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emblemxeno · 1 year ago

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Definitive “Feelings On 3H” Post

So I’m making one big post on my feelings on major things worth discussing about 3H and how I feel about it. Don’t feel obligated to really interact with this one much, it’s mostly just for my sake, as something I can just link to and say “go to section X about how I feel about Y”.

The reason behind this is I just don’t really want to actively engage in 3H discourse anymore. I feel as if I’m a broken record at this point. If I have new things to say about it somehow, I’ll say it, but for the most part, I’ll refer people to this if they wanna know how I feel about general 3H talk.

Story

Story Section 1- General narrative feelings on each route.

Azure Moon is, in my opinion, the most solidly constructed route in terms of writing, character development, and storytelling. It knows what it wants to accomplish and, aside from a few gripes, I will always applaud it for that. Verdant Wind and Silver Snow meanwhile, aren’t bad and I certainly didn’t have a terrible time playing through them. However, the unique story bits in each route don’t justify the gameplay experience you have to work through in order to get to them. Still, the big reveals in each route were nice to hear for the first time, and specifically for VW I enjoy Claude very much. Crimson Flower I don’t enjoy that much at all. Its story is what I can only describe as a static, eye-roll inducing victory march, which makes up for its lack of length with its seemingly intentional negative character development; everyone is ignorant, an asshole, or sad as fuck aside from the CF exlcusive cast. I would give the route props had the game bothered to stand in its foundation rather than flounder and make numerous attempts to depict every perspective as absolutely equally valid and righteous.

Story Section 2- In trying to appeal to every perspective, the game lacks focus, foundation, and respect for itself.

It should be expected that a game with multiple routes tackle different specific subjects. However, in Fire Emblem, there always, always manages to be a unifying theme or foundational story philosophy-an Aesopian type moral if you will-no matter the route. Alm and Celica learn that their one individual philosophies can’t exist on their own, and that leadership requires strength and compassion of equal measure. Eirika and Ephraim learn that personal wishes must take a backseat for the good of Renais and Magvel as a whole, as their routes in FE8 use their own weaknesses to develop them as leaders and royalty. Corrin’s one constant in the Fates games is that conflict is inherently meaningless and does nothing but perpetuate a brutal cycle of hatred, vengeance, and violence.

Even in games like FE7 and FE10, where the technical ‘route splits’ are more unconventional, there’s still unifying themes that manage to wrap back around at the end (7′s ‘single-minded pursuit of justice and strength/power to protect can actively hurt you and those around you, especially if you are ignorant to the pain others are going through’ and 10′s ‘people have as much capacity to be good as they have to be evil, they will hurt each other due to petty misunderstandings and bigoted views, however, they are worthy of living as they are because of the ability to grow, change, and aspire to something better’).

3H, to put it simply, does not have any grand unifying theme unique to itself. The closest examples I can think of is ‘It’s worth it to reach out to those around you to share your pain so you don’t become engulfed in it’ and ‘no matter what side you fight for, war makes everyday life a living hell for everyone’.

But to me, both of those things are just... basic truths and story elements present in every dialogue heavy FE game. War has been showcased as being terrible since FE1, where characters were held hostage, threatened to fight for a cause they didn’t believe in, innocent villages were destroyed, there was a literal child slave market, etc. And sharing your pain with those close to you in order to bear life’s challenges has been a constant trope with many FE characters, story significant or otherwise, since at least FE6 with Guninivere (probably earlier if I’m missing something from FE4 or 5). The only difference is that 3H has a fun little song to go with it.

That leaves the specific themes of each route and perspective, but because each leading character is so different from the other, and the writers didn’t want to overtly favor one over the rest, every dialogue regarding these things feels compromised; half baked, or lacking a point.

‘Crests are symbolic of a harmful power structure but also are a symbol of justice used to ward away threats but also are a tool used to gain social and political capital in order to change the world but also are an ancient power obtained through destruction that must be used with wisdom.’ Four different perspectives from four different routes that the game attempts to depict in a balance in almost every single dialogue regarding them. And this same process is applicable to the game’s attempts at discussing race/ethnicity, xenophobia, classism, religious views, mental health, etc. There always has to be two, three, four, or five sides to every story in 3H, and that results in an exhuasting and stretched thin narrative that, in its attempts to appeal to everyone, ends up lacking substance in every point it tries to make.

Now, that itself would make for a fascinating and meta theme for the game to uphold, where ‘attempts at trying to balance and accept every perspective leads to an ineffective world that desperately needs unwavering, unconditional, and compassionate leadership’ but 1) that would require the game to play up the need for ‘seeing every side’ as something to be deconstructed, and the game doesn’t do that, it’s played painfully straight, and 2) when it’s one major power (Edelgard) vs. three major powers (Dimitri, Claude, and Rhea), the attempt at balance fails no matter what you do. This lack of focus reads to me that there was lack of respect for the game’s story itself.

Story Section 3- “It insists upon itself, Lois.”

Every time I think about the finer details of story bits in 3H I don’t care for, my brain always comes back to that Family Guy scene where Peter talks about not caring for The Godfather and saying that it’s because the movie insists upon itself. Now, that was done for comedy, but for 3H I must say that it’s a perfect sentence to use. 3H insists upon itself. This is in spite of the fact that there’s no one unifying point that it’s trying to convey to the player, beyond what any other FE games was able to do. So to make up for that, each small instance reads like the game beating the player over the head with whatever minute moral or lesson it’s trying to convey.

Crests are bad? Roll out the Edelgard, Sylvain, or Lysithea dialogue saying so. Church is sus? Get Edelgard or occasionally Claude. Nobles are pretentious? Get the sad NPCs or the few actual commoner characters to imply it. War is bad and cruel? Fire the next “Sad Dorothea” dialogue at the player’s face. Interactions feel artificial, ostentatious even. Part of that is because there’s no other way to get these points across due to Byleth being a silent avatar, the other part though? Feels as if the writers were overtly proud of themselves. “Wow, the war means Bernadetta leaves her room more often, isn’t that a sign that it really changes people?” Yeah, no shit.

Perhaps the most egregious example is the endless instances of the game pushing the idea that there’s “no good side” in war or that “war is a battle of ideals and no one is fully correct” or other moments that want the player to know how deep and Morally Gray the narrative is. It’s cheap and inauthentic, especially when you have a faction like the Slithers. You can’t prop up Gray Morality and have an inarguably evil underground terrorist group.

To be crude, this game explains things to you like you’re five despite being rated T for teens in a series catered mostly to young adults. I get the point you’re trying to make, you did it poorly, now stop repeating yourself, your final grade is a D+.

Story Section 4- 3H likes spectacle over substance.

3H revels in being showy over being constructive. There’s great moments, but there’s not a great plot.

For example, Byleth has many flashy moments that show how awesome they are! They’re connected to a goddess, they can wind back time, they have a super cool historical sword, they’re a top tier mercenary, they’re a great teacher, they’re next in line for Archbishop or the throne for all of Fodlan, their Crest is the game’s version of the Fire Emblem!

Cool! What’s the significance behind all these choices in the writing room? Seemingly next to nothing other than it sounded cool. That’s how it feels anyway.

The SotC doesn’t do anything in the story beyond be Sothis’ bones, likewise the Crest of Flames is nothing other than symbolic since it lacks gameplay or story significance beyond “main characters have it”, Divine Pulse has weak narrative justification for what should be a simple gameplay exclusive rewind, the goddess in question is an underutilized character who checks out before part 1 ends, there’s no gameplay basis showcasing that they’re any better at fighting than their students, and every high level position Byleth is granted makes no sense for them to have given what little established character we get.

That’s 3H in a nutshell. Crests don’t matter other than to be a story device. Being noble or commoner doesn’t matter. The hidden technology doesn’t matter. Abyss is a joke. And on and on and on. 3H profits off of being enticing and cool looking for the sake of it, without actually utilizing or explaining any of this flashy stuff that matters for a video game medium. It makes for underwhelming gameplay and artificial characters. Example, for as much as I love Yuri, take a few minutes to read his backstory; it’s batshit and nigh unbelievable. And it’s indicative of the fact that 3H cares more about including things that sound cool than it does about making sense of anything. We see the impact, but never any material significance, which is the opposite of what you want in a detail oriented narrative like this.

Story Section 5- 3H has very gross tropes.

During 3H’s first year of being out, I desperately wanted to stay true to a view that “hey now, just because it’s depicted like this, doesn’t mean we should blast it, it’s just a video game” but, y’know. I grew up. And part of growing up is recognizing the nuanced parts of these kinds of things.

I won’t accuse the writers of being actively ignorant or bigoted, cuz I don’t know anything about them. But fuck. Fuck, does this game read worse and worse over the years in terms of how utterly terribly it handles sensitive issues.

Multiple brown characters treated like trash by the white/pale majority, with countries said brown characters hail from described as savage and animalistic. Rampant misogynistic tropes, most notably selling women off to be married. Strange, and incessant sympathy for the character starting a war that upends the lives of common people, said character also allowing human experimentation to occur. The offensive and archaic handling of mental illnesses, specifically anxiety disorders, personality disorders, and PTSD in certain instances (IMO only Dimitri and Marianne are done with any sort of grace). And that’s just the explicit stuff! Just the other day I was talking about how there’s incredibly disturbing anti-Semitic undertones regarding the Empire (confirmed to be based on Germany btw) and the Nabateans, something that’s, at times, uncritically repeated by people in this game’s community. This game is mired in terrible allegories and metaphors, which make me cringe the more I think about the real world implications that these lines of thought can have on people in volatile corners of the Internet.

And the kicker is that the writers are so committed to making these things relate to Crests or nobility, as if either of those things are strictly the reason why oppression or discrimination occurs.

The game employs drastic harmful stereotypes, and undercuts all of them by foisting its half-baked unique gameplay/lore toy onto the conversations. It fumbles the ball and didn’t even clean up the mess well.

Characters

I have a tier list of how much I enjoy the characters right here.

Long story short, when the characters are good, they’re good. Like, holy fuck, love them. But when they’re bad? Throw them away. Can’t stand them. And sometimes characters fall in the middle where I see the good but they’re at times written in ways that piss me off.

Worldbuilding/Setting - More is not always better

First off, when you make a character tell the player “Go read in the library for lore”, you’ve lost me. There’s nothing fun and interesting in 3H as a game for you to read in the library.

Fire Emblem’s gameplay cycle doesn’t mesh too well with the typical JRPG standard of storytelling, so the common solutions to building the world and crafting the stories was 1) make as much use as possible of cutscenes, art/cgs, and narrations to communicate the important details before and after battles and/or 2) make an intuitive inclusion to ‘break the pace’ between maps, such as a home base, in order to supplement what’s already present. Alongside this, support conversations were an ingenious tool to develop the characters and the world at the same time, as your varied and quirky cast can help you infer what their place of origin is like. Plus, the game actively rewards the player for seeking this auxiliary information out, granting extra stat bonuses when you purposefully put characters next to each other.

