#sure emotions can be irrational but if someone is desperately TRYING to explain why they feel a way (even if theyre struggling to be clear)

[gifti3]

Im cursing [REDACTED] right NOW

[stromuprisahat]

Alina and the Darkling’s interactions, pt. 15

Siege and Storm- Chapter 3, continuation

More arguing, more denying for the sake of disagreement, more of degrading the “villain”...

“He can’t wait to get away from you.”

I’d beg to differ. Pretty sure he’s trying really hard not to kill you, Alina.

...the bright edge of the blade pressed to Mal’s throat. The man holding him wore a familiar sneer. Ivan. *** “Drink.” I open my eyes. Ivan’s scowling face comes into focus. “You do it,” he grumbles to someone. *** It was hard climbing with my hands in irons, and Ivan quickly lost patience. He hooked my wrists to haul me up the last few feet. *** Before I could begin to sort through them, Ivan appeared and began yanking me back across the main deck. “Slow down,” I protested, but he just gave another jerk on my sleeve. *** “Move,” Ivan ordered. I struggled to my knees. He nudged me with the toe of his boot... *** “She’s the Darkling’s prisoner,” said Ivan, “and a traitor.” *** “Bring her,” he called to Ivan. “Mal��” I began as Ivan grasped my arm. Mal lifted his bound hands, reaching for me. His fingers grazed mine briefly, then Ivan was hauling me back toward the hatch.

Ivan’s never been fond of Alina, he’s clearly far from excited about their quest to find her. He’s more likely to be afraid for the Darkling, than of him.

The Darkling doesn’t miss a chance for a little dig at one of Alina’s less desirable qualities. He’s also avoiding direct answer once again. Alina doesn’t mind, she’s happy to supply it herself.

Free from illusions? Free from dependency? Free from small mindedness? Free from what?

The Darkling plays tutor. Alina’s interested in possible harm, not education. Knowing future events, I can say it could’ve help her call his bluff at the end of Ruin and Rising.

The Darkling’s a beacon to volcra, but they don’t try to eat him? I’d be sceptical. We could explain their “attraction” with magic, but if we view them as carnivorous creatures, why would they scratch his face, but not take a chunk off?

They [volcra] were his creations, just like the thing that had buried its teeth in my shoulder.

Nichevo’ya are different “animals”. Volcra are mutated once-humans, nichevo’ya creatures torn from the Darkling’s own being.

Calling on merzost was painful, like a breath torn from his lungs, a moment of terror as his life was ripped away to form another. Creation. Abomination. But he was used to it by now.

...

“It’s not an experience I’d care to repeat. I’ve had my fill of the volcra’s mercy. And yours.”

Good thing Alina doesn’t consider the Darkling capable of human emotions, so she doesn’t have to think about how he had to feel, losing everything just a step before achieving his lives-long goal. How desperate he had to be to resort to merzost, standing in the result of his last failed attempt to control it.

Gods, how I wish he were done with Alina.

I love the contradiction between practicality about use of Alina’s powers and sort of belief Morozova’s amplifiers are akin to family heirloom, therefore she- his counterpart- should have them. Aleksander already is an amplifier himself, so who else should claim his grandfather’s creations? As (m)any beliefs it muddles his judgement when it comes to Alina’s future.

When one accusation doesn’t stick, try scholar pose... and then emotional manipulation.

We should read this as guilt over him blinding Baghra, but I’d suggest different interpretation:

The Darkling is centuries-old immortal, but the only person he’s had through all those years is his abusive mother. He understands she’s not supportive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t long for her approval or affection. It’s irrational, but she’s the only person he belives won’t die on him and she’s still his MOTHER. He wants to be loved by her no matter how much she acts like anything but capable of that.

Perhaps he’d seen her betrayal sooner.

Alina reading willingly?! I don’t remember her doing anything for her own enjoyment. It’s either assignments or what her clique drags her to do.

Peasant propaganda? I’d love to read more about the Darkling’s experience in this particular field. 

This isn’t even Alina trying to persuade herself, she just says the opposite of what the Darkling does. Like a child trying to trump another in an argument. 

Equality should never be about lowering yourself to whichever level’s necessary.

Naturally, Alina isn’t willing to admit the Big Bad Darkling could feel anything, fortunately, the reader doesn’t have to be so biased. Is it only me, or does this sound like Aleksander’s speaking from experience? Like he has specific people on mind? We never learn much about his life, but even in books there are crumbs, painting life full of loss and tragedy.

His first soldiers were dead now. Lovers, allies, countless kings and queens. Only he continued on. Eternity took practice, and he’d had plenty of it. 

Alina never likes to hear unpleasant facts, especially criticism of her. What she loves is blaming others. Two chapters earlier, she hoped to never see Ravka again. Chapter later, she painted herself the saviour. Now, the Darkling’s the real villain once again.

Alina kept complaining about the exact same thing even before she was discovered to be Grisha.

I glanced at Mal. There had been a time when I could have told him anything.

...

“You know she’ll [Zoya] be staying at camp,” he said with a leer.

“I hear the Grisha tent’s as big as a cathedral,” added Dubrov.

“Lots of nice shadowy nooks,” said Mikhael, and actually waggled his brows.

Mal whooped. Without sparing me another glance, the three of them strode off, shouting and shoving one another.

...

Mal laughed. I hesitated by the door. This was the hardest part of being around him—other than the way he made my heart do clumsy acrobatics. I hated hiding how much the stupid things he did hurt me, but I hated the idea of him finding out even more. I thought about just turning around and going back inside. Instead, I swallowed my jealousy and sat down beside him.

...

When we’d first started our military service a year ago, Mal had visited me almost every night. But he hadn’t come by in months.

...

We’d spent more than ten years of our lives in Keramzin, but usually I got the impression that Mal wanted to forget everything about the place, maybe even me.

...

I wanted to believe that Mal and I would always be friends, but I had to face the fact that we were on different paths. Lying in the dark, waiting for sleep, I wondered if those paths would just keep taking us further and further apart, and if a day might come when we would be strangers to each other once again.

... that’s just the first chapter of the first book, but that’s okay, because Alina’s willing to ignore it as long as Malyen’s happy. See: Their time in Cofton.

Such a beautiful quote.

(So easily destroyed with few retcons...)

Yeah, it's probably how scared he is of the Darkling. Doesn't wanna come in unless he's ordered to...

I know Alina doesn’t think, but why would Ivan come when she calls? I’m sure he was overjoyed to hear her yell his name.

... aaaand back to dehumanizing the Darkling in attempt to make him less right.

I’d guess not clinging to someone, who hates your otherness might help to deal with that feeling, but that’s just me.

All previous parts.

[sdqhtxt]

selfish

sometimes i think that there will be a day that i feel comfortable enough to cry in front of my mother. that when i truly feel like i am drowning in my incessant need to be loved that i will have the courage to go up to her and ask her to love me and reassure me that everything would be okay - even if it wasn't actually true.

i am already 25 and yet sometimes it feels like i am just 6 again, crying in a corner all alone, waiting for someone to tell me that the words that were ringing in my head weren't true. i wish i had been there to tell myself that things will get better, even if it wasn't true. how would i really explain to my younger self that the reason why i still can't sneeze too loud was because of how irritated my mother would get when i was sick? or that my irrational fear of getting too nauseous on the bus and having to throw up would incur some kind of wrath from the people i travel with was still so deeply intertwined with my mother screaming at me while i puked into the bushes next to the bus stop?

i don't know how to let things go very well and these days i'm plagued with the fear of disappointing people all over again. it is another thing altogether that i hear ringing in my head this time and truly, really, it is my own fault that i let things get to this point again. if i could be better, if i could have been more sufficient? would it have been easier to be someone who could make the people i care about proud? would i have disappointed less people with the decisions i so wilfully chose to make? i'm not sure how to fix things that feel this broken anymore. i'm not sure how to fix anything really, sometimes maybe it would have been better if i was some kind of repairman. but it feels like i've only known how to destroy and make things worse since i was younger. how do u change bad habits that have been within yourself since you figured out your own consciousness?

sometimes the way i am with other people and how i feel so loved makes me forget that there are so many things i should be sorry for - that there are things i've done that shouldn't be just forgotten or forgiven. i want to stay in those moments forever. but how could i be allowed really, to want to live like that? i can never run away from who i really am even if i try to move to the furthest place from here. maybe i will have to suffer with the remnants of everything that's passed for the rest of my life and that my mind will always find a way to remind me of everything worse that has happened. maybe i'm just trying to protect myself from lingering too much in all the emotional attachments i've made with all the kind people i've met in my life. how much longer will i take advantage of the people that care about me and never learn how to repay them because i am so selfish? i'm sorry. i'll do better. i really just want to do better until i no longer feel like i owe anything to anyone anymore. maybe then i'll feel reassured enough to let go and not feel the desperate urge to hold on to everything that i'm so scared to lose.

[aminiatureworld]

Irrational

Characters: Ganyu, Jean, Keqing, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,100

Warnings: Alcohol

Premise: Emotions aren’t always rational, a fact easy enough to ignore when one is happy or in love, or in any similar situation. However more negative aspects aren’t always as easy to ignore.

In which the reader’s s/o is jealous.

Author’s Note: This is our welcome for Jean! I have to admit she was really enjoyable to write. Especially in a prompt such as this, my guilty pleasure trope.

Not proofread because I’m tired will do so tomorrow.

Ganyu

Relationships were still something that often eluded Ganyu. Friendships, work dynamics, love, they all spun around in her head, and though she sometimes found her bearings, relationships still felt like walking on a tightrope high above a dark and churning sea.

These thoughts and feelings still lingered in her mind, even now when her relationship with you was rock solid she still worried. Ganyu was a mess of repressed emotions; isolated from most of humanity she still felt the need to be absolutely perfect near you, to never let her emotions get the best of her, to be the best partner one can be.

Which is why she hated those stupid love notes.

They’d started arriving about a year and a half into your relationship. At first you’d thought it was from her, but your look of happiness quickly turned to one of embarrassment and slight discomfort when she revealed she had no idea who was leaving little gifts and notes at your desk. Although you made a point to get rid of them as soon as you’d read the contents of the letter they still kept coming, and every day Ganyu saw one of those pink little envelopes on your desk she grew more and more irritated.

And yet Ganyu still didn’t want to tell you, for she was afraid that you would think she was suspecting you in some ways. You couldn’t control what was going on after all, why should she burden you with her fears, with the emotions that threatened to squeeze all the air out of her lungs and tear her thoughts to shreds. No, she wouldn’t burden you with this, she’d take care of it herself. You wouldn’t want to be bothered with her stupidity anyways, it’d only cause more problems.

“I really don’t understand who’s doing this.” You groaned, entering the office one morning to the sight of a rose on your desk, the telltale envelope attached to the stem with a red ribbon. Walking over to it, dragging your feet in a way that made Ganyu, who had been standing behind you, giggle you tore open the letter in one nonchalant movement.

“What does it say?” Ganyu kept her voice as soft as possible, trying desperately to ignore the emotions that were threatening to cut off her throat. How long was this going to go on?

“Oh listen to this,” you scoffed, turning towards Ganyu, a wry sort of smile plastered across your face, “my dear friend – as if whoever this creep is would ever be a friend of mine. I noticed recently that you’ve become quite close to the secretary of the Liyue Qixing. I would never question your decisions – oh of course not – but I find that work romances never last. Perhaps if we were to meet I could explain to you why, though I’m sure you already know the reasons yourself and would never dream in participating in such a thing. Still, I await you reply. Sincerely, your secret admirer.”

With a flourish you bowed, before promptly chucking the letter in the trash. “Well at least they seem finally to be catching on to the fact I’m disinterested. Honestly though, I don’t know what this person is thinking. I really ought to complain to the department, see if they can’t find out why this is happening.”

“I agree,” Ganyu couldn’t help but let disgust fill her voice, “this is harassment. You really ought to tell someone about it.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, before sighing. “I’d hate to be a pain though…”

“You aren’t!” Ganyu shook her head, indignant at the insinuation. “Protecting yourself isn’t being a pain. This isn’t merely distracting, it’s concerning. You deserve better.”

“Thank you Ganyu.” You smiled; glancing around to make sure no one was there you gave her a soft peck on the cheek. “You’re always looking out for me.”

“Of course I am!” Ganyu replied, her face burning slightly. “I love you.” She added softly.

“I love you too.” You smiled. Sitting down you glanced at the rose as if it were a weapon rather than a flower. “A pity they keep sending flowers, I hate to throw out the poor things.” Hesitating you took it in your hands, smiling sheepishly as you stuffed it into your desk drawer. Ganyu smiled back, attempted to ignore the small twinge of annoyance that rattled in her and whispered that she should burn the reminder of her suffering.

The two of you had worked later than usual that day, and it showed the next morning as you failed to show up at your usual spot. Although Ganyu might’ve normally waited for you, today she glanced around her before quickening her pace as she made her way towards the Qixing headquarters. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for, and though she felt slightly bad about sneaking around behind your back she was also at her wits’ end, and if she wasn’t going to tell you then she was surely going to figure out once and for all what was going on.

The door had been left open by the last person who entered, and Ganyu wrinkled her nose at the irresponsibility of such a thing before walking inside herself. The office was mostly dark, and the contrast of your light being the only one visible throughout the hallway immediately put her on high alert.

Her suspicions were justified when she walked through the door. A man was standing at the edge of your desk. In one hand was a bouquet of flowers and in the other was an all too familiar note. Although Ganyu might’ve normally been merely frightened and appalled she now found herself more angry than anything else, and her words were spat out with a vehemence she hadn’t entirely known she’d possessed.

“What in Teyvat do you think you’re doing here?” She asked, voice shaking slightly. The man jolted and turned around, relazing when he saw who it was. That was a mistake.

“Ah it’s the secretary,” His smile was mocking and the way he bobbed his head made it clear he thought nothing of the half-adeptus in front of him. “I was wondering who would catch me eventually. Didn’t expect it to be the Tianquan’s personal servant.”

“Answer my question.” Ganyu spoke once more, completely unfazed by the insults of a man who was so utterly loathsome. “What are you doing here.”

“You’re rather dull aren’t you,” the man’s tone was a dismissive as before, “I didn’t realize this needed any explanation. I think it’s very clear that I’m here to deliver something to this office’s owner.”

“Do you even know their name?” If Ganyu hadn’t been so angered perhaps she would’ve found the man’s expression hilarious. He seemed to be completely malfunctioning.

“Of course I know it!” He finally let out. “It’s written on the plaque outside the door if you’ve forgotten. But I doubt you would. You seem awfully close to them recently.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Oh but it is.” The man’s smile was utterly enraging. “They’re very important to me after all.”

“They aren’t even aware of your existence.” Ganyu spat. Approaching closer she drew herself up as tall as she could. “They’d never have anything to do with someone as worthless and creepy as you.”

“What exactly am I doing that’s creepy?” The man backed away slightly, slight panic mixing with defensiveness. “I’m only showing them how much I care for them! What’s wrong with that? You’re just jealous aren’t you. You want them for yourself, don’t you. Well you can’t have them, because they’re mine.”

