can. You notice the way he tips the garage workers too and chats with them for a few minutes.

Then he’s taking your hand in his and guiding you down the street. The town is charming and cute. Local businesses line the street. The scent of fresh baked bread permeates the air and people walk around smiling and waving at one another. You wonder what it means to be in a community where people seem to be comfortable with each other.

The first place Toshinori guides you into is a cute cafe. The smell of coffee and bread is strong here. You walk up to the counter and look up at the menu. Toshinori leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Order anything you want, kitten. It’s my treat.”

You smile and begin to look at the selection of baked goods on the display rack. Everything looks so good. Chocolate chip muffins with crystals of sugar, oatmeal cookies with dark raisins dotting them, buttery croissants that are calling your name, almandines that seem to be just wanting to be devoured. You pick a few things, considering you just can’t pick one and an americano to drink.

Toshinori guides you to a table that faces a window. The sun is shining beautifully. With the light illuminating you, he thinks you look just like an angel. The two of you dig into your breakfast, chatting a little bit and breaking the ice between one another even more.

“Have you ever been on a date, kitten?”

You blush and take a sip of your coffee. “Well, I’ve never actually been asked on a date. My father often organizes dates with his ‘supposed’ suitors for me.”

A look of disgust and jealousy flashes over his features. “None of them could treat you to something as precious as this,”

You giggle. “No, of course not. You’ve made me feel more alive than anyone ever has.”

This makes his heart clench. You were just like a caged bird. He hates the thought of you never being able to make your own choices or you never getting to pick what you think is right for you. No matter what happens next, Toshinori swears he’s going to treat you correctly and always let you have a choice in the matter.

-ˏˋ♥̩͙♥̩̩̥͙♥̩̥̩ ⑅⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ

Your day is filled with checking out all the little boutiques in town. Toshinori surprises you with his vast knowledge of history, mechanical jargon and of course, his charm. He’s charming to everyone. He helps keep the door open for the little old ladies who come into the cafe after you both leave. He grabs something off the top shelf for a little kid. And he’s so sweet to everyone you see on the street.

Every single boutique has something that brings you both together and you get to show each other your interests and likes. Toshinori spends lots of time listening to you and understanding what’s going on with you. He looks you in the eyes when you speak. His stare is very intense, but it makes you feel good to know that he’s truly listening. He’s very much into touching you as well; a hand on the small of your back, his fingers soothing over your own before intertwining them, gently nudging you to show you something interesting.

By the time the sun is setting in the sky, Toshinori grabs a few things from the saddlebag and then he guides you to a beautiful public garden. You can tell this must be a very popular place for lovers as there are many couples walking hand in hand as they appreciate the sunset.

He guides you somewhere a little more secluded from the rest. He lays the blanket down on the ground and shows you the picnic basket. As the two of you feed each other fancy cheeses, cold meats from Europe and sip on champagne, you and Toshinori get to know each other even more. Though you two come from different worlds, you feel like you’re each other’s true soulmate.

The sun sets completely and you two are the only two in the park. Toshinori pulls you closer and he cups your cheeks. He looks deeply in your eyes and kisses you softly.

“Today has reminded me that there is still so much good in this world,” he whispers against your lips.

“And I was reminded that there are things in this world outside my bedroom walls,” you say.

He holds you close to him, and you hear him humming something sweetly. He rubs your back, keeping you close. You can hear his heartbeat and it soothes you like nothing else has or ever will. Then he kisses you again; this time his kiss is more hungry and more passionate.

You cling to his shirt as he slides his tongue into your mouth. Immediately your body feels warm and need pools inside of you. You try not to make it too apparent, but with all the cuddling and kissing you’ve been doing, you’ve certainly grown aroused. You’re a virgin, but you know what sex is.

Toshinori pushes you down onto the blanket, hovering on top of you. He smirks when he sees how red your cheeks are and how your pupils are blown wide open. He can read you like a book, knowing just what to do to make you feel even more needy for him.

He leans in to kiss your neck, holding you close to himself. The more he nips at the sensitive skin, the more you begin to spread your legs to allow him to slot himself between them more properly. He helps you get into a comfortable position before he begins to unbutton your sweater. Then he pulls it off slowly, pushing your t-shirt up over your breasts.