3H, on paper, understands this well. However, the game has too many minute details for a typical FE game structure to handle. The devs themselves even said the game became a “living creature on its own” and claimed no one on the team knows everything about 3H’s story or world. Ignoring how that’s a serious flaw for a video game narrative, what this ultimately means is that since cutscnes and a standard base can’t cut it, we need more and more and more. Libraries, side quests, tea time, ally notes, gifts, NPCs that exposit at you, etc. The DLC even added another damn library for you to sift through, as if the first one wasn’t a pain already.

And though these little flavor texts, landmarks, and set pieces are fun to read about... that’s it. The game hardly uses any of it. It’s flavor without substance, once again. It’s why half the fucking fandom is confused every other day when you bring up these tertiary details as evidence to prove a point, since the active story is too busy trying to weave the other 600 plot threads together to use any of it. That means, for all of this supposed great details regarding each nation and the important territories, we hardly see a damn thing that’s actually different. More is not always better, and in this case, it’s actively worse for both the game experience and the community experience. Not a good look for a game that the devs explicitly wanted people to talk to each other about.

As a fan of FE ever since 2013, who has gone back to play several of the games to see how they tick, 3H’s methods of describing its setting are just so antithetical to what makes the series enjoyable, and for so little reward. It sounds hypocritical given that I love Fates and Engage, but those games actively set up their glorified bases to be as unintrusive as you want them to be. 3H, however, has its gameplay built around a boring and unintuitive cycle.

Gameplay- Fire Emblem but half the time you’re not playing Fire Emblem

Gameplay Section 1-Monastery

The monastery is the most debated gameplay aspect of 3H, and IMO, for good reason.

It sucks.

Worldbuilding wise, while it makes sense that an important location is the hub for the game, that doesn’t account for how dull it is. 12 months and 4 seasons pass and does the place ever look different? No. A shame, since an improved aesthetic would drastically help ignoring the fact that the place is a bitch to traverse. For as fast as Byleth can run, they can’t outspeed the load times. Quick travel only makes the issue more apparent, as well. From door to door, and from week to week, you’ll endure more load times in one in-game month than an entire playthrough of a GBA FE game.

The other aspects of the monastery gameplay, such as teaching, activities, professor level, and motivation, while freshly fun in a first playthrough, become a repetitive slog in subsequent playthroughs. Giving gifts and lost items, eating meals, planting the right things for the garden, optimizing support point gains, using the sauna, taking care of the statues, etc. This cycle is not something I enjoy in an FE game, and unlike Fates or Engage, I can’t actively ignore it without huge penalty.

You can skip right to each main mission, but you’d be giving yourself a huge handicap by doing so; not actively teaching students at max motivation in order to maximize skill point gain is a huge detriment in the long term. It means longer wait for better weapons, longer wait for better spells, longer wait for class change, and longer wait for better skills and battalions. Now on Normal you can get away with this, not as much on Hard, and sure the fuck not on Maddening. To me, it feels like sloppy balancing on top of an already exhausting and dull game cycle. Why let the player skip months if you didn’t bother to carefully balance the game so that the players who do skip months could have even a small chance to clear the game? Honestly, it just feels as if they thought “people might find it annoying so let’s just tack on a skip feature”, and that’s disappointing and lazy.

Overall, I hope nothing similar to the monastery’s implementation is included in any future Fire Emblem game. It’s too antithetical to FE’s main gameplay structure, IMO.

Gameplay Section 2-Battles

To be honest, Fire Emblem has never been the pinnacle of balanced gameplay, and frankly I don’t want it to be. It’s a single player game with fun anime sword guys, magic powers, and dragons. So long as it’s not dreadfully easy or overly complicated, I have no qualms about certain classes or characters being better or worse than others.

3H though is a mess. A fun mess, but still a mess. Movement decrease to foot units means you want a mount cuz the game’s maps are big, and the speed penalty for cav classes means you want a wyvern or a pegasus. Physical units do just that (or maybe War Master for Quick Riposte), you get your dancer, have a Stride unit, have your Magic units and warpers where you need them, and congrats! You solved the 3H meta.

Half-joking, honestly. The game is extremely easy to break, the hardest part is getting to that point (after all, slugging through the monastery is a bigger test of your patience than anything else). Maddening mode, of course, you have be extra careful in the beginning (cuz they probably didn’t play test it cough cough) and utilize your combat arts and gambits effectively, and being extremely conscious of positioning. But, much like Awakening before it, 3H is very easy to snowball. Especially on NG+. That doesn’t mean it’s not fun, but it can get mindless. I don’t personally play that way, but even still, tools such as weapons mostly not being class restricted, Crests, combat arts, gambits, and accessories make the game incredibly simple. It’s a breeze, and only gets harder when certain things are stripped away from you or your debilitated somehow. Again, it’s still fun, because FE is always fun, but challenging? No. Not in a way that I find meaningful, anyway.

The maps themselves? Meh. They look pretty! Lots of small missable details that you wouldn’t see if not for the zoomed in view, that was a neat feature. Not at all useable for actually playing the game, of course, but fun to mess with and to sight see. It does make me resentful, cuz again, we could’ve potentially seen lots of rich, detailed, and varied locations bustling with townsfolk and entering villages to really feel each location. But alas, this is as good as we get.

Anyway, the maps are...fine-ish? Part 1′s maps are seared into my brain, for better and for worse (mostly worse) cuz you have to play them at least 3 different times for all the routes. Prologue through Chapter 5 are either boring, terrible, or both. Chapter 6 is the first map on my most recent playthrough that I say I had fun with in Part 1, then it continues for 7 and 8, then nosedives for 9 and 10, before picking back up for 11 and 12. In short, more than half the story maps for part 1 I find are either unexceptional or plain bad.

Now Part 2? Hunting By Daybreak is atrocious, Garreg Mach defense is pretty fun, Ailell is boring as fuck, Myrddin Bridge and Deirdru are good, Gronder Part 2 ebbs and flows between being awesome and awful, Merceus, Enbarr, and Fhirdiad are okay but tend to drag, Tailtean is alright, Shambhala is hot garbage, CF endgame is pretty fun, AM endgame is okay, VW endgame is awesome, Snow endgame is terrible. I think all routes’ part 2 is better than part 1, but not by much.

All of Cindered Shadows is peak, every map was good IMO.

Paralogue maps I have no opinions on, they are recycled maps with nothing meaningfully interesting about them that I remember aside from Dedue’s, Ashe’s, and Petra’s.

In short, the battle maps in 3H are okay for FE standards. It’s just pretty fucking insane how many times they get reused, so I got tired of them very quickly.

Fandom

Last but not least, just a shoutout to a very unpleasant community experience. Though it might be the best selling FE game as of now, it comes with the price of having some incredibly disrespectful, vicious, and ignorant fans.

Never have I been witness to or been the target of as much harassment on the internet as I have with certain 3H fans. Entire discord servers made to make fun of groups of people with differing opinions, taking over old blog domains to mock people, deliberately seeking out people who want nothing to do with you just so you can defend your favs, etc. And that’s just on this site! There’s editing wars on TV tropes and the wikis, mods on various sites having to do deleting sprees of 3H discourse, artists being harassed on Twitter, and in general just... inserting yourselves into places and spaces where you were not invited nor encouraged to comment. Some of these people lack basic human deceny, respect, and boundaries, and it’s not cool.

Part of the reason why I’m breaking away from 3H now is because this behavior is something I got wrapped up in too, and I’m deeply ashamed of it. It’s toxic, and not at all something I want associated with one of my favorite video game series anymore. I got real life things to worry about and other games to play.

Anyway, that’s pretty much it. All of my general thoughts on 3H, localized on one post. Sayonara, Fodlan Discourse, you won’t be missed. 🤗

#fire emblem discourse #edelgardiscourse #three houses discourse #rant #definitive 3h post #seriously though this stuff gives me metaphorical hives #and this will save me headaches and brain power in the long run

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novankenn · 1 year ago

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Reluctant Hero?

= Twenty-Eight = (Chapter List)

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Jaune: Pyr! How are you feeling?

Pyrrha: (Hobbles closer using her crutches) I'm still good. (Notices Weiss standing near Jaune with an enraged look on her face) Weiss, it's a surprise seeing you here?

Weiss: I... you... I...

Jaune: So you wanted to talk? Here or...?

Pyrrha: In my room, if you're okay with that?

Jaune: Sounds good to me. Good talking to you, Weiss.

Weiss just continued to stand there as the pair moved off. Her brain was overheating with absolute rage, all of it aimed squarely at the imbecile that had cut off her arm.

Jaune watched Pyrrha as she moved, leading him to her private room. Of course, he couldn't help but admire the image before him. Who could blame him. A hotblooded male, seeing a perfect peach. Not that he'd act upon the lewd thoughts rolling about his head. His momma taught him better than that. But it wasn't a crime to appreciate or think.

Pyrrha: (Giggling) Enjoying the view?

Jaune: I um... I wasn't...

Pyrrha: (Giggling more) I'm in here.

Once in the room, Pyrrha took a few minutes to get situated on her bed, as Jaune pulled up a rather uncomfortable looking hospital chair. Once both had settled, they looked at each other. Pyrrha placed both her hands in her lap.

Pyrrha: I don't understand what or why you did what you did, but I feel like I need to thank you.

Jaune: No worries. Is that all?

Pyrrha: No... Bonnie Jauney...

Jaune: I hate that name.

Pyrrha: I'm sorry... I think it's kind of cute. Anyway, I wanted to talk more about what was happening out there. That grimm wasn't normal, can you tell me why?

Jaune: Ah, well... it's a long and convoluted story...

Pyrrha: I have time, seeing as I have a couple of weeks before the prosthetic they ordered for me, arrives, and I really would like to understand.

Jaune: Okay, but you need to keep a really open mind. This is freaky shit...

Pyrrha: I will. I really want to know... because I have to admit I'm I guess a fan?

Jaune: Excuse me? Did you say Fan? Fan of what?

Pyrrha: Your story, and after all my looking and reading... I know there is more to it than just you, murdering your friends.

Jaune: Ah, well... um...

Pyrrha: I really want to understand. (Pyrrha reached out with her hand and gently placed it on his hand cybernetic.) Please?

So Jaune started to spill. It was cathartic to finally let it all out, and he continued going into more and more detail about what was out there. About the evil that seemed to want to make him suffer, Pyrrha was enraptured. The fantastical story was more than she had ever hoped, and it made her slight obsession with Jaune's case more, and more, justified.

Jaune: So that's it. The whole story up to what you saw in the forest.

Pyrrha: It really is sort of unbelievable, but I believe you. Like I said, that grimm wasn't normal, and I should know. I've trained to hunt them since I was a small child.

Jaune: Yeah, well, what you saw was a grimm infested by a Deadite. I don't get how they are able to take them over, seeing as they have no soul, but I'm not paid to figure that out... now that I think about it. I'm not paid for any of this shit.