“They don’t belong to anyone.” Ganyu replied, voice made soft and hoarse from the anger burning in her chest and pounding in her ears. “And if you can’t see that then you’re even worse a person than I thought you could be. You may think them something to possess, and you worthy to possess them; but in reality you’re lower than dirt and they owe you nothing, not even the air you breathe. You should leave now. You may have no respect for privacy, or rank, or profession. But the Liyue Qixing are nowhere close to incompetent. And if you value a life not spend in total societal isolation or, Morax forbid, behind bars, I suggest you never return.”

“You really ought to listen to her.” Your voice was music to Ganyu’s ears after what had just passed. Turning her head slightly she saw you leaning against the door, a grim smile painted across your face. “She’s the person in this office least likely to simple chuck you out the window.”

Gulping slightly the man finally moved. Shooting one last glare at both you and Ganyu he scuttled out into the hallway. Only when she heard the front door close did Ganyu breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” She said, flushed with embarrassment and the lingering anger she felt. “I shouldn’t’ve threatened them, or lost my temper like that.”

“You were utterly in your right.” You smiled. “In fact you were quite gallant if I do say so myself!”

“I lost control of myself,” Ganyu shook her head, “I wasn’t thinking about doing the right thing, or protecting you. I wasn’t thinking of anything. I was only angry. Angry and… well I don’t know.”

“Jealous?” You suggested. Flushing, Ganyu glanced at the ground.

“Maybe.” She whispered.

The half-adeptus glanced up in surprise as you wrapped you arms around her. After a while she returned the gesture, and for a while there was simply silence as you two basked in each other’s presence.

“You shouldn’t feel bad about being jealous.” You spoke after a while. “Every feels jealous sometimes, it’s completely normal. And in this case it was positively valiant! Even if you weren’t thinking of me, you still stood up for me. And I couldn’t be more grateful.”

“I lost my temper.” Ganyu was stubborn in her conviction that what she’d done was wrong. Lessons that she’d taught herself about displaying her emotions passed through her thoughts. “It’s not good to be jealous. I’ll only end up pushing you away if I keep losing myself to my emotions.”

“Being jealous is only a problem when it spirals out of control,” you replied, “being offended at the way someone speaks about your partner, or disliking the fact your partner is getting sent weird letters every day is something that any normal person would be jealous about. Even if the person turned out to be such a lout like that one.”

“You aren’t angry?” Ganyu ventured, still skeptical. You drew away slightly so she could see your face. You were smiling brightly.

“Not a bit.”

“Good.” Ganyu smiled back.

You nodded your head. Apparently satisfied you moved to grab the stuff you’d left in the doorway. Still somewhat unsure Ganyu walked over to you.

“Um, can I ask something?”

“Sure!” You replied. “Anything.”

“Um… can you get rid of the rose in your desk?”

You paused for a moment before giggling. Walking over to your desk you took out the offending flower, opening the window and throwing it out onto the lawn.

“There we go.” You turned around. “I’m sorry if that was making you uncomfortable. Tell me next time you’re feeling jealous, alright?”

“Okay.” Ganyu whispered.

Relationships were confusing. So many invisible lines that one might trip over. Still Ganyu would gladly learn where the lines were in regards to you. For she loved you. So very much.

Jean

Jean didn’t like work parties at the best of times, but now it was all she could do not to scream as she watched the young knight next to you begin to break into verse, proclaiming to all the – hopefully blacked out – knights around you that he loved only you.

Normally Jean was pretty dismissive of the antics of her coworkers. Being the Acting Grand Master she saw it as her duty never to be too punishing, always aware not only of the power she held in such a position, but also of the respect that she had garnered, that she had worked tirelessly for. The Knights of Favonius, from the highest ranked captain to the lowest foot soldier, was comprised up of well meaning, enthusiastic workers. Despite all their faults she cared deeply about them all, and could often sidesteps their antics as the result of their camaraderie.

This time however felt different. Even if Jean knew full well that the knight probably meant nothing serious by it, knew that he was simply drunk and having a good time, she still couldn’t help the coil of emotions that wound taught into her stomach. Scowling slightly into her drink she cursed herself. Maybe she was the tipsy one, for only a fool would be jealous in a situation like this.

“Feeling already Grand Master?” Kaeya’s voice was as cheerful and as unassuming as usual, not at all revealing the fact that he should’ve been utterly plastered. Now he simply sat down across from his irritated coworker, taking another swig before glancing over towards what was capturing Jean’s attention.

“What do you want Kaeya?” Jean asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from its obvious ending. Kaeya was currently the only member of the knights who knew of the relationship between the two of you, and though he took that honor very seriously he was also quick to tease, something made only worse by his current state.

“Ah I see what’s going on.” Kaeya smirked, refusing to cooperate. “What’s going on here? A lover’s quarrel perhaps. No. Our dear adventurer seems hardly happy with the situation. What could it be then?” He let out a sudden gasp. “Is our dear knight jealous?”

“Neither they nor I are ‘our dear’ anything.” Jean pointed out, rolling her eyes. “And I’m hardly jealous. Only pitying the poor soul for the embarrassment he’s going to feel tomorrow if he or anyone in his regiment remembers this.”

“Ahh, I see.” Kaeya replied, tone of voice making it plenty obvious that he didn’t believe Jean one bit. Shooting him a dirty look Jean sighed, once more raising the beer she was drinking to her lips. She didn’t much like beer really, but it was sort of the signature drink of Mondstadt – unless you were rich enough to afford Dandelion Wine on the regular, which few were – and Jean felt the compulsion to blend in with those around her in taste and in manner. Although in this case it was becoming difficult to do so.

Was she jealous? Although Jean would like to say surely not she wasn’t so naïve or so optimistic. She knew very well that she was jealous, but there really was no reason to be so. It felt somewhat below her, to be so blatantly upset by this pseudo-flirtation. Wasn’t she more aware, more mature than that? The answer became very clear when the knight stopped his verbal rambling and attempted, somewhat unsuccessfully, to grab your hand.

“Sir Heinrich.” Jean’s voice had taken on the authority that she rarely liked to use in casual company. “Might I ask you to control yourself in the presence of our guest.”

Heinrich, apparently not so drunk as to be unable to read the now somewhat tense room, immediately and somewhat dramatically, snapped into attention. “G-Grand Master Jean! Yes, of course! I’m so sorry.” Bowing quickly he promptly burst into tears and, proclaiming that he’d betrayed his Grand Master, was dragged outside by some friends, hopefully to sleep off his inebriation.

The tone of the party quickly returned to its jovial origins, anyone still in attendance at 3:00 was either Jean, you, Kaeya, or too drunk to care about what had just happened. Jean, however, was somewhat surprised, and extremely embarrassed, by her sudden outburst. Sinking down on the stool next to you she put her head in her hands.

“I’m going to have to apologize for that tomorrow.” She sighed. Glancing over towards you she reached out her hand, which you quickly took, palm sliding gently into hers. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! I don’t mind a bit of flattery, but that was becoming… a bit much.” You let out a giggle, the glass next to you an indicator that you were probably a bit tipsy yourself. “Besides, you’re very cute when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” Jean scoffed, blushing slightly. “You and Kaeya I swear, incorrigible.”

“How am I not surprised he picked up on it too,” you laughed, smiling fondly. “I don’t mind it, at least not in cases like this. By all means, be as jealous as you want.”

“I’m not jealous.” Jean insisted, shaking her head violently.

Laughing you leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the head, ignoring the scandalized gasps from the remaining crowd.

“Whatever you say, my dear knight in shining armor.”

Jean let out a nervous giggle. What was she going to do with you, now that she loved you so much.

Keqing

Keqing wanted to make it very clear that she never became jealous. Absolutely not, under no circumstances.

She had more respect for herself after all, more respect for you. It was below your relationship to be worried over something such as jealousy, and Keqing for her part resolved never to lower herself to such a level, even if you were somewhat more dismissive of the idea than she was.

“Jealousy is an emotion,” you explained when she asked you why you were so cavalier in regards to the notion, “and since I know both you and I are hardly likely to spin out of control if it were to happen, I don’t really find the idea repulsive.”

“You’re very strange.” Had been all Keqing could respond, not wanting to argue with you about it. It would never happen anyhow. No point in fighting about it.

Now Keqing was somewhat regretting that statement as she watched the woman next to you chatter away while she stood, still as a rock, trying desperately to bite back the retorts that were running through her mind at everything this random lady was telling you.

“It really is such a pleasure to see you again!” You smiled at the woman, some friend of yours and, from what Keqing gathered, a long forgotten one at that. “It’s really been too long.”

“I agree!” The woman replied eagerly, her smile so syrupy that Keqing was surprised it wasn’t melting in the sun. “We really must go out for coffee and catch up.”

“Absolutely!” You nodded, ignoring the stare that Keqing was now focusing on you. “Maybe sometime in the summer?”

“Sounds like a plan! Now excuse me, I have to go.” The woman smiled. Nodding towards Keqing, evidently she wasn’t completely oblivious, she waved before walking away. Waving back you turned around towards your partner, a smile on your face.

“Thanks for stopping for me, I realize that took a little while.”

“It was nothing.” Keqing’s voice was sharp and flat, and she ignored your puzzled look as she turned back towards the Qixing headquarters, determined to forget this entire conversation, and the dark emotions it had managed to dredge up.

The rest of the day was somewhat quiet, though Keqing could tell you wanted to talk about your old friend. She knew that she was being exceedingly rude by ignoring your cues, but she couldn’t help it. The whole situation made her uncomfortable, and she didn’t know how to process that. If she admitted it you’d just chock it up to jealousy and not only would she feel somewhat invalidated, but she’d have to deal with the knowledge that all her boasting had been for nothing. Or, to be more explicit, that she’d been wrong.

“Want to have dinner together?” Keqing glanced at the clock on her desk. The day had long ended, and now it was just the two of you.

“Gladly.” She smiled at you, getting up from her chair. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

“No worries!” You waved your hand. “I wanted to spend some time with you anyways.” Unlike you did earlier today? Keqing bit the retort back. It would be cruel to say that, and somewhat revealing. Besides she really did want to walk home with you, and wouldn’t taint the experience with her own emotional turmoil.

The walk was a lovely one, for the day had been somewhat hot and now a cool breeze brought in by the sea blew lazily. You were discussing one of the transactions you’d had to check, when Keqing spied your friend up ahead. Before she could change your course the lady noticed the two of you however. Calling your name she waved her hand wildly. Distracted from your conversation you waved back, running up ahead and leaving Keqing behind in the dust.

“Fancy meeting you here again!” You exclaimed. “I was just walking home from work.”

“I was stopping by one of the stalls.” Your friend gestured towards the temporary structure behind her. “I forgot to buy groceries, so I suppose it’s grilled Tiger Fish tonight.”

“It happens to the best of us.” You laughed. Keqing couldn’t stand the atmosphere anymore. The conversation was insipid, the participant who’d brought it up even more so. Unable to stop her frustration Keqing walked, or rather stomped, over towards you. Huffing slightly she grabbed your hand. Turning around your face betrayed surprise, but it was quickly replaced once more with a smile. “Ah, I almost forgot. Lily, this is Keqing!”

“Oh, a pleasure to meet you!” The woman, Lily apparently, smiled. “Are you coworkers?” Keqing felt a flicker of resentment at not being directly addressed. Surely she didn’t need a translator.

“My partner.” You corrected, smiling and squeezing Keqing’s hand, something which did little to relieve the tension she felt.

“I see.” Your friend smiled her saccharine smile. “Nice to meet you Keqing.”

“Pleasure.” Keqing replied, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice, after all wasn’t she known for being blunt? “Now we really ought to get going, if we aren’t going to be eating in the middle of the night.”

“Sorry for dashing on you,” you apologized, something which Keqing deemed completely unnecessary. “See you around.”

“See you around!” Lily replied. As she turned back to the stall Keqing started moving again, half dragging you through the streets and to her apartment.

Finally arriving home Keqing breathed a sigh of relief. This, however, was quite short lived.

“What was that all about?” There was amusement in your voice, and though Keqing was glad you didn’t seem irritated with her, she certainly wasn’t happy about the mischief in your smile.

“It was getting late.” She replied curtly. “I’d rather not be cooking dinner in the dark.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Your voice was slightly sing-song and Keqing rolled her eyes, knowing immediately where this was going.

“Of course, what other reason could there possibly be?”

“I don’t know, maybe you were a little jealous?” You shrugged your shoulders dramatically. Keqing tensed for a moment, before shaking her head.

“Why in Teyvat would I be jealous? After all, they’re just a friend.” Although she hadn’t meant to emphasize that last bit Keqing couldn’t help but feel somewhat irritated. It was just a friend, she was sure of that, sure of you. And yet it had irritated her. It had irritated her intensely. And what was that but jealousy?

“Of course they are.” You smiled gently. “They’re just a friend and you’re just the person I love. But Keqing?”

“Yes?” Keqing found her voice somewhat unsure.

“I don’t mind if you’re a little jealous. As long as you never doubt my affections for you, then it’s okay to be a little selfish. Okay?”

There was a pause, before Keqing walked over to you, wrapping you into a tight hug and burying her face in your neck. Drawing back slightly she pressed a soft and somewhat impatient kiss to your lips.

“Are you sure?” She asked, pulling away once more.

“Very sure.” You replied, before leaning in to kiss her in turn.

Keqing was glad to be carried away by the content feeling of being in the embrace of one’s love. She found today incredibly embarrassing and just wanted to forget the whole matter. And she knew you’d let that happen, for even if Keqing felt irritated, even if she resented your friend for accosting you and not leaving you alone she still trusted you more than anything.

And that was what counted.

[hyuckssunchip]

[8:55 pm] - Pt. 2 (happy)

Pairings: Taeyong x Reader

Words: 1.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), violence (hitting), angst

Synopsis:

‘when he hurts you’ boyfriend drabble

a misunderstanding escalates to something more, what will happen to their relationship??

(note: this is just a character, i trust that Taeyong would never use violence)

Tag list: @popsuhcle​ @ne0yong​

Part 1

It had been almost a week since Taeyong was able to get in touch with you, and although he was desperate to, he didn’t try very hard. He didn’t seem to have the time nor the will too. 

It had been almost a week when Doyoung showed up at your door.

By the look on his face he was more than drained by the constant work and practice he was putting into their next comeback. You couldn’t even imagine what Taeyong looked like. He always seemed to show his wear and tear the most. 

“Doyoung?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Y/N, hi.” There was a pause, as if he was regretting coming here. “Can I come in?”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not even realising that he was still standing in the doorway. Stepping away, you gestured for him to enter, taking notice of his heavy steps.

You offered him a glass of water and seat, which he gladly took, glancing with pitiful eyes in your direction. You weren’t dumb, you knew why he was here.

“Taeyong….” He started slowly, gauging your reaction, continuing only when he was sure that you weren’t going to kick him out. “I think you should talk to him, he’s not doing well.”

A frown flitted over your face, “What do you mean he’s not doing well?”

Doyoung just shook his head, “I don’t know much about what happened between you two, Taeyong wouldn’t tell me anything, but I know that whatever it is, it’s taking a toll on the both of you.”

He glanced at your appearance, and you tightened your jacket over your shirt. 