“Oh,” he says with a smirk. “Look at your beautiful tits, kitten.”

He nips and bites at the swell of your breasts as they spill out from the top of your bra. You whine so sweetly, it makes his cock throb in his pants. He knows he needs to take it slowly, but dammit you’re so fucking beautiful. What shakes him from his thoughts is when you reach down to begin palming him through his jeans.

Toshinori grunts. “Kitten,”

“You like that? I know I’m not very experienced but—”

He cuts you off with another kiss. This is very hungry and sloppy. His tongue glides against yours, wrestling and tangling. When you pull away, there’s a string of saliva keeping you both connected. Toshinori helps you out of your pants and pushes your panties down. You feel self-conscious and try to hide your body.

“No, no no…” He kisses you tenderly. “Doll, please don’t hide from me.”

He gently pulls your hands from your body and his eyes widen. He bites his lip seductively, grunting at how gorgeous you are. He begins to take off his clothes. When the shirt comes off, you get a better look at his tattoos. Your hands soothe over them, looking at the many patterns. On his arms and going down his back are some flowers, waves and many black geometric shapes that arrange in a specific pattern.

“You like ‘em?” he asks.

You nod. “They are beautiful!”

The smile that spreads on his face is genuine. Nobody has ever called his tattoos beautiful before. They were a symbol of who he was; part of the mafia, part of a dangerous family. The fact that you love them so much makes him feel like a million dollars…no, it makes him feel like a human capable of love and being loved.

He captures your lips in another kiss before he kisses down your body. You let out cute little moans as his tongue swirls over one nipple, then the other. He suckles on the little nub as his large hand slips between your thighs. You eagerly allow him access to your core. You’re already dripping wet from almost nothing.

“Pretty kitten,” he murmurs against your breasts.

Slowly, he pushes one of his fingers into your pussy. It opens up for him, sucking the digit in. He continues his assault on your nipples as he works you towards your first orgasm. With your toes curled in your shoes and your back arching off the picnic blanket, you come undone so beautifully in front of his eyes.

Toshinori works you towards a few more orgasms before he pulls away completely. Then he pulls his pants down and his boxers. His cock sits heavily on your mound as he kisses you deeply. You feel him using the tip of his cock to spread your slick all over your folds and clit. Then with gentleness, he pushes into you.

You gasp and cling to him as he begins sliding even more of himself into you. You can’t believe this is how good it feels. You feel full but so good. Then when he bottoms out, you two look into each other’s eyes. He smiles softly.

“You’re my woman now,”

The words float through your mind as he begins to pump his hips. He’s eager but he continues to keep things slow for you. It’s only when you wrap your legs around him and beg him to go faster, deeper, that he begins to pound into you. Soon, you’re feeling the familiar coil in your belly.

“Toshinori,” you whine so softly. “I’m gonna cum again.”

With a soft cry and your nails digging into his back, you fall off the edge blissfully. Toshinori is not far behind you, spilling into you with a grunt of your name and his hips snapping violently.

He pulls out of you, pulling you to his chest. Toshinori presses kisses all over your face before he captures your lips with his own. It’s a silent promise that he will continue to love you for as long as you’ll have him.

-ˏˋ♥̩͙♥̩̩̥͙♥̩̥̩ ⑅⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ

You two return late at night, high on the feelings of a new blissful love. Toshinori spends the entire weekend with you, making love and finding out new things about one another. It couldn’t get any better than this. It’s so perfect and though you know it’ll end, things will continue to get better now that you have Toshinori in your life.

By the time Sunday night rolls around, you feel sad and empty inside. Toshinori holds you and tries his best to calm you and comfort you. You cling to him a little harder as he pumps himself into you harder and deeper. Your kisses are needier, and they are begging him ‘don’t leave me’. He cums deep inside of you once more, holding you so close.

“I won’t leave you,” he whispers as you rest on his chest.

“I’m so scared to wake up tomorrow and you won’t be here and none of this happened.”

Toshinori grabs a marker from your bedside table. He gets you to rest on his chest once more than he begins to draw something on your shoulder. When you look into the mirror, you see that he drew a series of little hearts surrounding a big heart that has his name in it.

