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cosmicjoke · 3 years ago

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Levi and Zeke: Their similarities and the Fundamental differences between Them:

I’ve recently been having a discussion with @ourmondobongo, and it’s spurred me to want to kind of analyze further the fundamental and philosophical differences between Levi and Zeke. I know I’ve gone into this thoroughly already, but my discussion with ourmondobongo has really made me want to delve in even deeper. First though, let me thank them for, as always, inspiring such insightful discussion among the fan base!

Some really interesting ideas were posted here, about Zeke’s experiences growing up in Liberio informing his world view and his views on the worth, or rather, lack thereof, in human life. ourmondobongo suggested that, because of Zeke’s experiences with his parents, utilizing him as a tool for the Resistance, and his subsequent utilization by the Marlyean army as a tool of war, it ended up warping his perception, and influencing him to believe that all human life is inherently worthless unless it can be molded into a tool or a weapon to further some goal. I agree with this interpretation of Zeke’s mindset and what shaped it. This is undoubtedly how Zeke views the world, and humanity as a whole, and he’s deemed, because of his own suffering, brought about by his experiences affirming this world view, that life is not worth living. Because he sees life as without value unless one can make themselves useful in some way, in his view, the suffering inherent in that makes life fundamentally pointless and meaningless and not worth the effort.

Now, where I diverge slightly from ourmondobongo’s view on this is in relation to Zeke’s influence upon Levi in the final arc, or rather, what they say about Zeke’s philosophy overriding or undercutting Levi’s own. They said that Levi’s belief in an intrinsic value in human life is bombarded and undermined during the final arc of SnK, Zeke’s own belief in the worthlessness of human life being affirmed to him again and again by the chaos and destruction around them, the rightness of his philosophy and belief that this sort of destruction can only stop with the eradication of the Eldian people being confirmed. But see, the thing is, I don’t think Zeke is at all showing Levi something new, or something which he hasn’t already known all his life.

Zeke claims that his experiences in life make him uniquely suited to understanding the conflict between Eldian’s and Marleyeans, and that his experiences make him uniquely capable of knowing how to solve that conflict. But Zeke is nothing if not a unfailingly self-centered egotist, someone driven purely by selfish, egotistical viewpoints, unable and unwilling to perceive anything outside of his limited world view. His life ISN’T unique, his experiences AREN’T unique. They’re, first of all, shared by every single Eldian on both Marley and in other countries around the world. Further, and more importantly to the point I’m about to make, they’re shared by Levi.

Zeke grew up being treated and regarded as a second-class citizen, relegated to a limited area, an internment zone, which he wasn’t allowed to leave unless given direct permission by the powers that be, and regarded as something less than human by the people of Marley. Well, these are all things Levi himself experienced growing up too, and, I would argue, to an even more extreme degree than Zeke.

Levi grew up in the Underground, a sprawling, subterranean city filled with the so called “dregs of society”. A place where the poor, the persecuted, the sick, the dying, the deviant and the criminal were either forced to flee to, or more unfortunate still, were born into. All this underneath the Capital of Paradis, Sina, the richest, most exclusive district inside the Walls. A place where the elite of society lived and worked and raised their families in wealth and luxury. The irony of the poorest, most poverty stricken area inside the Walls being directly beneath the richest, most affluent area inside the Walls can’t be overstated.

Perhaps most relevant to note in this comparison between Zeke’s experience growing up in an internment zone and Levi’s growing up in the Underground, is that the people of the Underground were not only considered second-class citizens, but relegated to something even below that, considered not citizens at all. They were literally denied citizenship within all areas above ground, within the Walls, and if they somehow managed to make it to the surface, and were found out, they would be promptly deported back to the Underground, where they would continue to be denied any and all rights given to the people up above. And, it can be easily argued, that the people of the Underground were treated in many ways significantly worse than the Eldian’s inside the interment zone in Liberio. The people of Liberio seemed relatively well provided for, able to find work, able to earn a living, able to have homes for their families and put food on the table, essentially allowed a sustainable and comfortable life, if one burdened by outside prejudice. They weren’t made to live in squalor. Largely, no doubt, because they were seen as an unwanted, but useful resource for the Marleyean government. The people of the Underground were provided no such provisions. They were viewed as simple refuse, society’s unwanted and unneeded surplus. Poverty and depravation ran rampant in the Underground, a lack of resources and support from above resulting in high crime rates and desperation, to things like murder, prostitution, violence and other sorts of criminality. Further, leading to things like rampant orphaning of children, likely due to starvation and disease claiming the lives of parents, etc... It was a place literally cut off from the sun, a world of perpetual darkness, sickness, poverty and dire straits. They received no aid or support from above, were not provided any of the benefits or privileges of the people on the surface, were not offered any sort of path to success, or betterment of their lives. They were just plainly rejected and left to the whims of fate. This alone makes it a more difficult and desperate place than the interment zones of Liberio, for even there the Eldian’s were given opportunities to improve their lives through the Warrior Unit programs.

You might try to point out that Zeke’s experience differs from Levi’s in how he was taught that he, and on his assumption, every other Eldian, would only ever be seen and treated as a tool to be used for some greater gain, and that Levi, at least, had the love of his mother, and Kenny to show him the ropes of how to survive in a place as ruthless as the Underground, and so Levi couldn’t possibly understand what it means, the way Zeke does, to be seen as a tool, or to be deemed worthless outside of ones utility. But I would counter this simply, by saying that Levi grew up, spent the first, several years of his life, in a brothel, where the very mother who loved him also worked as a whore. Through this experience alone, it can be easily assumed that Levi was exposed to repeated instances of his mother being EXACTLY used as a tool, as an object who’s sole purpose was to give men pleasure. From his birth, then, Levi was exposed and taught the brutal lesson that the sole most important person in his life, his mother, the one person we can assume was the only positive influence and relationship he had, for the first, several years of his life, was seen and treated by everyone else as nothing more than a tool for their basest and most perverse satisfaction. I can scarcely imagine a more horrific or cruel example of a young child being taught the same lesson Zeke seems to think is unique to him alone, that people’s lives are worthless outside of what use they can provide for someone or something else. Beyond that, Levi was again forced to face a situation in which he and his two, closest friends in Furlan and Isabel were used as tools by other people, recruited by Lobov to kill Erwin and retrieve from him an incriminating document, promised, if they succeeded, citizenship above and a handsome payday, only to find out later the entire scenario had been set up by Erwin himself to press Levi and his friends into military service, to be used as tools in the fight against the Titans. Both of these are prime examples of Levi being faced with the lesson that he and those he cared about were seen by people above ground as nothing more than tools, to be used at their disposal. So this was a concept Levi was already well acquainted with by the time Zeke showed up, a merciless lesson in the harshness, violence, brutality and suffering of life. Zeke didn’t experience anything Levi didn’t in turn, and in many ways, with greater extremity.

Anyone trying to claim, also, that Zeke had no positive influences in his life like Levi did would be wrong. Zeke had Mr. Ksavar, for one, and his grandparents, for another. Mr. Ksavar asked nothing of Zeke, merely showed care and concern for him, and a desire to spend time with him, playing catch. It was Zeke who offered to inherit the Beast Titan from Mr. Ksavar, not something forced on him. And while Zeke’s grandparents may have tried to enforce Marleyean history on him in regards to the Eldian’s, they did so out of love for him, in a misguided attempt to PROTECT him, because they cared, not because they were trying to use him in any way.

My point in talking about all of this is to draw a parallel between Zeke’s life, and Levi’s, and then to demonstrate how, despite deeply similar life experiences, the two of them diverge in vital and fundamental ways which, more than anything, can only be attributed to their strengths of character and natural inclinations as people.

Essentially, the gist of my argument is this. Zeke is a bad person. Levi is a good person. And there can be no excuses, or influencing factors found in either of their lives to credit for the way either of them turned out, other than themselves, other than their own natures.

Because Zeke let his life experiences twist him into a heartless, emotionless, unfeeling sociopath who murders other people without remorse, and regards other human lives as meaningless, worthless trash, expendable and disposable as a means to his own ends. He let his experiences in life serve as an EXCUSE for his natural cruelty. He chose to view the lives of others only through the prism of his own experiences, and cast a judgment upon the worth of those other lives. The true reveal of Zeke’s megalomaniacal egotism is in how he finds himself unable to separate the lives of others from his own. In how he’s unable to view the lives of others as anything other than an extension of his own existence. Because he deems his own life worthless, then so too must be the lives of everyone else.

Levi, then, is perfectly his opposite. It isn’t because of Levi’s life experiences that he’s turned out the way he is. It is IN SPITE of his life experiences that he has. Everything Levi’s ever experienced in his life, according to Zeke’s philosophy, should have turned him into a monster. He should have come out of the Underground a sociopathic, unfeeling, brutally uncaring and violent man, ready to take from and use others for nothing more than his own, personal gain, because that was the lesson his life had taught him. Because that was what he’d been shown over and over again. That life is cruel, and ruthless, and uncompromising in its unfairness, and that to live is to suffer. And yet, Levi came out of the Underground with a greater capacity for compassion, feeling, love and kindness than any other character in SnK. He continually and routinely, throughout the series, demonstrates an incredible empathy, consideration, sympathy, generosity and understanding for other people. He is immensely accepting and nonjudgmental, and always, always goes out of his way to express gratitude towards others for their own sacrifices and efforts. He does his absolute best to protect the lives of others, constantly putting his own at risk to help others live, constantly putting his own at risk to save whoever he can. Constantly and consistently, Levi places the lives of others above his own in terms of worth.

And here’s the thing that makes Levi most remarkable of all. The thing which demonstrates beyond any shadow of a doubt the immense strength of his character. Levi very well knows that life is cruel, that life is brutal, that life is unfair, and that often people die for no damned good reason at all, that they suffer for no reason at all. He very well knows that people are breathtakingly cruel and terrible to one another, that people treat one another in unspeakably horrific and unforgivable ways. He very well knows that the dream of a lasting and peaceful world, a lasting peace between humans, is nothing more than a pipe dream, an unrealistic, unattainable ideal. A fancy only a child should genuinely be able to believe in. And yet, once again, despite KNOWING this, despite every lesson and experience in his life impressing this awful reality upon him again and again and again, Levi still does everything within his limited power to ease the suffering of others, to improve their lives, to protect them and show them kindness, to help in any way he can, whichever way he’s able. Despite knowing the futility of life, the pointlessness of suffering, the injustice of other people’s cruelty, despite knowing these things INTIMATELY, Levi still has in him an open, generous, kind and caring heart. Levi still has in him a deep, unending well of compassion and an unwavering desire to protect and better the lives of all the people around him. It isn’t even Levi’s own dream that he fights for, it is the dreams of OTHERS that he fights for. He can’t ever fully embrace this notion of a peaceful existence, free of violence and deprivation and cruelty, because he knows too well the way of the world. He’s been too mired in the indifferent reality of nature and the human condition to ever, really believe it. But in spite of that, IN SPITE OF IT, he fights to protect that dream and belief that others carry, that others strive towards, that others commit themselves to. He gives everything he has, every piece of himself, to protect a dream that he himself can’t even fully believe in, and for no reason more than that it is something which gives others hope, something which gives other’s a sense of purpose, something which one day, possibly, however slim the chance, might come to pass.

It is all in spite of Levi’s experiences in life, all in spite of his weary and cynical understanding of the world and the people in it, that Levi commits himself to kindness, compassion and the chance to help others, in whatever ways he can, even as he knows deep down the ultimate futility in it, even as he knows his own, relative powerlessness in the face of nature’s unyielding and uncaring apathy.

And that really is the fundamental difference between Levi and Zeke. Two men who have experienced such similar lives, and who have learned early on their lives the cruelties of existing in this world, but one who reacts to those cruelties with defiance and courageous opposition, standing in the face of overwhelming odds, while the other yields to it and lets it excuse his cruelty in turn, bowing to its power and letting it consume him.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Levi Ackerman #zeke yeager #meta #thoughts

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tennessoui · 3 years ago

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Okay, but did Obi-Wan even know that Anakin was the duke or did his oblivious butt -- because who cares you know? -- just think that this attentive, kind, handsome, and respectful alpha is wonderful. He shared five dances with this perfect alpha. And now he's in heat... and it's during the next dance when Anakin is acting cold that he's told that that's the all important duke who just arrived back to town after traveling abroad, and now Obi-Wan is like oh... he's a duke who was probably just out to have a good time and why would he genuinely be interested in an untitled omega. Even after when they're friends (and isn't that something? They talk to each other and share one dance per party and they smile at each other across loaded ballrooms and sometimes Obi-Wan thinks Anakin holds him just that bit tighter when their dance draws to a close... sometimes he thinks he can feel Anakin squeeze his waist and he can feel Anakin's breath brush against his ear before he lets him go reluctantly... but they're just friends and that's enough. It is.) that insecurity that's planted in Obi-Wan persists. When they finally get together, Anakin holds Obi-Wan close and closer and closer still and in that moment that uneasy feeling of being not enough finally dissipates.

(...I wrote a whole short answer essay to a question never posed. Anyway...I always enjoy poking at Obi-Wan's insecurities and seeing them fleshed out even in AUs, and you are great at writing and going through Obi-Wan's own perceived failings!)

ah??? i've never really thought of this, but at the same time, i feel like obi-wan doesn't know anakin's the duke at first.

they share five dances and obi-wan, who never lets himself think positively of the future at all, thinks well maybe this time something amazing will happen

(and then he goes into heat and anakin calls at least three times during his heat but the housekeeper doesn't given obi-wan the message)

and then the next dance he can go to after his heat scent has faded, anakin is cold to him and it's devastating.

but actually being friends with anakin is more devastating because anakin holds him so close during their dances and later, during their talks (during the day and 100% away from the pressure of mating, Anakin assures both Qui-Gon and Cody) anakin doesn't pressure him at all into a mating dance or bite? which is just......

awful.

#asks #regency au

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forzalando · 4 years ago

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The Perfect Arrangement | George Weasley | Pt. 2

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader AU: Bridgerton!AU Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: Bridgerton spoilers, a gross man stepping into your personal space, definitely not historically accurate bc i never mention chaperones

Summary: As a woman in the early 19th century, you’ve been told all your life that marriage should be your ultimate goal, however, you do not share that sentiment. When the insufferable George Weasley devises a plan that may solve both your problems, how can you say no?

A/N: woohoo, part 2 is here!! not a whole lot of drama/interaction between George and the reader but some necessary developments. plus! Eloise! my favorite lady! as always, thank you so much for reading💛

“George, everyone is staring at us,” you whispered as you took his arm.

“Well, we are the most attractive couple promenading this morning, don’t you think?”

You stifled a laugh; partly because you didn’t want to draw more attention to yourself and partly because George’s ego was large enough without knowing you thought he was funny.

“Should I glare at the men staring at you? Let them know that they don’t have even an ounce of a chance?” George asked.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” you mused. “However, I don’t know how your sister would feel if every eligible man in the ton held disdain for her older brother.”

“Oh, please,” George scoffed. “You know as well as I do that Ginny is marrying Harry, it’s just a matter of time.”

You hummed in agreement, though slightly distracted by the way George held you so close. It was unnerving how comfortable you felt with him; most men had always made you uncomfortable, but never George. Even though he was incorrigible, garish, and irritatingly handsome, he never made you feel anything but at ease.

“Lord Beverly is approaching us,” George whispered, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Quick, say something funny and make me laugh, maybe he will turn around.”

“I’m not your jester, nor can I make you laugh on command. Comedy is derived from opportunity, and here, I have none, just your orders.”

“Now we’re quarreling, he’s walking even faster.”

“That’s your fault for acting like my sense of humor is at your beck and call!”

You turned sharply to face him; a scowl settled on your face and nostrils flaring. He was looking at you the same, with his eyes narrowed and a slight blush on his cheeks, whether it was from the summer heat or anger you couldn’t be sure. George opened his mouth to speak again, when someone interrupted him.

“Is this why you wouldn’t give me the honor of a dance at the Danbury ball, Miss Y/L/N?”

Lord Beverly was stood directly in your path, his hands clasped behind his back and a smarmy smile on his face. He may have been handsome, but Philip Beverly was as horrid as men came.

“I do apologize, Lord Beverly,” you retorted, sickly sweet. “Mr. Weasley has been the object of my affections for quite some time now and I simply could not bring myself to imagine myself with anyone but him all night.”

You looked up at George and smiled, staring into the warmth of his eyes and heaving a dramatic sigh; one you hoped was the sigh of a woman in love.

“Yes, I suppose I understand your trepidation,” Lord Beverly scowled. “However, I have been speaking with your father this morning and I believe Mr. Weasley has not yet proposed, is that correct? Lord Y/L/N made it quite clear he has not received any mentions of a proposal.”

“Why, yes, of course he hasn’t. He has barely begun courting me, the season only began a week or so ago.”

“You’ve known each other for years, surely you must know by now if you are to propose, Mr. Weasley?”

George looked to you for guidance, just as confused as you at the interrogation taking place between the two of you and Beverly.

“As Miss Y/L/N said before, we’ve barely begun courting. I have always had the intention of marrying her, ever since we were children, but I wanted to make sure we are comfortable as partners, not just friends.”

“I am quite wealthy, you know,” Beverly reminded. “My family has considerably higher standing than the Weasley’s and there is so much more I could offer you than he can, Y/N.”

Lord Beverly took a step towards you, completely ignoring George standing beside you, but before you could ask him to step away, George thrust himself in between the two of you.

“If you ever so much as look at my future wife again, I assure you that you will see just how much influence my family has, Lord Beverly,” George spat. “You flaunt your money, your perceived power, when I have friends in much higher places than you could ever dare to dream.”

Philip backed away; his ever present smirk still adorning his face but he could not hide the glint of fear in his eyes.

“Well, I suppose I’ll be on my way,” Beverly grimaced.

“Yes, you shall,” George responded with a glare that would frighten even the most courageous of men.

As soon as Lord Beverly was out of earshot, you breathed out deeply. There was something about that man that made your skin crawl, more so than the other slimy, rich men of the ton.

You laughed quietly, and kept laughing until you were in a fit of giggles, prompting George to look at you quizzically.

“Y/N, what could possibly be so funny about being accosted by that scum?”

“I’m not entirely sure, I just find it amusing how intimidating you can be when you really try. You should be an actor, you know.”

“An actor? Why do you think so?”

“You played the part of a jealous lover far better than I ever could. One might believe you’re actually in love with me,” you snickered.

If you had looked at George for even a moment after your joke, you would have seen the hurt expression flash across his face. He tried to keep it at bay, but the reminder of the nature of your relationship ate at him far more than he imagined.

He had convinced himself that in time, your feelings for him would grow; how could they not when he was so sure that you were soulmates? Destined to be together for the rest of your lives? In doing so, he never stopped to think of the consequences of his actions if you were to never return his affections.

George began to wonder if his heart could bear it, because every time he looked at you and saw your beautiful smile, he felt it breaking piece by piece.

“What do you say to that, Weasley?” you asked with a smile, breaking George from his thoughts.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I was distracted, what were you saying?”

“Pay attention, Georgie, otherwise you might lose your only current prospect for marriage.”

“You’re my only prospect, period, not just current,” he chuckled.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe the weight behind his words was truthful, that your courtship was real and true. You’d convinced yourself for years that you held George Weasley in no higher regard than an acquaintance, but at any given moment where you were in the same room you always found your way to each other; bantering back and forth that, to an outsider, must have looked like disdain, but in your heart you knew that you held him at arm’s length to keep yourself from falling.

It had only been a week since the Danbury ball, but spending every day in secret with George (the two of you weren’t quite ready to announce to the public yet until today) and getting to know him as more than just a friend had opened your heart to frightening feelings that you shoved aside.

George Weasley had always wanted to marry for love, an ideal that you never allowed yourself to believe in and now, he was to marry you only because the true object of his affection was not an option.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Does that…does that bother you? Do you have any regrets about what you asked me?”