But any guilt or hurt quickly caved to anger, “Why should I be the one to reach out first? He was in the wrong and if he can’t talk to me… if he has to go through you… I don’t think that he’s really trying very hard.”

“I’m not going to defend him, because I don’t know what happened, but… he really does care about you. He’s just stressed and overwhelmed right now.” 

You cast your eyes downwards, fumbling with your sleeves. “That doesn’t make it okay.” You mumbled out.

Doyoung was silent for a while. 

“I know.”

He heaved a sigh, standing up from his seat with his hands in his pockets. “If you do want to talk it out, Taeyong’s been locked up in his studio for the past week. You’ll know where to find him.”

You shut your eyes tightly, jumping slightly as the soft slam of the door. A wave of guilt washed over you. Things had gotten out of hand then, it wasn’t like it was all his fault, you had egged him on. After all it takes two to tango.

You groaned, flopping onto the couch and throwing your arm over your face, heart already decided.

The familiar brown door stared back at you, as if testing you. You weren’t sure how long you had been standing there, hand growing tired with the bad full of food, dangling with a heavy presence. 

Was this a bad idea? Would things end up like they did last time?

Your thoughts teased you, caving into your irrational thoughts. 

“Y/N?”

Your breath caught in your throat as his familiar voice startled you from behind. 

“Oh.” 

Taeyong scratched the back of his head nervously, eyes unable to reach yours, not that you were trying.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.”

A lie.

“Oh.” 

He gestured to the door and moved to open it for the two of you, standing beside it as you entered first.

The room was a mess. 

For someone as cleanly and perfectionist as Taeyong was, you couldn’t believe your eyes. There were empty take out containers, heaps of clothes from long nights stuck there, papers strewn over every possible surface. 

Your face scrunched in guilt. This wasn’t like him at all.

As if he realized, or had seen your expression, he quickly moved to shoved things off, making room for you to sit, which hesitantly took. 

A moment of awkward silence later you cleared your throat. “Here, uh.. I brought you breakfast. I didn’t think that you had eaten yet.”

There was a smile plastered on his face, but it wasn’t real. It didn’t reach his eyes the way that you were used to.

“Thanks, yeah I’m starving.” But all the while he took his food, his eyes never left yours.

Instinctively you gulped, pulling away. You wrung your hands at the awkward air that settled over the room.

“Can we talk?”

Taeyong tensed at the question as he played with the straps of the bag. 

“Yeah.” 

He sunk into the seat across from you, running his hand over his face in distress.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you first… about uh… the other day.”

Your mouth stayed shut, but your eyes begged him to continue.

“Look, I… I fucked up. Like really bad. First of all, I should never, never have laid a hand on you. If there’s one thing that I regret… ever is that. It was unwarranted and no one, especially you deserves to be treated like that. You have every right in the world to be upset and angry, and I would too, if I were you.”

He paused to breathe, weary of your reaction. You stayed silent to let him continue.

“If you would let me explain what you saw too… I promise you that it’s nothing like what you thought it was.”

He took a deep breath continuing when you let him. “That… She’s a sound producer that SM is using right now, and she’s been really trying to bounce ideas off of me. I promise that it’s nothing more than that. And the picture… it’s not like I chose it, apple does that stupid thing, you know, where it automatically updates the contact.”

Taeyong sighed, not willing to look back at you in case you didn’t agree with his excuses. 

Little did he know you were doing the same. Communication. That’s all that was needed and all of this could’ve been avoided. If you weren’t so stubborn and actually willing to listen to an explanation, your relationship would’ve never been in this mess. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Taeyong whipped his head to find your eyes. “I was stubborn and upset and… there were a lot of emotions going on. I handled it horribly, and it’s no wonder things went horribly wrong. Yes, what you did was wrong, but it would’ve never gotten that far if I just listened-”

“Stop it. You keep painting yourself in this way. Like you’re the cause of everything, like it was a domino effect. But let’s be real, it was both of our faults. If we can… learn and grow from this, as people and partners…”

You smiled at him, “I’m sorry.” He tried to interrupt. “No, just let me say that one more time. I am… really sorry. And… I love you so goddamn much.”

“Not more than I love you.”

You found yourself pressed against his chest, wrapped between his familiar arms. 

You let it last for a couple more moments before you pulled back. “Let’s get this place cleaned up, it literally looks like a dump, and that’s not an exaggeration.”

His face screwed up in agreement, “Yeah… I’ve uh been stressing a lot. You noticed?”

You smacked his chest playfully at the comment.

“Oh, and don’t think that I’m not gonna make up for our anniversary date. I’ve been working on my present for months now, you are not leaving without it.”

You didn’t think that your smile could get any wider.

Part 1

© Copyright 2021. hyuckssunchip. All rights reserved.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 14 - ao3 -

If Lan Qiren hadn’t had any idea on what to do with Cangse Sanren to begin with, he had even less of an idea of what to do when he received a letter from his sworn brother which, after some deciphering of the small talk and insincerely meant pleasantries that could just as easily be read as implicit threats, seemed to boil down to so I hear you have a lover now? and also come to the Nightless City at once.

I do not have a lover, Lan Qiren wrote back crossly. You should send whatever spies you have packing because they are clearly completely useless to you. Also, I have classes that I have no intention of missing. If you want company, recall that you have a wife.

That won him a few weeks of blissful silence, possibly due to Wen Ruohan’s shock but more likely due to Lan Qiren having spitefully chosen to send his reply by usual post rather than by special post, which was more expensive and also generally reserved for important sect matters and not for obvious fishing attempts for gossip about the personal lives of juniors.

Which Wen Ruohan should be above, anyway. What did it matter to him?

The response, not long after that, went something along the lines of so what you’re saying is that you haven’t won the immortal mountain’s disciple yet? if you come to Qishan, I can advise you and that irritated Lan Qiren most of all, because right up until that point he hadn’t known that Cangse Sanren was a disciple of the famous Baoshan Sanren, the best-known immortal still in contact with the mortal world.

Mostly because Cangse Sanren hadn’t ever bothered to introduce herself.

It bothered him, a little. More than a little. She knew how much he valued people acting according to the rules; even if she didn’t care for them, shouldn’t she respect his inclination?

(It turned out that she didn’t introduce herself because she didn’t have a proper name, just the title that everyone used for her. Baoshan Sanren let everyone keep the name they came to the mountain with, but Cangse Sanren had come too young for any name at all, and so she’d never gotten one in all the suspiciously unspecified years she had spent on the timeless mountain. It was a pretty good reason not to introduce yourself, as such things went, and it also belatedly explained why she took offense to people calling anyone old.)

I am not trying to win anyone, he wrote back to Wen Ruohan. And even if I was, which I am not, I would still have classes and am not currently at liberty to travel. Has there been some sort of terrible tragedy such that your Wen sect is so desperate for additional people in the Nightless City?

You are not just any person but my sworn brother, Wen Ruohan responded. Am I not entitled to see you? Maybe I want to see this beard you’re reputedly growing.

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and threw the letter into the box he was keeping all the others. He was trying to grow a beard, as it happened, though being a newly-turned eighteen it was a slow and frustrating process. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked the itchy feeling of it growing, either, but stroking his chin as if in thought was nearly as cathartic as waving his hands, only more socially acceptable; he liked that part very much.

He’d always had a tendency towards strange motions – moving his hands or arms, tapping on things, or rocking back and forth when he was especially distressed – but his brother had always hated it especially, always quoting Do not move arbitrarily at him even though he knew that that wasn’t the fundamental meaning of that rule. That wouldn’t have been so much of an issue, except most other people seemed to agree with him, citing the importance of acting in a dignified and restrained manner, limiting unnecessary movement and remaining still and calm as a placid pool of water no matter what the circumstance.

The beard was an acceptable compromise. Given how common beards were in the sect, it would be hard to criticize Lan Qiren without accidentally insulting an elder – and it felt so good to be able to move freely, the action serving as an aid for emotional regulation that he desperately needed.

Of course, Cangse Sanren thought it was ugly.

Lan Qiren didn’t agree, but he also didn’t think it was any of her business what he did with his face. Even if it was ugly, so what? He wasn’t particularly egotistical.

Accordingly, he thanked her stiffly for her opinion and then proceeded to ignore it.

Apparently, that didn’t sit well with her, a fact Lan Qiren only discovered when he woke up one day, groggy and unclear as to what had happened the night before, to find himself shaven clean and Cangse Sanren beaming at him from within his own room, to which he had never invited her.

He did not react well.

Stories of your shouting have reached even Qishan, Wen Ruohan’s next letter said. Was what your little lover did really so bad? I hadn’t known you were so sensitive. It’s not as if it won’t grow back.

This is your fault, Lan Qiren wrote back, irrational and upset, his calligraphy rough from the way his hand shook – though whether in rage or something else he couldn’t quite tell. I don’t want to hear from you.

Truly his reaction had been out of proportion with Cangse Sanren’s offense. Shaving a beard, especially a half-grown thing like that, was little more than a childish prank, even if it had taken him several months to get as far as he had; in the end, it was really only a blow to his vanity, and perhaps the loss of a convenient emotional crutch.

And yet, when he’d woken up and seen her there where she wasn’t welcome – when he’d realized that he couldn’t remember the evening before, just the way he couldn’t remember what had happened in the Nightless City that day, waking up to Wen Ruohan smiling at him and an oath he didn’t know nor want – when he’d tasted the sour taste of day-old liquor on his tongue –

He’d panicked.

She’d realized it, he thought in retrospect; the ever-present smile had slowly dripped off her mouth as he stared at her blankly for the first few moments, frozen, and had morphed into an expression of shock when he had broken through his paralysis to start screaming at her to go, get out, leave – he’d even picked up some of his own things to throw at her, just to make her leave faster.

He continued smashing his things after she’d gone, unthinking in his frenzy and unsure why he was so upset, and in the end when clarity had returned and he realized what he’d done he’d been so ashamed that he’d grabbed his guqin and slunk away, retreating to the rooms where the Lan sect entered into seclusion. He couldn’t go into real seclusion with so little preparation, of course, but he was practiced enough at inedia that he could skip meals for a few days and not need to see the world for at least a week.

Part of the feeling of shame was that he didn’t know why he had reacted so badly. Wasn’t it normal for peers his age to play that sort of trick on each other? It hadn’t been meant as a real insult.

He had no right to feel so betrayed.

And yet, he did.

Cangse Sanren had visited later that day, her hand tapping lightly on the door bound by wards and her normally brash voice murmuring explanations and not-quite apologies – saying that she hadn’t realized what it had meant to him, that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known, asking if he wouldn’t come out to talk to her about it and let her apologize properly.

He ignored her.

He ignored her the next day and the day after, too. His hands were unsteady when he tried to play calming songs for himself, his music tangled and knotted up like the feelings in his chest.

On the fourth day, she came and sat by his door in the evening, late and near to curfew.

“I didn’t know, you know,” she finally said after sitting there for nearly a shichen. “About what happened to you in the Nightless City.”

His hands froze over the guqin.

“Drinking liquor comes as easily to me as breathing,” she continued. “No one’s ever been able to play a trick on me because I got drunk – it’s everyone else who falls over in the end, not me. Maybe what why, when someone told me how badly your family handles its liquor, I thought only of how funny it would be…and not how it would feel, waking up and realizing that you didn’t know what happened. What someone could have done to you.” She was silent for a moment. “What I did do.”

Lan Qiren shut his eyes tightly.

Yes, he thought to himself. She was right. That was why he was so upset.

It wasn’t about the beard at all.

“An oath made when you didn’t know it doesn’t count, you know.”

He laughed harshly, the sound catching in his throat like thick mud. “It does,” he said, and his voice was hoarse from the lack of speech. “Of course it counts. It’s my honor, in the end…anyway, there’s no reason for me to lose my head over it. Sect Leader Wen’s powerful and influential; there are those who would cut off their right hands for a connection with him, much less an oath of brotherhood.”

He wasn’t even all that angry at Wen Ruohan for doing it, either, not really. There wasn’t much point – his few experiences with the other man so far showed that that was just what he was like, always taking instead of asking, and scheming was as innate to inter-sect politics as fighting. Might as well be angry at his grandfather for the ancestral weakness to liquor in the Lan lineage.

It had only been the shock of Cangse Sanren’s unexpected actions that had made it feel like a knife stabbed into his back, a scabbed-over wound suddenly ripped open again.

“You didn’t trust him,” Cangse Sanren pointed out. “You trusted me. And I scared you.”

Perhaps that was true.

“You’re still you, you know. Even while drunk.” She chuckled. “You talk more, care less what people think of you; you’re a little more willing to stand up for yourself, a little more bitter, a little less consciously kind. You told me all about music, something that went over my head, then went to sleep in just the right and proper way, albeit right on the floor. I had to wait until you were asleep to shave you.”

That was a relief to hear. Lan Qiren hated the idea of being so vulnerable.

Although – perhaps he wasn’t. According to Lao Nie, he’d apparently kneed Wen Ruohan in the balls that night for bothering him with nonsense or possibly for trying to leave before he finished explaining something, sometime either before or after their oath.

(After, he assumed. If it had been before, it seemed more likely that he would’ve ended up dead.)

“Anyway, I wouldn’t have done anything serious,” she added. “You wouldn’t have woken up married or anything.”

“It’s not you,” he assured her hastily, alarmed by the thought. “I didn’t mean to imply anything about your character, which I know is good; I know you wouldn’t have done anything like that. It’s only – you don’t always know what people think is enough, coming from the immortal mountain as you do. If someone really wanted to push the issue, or if you didn’t have the background you did, just you being in my room unattended might’ve served as an excuse. And then where would we be?”

She was silent for a while.

“You really don’t want to be married to me,” she finally said. “You’re not playing games or anything; you really don’t.”

Lan Qiren felt something lurch in his chest.

“No,” he said, painfully honest. “Did – did you?”

“Maybe a little,” she said, and Lan Qiren winced. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him, not even when others had suggested it.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was warm. “Don’t worry about me, Qiren; I’ll get over it soon enough. There’s no pain I won’t forget a day later, never learning anything, it’s just the way I am.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. “…can I ask why?”

“Why you, you mean?” He could hear her shrugging through the door, the fabric of her clothing rustling against the wall she was leaning against. “You care about things, deeply and truly. Rules, honor, the right path…I like the way you think, the way you care. You have a good heart and a good brain. Why not you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and felt rather a wretch over the whole thing. “I didn’t mean to…to…”

She laughed. “You didn’t lead me on, Qiren! You only ever treated me as a friend, and I was, I think. Maybe still am?”

“You are,” he said, and looked down as his guqin, then sighed, picking it up and going to the door. There was no point in pretending to be in seclusion now that the knot in his heart had loosened, and he was starting to get hungry. “Come on, let’s go. I feel a need to graze on the kitchen’s leftover vegetables, as if I were a wild rabbit.”

She beamed up at him, round face shining like the moon.

The next day, after he finished doing penance for missing classes without advance notice – two dozen strikes, but no more – Lan Qiren went down the mountain and purchased some tea said to have especially strong stimulant properties, and gave it to Cangse Sanren.

She blinked at it, then looked at him.

“If you brew this in the morning, you won’t be so tired all the time,” he told her, and shrugged. “Since we’re friends and all.”