Pyrrha: Can I... can I join up with you once I have my prosthetic? I want to help... (whispering) and be closer to you.

Jaune: I'd have to talk to the rest of my team, but if they're good with it, then sure.

Pyrrha: You have a team?

Jaune: Yeah, Team JNC, or Junk. The Headmaster put us together, considering what happened out in the Emerald Forest.

#rwby #ash vs evil dead #horror themed #jaune arc #deadites #deadite grimm #glynda goodwitch #headmaster ozpin #weiss schnee #pyrrha nikos

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ohwell-itsme-but-danganronpa · 8 months ago

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❄️🥐🧩?

what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best? The second part of the question is interesting to me... because I don't believe I've ever thought of it that way? when I pose a prompt I want to see multiple options of it, I want it endlessly, I want the differences between interpretations to get my brain going with more ideas, I want to have my own version of it (but I probably won't), I hope everyone writes it or draws it or uses some of the themes or a specific element of it in another thing they're doing, I hope they let me know so I can see. If I had a specific person in mind, it'd be a situation when they're already writing a fic I am invested in and try to make predictions for, but when my attention is captured like that rarely ever I am disappointed, my silly scenarios in my head are just extra spice and I can adjust them. And it's classic fake dating, obviously, I want pinning, I want all the pinning in the world, and the feelings realizations, the denial, the holding back, the invisible barriers, the rules, the tension, the misunderstandings, the lack of communication, the messiness of it all, the tension, the kisses, the "they're not looking anymore", the awkward bed sharing, the looking when the other doesn't see, the rules again, it's the boundaries, it's that they're so close, but there are things they feel not allowed to do, I love that, did I mention the boundaries and the surrounding nervousness, not wanting to rock the boat and cross the line, something breaking anyway, the devastation, the reconciliation, the resolution of all the yearning and maybe of the sexual tension if we're lucky. I want it all a million trillion times, all with Kokichi being the fake bf, I could do with all being saiou, but I could see some variety too, ouruma would be funny, tojouma could get real sad I think, I struggle to imagine Hoshi in this scenario but it would make it all the better if someone would try, Kaede would be a different kind of funny than Miu, she's so unserious, she could probably find a way to skip the angst and just go for it. I will not get tired of it.

name one internet reference that will always make you laugh I don't think there's anything like that, most of my laughs have to be startled out of me, for me there is quiet fondness in recognizing references (and I probably miss plenty that aren't tumblr specific, my pop culture knowledge is rather narrow, so I really cherish having the context), things that don't catch me off-guard can get a huff or a fond eye roll if they're funny.

what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately? Once I opened a fic it can be difficult for me to tear myself away, the way one can't look away from a car crash, I've gotten better at it over the years, but it's usually not immediate, the way I can immediately skip a fic I haven't started because of the tags and summary, I'll skip immature edgy attempts at dark fiction because I've had enough of those in my day and now I grew out of it, and I'll skip age gaps and rape fics (I am not particularly sensitive to the topic, so I don't avoid all fics tagged with it, but pwp pieces that are just that are a hard no. huh. I guess situations when I didn't get that it's the case from the tags are ones where I do click out of a fic), I tend to skip weirdos who write "X, but this is good and pure x, this is the nicest I could make x, it's now morally approachable, because I am not a freak bad person" and I am like, this is more perverse and disturbing of you to go to these lengths rather than writing it straight up with an "it's just fiction" mindset, why are you justifying it so much, why are you trying to make the x fucked up thing morally pure, why does it have to be cute and acceptable? I am telling you, that's the most disturbed type of person to watch out for online.

I developed an ick for malewife/ housewife when said about a male character, it was cute the first few weeks and now, it's been years and I am so sick of it, I am in despair over how much deeper we went into reapplying misogyny to gay men thanks to this language, it's legit a trigger into a nasty downwards spiral. It's more of a pet peeve when I see "like a lovesick schoolgirl" (and it's often used when they are young and acting lovesick so like, it's there to note that it's a feminine trait to be so emotional and it's shameful and immature to be girly for them, they should have a grip on their emotions, be cool, that's the masculine trait. Um, once you unpack it like that it's fucked up, but it's in every fanfiction ever, so I don't even bother getting angry about it anymore) or adult women, even mothers being referred to as girls, in mlm fics it's like, every so often someone uses the word "man" when talking about a boy to add a little variety to the repetitions, but it's so rare to see writers use the word woman, girls sometimes make background appearance, and moms might be more common cameos than dads actually, but it's something that even some really good writers do.

I can get fed up and not check new updates on a fic if I get to a point where I dread them (GSA), when I know things are going in a direction I don't like (like when it became clear they're fucking doomed in the unnamed fic, I couldn't handle the horrors like, at all.) or can't handle because some things do affect me badly (the one example I have for this wasn't even in the saiou tag, it was recced for Tenko and Kokichi friendship, it was a talentswap & timeloop combination, so really interesting, Kokichi remembered og timeline but had Maki's talent now, and it was kinda changing him as time went on, so the interactions Kokichi had with Kaito started out fine, Kaito got decked like he should and told off by both Tenko and Kokichi, like, it was what I wanted, he was denied very openly, it was clear that he was being pushy and gross and Kokichi was running away from him a bunch of times, and refused the sidekick thing, but instead of laying off, eventually, and that was good ways into the fic Kokichi changed his tune instead and it was made into him being tsundere just like Maki now, huffing and giving in to only playfully keeping up the bit of hating him, despite the fact that it's been serious until then, and I was so. idk. revolted, horrified and disgusted, defiled even, I think it was traumatic for me actually, never noped this hard out of something, it just went and touched my deepest fear and it's just the very specific scenario that makes me want to take my skin off to wash it, it's a big thing as to why I find Kaito's character unforgivable, it just took the most disturbing thing I know and went isn't it sweet? he can wear even Kokichi down, he's so extroverted and friendly :), as if it wasn't a total disregard for boundaries and consent)

#asked/answered #talking tropes

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beevean · 3 months ago

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Yeah, I agree.

The show can make scenes feel powerful. "I'm killing my boy" objectively falls flat because we know nothing about Dracula and Alucard's relationship, because the show wasted its time (plus Trevor can go fuck himself I guess), but the voice acting is phenomenal. Lenore's suicide feels like she's throwing a tantrum and I sure am not going to shed a tear for that whore anyway, but the music is so poignant that I genuinely get goosebumps at that scene - and I love the concept of a vampire choosing to look at their beloved in their last moments rather than the sun, I just can't buy it because Lenore barely gave a shit about Hector before then. Isaac's speech in a vacuum is powerful and cathartic, seeing a character who saw himself as a tool deciding he's going to live for himself is cinematic, you just have to ignore how choppy his development was and, you know, not take his various murders seriously.

I agree that sometimes Sonic games get loved for similar reasons. You mention Mephiles, and I raise Frontiers and The End, who also like Isaac runs his mouth way too much :P even Sonic Adventure 2, which is nowhere near as flawed as these products, seems to be only beloved for the "vibes", and its staunchiest fans don't even remember what happened in it. And I could make a similar argument for cases like IDW, where out-of-context panels circulate on Twitter so that people can fawn over the likes of Surge without engaging in her lackluster story, and... oh, that reminds me! I haven't seen one Lenector shipper mention my favorite line "oh, shush, you were having fun", which completely destroys any argument that she realizes she has crossed a line and has grown to care about Hector. And you want to know something interesting? That snippet was excluded in the only clip on Youtube. :)

(I'm also considering the possibility that people genuinely see that part as funny banter because they don't register what Lenore did as that serious. I have definitely seen people believe that Lenore in S3 already meant well, liked Hector from the get go, never lied to him except for the sex - oh yeah just a small little white lie no biggie - and even that she never wanted to use the ring but felt that she had no choice. To be blunt, the only way you can come to this conclusion is by watching the scenes with one eye and writing fanfiction with the other.)

Also yes, to be clear: I'm not saying all Lenector shippers are rape apologists, just that their insisting defense of Lenore accidentally sounds like one, because you cannot argue that she is a good person deep down if you don't downplay what she did in S3. Like when fans are so adamant to defend Dracula as a tragic villain who makes a good case against humanity that they lowkey justify genocide in the name of "get yourself a husband who loves you like that". In the same vein, I know Ellis didn't sit down and concoct a plot that said "forgive your abusers if they're cute enough", but between the rushed writing and the complete sanitization of Lenore in S4 it sure damn looks like it.

To get back on track, yes, I think this ties with how generally speaking fandom tends to encourage ignoring canon and projecting yourself into the story. I mentioned Trephacard because in no way you can say the three have such a strong friendship that they should have gotten all together in the finale. But who cares, when you can easily slot them into The Penis Man, Sad McTits and The Mom? Who cares about how atrociously Hector was written, when he's just like me fr fr, just a lil autistic bapyboy cinnamon uwu roll that you can ship with either Lenore if you're into cute mommies or with Isaac if you're into hurt/comfort yaoi? Who cares about the amateurish writing issues and repugnant hidden themes, when there are Feels to be had and you can use Isaac's voice as ASMR?

Since yesterday we talked about my *favorite* story: I think what really confuses me about the NFCV fans who defend Hector's writing by praising his final action, letting Lenore go, as the rightful conclusion of his character arc... is that it only works if you completely memory hole S3.

Hector is introduced as someone who burned his own parents alive after a childhood of abuse, bitter enough to believe humanity needed to be culled. From this perspective, him learning to forgive Lenore, or at least granting her mercy and dignity, could be a good character development. But Hector through the show was not written to be bitter, vengeful and violent: that was Isaac.

Or alternatively, Hector's biggest flaw is that he needs to be loved, so much that his favorite spell is reanimating dead animals so that they could love him unconditionally. He forces those creatures to him. He keeps this behavior by clinging to Dracula, then Carmilla (he could have ran away, he chose to stay with her after Dracula's death), then Lenore (after Carmilla's death and Isaac making him live, Lenore became his only certainty in life). From this perspective, him not forcing Lenore to live an existence she didn't want to live, but accepting her decision, could be poignant. But Hector never actively sought anyone: he was swayed and lured in. Besides, his pets stopped being relevant after S2.

Hector's arc was one of passivity. You can't miss it: even Isaac points out that Hector lacked agency. Hector spent his entire arc being thrown around left and right, lied to, beaten, humiliated, dehumanized, and he simply... existed. He has no objective, he barely has any negative emotions. Hector in S3 was a blow up doll, and we audience were meant to laugh at his stupidity while jerking off over the submissive and breedable peggable guy being called "good boy". S4 pretends he grew, with his working behind the scenes to resurrect Dracula, but it's not enough, for all the reasons we know. That's why him letting Lenore go feels like the last spit in the face for him: not only Hector is the only character in the season who is left with a bittersweet ending at best, but... he didn't do anything to affirm himself. He didn't choose to leave Lenore: Lenore chose to leave him, and he simply nodded to that. He didn't talk to her about their problematic relationship, now that nothing was between them. He didn't take the chance to recognize his own self-worth in the same way Isaac did. We don't know what he plans to do with Isaac, we don't know if he plans to leave the castle at some point. The pattern of him going "sure why not" at everything thrown at him was not shaken.