“I’m not sure yet,” George whispered, dropping your hand that he had held so tightly the entire morning.

No, you simply couldn’t allow yourself to entertain the foolish fantasy of feelings, not when you had the sole responsibility of taking care of your own heart.

“Walk me home, please, Mr. Weasley.”

“As you wish, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” cried a familiar voice from across the street.

You turned with a smile to see Eloise making her way towards you, her journal in hand as always.

“Thank you for walking me home, George, you can be on your way. I’ll see you tomorrow evening for the Norrington soiree, correct?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Have a lovely day, Miss Y/L/N.”

He quickly raised your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. Even though you were cross with him, you smiled shyly at the feeling of his lips on your hand, though it slowly faded away as you realized it was all a show for the audience on the street.

As Eloise hurried to you, you couldn’t help but watch George’s back as he walked down the cobblestones towards his own home.

“How dare you? I had to hear from gossiping mother hens this morning that George Weasley is formally courting you? Not only that, but he plans to propose to you? What happened to never marrying? Does your family know? The whole ton has been talking about it!”

“I – I don’t understand, this morning was our first outing together, I’ve just been spending time with him at his family’s home. How could anyone possibly know – ”

You paused, remembering your conversation with Lord Beverly earlier that morning.

“Oh, for goodness sake. Lord Beverly went to my father this morning while I was out with George, asking about proposing to me.”

“LORD BEVERLY?” Eloise shouted, interrupting your explanation.

“Yes, I know. A horrid man, but I don’t believe he will be bothering me any longer. George practically had him running away in fear but, as I was saying, Lord Beverly went to my father and of course I haven’t told my parents of our marriage plans yet, we’ve only just begun courting, so Papa told Beverly that I have no prospects. He approached George and I on our promenade, and practically interrogated us! One thing led to another and George expressed his desire to propose and, well, here we are. Beverly must have opened his mouth and now everyone in town knows.”

Eloise stared at you blankly, her wide eyes blinking rapidly trying to process all that you had just told her.

“Are you in love with George?”

“It appears so…”

You hated lying to her, but you and George hadn’t discussed if you would ever tell anyone and who you trusted to tell in the first place.

“Well, it’s about time!” Eloise yelled in your ear.

“I – excuse me?”

“Oh, you can’t possibly tell me you’ve been oblivious to his feelings all these years. And your own! It’s been painful watching you drone on and on about how you’ll never marry when he’s been right in front of you since we were children.”

“Eloise, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean, he’s courting you and is planning to propose, what is there to misunderstand?”

“Quite a lot, if I’m being honest.”

Eloise saw the guilty look on your face and immediately her jaw dropped, memories of her sister and the Duke clouding her thoughts.

“Of all the lousy schemes to get yourself involved in, Y/N, I cannot believe you. It’s all a ruse?! Is this a common theme with the prized debutante of the season, am I missing something?”

“Quiet yourself, Eloise! It’s quite simple, George cannot marry the woman he loves and I do not wish to marry. We get along fairly well and have things in common. We figured it would be to both of our advantages if we married each other and were able to live our lives as we please without people breathing down our necks about marriage.”

“You are truly oblivious, Y/N.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“George Weasley has loved you for years, I didn’t think it was a secret. The only issue is that you’re too stubborn to look past this aversion to happiness you’ve been harboring.”

“Education makes me happy. Traveling the world would make me happy. My own wants and desires make me happy. I don’t need a man or love to be happy, I thought you of all people would understand, Eloise.”

“I do understand, and because I do, doesn’t that make what I say all the more believable?”

Your reply got caught in your throat, the weight of Eloise’s words left a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I see the way you look at him, Y/N,” she continued. “You’ve convinced yourself so greatly that there isn’t a man who will love you for who you are that you’re blind to your own affections and the fact that there is a man who loves you exactly as you stand before me. You’re just afraid. I never thought I would call you a coward – ”

“That is quite enough, Eloise,” you snapped.

“I will relish in saying ‘I told you so,” she quipped back.

You watched her turn swiftly and did the same; stalking into the courtyard and up the stairs to your own home, all the while pondering the words you had shared with Eloise.

Secretly, in the depths of your heart where you never dared to venture, you hoped that she was right about George’s feelings for you, and that thought scared you more than anything.

taglist: @theweasleyslut @vivacesole @weasleyclaw @nuttytani-reblogs @theweasleysredhair @hufflepuffbaby9 @theboywhocriedlupin @swellwriting @fortisfiliae @thoseofgreatambition @woakiees @wildfire-whizbangs @gcdric @cherrycolakxsses @amhyeah @62442-am @letsgotothehop @emrysts @fuckoffthanos @uponashelf @confusedpretzel @theghost1345 @justalittleweirdoo @evermoreweasley @feminafatales

please let me know if you’d like to be added to the bridgerton series taglist or my permanent taglist!! if your URL is bolded, i was unable to tag you!

#george weasley x reader #george weasley au #george weasley #george weasley fic #bridgerton au #bridgerton x hp #george weasley series

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ficsnroses · 4 years ago

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Weekend Away - John Wick x Reader

prompt : “I think we were a little too loud last night...”

warnings : smut, fluff! x f! reader. 2.8k.

summary : john and you are away for the weekend with friends, and end up getting intimate one evening. however, the next morning, you fear someone may have heard you two getting freaky hehehaheha

notes : this is something I wrote a while ago, but didn’t think it would ever see the light of day. last night I pulled it out of my drafts and did a little editing, and here it is! please leave feedback if you enjoy. I really do miss being around here. hope everyone's doing well today xx

I really wanted to post something for keke’s birthday<33:) happy birthday to the most excellent man I know, ilysm. I've been itching to post something, but haven't been able to bring myself to write anything new yet. I have a couple more stories like this that I wrote but never posted, I might release those while going through this writing/creative break. Thank you for sticking around, it means so so much :)

“You have no idea how hard it was to not rip your bikini bottoms to the side and fuck you right then and there, in the lake.” An aroused John whispers, deep baritoned voice rasped with thick need. Today, John and you had ventured out on a trip with some friends to a Cabin by your favourite lake; woody outdoors and crystal waters to bliss.

Soft, plump breasts and perfectly dewy skin, glistening under the moonlight. John sighs, remembering that this, you, in all your entirety, were his. All his, for the taking. Groaning into the silk of your pink stained lips, his tongue brushes delicately over yours, his lips leaving peppered kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, eliciting soft moans from you that only warmed him further.

In the woods, the breeze was different; beautifully élite; whisked winds laced with something that hungered John- the gorgeous views of you, his girl, enjoying yourself. Lately, John and you had been majorly occupied, busy schedules and endless work days leaving little to leisure.

This trip was with friends, yet more, for you and your John to be together; at last.

Now, in the midst of the midnight eve, John and you lay low in your shared bedroom for the stay; a beautifully wooden cabin room with expensive faux furred carpets, a breathtaking view of the pearly moon gazed out your window. John’s callous, sturdy palms worship each inch of your silky skin, kneading, massaging your feminine hips, meaty cock throbbed to a bulging poke; tender on your bare thigh.

Attributed to tiresome nights, complied with conflicting schedules; it’d been a while since John and you had sex.

Real, rough, pleasurable, critically needed sex.

And now, finally, he’s far too in love, far too intoxicated by your touch to stop, your own thoughts far too hazed to halt now. Underneath his nude body, you lay, completely wanton & exposed for his taking. Slow, tender, your petite hand strokes his rock hard cock, gently tugging him in preparation for what would come next. Synchronized, John’s breath sputters hot against your skin, full lips kissing delicately down the column of your neck. Mindlessly, he leaves faintly violet marks, marking your body as his own, personal paradise.

A place only he was allowed to pleasure.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You whisper, kissing a delicate bruise to his shoulder. Gentle, sensitive, your soft hand toys with his balls, massaging his cock. “I missed this,” Smirking, you smear tiny dew drops of his pre cum, bringing up a finger to lick clean, tasting the sap of his seed to your lips.

Salty, decadent; sinfully sweet. All yours.

“Yeah, kitten?” John softly, deeply whispers. “I missed your pretty pussy.” Sighing when you pull him closer, your eyes close to the feel of him kissing your neck, so mindlessly in love with all of you in this moment. “My pretty pussy.” He grins, a wet kiss stippling to your lips.

Slow, present, John’s stocky fingers move between your entwined bodies to rub soft circles to your slick entrance; your clit in order to ease himself in, preparing your cunt. With a sharp breath sucked in, and a glutteral moan enticed off his needy lips, John sighs heavily, your own gasp laced with anticipation when you feel him sink inside in one hard thrust. His thickness splits you inch by inch, your delicate walls barely able to accommodate him whole.

Being with John, has always been a treat. The way he loves you, offers your needs first; he fucks so good, makes love so well.

Arms loomed to his neck, you draw his body closer with a bite to your lip, his own bearded jaw tightening to the feel of your warm, deliciously wet haven swallowing him whole. The pace he sets proves imperative, rough, stumbling profanities and whispers of love fleeing both your lips. Your cunt burns deliciously to his thrusts, the feel of his thick, heavy balls slamming relentlessly to your seared core pushing you further over the edge. John’s chest is quick to heave, quick to daub a rosy hue with peppered pink patches from the heat; delectably satisfying relief, at last.

“Feel good, baby?” John moans, voice confident with sure; he was quite literally fucking you into oblivion. Eyes clasped shut to a tight hold, your mouth falls slightly a gape; genuine tears threatening to scorch when you feel the absolute bliss he’s channeling into you. Hard, fast, deep, so fucking deep he hits your end each time, your G spot grinding to his touch. Whimpering, you allow small, tiny gasps to plead out, hands placing to John’s ass to urge him in further, practically melting within his touch as he ventures to the valley of your breasts.

John adores your breasts, so full, so plump, so soft for his taking. Wet and warm, you groan to the feel of his mouth delighting your nipples, hands squeezing, kneading gently to the soft flesh of your modesty. To each jolt of his hips, your breasts bounce rhythmically, soft fingers of your hands pulling a tug to his coffee hued, lengthy strands. Massaging his scalp, you allow his head to take refuge in the soft curve of your neck, and he kisses the skin, sucking, nipping, appreciating the silk as his hips never falter; fingers moving to your cunt to rub, swirl, massaging two digits to your creamy released mixed together.

“It’s…it’s so good-” Yelped out your lips, a particularly loud moan shudders through the surround air, repetitive praises of his name reciting as if a prayer you so desperately needed to live by flows off your tongue; the syllables drenched with need. “So tight, sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight.” John moans, a feverish kiss to your mauve stained lips. “You look the most beautiful when you’re taking me the way you do, baby.” He whispers, wet marks doused into your skin. He pumps hastily, pounding your walls, and the slight curve of his massive length pulses; thick shafted veins and gorgeous bumps, ridges all felt deep, deep inside.

John’s cock is a piece of art. A masterpiece, you’d forever pride in.

Within a few particularly harsh thrusts, you yelp in pleasure as your orgasm washes over you, searing your nerves with blissful tingles as he fucks, pounding into your delicate, gently bruising skin, still chasing his own.

“Gonna cum,” John groans, and you clench your cunt tight for him, tight; just how he liked it. His hips roll selfishly almost, breathy moans appreciating your body immense. “You feel so good, honey, so fucking good.” He drills, and slams, and batters, into your sore pussy, your nails desperately digging bruises into his biceps as you encourage. “Cum for me John, inside, baby, let me feel you.” You soak, back arching, body jerking as you feel him burst inside; habitually pulling your body close as he cums. John’s cock stills deep, deep inside, spurts of his hot, delectably creamy seed slicking inside you as you sigh,

sigh in complete,

and utter, bliss. Bliss with your love close, nestled on top with your skin sticking together; your arms providing a safe haven for his sex gratified body to rest, coming down both your highs.

“I love you,” He barely manages, foreheads connecting as you hold each other close, lips twisting into warm smiles and tender giggles to the thought of being able to do exactly this, all over again, the next day.

Morning comes in warm, yellow waves of nothing, but beautiful warmth all around. You’d waken to the bed next to you empty, John’s vacant spot casting a gentle frown to your lips when you’d come to know of his absence. Sleep thickened eyes had barely fluttered open, tired arms searching, longing to nestle into his broad, beautifully comforting chest. Voices can be perceived downstairs, the bedside clock illuminating the time of 8:30 AM, aromas of floral dark and freshly watered pine exuding all around.

With a small yawn and a stretch of limbs, you’d climbed out a sea of rippling, silky duvet seams, opting to drape John’s long forgotten shirt from the night prior off the floor and onto your exposed breasts. In the heat of the moment, sleep had long pirouetted through your veins, and you’d only managed to slip back on a pair of lacy underwear before the bulk of John’s arms had drawn your body close, burying his bearded face into your neck with his own form tangling with yours, succumbing to a deep slumber, holding each other close.

The cabin was big, yet intimate. All of yours and John’s dearest friends had accompanied; you’d long know you’d be leaving this weekend with a suitcase full of memories and wishful remembrances, spent with people who meant to you.

Through a gentle smile and rub of drooping eyelids, you venture out your shared room, a bigger smile enveloping when the sight of your dream catches your glimpse from above the wooden stairs. John sits below, at the wooden dining table, a coffee in hand as his brown littered eyes gloss the morning paper. He looks beautiful this way, unbelievably handsome. You’d long come to appreciate morning John, ruffled hair a mess from the night’s sleep, with that special, raspy morning velvet voice that still sent butterflies rippling within you. Gently thudding down the steps, he smiles wide catching sight of you towards him, adorned in his white Henley shirt.

“Morning.” Smiling, your hands thread into the wisps of his chocolate hair, sinking into the depths of his lap as his arms come around your frame. His eyes seem warmer than normal, a glittering shine casting over each his features.

“Hi, baby.” John warmly grins, stippling a gentle kiss to your temple with the pads of his fingers grazing over your skin through a pull of your body closer. “Did you sleep okay?” He wonders, thumb smoothing over your cheek as a stray hair tucks behind your ear.

Still smiling a warm symphony, you sigh. “I did. Didn’t like waking up without you there, though.”

John’s lips frown, and a heaviness falls to his tone. “I’m sorry, I got a call earlier. Didn’t wanna wake you too early.” Explaining, his hand falls to cover yours that lays flat on his chest, softly grazing over the supple skin. “You haven’t been able to sleep in lately. I wanted you to have that this weekend.”

Moments like this with John prove to be your favourite; simple, mundane, enveloped in love. Moments where the laughter rolls up from his chest, and his smile shines a glow to each part of you that loves seeing him this way. Moments where you anticipate, dream of a future together, where you’d wake to him this way every day,

Smiling, and smiling, with perhaps your favourite book in hand and his head in your lap; full pots of earl grey brewing,

as you lounge on a Sunday morning. Smiling, and smiling,

because of him.

Love drunk, you lean in closer, catching his lips in a warm kiss, smiling and smiling, into his lips. He tastes of espresso, light and mellow, and that something unique held on his tongue; something only he’d had, something sweet.

Lost in each other’s touch, you sigh as you pull away, moving to sit behind him on the chair adjacent, helping yourself to a sip of his ceramic mug. His hand plants to your thigh, gently soothing the skin while his eyes scan through the sea of words resumed on his morning paper read. You’d just gotten comfortable, sinking into the chair with John’s coffee coupled in your grip for another sip, as the voice of your best friend channels your ears.

“Morning, love birds.” She grins, walking through the wooden kitchen corridors. With a smirk daubed to her lips and a knowing simper your way, you’d immediately caught onto something shifty in her tone.

“Hey, Amy.” John greets, chuckling. With another sip of his coffee, that you’d devoured a good portion of, he kindly asks. “How was your night? Did you sleep okay?”

Amy’s lips curl with a knowing smirk, something you’d become immensely familier with over the course of your friendship. Knowing each other since the first grade, Amy and you were quite possibly as close as they come. John may have not been able to pick up on her alteration, but you’d been quick.

“I did.” Amy returns, shuffling through the cabinets for a glass mug of her own. “There was a little...commotion around midnight, but it wasn’t too bad.” She adds, eyes drifting to yours, a goofy smile on her lips. With your eyes narrowing and stare scrunching, your alertness raises, and you let go of John’s hand that had mindlessly been holding yours, removing it off your thigh. Peering up at your lips as you raise off the seat, John’s fingers tug your forearm, asking for a small kiss before you’d walk away. Embedding your lips to his briefly, you feel him let go of your skin as your eyes suspiciously cast over Amy, mindlessly shuffling through the kitchen space as she prepares herself a cup of coffee. You stay cautious, ambled up beside her as you check the fridge.

Something is off.

“We have cream, right?” She asks, offering you half her blueberry muffin, taking out a carton of eggs from the fridge.

“Should be in there.” You return, still thoughtful, attempting to study her whole. The longer you stare, the more normalcy returns, and you wonder if maybe your tired brain had merely thought there had been something off with her tenor. Easing yourself, you opt to give it the benefit of the doubt, opening the carton of eggs to aid her in making breakfast for all the others.

Still asleep, her husband James would probably be down soon; him and John got along pretty well, and double date nights were quite frequent between you all.

“How many should we do?” She squints her eyes your way, sighing. “Half the carton?”

“Sure.” You reply, relaxing into a more normal state of mind. “Make me a cup of coffee too please, I accidentally drank half of John’s when I got down.” You giggle, taking the carton from her hands. She chuckles an approval in response, gathering all the utensils and gadgets you’d need for preparation. Finally, as you lean over the cabin sink, washing your hands with the lavender scented soap, you hear Amy just behind your ear as she reaches beside you, pumping some soap into her own hand.

“By the way, you totally have porn star moans.”

And your eyes widen. Shock and realization courses your veins, a horrified expression washes over your features as you allow her comment to absorb. Amy only giggles, chuckling, with her sarcastically suggestive voice teasing you further. “Sounds like Jonathan is real good in bed.” Just below a whisper, so only you’d hear, she titters, amused by your baffled expression.

“Oh my god, Amy!” You cease, slapping the back of your hand over her arm. “You should have texted me! Or knocked! What if someone else heard?” You whisper angrily, still slightly embarrassed. “Oh my gosh, did James hear?” You swallow thickly, rubbing a hand to your ached temple.

“Oh sweetheart, if he wasn’t snoring away I’m sure he would have heard too.” She laughs to your dismay. “Relax, our room was right beside yours. I’m sure no one else heard.” She assures, trying to provide some sort of comfort, but ultimately reverting to a deep, hearty fit of chuckles when she catches your nervous gaze once again. With a deep sigh, you escape her tease, leaving the kitchen with a few quick steps as you find your way back to John who sits by the window, still flipping through his newspaper. Slipping beside him, you sigh deep, before biting your lip.

“John,” You quietly alert, gazing around to make sure no one else would hear. His expression thickens, and his eyes fall heavier, sensing the unease to your features.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?”

Groaning, you bite your lip again, sighing with a timid realization. “John, I think…” With your eyes focused to the ground, you bask, contemplating, sighing. It wasn’t the end of the world; Amy is your best friend; you both know practically every secret there is to know about each other in the history of ever. Yet, there still was a lingering mortification, a blush that crept to your cheeks when she’d spoke of the night prior.

John’s heavier hand strokes over yours, comforting. “What’s wrong, babe?” And with a final bite to your lip, you whisper, grasping his arm.

“I think we were a little too loud last night.”

John’s cheeks flush pink, and a goofy smile casts his darker features. He smiles a timid grin, eyes downcast as he lightly chuckles a couple huffs, thinking back to the night prior. “Amy heard.” You whisper, barely groaning.

John’s eyes scan the room, before he takes hold of your arms again, drawing your body in closer. With a sultry voice, and that beautifully deep, crisp gravel of his tone you’d come to adore, he whispers into your ear, smiling. “Well, guess we’ll have to be quieter tonight.” He channels, as you bury your head into his chest, embarrassed, yet smiling to the sheer wit of the situation. “I do love a challenge.” John quietly adds, bringing his muscled arms around your figure, whispering a few chuckles into your hair.