He didn’t have that many friends – so few as to not even have recognized her as being one. He was determined to cherish them.

She smiled.

The next day after that, there was surprising news in the Cloud Recesses, the gossip reaching the classroom faster than the messenger sent there specifically for that purpose.

Wen Ruohan had come to pay a visit.

[dearest-kibble]

Can I request headcanons for yandere Bakugou, Todoroki and Deku where they have been leaving their darlings voicemails proclaiming their love and whatnot and seeing as they're not reacting badly to it, their darling must be happy. Turns out they haven't heard any of it because they don't know how to access their voicemail

Oh gosh oh gosh I love this concept??? Thank you for requesting! 

Okay so,,, these get a little unhinged real quick because i am in a mood so!

Tw: Dacryphilia, degradation, stalking, yandere relationships, unhealthy relationships,  (Maybe?? just in case,,,) dumbification, lots of cussing (Thanks katsuki.) They’re all pretty abusive,,, Midoriya’s gets a little n/sfw-ish? Like just motions of moans but,, to be safe also panty stealing. I love these boys so much so i’ll make them terrible,,, as a treat.

All of these characters are third years!

So here now, we have a temperamental one.

And no, it’s not Katsuki.

It’s Shoto.

Half cold, half hot.

He’s easy to anger. If you say the wrong thing, well you’re in for it.

But, he likes you.

You’re always smiling at him.

He knows that you smile at others but there has to be something to smiling at him, right?

People tell him he’s handsome, they tell him he looks good. Women ask for his number.

So you smile at him because you like him.

So he’ll dote on you a little.

He has your number. He paid someone for it.

And he’s been leaving you just about the nicest things he could.

He loves talking to you, even if he doesn’t quite feel comfortable talking to you face to face.

And he just loves telling you how sweet you look for him. How cute your voice sounds and how he just loves you.

“I’ll make sure to marry you one day. You’ll have anything you want.”

“You looked so sweet in that outfit today, once we’re married, I’ll get you something like it. Would you like that? I’ll make sure you have the nicest clothing for when you walk down the isle, goodbye.”

“Your voice is stuck in my head, I can’t wait until I can hear your voice all day in our house together. Goodbye, I can’t wait to see you.”

“When we have a child, you’ll be a wonderful parent. I love you, goodbye.”

“You’ll marry me, right? Goodbye darling, say yes.”

And well, Shoto wasn’t being told to stop, but you weren’t talking to him.

At all.

And so, he tries to ask you about it after class, in the dorms when you two are in the common room.

Luckily for Shoto, you’re the only one there.

You send him a quick smile as you see him sitting in the corner, before you return to stretching.

It makes his heart stop - just for a few seconds - before hastily standing up and walking towards you.  

“Why haven’t you said yes?” He’s got that intense sound in his voice, like it’s as important as finding a villain.

“Yes to what?” You’re still stretching as you look up into his eyes.

It’s clear to him that you don’t have a clue. And really, that shouldn’t make him angry. It’s irrational to think that you’ve been deliberately ignoring him. But who doesn’t check their voicemail?

“The messages I’ve left you, why haven’t you responded to any of them, don’t you love me?” Shoto feels as calm as ever.

You’ve stopped stretching. Expression blank as you attempt to process whatever is going through your head.

“Of course I love you!” And your smile is back. Shoto nods, of course you love him, he can give you whatever you nee- “You’re one of my friends!”

Oh.

“Oh.” Ice begins to melt beneath his flesh

“I don’t know what messages you’re talking about though, did you ask Sero for my number? Class notes, right?”

You can’t not know how to check your voicemail. No one is that stupid.

“The messages I left you. You must’ve checked them.”

“I’m uhh..” You laugh a little. Normally it’d make him blush. “I don’t know how to check them. Sorry Todo...”

“You know exactly what I am talking about.” The look you give him is nothing but confused.

“I... don’t, could you explain it to me?”

“You wouldn't need this explanation if you just talked to me.”

“Sorry Todoroki, I didn’t know you wanted to talk.” You’re a good actor, because there's no way you didn’t know he wanted to talk to you, to marry you.

“I’ll show you.” He grabs you hand and yank you off the ground. “Give me your phone.”

“Wha-” You shiver.

“Your phone. Give it to me.” You hand it over without hesitation. “Good.”

It doesn’t take long for him to find the messages he left. 

“How do you know my password?” He ignores your question.

He opens the most recent message he left. Just this morning.

“Good morning. I want you to know, that our marriage won’t be a quirk marriage. I can’t wait to see what you’ll look like in the dress i have picked out, I love you. Goodbye.” 

“Todo-” 

“Shoto. I’m going to be your husband.” 

“I- give me some time to process-”

“You have had plenty of time to process. So you must’ve been ignoring me.”

“I haven’t!” It’s adorable how desperately you try to lie. You’re quite good at it. 

“Be quiet.” His voice is devoid of emotion. “You can’t go around ignoring your future husband like that. Now we’re going to have a nice, long chat about this in my room.

“But Todoro-”

“You will call me Shoto.” He sends a flare of ice up your arm.

“Shoto! You’re name is Shoto and I-” Your free hand scratches desperately at the ice. 

“Desperately trying to get me to remove the ice.” He gives you a cold smile. “Once you really learn your lesson, that won’t happen again. Got it?”

You nod. Tears dripping down your cheeks. 

“You wouldn’t be crying if you didn’t ignore me.” He pets your hair. “Now, I’m more than a friend to you, right love?”

“Of course Shoto! I love you more tha-”

“Then smile like you do.” You look like you’re helpless with those tears in your eyes though. 

You try, you really do but this is where your acting prowess stops. It’s not a cute, sweet thing like normal. No, it’s ugly and contorted.

“Try again.” Practice makes perfect. “That isn’t what I asked for.”

You wipe your tears with your free hand. He should’ve frozen them both. You’d have to learn to rely on Shoto sooner or later. You take a deep breathe and fix your face into that adorable little smile you gave Shoto.

“Was that so hard?” He brings a chilled hand to your face to wipe away a tear that had gotten away from you. “Come, we’ll talk in my room. Once your arm melts, we’ll see if you’ve learned your lesson.” 

Katsuki only has your number for study sessions, he swears.

Your friends don’t believe it no matter how loud he yells.

Probably for good reason.

You’re not doing nearly as poor as Kirishima in terms of grades, and you weren’t a bad note taker either. So the fact that Bakugou still invited you to study and the fact that he seemed a little extra harsh on you?

Your friends find it a little strange.

But Bakugou also calls Kirashima “Shitty Hair” so it’s not really out of character for him to tell you how much of a dumbs you are for getting from point A to B in a different way than normal. 

Hell, Bakugou does it the way too.

He tells you it’s because you’re “A shitty extra who’s just trying to be better than me!”

Which, to be fair, checks out with how he treats the rest of the class.

So he’s fine.

Your friends are just a little paranoid that’s all.

And he can understand that. After all, who wouldn’t want to protect you?

He even leaves you little messages. He thinks they speak for themself.

“You got bruised today when you were trying that shitty new move of yours. Be more god-damn carful next time!”

“Hey. Why aren’t you at our study sessions? Shitty Hair isn’t as stupid as you and he actually understands the material. I’m stuck here for another damn hour if you don’t- Oi! Pick up the fucking phone you shit head!”

“Fuck, I went a little far with the last message. I saw your new cut. Did you get it from a shitty piece of paper? You’re a fucked up excuse for a hero if you got beat by a piece of paper. Don’t worry doll, once I’m with you, I’ll kiss it all better.”

He leaves countless messages a day. 

You haven’t even thought about them he bets.

Your brain might as well be a cows, you’re so fucking stupid. 

“Oi! Cow brain! Talk to me.” He doesn’t dare drag you over. You’re still delicate even if you have the mental capacity of a shrew.

“One second Bakugou, I’m going to talk to Mr. Aizawa about mastering my quirk.”

You haven’t even figured out how to master your quirk? So fucking useless. But he waits for about fifteen minutes outside the door. 

“We need to have a study session.”

“Why? I’m doing pretty well, aren’t I?”

“Not with that stupid burn mark you got from sparring with the laser extra!”

“Aoyama?”

“Fuckin Aoyama.” Little blond bitch is trying to hurt you. 

“I’m fine Bakugou, i’m going to be a hero I should get used to a few cuts and burns, with the villain climate,”

“The fucks a villain climate?” You don’t even know that climate is used for weather. You really are a stupid pig. Someone needs to save your bacon, huh?

“The way villains are at the-” Damn your eyes look like a deers’

“I know what a villain climate is!”

“So, you pulled me aside to study, right?”

“At least you remember that.” Any smart person would’ve figured out that was a lie though. “But you’re a fucking idiot for thinking that was the case. You’ve been getting my notes, you know how fuckin worried I am about you getting hurt.”

“You worry about me getting hurt?” Your mind really did move like molasses. 

“Pretty fuckin slow on the uptake there sweetheart.” 

“You’ve been sending me messages?” Oh fuck. You’re even dumber than a cow. 

“Are you completely braindead? I’ve been calling you a dumbass for months,” 

“I don’t know how to open my voicemail, not my fault technology is confusing baku-”

“No one is that fucking dumb!” 

“Bakugou, you’re yelling.”

“No Shit?! I wouldn’t need to be if you actually understood anything that I’m telling you! It’s not that fucking hard to understand you just open your damn phone, and click on those stupid ass red icons on the phone app.” If you weren’t so delicate and in need of keeping safe, he’d punch you.

“Oh uhh- Bakugou? Did you mean to play these?”

“Fuck no I didn't.” Maybe he’s a little obvious. But not so obvious that you’d pick up on it.

“I uhh really think I love you? Maybe it’s cause you're such a fucking dumbs that I can’t stand that you get hurt. It’s painful to see. Shit. I hate that I love you. Just die already.” Katsuki in the phone sounds like he’s gone soft. Can’t have that.

“Bakugou, it isn’t very heroic to tell someone to go d-”

“That’s the thing your shitty mind picks up on?” You’re such a cute little doll. “I just told you that I loved yo-”

“Even more of a reason to report you. Two pro heroes shouldn’t have a relationship, it’s unprofessional.”

“Your stupid ass really thinks you’re gonna be a hero? You can’t even go a round with Aoyama without getting a burn. Nah baby, you’re gonna be at home, well protected and away so that you don’t have a chance to fuck something up.”

“I’m going to be a hero Bakugou.”

“I tell you that I’m gonna keep you at home, away from everything and everyone and you’re concerned with being a hero? Dumb as hell.” 

“Bakugou, you seem to be especially mean to me-”

“Fuck it. You wanna get a shitty Lunch Rush meal?” Oh it’d be so easy to drug you up. You probably don’t even think about people who might drug your food. You're just a stupid little doll.

Midoriya really likes stalking you, okay?

You’re cute, a real old family friend and really sweet too.

You were absolutely ecstatic when his mom held that dinner to celebrate his quirk’s manifestation.

He almost told you the truth about All For One.

Big developments should be shared with the people you love, right?

Course he never really got your number cause he’s a little bit shy, but.

You won’t mind if he finds it in your house, right?

He’s been there countless times before, so it’s not like this is anything big or new or a groundbreaking development. 

It’s just, he’s here at night now, and you’re asleep. And so are your parents. 

But he’s quiet, don’t worry! He’s not gonna wake anyone up. It’s a hero’s duty to make sure that others are okay, and that includes getting the proper amount of sleep!

So he makes his way around your house with a nervous shuffle. 

How can he be calm when you’re sleeping just mere rooms away? It’s very distracting with you on the bed, just splayed out for him to watch and look at while you dream. 

Sometimes you moan. 

He likes to think he caused that.

He’s a little disgusted to think it, but he’s a little pent up. All the time

And you just look so cute on top of that bed-

But he came here for a phone number, and he’s gonna get one. 

Besides, he’s going to be the number one hero, a symbol of peace! He can’t sully All-Might’s legacy with dirty thoughts!

So he finds your phone charging on a chest of drawers in your room. 

After a few seconds of watching you sleep.

And oh you look good in a tank top and shorts, eyes closed and-

He picks up your phone to distract himself.

You were really trusting, weren’t you? You didn’t even have a lock on your phone.  

He’d hug you if you wouldn’t wake up from his cold skin.

He’d do more than hug you-

Nope, not gonna think about that and Midoriya hates himself a little for looking through your drawer to find where you keep your panties. 

There a lot of pairs to choose from, colored, patterned, laced... So many, pretty kinds of panties.

He settles for a pure, white pair. It’s plain. You won’t miss it.

After he pockets the guilt-inducing panties, he once again sets his sight on your phone.

Once again, he opens it, tries to find where you’ve put your contact information, and quickly duplicates it for his own device,

“Goodnight Bunny! Sleep well!” Oh what he wouldn’t give to kiss you goodnight.

After that, he decides to send you a few messages. They’re quick, innocent, sweet. He almost recorded himself cumming in your panties.

That morning, he wakes up bright and early, with even more energy than normal. He send you a good morning message, and moves on to stretch before class. 

He isn’t late but the only notes he can take in classes are those about your sleeping habits.

You snore, you like to sleep on your left side rather than your right, meaning Midoriya is the little spoon, and you like to sleep in tank tops which means Midoriya has to start wearing them.

When lunch rolls around, before Midoriya meets with Iida and Ururaka he sends you a quick update.

He should probably return your panties,

After he washes them, of course. 

He returns that night to your house with a notebook he’s decided to dedicate to you and your shared love story.

He checks your phone again and debates playing the recordings back to you in your sleep, or waiting for you to find his sweet surprise.

You’ve always likes surprises, you’d love one from him!

He looks at your panty drawer again.

It takes most of his willpower not to take another pair.

“Goodnight! Sleep well bunny!”

He makes a swift exit and leaves another message.

He repeats the process for several days and maybe it’s his imagination, but you sleep with a smile on your face now!

He wonders if it’s the returned panties that did it, or his messages.  

Sunday is date night for your parents, and it’s U.A’s day off. It’s like the stars have aligned themselves for Izuku Midoriya and your love.

He’s going to ask if you like his messages and if you’d like him to start texting you.

After five days of sneaking in the night, finally Izuku can knock on your door and see the light shining on your perfect face.

He knocks on the door, dressed in casual clothes. 

You answer in an All-Might hoodie and Izuku imagines it’s his All-Might hoodie.

“Oh! Hey Midoriya! Parents are out now, would you like to come in?”

“Oh uh! Yes please!” Even if he’d imagined this playing out so much, he can’t help the nervous tick of his hands. He’s so so close to you.

The door stays open until Izuku walks through, It’s nice to come in the front, and not a window.

You begin leading him towards the kitchen, hang a left out of the foyer. 

“I just started some chicken nuggets, hopefully I made enough for you,” You spin around suddenly. “I don’t know why, but I don’t think I have your number.”

That means you haven’t listened to any of his messages then? Izuku’s smile drops.

“Oh it’s nothing personal, I just never thought of giving it to you before, agues i should’ve considering how long we’ve known each other. I didn’t mean to make you look so sad Doriya, here its...”

Would he have to show you his messages? Would he have to make you see how much he loved you?

But that... sounded so violent! So villainous. It wouldn’t be right.