“That’s my promise to you that you won’t be forgotten. And when we meet up again, which will be soon, I’ll have something even better than just a drawing.”

He kisses you again and lulls you to sleep. Though he knows he’d do anything for you, he’s wracking his brain to figure out how he’s going to approach your father with this. Though Toshinori knows he could just steal you away and there wasn’t much your father could do, he wants to do this right.

You’re the first person in a long time who’s shown him that he can be someone worthy of love. You’re the first person who sees him for who he actually is and not just this caricature of himself. You see him, see deep into his heart, and you love him for everything. The good, the bad, the ugly…in your eyes, it’s all worthy of love.

You sleep less than peacefully and when you wake up, you are alone. You know it’s to be safe for now, but you really hate it. You want him to be right next to you. With a lack of confidence, you get ready for the day and to greet your own father. You find the note on your vanity table.

Don’t worry, kitten. I’ll see you really soon. You are my woman now and that’s for life.

Xxx

Ps. keep your balcony door open and that gives me access to your room at night.

Once you’re dressed and have the letter properly hidden, you make your way down the stairs. You hear voices coming from the dining room. You shyly make your way over and see your father talking to a woman, a man and a younger man that seems to be your age. Your father smiles happily when he sees you.

“There you are, dear. Come have brunch with us.”

On the table is a spread of baked goods, eggs cooked in various ways, fancy spreads for bread and flutes of mimosas. You shyly sit next to your father. He introduces you to the family who sits across from you. The young man smiles at you, but it just doesn’t feel genuine. It’s not like Toshinori’s smile at all.

“Dear, I’m happy you’re here to meet the family.”

You look curiously at your father. He then explains how the young man was your betrothed. As much as you try not to let the shock show on your face, everyone is asking you if you’re okay. You nod and choke back some tears, taking a sip of the mimosa.

“I’ve been good friends with them for a long time and their son is the perfect age. You two used to be friends when you were children.” Your father explains.

“Yes, father. I understand.”

As the brunch comes to a close, the young man who’s now supposed to be your fiance kisses your hand. Your stomach is in knots as you try to play nice with him. And for the rest of the day, this eats at you even though you work through making sure you don’t seem suspicious.

That night, Toshinori returns to your room. He’s quieter this time, and immediately picks up on your bad mood. He tries to hold you, but you push him off of you.

“It’s over,” you spit at him.

He shakes his head. “Nonsense, doll. You’re my woman now, how many times do I have to tell you?”

You look at him with tears in your eyes. “My dad’s marrying me off to some rich kid.”

This hits Toshinori right in the heart. He was wealthy too. Sure, he wasn’t from the best family, but they still managed to gain respect with everyone around them…except from your father.

“And you’re just going to let him do it?” He demands to know.

“What else can I do? I can’t just tell him…”

“Tell him what?! That you’re mine now? I can provide for you. I make you happy. You make me happy!”

Your heart is breaking as you look at the man you adore. The man who you’d much rather fall even deeper in love with. With a tissue, you dry off your tears.

“I can’t do anything about it. When he makes a decision, it’s set in stone.”

Toshinori can’t believe he’s hearing this. He thought he was able to get you to come out of your shell and make you see that you could make decisions for yourself. You deserve that much, considering you’ve been a caged bird your entire life.

“If that’s how you see it, then you don’t need me anymore.”

His words cut deep and you turn to try and apologize, but he’s already leaving your room. You cry out for him, and this is what alerts your father to what’s going on. He comes barging into your room, grabbing onto you.

“I don’t ever want to see you with that man again, do you understand me?!”

With a broken heart, you sit on your bed and watch as your father puts deadbolts on your balcony door. Once again, a bird in her cage. A bird with her wings clipped…

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

#bacon.writes #toshinori x reader #toshinori x you #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori yagi x you #Toshinori Yagi x y/n #Toshinori x y/n #all might x reader #all might x you #all might x y/n #toshinori smut #yagi toshinori x you #toshinori yagi #yagi toshinori #yagi toshinori x reader #mha toshinori #bnha toshinori #mafia toshinori

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