(I don't need to tell you that as someone who loves the original Hector's story precisely for the way he seizes agency for himself, this pisses me off something fierce. More idealistic? Maybe, but also encouraging.)

I'll be honest: Hector as a character is so empty that I feel his fans simply project themselves into him, especially victims of abuse who see the way he crawled back to Lenore and think that it was an intentionally nuanced representation of the way abuse twists your mind and priorities. And if his story resonates with you, I can't take it away from you, but I can assure you that the guy who spent a whole episode writing his puppy fetish for no reason other than fanservice does not give a single shit about the realism of abuse, let alone the things he was accused of.

And I wonder if the same can be applied to other aspects of the show, like Trephacard's friendship that straight up doesn't exist on screen, or Isaac's "development" which might resonate with people similar to him. Just a lot of projecting and filling in the holes, of which the show has plenty because it would rather waste its time with pointless filibustering and people being mean and crass to each other or piss jokes.

This is gonna sound very cynical but the main reason for the show's success is, essentially, that it's superficially deep and insightful.

Superficial presentation can go a very, very long way in hiding very egregious writing flaws, stuff like great fight scenes, emotional music and dialogues that sounds very cool, philosophical and deep can easily convince people that what they're watching is far more than it really is. These are cases where, if you don't pay attention to the finer details, you would really be led to believe that it's exactly what the show is presenting itself as

As another example: Sonic fans, even after all of these years, still like to parade Mephiles around as the best written villain in the series, even though his plan makes less than zero sense. This is because he looks cool (?), has cool powers, has a cool voice and the game consistently presents him as a mastermind...so folks fall for it, it's all about the vibes and how they emotionally impact the viewers, who in turn don't tackle the material with actual critical thought. Some seem to do so, given the plethora of in-depth analysis of characters like Isaac, but, and I know this is really offensive of me to say, I think they are still being influenced by the emotional impact of the way the story likes to present itself, preventing them from truly being 100% objective

People see Hector's pseudo philosophical speech to Lenore, they see her killing herself with the beautiful cinematography and music, and they mistake it for actual art, because it makes them forget or reinterpret the likes of S3. The reason why so many undermine or even justify Lenore's treatment of Hector in S3 is not, I believe, out of genuine rape apologism, but rather becaus people have a subconscious need to have everything neatly fit into their view of events

The ending of S4 looks so beautiful and deep and meaningful, but their relationship in S3 is in direct contradiction of that, so instead of recognizing that they twist the facts in their own head in order for all of it to make sense, because if you admit the existence of S3 as it truly was to yourself, then S4 and it's "beautiful" emotional impact falls apart like a ton of bricks

This is sounding very arrogant if not downright misanthropic I know, as I'm essentially saying that people don't know how to consume the media they like and that they don't even truly know what it is that they like. I feel a bit ashamed in saying this because it's the type of reasoning that would anger me usually, especially if directed at me, so in a way I guess I'm being hypocritical...but I truly don't see any other way to explain this phenomenon

Isaac is, of course, another good example: it's "easy" for most people to forget his hypocrisy because the show puts such a laser focus on his "development" and emotions and philosophy etc. It's like dangling keys in front of a toddler in order to distract them from some other thing

Something like Other M could have had the same effect, but the difference I feel is that Other M is far more egregious in its superficial dialogue: Samus sounds boring and stupid even at a surface level, she can't fool the audience, and Adam's character doesn't feature nowhere close as many "distractions" from his shitty behavior, especially since the authorization mechanic is pervasive throughout the whole game, so people immediately see what a douchebag he is and how self contradicting the story is about him.

#anti netflixvania #long post #i'm just as embittered as you dw

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brainrotcharacters · 3 years ago

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The Home I Choose

ship: Steven Grant x introvert!fem!reader

a/n: Steven wasn’t claimed by the Duat lmao u trippin. this is absolutely self indulgent. HIM AND HIS READING GLASSES.

unofficial part 2 because. just because.

tags: Steven and reader simp for each other, established relationship, reader writes to cope but can't write

The sound of his yelp stole your attention from your drafts.

"Forgot you were here," Steven laughs apologetically, fidgeting with the corner of the page he was reading. "Sorry."

He was sat at his desk, reading glasses low on his nose and desk lamp bright over the pages that discussed Egyptian gods. Today, it was less about keeping his memory sharp and more about maintaining a routine, considering it's been some days past since you two became an item and this was the longest you've stayed at his flat.

When he had started reading, his slouched shoulders were tight. A while later, from your seat on his bed, you recognized the shine of familiarity in his eyes, and he relaxed. When he spirals into the lore like this, Steven looked especially attractive - whether he was sharing to you or keeping to himself. Since he fell into his zone, you fell into yours, escaping into your sequences and dialogue after a rather draining day.

"I'm choosing to think of it as you becoming more comfortable with my presence." Steven's soft smile made something inside you swell with pride. "If you want, I can sit with you?"

"What about...?" he pointed vaguely to your work, and you gave a noncommittal shrug, already rising to your feet. The wooden floor bit the skin of your bare feet for a brief moment. "Alright. Let me get a chair."

"No, I got it." you knew what it was like to be thrown off rhythm. You were already eating away at his time.

"Allow me. Please." He stood so quickly and planted another chair beside his own. Then, he offered a gallant hand. "My lady."

"My love." you giggle fondly, accepting his hand. Steven guided you to your seat, and was just in time to take his place beside you when he noticed your expression change.

You could be with someone better. A protector, a defender of everything that involved you without question or reluctance. Not someone who was picked on by his boss and had more passion for Egyptology than everyone in that museum put together (not that there was much to compare to).

The words were spoken by the voices that filled your ears for most of today. Your folks disapproved of Steven, and you waited for them to say it word for word in order to justify the revenge you'd take in his name.

Steven closely, patiently watched you even when your eyes met his. "Hello."

I love you.

The unsaid words filled the space between you and him as he asks. "What is it?"

"They... they don't like you." kiss him, he's your boyfriend now anyway. No. Focus. "They struggle to understand why I'm with you. Well, we already talked about this, but--"

"We could stand to talk about it more. We're together."

Good God, when he's so sure of himself, you want to either lie down or fall on all fours.

To get back at him, you looked into his eyes and stared at his lips for a while longer. "They're not in love with you. I am."

Even as he blushed, Steven didn't look away. He faced you fully, leaning an arm on the backs of your chairs before placing his head on his arm. His fingers played with your let down hair. "I understand them, love. I can hardly believe it myself."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "But, are you? Comfortable with me, I mean?"

Steven studied your features with that admiration and thoughtfulness you still aimed to deserve. "I want to be."

"Same. Between the home I was born into, and the home I choose: you," you booped his nose with yours, and he grinned, giggling. He spoke like that when he tried to flirt. "You make me feel good simply by reading in silence. If we're going to talk about anything, let's talk about that, ha?"

Steven laughed. "You're literally the most gorgeous human being I've ever seen and-and met."

"And is now dating."

"And is now dating!" he exclaims, waving at the absurdity of the sentence. "You can't possibly be upset. Everyone can dream of having a crumb of the power you have over me."

In a sudden moment of ego, you shrug. "I'll allow it."

You occupy the remaining space on his desk, dipping your face into your crossed arms. A sigh of contentment slipped away from you, followed by Steven's warm hand massaging your shoulder.

His touch lifts after a while. When the sound of flipping pages filled your shared space, your eyes fluttered shut, feet reaching for his under the table. Steven hooked an instep around your heel, softly tugging you close.

This position would hurt you when you wake up, but you always hurt anyway. Steven is right here, anyway.

EXCEPT HE’S NOT. IS HE, MCU? THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT.

#did I enter stage 5 acceptance with this one?#a likely possibility #steven grant comfort #steven grant fluff #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight

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therealieblog · 2 years ago

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I’ve started reading Lindy West’s book ‘Shrill’, and I am loving it. She’s hilarious and sharp and fierce.

In the book she talks about working as a journalist for The Stranger, Dan Savage’s paper. She talks about how Dan was a good boss, but abrupt and not big on praise, and how she loved working for the paper.

Unfortunately, Dan, at that time in the early to mid aughts, was extremely fatphobic. He regularly wrote columns condemning fat people for being lazy, unhealthy and a drain on public resources. Lindy began striking back at him (mostly respectfully) in answering columns, and the one that I’ve transcribed below was incredible. He eventually changed his tune, and she says nowadays he’s far more positive about fat people. I like to think Lindy’s words helped open his eyes.

In the passage below, she responds to a column he published about being at a water park in the mid west, and how “unsightly” people’s fat rolls were in their swimsuits. It’s not a nice column, so I won’t quote more of it than that, but this is Lindy’s response. I did my very best to transpose her words directly from the audio book I have, but the italicizing and bolding are mine.

“Hello, I am fat.”

This is my body. Over there. See it. I lived in my body my whole life. I have wanted to change this body my whole life. I have never wanted anything as much as I have wanted a new body. I am aware every day that other people find my body disgusting. I always thought that some day, when I finally stopped failing, I will become smaller, and when I become smaller, literally everything will get better. I’ve heard it gets better… My life can begin. I’ll get the clothes that I want. The job that I want. The love that I want. It’ll be great! Think how great it’ll be to buy some pants or whatever. At J. Crew. Aw man. Pants! Instead, my body stays the same.

There is not a fat person on earth who hasn’t lived this way. Clearly, this is a terrible way to exist. Also, strangely enough, it did not cause me to become thin. So I do not believe any of it anymore, because fuck it, very much.

This is my body, it is MINE. I’m not ashamed of it in any way. In fact, I love everything about it. Men find it attractive. Clothes look awesome on it. My brain rides around in it all day and comes up with funny jokes. Also, I don’t have to justify its awesomeness, attractiveness, healthiness or usefulness to anyone, because it is MINE. NOT YOURS.

*Footnote: I’ve noticed that a lot of people have trouble with the basic definition of fat acceptance. They wanna argue and nitpick about calories and cardio and insurance and health and on and on and on, and if you are one of those people, wallowing in confusion, fret no more. I can sum it up for you in one easy to remember phrase. GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU FUCKING WEIRDO! Print it. Laminate it. Be it.

I’m not going to spend a bunch of time blogging about fat acceptance here, because other writers have already done it much more eloquently, thoroughly and radically than I ever could. But I do feel obligated to try to explain what this all means.

I get that you think you’re actually helping people and society by contributing to the fucking Alp of shame that crushes every fat person, every day of their lives. The same shame that makes it a radical act to post a picture of my body, and tell you how much it weighs. But you are not helping. Shame doesn’t work. Diets don’t work.