And as you gaze up, catching his silly grin and pink cheeks blushed to a peachy hue, you smile,

and smile,

feeling the warmth of his stocky hand slip into the seams of your shirt, gently soothing over your back, as his lips pepper a gentle kiss to your hair, still smiling. “Darling, it’s nearly impossible for me to be quiet,

when I’m with you.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #john wick imagine #john wick fanfiction #john wick x you

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some-cookie-crumbz · 3 years ago

Text

Philosophy 101

Philosophy 101 Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: FuyuPress Summary: FuyuPress Week 2021 Day 2 Prompt Fill: Soulmate - “Soulmates?” he asked with a brow raised. He reached up with his prosthetic hand to rub at his chin thoughtfully. “What a peculiar thing to ask about.” Minor Warning: Implied Hanky-Panky but nothing explicit. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

When she was just a child, she loved stories about soul mates. Things like true love’s kiss and handsome princes’ come to save the day on horseback became her idealistic view of the world. She clung to those fairy tales and how they could be applied to the real world, asking Mother often is that was what Father was to her. Back then she hadn’t noticed how the smile never reached the gray depths of Mother’s eyes, but she came to understand it as she got older. A prince wouldn’t belittle, berate and beat the princess he so adored. Her parents’ marriage being something born of financial comfort and narcissistic ego rather than loyalty and love had been a heavy blow.

The accompanying realization that there may never have been any love between her parents had been somehow more terrifying.

In high school, her disillusionment with the idea of love and soul mates had been given even more evidence. Between herself and her friends, so many of their “charming royal suitors” turned out to be nothing but façade and hormones. They would be cruel in so many different ways, in ways she still bore the physical and emotional remnants of, and she’d resolved herself to be content on her own. She had her family and her work and her friends – the ones that had been with her through it all – and she determined that she would commit to that being enough for now. She resigned that she would most likely settle for someone Father selected, someone who would be financially secure and – if she was lucky – gentle enough that rearing a family would be tolerable.

And then there was Sako Atsuhiro, more enigma than man.

Their first meeting had been anything but graceful. It had been on a field trip day to a local museum for a more hands-on experience involving pre-Quirk society. Her little problem child, Toshiro-Chan, had been fiddling about with his Quirk as he was prone to. His Quirk was that he could temporarily make any item - even ones that lacked any metal component - magnetic for a short period of time. Thinking that it would be a fun little prank, he’d magnetized one of the plastic line poles used to keep the children from getting too close to the exhibits…

And ended up dragging poor Sako over through the means of his prosthetic arm.

Fuyumi had been absolutely mortified, offering frantic apologies to Sako and stern words to Toshiro-Chan as she tried to help separate his arm from the pole. Sako had been a darling and taken it all in stride, though. He made a few teasing remarks to help alleviate some of her distress and the young tot’s guilt, reassuring that he was in as many pieces as he’d entered the establishment in. He had ended up trailing along with her class after that, the students all fascinated more in his prosthetic arm than the sights they were there for. Once the students were all loaded back up onto the bus and with one final plea from Fuyumi to find some way to make it all up to him, he made a suggestion.

“If you insist, young miss,” he mused, producing a small slip of paper between his fingers from thin air, “treating me to a beverage some time would be a welcome gesture of apology.”

And that first little coffee date had bloomed into something unexpected but new. Fuyumi was used to the polite and suave gentleman act that he seemed to play at, but she found the big difference to be that it wasn’t an act with him. THe more she grew to know him, the more she realized he was very much a “What You See is What You Get” kind of man. He wasn’t afraid to purr softly in her ear of the things he’d relish in doing to her once they were alone and then hold true to those words when they were. He was as polite and respectful and responsible behind closed doors as he was on the street and this concept was absolutely earth-shattering for her. For Todoroki Fuyumi, who presented herself as the sensible and mature daughter most would expect of a Pro Hero, the idea of someone who was so unabashedly themselves in every aspect of their life, it was new and enticing and hypnotic in a way.

Which was probably why her mind wandered back to childhood fantasies, blurting the question out before she could think better of it as they lounged together in his bed one night.

“Soulmates?” he asked with a brow raised. He reached up with his prosthetic hand to rub at his chin thoughtfully. “What a peculiar thing to ask about.”

She shuffled to nuzzle into his pillow a bit more, hiding the lower half of her face and muffling her words a bit. “Is it?” she asked uneasily. A flash of panic coursed through her. Had she crossed some strange line between them? Would such an immature question turn him away from her? “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. It is a kinda weird question. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

He blinked, brown eyes twinkling as he fixed his gaze back on her, before a small smile tipped up on his lips. “Nonsense, my dear. If you were thinking about it to a point you wanted to mention it, it is clearly important for you to discuss it,” he said, reaching out with his flesh hand to gently stroke along her cheek. She shifted to tilt up into the touch more, relaxing a bit at the soothing familiarity of his touch. “If you are asking as to whether I believe that soulmates are real or not… I don’t believe in something as basic as one singular soulmate for your whole life long.”

She perked up and made a small confused noise. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I feel like every partner - good or bad - has qualities indicative of what a soulmate is meant to be. For elaboration, what is a soulmate as you see it?”

She hummed thoughtfully as she pushed herself to sit up with the help of her elbows more. She steepled her and tapped them against her lips as she tried to sort her thoughts properly. Atsuhiro had moved to gently trail his hand over her shoulder to draw little shapes along the exposed skin of her back instead. “Well, they’re someone who is there for you when you need them and not always in ways you expect. They accept you as you are, and inspire you to be a better person. To work to be the best side of yourself. The side of you that they see you as,” She watched as he nodded along with her words, smile widening a little bit. She shifted to move a smidge closer to him. “And what about you?”

“I would agree with what you’ve said,” he hummed, holding up one finger on his other hand, “and would also state that there are parts or what you said that I learned from past lovers.”

“So you’ve met your soulmate before then?” she asked, cocking her head and knitting her brow.

He chuckled and shifted to lay on his side beside her. “Not quite. Perhaps they are not your soulmate for all of time, but they are in that moment. And I think that there is something to be treasured in that,” he explained, lifting his arm to invite her closer.

She frowned as she shifted to laying on her side as well, hands sliding to rest on his shoulders. “But… Doesn’t that kind of lessen the significance of having a soulmate? If every person you’re with is a soulmate?” It made little sense to her and felt a bit like a cop-out, if she were honest. After all, the idea of her past partners being considered soulmates make her stomach churn uncomfortably. Sure, there had been points where she’d thought it could be possible, but… Well, hindsight was 20-20, right?

“Perhaps, yes, but I do not feel so,” he mused. He settled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to himself, looking down at her with a fond expression. “If not for those past experiences, I would not be the person that I am proud to be today, the man who is happy to spend his time with you and treat you as you deserve. And I needed all of those past lovers and the times with them - both the good and the bad - to be able to come to certain realizations about myself. To teach me what was important to me in the kind of partner I was as well as the kind of partner I wanted.”

Fuyumi blinked and nodded slowly, letting his words turn over in her mind. It… Did make a certain kind of sense, actually. She was only able to determine the things she wanted in a serious, committed relationship because of what she’d been through with her past partners. If she hadn’t dated them, would she still be as naive as she was at age seven? Believing that her ideal partner would be someone who was perfect and handsome and, realistically, didn’t exist? And that wasn’t even taking into account the little things she’d learned to perceive from a handful of dates. Would she still be able to spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Or would she just be a sheep to the slaughter, of sorts?

“Does that help at all, my dear?” he asked, pressing a small kiss to her forehead and snapping her from her internal ramblings.

She flashed a small smile before curling into his chest. “Yes, I think it does, Atsuhiro. Thank you,” she hummed, closing her eyes as he began to gently stroke her hair, fingertips grazing along the shell of her ear.

Perhaps his definition was a bit more romantic than she’d thought.

#My Hero Academia #FuyuPress #Mr. Compress #Sako Atsuhiro #Todoroki Fuyumi #FuyuPress Week 2021 #my fics #I almost went the angsty route with this #But decided to do something a bit sweeter instead

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leisurelypanda · 4 years ago

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Fantasy Thundershield Concept - Steve's a water spirit of a secluded spring deep in the forest. Humans almost never wander far enough into the forest to find his domain, so he's never had much interaction with them, or even seen them up close.

One day, a travelling knight named Thor passes through the area, weary from his long journey. Upon seeing the spring, he decides he can afford a little time to bathe and relax, stripping off before he slips into the water with a sigh of relief. With the coolness of the water easing the aches in his muscles, it doesn't take long for him to drift off to sleep seated on a shallow rock shelf at the pool's edge.

Little does he know Steve's been watching him with fascination this whole time, unable to tear his eyes away from this handsome stranger. Once Thor's asleep, he creeps closer through the water to get a better look, running his hands over Thor's body and hard muscles in curiosity. Thor's cock takes up a lot of Steve's attention, especially as it begins to lengthen and harden in his hands.

Meanwhile, Thor thinks he's been having a very pleasant dream, moaning and growling softly in his sleep under Steve's ministrations. Until he awakens to find this lithe, beautiful spirit straddling his hips and staring at him with those beautiful blue eyes, his bare ass pressed right up against Thor's erection. Lost in each other's eyes, it seems only natural that Thor shift his hips ever so slightly. Just at the right angle to slowly push his cock up into his companion's ass, their moans filling the still air as Thor takes Steve in his arms properly and draws him out into the deeper waters to continue their union.

Ooo this is such a delicious idea and it's so different from lots of fantasy AUs!

Thor is probably a knight or prince out on a quest to slay a monster or something. It's as much for glory as it is to help people who are being threatened by it. Instead of finding monster, though, he gets hopelessly lost in the forest while searching for it.

The spring is fueled by a nearby volcano so that it's always pleasantly warm, even in the dead of winter. It also contains several minerals that are good for the human skin. Additionally, since it has the blessing of a water spirit, the water contains magical properties that heal the wounds of those who drink or bathe in the waters, as long as they pose no threat to the spring or the environment around it.

Thor, being a human, has no clue about this, of course. All he knows is that the troll that was threatening people who live at the foot of the mountain is nowhere to be found. He's yet to find the cave where the mountain troll is supposed to dwell. Still, it’s been two days and nights of travel. Thor’s beginning to believe that the troll has either moved on or that the villagers were simply mistaken about what happened to their missing friends.

In the failing light of the third day, Thor happens upon the hidden spring. Steam is rising gently from the water and Thor sees an opportunity to relieve his sore muscles. It would even be a good place to rest for the night if he could manage to find some food in the traps he’d set up earlier.

He quietly strips out of his clothing and armor and tests the water gingerly with his foot. It’s pleasantly hot, but not so hot that it hurt to touch it. He sighs luxuriantly as he lets himself sink into the water. He sits on one of the rocks in the pool that’s the perfect height for him. It lets him lounge in the pool, the water rising up to his shoulders.

Unbeknownst to Thor, Steve was idling his day away in the spring. It comes from an underground river and he’s spent his whole life, however long it’s been, exploring it and the surrounding mountain. The spring is his home and he prefers to keep it hidden, especially from humans.

This one, however, found it on accident. Steve is almost insulted that someone has come into his home without so much as a “by your leave,” but the stranger’s beauty stills his tongue. the man is built like a mountain lion, all corded muscle and long limbs. The grime that washes away from his skin reveals its glowing tan and his hair is long and golden.

It doesn’t take long for the human to fall asleep in the healing waters. As soon as Steve is sure that he is, in fact, sleeping, he rises from the depths where he had been watching the stranger.

Steve’s not a complete recluse. He has met other spirits. The creature that the village at the foot of the mountain calls a troll is actually a spirit of a cluster of rocks at the top of the mountain. He wasn’t very bright, though. Probably why he said his name was “Brock,” because the name was similar to what he was. There were other spirits. Bucky, the spirit of the pine forest that covered the mountains here, was much more well traveled than Steve, and he said humans weren’t very interesting. They fought and quarreled and they cut down his precious trees.

Then there was Peggy, the spirit of the ice that covered the top of the mountains. She had a much more gracious view of humans. She said they were warm and kind, the food they made was delicious, and though they struggled to survive, they also found time to frolic and enjoy life.

Steve wasn’t sure what to think, but he’d never thought to venture too far from his spring or the river that ran through the mountains. If he followed it, he might run into humans eventually, but he preferred this spring. So this was the first time he’d ever seen one a human up close. What surprised him most was that neither Bucky nor Peggy had told him how attractive they were. As he neared the sleeping human, he began to touch him. He felt the strong muscles beneath his skin. He ran his hands over the rolling expanses, letting his fingers follow the mountains and valleys that formed on the man’s body.

Were they all like this? If so, perhaps there was some reason to seek the humans out on occasion like Peggy did.

Then, of course, Steve arrived at the human’s cock. it was the most fascinating thing about him, so far. At first, it had been soft. Impressive, but soft. The longer Steve spent feeling the man’s body, the longer and harder it became. This was another thing neither of his friends mentioned. He stared at it in fascination. It was true that his body looked like a human’s but he had never actually thought much about it.

He lets instinct take over. It always seemed to work in the past. Where the instinct came from, Steve couldn’t say, but he climbed into the man’s lap and lined up his cock to his hole. As he began to sink down on it, he moaned as the thick cock stretched him open. The sound caused the man’s eyes to open. They looked at each other for a while. Steve’s hands were braced on the man’s chest. A moment later, the human put his hands on Steve’s hips and began thrusting up. Steve moaned and Thor captured his mouth with his own in some kind of strange human ritual. It’s not unpleasant, but it is a bit strange.

Steve soon got the hang of this strange human ritual. Their tongues slid against each other as the human thrust up into him. It was the greatest pleasure that Steve had ever felt. The longer the human thrusts into him, the greater his pleasure grows. Steve can’t help but moan. His moans grow louder and louder. The human’s cock goes so deeply into Steve’s body that Steve can practically feel him in the depths of his very soul. He can’t get enough of it.

The human comes with a loud growl. Steve feels the hot liquid fill his ass. A moment later, Steve himself is pushed over the edge with pleasure and it bursts from him. It’s a feeling he’s never experienced before. The whole spring seems to resound with the waves of his pleasure as his entire being practically glows with it.

As soon as it’s done, he gasps and looks into the human’s eyes. He looks back into Steve’s with a warm smile.

“I must be dreaming,” the human says. “But in case I am not, my name is Thor.”

“You’re not dreaming,” Steve says. “My name is Steve.”

Thor pulls Steve into another one of those human mouth rituals. Steve is more than happy to allow it to happen. He has no idea how long the two of them bask in the pleasure they give each other. Spirits perceive time differently from humans, after all. All he knows is that when they finally stop to really rest, Thor’s armor is covered in rust and his clothes have been claimed by the earth. Thor doesn’t seem to care, though. He finds a nearby cave with a pool in it that’s connected to Steve’s river and makes his home there.

Down the mountain in human society, there are tales of a valiant knight who tragically ventured up the mountain in search of a troll. Some stories say it was a manticore or a chimera or a dragon, but all stories say that he never returned. The village packed up and left in search of a less spiritual mountain. Meanwhile, Thor and Steve live out their long years together. He meets Peggy and Bucky and other spirits as he travels the mountain range with his lover. What exactly happened to him to make it possible for him to live so long is unknown to him, but Steve and his friends take to calling him the spirit of the mountain. He never really considers returning to the world of humans. He prefers to spend his days and nights, years and decades and centuries, in the arms of the precious water spirit who captured his heart.

#cinderellasfella #thundershield #ask #thor #steve rogers #thor x pre-serum steve #fantasy AU #water spirit Steve #lemons

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trynatalktou · 4 years ago

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Save the last dance for me

Read on: ao3

‘’Why is he breakdancing in a slow song?’’

‘’I have NO idea.’’

‘’It’s horrifying.’’

‘’I mean, it’s kind of impressive.''

We get the slow dance we were hoping for.

Through the music rippling its way across the salon; one could not simply take no notice of Hong Cha-young’s blazing magnetic force.

It could be perceived while she shared a waltz with Larry and his perfect posture.

Pulled awkwardly on Han Seo’s arms in a successful attempt to loosen up his stiff two left feet.

Swayed and skipped with Yeon-Jin and her unmatched energy for the entirety of two songs who left them breathless - both from uncontrollable laughter and from their high-stamina moves.

Or now, with Luca and their swiftly spinning which only ever seemed to momentarily cease when every so often Cha-young would trip on her own heels and he would hold her from the fall into a dip move.

Smooth.

Vincenzo stops resisting her pull by the end of the song.

‘’May I care to share the next dance with you, Miss?’’

The miss in question nods enthusiastically, and Luca kisses her hand in farewell, waggling his eyebrows - in response, she gives a mockingly curtsy.

As soon as Luca leaves, Vincenzo takes a hold of her hand in his,finally drawing into her spell.

He is bewitched.

‘’It’s Mrs., actually.’’ she corrects, lacing her arms around his neck.

‘’Is that so?’’ is paired by a complacent grin.

‘’Well, soon to be anyways. Mister should be around here somewhere, so I would suggest you to behave.’’ she winks. ’’I would also like to inform the kind gentlemen to not do any fancy tricks - I think Luca might have reached the limit of twirls I can give before vomiting all those drinks out.’’

‘’Firmly noted.’’

A romantic beat starts to pulsate its leisurely melody through the crowd.

‘’When I walk down a road I don’t know well

And I am full of scare and doubt

I think of you [...] ’’

‘’It seems that it won’t be a problem sweetie, at least rhythmically speaking.’’

‘’That wasn't as smooth as you must imagine it was, darling.’’

He hooks her ankle to plunge her flirtatiously.

Cha-young steps on his foot.

‘’Urca!’’ comes as a soft whimper.

‘’Achilles’ heel much? What did I just tell you about the whole Luca thing?’’ She chastises.‘’I thought that he would for sure eventually drop me.’’

‘’He would never do such a thing’’ Vincenzo answers matter-of-factly. ‘’For one, I would have to play my own few jabs at his Achilles’ heel - and well, for two, he is actually quite an exceptional ballroom dancer .’’

‘’Oh, that he is.’’ She sighs.

‘’Should I be jealous, Mrs. Cassano?’’.

‘’[...] When you call my name,

I can see the light

Guiding me home like the stars in the night[...].’’

For all their smugness, the little name still manages to send a matching flame down their spines.

‘’Should I be jealous Mr. Cassano?’’ she retorts, defiance clear in her eyes.

He snorts while her lips twitch in amusement - his glance consequently drifts, enraptured by the small action.

Giving is at this moment could be described as the very definition of inevitable.

He closes his eyes and drowns into her perfume - into her. Permitting that the same allure who brought him to her tempts them even closer.

‘’[...]I’ve already known

I’ve already known

I’m lost without your arms around me.’’

Head angled down, he closes the proximity to at last kiss her - wait - the feeling is not the one.

He abruptly opens his eyes and discovers himself to be kissing - her cheek. She only chuckles at his betrayed expression as they pull apart.

‘’Sorry, amore mio.’’ she says while cupping his cheek. ‘’But you simply can not miss this.’’ and turns his head to the right.

There, in the middle of the dancefloor, Park Suk-Do twisted and popped his limbs sharply -and surprisingly - in compliance with the beat, handstands and stretches matched some of the moves in a testimony of the man’s incomprehensible flexibility. Larry could be seen gaping at the man, utterly dumbfounded.

The sentiment was shared by anyone who had the privilege and perhaps misfortune of seeing the scene.

‘’Huh, I think we found ourselves another exceptional dancer.’’

‘’Why is he breakdancing in a slow song?’’ Vincenzo asks, slightly scandalized.

‘’I have no idea’’ she accentuates the phrase with bewilderment.

‘’It’s horrifying.’’