“Hey..” You put a hand on his shoulder. It fits perfectly. “You got that Doriya?”

“Yes!” His smile isn’t hard to regain with your hand so warm on him.

“Nuggets are done too! How many you want?”

“Oh, I’m actually, not- that hungry.”

“Any reason?”

“In my-” What did should he  — that’s got to work. “In my most recent work-study, there’s this case where someone is leaving voicemails to their targets,” But that makes him sound more villainous  than he wanted to.

“Oh shit really?” You look very cute with your wide eyes. 

“Uhm, yes?” It’s a terrible lie and anyone could pick it up if they weren’t so good and kind and trusting - and oh no.

It just had to make him sound like a villain.

“I’ve been getting some voicemails recently, and if it’s evidence or anything, do you need to take a look?”

“No,” He can feel the sweat dripping from his face. “It’s ah, fine?”

“Midoriya, if I have evidence and I don’t bring it in, wouldn’t that make me an accomplice?”

“Technically-” But if you knew they were from him why would you think they were an accomplice- you thought he didn’t have your number. 

You hadn’t heard those messages.

“Do you know is it’s evidence?”

“Well I can’t actually open m voicemail but if it’s anything, you can teach me, right?

“Of course!” He offers a hand to take the phone. “You just -” He taps a few things, “There!”

And you two listen to them. Izuku has such a big smile on his face.

“Good morning! I hope you feel great today! I’m going to do the best i can today, and i know you will too! I love you!”

“I’m about to at lunch, i wonder what you’re having. Maybe one day, we can cook together? Love you, have a nice meal!” 

“I’m about to get ready to come see you tonight, if you want to, stay up! I want to kiss you goodnight! Love you Bunny!”

“What is this?”

“I’m a little embarrassed, but it’s like the voicemails said! I love you, morning noon and night!”

“Midoriya, have you — oh god is that where my panties went?” The anger in your voice hurts him. “Get out.”

“Bunny I-”

“Get out of my house Midoriya. Before I call a real hero.”

“I love you!” 

“You don’t love me, you like my panties and an idea you’ve cultivated because we were never really that close.”

“I’ve known you since i was-”

“Yes, you have, but it’s our parents who are friends - not us. If we were friends, by now I’d call you Izuku.” And like that the notebook of his brain that’s pages were being torn out and stomped on were being sewn back in by a practiced hand.

“You can call me Izuku, if you want.”

“Midoriya, i’m telling you, get out and I won’t report you. You could get your license revoked. You don’t want that.”

“But-”

“Leave.” The way you stood your ground was very admirable. 

He makes a mental note, you are trusting, sweet, kind and headstrong. 

He can work with those. 

He’s suddenly glad he only returned one pair of panties.

He’ll get to visit you again real soon.

-- 

HOLY SHIT DID THAT TAKE FOREVER TO GET Through. I rewrote Shoto’s part five time but im pretty happy with it. Overall I think Bakuboi’s is the best.,., and Izuku,,, my poor deku,,, yours is.... interesting. Anyway thank you for the patience of the requester! And for also requesting these three lovely lads. Oh boy,,, time for some smut coming up... 

[yandere-daydreams]

Bnha yandere shoto with darling that's has autophobia ( fear of being alone, unloved, unwanted, ect...)? They don't care that they been kidnapped just please don't leave them alone.

It’s nice to get back to writing with a Darling that’s just as needy as their Yandere, or… almost as needy, at least. Shoto makes for steep competition, even if he seems apathetic, more often than not.

Title: Monophobia.

TW: Emotional Abuse, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, and Mentions of Injury.

~

“I thought I told you not to wait for me.”

He hadn’t, technically. Shoto had told you to keep yourself occupied while he was gone, to cook and clean and do whatever passed the most time, to stop locking yourself in your closet whenever you heard footsteps from outside his apartment, but he’d never specifically told you not to wait, or, not sit by the front door and hug your knees to your chest, your back pressed against the threshold and your mind preoccupied with every villain Shoto had ever fought, everyone that could have a vendetta against him or a price on his head or a death-wish prevalent enough to purposefully take on one of the top heroes and knew where to find him. And, as your thoughts wandered, everyone who knew where to find you.

Everyone who might want to do something unadmirable with that special piece of information.

You couldn’t tell Shoto that, though. Instead, you swallowed your dread, trying to focus on the image in front of you. On the front door, locked and secured, and your loving, capable boyfriend - the man who’d promised to never let anything or anyone hurt you and who’d sooner chew off his own hands than lay a finger on you. The man you trusted. The man you had to trust. “I was worried,” You explained, your eyes flickering noncommittally from your knees to the living room, where Shoto was still struggling off his jacket, a wallet and a facemask already thrown to the side. “You were late. I couldn’t call you, and I was… I was worried. How would you feel if I didn’t come home?”

At that, he frowned, but you’d been around him long enough to tell he was more upset by the fact that you’d asked than the thought of you being an hour or two behind schedule. No, if you’d walked through that door without a call or an apology or plea for his forgiveness, he wouldn’t have been displeased or concerned or disappointed, he would’ve been furious. He’d always been furious. He was still furious, sometimes, when you forgot about one of the terms of your new relationship. 

He turned towards you, but he didn’t step forward. No, you’d have to close the distance yourself, if you wanted him to put in that kind of effort. “There are emergencies. Things come up and I’m the one who has to find a way to fix them.” It was a hypothetical excuse. There could’ve been an emergency, but he wasn’t saying there was. You doubted you’d get a straight answer out of him, not when he was feeling so aloof. “Do you have a problem with that?”

You did. You were left alone, and he was the one to blame. He’d abandon you, leaving you defenseless and exposed with only your own weak quirk and four thin walls to protect yourself, and if something happened, your blood would be on his hands. It was an irrational fear, fueled by implausible scenarios and the knowledge that you had so many enemies and so few allies, but your paranoia clung to the idea like a security blanket, like a lifeline. Like it was the only thing you needed, more precious than food or water or freedom could ever be.

But, you couldn’t say that. You couldn’t make your mouth form the words, even if you wanted to. Instead, you glared at Shoto. “You promised to take me to your agency, today. You said you wouldn’t leave without me.”

“It’s too risky,” He replied, automatically, stepping towards you. His scowl softened ever so slightly. That, or you were just being hopeful. “Sweetheart, if someone recognizes you, I’ll get into a lot of trouble. You know that. You’ll be taken away from me. Is that what you want?”

He was trying to guilt you into submission. That was always his first tactic, when you were being stubborn. You pursed your lips, telling yourself his anxieties were just as unreasonable as your own. “You promised. You told me that is I behaved, you’d--”

“I told you I’d take care of you.” Another step, another injection of artificial sympathy into his veins. The way he spoke was forceful, but it was compassionate, too, brimming with the manufactured tenderness he constantly saw fit to gift you with. “That comes first, your safety always comes first. I’m not going to hurt you, but I don’t know about everyone out there. I can’t be sure about them, I can’t trust them. You’re smart, (Y/n), you can see why. You know how dangerous the world can be, if I let it get to you.”

You pulled your legs into your chest, but you refused to give him what he wanted. The slightest hint of something vague and ominous wouldn’t make you surrender, not when you weren’t the one in the wrong. “Still,” You persisted, taking on enough venom to balance out his sweetness. “You can’t just lie to me, Todoroki, it’s not fair. I can’t stay shut up inside this apartment for the rest of my life, and you can’t act like I can--”

“It’s like you want to get hurt.” If he was annoyed before, he was frustrated now, the words spat through grit teeth, his hands curling into fists at his sides. For a moment, his anger was visible, vivid, but with a deep breath and a slow blink, he kneeled in front of you, regaining his composure with a practiced display. He didn’t touch you, but you wished he would. You wanted comfort, you wanted reassurance, but Shoto rarely cared about what you wanted. “So many things could go wrong, too many things. What if I have to leave you alone? What if I get called out for something only I can handle or lose track of you? What happens when you get lost or panic or try to run, and someone sees a vulnerable, scared civilian that doesn’t know better than to trust the first person who offers them help? What if I’m not there and some awful, manipulative villain comes after you just because they want to get to me? What if you get hurt because I’m not there to save you?”

You knew what he was doing. If anyone knew how much you needed Shoto, it was him, and he was using your own dread, your own fear, your own dependency against you, and he was doing it with a gentle tone and a kind expression and the type of distant, selfless, protective phrases he knew you wanted to hear. He was being cruel. He was cruel, and you knew that. You could see that. You weren’t naive enough to believe he was actually doing this for you.

And yet, you wanted to. More than you’d ever wanted anything else.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out, any denial on your tongue replaced with a breathy, raspy sob, half choked and utterly desperate, as pitiful as it was pathetic. You didn’t bother wiping away the tears beginning to flow over your cheeks, only shutting your eyes and reaching out with both arms, blindly finding Shoto’s shoulders and pulling him close, as close as he could be. With only the slightest hesitation, Shoto gave in, drawing you into his chest and lifting you out of the doorway, letting you wrap yourself around him so tightly, you could convince yourself you’d never have to let go. That he’d never let go. That he couldn’t let go, because he loved you and needed you and wanted you, as badly as you wanted him.

So badly, you could almost ignore the small, careless smile pressing into your neck as Shoto cooed soft nothings, playing the role of caretaker so well, both of you almost believed it.

Almost.

[narrators-journal]

Months of tolerance

So, I was looking back at my ranpoe valentines story and I got an idea. Why not write a little collection? A little trio or so of Valentines-themed sort of ship stories?

And so, I wrote a second one for Shin-soukoku! Though, please be forgiving, I’m not a super big fan of Atsushi, so I don’t have a lot of ideas and experience on how he works and behaves, so I kinda took inspiration from the rp me and my friend did for BSD and their sort of rendition of Atsushi mixed with canon.

Atsushi had never really experienced Valentines day or White day, so when Dazai offered to take him out on one of his days off and introduce him to the basics of the event he accepted it. He was quick to find it to be a bit depressing.            “Dazai, I don't think I have any real...reason to be here," The tiger sighed, putting down one of the little Valentines bears he'd been looking at in the shop and looking over at the bandage-clad brunette that was to be his mentor in the ADA. The rail of a man just pouted at him,            "Nonsense, Atsushi! You're learning about romance," he assured, giving the white-haired man a sweet smile, which made Atsushi grimace,            "Yeah, but this holiday is obviously for couples, and I don't have any romantic partner of any sort," He pointed out, a stone of loneliness settling in the bottom of his stomach as he spoke, but his mentor simply snorted as if that point was moot.            "Sushi, you don't need a romantic partner to celebrate Valentines day, you can just as easily get gifts for friends. After all, I don't have a partner but I'm gonna get a gift for someone." He assured, and while the tiger was still a bit unsure, he just nodded.

After that, he just went back to milling around up and down the aisle as he poked at the little toys, knick knacks, or sweets scattered about until Dazai clapped his hands together in an idea,          "Atsushi! I have an idea for what you can do on Valentines day!" he chirped, bouncing on his feet in some childish, giddy high, "Why not get a gift for Ryuunosuke!" The tiger blinked and scowled at the idea,          "Why the hell would I do that? I don't have any sort of feelings for him," he about spat, almost feeling his lip curl in a snarl at the mere mention of the wheezing, gothic, Dazai fanboy. However, the brunette simply rolled his eyes at his venom,          "There is a very common phrase, 'kill your enemies with kindness', you ever hear it?" before the weretiger could answer, he continued, "Akutagawa doesn't like you. At all. Hates your guts. But! If you get him a gift, maybe be as friendly as you can be, you can get him to warm up to you!" the weretiger's scowl only deepened, which made his mentor huff and drop the excited, bubbly tone, "If you get him to like you, you won't have to spend quite as much on shirts every week." Atsushi ended up buying a cheap little gift for the goth. However, that now left him with a question. How was he to get the cheap plush cat to Akutagawa? He'd been pondering the question all through out the three days that led up to Valentines day, going back and forth on whether or not he should even bother with Dazai's stupid idea. Is it really worth risking getting stabbed again? Just to give this cheap little thing to a bastard like Akutagawa? He thought bitterly, though his cheeks burned a slight pink while he glared down at the floppy little beanie baby cat that was sprawled out on his meager little coffee table, staring up at the tiger with glassy amber eyes while he sat on his couch the evening before Valentines day. I'd sooner drink my own piss then give Akutagawa a Valentines gift. He told himself firmly, getting up from his couch and plucking the toy from the cheap table to get rid of it. To do this, he threw it out of his livingroom window into the darkness of the cold night and listened to it land in the dumpster across the street with a soft thud thanks to how hard he'd thrown it. And, with that, he shut his window with a decisive 'humph' and went to bed. Dazai was a smart man, but Atsushi was not going to have conflicting and confusing feelings plague him just to placate a violent asshole with a hateboner for him. An hour later, the tiger went out to the dumpster he'd heard the cat slam against and dug the poor thing out to be washed. Not that the weretiger had changed his mind or anything, he'd just spent money on the derpy little toy, he didn't want to waste it. Or, so he told himself. So, he instead returned it to his bedside table after washing it a few times, trying to see if he could somehow rub the new crack out of his amber eye while doing his best to get the dumpster stench out of its fur. If he really was going to 'kill Akutagawa with kindness' like Dazai said, the least he could do was make sure the gift didn't reek of three day old take out and dog vomit. When the next day came, he took the toy to work, then walked home with it draped over his arm after a day of dealing with petty couple squabbles that had turned nasty, or helping Ranpo to and from the smattering of robberies he'd been requested on. Y'know, this just proves why I should've kept this thing in the garbage, he fumed to himself, staring at the sidewalk ahead of him so he didn't see even more lovey-dovey couples for the day, If I gave this to Akutagawa somehow, all that would happen is I'd be a statistic. Nothing more. He hates me too much, it'd probably off- Atsushi's ill-tempered thoughts were cut short when he ran into someone else on the sidewalk, sending them both sprawling to the pavement.           "O-oh my god! I'm so sorry, are you hurt miss?!" The weretiger squeaked, hopping up to his feet at record speeds to offer a hand to the pretty lady in white. She had long black hair, and a familiar style of dress on, but it was her light, steel-colored eyes that finally got her face to click in the frazzled tiger's irrational mind.          "Oh!...Gin, right?" he asked as she took his hand and let him help her up while she nodded,          "Sorry, I didn't mean to run you over," she said, her voice as quiet as the first time he'd met her with Katai and Kunikida, but her words shot a nebulous sort of anxiety into his veins,         "Oh, no no no, it was my fault, I wasn't looking where I-I was going," he stammered, trying desperately to comfort her as he reached to dust her off, but then changed his mind half way, doing that would be super weird, so he instead tried to think up another way to make up for running into her. He felt awful for knocking her over, but had no clue what to do, so he just ended up putting a hand over his anxious heart and staying quiet. Gin, meanwhile, had spotted the saggy stuffed toy on the sidewalk,           "Um, is that yours?" She asked, picking it up and dusting the little thing off gently, snapping Atsushi out of his thoughts,          "What? Oh! Yeah, that's...actually, I bought it for...Akutagawa." he admitted, not knowing what else to say to explain why he had a stuffed cat. Gin blinked at him, raising an eyebrow,           "No offense, but why did you buy my brother a toy? Is it for Valentines day?" Atsushi gaped for a moment, for some reason his brain struggling to give even the simplest answer for a moment,          "I...D-Dazai suggested getting him a gift..." he muttered, his cheeks beginning to heat up as he spoke, which Gin seemed to notice, but she said nothing,          "Well, how about I deliver it to him? He likes cats, I'm sure he'd enjoy this one," she offered sweetly instead, and for a moment Atsushi could only stare at her while his cheeks undoubtedly glowed a healthy pink until he cleared his throat, get yourself together Atsushi! This is a fine way to get the damned gift to Akutagawa, then Dazai can get off your ass, he told himself, pushing down the weird flustered feeling in his chest,         "Um, t-that would be helpful," She nodded, smiling a bit at the toy cat. With that, she wished him well as the sky darkened from the yellow-purple gradient of Atsushi's eyes, to a dark, star-speckled blue, leaving the tiger to walk home and contemplate his day. For the next few days, the weretiger was on edge, just waiting for the wheezing goth to pop out from behind every corner ready to stab him. However, it never happened. Atsushi was expecting it, always at the ready to defend himself, but for the entire month he didn't even see his nemesis on jobs, let alone when he was walking home or too work. So, he began to relax. Maybe he really did enjoy the stuffed toy, he thought a month or so later on his walk home from the ADA. The thought brought an odd warm feeling to his chest, but he was swift to stomp the detested feeling back down into that part of himself he refused to acknowledge. He could accept his tiger, but he was not ready to face anything like that emotion. Then, something slammed into the side of his head. In an instant, Atsushi was knocked onto the sidewalk with his world swimming for a moment or two. In those moments, he laid there in a daze, forced to wait for his senses to return and the throbbing ache in his skull to die before he could finally stumble to his feet. When the pain stopped and he could bare to stand once again, the white-haired man looked around for what might've hit him in the head, but the only thing he found was a can of soda. A soda that, upon closer inspection, he found to be one of his favorites, which was weird enough, since usually his favorite soft drink doesn't fly at people's heads, but, no one was currently around to explain why an unopened, very dented can of his preferred soda was rolling around at his feet after knocking him on his ass like it had. He'd tried to look around, taking advantage of his improved night vision to try and spot anyone trying to hide from the blame for throwing it at him, but the street was currently sparse in other people in the area. However, after a moment of thinking, and examining the near-bursting can, it slowly dawned on the tiger who might've thrown it. Then, the date set in, bringing a stronger wave of hot embarrassment to his cheeks.           "Um?? T-thanks I guess?" he called out into the swiftly growing darkness, and then swiftly continued home, before the hiding goth caught sight of the way his cheeks tinged a small shade of pink or decided to come out to maul him for acknowledging him.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