Footnote: Fatphobes love to hold this assertion up, of how delusional and intractable fat activists are. ‘Calories in, calories out’ they say. ‘Ever heard of thermodynamics?’. ‘Uuuh I’ve never seen a fat person in a concentration camp. High five, Trevor.’

Leaving aside the barbarism of suggesting, however obliquely, that well, at least concentration camp victims weren’t fat. No fat activist who says ‘Diets don’t work’ is suggesting that you cannot starve a fat person to a thin death. Rather, we’re referencing the rigorously vetted academic conclusion that traditional diets, the kind that are foisted upon fat people as penance and cure-alls, and our entrance exam for humanity, fail 95% of the time. Whether fat people fail to lose weight due to simple laziness and moral torpor, or because of a more complex web of personal, cultural and medical factors, those numbers are still real. Those fat people still exist. Pushing diet culture, as a cure for fatness does nothing but perpetuate the emotional and economic exploitation of fat people. Shame is a tool of oppression. Not change. Fat people are already ashamed. It’s taken care of. No further manpower needed on the shame front. Thanks.

I’m not concerned with whether or not fat people can change their bodies through self discipline and ‘choices’. Pretty much all of them have tried already. A couple of them have succeeded. Whatever. My question is. What if they try and try and try, and still fail? What if they are still fat? What if they are fat forever? What do you do with them then? Do you really want millions of teenage girls to feel like they’re trapped in unsightly lard prisons that are ruining their lives? And on top of that it’s because of their own moral failure? And on top of that, they are ruining America with the terribly expensive diabetes they don’t even have yet?

You know what’s shameful? A complete lack of empathy. And if you really claim to still be confused. ‘Nuh uh, I never said anything guys. Seriously!’ There can be no misunderstanding shit like this: ‘I am thoroughly annoyed at having my tame statements of fact, being heavy is a health risk, rolls of exposed flesh are unsightly’ characterized as hate speech’. (she is quoting Dan Savage’s response to her last letter here).

Ha! 1. “Rolls of exposed flesh are unsightly” is in no way a tame statement of fact. It’s not a fact at all. It’s an incredibly cruel, subjective opinion that reinforces destructive, paternalistic, oppressive beauty ideals.

Footnote: In his response to this post, Dan took me to task for cherry picking that quote, explaining that he wasn’t mocking the flesh rolls of fat people specifically. He was mocking the flesh rolls of all women who wear low rise jeans without having the correct bodies for it.

Oh, OK, FYI, feminism isn’t super jazzed about men policing women’s clothing choices either. Also, it was totally about fat people you liar.

I am not unsightly. No one deserves to be told that they’re unsightly. But this is what’s behind this entire thing. It’s not about health, it’s about eww you think fat people are icky. Ew. A fat person might touch you on a plane, with their fat. EW. Coincidentally, that’s the same feeling that drives anti-gay bigots, no matter what excuses they drum up about family values, and yes, health. It’s all ‘ew’. And sorry, I reject your ‘ew’.

2. You are not concerned about my health. Because if you were concerned about my health, you would also be concerned about my mental health. Which has spent the past 28 years, being slowly eroded by statements like the above. Also, you don’t know anything about my health. You do happen to be the boss of me, but you are not the doctor of me. You have no idea what I eat. How much I exercise, what my blood pressure is or whether or not I’m going to get diabetes. Not that any of that matters, because it is entirely none of your business.

3. But but but my insurance premiums!

Bullshit! You live in a society with other people. I don’t have kids, but I pay taxes that fund schools. The idea that we can somehow escape affecting each other is deeply conservative. Barbarous even. Is that really what you’re going for? Good old fashioned American individualism? Please.

4. But most importantly, I reject this entire framework. I don’t give a shit what causes anyone’s fatness. It’s irrelevant, and it’s none of my business. I’m not making excuses, because I have nothing to excuse. I reject the notion that thinness is the goal. That thin equals better. That I am an unfinished thing, and that my life can really start when I lose wait. That then I’ll be a real person, and have finally succeeded as a woman. I am not going to waste another second of my life thinking about this. I don’t want to have another fucking conversation with another fucking woman, about what she’s eating, or not eating or regrets eating, or pretends to not regret eating to mask the regret. Oops. I just yawned to death.

If you really want change to happen, if you really wanna help fat people, you need to understand that shaming an already shamed population is…well… shameful. Do you know what happened as soon as I rejected all this shit and fell in unconditional lurve with my entire body? I started losing weight, immediately. Well la dee fucking da.

Footnote: If I had to do it over again I’d write this last part more clearly, because I think the way it stands undermines my point a bit. What I was trying to say was that if anti-fat crusaders really want what they claim to want, for fat people to be ‘healthy’, they should be on the front lines of size acceptance and fat empowerment. There’s hard science to back this up. Shame contributes measurably to weight gain, not weight loss. Loving yourself is not antithetical to health, it is intrinsic to health. You can’t take good care of a thing you hate.

#fatphobia #diet culture #fat acceptance #lindy west #shrill

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years ago

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An accidental flash - Barry Allen x Wayne!reader

Masterlist link

Word count - 1749

Summary; interruption is often than not present in the life of justice, this time Barry Allen is involved

Warnings; nudity, fluff, awkwardness, erection, making out, swearing, brief mention of the talk, mention of murder and prison

The mission had been long and gruelling, and you were just happy that it was over. Being a member of the justice league was hard all on its own, throw being the daughter of Bruce Wayne into the mix, it was understandably a nightmare at times. Sweat riddled your body as though you were the ploy of a river, drowning in your own body’s function as you ripped off your mask and tossed it carelessly onto your bedroom floor; next, your target was the zipper at the front of your suit, luckily your father had fixed it, in the past it had a tendency to get stuck.

Though maybe it’d have been better if it were to have upheld you for a few minutes as you struggled to descend the line of metal teeth downwards, that way you’d have been covered whence an intruder whisked into your room. Everything usually ran slow for him, however this time appeared different, for he showed up just when your suit hit the ground, leaving you half naked, in nothing more than your panties. It took you a moment to even realise that he were there, at your doorway, mouth agape as he took in your exposed beauty.

His heart was practically fluttering out of his chest as he saw you in all your glory, even if it were from the back, and you were sufficiently oblivious to his wondering eyes. Your father would kill him if he ever knew that he were getting this kind of a view of his daughter, but he had yet to panic at that prospect, he was more so focused on how the wading of your spine rippled and the tiresome joints of your shoulders rolled as you stretched your back. Without much of a thought you turned around, with the mental security of the door to your room being closed.

But no longer was it as your eyes widened, and your hands scurried to cover your bare breasts; Barry too realised that his ogling had been a mistake, he knew it was wrong from the get go, but he was so fastened with the concept of being hypnotised by your oblivious magnificence that he’d hardly registered how definitely rude his wordless actions had been. “Oh- I, um- I’m sorry.” The boy stuttered, a flush ravishing his cheeks from being caught shamelessly peeping as he turned around, blocking your entrancing body from his eyes.

“I-it’s, it’s okay Barry.” You confided in him, as you desperately searched for a tee. This base was so new that you’d hardly had the time to move in, a shower sounded absolute, however you were going to need some clothes to change into afterwards. “Do you think you could get me a robe or something please, if it’s not too much?” Barry considered the or something portion of your enquiry as he removed his infamous red hoodie, turning towards you before realising his mistake once more.

“Sure.” He grimaced from his exact mistake again, trying not to begin too drool at the sight of you, moonwalking to reach you and handing you the hoodie, however he tripped over your suit, leaving him in despair on the ground, and you whom had also fallen atop of him. If he hadn’t been so distracted, he could have avoided the awkward scenario that had stumbled the two of you into the current position that you were clambered in. Barry gulped, feeling your breasts pressed straight against his chest, he could feel a masking of nervousness creeping over his neck, as his breath fanned over your upper lip.

“Hi.” He spoke softly, his eyes locked on your own. Doing so concealed his nervousness, and it showed that he had no intent to look elsewhere on your body. A smile sprung onto your lips as you felt the constant pounding in the speedster’s chest, it ravaged against your body as it pulmonary beat through the cage of his ribs, sending unintentional shock waves through your body. You licked your lips, a light furrow distorting your brows as you quirked yourself head at his words, eyes also engaged with frolicking in the visual of his own.

“Hi.” Was your repeat. It was strange to be so close to Barry, especially in this sense, but you weren’t entirely complaining. It was unknown how you were supposed to revel out of this position without him seeing you clad in nothing more than your underwear, a part of you was frustrated that you’d have to. And then you felt it, a solid notion against your leg, spurring from his jeans, and resting against your covered mound. “Please tell me that is your phone.”

An awkward smile, with stretched lips and shown teeth justified the truth; it indeed was no device. He had gotten hard from the accidental predicament that the pair of you had quite literally tumbled into. “Sorry.” He mumbled, about to look down, but remembering that was not such a good idea. “I can’t help it- you’re so beautiful in and out of clothes, and like, it’s my body, that has yours against it, if you get me?” He rambled, making you shake your head at him, and laugh lightly, causing him to freeze.

“Okay.” You replied, hardly believing that you were about to do such an act, as you learn down and pecked his lips. His entire body, and you meant entire, went rigid, lulling in the brief moment that your lips were against your own, a dazed and dopey expression contorting his face. “You good Allen?” You enquired with a pat to his chest, as he licked his lips, reminiscing in the taste of your own. He dumbly nodded, though he intently pulled you back down for another, elongated encore of the action.

The pair of you were enduring a passion, more innocent as it seemed, making you oblivious to the footsteps that gained closeness every moment that you spent revelled in one another. Perhaps no one would have known that you and Barry were entangled like so if your door were closed, but it was not, leaving a sufficient glance for any passers by. When Victor walked passed, he gave you a small applause, and a light catcall, making your head jolt up, only for Barry to pull it back down.

Arthur smirked and shook his head; kids. He said nothing and stoically traipsed past, whilst Dianna recalled that she ought to direct a motive talk to the pair of you later on. Those two were away from your senses. Barry’s hands found refuge on your back, pinning you closer against him as he felt you slither your tongue against his lips, and he was certainly more than happy to allow you entry into the warm and wet cavern of his mouth. He groaned when you tugged delightedly upon his dark locks, feeling how your tongue swirled around in his mouth, fighting and winning dominance in the realm.

It was quite the conjuncture to be caught in, more so by the billionaire in Gotham, the Batman. As soon as Bruce saw you, his daughter, and the young man that he recruited for the team attached in such ways that he did not appreciate, he called out your name, making you shiver against your team member as you looked up, terrified of the fact that he had seen you like this, with Barry! Really, you should have expected nothing more, or at least have shut the door, but you had been too occupied.