Cha-young tilts her head.

‘’I mean, it’s kind of impressive - I bet he could give Larry a run for his money.’’

‘’Don’t ever let him hear you say that.’’ Vincenzo turns to her.

‘’Never.’’ she responds with a beaming smile.

‘’there’s no one else I’ve got in this world.

How could I live without you

until the sun cools down we will love

Nothing can stop us, no one will hurt us

I will be forever in your arms’’.

‘’Do you look like this to all of your dance partners?.’’

‘’Yah! What kind of girl do you take me for?’’ Cha-young slaps his chest. ‘’I only do it to the extra handsome ones, naturally.’’ she finishes with a roll of her eyes.

He pushes her flush against him by the waist. She looks up at his face, expression unreadable. The scene distinctly resembles that night - a couple of lives ago - filled with makgeolli, denial and hand gripping withstand.

He holds her tighter at the memory.

‘’Mr. Cassano please refrain from impropriety in public.’’ She gasps dramatically.

He hums and brings his right hand to draw circles though the nape of her neck.

A groan escapes her lips. He smirks.

Her own Achilles’ heel.

‘’You know what they say, impropriety is the soul of wit.’’ he whispers slily.

Her nose scrunches up in a giggle.‘’That’s most definitely not the quote.’’

‘’I’m always by your side, my love.

And this love is entirely for you,

With you, from you.’’

The force of this woman - that has him foolish with love, weak at knees, all and none of what the poets would write about and sing. Broke down his stride and now has him broken at the most random times.

‘’Vieni qui, per favore’’ He pleads.

The saint grant his wish.

‘’I’m always by your side, my love

From now my everything’s for you,

with you, from you.’’

#vincenzo #chayenzo #vincenzo x cha young #vincenzo fic #I LOVE THEM NEXT QUESTION

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

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pirate king (86) || atz

Hongjoong has always known that he would have to face his father again.

It was inevitable the second Hongjoong had chosen to become the man he was - a pirate, and one known as the Pirate King of the Caribbean, at that. Hongjoong hadn’t chosen the life of a pirate on his own, it had simply been a means to survival when there was no path left for him to take, but he had to admit he had embraced it partially to spit on his father’s ideals as the Chief Commander of the Royal Navy.

And now, he’s meeting his father eye to eye once again, both on different sides of the beach - both on different sides to this battle.

But while he has Wooyoung and Yeosang flanking both his sides, the hot summer air of the tropics taking on a sudden chill, his father approaches the no man’s land in a tiny boat - completely alone.

“Yeosang, do you notice something strange?” Wooyoung whispers out of the corner of his mouth, and Hongjoong can tell from just tense he is from the way his jaw is clenched. Hongjoong can’t see that well with one eye, but he trusts Wooyoung’s instincts and sight as the head gunner.

Next to him, Yeosang nods, a barely perceivable tilt of the head. “Something’s off, but I can’t tell what it is...” The navigator mumbles under his breath, chewing on his bottom lip. Hongjoong swallows, feeling unease stir in the pit of his belly. Just what is happening?

“They haven’t noticed the Treasure, have they?” Hongjoong murmurs softly as his father’s lone boat approaches the island - it’s barely small enough to fit a single man, yet it captures his attention more easily the massive armada at his father’s back. Yeosang nods again, eyes still fixed intently on the rowboat approaching shore.

“They’ll be able to move into cannon range faster than the armada can react, and we’ll cut a straight path in front of their bows to weaken the ships closest to us.” His navigator speaks quickly, but Hongjoong can hear the way his voice is trembling. Yeosang has never been one to enjoy being in the thick of fighting like Yunho and Jongho are, has never learnt to lift a blade larger than a simple knife for self defense. “There are two ships at the side with their artillery directed to us, but it’s the best chance we have. Once we give the smoke signal, San and Chin Hae should come running... if everything goes well.”

Wooyoung lets out a loud breath, blowing at his bangs to get them out of his eyes before he gives his captain an easy smile. “Nothing ever goes well with you, captain, does it?” He says, trying to lighten the mood, and Hongjoong shakes his head slightly, a small smile curling at the side of his mouth.

“We’re still alive for you to complain, so I don’t see what the problem is.” Hongjoong retorts calmly. Yeosang shakes his head in disappointment as Wooyoung snickers, before turning his attention back to the approaching boat.

The boat draws ever closer, close enough for him to make out the features on the man’s face. He’s completely alone, without a single bodyguard with him, something that Yeosang doesn’t understand. Even when his own father had come on board the Treasure for a negotiation, he had brought with him several men to protect him. But for the Chief Commander of the Royal Navy to approach them alone?

The man before them can’t be over-confident, or a simple fool if he has made his way up the ranks of the Royal Navy. He remembers the snippets of conversation he had heard his father make with the Chief Commander of the Royal Navy before, too young to understand with one ear pressed to a hardwood door, but enough to know that the man inside was one respected and feared. The Chief Commander commanded the room with a single word, and Yeosang had wondered just how capable he was to reach the position.

Yet here he is now, approaching the beach in a solitary rowboat, his presence so large that Yeosang already feels the weight of his gaze.

Just how confident is he?

A cold feeling settles on Yeosang’s shoulders as he continues to stare, watching the rowboat come closer to shore. He knows something is wrong, but what-

The gasp falls from his throat, completely unbidden and he rubs at his eyes frantically to confirm that he’s not hallucinating. No, he isn’t, and Yeosang isn’t sure which one is more terrifying to him.

“Captain...” He tugs at Hongjoong’s sleeve, and it’s only when he misses the red fur a few times does he realise his fingers are shaking. “Your father... isn’t supposed to be a witch or something, is he?”

“What? Only in personality, but not in reality...” Hongjoong begins to say, but then Wooyoung curses aloud, shifting forward to look more clearly at the man approaching the island.

“He’s not rowing.”

Hongjoong doesn’t fully process this until it hits him that his father is alone, in a rowboat, and is fast nearing them. He knows what it’s like to be able to do such a thing, sees the way the waves slide around the underside of the boat to propel it closer to shore. There’s no denying it - his father, too, must have the power of the seas.

And that scares him.

Still Hongjoong swallows, straightens his back and takes a step forward, feeling the weight of the musket strapped under his coat and the blade hidden in the sleeves. He raises his head to meet his father’s gaze, and he swears he sees a smile identical to his pulling at the corner of his father’s mouth.

He hates it.

The boat makes it landing far too fast, the waves pushing the small vessel onto shore. His father steps off board, each action as graceful and elegant as flowing water, befitting a man befitting his station, boots crunching in the sand. Hongjoong instinctively moves to take a step back, thickness forming in his throat before he forces himself to stay still even as a drop of cold sweat trickles down his back.

Remember who you’re doing this for, he reminds himself, nails digging into the skin of his palm. The pain grounds him, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. The crew is all counting on him, their captain, to steer them safely through this storm. And you... you...

Your smile weaves its way into his mind, entwining with his memories. He has to be brave. You’re still waiting for him.

“Snap out of it, captain.” Wooyoung kicks him not so subtly in the knee, and Hongjoong turns his head to give his head gunner a flat look. The man gives him a beatific grin in response. “Don’t think so hard and just focus on capturing that little bastard snake. I’ll protect you with my life, so there’s no need to worry.”

Hongjoong snorts, but part of him does feel marginally better at Wooyoung’s words. “And here I was thinking that I wish it was Yunho here with me instead. Don’t be so hasty to die too, won’t you?” He looks at the purple haired man, a small grin on his face. “You have something to ask Chin Hae too, don’t you?”

Wooyoung levels a suspicious glance at his captain. “... have you been eavesdropping?”

“Will the two of you stop making me feel like a third wheel?” Yeosang grumbles under his breath, and Hongjoong laughs together with Wooyoung at the put out look on their navigator’s face. “Pay attention to the enemy in front of us.”

Hongjoong takes a deep breath, heart lighter. “Sorry, I got distracted. Let’s do it.”

It’s been years since he’s seen his father’s face, and he hasn’t changed one bit since the last time Hongjoong has seen him.

He still has the same, sharp, fine features that women used to throw themselves at when Hongjoong was still a child, dark hair cropped short and parted in the middle to show his eyes. The only difference is that while one of his eyes are green just like Hongjoong last remembers them, the other is a strange, shifting colour that reminds him or a whirlpool at sea and sends shivers up Hongjoong’s spine.

It’s as if there’s something else lurking in his father’s body that’s not quite human.

His father steps up to the line drawn in the sand, both hands clasped behind his back and a serene smile on his handsome face. At a simple glance, he doesn’t appear to be carrying any weapons on him, dressed in nothing but a smart black coat with the Royal Navy’s insignia decorating the space over his heart. Hongjoong clenches his jaw ever so slightly at the red rose blooming there, but doesn’t say a word, meeting his father’s eyes evenly. The scar along his eye burns at the sight of him.

Don’t speak first, don’t show any weakness, don’t-

“You must have suffered a lot, Hongjoong.”

For the first time in almost a decade, Hongjoong hears his father speak again. It’s the same, steady voice that calmed him when he was trapped in the storms with his father in a tiny sailboat, the one that his ears could pick up even as the winds howled and the thunder crashed through the sky. His father never raised his voice, not once, and at the sound of his words Hongjoong feels like a child who just wants to hold his father’s hand again.

And he hates it.

“That’s not what we came here to talk about.” Wooyoung says loudly, and Hongjoong mentally breathes a word of thanks to his head gunner as he takes the momentary distraction to get himself back under control.

“He’s right,” Hongjoong speaks, and is relieved when his voice comes out firm and steady. Yeosang nods from next to him, eyes evenly trained on the man opposite them. “We’re here to negotiate for our crew’s freedom. ”

“Your crew’s safety is already guaranteed.” The man before him says so warmly that Hongjoong wants to hurl. It’s the exact same gentle smile his father had worn as he abandoned Hongjoong to bleed out on that island. “I mean no harm towards you, or your crew.”

“That doesn’t explain the whole armada behind you.” Wooyoung snaps, seething. The commander simply laughs, shaking his head kindly. “I assure you that they were never here to open fire on your ship. I only brought them to flush you out of Tortuga, otherwise you would never have agreed to a conversation with me. It is my hope that we will be able to resolve this without you having to pull the trigger, good sir.”

Wooyoung and Yeosang both flinch, the former reaching back subconsciously to touch the firearm behind his back before he catches himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hongjoong’s father merely shrugs, an easy tilt of the head that shows neither fear nor wariness. The smooth, refined way he speaks almost makes Yeosang’s head feel light, the right amount of politeness softened with the perfect touch of compassion and gentleness that makes him want to believe everything coming out of this man’s mouth, a textbook example of a perfect diplomat. Refusing him would make Yeosang feel awful, and-

“Yeo, snap out of it.” Wooyoung whispers harshly out of the corner of his mouth, and Yeosang startles out of it, surprised. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but don’t listen to it. Remember, he’s our enemy.”

“It’s a pity that you think of me that way, although that is completely understandable.” Hongjoong’s father nods with a resigned smile, and Yeosang almost finds himself rushing to reassure the man before he catches himself, throwing both hands over his mouth. Is this what hearing the voice of a siren is like, he wonders to himself, fear creeping up the back of his throat. “My purpose here is simple.”

“You want Chin Hae, and we’re not giving her to you. So find something else you want, because I’m not giving up one of my crew to someone like you.” Hongjoong says coldly, and his father simply raises an eyebrow in response. His eyes are as perceptive as those of an osprey, and he lets out a pained sigh, shaking his head in what seems to be both disappointment and worry. “So, it is true that you’ve fallen in love with it. Hongjoong, what you call Chin Hae is something that you haven’t fully even begun to understand.”

“What?” Hongjoong spits out, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. Is his father really saying he understands you more than he does? “What are you talking about?”

“You have a starstruck look in your eyes. I say this because I’m worried as your father, Hongjoong.” His father says calmly, and Hongjoong flinches, one hand gripping his eyepatch before he lets it fall back to the side. There’s a pressure building in his chest, a furious, boiling anger than feels like it’s about to explode any moment. How dare his father come after him, after everything he’s ever done, interfering with the life that he’s built and acting like he knows him?

“That doesn’t have anything to do with you.” He practically spits, voice rising in volume as he tries to keep his emotions under control. “If you did give a bit of care about your only son, you wouldn’t have shot him and left him alone to die on an island!”

“Captain, calm down.” Yeosang grips his wrist tightly, and it’s then that Hongjoong realises that he’s trembling, hands fisted so tight that he can’t feel his fingers. “Don’t let him get to you.”

But his impassioned words seem to have struck some sort of chord in his father, because the serene smile fades from his face. His father meets his eyes calmly, voice firm.

“Blood had to be spilled for the ritual.” The man says, and Hongjoong baulks at the word ritual. The closest he’s come to anything mystical in the world has been San’s unique abilities as a healer, the thing that had come to possess Chin Hae last night, and of course... the blessing of the sea goddess. “Don’t you realise, Hongjoong? The sand that you’re standing upon right now, it’s the very same place I left you behind.”

A chill runs up Hongjoong’s back, and he whips around in a circle to confirm it. When he had been left here years ago as a child, he’d been on the verge of deathfrom bleeding out, crying out of his one remaining eye and trying understand the agonizing pain that the betrayal of his only family had left in his heart. Now that he takes a second look, he sees a terrifyingly familiar palm tree that was stained red in his memory, remembers how golden sand was soaked crimson in his blood. He remembers the way the waves had risen and fallen, and the way she had emerged from the sea to stand on dry land-

“Why would you do something as sick as that?” Wooyoung hisses, and it’s then that Hongjoong sees the shotgun already locked and loaded in his gunner’s hands. Hongjoong doesn’t blame him, just being in his father’s presence makes his hairs stand on the end, his fight or flight reflexes kicking in desperately. “What ritual? You mean you’re one of those disgusting bastards who believe in sacrificing their children or whatever?”

Hongjoong feels sick to the pit of his stomach. He just wants to leave, to escape before he hears anything more. But his father opens his mouth to speak, and Hongjoong can’t bring himself move.

“A ritual to summon the gods themselves.”

Hongjoong freezes. “Gods?” The words come out strangled, choked in his throat. The sea goddess who had risen from the sea to save him and gave him her blessing... that was his father’s doing?

“This very place was where I met the sea goddess, years before you were even born.” His father says, and coldness creeps over his body, liquid ice burning cold in every vein as his father’s words ring in his ears. “I was on the verge of death myself after a massive sea storm, and when I came to I was alone... and my crew... lost to the waves.”

Hongjoong remembers this story. It had only been told once, out of the hundreds of sea legends and fantasies that his father had told him while the sailboat beneath them rocked gently on the waves.

“You must have been an amazing captain when you were younger, dad!” Hongjoong had turned behind to grin brightly at his father as the sailboat rose over another wave. “You’re so calm even when I’m scared! You don’t seem to be afraid of the big storms at all! That’s why you’re the chief commander of the Royal Navy, right?”

Hongjoong’s father had continued smiling, but even though Hongjoong had only been a boy then, he could see the way his father’s eyes fixed on a horizon far away, lost in his memories and his smile fading slightly from his face.

“The sea is a dangerous mistress,” his father had said softly, releasing one hand on the rudder to place it on Hongjoong’s head, a comforting weight. “That’s why it’s the captain’s role to guide his crew safely through any storm. As a captain, your first loyalty is to your crew. It’s a bond almost as strong as that of blood ties.” He ruffled Hongjoong’s hair so affectionately the boy couldn’t help but giggle. “Have you heard the saying, ‘a captain goes down with his ship’?”

“That sounds scary...” Hongjoong had shivered, hunkering down in the boat, slightly scared at the thought of falling into the sea. “What does it mean?”

Hongjoong’s father smiled at him. “It means that the captain holds ultimate responsibility for every member of his crew, and every person on board his ship. In an emergency, he will do everything in his power to save them, or give his life trying.” His voice turned slightly hoarse, and Hongjoong, perceptive even as a child, frowned at his father. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

His father had blinked, before he shook his head and gave his son a reassuring smile. “So, there’s no need to be scared, Hong. On this boat, if I’m the captain, who’s my crew?”

“Me!” Hongjoong yelled excitedly, throwing both hands into the air. “Me! I’m dad’s crew!”

His father’s eyes had softened.

“That’s right, my little map.” He pulled Hongjoong into an embrace with one arm, and Hongjoong threw both arms around his father, hugging him tight. “You... will definitely grow up and understand what it means to become a better captain than I ever was. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it.”

“Dad?” Hongjoong hesitated, pulling away to look at his father in the eyes. Green met green, and his father smiled. “I don’t want to become a captain if it means leaving dad behind. I wanna be dad’s crew! Dad’s gonna be my captain forever!”

His father’s smile was stained with tears at the corner of his eyes.

“Dad’s crew... is already gone. There’s no one like them, and there will never be any like them ever again.” His father hugged Hongjoong harder. “That’s why I’m sorry you’ll endure so much for your selfish father’s sake and his failure.”

That day on, his father had never once mentioned his crew ever again.

But Hongjoong hadn’t been a fool. It hadn’t taken much for him to figure out as he grew older just what his father had meant by failure: failure as a captain, who was supposed to ensure the safety of his crew above all others. He had survived while the rest of his crew had died.

The captain goes down with his ship.

The very same philosophy that Hongjoong has never managed to shake, even if it had been his father who’d said those words. The same principles he lived and breathed by, to be a good captain, just like his father had said he would.

“Why me?” Hongjoong finally asks, his voice breaking. Yeosang and Wooyoung both turn to glance at him at the sound of his words wavering, fist clenched so tightly that his entire arm is trembling. “What exactly did you do to me? Why did you shoot me and leave me on this island to die? What exactly did you want with the gods that was worth killing me?”

“Hongjoong, I never meant to kill you. If I truly wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be standing here alive right now, because I would have simply shot you in the heart and left you dead.” His father says, so serious that it can’t be anything but the truth. “But your blood had to be spilled to call the sea goddess, because only you would be able to find her.”

“Me?” Hongjoong trembles, trying to deny it. “I don’t have anything to do with the gods. I didn’t even know they existed until-”

“Hongjoong.” His father cuts him off, soft voice so commanding Hongjoong falls silent instantly. “You were created with the essence of the sea. The blood of the sirens, the essence and life the sea holds, it flows in your veins. I made you with my own flesh and blood, Hongjoong. Just like the way water always finds its way back to the sea, I knew that you would be the map and the compass to my goal. You’re my son who I love, Hongjoong. I would never want to hurt you.”

Hongjoong stumbles backwards, and his knees feel weak. Is this how you felt when you had found out that you were made of clay? Perhaps he understands that now. He can’t seem to find his voice, head spinning and dizzy. He was made. Yet he can tell, knows the love his father held for him was real, and perhaps that is the most devastating thing of all.

“What do you want with the sea goddess?” Hongjoong manages to croak. He remembers the being that had taken over you last night, with its haunting, ancient blue eyes, the way it had tried to kill him in order to save Chin Hae’s life. What would his father want with something like that?

His father’s next words sends a chill down his spine.

“I’m going to kill the sea goddess.” He says calmly, mismatched eyes meeting Hongjoong’s with such intensity that his breath catches in his throat. “I’m going to become the god of the sea, and bring my crew back, no matter what it costs me.

Because I’m their captain, and they’re my crew.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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todoscript · 5 years ago

Text

Corps-à-Corps [ 1 ]

Parts | one ; two

Corps-à-Corps (“body-to-body”): the action of two fencers coming into bodily contact with each other that is deemed an illegal move

Genre | Sports AU. Slow Burn. Angst. Fluff. Future Smut.

Pairing | Fencer!Todoroki Shouto x Fencer!Reader

Words | 10.7K+

Warnings | Pining. Mild cursing. Characters are aged up. Insecurities and expectations. Research was done in order to accurately convey the action of the sport in this fic as I am not a fencer. Whole fic will be two parts.