heiress - 5

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

a/n: more parallels between wanda and reader plus hayward being a bitch to reader. also pierce did not die during the winter soldier events in this universe. at this point this is called wanda and y/n collectively grieving over her how shitty their lives are.

previous chapter

The young woman held a small gun in her left hand, shooting the target at least 10 metres away from her with a mechanical precision, switching it to her right hand and achieving the same type of perfection and precision not even senior agents had. Yet, there she was, one of the newest SWORD recruits. Many people had opposed for her to join SWORD straight after escaping from HYDRA and the Red Room; however, Tyler Hayward had forced for her to become a new recruit. “Having Alexander Pierce’s daughter in our team will be an asset” he said and it somehow convinced all of SWORDs panel to take her in. She had nowhere to go after all, the Red Room will be after her in no time and she had no way to defend herself alone and so SWORD was her only option. An option she thrived under, being much more advanced than any junior recruit yet it was a far cry from what she wanted. She didn’t want to be an agent but that’s what she was, what she had been trained to do.

The trainer slowly blinked walking up to her and giving her a congratulatory pat on the shoulder which everyone could sense was filled of jealousy. She was thrown to the back of the line with someone else who also inspired jealousy in most recruits. Monica Rambeau, daughter of Maria Rambeau, the current SWORD director. They had never spoken too much other than orientation day where they introduced each other by their agent number.

     - That was the coolest thing I’ve seen today. - she hide a childish smile as the next recruit started  his training. - I’m Monica. 

     - Y/N. - she smiled and shook her hand. - Is it always like this?

     - Most of time yeah. The trainers are dicks about it when you’re better than them. 

     - Men. - Y/N rolled her eyes, getting an understanding nod from Monica. 

     - Excuse me? - Tyler Hayward entered the trainee room, always dressed in a polished suit as if that would be of any worth in a fighting situation. - I’m sorry for disturbing but I need Ms. Y/N Pierce to accompany me. 

Y/N Pierce. She always hated that name, even more than her code name. The mere thought that she had that last name, the name of one of the leaders of SHIELD was almost like a cruel curse on her. Everyone seemed to think of him as this all around saint yet she knew better; after all, if he had no reservations about submitting his daughter as a project and asset then he would have no reservation in hurting anyone else. SWORD had done their best to keep her existence a secret, not really allowing the connection to pass through but she knew he was looking for her and if he wasn’t the Red Room and HYDRA definitely were. 

She shared a confused look with Monica before stepping towards Hayward who led her away from the room and into the hall. He didn’t stop to explain to her why she had been summoned, instead he just kept on walking and she took the lead to follow him, entering a blackened window filled hall. They stopped in front of a window which gave way into an autopsy scene. Y/N was used to seeing death, some would say she was born surrounding it; however, she was not prepared to see what was being shown to her. It was almost as if she were sleeping, her mother. Laid across the metal table with various doctors surrounding her, the HYDRA symbol branded onto her foot. She looked over to the side, hand over her mouth as she felt sick just to see it. 

    - Our intelligence believes HYDRA is trying to send a message and we don’t believe they won’t stop anytime soon.

    - Was it fast? Did she suffer?

    - Gunshot to the head. Quite merciful, really.

    - Why are you showing me this?

    - Well, HYDRA experimented on you but there is the possibility your “enhancements” might be genetic. 

    -  What is that supposed to mean? Why did you really brought me here, Hayward?

    - We need the next of kin’s permission to perform an autopsy and it seems that would be you, following your mother’s will.

    - No. - she stepped back. - You’re not gonna tear my mother apart for a stupid hypothesis. No. You don’t have my permission

    - We’re being kind enough to hide you from your father for no specific reason. You either accept it or we’ll be forced to hand you to SHIELD.

The night air was crisp and sharp as he sat on the swing next to hers. She hadn’t changed much other than her hair which was much longer but her face was still unblemished by the tragic unkindness of the world. After all it had been about 5 years since he last saw her and he hated the fact he had forgotten her. Somewhere, deep within himself he knew her mark was still there; he could still hear her voice in his dreams but he always chucked it to his mind crumbling under the pressure it had been under for so many years. Nevertheless, he had heard her voice plenty times, specially in Bucharest. It had haunted him from nights and nights on end; “Promise?” “Yes”, turns out it wasn’t someone he had killed but someone he had forgotten. Her of all people. It had come back all to him after that woman gave him the file. Her name alone, her lips telling him her name. He remember telling himself he would not forget him as they prepared him to go back in the blender and he did. He forgot about her but looking at her everything came back to him; the good and the bad. But the most of it was he remembered loving her, he still did, a feeling that had been dormant for a long while and suddenly awoke in him. Of course Bucky did not expect her to love him back, he didn’t blame her either. She was a good kid, too good even. 

     - Uhm ... are you enjoying it here? - she motioned her hands abstractly. - In the hex, I mean. 

     - It’s better than in hideouts with Sam and Sharon. - he chuckled dryly, looking up at the transparent yet red tinted dome. - I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Sam is great, despite everything and Sharon ... Sharon has helped me so much, I owe her that.

     - Oh ... - her heart dropped to her stomach as an ugly feeling took over her. Sure, Wanda would say it’s jealousy but she refused to admit it. 

     - What about you? I never really asked what you did after ... you know, IT. 

    - You can say the name. - she smiled at him yet it was voidless of any emotion, as if she were used to people tip toeing around the subject which they always did. - I became a junior recruit for SWORD until the blip then ... I was gone for a while but it didn’t hurt. It was almost like I was finally at peace and then I woke up and Hayward was director. He sent me and Monica to investigate the hex Wanda created, mostly to keep his own project a bay. Then we all ran off, got classified as fugitives. The rest is really not important. 

     - I don’t really think I need to tell you what I’ve been up to.

     - You don’t ... most of it it’s my fault, anyway. - she got up from the swing once she noticed a purple light a few miles away from the limits of the hex. The back of her eyes started growing instinctively white. Bucky got up as he recognised her fighting stance, a hand safely placed upon her shoulder. - Go grab Wanda.

     - Y/N ...

     - Go grab her, now. - she stood there watching the purple light almost call out for her. Bucky chose to do what she said, the white mist involving around her fingers as she stepped towards the hex, fingers barely touching the wall. 

Bucky rushed inside the building, hoping to reach Wanda before Y/N could do anything irrational. However, before he could find the newly named Scarlet Witch, she found him with one of her twins behind her waist. Her eyes were glowing red, almost similar to those Y/N had except those eyes looked desperate, worried even.

    - Where is she? - she asked him with an ice like directness. - Where is she, Barnes?

    - Outside. She told me to come get you.

Wanda rushed past him with a speed that he had never seen before and he only followed after her. The two stepped outside the building, towards the swing tree where Bucky had left Y/N, except, she wasn’t there anymore. No, he couldn’t lose her. Not again. Vision came after the two followed by Yelena and Monica who had been awakened by the twins; however, Wanda did not need their help. She approached the hex, just missing the purple glow as it entered the woods. Bucky tried to step up but Vision pushed him back. 

    - Y/N? - Wanda broke through the hex, shutting Bucky out as well as Vision. It was night time, dark and cold surrounded by the woods of the place they had chosen to hide from the world. Breaking dawn was so far away and even the tallest individual would’ve melted into the dark night. - Y/N!

   - Are we not going to help them? - Bucky questioned back inside the hex, probably the most awake apart from the synthezoid and the former Red Room graduate.

   - It’s a witch thing. - Yelena smirked before springing into action. - We should activate the hex’s protective system in case something happens.

   - What about them? - Bucky once again interrupted, not receiving particularly kind looks from Yelena.

   - They’ll be fine, Mr. Barnes.

Y/N on the other hand walked further into the confused and dark woods, holding her small trusted silver revolver which reflected the moon light onto its surface; yet most of the light came from behind her coloured eyes. She did not know exactly why they did that, it was almost as if they light up whenever she felt threatened. Whatever it was, it was there inside of her. She, of course, knew it was Agatha lingering around; however, she never got dangerously close to the hex. It was an unspoken truth between the witch and Wanda Maximoff yet there she was. 

     - God, dear, I thought I’d have to break into the hex to get to you. - Agatha showed up from the darkness, dressed in her typical black and purple palette as if she were royalty. - So, how are you deary? Still playing Queen Elsa? Is that fun for you?

     - You’re trespassing. 

     - Come on, is that how you thank me for giving you Bucky Barnes on a platter? What else do you need to thank me? A love spell?

     - Go away, Agatha. What do you want? 

     - I am trying to help you, just like I helped Wanda. I mean how old are you, sweetheart? Old enough for HYDRA and SWORD to realise you can do much more than just magic tricks. Making a whole room objects disappear? Now that, that was impressive. If I knew you were gonna do that, I would’ve brought Barnes into your life much much sooner. - she crossed her arms. - I think you and I are very similar. Much more similar than Maximoff to be completely honest. Where were the avengers when your father handed you over to a terrorist organisation? Constantly overlooked, underestimated, seen as nothing but your father’s daughter. I understand, Y/N and I can help you if you let me help you.   

    - I ... - she faltered her response, slightly lowering down her gun. - You can really help me?

    - I know more about magic than everyone else, Y/N. I can train you, I can help you more than SWORD or Wanda Maximoff will ever help. I can even give you what you want the most. Barnes, a regular family, everything but a SHIELD recruit. A regular citizen and all I want is for you to give me my regular family. 

     - I can’t help you, Agatha.

     - I don’t mean to cause any harm, Y/N. I’m not the villain, I just want my husband back and only you can give that to me. That’s all I want. It’s a small price to pay for your happiness. I can even take it away, your powers, I can take them away and then you will have what you want. Pretty sure Barnes still has some swimmers and if he doesn’t surely Wanda can get you some kids, she sure did well with getting herself some. 

     - Y/N! - Wanda’s voice broke through the two woman’s conversation. Agatha smirked, purple eyes replacing her regular blue ones. - Y/N!

     - I think you need to make a choice, dear. 

taglist: @lookiamtrying

[littlenekosfan]

i vagued about that several times, but i wanted to make a post alone bc i never actually dove into it i believe? im not really familiar with the emotion of anger since im rather irrational unlike bazz who... is just so familiar with it, anger, frustration or even hatred, he’s is good at keeping it silent or express it with a smile to not loose it... too good actually... bazz had unfortunately a lot of experience which left him scarred, traumatized, and he’s not the type to express his pain via melancholia but rather anger and his actions shows it pretty well.. and the thing is, its not out of pettiness, his anger is pretty rational, i can even call it determination, not a healthy one, but still rational

as a kid, he lost everything, i mean, literally... his parents, his home, basically everything that attached him to that life, the only thing.. or well, person left was jugram, who was his only friend back then (and ever was somehow), when he witness his home being burned down, he didnt cry or felt heartbroken like a child would, he was devastated yes, but to him mourning or coping wouldnt fix his loss, he took the path of revenge, the debt to his pain can only be repaid by punishing the one to blame, yhwach

so he trained, he trained day and night for 5 long years, he didnt just throw himself on yhwach to avenge his past out of hatred bc bazz is good at managing it, but he cant let go.. this is what i meant by determination, he couldnt let go what yhwach took from him after a year a two, the time he made a new life with jugram, his pain wont close until that man dies by his hands. (and obviously, its not heathly) and while i think he’s rational to feel that hatred, he shouldnt have let him consume him this much bc this is what made him even more broken

in FRIEND 3, he desperately tries to get yhwach’s attention, bc this is it, this is the endgame for him to finally live free, but what happens instead? he not only wasnt able to kill him but this time he truly looses everything and by the SAME person, yet, bazz doesnt wanna kill yhwach anymore after that... bazz' revenge was wanting to kill yhwach bc he took his everything back then, he did it again even there, but that second time seemed to scar him even deeper, not bc he has grown up (so his feelings are more developed as a teenager unlike a kid) but bc his everything had more value... 

its jugram

you can tell, you can tell how one scarred more than the other, the day he lost his home, he was able to get up and say what he was going to do next, with determination and certainty, where here, in FRIEND3, we see his face in dismal but nothing after that bc it didnt get better, he got so hurt he didnt even try to convince jugram to come back, he was too broken for that... now he has nothing, not even a shoulder to lay on, just himself and an empty heart... with a small flame...