Bruce cleared his throat as a blush blossomed over Barry’s skin, he was internally terrified. If you weren’t atop of him, he’d have definitely sped away, saving his skin from the hell that he’d endure from your father. You expected your parent to shout, to scold you, to threaten the life of the man beneath you, but instead he diverted his eyes, and raised his brows, as he thought of the talk that he’d have to have with the pair of you later on. “The two of you missed the meeting, now I see why.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” Bolted from your mouth, but the only response that you earned from your father was him shutting the door, to everyone’s relief. “Fuck.” You groaned, dropping your head upon Barry’s chest. It was embarrassing, sure you were no longer some teenager that needed to be checked on every five minutes, or directed down a narrow path, but it was nerve wrecking all the same. You’d never wanted your father to see you like that, and if he had reprimanded you, that’d have been highly hypocritical all the same.

“He didn’t kill me.” Relief embezzled Barry as he heaved a heavy sigh, dropping his head back onto the carpet. “I mean if he did, then both our fathers would be in prison.” He spoke with a shrug, and you placed a sweet peck onto his jaw, causing a smile to reprimand presence onto his handsome and well structured face.

“Eh.” You shrugged considerably, Barry raising his brows at your reaction, that had yet to be finished. “He’d have someone cover it up, and he’d still be a free man. Money can do quite a lot. For all we know, he’s plotting on taking you out when you least expect it.” You reasoned, making his hands pause their stroking on your back.

“I must insist on another kiss before that happens then.” He puckered his lips, but rather than receiving a diligent peck opposed onto the surface of them, your forefinger pressed down on them, halting his hopes for a continuation.

“Take me on a date Allen.” You winked at him as you stood, no longer covering up from his gaze as you grasped his hoodie, and retreated into the attached bathroom. You were certainly something else, and if Bruce were to kill him in some way, he was sure it’d be worth it. When he was with you, he liked to endure everything slowly, and appreciate every notion in progress that you made, whether it be a true smile or a blunt roll of your eyes.

The sound of the stream from the shower turning on alerted his ears that you were now cleansing yourself, he too thought that sounded like a good idea, and thus he vacated to his own room and did so, singing lightly in the shower as he thought of where he could take you for a first date.

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shiroi---kumo · 10 months ago

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⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ All he can do is set and wait as she works herself into the cell and then over to where he's planted on the ground. He is a miserably melody and all his notes have become monotonous grey hue that muddles together in a way that is most unbecoming of one of his station, but yet there's not much to do as she moves around him to unlock the shackles behind his back. The most she gets out of him is shoulders rolling and hands raising to brace against them as the rolls out the stiffness in upper back before he's offering his hands to her without resistance - palms up for the shackles to be replaced where they once were.

Her question is worse than any blade could ever cut and worse than any bullet could ever pierce because now he has to explain how faulted he was in his own line of thinking. He can't make excuses or lie and doing so wouldn't do him any good any how. He doesn't really want to lie to her anyway.

Will she believe him?

He supposes it doesn't matter if she does, the last thing he wants is to lose his head over all this ... all over again.

Somehow he's sure she doesn't want to see that again either.

So he waits until the shackles are shifted back in to place before he reaches for the bottle of water he was brought and finds himself still having a rather unfortunate amount of difficulty in taking the lid from it due to the close proximity of his wrists to each other. Somehow he manages and soon he's moving awkwardly to drink for several moments before he pulls the bottle away from his mouth with a gasp sounding like a man who had been stranded in the desert sun for week.

The food is there but he owes her an answer. The food is there and his stomach is grumbling but giving her an answer can be the very minimum scrap of decency he can show her in this position.

He owes it to her after all he's done. All the pain he's caused.

"I'll tell you the whole story, but it all boils down to the fact I'm a coward. I tried to justify it to myself that you both were better off without someone like me in your life. What a buffoon I was, for even entertaining the thought. Somehow after what I thought was much careful though, I convinced myself that Chaos would leave you both alone if it was not being tempted in the presence of it's favorite toy.

I know Chaos wants me. I am well aware of how the beast feels about me. It staked it's claim on me years ago as I know you are painfully aware. So like a coward, I ran. That's all I'm good at doing, Ai.

Things get overwhelming and I run. I've done it my whole life even when I was a child. Anything upsetting and I run away. So I told myself to put distance between us even if I killed me to do it. Telling you how miserable I was is not going to take away your pain or ease your hearts. I am not absolved of guilt.

I still made the choice of my own volition. There is no way to say 'I tried to spare you of more grief' in a good way. It wasn't right of me to try to make that choice for you. So many things happened and you weren't present for one of them because I took the choice away from you. Selfishly I took them from you."

He's sighing as his head hangs and his hands raise so the rings on his hand are level for her to see. Two silver bands set with crystal gems on his first and second finger of his left hand while a thin band of silver set with two crystals of green wrap around his ring finger of his right hand.

"I - ..... got married. Took the throne. Danced the end of my Path. Helped refugees find their places amongst Wonderland's people. Helped the Amestrians function in the disaster and cope with the loss of their world. I - did everything I could to keep my mind busy and I drown myself in work so I didn't have to think, Ai. I - have done everything to convince myself I made the right choice endlessly because I didn't want to confront the guilt. I - "

"- abandoned you. I abandoned you both. I put my ambitions before all else and refused to let myself think about it because I knew if I did I would have gone back on myself. I should have gone back on myself. I had no right to take these events from you. I was... important to you just as you were to me and it wasn't my place to decide what was better for you. It wasn't my place to try to spare you of heartache when I could have simply been there for you instead. I should have held your hands instead of letting go and there is nothing I can ever say to either of you that will be enough to be worthy of your forgiveness for that. You are understandably upset with me and hurt by my actions and I accept the full brunt of my punishment for that. Even if you don't want to hear me say it, I am sorry Ai. I never stopped loving both of you, even if I am a heavy headed fool."

He would need some assistance... But the idea of moving him was compelling at this point. Even if she didn't want to keep her eyes on him while he ate, it would be so much better than having to do it by hand. Moving him enough to eat shouldn't be enough for a punishment either, so instead she relents. As long as she's certain that he knows not to escape, that's enough for Ai to give him what he needs without such intense scrutiny.

He looks so... Pathetic like this. It was here that she first let her eyes settle on him. Though, it's not something that she lingers on. After being left in here alone for... Who knows how long it's been since he's woken up? She only heard something today, but what if it's been longer? At any rate, anyone would look pathetic being stuck in this dank place. Even still, it looked wrong on him. Hopefully she could make this quick. Until the next time, anyway...

She's already sure that she'll be the one on duty for these sorts of feedings. Such was her punishment, Ai thinks. She can only hope that this was what the beast had in mind as well.

Wordlessly, she flips through the cell keys to land on the right one, opening it up just enough for her to get through with a shuffle. Then, taking another set of flips to find the keys to the chains, she unlocks them, with her eyes trained on him so he can move into position. Once she's in that position, however, she can finally muster up a response to his last request. It was something that made her uncomfortable all the same, to think about that. He had one simple thing that he needed, that would make him feel the slightest bit more comfortable in this awful place. And she hadn't even thought about that...

Despite that, she speaks on it anyway, with the only thing being "I'll take care of it..." Like she usually does... She'd always thought that roles like this would involve a lot of delegation, being so high within the military structure of Gaudium now. But even with the smaller tasks being given to those below her, she had much to do. In this state, her brother had grown lazy, though she'd never admit that to either face that he wore. All he did was sit, listening to anything the snake would whisper in his ears and giving it for someone else to do... And she was the one he called on, because he knew she would. She'd do anything for him, even if it cost her soul.

At least that's what she thought at the time...

Instead, she finds herself looking upon the form of her former protector. Now that she's looked at him once she finds herself unable to look away, and she feels herself feeling worse about all this by the second. There is nothing she can do, but she can feel herself growing that sympathy, even if she still felt that sort of resentment at her core. Sometimes, she wished that feelings weren't so complicated, but she continued based on them anyway. Her eyes avert again, before she lets herself speak up.

"Why did you leave, anyway? I'm not going to yell at you this time, I'm too tired for doing that right now... I just wanna know the full story, at least from someone who has less of a reason to lie than Chaos does."

It's opening a can of worms, and she knows this. She probably doesn't even want to know the full story, but the impulse of wanting to hear something outside the heat of the moment. Ai was an angry person, she always had been. But whatever anger had been boiling inside was taking a reprieve today, and for once she thought that might make her think clearly. That's not what Chaos wants, but she's not sure it can stop her after she's gone this far.

#v; ghost of the king #arc: wrong place; wrong time || bad end #musesofthemoon #musesofthemoon || Ai

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fl0ating-tree · 4 years ago

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(this is all /rp and unless i specifically use cc! assume i am talking about the character)

when i watched the ending roll for quackity’s latest stream (03/16) i was struck with something that i just couldn’t articulate. there was just an air to the entire episode, especially in those last 10-15 minutes, that really hit me. it felt almost like how i felt watching wilbur’s “let’s be the bad guys” speech.

but after rewatching the clips, seeing some analysis and reading different opinions, i realized what i was feeling was just genuine sadness for quackity. what we all watched yesterday was a tragedy.

no matter your opinion on whether or not dream deserves torture, if you think george, karl, and sapnap left quackity for kinoko or quackity left them from las nevadas, if quackitys means justify the ends; this stream was a turning point for quackity that is the culmination of hurt and loss. this was us seeing quackity finally crack under it all and stoop to new moral lows (because no matter if dream deserves it or not, resorting to torture is undeniably a moral low for a character). it felt like wilburs speech because in a sense it was. both were moments where we watched characters that have given and loss too much finally loose themselves too.

quackity has always been a very conniving character. the deal with schlatt to win the election, switching sides to pogtopia when it became clear that schlatt was keeping all the power for himself, talking tubbo into executing technoblade, using tommys death to convince sam into letting him torture dream, making el rapids (as much as it seemed like a joke) to be able to directly speak out against dream without hurting lmanberg. quackity might not be great at pvp but he is really good at getting what he wants.

he’s also a very deeply hurt character. whether you see quackitys relationship with schlatt as romantic or purely business, it’s a canon relationship and it was toxic at best, abusive at worse. he was refused entry into lmanberg when he arrived. he’s died once or twice (which of his deaths are canon are up for debate but at the very least his death to techno in the final control room is canon). he genuinely sees tommy as a friend and had to grieve him, for about a week he believed that the man who he has been actively fighting from the beginning beat his friend to death. he cared for lmanberg and has seen it fall twice, the small semblance of any home destroy. he might not have “as much” trauma as say tommy, but that doesn’t invalidate it in the slightest.

and rather than being able to come back from these losses and rebuild he finally snaps; just like wilbur. it hurt to watch because we saw a character who’s faced hardships not come back from it. quackity ripped up his relationships with his close friends and fiancé’s, destroyed his country, tortured dream and manipulated a grieving and guilty sam into getting what he wants. it was tragic to watch in the most well executed ways.

the last scene, the IRL one with the calendar and poker chips, is what really sold it. the desperation in that scene, quackity throwing the calendar filled with a manic “visit dream” on every single day, the notes of “torture him” and “retrieve the book” showing just how dedicated he is. the forceful throwing up the poker case, his business venture yet another attempt for some kind of power that doesn’t come from pvp to keep himself afloat.

cc!quackity made a tragic masterpiece with yesterday’s stream. it was so well executed and perfectly thought out, discreetly tying into the rest of the servers plot while being distinctly his own story, and im literally never gonna shut up about how amazing it is.