Author’s Notes | Oh wow, 10k words. I was debating whether or not to just write the entire story in one go and post everything together, but at the speed I’m going, along with my assignments harassing me in the background, I decided to upload as a two-shot. Also please read the ending author’s notes when you’re done!

Also a special thank you to @sadistiks @natsuosfairy and @pat-writes-stuff for being my beta readers! <3

The thought of being late to your very first practice at the fencing academy you’ve admitted to is nothing short of an insult to your former coach, who was the one who recommended you in the first place.

You tell yourself this, yet here you are, running as if your life depends on it. Ragged breaths are ripping from your throat, accompanied by the slick sweat dotting the skin of your temples and a pair of lungs positively burning through every arduous step you compel yourself to tussle through.

“Dammit, why’d I have to be late today?!” you groan through gritted teeth, glancing at the map in your hand to verify the correct path forward to the Tokyo Fencing Center. As you clutch the strap of the duffel bag hanging off your shoulder, you seethe over your lack of time management skills, knowing full well you can’t blame anyone for this disorganization but yourself.

You persevere through, despite the dizzying heat flushing your skin and the fatigue piling in your body, awarded with the fencing center coming into view. You grant yourself only a second of rest before you’re rushing forward again. If you were a track athlete, then this would be the last hurdle.

Finally, with a fierce slam open of the double doors enclosing the facility, you’ve crossed the finish line. The relieved heave of your breaths practically topple you over in exhaustion but you regain your balance by adjusting yourself next to a wall. Little do you know there was still another impediment you needed to face.

The noises that lightly ring and echo throughout the hallway emit down from the main room, indicating to you that you’re definitely past due punctual. Steps heavy and hesitant, you cross into the threshold. Everyone has already clad themselves in their fencing gear, scattering into their respected fencing disciplines to practice amongst each other. You’re left standing there in high contrast compared to the white uniforms dispersed in the room. At this point, you just hope to speak to the primary instructor without disturbing the vibe.

However, your goal is cut short by a quick thrust of a saber. Your eyes view over and behold the fencing match before you, where two combatants ready their blades on opposite sides of the piste—the extended playing area the game takes place on. Their bodies are encased in the standard protective gear, faces obscured by the dense masks covering their heads to the napes of their necks.

“En-garde... Prêtz?” The referee utters two distinct French words before starting the bout—one meaning “on guard,” the other “ready.” Each participant raises their weapons in preparation.

“Allez!”

At the signal, their movements advance into nearly triple time, feet light and flexible as their steps shift across the mat. You’re familiar with this particular fencing discipline known as saber fencing. It’s fast; in fact, it’s the second-fastest sport at the Olympics after rifle shooting. The aim of the game, of course, is to hit your opponent anywhere from the waist up with your sword. It may seem simple enough, but there’s another layer of complication factoring in the game’s speed, for this sport is calculated in as little time as milliseconds.

The fencer on the left side of the piste lunges forward, attempting to draw the momentum. Sadly, it’s a sloppy pursuit; his form is unstable and his efforts are in vain due to a missed strike. He swiftly backs up.

At this error, the opposition takes the reins and progresses forward, forcing his competitor back and back across the mat from his utter retaliation. In an instant, he spots a chance to win priority by taking over the impetus of the battle, and makes no hesitation in slashing with his weapon. Every movement he commits to is as swift as wisps of fire in the wind and burns nearly as fast. His opponent tries following the hit out of sheer panic. In the end, the exchange of strikes is so quick that even a simple blink could deter you from the actions at hand.

The two attacks make simultaneous contact on their lamé—the electric conductive jacket hugging their upper bodies—causing the machine in front of the referee to glow two colors. Left is indicated by red, green for right. If both colors concurrently light up, it’s the referee’s position to decide who earns the point.

Though the battle proved to be hasty and expeditious, you managed to observe every detail as keenly possible. From your basic understanding of the rules of saber fencing, the point should belong to—

“Right,” the referee promptly states, his arm lifted toward the corresponding side. By controlling the initiative of the fight, the right-sided fencer gains priority, meaning he’ll receive the point even if both players hit. The moment his competitor had made a mistake, the opposition had the right to steal the momentum along with priority.

The gush of air that heavily tightens your lungs eventually releases into a breath you hadn’t realized you’ve been holding in the spur of the match. The complication, as well as the speed of saber fencing, has always made you appreciate the aspect of the game, despite how different it was from your own fencing discipline.

“And so the victor of this match is Todoroki,” the referee congratulates as everyone around sounds with applause, at which you can’t help but join in. The triumphant fencer brings his blade down by his side before running a hand over his mask to reveal himself.

You glimpse at a head of white and red tresses that flair elegantly upon layers, sticking to the sweat glistening across his forehead. His pretty heterochromatic eyes gleam at his victory, and exuding nothing but effortless confidence, he stands tall above the crowd. However, there’s frigidity in his expression, an underlying cold beneath frosty irises of turquoise and gray that’s difficult to comprehend.

Movements like fire. Spirit like ice. And together, they collide into an enigma that rattles your thoughts in that infinitesimal moment.

Staring at his form, you can’t help but compare this scene to a shot right from a movie, what with the man’s handsome looks, glowing charisma, and athletic ability. He’d definitely make for a killer male lead—

“Ahem.”

The panorama view is pressed on pause when you hear an abrupt clear of someone’s throat in your direction. The referee greets you, a slender man possessing messy, shoulder-length hair and an unusually worn-out appearance despite his young age.

“Can I help you, miss?”

Everyone’s actions are on hold after the match. They peep over to the commotion surrounding you and their instructor, exchanging choruses of whispers and curious looks. You can’t suppress the urge to cross your arms and nervously rub your skin over the uncomfortable amount of eyes boring into you. After all, it doesn’t take a detective to comprehend how you stick out like a sore thumb in this sea of white.

“Oh, um, I’m a newly admitted fencer… My coach recommended me, and I’m here to attend my first practice,” you manage despite an embarrassing red creeping up your cheeks. The only physical bearings you can hold onto is the strap of your duffle bag, which you grip firmly in hopes of not potentially floating away like a hot air balloon. Though at the same time, you’d also wouldn’t mind drifting off, or perhaps even bury yourself into solid ground if it meant escaping the stares.

While exhaling an arduous sigh, the man’s flat and tired eyes sink into your existence. You honestly can’t tell if he’s annoyed with you or perhaps just having an exhausting day. Maybe it’s both. In that case, you might be fucked.

“Well, you’re about twenty minutes late and not dressed in fencing gear. Though I suppose explanations are long overdue,” says the instructor, adding more heat to the squealing teakettle that is your mortification, “Your name?”

“L-L/n Y/n,” you reply. Let’s hope he’s not asking for it to kick you out of the academy.

“L/n Y/n...” He flips through a page, scanning the contents, “You’re an… épée fencer?”

“Yes, sir.”

As the man continues looking over his clipboard, you notice blue and gray eyes peering right from behind him. Your face lights up, perceiving them to belong to the saber fencer—Todoroki—from the earlier match, and your eyes are drawn to his as if they’re glaciers glimmering in the moonlight. The boy, however, averts his gaze the moment the two of you make brief eye contact. He returns to the mat and brandishes his blade for another bout.

“L/n if you want to stay here,” the instructor’s voice nudges your attention back to him, “I suggest you go get changed in your fencing gear. And quickly. I have an assignment for you.”

Your only reply is a prompt “yes sir” before you hurry to the locker rooms, bag smacking against your side at every step as if it’s physically reprimanding you for getting in such an unpleasant predicament. All you give it is a violent throw into a locker. Your hands rummage inside, hastily scouring for your gear to don on.

The thin clothes you’re currently wearing allow you to slip your long fencing socks over them, along with white trousers that hang onto your form thanks to two straps hooked over your shoulders. Next comes the safeguard for the upper body—a plastic chest protector first, followed by the plastron or the underarm protector. Finally, a white jacket sports over all the upper layers. Everything afterward is self-explanatory, what with only the gloves and shoes left. You won’t need the mask until later, so you grip it next to your hip, leaving the locker room with haste.

By then, everyone resumed their usual business for today’s practice. The swoosh of blades accompany you when you return to the training hall, sights set back on the shaggy-haired man standing on the side waiting for you. His wary expression is a chasm you can’t correctly discern.

“Though you’re not punctual, you dress fast at least,” he says just as you approach, “Now if you want to secure your spot here, there’s something you need to do.” You follow him to a piste occupied by only one other fencer. Assuming the player is also an épée fencer like yourself, you can guess what this “assignment” consists of now.

“If you’re going to be training here, I need to evaluate your skills and see where you currently stand,” he declares and hands you the corresponding weapon to your discipline: The épée, the largest and heaviest sword used in fencing. Compared to foil fencing, it dons a larger guard and is broader and thicker. But unlike saber, which has more slashing in play, this weapon is designated for thrusting.

“So I’m having you perform in a small, quick match right now. I’m only giving you one chance to prove you should stay here and train amongst us, so I suggest you play to the best of your ability.”

You nod, enthusiastic, and ready for the bout. Your opponent wordlessly walks off to the opposite end of the piste, their épée blade prepped at their side while you do the same, also wearing your protective headgear. Due to their dense mask, you can’t distinguish any prominent features or emotions on your contender, but you’re sure the sensations crossing their body are parallel to your own.

“En-garde.”

Inhale and exhale. Your even breaths lull your nerves, and every hindrance you faced today is buried in the back crevice of your mind. Right now, you focus your energy and spirit into this small match, let yourself envelope the vitality of fencing that drives your movements.

“Prêtz?”

Your knees are bent, steps light on your toes while your grip remains steady on the handle of the épée, the shine glossed from the hilt to the tip of the blade points you toward a new adversary standing in your way.

“Allez!”

Even with the signal, the small spring in your step ushers you only a bit forward. Unlike saber fencing, the pace is quite different. Whereas saber is fast and flashy all within as little as a speck of a second, épée is methodical, slow, and plays defensively. For in épée, any part of your body can register as a point. So the discipline focuses on maneuvering cautiously to protect yourself, being wary of your stance, as well as deflecting and parrying attacks.

Saber fencing is equivalent to a real-life scenario. If two people are equipped with knives and face off to see who wins, then the one who makes the quickest move and cuts down their opponent first is victorious. They don’t just trade blows with each other; they go in for the kill. It’s basic survivability. Meanwhile, épée fencing is reminiscent of a duel—a show. The competitors give the crowd a performance to enjoy, watching through every meticulous move and observing their blades clash in a struggle. Similar to the exaggerated fight choreographies seen in action movies and animation.

Every step an épée fencer performs is calculated and strategized in their heads because there are so many vulnerable factors an opponent can exploit. Knowing any part of your body is a target for your opponent’s blade, the most sure-fire way to avoid receiving a hit is to take extra precaution in your form while monitoring the enemy’s.

You regard every movement, every muscle, your competitor makes, indicating how fast or slow they shift when not attacking. Suddenly, the opposition proceeds forward, easing slightly into your range. You grapple yourself, ready for the fencer as they swiftly advance at a possible opening, their épée is thrust in an unyielding path to take you down. However, you foresee the hit, bringing your blade up to parry the attack. When the metal swords collide, you detect a break in your opponent’s defenses and launch your counterattack known as riposte—the offensive action carried after a clean parry.

The point of your blade hits home against the fencer’s chest. With the electric conductive lamé pierced, a high-pitched squeal rings in the air—a distinct indication that you have rightfully gained the point in the bout, winning the short test match.

Typically, a regular bout would continue until one of the contenders reaches fifteen points, but in this case, the coach had already held his hand up to halt your actions only after one round. You remove your mask, vision adjusting to the light, and hearing faint sets of claps in the vicinity. Glancing around, a small ring of onlookers commend your swift demonstration. While it is not on par with the garish applause you witnessed earlier, you appreciate the praise with an elated grin lining your lips. Your eyes cross into the threshold and notice Todoroki sparing a brief glimpse over the laudation, but doesn’t pay much mind.

“Hm, at least your former coach didn’t make a mistake recommending you here. You’re not half bad. Could touch up your technique a bit more, but I suppose that’s what you’re at this academy for,” the coach calls out, but his tone quickly submerges into deep waters. Out of instinct, your back straightens when he nears.

“However, I don’t have time for slackers, and tardiness is not something I tolerate. Here at this fencing academy, we don’t waste our time dawdling. We get in, make the most of every minute, and get our jobs done. So I better not see you twenty minutes late again, understand?”

A creeping veil of severity slithers down your spine, jolting nerves in your body you had no idea existed. If you stared into the man’s eyes long enough, they might shift into a threatening hue of red that could swallow you whole. Your fear over that has you shaking your head up and down in rapid succession, and surprisingly, the oppressive atmosphere disperses instantly like smoke scattered by the wind.

“Good. With that said, I’ll be your coach, Aizawa Shouta.” His narrowed brows soften when he speaks, reverting to his downbeat appearance. “If you have any further questions, you can ask your fellow fencers. If not, then get to practice.”

He walks off to inspect the other fencers on their progress, allowing you to conduct your business. However, before you can conjure any thoughts on how to proceed next, a hand finds its way into your peripheral vision. A girl with onyx black hair tied in a high ponytail comes in view, a singular thick lock framing the kind smile adorning her face.

“That was a great match, I enjoyed every bit participating in it, even though it was so short,” she says. It’s by her statement and when your eyes scan across her form briefly that you recognize her to be your opponent, now no longer concealed by head protection.

You take her hand, grip settling into a light shake while you return the smile cordially, “Ah same, I hope we can play a full bout in the future.”

“Agreed,” she giggles amicably, which you find soothing, “My name is Yaoyorozu Momo, and as you witnessed, I’m an épée fencer like yourself.”

“L/n Y/n, though just Y/n is fine.”

“Well, Y/n, that was quite an entrance in the beginning, coming in twenty minutes late to your first practice,” the girl teases, a playful hand over her lips that leave a pout on your own.

“Yeah, that was my fault…” you drawl, rubbing a hand over your head. Your eyes avert to the ceiling upon remembering the chagrin, “It’s an excuse, I know, but I lost track of time…”

“Haha, don’t worry. Coach Aizawa may seem like a hostile man, who arguably doesn’t get enough sleep, but I assure you he has his soft spots. You just have to get to know him a bit more.”

Your face droops, finding the claim hard to believe when testifying for the man’s daunting character that left your nerves shivering. At this point, all you need to do is not get on his bad side, and you’re good to go.

“Rather, if I did have to point anyone to look out for, it’d be fencers like him,” she gestures off to the side, your eyes following the movement. The person in query is a boy of slick, blonde hair whose lips draw into a smug grin that somehow irritates you enough for your face to gaunt.

“That’s Monoma Neito. Fencing is a chivalrous sport, but he’s as arrogant as they come, all talk and no action. However, his family funds and supports the academy, so he was offered a place here with little regard. Luckily he fences saber so we won’t be running into much of him anyway,” she describes a type you’re fairly familiar with. They’re the kind of people that throw their money at their problems, reaching undeserving plateaus thanks to their authority and status. It’s frustrating to think a prestigious sports academy can still be touched by people like him, considering the lengths ordinary folks like yourself need to extend to reach the same level. In this cruel world, some arrive at the top with a simple touch of a button on an elevator while the rest must burn and sweat and suffer to climb mountains that span the same peak.

Despite that, you’re glad this place still harbors some exceptional skills, judging by the abundant competence surrounding the room in the form of rigorous training and practice. You should join in the grind soon. However, your curiosity piqued at the last second as your eyes have subconsciously been trailing the saber fencers, seeking peculiar tresses of red and white. It’s not long until you spot him again—Todoroki. He’s stepped off to the side, relieving his thirst with water and wiping the lingering sweat dotting his face.

“Hey, Yaoyorozu,” you call, eyes unwavering, “can you tell me about that boy over there, Todoroki?”

She gives a mildly surprised look, “You don’t know who he is? I thought the last name would ring a bell, especially as a fencer.”

“Um, should I?” You raise an eyebrow. Even when you spare another glance at the boy, hoping your mind would jolt with a distant memory, nothing clicks. Only a blank greets you.

“That’s Todoroki Shouto, son of Todoroki Enji, who’s a former saber fencing Olympian. He’s one of the best fencers here. They say he rivals his father in skill and is aiming to participate for the next coming Olympics, but Todoroki doesn’t talk much about it,” she finally answers. Your gaze fills with intrigue, processing the information through a filter that quickly fathoms the different planes you and the boy of ice and fire live across. Little do you realize that your worlds will soon collide faster than sword to body, and mar just as bad.

It’s by the next practice at the Tokyo Fencing Center that you genuinely take Coach Aizawa’s words to heart and let it show in your actions by committing to managing your time that day. Even with university classes and studies before another rigorous training session, you arrive with no commotion, no irritating looks, and no sweat. One thing’s for sure, the coach won’t be biting your head off this time.

You start to consider the notion that you could potentially be the very first person here; if not for a sound you begin to discern louder and louder the more you walk down the hallway toward the training room. You surmise it’s too early for anyone to be here when practice does not officially start until two o’clock sharp. Lighting up your phone, it reads 1:40 PM, twenty minutes ahead of schedule.

A ghost? No, you don’t believe in such things. Unless it’s maybe Coach Aizawa’s exhausted spirit coming to punish you for last time? In that case, perhaps you should be more mindful of specters after all.

You decipher the noise as a swoosh carried by thin metal slicing across the air and resounding in swift successions. Your steps careful and silent, you enter the training hall to peek upon the lone entity. It’s there you spot a white figure, however it’s not a ghost. Instead, it’s a fencer. A saber fencer at that, and one whose form is in peak and perfect condition as they jut their blade out with such a keen technique, you’d want to capture the shot within a sculpture of ice to admire every angle. But, under every chain of moves is a fire that melts and burns the previous images’ glaciers.

Before your thoughts can catch up to you, the fencer stops and lowers his sword.

“Do you usually spy on people while they’re practicing?”

The figure evokes a husky voice from beneath the meshed mask. Had it not been only the two of you here, you might not have heard the muffled words that nearly have your feet stepping on top of each other from how sudden they resonate in the air. You gather yourself and find your balance. When your eyes reach the boy’s again, he’s already swung off his headgear, revealing his heterochromatic eyes peering at you. Todoroki waits silently, expecting an answer.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to gawk at you or anything,” you sputter while unable to look directly at him.

“You kept glancing at me the first day you came in for practice too,” he mentions, his voice relaxed despite the detail making you out to be some attentive fangirl, maybe even a stalker if you stretched it. Surprising to you, however, he furrows his brows.

“Did I do something to bother you?”

You swing your hands up fervently to deny the question and assure to him that was not the case.

“Oh no! I just, uh…” your splayed utters have you fumbling to reach for a response that won’t come off too garish for your standing, “I just… admire your fencing. Saber has always been a discipline that’s fascinated me, considering it’s so different from épée.”

“Right, you’re an épée fencer,” he says.

You nod genially, “Hehe, that’s correct. I’m L/n Y/n, by the way, the new girl, but you probably already knew that when the coach scolded me last week for coming in late,” you chuckled, offering a strained grin to lighten the dreadful memory.

Noticing he’s about to return the introductions, you stop him with a wave of your hand, “Don’t worry, I know who you are, Todoroki Shouto.”

He lifts a brow, and you have to giggle at the perplexed expression etched on his face when comparing it to the icy demeanor he usually sports on pause.

“I watched a bit of your match last week the moment I walked in,” you explain, “Plus, you’re quite the talk around here at the fencing academy.”

“Am I?” Todoroki questions, a hint of inquisitiveness edging the tip of his tongue.

“I thought you’d already be the one to know that. You’re the skilled saber fencer here,” you tease. “So do you usually come so early just to do warm-ups and swing your saber around by yourself?”

His eyes avert to the blade handled in his right hand, then return to you, “I follow a training routine. In the morning, I work out at a gym, and then I come here afterward.”