unlike his first loss, yhwach didnt take jugram’s life, he took him away from bazz, which explains why bazz didnt target yhwach, he thinks jugram left him rather than he was taken away/kidnapped, and that’s a big factor bc this is why bazz’ hatred is now aimed to jugram, he thinks he deliberately left him, for power or even to hurt him (bazz wont think of jugram’s feeling when he left him, he really believes he did it for selfish reasons)

so for 3 long lonely years, he wasnt thinking about joining back the army to be the strongest quincy like his kid self was dreaming about, he didnt join to become close to yhwach in order to kill him, he did it because of jugram... that hatred i mentionned earlier isnt toward jugram himself, its toward what he became, he doesnt like “that jugram”, he hates it so much he constantly wants to fight it but never with the intent to kill and you can tell by how he provokes him, and still listen to him by not pushing it

some would think his hatred toward him irrational or unfair, but its not, its totally rational he feels like that, he shouldnt feel like that if he wanted things to change ofc, but he cant step back and recognize his own mistake bc he doesnt think he made any.. HE was the one left behind, HE was the one who was supposed to be yhwach’s right hand bc HE was the one who lost everything... he was the protagonist of his own story and jugram kinda stole it... but i digress

what i wanted to say is, his hatred, that rage, he is capable to contain it and control it so well, he doesnt lash out in a violent way on jugram, he only provokes him... if he really hated jugram, to the point there is no love toward him anymore, it wouldnt be hard for him to break the rule and try to kill him even if it kills him.. i mean, what’s left for him to even be alive? literally nothing...

yhwach was easy to wish death on bc he has no attachment to him, at all, only pure hatred and revenge, where jugram, he still has that bond, that bond of a friend and even if jugram broke it, he cant help but still see him as a friend, he still loves him

and this is probably why it scarred him the most, in his whole life, he has never cared for someone as much as jugram... and now he sees that person whom he loved the most hurt him...., and i think that's why he wants to fight him, he wants to show/express his pain, prove jugram he's on the wrong path, not for jugram's good, for his own, since jugram is his everything.. that doesnt mean he doesnt care about ju and his wellbeing, he was still disappointed in what he became under yhwach's wing, he promised him THEY would be the greatest.. bazz didnt use jugram like yhwach would say, he wanted to be his partner more than anything

i know what you’re thinking, why did bazz said he would kill jugram in 630 "ill kill yhwach and you along" bazz didnt want to kill yhwach for the same reasons as when he was a kid aka burned his village down, in 630 he wanted to bc yhwach did the auswahlen again, he betrayed him.. so he wanted to kill jugram for the same reason, jugram kinda indirectly betrayed bazz with yhwach there bc he knews jugram knew about it,, and he’s now a lost cause to him.. this was kinda the "deadline" to trying to fix whats was between them, if not at the first war, if not in a 1000yrs, do you really think things would change after a second war? that loop wont end as long as one kills the other... and this is what happened, i dont think bazz had the intention to kill bc he hated jugram, but the pain is too much to bare, seeing the man you loved and cared, who felt the same toward you just ignore you over and over is... too much, maybe death was the only solution... i already talked about that, but if bazz was to win (which im pretty sure he knew he had very very low chances if not none) he would be horribly heartbroken...

i explained it before but, their fight was the best way to end their relationship in "good terms" and yknow how bazz said "things dont always turn out like you wanted them to" it just shows how bazz didnt want to result in that, in that fight, in everything that happened between them was nothing he wanted....

he truly loved ju, he just wanted his old jugram back and be the greatest together...

[greatqueenanna]

Why Kristoff is a great partner and character.

There are many great male characters in the Disney canon. The Valiant, Pungent, Reindeer King Kristoff Bjogrman, stands among them as one of the best. Kristoff has something special about him that I feel goes unnoticed by many people, simply because Kristoff is a tri-tagonist in the Frozen Franchise. However, I’m here to tell you that there are things about Kristoff that truly make him shine regardless of his smaller role in the overall story. The franchise was never focused on romantic love, but within Kristoff we see a character that exemplifies what a good romantic partner should be like.

Another long one guys, so under the read more we go!

I’ve seen a few posts try and say that Kristoff’s relationship with Anna is unhealthy. However, I want to offer some viewpoints on why I feel this in not the case. According to the Hall Health Center, A healthy relationship is when two people develop a connection based on:

Mutual Respect/Honesty

Playfulness/Fondness

Trust/Support

Separate Identities

Good Communication

Kristoff is able to show all of this to Anna; while not all at once and at the very moment they meet, he does develop these skills and qualities as his and Anna’s relationship flourishes. It is also stated that all of these things take work, and is not something that just happens immediately, and that is ok. Most of these qualities Kristoff is able to show when we first meet him as adult, while others he develops over time with trial and error. As with Anna and Elsa, Kristoff is not perfect, and needed to learn certain lessons to become a better version of himself.

Mutual Respect/Honesty

It is no secret that Kristoff respects Anna’s boundaries and decisions. While he may not agree with some of them, and is vocal about it, he still doesn’t try to force his views or needs. It is always good to be honest with someone, but to not force their hand or treat them like a child. For example -

During Frozen, Kristoff is very vocal about Anna’s decision to marry Hans. He tells her that, honestly, it is a reckless decision. However, he never tries to force her to break up with or change her mind. He just very clearly states his opinion, but never steps over that boundary to try and make decisions for her. This behavior is shown throughout the film, as Kristoff is able to be honest with her on her decisions, but never tries to stop her or force her hand. The only time he directly tries to stop her, is when Anna is getting ready to throw a snowball at Marshmallow, because it directly affects her safety.

Also during Frozen, Kristoff respects Anna’s boundaries by asking Anna for her consent before kissing. He doesn’t force her into a surprise kiss, he asks her first if they could. This shows how Kristoff respects her bodily autonomy, and recognizes her possible trauma from Hans.

In Frozen 2, Kristoff again shows how he respects her decisions.

“You had to go, and of course its always fine.”

In Lost in the Woods, while Kristoff is having a harder time in this film being honest about his feelings (at first) Kristoff reiterates that he always respects Anna’s choices, never trying to force her to think one way or guilt her.

Playfulness/Fondness

Kristoff adores Anna. That, is obvious. He’s playful with her all throughout Frozen, teasing her without out right insulting her. We also know exactly how he feels about Anna as he expresses his love for her in Frozen 2. He finds Anna -

“Incredible”

“Feisty”

“Brave”

He also mentions how she’s his ‘ginger sweetheart’, suggesting that he likes her hair color (in other words, he finds her beautiful).

Also in Frozen 2, we can clearly see that Kristoff and Anna have a loving,  physical relationship. This is a bit of a wacky point to mention considering that this is a children’s film, but the implications are there so I will talk about it. Anna and Kristoff kiss multiple times with both parties being comfortable, and Anna is ready to have a make out session when Elsa and Olaf fall asleep in the sled. This shows how the two of them have enough fondness of one another to be able to be physical.

Trust/Support 

This is a big one, and one of Kristoff’s best qualities. Not only does he support her, as mentioned in the respect section, he shows how he is able to trust her decisions, openly asking her what she needs to do when he rescues her from the rock giants.

“I’m here, what do you need?”

“To get the the dam.”

“You got it!”

Kristoff doesn’t ask her why, he just trusts her judgment. This is clear development from the first film, when he didn’t trust her judgment based on her choice to marry Hans. Then, he gladly helps her up the cliff without a fuss or undermining her strength.

“Help me up.”

“We’ll meet you on the other side.”

His trust for her also grows when he is finally able to come to terms with how he feels. In fact, the scene above demonstrates how when Kristoff finally reflects on his emotions, he is able to be more confident with their relationship and have more trust that Anna knows what she’s doing. 

Kristoff also spends both films and short films giving Anna support. In Frozen, while he at first only cares about Anna’s promise to give him a new sled, he starts to show genuine concern for her. He offers to help her down when she (barely) climbs the mountain, runs to her side when she collapses from Elsa’s blast, and tries to keep her warm when carrying her down to Arendelle. Even in Frozen 2, when he’s unsure about the status of their relationship, he still comes to her aide and helps her during the fire attack, and of course comes rushing to help her with the rock giants. In Olaf’s Frozen Adventure, he sees Anna down and wants to cheer her up, and helps Elsa in Frozen Fever throw a party for her, using every inch of his strength to make sure it doesn't get ruined.

Separate Identities 

Kristoff is not dependent on Anna. While he loves her and wants to be there for her, he has a separate identity and is able to support himself.  He has a life outside of Anna, including his friendship with Sven, his troll family, and his ice business. He is able to leave Anna’s side, for example in Frozen Fever to drop off the Snowgies, and in Forest of Shadows he leaves to talk to the Trolls.

His self esteem is also not dependent on Anna. He openly wears what he wants, proclaiming that he only dress nice for Anna for as long as he’s comfortable, does strange things like talking to Sven, licking a strange sculpture in Olaf’s Frozen Adventure, compliments his stew in the same film even though Elsa and Anna are visibly disgusted, and never takes Anna’s insults in Frozen to heart.

“Nobody wants to be alone. Except maybe you.”

“(Laughs) I’m not alone.”

He states the last comment without any indication that he is being defensive or is offended by the statement. In fact, it doesn't faze him at all. His worries in Frozen 2 about Anna’s feelings are not about his self-esteem, but rather losing her as a partner. Let me better explain this. Kristoff mentality is not this -

“Anna is the only one who will consider me and if I lose her, I will have no one else. I am nothing without her. ”

It is this -

“Anna has become an important part of my life because of how amazing she is, and I don’t want to lose her.”

Yes, he does claim in Lost in the Woods how -

“Who am I, if I’m not your guy?

Where am I, if we’re not together forever?”

But I firmly believe that this has to do with him letting his fear take over, not so much how he actually feels, which I’ll explain more in a bit. Thus, Kristoff is not scared of losing his relationship with Anna because she makes him feel good about himself, he’s afraid of losing her because he genuinely loves having her around in his life. He loves her as a separate person, not as a crutch.

Good Communication 

This is the tricky one, because Kristoff has to develop this skill from trial and error. He doesn't have it already set, however it mostly affects his romantic life. He can pretty much say whatever he wants and what is on his mind to everyone else, and even to Anna before he realizes he loves her.

However, we clearly see that in Frozen 2, Kristoff is having a hard time expressing his desires to Anna. He wants to marry her, he wants to start a family. But what if Anna doesn’t want that? What if they are actually growing apart?

I care about her, but does she care about me?

Because of this fear, he is over explaining and fumbling over his words. Even so much as letting it affect his self-esteem, which he didn’t have a problem with before. As I mentioned many times in other posts, fear is a reoccurring villain in the Frozen Franchise, and it has reared its ugly face in Kristoff’s development as well.

His fear is making him hesitant, clumsy and question his self worth. Even though this really has nothing to do with any sort of dependence on Anna, he is letting his fear make him believe that he needs her to a desperate degree. In fact, he showed in the beginning of the film that he was much more calm about their relationship and had no doubts. It wasn’t until Anna started to focus more on Elsa that he started to grow this irrational fear. It didn’t happen in full blast until he thought Anna left him permanently.

However, after expressing these negative feelings out loud, and not letting them bottle up inside, he was able to see the flaw in his thinking as evident later on. After assisting Anna, he explains that he understands how she felt, and that it didn’t have anything to do with him. As Anna was strong enough to push forward even after losing everything, Kristoff was strong enough to able to put his feelings of self-doubt aside and find the confidence he lost.

“I know, I know, it’s ok. My love is not fragile.”

In just a few words, Kristoff expresses how his love was stronger than his fear, realizing what he already knew: that he is good enough, that him and Anna were fine, and that he was over reacting based on a fragile fear. Then, of course, he is able to tell Anna how he feels without doubt, finally asking her to marry him.

Thus, we know that Kristoff follows the traits of what makes a healthy relationship to a tee. Even though he didn’t have every quality at first, he developed them over time. As every character is flawed in Frozen, and need to make the bad choices first in order to learn, Kristoff needed to experience the same thing to be the best version of himself that he was always capable of. 

[janekfan]

Cage

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130172

Jon jerked awake, uncomfortably soaked with sweat and trembling fit to shake apart, each thought swirling into wisps of cloud between his fingers even as he tried in vain to catch them.

He couldn’t breathe.

Not with his chest so unbelievably tight, caught in a vise; there was no room. No room. There was no room.

He ached badly. The caress of the bed linens against his skin was like a brush fire and his head pounded in tandem with his pulse as it hammered loudly through his blood and Jon couldn’t hear anything but a high pitched ringing between his ears. Disoriented, the plaintive sob grated on his sore throat, swallowed up by the deep dark so black he couldn’t see, and sudden tears slipped down his face, over the bridge of his nose where he curled up against the pillow, so hot. So hot. Nerves set ablaze, the roadmap of his veins spreading the pain like an injection of battery acid.

A nightmare. That’s what this was. It had to be.

Please. Just a nightmare or else he was surely dying.

Please. It hurts.

It hurts.

And then there was nothing.

Somehow, Jon slept through his alarm for the first time in his working memory, waking groggy and aching, shaky legs barely able to hold his weight as he made his way slowly to the kitchen. He was late for work. He was never late for work.

Two firsts in one morning.

The texts were. Worried? Martin was worried. Wondering. Wondering where he was. If he was okay.

He was fine. Just. Tired. Headachy. A bit rundown, that’s all. He couldn’t recall with much clarity, but it felt like he hadn’t slept well.

When he looked down at his hands, he found himself gripping the sink for dear life. The only thing keeping him up. Ridiculous. Of course not. He was fine. Jon drank down a full glass of water and forced a piece of dry toast on himself before dragging what felt like someone else’s body to the train.

It was nearing noon when Jon was able to drop into his desk chair, covering his eyes when the lamp was enough to make them hurt and the footsteps hurrying their way towards him inspired a sinking dread in his stomach.

“Jon!”

“Keep it down, Martin.” Abandoning all pretense, Jon flicked the light back off, unwilling to worsen what was already an awful ache, an awful, unrelenting pressure in the back of his skull.

“Oh, s’sorry, of course.” A flash of guilt passed too quickly, as did the moment in time he would have taken to apologize for snapping if his thoughts weren’t processing so slowly. “I was worried. You look. Jon,” and there was no mistaking the worry there. “You don’t look well.” Just as Tim decided to pass by for a friendly jab.

“Long night at the bar, boss?” What was once an endearment now sounded like a curse and Jon repressed the physical wince though it was nothing he didn't deserve.

“Leave off, Tim.” Exasperated, Martin pushed him on his way and opened the door to his office a little wider, speaking softly for his benefit. Kind. Always so kind and Jon didn’t deserve an ounce of it, not after the wrongs he’d done. “You look like you could use a day at home.” The fragment of concerned warmth coming off of Martin was inebriating, like he’d been socked in the jaw with a sudden and excessive want.

Or, like he was seconds away from begging for any and all scraps of affection, of human connection. A touch, another kind word, heaven forbid a genuine smile. He was just so. So.

Lonely.

“Just a bit of a headache.” He swallowed with difficulty, a little nauseated, trying to put forth even a quarter of the effort Martin deserved. “Th’thank you, Martin.” He gave him a wan smile, an olive branch, maybe he could begin repairing what he’d so thoroughly broken, and was almost hysterically pleased when he received a grin in return.

“Alright. I’ll bring you some tea--”

“You don’t have--!” Jon scrambled for words, afraid he’d been found out and Martin felt some sort of obligation, or, or.