#dream smp #dream smp analysis #quackity #las nevadas

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lilylovessev · 3 years ago

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bonds broken || snamione au

“This is completely inadaquate.”

A rather fed up Hermione sighed whilst shaking her head disapprovingly. She tapped her nails against her mug, taking a sip before continung, “You’ll have to change each and every aspect of this that I’ve highlighted for you. I’m not going to do so much as glance at this again until you’ve clearly made those adaptations. I’m very busy, and I’m going off the books for a couple of months in the next few weeks, you’ll have to be quick if you want me to push this through.”

Absently, she ran a hand through her curls before glancing toward the clock on the wall nearby, wondering how it was only ten-thirty in the morning. It felt as if she’d been there a lifetime. Quite honestly, she was glad that she was going to be working on one singular case for a solid amount of time. She’d been incredibly busy as of late, which wasn’t a bad thing at all, it was because she was so bloody good at what she did.

However, this would be different for her, a change of pace.

This wasn’t necessarily going to be the normal straight to the Wizengamot prosecution that she was used to, this was more in the realm of investigative work.

The Ministry had never trusted her with anything like this before, and so it was vaguely unfamiliar territory. She was a little concerned, because these were people she knew, or at least knew of. It was very much going to be like wading into enemy territory.

She had been tasked with investigating certain claims about the legitimacy of businesses owned by a particular group of ex-Death Eaters, and what exactly these businesses consisted of. They had faily harmless fronts, but were they more than that? Admittedly, she sincerely hoped not. She had hoped that some people would make a change following the War. However, life wasn’t always that kind, especially to those whom had somehow made it before then being villified. In her lown ine of business, you are who you associate with, and this was one of the consequences of that.

“What’s all this about then?”

Hermione took a bite of her jam on toast; a very classy supper, and glanced across at her husband, who was holding up the folder that she’d rather stupidly left out on the kitchen counter. She shrugged nonchalently, groaning before walking over and snatching it back from him, “Work. It’s not for you to be concenred about, Ron.”

“They’re sending you into a pit of a snakes. Am I not allowed to feel concerned for the welfare of my wife? Haven’t we been through enough?” Ron laughed, throwing his hands up.

“Your wife is perfectly capable of standing up for herself. We have been through a lot. We have. It’s not as if I’d ever deny that. Yet, you still became an Auror. We all make decisions for different reasons, please just find it in yourself to respect that I was quite happy to take this on. And anyway, why were you asking if you’d taken it upon yourself to read the contents? Hmm?”

Hermione hated having to explain or justify herself to this man. He knew her far better than that. Why couldn’t he just trust her judgement? It was deeply upsetting that he didn’t. It annoyed her that he couldn’t find it in himself to believe that she was more than qualified to take something like this on. It wasn’t as if she was in any danger. She didn’t think that anyone would dare do anything stupid. She was intrigued by the situation, and felt glad that the Ministry trusted her to carry this out. It was one step closer to where she eventually wanted to be, but that felt like a long road ahead.

The brunette watched as he then huffed and puffed, like a very small child not getting his way, grumbling to himself as he walked out of the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes at his behaviour, before glancing down at the folder in her hand.

They’d had more than a few arguments as of late. He was wanting very different things for her. He was wanting for her to slow down, to ease a little of her workload, to give him a baby. She was fully aware of the decision that the majority of his family members had made to procreate young, but that wasn’t what she was ready for, not right now at least. Her job was far more important. It had taken her a while to get to this point, given her return to Hogwarts, her start had been a little later. He didn’t seem to understand that. He seemed to think that she’d had her fair share of stress and challenge in life thus far, and that she’d want to slow down.

Far from it. She lived for a challenge.

#para

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Title: Survival of the Fittest.

Pairing: Yandere!Bakugo/Reader/Yandere!Kirishima (BNHA).

Word Count: 3.6k.

TW: Apocalypse/No Quirks AU, Unhealthy Codependency, Non-Consensual Touching, Mentions of Death/injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Imprisonment.

You were lucky Kirishima had been the one to find you.

‘Find’ might’ve been the wrong word. It implied that he was looking, that he wanted to discover you, bleeding and battered and bruised, cowering in a grimy corner of what used to be a grocery store. It must’ve looked pathetic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your torn clothes, your matted hair, the way you’d whimpered as he first approached, all wide eyes and open arms. Survivors were few and far between, and it’d been weeks since you saw another living, breathing person. Kirishima hadn’t seemed like a god-send, not in the moment, but he was a miracle. You’d been too shocked to thank him properly, as he pulled you to your feet and practically carried you out of the city, but you should. You wanted to. You owed him that, if nothing else.

You were lucky it’d been him, rather than Bakugo. You were grateful it hadn’t been Bakugo.

You’d probably still be rotting in that corner, if it had been.

He didn’t seem to like you very much, even if he had begrudgingly moved aside when Kirishima asked if he could bring you inside. It was a bunker, judging by the sparse furniture littered around the common area, plain cement walls only adorned with the occasional hunting knife or bat left to lean against them. The bench Kirishima had left you on was wooden, too stiff to ever be comfortable, but it was a practical choice. Fabric was a luxury to be stowed away and treasured, saved for things more important than a stranger’s comfort. You’d do the same thing, if you’d been in his shoes.

That didn’t stop Bakugo from glaring, though, perching himself on the edge of a nearby crate and refusing to take his eyes off of you, as if you’d already earned and lost his trust. “There’s no fucking advantage,” He started, but he wasn’t talking to you. You weren't worth his time, just yet, not while you were still just a stray Kirishima was too much of a saint to turn away. “We’re not a damn food bank. It’s not out responsibility to babysit every dumbass on the verge of death.”

“Don’t listen to him.” At least Kirishima was kind enough to address you as he slipped back into the common room, taking his place at your side and handing you something – a mug, cremated and unchipped and filled to the brim with something watery, steam still rising off the top. Your first sip was hesitant, but you couldn’t stop yourself from draining the cup once you recognized the taste. Coffee. Cheap, bitter, heavenly coffee, the kind you didn’t have enough clean water to risk trying to make. You could’ve kissed him. You might’ve, if the calm levity in his voice hadn’t snapped you out of it. “Katsuki’s just a little defensive, when it comes to guests. We’ve got plenty of supplies to go ‘round, and…” He trailed off, glancing over you. To the bruises circling your wrist, the stained bandages peaking out from underneath your shirt. To the spot where your ankle twisted just a little too far to the left for the angle to be natural, the evidence of a fall you tried and failed to break with something besides your own body. “I don’t think we can kick someone out in good faith with those kinda injuries. Not with all the crawler activity, lately.”

You flinched at the name alone. Crawler, creatures, the things that used to be people and weren’t, not now, not anymore. You used to think of them as zombies, but that wasn’t right. Calling them zombies would be an injustice, even if they did tend to rot if left to their own devices. Zombies weren’t that fast. Zombies weren’t that distorted. You’d encountered three or four, but you tried to avoid attracting them, when you could. It was easier, when you were on your own.

Bakugo groaned, bringing you out of your thoughts. You tried to stop your hands from shaking, as he spoke. “You’ve got a group to run back to, right? Nobody survives that long without one.”

You tried not to sound as small as you felt. Judging from the way Kirishima glanced away, it was a futile effort. “Nobody survives that long with one, either.”

Kirishima’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and Bakugo crossed his arms, a sign that must’ve meant submission, judging by Kirishima’s optimistic response. “Just until your ankle’s healed up,” He promised, a compromise you hadn’t asked him to make. “You’ll stay until then, right? ‘d be a shame if we had to lose another person because of Katsuki’s bad attitude.”

There was a sharp ‘hey’, a barely stifled laugh, and slowly, you forced yourself to nod, immediately receiving a bright grin from Kirishima by way of reward. It was a practical choice, honestly – they had food, they had shelter, they didn’t seem to be grasping at threads just to get by. Even if Kirishima was a little too friendly and Bakugo wasn’t nearly friendly enough, you could life with that, you could get by. Once you’d worn out your welcome, you’d leave. As soon as you were fixed up.

You didn’t want to wait for things to go bad, this time.

Despite his reluctance, Bakugo didn’t take long to warm up to you.

Kirishima was still the approachable one, obviously. He was who you went to when you needed to find something, when you had a question about their ration system or weaponry or the parts of the bunker you weren’t allowed to go in, rooms with steel doors and deadbolts on the handle and a raw, metallic smell emanating from the other side, but Bakugo always seemed to be lingering just behind him, ready to scoff and roll his eyes before he took you by the wrist and explained that, if you expected to reap the benefits of their hospitality, you had to at least try to pull your weight. He was helpful, like that, his help less patronizing than Kirishima’s, albeit twice as easily frustrated. Still, he didn’t hate you. If anything, he seemed to—

“If you slow down one more time, I’ll feed ya to the damn bears myself.”

You sped up, reflexively. He didn’t hate you, but it wasn’t too late for him to start.

It’d been Kirishima’s idea for you to go hunting. You were still in a splint, the majority of your calf an abstract blend of medical tape and cloth padding, but you bit back the pain as you followed Katsuki down the rough, unpaved trail, gritting your teeth past the ache forming under your skin. It wasn’t a raid. If anything, you were only getting further from the city, working your way up the mountain their bunker was carved into the base of. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been concerned about the crossbow in Katsuki’s hands, the weapon already loaded and poised, but the hunting knife strapped to your thigh eased your nerves, as did his disinterest in doing anything but trudging forward. If he didn’t take the time to call back to you every few minutes, you might’ve thought he’d forgotten you were there entirely.

But, silence never suited you never well. Not with a near-stranger, at least. “You’re not afraid of crawlers?”

“This far out? Fuck no.” It was an immediate answer, quick and shameless. Like an amputation, if an amputation left you nursing a bruised ego rather than bleeding out. “There’s enough fresh meat in the city to keep ‘em occupied. Only the runts ever bother coming out here to look for scraps.”

“I would’ve been that meat,” You mumbled, absent-mindedly. It was an idle thought, more of an admission than an accusation, but judging by the way his posture slackened, how quickly his attention shifted to the foliage, he wouldn’t have cared either way. “If Kirishima hadn’t found me, I mean. God knows I look like an easy target.”

“You are an easy target. Just be glad he’s got a weak spot for charity cases.”