Your eyes blink twice, interpreting his words, “Wait, so you’ve been here since..?”

“1:00,” he finishes for you. Your mouth hangs open in an almost cartoonish manner.

“You seriously stayed here for a whole hour doing fencing drills before the actual fencing? And that’s after working out?” you relay the questions in a way that expresses the details to be appalling, yet he simply shrugs.

“Isn’t that a bit much? Don’t you want to hang out with people for a bit or relax somewhere else?”

He pauses for a minuscule moment, glancing at the saber’s shining edge that reflects the fraternal twins of his irises across the metal. It’s as if the sword imparts him with an answer to your query, which drops weight in his next statement.

“The way I see it, there’s not much time to waste if I’m going to go for the top. If I’m going to beat him, I need to keep up this momentum, or else I’ll stray off course.”

You stare, eyebrows knitted, and unable to recognize if the words coming from his lips are genuinely his own upon sensing the candle flicker of anguish lit behind his glacial facade. The heat threatens to melt it off at the emphasis of “him.” Whoever “him” is, you aren’t too sure. Unfortunately, Todoroki does not allow you to ponder any further.

“Sorry, but I have to get back to my training,” he says before turning his back to you. The proximity left behind stretches into a tension you know you shouldn’t trifle with, lest risk snapping a nerve that must be left untouched.

“Right, it’s almost 2:00, and I need to get changed anyway,” you offer back, though truthfully, it was a way to excuse yourself and not suffocate under the tense atmosphere.

By the time you’ve entered the locker room and gotten changed, the other fencers have trickled in along with Coach Aizawa. Practice proceeds as usual, and everyone scatters evenly into their disciplines. You train in sets of matches with the other épée fencers, going through the ropes and trying to polish your technique—advice given to you by Aizawa that you needed to improve on.

It’s by the third match that the thoughts lingering in the back of your mind start to surface and cloud your motions, evident when you teeter in your stance and receive a thrust right against your torso you surely would have dodged in time. That bout ends in your defeat. Continuing with practice like this won’t do, so you seize the loss as a sign to take a water break and settle the haze in your head.

“Got something on your mind, mademoiselle?” a voice chimes in, airy, flamboyant, and not a tone you recognize, “You’ve been staring at that bottle of water for an awfully long time.”

The boy that approaches the bench is slim, blonde, and possesses an aura, both foreign and confident. He draws attention to the scrunched bridge of your nose and the pointed crests furrowing your features that you fail to notice you’ve been harboring.

“Well, er,” you’re hesitant to admit it at first, but you relent with a nod.

“Would you like to talk about it with me? I am always willing to lend an ear to any of my fellow fencers.”

You don’t say anything, words trapped in your throat as if lost in an abyss. Instead, you answer with a small nudge in a general vicinity. The boy turns in that direction and bemuses that you’ve ushered his gaze to where all the saber fencers are practicing. There’s a twinkle glimmering in his eyes now, a look that sparks uncertainty for you.

“Ah, some boy trouble?” he inquires playfully. Grasping his words, you fluster and your cheeks color pink. You vigorously shake your head.

“N-No, it’s not like that!” you start, voice rising slightly in volume, “I’m just worried about… OK, this guy. He seems like he has no room to breathe, practicing all the time.”

“Ah, you must be speaking of Todoroki Shouto.” His finger points to him, and you observe Todoroki is diligent as ever during practice.

“You see it too, don’t you?”

The boy you’ve come to know as Aoyama Yuga exchanges an inquisitive look, “Well, I suppose I wouldn’t blame him for living like that, considering the situation he’s in.”

Your eyes perk up, puzzled by his statement as you spare a confused visage, “Huh? Why not?” you ask.

“His father may have been a renowned saber fencer, but he was only runner-up to Yagi Toshinori while they were in their prime. Ever since Toshinori started competing in fencing tournaments and competitions, Todoroki Enji has always placed second since,” he remarks, shifting his gaze back to the dual-haired boy while he tells the story. “People say the youngest of the family was trained to rectify that error.”

Now you’re able to put two and two together, joining the pieces to view the full picture.

You draw a memory in the long film of your life. It’s an old clip from the Olympics you watched when you were only a small child, and from it sparked your ambition to fence in the first place, watching the athletes display their skills and passion on the piste for the entire world to behold. Little did you realize that the men participating were rivals whose bitter strife exists even to this day in the form of Todoroki Shouto and his father’s will carved into him. The will to carry out a petty dream that is not even his own.

You fight against the notion, “But shouldn’t he think about himself rather than his father?”

Aoyama shrugs, “It’s up to him to decide how he creates his path. And if he chooses to walk on it, who are we to stop him?” is his response before walking off, finishing the chat, “Well, it was nice talking to you, mademoiselle, but I must be getting back to my practice. Au revoir~”

The conversation leaves an odd sensation in you that you can’t shake off, with remnants of Todoroki’s struggle swirling. As you glance toward the boy one last time that day, your heart aches for him.

It’s the weekend, and you’ve made some plans to stop by the mall and head to the sporting goods store to replace some of your fencing equipment. Lately, the sneakers you’ve been using have worn out, making it challenging to keep your feet light on the piste, so you thought it’d be about time to purchase some new ones and break them in before the next practice.

When you enter, you’re greeted by the usual cashier at the register, who doesn’t pay much mind to you coming in, his attention glued to a volleyball game playing on the television. You instinctively head to the fencing section of the store, located around the back area where equipment such as blades, safety gear, and other fencing goods are sprawled and laid around for the average consumer to gander.

You navigate through the aisles, but soon discover another patron in the distance, hovering around the section—which to you was strange. Fencing is a sport a majority of people have heard before; however, it isn’t a sport that generates as many fans as basketball or baseball. People who follow the game take the time to understand the swordplay and make a note of what happens during the action, as well as touch upon the complicated rules. An average sports fan would find it hard digesting the contents of fencing, with many regarding that the pacing and action is too monotonous for their liking. Plus, fencing does not harbor as many active players compared to other popular sports littered with sponsorships, so because of all that, this section of the store was usually vacant whenever you visited.

Approaching closer, you decipher the figure obscured by the rows of equipment and goods, and to your utter astonishment, tresses of red and white hair come into view.

Your first instinct is to duck and dodge between the rows, an act which you’ve been repetitively doing as of late. To run into Todoroki outside of fencing practice is appalling to you; though, it seems fitting that if he were not working out at a gym, training at the fencing center, or staying at home, he’d take root in the fencing section of a sports store.

Your head darts out. Man, what am I doing? You gingerly think, relaying to yourself that you’ve already been called out for spying on him the first time you’ve encountered each other. It’s better to act natural and not give the security cameras the wrong idea that you’re potentially stalking this boy.

You ease out from behind a rack of protective gear. Todoroki does not detect your presence in the slightest as his attention is on the variety of premium shoes lining the shelves. So when you suddenly tap your finger against his left shoulder, he turns in haste and is bewildered to be greeted by your stiff facade.

“Oh hey, Todoroki, didn’t expect to run into you here,” you wave, and his expression mellows upon perceiving that it’s you—the épée fencer he spoke with before.

“Likewise,” he replies, then rotates around again to scan through the shoes. Luckily for you (or perhaps unluckily), your reason for coming here is to get your sneakers replaced so you establish yourself next to him.

Todoroki starts a conversation, despite his quiet self, “What are you here for?” he asks.

“I need to get a new pair of shoes, mine are a bit worn-out at the moment,” you answer, following down the rows of footwear to find your particular size and desired brand. “Since you’re in this section, I’m guessing you might be needing some new ones as well?”

He shakes his head, “My current shoes are fine. However, I’ve been thinking about trying out this new brand,” his finger hovers in front of him, drawing his sight to specific footwear, “Been told they’re better for fencing.”

Your eyes go from tracing the shelf to glancing at the boy, curiosity dancing. “Oh? Think I should try them out myself?” you ask while your hand grazes against the natural texture of the shoes you’ve been accustomed to, “I’ve been using these specific pairs for a while now, maybe it’s time to switch it up.”

“From what I hear, the cushion on these makes it easier for your feet to walk across the piste,” is his response before he spots said shoes on a particular row, about to draw them from their display board to inspect closer. However, subconsciously, your hands brush up next to each other while wandering through the litter of footwear among the walls. You’re both quick to separate as soon as they touch—like the sensation singes your skin—creating a distance between your hands.

“Sorry about that,” the two of you murmur your apologies. Upon hearing how in-sync your words sound between one another, you giggle and the boy next to you can’t help but hide a grin beneath his hand, amused.

Then you watch as Todoroki resumes analyzing the pair of sneakers. They’re fresh and matted in white with slick black streaks etched across the material. You nudge the boy to let you have a look, and he passes it to your palm. From a glimpse, you can tell these models were created with excellent quality and attention to detail.

“Wow, these are quite the shoes. A bit fancy, don’t you think? Wonder how much they—” the rest of the question does not leave your lips. You’re hushed the moment you turn over the white price tag strung around the holes the laces weave into, attempting to process the confounding amount of zeroes printed there. It only concludes with your eyes widening and your mouth hanging open. You ask yourself, how can mesh material molded into two simple pieces of footwear cost this much? Baffled, you merely twist the tag back around so you wouldn’t have to read the price anymore, and ease your spirit.

“I think I’m good with my current shoes…” your voice deadpans, swiftly gathering the box of reasonably priced sneakers into your arms.

Todoroki doesn’t make much of your reaction. He pulls the shoes off the shelf and ends up accompanying you to the register.

“It was a surprise to see you here, Todoroki,” you tell him.

“It’s my free day today, so I thought I’d run some errands,” he says.

A free day, huh? Your mind conjures the thoughts of last practice, recalling the rigorous routine the boy performed every other day, memorized into the fiber of his muscles down to the marrow of his bones.

You had to ask, “What do you usually do on your free days?”

“Rest,” his response is blunt and straightforward as expected, “sometimes get ahead on my studies,” he adds. By this point in the conversation, the two of you have arrived at the cash register.

You haul the box onto the counter, an action the cashier isn’t particularly fond of, forced to divert from the game airing on the screen. He scans the shoes, issues the price, and gathers the box in a plastic bag before doing the same for Todoroki, enacting the bare minimum amount of manners throughout the process.

Your purchased goods in hand, you’ve essentially finished your business here. Yet your eyes blink back, mind swallowed by the fact that after you leave the store, both of you will return and go about your day as you always do, likely not sparing a glance at each other until the next coming practice. You trail behind Todoroki, crossing through the exit with your gaze keen at the back of his head as if mustering a thought out. Soon, an idea emerges almost similar to a fast flicker of a light switch. Your voice calls out to him, and he turns back to you as a result.

“Say, Todoroki, since you mentioned today is your free day, how about we go grab something to eat together?” you ask, noting that the clock is currently ticking to lunchtime.

He narrows his brows, expressing uncertainty, “I don’t need to be back home until later, but I’m not sure if—”

“What? Are you gonna tell me you have homework to do or something?” You tease the boy for his overly-strict attitude. “C’mon Todoroki! Hanging out for a bit and eating with a friend shouldn’t hurt,” you chide, tone light, and persuasive.

Friend. You repeat the title in your head, wondering if it was right to designate that status on your own when you haven’t interacted much with him. In the end, you push the tricky thoughts aside for now.

“In fact, I know a pretty neat café around here. It’s right next to this popular soba restaur—”

His entire demeanor reacts in a flash the instant the last words depart from your mouth. Suddenly, he dons a faint, spirited expression, approaching closer as if he had heard wrong.

“Did you say soba restaurant?” His tone conveys an intense zeal at the word soba. You gawk before blinking in quick succession, the almost uncharacteristic gleam in his eyes taking you back. Then, your pupils dilate at the pieces assembling in your head.

The icy, diligent, handsome saber fencer, Todoroki Shouto, has a great weakness for soba noodles.

A smile curls across the line of your lips, “Would you like to come eat there with me?”

There’s a brief pause between you, but surely enough, Todoroki agrees with a nod. You verify with an exchange of smiles—yours wide, welcoming, and his subtle, yet still simmering warmth—before tugging him along with you to the soba restaurant, humming in tune with your steps that the boy can’t help but be amused by. When you arrive there, Todoroki’s quiet enthusiasm is evident while he scans through the menu filled with an assortment of food.

“They even have cold soba served in baskets here,” you hear him mutter beneath the menu. It ensues an amused grin on your lips. You try your best to contain the giggle threatening to chime as you watch the boy’s fervor for the noodles take on its most prominent form when presented and served within a woven basket, the bowl of dipping sauce on the side.

You opt for a hot bowl of udon, a contrast between the colder, thinner noodles on the opposite end of the small table. The two of you eat across each other, slurping your food with gusto to truly appreciate the restaurant’s well-cooked meal that soothes your bones. Just as Todoroki smothers his soba in the flavorful sauce, you speak to him to ease the atmosphere with more small talk.

“Todoroki, you mentioned earlier that you do some of your studies on your free days. Do you attend university?”

He swallows his noodles down to issue a response, “I do.”

“Interested in any particular majors?”

Todoroki shakes his head, “I’m undecided for now,” at his answer, he sets his bowl down for a moment and his sight lines down to his basket of soba.

“I haven’t had much time to think about where I’d head during university. Or what I’d do afterward.” The stare he evokes on his food could delve a fissure through the plate, considering the intensity over the troubling thoughts you’ve accidentally allowed to settle.

You frown, the udon noodles hovering above your bowl, twirled in your chopsticks. “It’s likely because you’ve been fencing all your life, huh?” you quietly surmise yet it’s loud enough for him to hear judging from the pensive look that crosses him. He doesn’t carry a response back because deep down, he knows it’s true. All he’s ever known throughout his young adult years of living is fencing. It has got to the point where the sport is second nature to him like it’s all he wakes up for, all he breathes for.

The shift in the air is apparent as you watch him silently resume eating his soba, but you don’t let the change deter your mood.

It’s up to him to decide how he creates his path. And if he chooses to walk on it, who are we to stop him? Aoyama’s words stir the depths of your subconscious. They ring through you until eventually activating an almost visceral reaction.

With your hardened fist wrapped around your chopsticks, a determined slam rattles the table. Todoroki, along with the nearby patrons encompassing the restaurant, rouse when it connects.

“Hey, look, you’re a great fencer. You should use your skills and talents to mold your future if that’s what you want to do,” you affirm, vigor in your voice, “It’s OK if fencing is integrated into your life. What matters is how you make your abilities your own and how it shapes you as a person.”

Todoroki blinks over your words. You scrutinize his face, searching for a reaction within the delicate seams of his handsome features before your chopsticks meet the broth in your bowl again.

“What I’m asking is, ‘Why do you fence?’” you ultimately inquire. That is the most important question after all, isn’t it? People who live this long in their path as athletes wouldn’t burn so much sweat and energy into a sport without so much as a reason—a goal.

Todoroki swallows the last of his soba noodles while contemplating. “I guess, to put it simply, it’s to become the best. To compete with the best and to go where... my father once stood.”

Your eyes flicker at the note of his father, perceiving the falter in Todoroki’s tone before the mention.

“Maybe even higher,” he adds, setting his utensils across the edge of his depleted bowl of sauce. You understand the reference at the attachment of higher. To head towards the upper step that his father could never achieve on that podium. It’s a weighty, arduous, and grandiose ambition, but the boy is determined to go to any lengths to get there, for the flare beneath his eyes quavers into a blaze too powerful to be doused by even a torrent.

“That would be quite a feat, Todoroki,” you whistle, “I just hope you remember, you’re allowed to go at any pace you want. You don’t need to be running all your life to get there.”

Saber fencers are fencers who live on the speed and adrenaline of the game, and only seem to increase their acceleration as time goes on. People who thrive on the discipline compare it to Formula 1 racing as it’s aggressive, fast, and requires split-second decision making. In a way, these traits reflect the boy’s story—the vigor he feels, the rapid-fire swiftness he tackles his life to attain that one point further to win the bout and achieve his dreams, his glory. He’s forgotten that he’s allowed to go at any pace he desires to accomplish something like this. He doesn’t need to keep his body in a full sprint all his life to make it to the finish line. He’ll get there eventually, and certainly doesn’t need his aspirations to be handheld by someone on the sidelines. He just needs to realize he can make those decisions on his own.

The breath he respires inward, along with the silence that drags amidst the gap enclosed among you two, is enough for you to know he’s absorbing your words. However, you’re blindsided when he leans forward on the table, chin resting on his palm with poise in his gaze.

“Why do you fence, Y/n?” He redirects your question right back. It’s not a move you expected, for you don’t respond immediately, attempting to conceive a reply through a trance in your head. Ultimately, you are scrounging for an answer that doesn’t exist.

“I’m... I’m not sure myself,” you say, returning empty-handed at the question.

Unlike Todoroki, you don’t harbor any challenging or earnest dreams and ambitions. Whereas he strides through his life, steered down a clear, concise path, you course through your existence like a nomad, and wander with no map and no specific directions to guide you except the wind and stars.

Perhaps the “stars” that led you here was that Olympic video you watched long ago, the one that spurred you to fence, and now collided you face-to-face with Todoroki, where he continues his venture to the top, and you’re still settling at the bottom with no particular outstanding talent or skills. Maybe the reason you could never drive yourself to achieve such feats is because you know, deep down, you’d never attain the results you desired. You’re just... average.

He observes as you shroud your figure in a stiff stance, your visage cast down to your own hands intertwined together beneath the table. You do not meet his eyes. Like an épée fencer, you are slow and defensive, putting up a wall hoping that it will be enough to repel the pierce of the deafening question away, along with the sear of his fixed stare.

However, he relieves you of the tension when his hand journeys across the table to tilt your chin up. Your walls teeter down as he allows your eyes to meet his once more, except at glance they do not burn. Instead, they are warm, soothing—parallel to the smile on his lips—like a kindle of fire you could sit by and revel in peace and tranquility.

“It’s OK, Y/n. I know you’ll find it eventually,” he assures. His words comfort you. The stiffness in your nerves mellow upon hearing the smoothness of his voice.

When the waiter abruptly drops off your bill on the table with a palpable clunk, your gazes remove themselves from one another at last, aware that you’re in the restaurant and have cleared your plates and bowls of noodles a while ago. Now was about time you vacated the spot for another set of people to occupy and enjoy a meal.

Your hand rummages into your bag to pluck out your wallet to help pay; however, Todoroki already allots his card atop the tray retaining the receipt, telling you that the food was on him. Even when you deny the offer, he still firmly insists.

“Consider this a thank you for showing me this place,” he asserts, “and for spending your time with me. I enjoyed talking with you.”

You wane, your hand easing out from your bag to wholly accept the proposal upon hearing that he relished your company—that the moment between you two meant something to him within his usual monotonous routine. It was a change, one he realized that, despite his uncertainty in the beginning, proved to conclusively recollect his thoughts and perhaps made him judge his ideals.

In the end, you lug your purchased shoes at your side as the two of you leave the table after paying the bill, now standing beside each other outside the restaurant.

Currently, the sun hangs above the clear sky scattered in the bright azure of late afternoon. You check the time on your phone, grumbling over how fast the hour flew by during your meal. Todoroki simpers, waving a hand out in front of you.

“I think it’s about time I headed back,” he says. You nod in agreement, knowing well you’ve intruded into his free time today, but are glad he enjoyed himself nonetheless.

“Can I borrow your phone, though? I need it to call someone to come pick me up.”

You pass your phone over to him without hesitation. He punches a few buttons through the call app, and the tone rings two consecutive times before he speaks into the mic. From where you’re occupying, you distinguish a muddled feminine voice talking on the other line.

His mom probably? Or maybe he has a sister? Either way, he concludes the call with a click sooner than you can debate further, returning your phone after his fingers dial across the screen longer than necessary. The swift series of motions bemuses you just as he places the device back into your palm.

“I’ll see you next practice, Y/n,” he farewells with a flourish of his hand as he walks off.