You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, you lost your footing before you got the chance, slipping on the damp leaf litter as a spike of something agonizing ran from your heel to your knee. Bakugo didn’t flinch, letting you catch yourself on his shoulder as he raised his crossbow, barely taking a moment to aim before firing. You could feel the kick-back, a jolting reverberation that only seemed to make the wet thunk that followed a little worse, the sound of an arrow piercing skin and flesh.

You expected that. You were ready for it. But, you hadn’t been prepared for the deafening scream that came afterwards, heart-piercing and human. You moved to rush toward its source, but Bakugo only caught your arm, shaking his head. Like he’d missed, like he’d only killed a deer. Like there wasn’t a person thrashing in the underbrush, still crying out as he spoke over them. “Looters,” He explained, like that was an excuse. “We’ve been dealin’ with them for a while, now. ’s just a scout, but he would’ve been back with reinforcements if we let him run off untouched.”

Bile rose in the back of your throat. For your own sake, you chose to believe him. “So? We can’t just—”

“Yes, we can.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need your permission, and he didn’t want your compliance. He didn’t even bother to justify himself before he turned away, starting back on the trail as you stood, still too shocked to move. “C’mon, we’ve already lost enough sunlight, and I’m not wasting arrows on scum. The fucker can drag himself back to his hideout, for all I care.”

You could’ve argued. Bakugo didn’t seem to think the blow was fatal, but you could’ve checked, made sure, offer what might’ve been a dying man a few last seconds of company before he bit the bullet. You could’ve, part of you wanted to, but…

But then, Bakugo tossed a glare over his shoulder, and your attention was brought back to the crossbow in his hands, to the machete strapped to his belt, to how pitifully small your knife was, in comparison. You didn’t want to lose the trust you hadn’t really gained, just yet. You didn’t want to take that kind of chance, not when Kirishima wasn’t around to give you the benefit of the doubt.

So, you shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the quiet sobbing in the background as you followed in his tracks.

Surprisingly, Kirishima was the first one to slip into your bed.

You told yourself it was a mistake, when he let himself into your room in the middle of the night, closer to sunrise than it was to sunset. None of the doors locked, thin plywood serving as more of a source of comfort than an actual barrier, and beyond your small collection of personal possessions and the bedside table you’d commandeered from storage, your room was identical to any of the eerily unoccupied barracks on the lower layers of the bunker. Still, you expected him to turn around, to see your sleeping form curled up in a corner of your cot and realize he had the wrong room. It was late, and he made a mistake. It didn’t have to be anything more.

But it wasn’t that late, and Kirishima never really made mistakes. He was too careful for anything like that.

At least he was being careful now, too, as far as you could tell with your eyes clenched shut, your breathing restricted to slow, shallow inhales that left your lungs feeling just a little too tight. He was gentle, if nothing else, wrapping a strong arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest and burying his face in the nape of your neck. You didn’t squirm, you didn’t push yourself away, but you must’ve been too stiff, too still, too rigid. He didn’t seem to buy the act, however desperate it was.

“’suki’s real proud of you.” His voice was tired, weighted down by exhaustion. Clearly, he wouldn’t be leaving. “He told me about yesterday. Says you were good, cooperative and all. He likes that kind of thing.”

You didn’t respond, digging your nails into the sterile, medical sheets. Your ankle throbbed, and you tried to focus on that, to justify it. To remember why you could still convince yourself to stay.

“He’s a big softie, though. We both are, but I don’t try to hide it.” There was a light squeeze to your side, the ghost of his lips over the crook of your neck. His breath was warm, compared to the bucker’s constant chill, and you tried to think of his smothering body heat as a small silver lining. “I think it’s sweet. Gets lonely ‘round here, y’know? You’re a good fit.” There was a pause, a chuckle. For a moment, you thought he might push a little further, hold you a tighter, but Kirishima only shook his head, going on with that same careless, tired lilt. “I knew you would be, when I first saw you. A fragile little thing like you could never survive out here, not all alone.”

He was half-asleep. He didn’t know what he was saying. He’d probably apologize tomorrow, if he even remembered. “I’m not going to stay for much longer. I’ll be on my own again, in another month.”

“We’ll see.” The cot’s barred frame creaked as he shifted, his weight coming to rest against your back – a constant, oppressive reminder of his presence. A memory flickered to life in the back of your mind, a familiar intimacy that’d been earned and asked for, but you pushed it away quickly. You didn’t want to think about things like that, not here, not when this was so one-sided, in comparison. “Get some rest. You haven’t been getting enough sleep, lately.”

You’d leave when it was safe to. When you healed. When you’d worn out your welcome and become more of a burden than a benefit.

You wouldn’t stick around long enough for things to get suffocating, this time.

It was a mutual decision, when Bakugo and Kirishima stopped you from leaving the bunker.

They didn’t ask. That was the part that stung, really, the thorn that started working itself under your skin the moment you caught them standing in the threshold, an empty duffle bag slung over Kirishima’s shoulder and a baseball bat tucked under his arm. Bakugo had his crossbow, a pistol you’d never seen before holstered at his hip, but that bothered you less than the way they were muttering, keeping their voices purposefully low. Like they knew how you’d feel, if you saw them. Like they wanted to avoid the tension.

You’d never been very good at picking up hints, though. Much less those you were desperately trying to ignore.

“You’re going out?” You called, approaching them before you could stop yourself, suppressing a yawn as you made a show of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It was early, and you didn’t want Kirishima to know you’d already been up for hours. If he thought you were tired, he’d assume you were losing sleep, and if he thought you were losing sleep, he’d take it as an excuse to visit you at night, again. You… you didn’t like it, when he did. “Let me grab my stuff, it’ll only take a minute. If I knew you two were planning a raid today, I would’ve—”

Bakugo was the first to shut you down. “Sit this one out, alright?” It was a question, this time, but barely, his usual bluntness wrapped in a layer of kindness so thin, you could practically see through it. “’s just a quick supply run. We’ll be out and back before you notice we’re gone.”

“We’ve done this a thousand times,” Kirishima added, offering a small smile. At least he was trying to be nice about it, in his own, patronizing way. “It’s starting to get boring, honestly. It‘d be a shame to ruin all the progress you’ve made for something so minor.”

Right, your ankle. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d complained about it, the last time you’d been in enough pain to limp, even if Bakugo still insisted on tending to your ‘injury’ once a day, at least. The truth was glaringly obvious, even if they still made a half-hearted attempt to hide it, to let you avert your eyes and pretend you believed them.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your disappointment, your expression dropping as your nails bit into the meat of your palm. “You don’t think I can keep myself safe.”

In their defense, neither tried to deny it. Bakugo only looked away, and Kirishima smiled apologetically, his hand already pushing against the bunker’s metallic door. “We don’t want to risk it,” He explained, like you were a liability. Like you hadn’t survived out there for months without their help, injured or uninjured. “If something happened to you, if someone got to you, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. We both care about you, even if Katsuki doesn’t want to admit it.”

“It’s practical.” Bakugo didn’t look at you. It was a small mercy, really. At least he was self-aware enough to be ashamed. “You need more time. You fucked yourself up bad before Eijiro found you – all that doesn’t go away overnight.”

Expect, it hadn’t been a night. It hadn’t been a day, or a week, and you were starting to question if it’d even been only two months. It was hard to keep track of time, but the weather was already turning, every scrape and bruise Bakugo could’ve concerned himself with was already healed, and you’d already let yourself get comfortable. You’d stayed too long. You’d let them get attached, and you’d failed to make it clear that you weren’t.

You had to get out. Now.

Or, you could try to get out, at least.

You’d waited too long for Bakugo and Kirishima to just sit back and let you walk away.

They were stronger than you’d assumed. It was easy to forget what the human body was capable of, when you were so used to be exhausted and half-starved, but it wasn’t difficult to remember, not with Bakugo’s hands wrapped around your wrists, one of Kirishima’s arms splayed over your knees, stopping you from thrashing as they shoved you against a bed, a real bed, the frame wooden and the mattress more than just sponge and stuffing. It was one of theirs obviously, and if you’d stumbled onto it at any other time, you might’ve felt insulted, left out.

Right now, the only thing you could feel was terrified.

“Fucking bitch.” It was a grunt, a growl, followed by something close to a snarl as your elbow connected with his check. He was the one who’s caught you gathering up what little you had to take with you, a canteen already filled and strung across your back. It was on the floor, now, the metal dented and the contents spilling out, but if either of them minded wasting clean water, you couldn’t tell. They were busy, now, too busy dealing with you to worry about something so minor. Too angry to care, leaving you as the center of their rage. “We tried to be nice. We tried to give you a choice. You just couldn’t take the fucking hint, could you?”

“Let me go.” You couldn’t bring yourself to raise your voice, but you tried to come across as frantic, desperate, as betrayed and as disgusted as you really felt. “You’re both fucking crazy. I don’t want to—”

Kirishima didn’t let you finish, he’d never really bothered to. He was already shifting, leaning on one of your calves while grabbing at the other, calloused fingertips pressing into your newly-healed ankle, the remaining bruises still raw and tender. You cried out, more out of instinct than agony, but Kirishima only grit his teeth, rubbing circles into your skin, like that would be enough to soothe you. “We’re just taking care of you, alright? We’re just doing what’s best.” It was pointless to say, but the didn’t stop him from going on, rambling like he was going to convince anyone, including himself. “It’s dangerous, out there. You just need a little more time to realize that. You just need to see that ‘suki and I are your best option.”

They weren’t. They weren’t your best anything, but you didn’t have a chance to retort before Bakugo cursed under his breath, gathering your wrists up with one hand and forcing the other over your mouth, cutting you off before you could protest further. “Just do it,” He spat, all-but ignoring you as he spoke to Kirishima. “There’s no point in trying to explain this to someone so irrational. Let’s just get it over with before we have to do something worse.”

For a moment, you went still, a series of worst-case scenarios flashing before your eyes before you could rationalize them, before you could tell yourself to stay calm. For a moment, there was panic – pure, unadulterated, brutal panic.

And then, something cracked under Kirishima’s hand, and you forgot how to think of anything at all.

You let out a stilted, faltering sob, something akin to liquid fire running from your thigh to your calf to the point where everything stopped – everything below your ankle numb, disconnected, dead meat that still managed to hurt. The rest of your body went limp, your survival instincts gone and replaced with the unbearable desire to curl into yourself and cry, but Bakugo was still holding you, his arms strung around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as Kirishima slotted himself against your back, cooing soft nothings as you fought not to break down completely. They were talking again, both of them, but you couldn’t seem to listen. It didn’t matter.

Your ankle was broken. Not sprained, this time, not bruised, but broken. Shattered. Dislocated. Forced into a position that meant you’d be forced to stay, voluntarily or otherwise. Whether or not you could still stomach looking at Bakugo and Kirishima, let alone living with them.

You couldn’t leave, and you were beginning to think they were never going to let you.

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sergiovinazzi · 3 years ago

Text

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

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yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I��m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

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