“Wait, what was it that—” your question pauses when you gesture your eyes down at the answer in front of you. The light emitting from the screen displays a newly added contact information with an attached number, and interestingly, it’s indicated by a single given name.

Shouto

Due to your inclination and inquiry, the contact rallies you to press your thumb above the series of numbers, clicking the message icon in the submenu. You type a quick text and push your finger on send without delay.

⇒ [ 4:13 ] — shouto?

Oddly enough, a gray bubble of ellipsis materializes as a notion that someone is typing on the other end, and it disappears just as fast as it emerges.

⇒ Shouto [ 4:13 ] — yes?

Of course, you’re surprised by how instantaneous the message appears, noting Todoroki had just utilized your phone to call home a minute ago. But at a tilt of your head, you pinpoint the boy hanging by the lamppost in the distance, turning back at you with—lo and behold—his phone right in between the slips of his fingers, a teasing grin gracing his lips. Your taunting nature quips a similar smirk in response.

⇒ [ 4:14 ] — you sly dog

“My, seems like you’ve been in an especially good mood lately, Y/n,” Yaoyorozu notes the way you hum upbeat melodies in the tune of a song one improvises on the spot, unique and unheard on any radio station, while you clasp the straps of your trousers over your shoulders in the locker room. The beam cast prominently on your face is enough indication that her remark is spot on.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you jest in a dulcet tone, fully aware of your jovial complexion. It’s almost as if a luminosity glows within your ambiance.

Since your run-in with Todoroki three weeks ago—resulting in your furtive exchange of numbers—you’ve been sending messages to one another, holding conversations outside the confines of fencing practice. During these texts, you grasp more and more of each other—your lifestyles, personalities, and interests. Todoroki even mentioned his older siblings to you in one exchange. His sister, Fuyumi, taught children at an elementary school while his brother, Natsuo, worked in the health department. However, his oldest brother, Touya, he wasn’t too sure about though he insisted he must be doing fine on his own, so you didn’t pry, surmising the brother to be free-spirited or some sort. Despite the generous dictions Todoroki spoke about his family, he still maintained a strained effort to not mention his father anywhere in your chats, presumably not to taint the conversation’s mood or flow. Especially considering his mother and his father are not on good terms.

However, through every delicate shift, you made a point to him that if he ever needed to open up to anyone about these sensitive topics that you’d always be willing to listen.

“You’ve even been on fire with all your matches during practice recently. Care to explain?” the onyx-haired girl questions, but you continue to wave her insistent queries away, latching on your last piece of fencing gear. Yaoyorozu quirks an eyebrow as she follows your splendor outside the locker room and into the training hall.

As you enter the room, now hectic with work, you catch sight of Todoroki only a little distance across from you, who’s preparing for a match. When your eyes meet, a smile unconsciously spreads on your lips cheek to cheek while he acknowledges your gesture with his own. Unknowingly, the reciprocation does not sneak past Yaoyorozu’s keen, peripheral vision as she soon emerges by your side with a witting glint in her eyes the moment Todoroki turns away.

“Oh I see now…” she begins musing, her hums pitching toward a chafing inflection, “You and Todoroki Shouto are seeing each other.”

“Momo!” you shrill. Despite Yaoyorozu passing on her remark through a bare murmur, your senses spike into acute awareness, jutting your head side-to-side behind you to perceive if anyone heard. Though your cheeks bloomed a dainty pink, the tips of your ears were suffusing a much more noticeable red that the girl can’t help but giggle at.

You release a sigh after composing yourself. “Shouto and I are most definitely not a thing,” you insist.

“Hm, but you’re already on a first-name basis with each other.” Yaoyorozu is as observant as always. You furiously shake your head, continuing to deny every accusation.

“Look, we’re just good friends! Besides, he doesn’t have time to get involved in things like that,” you tell her, and thankfully, Yaoyorozu does make a point that the boy seems more pressed about fencing than seeking a relationship at the moment, so she waves it off for now. All in all, you’re merely happy you could befriend him and offer your support whenever he needed it. Well, that was a summary of your relationship anyway. With Yaoyorozu mentioning the possibility of you and Todoroki being an item, it does find its way into your mind.

Holding hands, going on dates, exchanging—

But as soon as the idea transpires with vivid imaginations, you drive them away through an impulsive slap of your palms against your cheeks.

What am I thinking?! Shouto has too many things he’s working towards right now. He doesn’t have time for love and relationships! You scold yourself and immediately rush into training to distract those thoughts from appearing again.

On an average day of practice, the schedule follows along the lines of everyone scattering into their respected areas to warm-up before transitioning to drills and matches, mixing it up against different opponents to grasp a broader skill level. Today, you occupy your time as much as possible, taking breaks only when necessary to maximize the session and not allow your eyes and mind to wander towards a certain dual-haired young man again. And you’ve nearly succeeded this feat to the very end if not for said boy popping up at your side unexpectedly while you were placing your épée down.

“Oh, whoa, Shouto,” you sputter, about to tip off balance had Todoroki not caught you through a grip on your arm.

“What’s up?”

“Sorry, Y/n,” he apologizes, “but I wanted to ask if—”

“Todoroki.”

He’s cut short by a call, and when you two turn around you’re greeted by your messy-haired coach standing behind you.

“I need to speak with you real quick.” Coach Aizawa nudged his head toward the sideline. Obliging, Todoroki nearly dismisses himself from your side, but leans into your ear at the last second to mutter in a hushed voice, “Wait for me when you finish changing after practice, I’ll tell you then.”

Your sole response is a swift nod before Todoroki walks along Coach Aizawa. Whatever they’re speaking about is far beyond the curiosity of your mind because instead, you’re pondering the last bit of Todoroki’s words that edged off, making you wonder what he wanted to ask you. At first, you speculated the query to consist of trivial topics, like perhaps he was going to ask for another restaurant recommendation to show his family or whatnot. However, it didn’t take long for you to dive into the depths of your overarching thoughts. You surmised that maybe the other fencers have also speculated the two of you are in a relationship, and the boy came to you to clarify the matter by drawing a clear, defined line between you to rectify the misunderstanding.

“God, I’m just paranoid,” you mumble under your breath. While you do agree with not letting the others misinterpret your friendship, you’d rather it’d be through a means that wouldn’t have to hinder something between you two.

All you can do for now is fend off the rest of today until you’re finally hastening to the locker rooms to get dressed.

You tug the white uniform off to replace it with your casual apparel, shoving the gear back into your duffel bag and latching the strap onto your shoulder before closing the locker much more abruptly than necessary. As you’re about to make your leave in an evidently impatient manner, you still made sure to slip a remark to Yaoyorozu that you’ll be waiting outside the center for when she finishes.

By the time you headed to the exit, Todoroki had already situated himself beside the door, scrolling through his phone until he noticed you approaching.

“Hey, Shouto,” you greet, and Todoroki locks his phone to turn his attention to you. “What was it that you wanted to ask me earlier?” you ask, hoping he didn’t notice how eager you sounded.

“Right, I was recently invited to watch a fencing exhibition, and I wondered,” he starts, his hand brushing against the back of his head, “if you wanted to come along with me.” He averts his gaze to anywhere but your face, stance surprisingly stiff and a dust of pink blotting his cheeks that you don’t catch.

Oh, it was only that. At all your overrun thoughts and misunderstandings that built up beforehand, a grin arises, and you inevitably can’t suppress the laugh that gradually trembles in your gullet. Stumped, Todoroki scrutinizes your sudden animated expression like he’s left out in the ending of a joke.

“What? Was it something I said?” He squints his eyes, deliberating if he somehow said something humorous. You flit your head back and forth while the quivers resonating from your throat cease.

“No no, it’s not that. I’ve just been overthinking things is all,” you explain. Todoroki tilts his head.

“‘Overthinking’?” he repeats.

“Yeah, like I’m looking into certain details too much...” you trail off, voice running toward a dead-end that forces you to shift the tone of the conversation, much to your chagrin.

“Shouto, has anyone… said anything today?” Unknowingly, your fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt when you ask the question, nervous.

“What do you mean?”

At the response and his narrow brows, you shake your head, almost lamenting even asking something so ambiguous. “No, never mind, it’s nothing.”

Todoroki discerns the faint stir in your expression when you wave off the query. However, you’re quick to transition back into the subject at hand before he can even attempt to pry.

“Anyways, to answer your question, yes, I’d be glad to come with you, Shouto,” you answer, but a finger rests beneath your chin, “Though I’m a bit curious as to why you chose to ask me instead of someone else.” If Todoroki was invited to observe an exclusive exhibition match, it’s likely to consist of many other competent players within his league, meaning it’ll be an advantageous way to size up the competition. To invite you of all the people from the academy to tag along with him may be a waste compared to the other talent nurtured in that training hall. You understood your skills that much, at least.

The dual-haired boy raises his shoulders, nonchalantly, “I don’t see why I wouldn’t invite you.”

“I mean, wouldn’t it benefit another fencer better?” you reason. Todoroki remains unchanged in his stance.

“I don’t care about anyone in there. You’re the person I want to go with, Y/n,” he declares, firm with weight beneath every word that you don’t even think to oppose his fortification. So much so that those over-analytical inferences jointly possess your senses once again—the gears in your head beginning to speed up through a motor of hypersensitive nerves that drive your thoughts into ambient fantasies—until you will yourself not to let his words run over you, no matter how unwavering they may sound, or how saccharine they may be. You cannot indulge in cloying mirages, because you tell yourself those word don’t mean anything. They shouldn’t mean anything.

“Alright, alright, I’m going with you,” you ultimately yield, and Todoroki grins like he’s beaten you in a longstanding debate.

“Good.” You hear a car pull up outside the fencing center, right as he finishes. At that, he makes his leave, calling out to you that he’ll see you again for the exhibition between an empty expanse that increases more and more as he walks to the vehicle. Your voice is only a distant holler when you utter back that you can’t wait, tone dying down. The moment his car drives through the broad horizon across the sky soaked in brilliant hues of reds and oranges, your hand reaches into your duffel bag to draw out your phone out of a deep longing for something you can’t properly discern.

An odd pang ripples your cognition, inciting you to unlock and push buttons that lead you back to your texts with Todoroki. You thumb across the keyboard in a gradual process to type a message you have little idea of the repercussions behind.

⇒ [ 5:34 PM ] — shouto what would you think if you and i|

“Oh, Y/n, thanks for waiting!”

Yaoyorozu’s preppy voice disrupts your motions, eluding your attention from the text message that is impulsively transcribed by the emotions running through your fingertips.

“Oh, Momo, you’re done,” you respond, feigning a sprightly tone in your reply to help waver the sensations playing at hand before cutting them off entirely by your thumb squeezing the backspace, suffocating the incomplete message away from your thoughts.

It is better to stab the heart now before it can beat any faster.

You try to ingrain this into your head, yet the lingering sensations you fail to extinguish produce the electric shock that prevents that heart from dying, and you head home, not realizing that it swells back into aching throbs.

Ending Notes | We made it to the end! Hope it wasn’t too boring or anything. If you liked to be added to the taglist for part 2 (which is basically the final part), just ask. However, I just want to warn you now in case you did not read the warnings and genre at the top, that this twoshot will contain smut. While it won’t be super explicit, it is still NSFW content so beware under 18 aged readers, especially since I haven’t posted any explicit content before this aside from sexual undertones and implied stuff on Syndicate. As always, comments and feedback are welcomed!

#bnha #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #mha x reader #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha imagines #mha imagines #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #my writing

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ratingtheframe · 4 years ago

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I Care A Lot, Malcolm & Marie, Capone, The Life Ahead and the News of the World: Everything I watched in February.

Newsflash ! The cinemas still aren’t open and I’m starting to lose hope in them ever opening. Despite the UK government drawing a step by step guide into lifting the UK out of lockdown (like its flat pack furniture and not a critical pandemic) with cinemas due to open in April, I wouldn’t hold my breath seeing as our own human biology and its resistance is the actual measure of when it is safe to go out and about, not what our government says. So until everyone is vaccinated and has sustained the first few months of vaccination symptom free, I’m having to sift through Netflix and Amazon for something to watch, like I’m looking through a charity shop sale; without much luck. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for these streaming services, I (my dad) pay for them for Christ’s sakes and I know that one day I’ll be eating my words when I’m offered a Netflix deal that I (in a Vito Corleone voice) “cannot refuse”. However, unlike some of the creators on Netflix, I’ll make the most of this opportunity and be incredibly anal about what I want to make, even if it kills me.

I feel like so many people are given the license to make whatever they want for Netflix and then I look at the trophy wall of Emmys that HBO has garnered over the years and consider their quality writers and casts. I would say most recently, shows like The Crown, Sex Education, Top Boy and Bridgerton are Netflix’s exceptions currently, being both of quality and giving us something we actually want to watch. And guess what all these shows have in common?! Not only are all the casts largely British but all productions of these shows are British too. The British quality of TV programmes for streaming services in the US is a win win for all; Americans get to watch our good quality TV and we get Golden Globes. Most notably, The Crown did exceptionally (as it always does) at this year’s Golden Globes, further proving the show's excellence despite controversy. I thoroughly praise Netflix's resistance to label the show “fiction” and the lengths it took in making the show as authentically as possible, despite the criticism. The awards speak for themselves and the Crown has scooped up several this year so far.

To conclude, I want the cinemas to open just as much as anyone, but I’m happy to comply with the stay-at-home-and-watch-Netflix-rule for now. For now...Here’s everything I watched this February.

Annihilation (2018) as seen on Netflix

Netflix’s Annihilation starring Natalie Portman, Jennifer Jason Lee, Gina Rodriguez, Tessa Thompson and Oscar Issac was a multitude of things that were difficult to comprehend. This is not me saying this is a bad film, in fact its me saying the complete opposite as the complexity drew a tangible beauty to the film from beginning to end. I reeeaaalllyyy liked the beginning and how the first scene sucked you into the crazy and fanatical story that later unfolded. Natalie Portman as always was wonderful in this role, playing a biologist who enters another world in search of her husband, who’s gone missing on a similar expedition to hers. Like with most sci fi films, it was difficult to gather the meaning of such a film, however this lack of meaning didn’t draw away from the story or how it was portrayed, in slow and enigmatic shots that told the story with a natural pace. If you’ve seen / liked Ex Machina (2014), Annihilation has the same director and I would thoroughly recommend you watch this too as the way Alex Garland merges sci fi with horror is incredibly seamless.

Score: 10/10

Eastern Promises (2007) as seen on Amazon Prime

This film starring Naomi Watts, Viggo Mortensen and Vincent Cassel was incredibly dark and gritty. Even though I’m not Russian, I found Mortensen and Cassel’s Russian personas to be rather good for a Dane and a Frenchman. Their on screen chemistry was also really good and its make me wonder why I haven’t seen a film with these two in it before. The story follows Anna (Naomi Watts) a nurse and her hunt for the true identity and life of a baby that was born to a 14 year old girl. Nikolai and Kirill (Mortensen and Cassel) are Russian gangsters living in London and set about covering up this obscene scandal and getting rid of the product of it, a baby girl belonging to the condemned and now deceased child. It's a difficult plot to wrap your head around and like I said, it's incredibly dark. Actor and director David Cronenberg (A History of Violence 2005) directed this film and helped Viggo Mortensen with a nomination for Best Actor at the 2008 Academy Awards.

Score: 8/10

Fifty Shades of Grey (2015) as seen on Netflix

So remember how I said I was DESPERATE for films this month...I watched Fifty Shades of Grey with zero expectations and I can say definitively that it was worse than I thought. It's a true miracle that both Dakota Johnson and Jamie Dornan still have careers 6 years after such a film was released and I personally wouldn’t rush to cast either acting in my film after seeing this. Harsh, I know but reputation is everything and when you sign onto something that instead of highlighting your acting abilities, highlights your body parts, what am I supposed to think... I’m all for body confidence and what not, but I feel like most of this film sort of abuses sexuality and sexual expressions. The fact is, the BDSM part of this film wasn’t even that bad, it was the characters that pissed me off the most and their LACK of character in fact. They were orchestrated in such a flat way and the only time where either one of them found any character was through the sex itself and the discussion of it, especially Anastasia’s character. The most profound and irritating thing about this film is that Anastasia’s life seemed to only have meaning when she met the so called handsome, charming, wonderful, drop dead gorgeous Christian Grey. What does that teach us about women people? I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, sexualising women in film and media shouldn’t be the only reason for them to be there. And the entirety of Fifty Shades of Grey is built upon that fact. Even though the novel was written by a woman, it definitely missed the point in giving us a strong female character who could both be into sex and taken seriously at the same time. Seems like a really hard thing to do in cinema as filmmakers either go for the over-hyped sexualised prostitute, the caring mother or the nun. Like female professionals have never had sex in their lives… think again. I like to wonder what it would’ve been like had it been Ms Grey and Christian as her submissive. Not only would that mix up the character dynamic and go against gender confirmation, it’d actually be interesting. But maybe I should just write that story altogether...To conclude, the characters in this film were flat and the entirety of the film hyped up sex and the act of it way too much. It's like making a film about walking or breathing.

Score: 1/10

Malcolm & Marie (2021) as seen on Netflix

Malcolm & Marie received a lot of attention in the media and sadly not for the right reasons. In fact, what’s so childish about the backlash is that hardly any of it had to do with the filmmaking techniques Sam Levinson (Euphoria’s creator) used or the story he wrote. More of it had to do with Levinson’s controversial ideas about how the media likes to view and prod film like a goldfish in a bowl, acting ostentatiously towards the art and appearing woke as opposed to just seeing film for how it is. I gather many film critic’s egos were bruised when Levinson used the lead character, Malcolm (John David Washington) as a butcher to film critics. He says things like “I’m choosing to make a film that’s fundamentally political, but not everything I do is political because I’m Black” in reference to the ignorance of some film critics who stamp politics onto any black directed film, attempting to brand the films with their own understanding of the film as opposed to its real message and story. Malcolm spends the majority of the night loathing a fictional “white LA reporter” and betting on her exact words for his own film, about an African American woman trying to get off drugs. What he says is funny, so funny it's true. White reporters DO do this and instead of embracing Levinson’s satricalism, the real LA white reporters of our media got overly offended and used the “lack of story” card as a backdrop to fuel their distaste at being called out. Had they known Levinson’s intentions with this film, they wouldn’t have reviewed it all together as I’m sure Levinson knew what he was getting himself into when mentioning the annoying “white LA reporter” and making the stereotype central to the lead's frustrations towards the industry. Levinson also graciously mentions that even though Malcolm has such hatred towards the critics, he is their fuel and by making his so-called “art” he only joins them in the argument . Levinson made his bed when he made the film and I think he’s sleeping rather comfortably. No one even bothered to praise both Zendaya’s and Washington’s performances, which were phenomenal considering the circumstances and the added pressure of having to carry a whole story in one room using only each other to fulfil that story. The cinematography was ambitious and overall, it was a simple yet well executed story. What are y’all complaining about?

Let's put egos aside and focus on the actual film for once, rather than how its perceived the articulation of your opinions towards it.

Score: 10/10

Coming to America (1988) as seen on Amazon Prime

At this moment I truly was becoming a slave to streaming services. I wasn’t particularly leaping at the opportunity to watch this film, however I chose to watch it as I heard that Eddie Murphy was releasing a sequel this year. As someone who doesn’t like comedy, I found this rather funny in places but it's hard to laugh at the black stereotypes portrayed in such a film even when those stereotypes were perpetuated by a black person. There was also a lot of misogyny, something else that I don’t call comedy but just misogyny. I found it hard overlook these moments and kinda saw this element as the downfall to the film which detracted from any of the other comedic moments.

Score: 5/10

Do the Right Thing (1989) as seen on Amazon Prime

One of Spike Lee’s earlier films, Do The Right Thing is a film I’ve been dying to watch for quite some time. The film is like a fascinating book, with chapters on each of the plights of living in Brooklyn in the 1980s. Though it takes one character’s perspective, there are a multitude of other stories that can be found in this film, with them interlinking seamlessly and coming together at the end. This isn’t a film about race but rather one about anger and its potential to divide people, especially when things become heated and fingers are pointed. It covered a variety of perspectives which I like, almost like an episodic series where each episode is different and takes on a different character. This structure added variety to the film and allowed it to cover a multitude of topics in a small space of time. The structure of this film was only successful because its characters, who were funny, three dimensional and above all, had something to say. Director and writer Spike Lee played Mookie, the lead, a pizza delivery man and quite the f**k up on the streets of Brooklyn, using his mouth more than his actions to get by in life. I really liked the balance of moments of comedy and severity which had me laughing in places and immediately stopping afterwards. Well written and I commend Spike Lee for having written, directed and starred in the same film.

Score: 10/10

The Life Ahead (2020) as seen on Netflix

As an actress, Sophia Loren is one of my all time favourites. On seeing films such as A Special Day (1977) Two Women (1960) Marriage, Italian Style (1964), I began to appreciate the work of Sophia Loren and notice how much of an icon she still is today. Having picked up several awards over an expansive 71 YEAR career, she has been honoured many a time by the Golden Globes and Oscars as one of the finest actresses of all time. Her presence on screen is inspiring and she’s been often referred to as the Italian Marilyn Monroe for her beauty inside and out. Here at the age of 86, she plays a Holocaust survivor and foster mother who cares for a troubled boy in The Life Ahead. Loren’s character, Madame Rosa, eventually saving him from a miserable life thieving and selling drugs on the streets of Italian. Loren’s son, Edoardo Ponti directed this film for Netflix and was generous enough to give us Sophia Loren’s presence on screen once more by casting her in the film as the lead.

Score: 9/10

Gold (2016) as seen on Amazon Prime

I found Gold to be one of those talky, talky films that starts at the end and ends at the end (if that makes sense) which in my opinion isn’t the most courageous structure one could use, but is common in biopics. It either starts on the protagonist’s death bed or at the point where the police have just caught them and for Gold it was the latter. The appearance of women in this film was second to none and that’s not me saying the director should’ve added female characters for good measure or token but why make a film that only appeals to one demographic, despite the intensity of the story...film is universal after all and if a film appeals to one certain group then what’s the point of releasing it? This doesn’t detract from Matthew McConaughey’s performance though as a “prospector” looking for gold in Indonesia. Even saying this, the character was very typical of him and it didn’t truly stretch his ability as an actor, not like Dallas Buyer’s Club (2013), Killer Joe (2011) or Interstellar (2014) did. To sum up Gold into one word it’d be “meh”.

Score: 7/10

Creed (2015) as seen on Amazon Prime

This was one of the most surprising films of the month. I’m not crazy about the Rocky films nor see myself watching all of them anytime soon, but Creed appealed as a more modern take on the hit franchise. Michael B Jordan plays Adonis Creed, son of Apollo Creed, a champion boxer who died during a fight before Adonis was born. After being adopted by Apollo’s wife, Adonis Creed sets out to follow his father’s footsteps by becoming a champion heavyweight boxer himself, much to his maternal mother’s displeasure and his coach’s the one and only Rocky Balboa (Sylvester Stallone). The story is similar to that of Rocky and if anything, is a complete revival, using the son of one of Rocky’s former fighter as a backdrop to tell the story. Director Ryan Coogler (Black Panther 2018, Fruitvale Station 2013 ) brought this story to life and a courageous performance out of Michael B. Jordan. Not only was I fascinated by boxing by the end of the film, but just the whole idea of Adonis Creed, a fighter and not a quitter who thoroughly believes in pursuing your goals until they are obtained. Not only is this film for boxing fans but for those who share that same universal message and refuse to give into their own inhibitions to achieve great things. We should look to athletes more often in this respect and consider the pursuit of our own desires as boxing matches and marathon races more often as it helps put our fight into perspective and teaches us never to give in.

Score: 11/10

Arrival (2016) as seen on DVD

Before anyone comes for me for not having seen Arrival, before I was a movie buff I had briefly come across the film several times but had never taken the time to sit it out and watch it from beginning to end. I’m glad I did as Denis Villeneuve is one of my favourite directors evah and along with Christopher Nolan, I consider him as the King of Sci Fi. Every single one of his films is incroyable (as the french say) and it's a mystery why he hasn’t been handed an Oscar yet. Arrival is this slow and beautiful story of a linguistics teacher (Amy Adams) who agrees to help on a mission to communicate with extraterrestrial life forms that have landed on planet earth in the form of twelve huge spaceships. Structure isn’t something we typically consider when watching a film, but it plays such an important part in Arrival for time and the manipulation of it is the main theme of this film. Essentially, the language in which Dr. Banks translates from the intelligent life form gives its readers the ability to see into the future, which is when we come to realize that she’ll have a child, who will die of an unnamed disease. Despite this fact, she decides to live the life fate intended for her. The reason why Arrival is a highly credible film is because of the coverage it has as a film in terms of what it's trying to say as a film. From someone who finds it hard to bring out the emotion of a screenplay, Arrival is a great example to me as a film that combines both a cinematic feeling and a strong emotional presence throughout the film. It doesn’t abandon emotions or relationships just because the film is about aliens, but instead embraces them into the story and intertwines them with the aliens who’ve come to planet earth. At the end of the day, we can have explosions, spaceships and aliens galore, but if we’re unable to connect with characters on an emotional level then the film becomes boring. Arrival is far from boring and may bring a tear or two to your eye by the end.

Score: 11/10

The News of the World (2020) as seen on Netflix

I feel like it's impossible to hate a film with Tom Hanks in it and The News of the World definitely fits into that. Five years after the US Civil War, Cpt. Jefferson Kyle Kidd (Tom Hanks) spends his days travelling around the US ‘reading the news’ to anyone who’s willing to listen. The majority of the US was illiterate in the 19th Century, meaning it was up to people like Jefferson to inform others of the ongoings in the world by reading them the paper. It’s a wondrous thing to think about, how information was once spread throughout the world in such an archaic format. Jefferson did this off his own back, not asking for much and finding fulfilment in the reactions to the news that he “broadcasted” to them. Whilst on his travels, Jefferson comes across a young girl (Golden Globe nominee Helena Zengal) who’s negro family had been killed by lynchers. The girl was originally from a Native American tribe but had been separated by them, leaving her to fend for herself. When Jefferson comes across her, he’s reluctant to take her in at first but decides to take her to some relatives across the country. It’s definitely the role you expect of Tom Hanks and his heart warming nature is captured for us in this film for Netflix.

Score: 9/10

The Mask (1994) as seen on Netflix

It's hard for me to label The Mask as a good film as that would mean shaking off the horrendous amount of misogyny it has and the lack of diversity within its characters. Films mean different things for people, but ultimately most of them reflect an element of humanity and explore it on screen with originality and authenticity. Cameron Diaz’s character was only there to fulfil the sexual appetites of the men around her, which is something I loathe in female characters. Originality The Mask has, authenticity, not so much. That's probably the reason why I hate comedies so much, most of them are written by men and are about men so it can get quite boring to watch at times. I liked the idea of The Mask but it definitely could’ve been executed in a less misogynistic way.

Score: 5/10

Jackie (2016) as seen on Amazon Prime

One word; perfection. This film was hands down one of the most beautiful, genuine and honest films I’ve seen in my entire life. It had me reminiscing Todd Haynes’ Carol (2015) in a number of ways, from the similar filmmaking techniques to the slow and melancholy atmosphere that was being created on screen. The AMAZING Natalie Portman plays Jackie Kennedy, wife of John F. Kennedy who was brutally assassinated on a visit to Dallas, Texas in 1963. The fact that I didn’t even KNOW that his poor wife was in the car with him at the point of the assassination is shocking. On watching the film, I learnt Jackie was a remarkable, brave and intelligent woman who after her husband's death put so much into preserving her husband’s legacy despite his lack of popularity. The way the film is shot and the music by the brilliant Mica Levi (Under the Skin 2013 , Monos 2019) just ties everything together into a enigmatic and wonderful film. Natalie Portman was nominated for Best Actress at the 2017 Academy Awards and rightly so. This film has further proven my thoughts on her as one of the greatest actresses of our time. I seriously cannot EXPRESS how much I love this film, directed by Chilean director Pablo Larraín, who’s also made another film that I can’t get enough of Ema, which was released 2 years ago.

Score: 12/10

Foxcatcher (2014) as seen on BBC iPlayer

When we first think of Steve Carell, our minds probably drift to his most notable performance as Michael Scott from The Office or even Gru in Despicable Me. It's rare for a so called “comedy” actor to find his way into films with a more dramatic substance and over the last few years, this is what Carell has been showing us on screen, with this role in Foxcatcher and more recently, in Felix van Groeningen’s Beautiful Boy (2018). Foxcatcher is the true story of a wrestler offered the opportunity to train with a private wrestling team owned by a huge chemical corporation. Channing Tatum plays Mark Schultz, a quiet and reserved wrestler who trains alongside his brother David (Mark Ruffalo), also a champion wrestler. What's sad to see in this twisted story is how validated Mark feels once the powerful and wealthy John Du Pont (Steve Carrell) begins to take an interest in him and takes him under his wing. This relationship drives a wedge between Mark and his brother David, but much to John’s displeasure, it doesn’t last long. This is definitely a story of power and how people can react in bad ways when they are owed too much of it. Every performance in this was astounding and the slow and subtle telling of the story was truly beautiful to watch. Foxcatcher is a film I’ve been dying to watch for some time and it DID NOT disappoint. Period. The film was also nominated for five Oscars back in 2015, including Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor.

Score: 11/10

In Fabric (2018) as seen on BBC iPlayer

Based on the current reviews of In Fabric, I deem the film a poncy experimental spectacle. Not only did it not say much, but what it was trying to say was rather disturbing and quite frankly bizarre. However, it's not a film I can necessarily hate on as it is experimental, meaning from the get go, I shouldn’t be expecting any sort of clear cut narrative, with relationships, protagonists, conflict or hierarchies. Experimental films are more about exploring a central idea and having all its “characters'' not essentially prove the idea, but just talk about it, like a debate but everyone agrees in the end. A debate where everyone agrees would be boring, which is why I find experimental films to be boring as most of the time they don’t have a meaning and sadly as humans, we’re obsessed with finding the meaning of things or else we’ll go crazy. And I would say this film definitely left me crazy at the end, proving the idea of man’s constant need to find meanings in things. In Fabric wasn’t really relatable, funny, clever or bold. It kinda just...was.

Score: 5/10

Delicatessen (1991) as seen on DVD

I love how the world likes to think that the American film market is the only film market when in actuality the French created the actual concept of cinema and the idea to project “movies” onto a large screen. With this has come a plethora of incredible movies from France that have gone onto to change the film industry forever. There’s a reason why the most prestigious and exclusive film festival in the entire world is held in the South of France and not LA. Jean-Pierre Jeunet is the auteur behind Amélie (2001) one of the most well known independent films ever to be made and before Amélie came Delicatessen. This film is Tim Burton meets Wes Anderson but in French and tells the story of a man working for a butcher and the crazy characters he meets in the same apartment as him. By the end it's clear that The Butcher is selling more than pork and beef down in his store and that the new tenant is due to be the next item on sale. I loved how weird and larger than life the characters were and the otherworldly set design used for this film. There were so many moments that are quite hard to explain the beauty of them and if you’ve seen Wes Anderson or Tim Burton’s work, you’ll notice the similarities between this film and their work, perhaps showing a french influence on the current American market.

Score: 10/10

Amélie (2001) as seen on DVD

Continuing on with the French theme, I was reminded this month of the beauty of Amélie. Every, single, shot in this film is pure perfection and I bet all my money that Wes Anderson was a mega fan of this film when it came out. It's truly a film like none other and it’s only this time around did I realise how much I RELATE to Amélie. The way she sacrifices herself for others and gets nothing in return, the lengths she goes to tell someone something instead of JUST SAYING IT, her lack of friends, I can definitively say that there isn’t a character on screen that I’ve related to more than Amélie (besides Elio from cmbyn). If you haven’t seen Amélie have a word with yourself.

Score: 11/10

Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) as seen on Amazon Prime

Pan’s Labyrinth was a surprisingly amazing film and I wonder why I hadn’t seen it sooner. I was astounded to see it was in Spanish which I thought made the story somehow better. It's rare that we see such high budget and well known film that’s in a foreign language but I’m glad this film got the noise it did when it was released. Guillermo del Toro (The Shape of Water 2017) tells us the story of 10 year old Ofelia and her discovery of magical creatures in the woods that inhabit the outskirts of her new home. Not only that but it’s 1944. The Spanish Civil War has been over for five years but small groups of guerrilla rebels continue to fight against the new fascist dictatorship led by Francisco Franco. This is a well structured film that shows two strong worlds and combines them in a satisfying way, which isn’t an easy thing as sometimes films can get lost in the facts of history instead of the emotions and dynamic relationships. The set design in this was UNREAL as always and I really felt for the characters and their given circumstances. And that’s what we call a film.

Score: 11/10

I Care A Lot (2021) as seen on Amazon Prime

For a full review of I Care A Lot, follow the link: https://ratingtheframe.tumblr.com/post/643763403606867968/a-strong-performance-from-rosamund-pike-that-we

Score: 8/10

Interview with a Vampire (1994) as seen on BBC iPlayer

We were doing SO WELL until I made the costly decision to watch this waffle of a film, directed by Neil Jordan. Not only was the story all over the place, but the dialogue itself was incredibly on the nose and self explanatory throughout. It feels like there was more talking about the film instead of showing the film, which just made me switch off from early on in the film. I hated the casting of Tom Cruise in this and there were moments when I believed his character, but none of them outweighed the overarched and over bearing performance he was attempting to give. Brad Pitt was marginally better but the performance of Kirsten Dunst who was 12 years old at the time this film was released, outdid both actors. She was the only character that I truly felt for / cared about and her on screen presence was both enviable and wise beyond her years. Personally, I can’t explain what this film was even about because I truly didn’t get what was going on, however if you’re a fan of Kirsten Dunst’s work, this would be a suitable film to watch in that respect.

Score: 4/10

Fargo (1996) as seen on Amazon Prime

Fargo is probably most known as a Netflix series, but before that, it was originally a film directed by the Coen Brothers and starred the likes of Frances McDormand, Steve Buscemi, William H Macy and John Carroll Lynch. I’ve been meaning to watch Fargo for quite some time and I was not disappointed with the outcome of it. It's one of those good old fashioned crime films, with lots of twists and blood split throughout the film. The film won two Oscars in 1997; one for Best Actress which was handed to Frances McDormand playing a police officer investigating a string of murders in Minnesota and another for Best Original Screenplay. A really well constructed story with a fantastic cast and great cinematography work from Roger Deakins (1917 (2020), Blade Runner 2049 (2017) The Shawshank Redemption (1994).

Score: 10/10

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) as seen on Amazon Prime

The Darjeeling Limited further proves to us Wes Anderson’s ability to create entire new worlds and show us stories that take place all across the world. Three brothers, Peter (Adrien Brody), Jack (Jason Schwartzman) and Francis (Owen Wilson) have travelled to India in an attempt to bond with one another “spiritually” after the death of their father. Peter and Jack aren’t too keen on this little expedition, irritated at their brothers' intrusiveness over the trip. The majority of the film is set on this fanatical train travelling across India and yet again, we are blessed with some phenomenal production design to tell us a fun and uplifting story. What’s more is that the boys’ mother (Anjelica Huston) lives in India as a nun at the foot of the Himalayas. This becomes the real reason for their venture and such a thing changes the character dynamics between the three men. India is shown in all its beauty in this film using the backdrop of three men’s relationship with one another as a story.

Score: 9/10

The Life Aquatic of Steve Zissou (2004) as seen on DVD

Another one of Wes Anderson’s lesser known films but equally as good as the rest, this film follows a group of marine explorers travelling across the pacific to try and kill a shark that supposedly ate a member of Steve Zissou (Bill Murray) ’s crew. With an all star cast composed of Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Cate Blanchett, Jeff Goldblum and Anjelica Huston this film was entertaining, enlightening and cinematographically ambitious. Steve Zissou is a fictional character who makes a living off of extreme and dangerous marine explorations. He makes films of his travels using his crew and after screening his latest film, he meets a young man (Owen Wilson) claiming to be his son. Evidently, Zissou is reluctant to accept that this man is his son and uses his presence as financial gain to the project. I appreciated all performances in this film and the set design (as always with Anderson’s films) was exceptional.

Score: 9/10

Life of Pi (2012) as seen on Amazon Prime

A highly visual and emotional film that carries beauty throughout in both performance and story, Life of Pi was directed by Brokeback Mountain (2005)’s Ang Lee and tells the story of Pi (Suraj Sharma and Irrfan Khan) a young boy alone in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a fully grown Bengal Tiger. Winner of 4 Academy Awards including Best Director at the 2013 Academy Awards, this film does a phenomenal job of reminding us why cinema is such a superior and infinite art form. Pi’s family are on their way from India to America, exporting a large number of their zoo animals in hope of selling them once they reach the other side of the world. After a horrendous storm ravages their cargo ship, Pi is left all alone in the ocean with what only appears to be a small dingy, but to his horror, he comes to find that the zoo’s tiger Richard Parker is keeping him company in the middle of the ocean. Now if that ain’t a viable story, then I don’t know what is. To make a film look like it was set in the middle of a Pacific and with a Bengal Tiger is no small feat. Suraj Sharma’s performance was both truthful and powerful, despite the film being mostly shot in a studio with nothing but animation for Richard Parker. This is one of very few films that does the original novel justice.

Score: 11/10

Capone (2021) as seen on Netflix

Yikes. Capone has not been getting a lot of love in the media since its release on Netflix on 24th February. Personally, it's not the most god awful, offensive film I’ve seen and yet I wouldn’t have been the one to have made such a film either. The film is supposed to depict the last year of the infamous and notorious Al Capone, who suffered from numerous illnesses at only the age of 48. Tom Hardy plays the blood thirsty gangster and I have to say, this was a thoughtless casting choice. Hardy doesn’t have an ounce of Italian in his face and he put on this larger than life caricature of an accent that had me feeling rather sorry for him at moments when I shouldn’t have been. The acting was exceptional, but believable and interesting? That’s another argument altogether. Cinematography and sound wise, I thought the film was excellent in those respects but again, those should be additions to the integral story of a film. I get why Hardy signed up though, what actor wouldn’t want to play a mob boss? Maybe the point of Al’s life in which this film was built upon was perhaps wrong for the screen and I’m sure most would have preferred Hardy to play Capone at his peak. This film is a clear example of people getting ahead of themselves when they first explore an idea for a film. This film could have easily been saved in the development stage had someone said let’s not do this.

Score: 5/10

Creed II (2018) as seen on Amazon Prime

Obviously a prequel will always outdo a sequel, however I found Creed II to be just as meaningful as the first film. Maybe even more so as Adonis Creed (Michael B Jordan) is becoming a father his responsibilities have shifted dramatically. He’s also desperate to fight Viktor Drago, a Ukrainian ruthless boxer whose father accidentally killed Creed’s father in a match decades before. Drago is tough, beyond what he and his coach Rocky (Sylvester Stallone) could ever imagine and because of this, it drives a wedge between Adonis’ relationship with his coach. Creed thinks Rocky doesn’t believe he can beat Drago but Rocky insists not fighting the bull of a boxer would benefit him greatly, after all, look what happened to his father. The character dynamics have shifted in this sequel, but the structure has remained largely the same. We kind of knew what we were being served at the end and the change in character was there for everyone.

Score: 10/10

...and that’s it! Everything I watched this February, you do not want to KNOW how long this list took to compile. Thanks for reading and see you next month!

ig: @ratingtheframe

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