“And paracetamol.” He looked back before leaving. “Because I want to.”

The hot drink and medicine revitalized him just a bit, enough to complete a couple hours work before he began to flag. Seconds dawdled. Minutes crawled. The next hour overstayed an incredibly rude and malingering welcome and Jon’s cheek met the blotter long before he would be able to skive off in good conscience. He felt strange. Cold and clammy but uncomfortably warm. His head was pounding in earnest now, an aura taking up residence in the corner of each eye, tunneling his vision and dizzying him despite his not moving. Thankfully, he’d been left alone for the most part.

Luckily.

Because something was wrong.

Wrong.

He felt wrong.

Frustrated, because there was a better word for how unbalanced, off center? he was and he couldn’t think of it.

Time was an unexpectedly slippery thing and as each moment wheeled by Jon became more and more confused, more exhausted, to the point where gulping for air seemed useless because none of it seemed to reach where he desperately needed it to go. When he lifted his head, his vision went spotty, blacking out for a terrifying split second before he laid it back down, tears welling in his eyes.

Why was he like this? So irrational, emotional.

Overwrought. When he finally.

Finally realized what this was.

Finally realized what he'd allowed to happen.

He was sick.

He’d come to work sick, contagious. He wasn’t supposed to be around people when he was sick; it was irresponsible and selfish to put others at risk. How could. After everything he’d already done to them, and now. And now he’s done this.

He would keep them away. He could do that. He was really good at that. Even when he wasn’t capable of anything else.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he forced himself to his feet, catching himself on his desk, a filing cabinet, the wall, in order to make it to the door and depress the lock. He would keep Martin well. And Tim. And stay here until it was safe to go, to go home but the idea of sitting back in the chair was too much. He needed. Needed to lay down. Soon. Now. Just as his knees gave way at the back of his office, behind the desk, and Jon let himself sink to the floor, the inside of him trying its best to claw its way out, and curling into his guilt when the pain and heat and cold crested over him like a smothering wave and he whimpered, pressing his hot cheek against the cool linoleum and shivering.

He wanted to go home.

Crawl into bed and hide from everything.

Isolate himself like he was supposed to so he wouldn’t make anyone else sick. But he couldn’t keep lashes seemingly painted with lead apart. Could hardly remember why he should keep alone in the first place, what he was supposed to be doing. Let himself fade. Until all the misery fell away into the background and he let the rest go.

“Jon?” He jerked awake, biting down on the groan all the aches and pains returning with a sudden vengeance pulled from between his teeth. It took too long to remember where he was, only able to focus on the sticky sweat all over his skin, tacky where his face rested on the floor, his damp clothes and the chill buried in the center of him. “Jon?”

Martin.

“Y’yes?” He flopped to his back, the room split into a double image, and he closed his eyes against it, breath shallow. Panicking a little when he heard him check the handle.

“Are you alright?”

“Mm. Yes.” Forced himself to inject annoyance into his tone. Irritability. He was irritable and wanted Martin to leave him alone. Definitely didn't want any more tea or to see his face creased in something like concern or, or god forbid, he (please) touch him. Because if he came in here he would fall ill. “I’m doing.” Speaking was so hard, tongue clumsy in his mouth. “Important work.”

“With the door locked?”

“In an effort to limit disruption, Martin.” Breathe. Breathe. “If you would, please.”

“Yes, Jon.” Martin was upset with him. That was good. Good because he would stay on the other side of the door. He couldn’t get sick on the other side of the door and Jon let himself go at the sound of retreating footsteps. He’d gotten good at crying silently and did so now. His grandmother didn’t like being disturbed and he could hear her scolding voice explaining that young men weren’t supposed to cry. He doubted men his age were supposed to either. But he was scared. So scared. There were wicked things hiding in the corners, in the shadows, at the outermost edges of his unsteady vision. Flickering in the dark and he curled into himself, covering his head with his arms and pressing against the boxes containing the multitude statements that brought all these fears into being. But he would be safe here. With his eyes closed and hidden among his cardboard walls. Safe. If he was quiet. If he was quiet he would be safe and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his silence.

He wanted Martin to come back. To beg him not to leave him all alone. To, to bring him tea. Would feel nice. Martin. Kind. Soft voice that didn’t hurt. Soft hands. Soft touch. Soft.

Jon burned.

Those shapes shifted, transformed into dangerous things. Mean things. Clinging in the corners of the room and coaxing fire from the very walls, unfurling wings of bone and ash and death.

It licked at his body, his skin, his clothes, and hurt, hurt, hurt.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't move.

Could only be consumed.

Eaten away to nothing by the creatures in the corners.

“Jon?” Martin was worried. He hadn’t seen Jon since he came in late (already cause for alarm), and his office was locked. “I’m sorry. I know you’re working, but can we talk?” He knocked again, listening hard, and was again met with only eerie quiet. No statements being read or tape recorders running. “Jon?” It was probably nothing. He’d stepped out. He’d gone home. He was ignoring him because Martin was a constant aggravation. But it didn’t seem right. Tim had a skeleton key from a while back. When things were simpler, and he found Tim in the breakroom, poking away at a game on his phone. “I need the key.”

“To what?”

“Jon’s office.”

“Ohh.” He raised an eyebrow, smirking in that knowing way of his and Martin felt himself go bright red.

“He’s not answering the door.”

“So?” He went back to his screen. “Why even bother, Martin? He’s probably just hiding from us because he thinks we’re after him or some other nonsense.”

“Please, Tim?” At least he turned back, knitting his brows at Martin’s persistence. “I think. I think something is really wrong.” With a put upon sigh, he pocketed his phone and gestured for Martin to lead the way.

It was calm and still and for a moment Martin thought Tim was right, that he’d gone home and just hadn’t been noticed.

“Jon?” It felt like he had to whisper, keep the dark undisturbed and was about ready to let it go when he heard something shift in the back of the room. He looked at Tim who just shrugged, leaving to go stand in the hall with his arms crossed. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, he caught sight of Jon’s jumper on the floor, it moved, there was a hiss of pain. “Jon?”

Dusty light from the hall filtered and fell across the figure curled up on the floor, skin ashen and pale despite his dark complexion, face dotted with sweat and dark swathes of charcoal drawn thick beneath half lidded eyes. Each breath was labored, too quick, too shallow, too uneven and Jon moaned, a pitiful, pained thing, struggling to put more room between them though he was already boxed into a corner.

“Jon,” Martin reached out, pulled back when he reacted in fear, glancing around at things only he could see.

“Nnnoo.” Voice thin and thready, barely audible as he panted, letting his temple fall back to the floor. “Mmartin. No…”

Jon, you’re not well.” He glanced back at Tim who at least looked somewhat worried now. “You need help.”

“No…” Fading in and out, chills made his thin frame shake, glassy eyes round and searching in the dark but not truly seeing him. “No. You.” He groaned, shaking his head back and forth. “Can’t. Can’t be here…”

“If this is some spooky shit, you should have told someone sooner.” Tim was angry and Jon winced when he spoke harshly, squeezing his eyes shut and ducking his chin.

“S’sick.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

"Tim, I think, I think he's just confused. He looks feverish."

“C’can’t.” Desperately, Jon was trying to make them understand something but he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to elaborate, barely even conscious as it was and still distracted by whatever it was he saw in the dark. "M's'sorry. Sorry."

“I don’t understand.” Martin drew closer, pushing forward despite Jon’s frantic warnings. “It. It’s alright, I need to see.” To his horror, his breath hitched and tears rolled down his face. “Hush, it’s alright.”

“No, no. No.” He flinched, closed his eyes against Martin’s form inching closer to his tightly coiled body. “Can’t.” Wretched, small. Pleading and begging them to leave him here as if that were ever an option in any reality, let alone the one Jon was currently trapped in.

“S’alright, love.” He ignored Tim’s snort of derisive laughter.

“Not. It’s not.” Martin hushed him gently, pushing away the strands of sweat damp hair out of his face and keeping his expression and tone forcibly even despite the railroad spike of anxiety slamming straight into his stomach. Jon was burning up under his hand, hot as anything, and he stroked his head when he began to cry in earnest, speaking low.

“It’s alright, I promise, everything is alright. Let me help.” He glanced back at Tim and even through the intentional indifference could see worry in the way he bit his lip. “Can you get the paracetamol from my desk? Some water? Please.” Limp and exhausted, Jon struggled to focus, to move away, eyes fever glazed and vacant beneath damp lashes fluttering like a moth’s wing. “Shh, you’re alright.” Martin knuckled away the tears still tracing paths across Jon’s skin, shifting his shoulders despite delirious protests and rambling into his lap and folding his trembling, frozen hands into his own. “You’re alright.” He wished for a thermometer, Jon was like a brand even through both sets of clothing, but he was responsive if upset, and he’d give him another dose and see where they were in an hour or so.

“I’ll stick around for a while. Be in the office.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Martin knew a bit about what it took for him to make that decision and appreciated it, offering up a grateful smile before crushing up the pills in the bottom of Jon’s mug from earlier and filling it halfway with water. “Sit up for me, Jon. Just, there you are. Drink this down, good, good.” Praising and soft, getting as much water into him as he would take between his fits of pleading.

“Martin.” He sounded miserably undone, coughing weakly against the back of his hand.

“Still me.” Dark brown eyes, pupils blown wide in the low light, stared up at him though Martin couldn’t quite catch them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Martin.” He stroked light fingertips over his eyelids in response, continuing his murmuring and reassurances, at a loss in this situation where he found himself on the floor of his boss’ office with said boss half in his lap and now dead asleep. Martin let himself lean back against the shelves, listening to the slight wheeze on his breath and shoving the worry away. The medicine would work and then Martin would get him home and into bed.

“What…” Martin put down the supplementals he’d been leafing through to palm Jon’s forehead. Still high. But Jon seemed at least a bit more with it, voice stronger if still tired. “Martin?”

“How’re you feeling?”

“T’terrible?” He hadn’t seemed to realize where he was, still drifting in and out. “Gotta...go.” He sat up on his own, wavering, though Martin hovered, ready to catch him if he began to go down. “Can’t be here.” And he stood so quickly, Martin almost didn’t grab him in time when he started to collapse, blood draining from his already pallid face.

“Whoa! Okay, easy, easy, easy. Sit down.”

“S’sorry.” Bare more than an exhale, Martin was sure it was reflexive. Jon couldn’t possibly know what was going on. Not really, in the state he was in.

“I’m taking you home with me.”

“What?” Jon blinked, not really tracking or Martin was sure he’d argue harder.

“I’d hazard a guess you have few, if any supplies.” Getting him to the beat up car Martin still drove was fairly simple with Tim’s reluctant help, but even he couldn't hide his concern at the heat coming off him, going so far as to reach across and buckle him in when it became abundantly clear he didn’t have the coordination.

“Text me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Tim.”

39.7.

Martin insisted he get a read on him first thing after he helped him stagger into the flat. Jon refused to think about how strong he was, how he probably could have carried him the whole way and blamed the fever for his inappropriate thoughts. It was bad enough Martin felt he had to supervise him.

If Jon wasn’t so very poorly, he was sure he’d be feeling much more embarrassed but as it stood, he was strung out and aching, so cold he couldn't stop shaking. Probably due for more medicine and speak of the devil, Martin handed him a cup of tea and some lemsip, setting a bottle of some sports drink he didn’t recognize on the table beside him and sitting across from him. Jon felt ridiculous dressed in Martin’s spare and well worn clothes, bundled up in a soft, plush blanket that made him feel better somehow though there was no reason for it to do so. Dutifully, he took his medicine and then hid behind the mug because he just knew Martin was going to ask and Jon had a feeling that he’d done something wrong.

“Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell us?” Martin probably thought it was because he felt better than them, better than the help they could provide. Or that he didn't trust them. He knew Tim felt that way. But really. Really. He didn’t deserve it. He’d treated them with suspicion instead of colleagues and friends and on top of that he was infectious, dirty, and needed to be isolated until he wouldn’t make people sick. They deserved at least that much from him and he couldn’t even accomplish that. So he tried again to explain.

“I’m. Sick.” Completely at a loss, and suddenly, Jon felt ashamed. It was becoming clear that his behavior had been abnormal and that at his most feverish he’d gone to harmful extremes. Martin probably thought he was a fool but he just waited patiently, adding quietly,

“I’m not angry or upset with you.”

Because he was such a good person.

“My grandmother.” Would be. Would be furious. Jon paused to turn his head away from Martin and cough harshly into his elbow. He was fumbling with words, worried that he would think. Well he wasn’t sure what he would think. “Wasn’t. I had to stay--couldn’t get anyone else sick.”

“Oh, Jon.”

“No! No, I. I thought. Thought that was what everyone did.” Martin sipped his own tea and Jon copied him. “I.” He withdrew into his borrowed blanket, weary and sick. “I’m sorry. I. Should have known better.” Martin looked upset. It wasn’t the right thing to say but he didn’t know what the right thing was and it hurt to think but thankfully he took pity on Jon’s poor aching self.

“You should get some sleep.” Jon felt small being tucked in but with being so tired it was a comfort when Martin let his hand linger on his forehead, lifted his glasses away to fold them aside and he relaxed.

“Thank you, Martin.”

Tim would laugh if he knew what Martin was thinking about. An even tinier Jon curled up in a dark room, sick and alone, and expected to stay away from everyone while he was ill. How lonely, how sad, to be isolated from any comfort when you were at your most vulnerable. No wonder Jon was so confused at the Institute today and Martin’s imagination had no trouble running wild with different worst case scenarios, so much so that he put aside the poetry he’d been attempting to work on in favor of turning in early.

Something snapped Martin awake and when he looked at his bedside clock the red numbers glared 329 and he almost turned back over to go back to sleep when he remembered who was sleeping on his couch and stepped out to check on him.

A whimper. In the pitch black of the room. He should have left a light on for him.

“H’hello?” He sounded frightened, shaky and his inquiry cracked around what sounded like tears.

“Jon?”

“Martin?” He sniffed suspiciously, voice thick and choked. “Wh’where are we?”

“You don’t remember?” He flicked the hall switch, letting enough light into the sitting room to see by and he met Jon’s wide, damp eyes, filled to the brim with fear, and he shook his head, bottom lip visibly trembling. “You’re at my flat, on the couch.”

“Wh’what?” Martin sat beside him where he was folded up onto one cushion, fever flush high in his face and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his exposed skin. He should have known. Fevers were often worse at night.

“You’ve not been feeling well.”

“Feel.” His throat clicked with a heavy swallow, and when he closed his eyes, tears slipped down his hollow cheeks. “Feel. S’s’strange.” Martin helped him hold the bottle of sports drink, encouraging him to take at least a third and some more medicine, and when he couldn’t cajole anything else out of him, he let Jon’s forehead tipped against his chest, the heat billowing off him intense. Martin cupped the back of his head, let him cling, breath shuddering. “Thought. I thought I saw.” He broke off with a whine, burying his face in Martin and he stroked his back, counting his ribs without meaning too.

“That should help.” Jon breathed unevenly, coming down from his nightmare or panic, the whole of him shaking with chills. “You’ll feel better when your fever isn’t so high.”

“S’sorry.”

“So you keep saying.”

“You’ve d’done so much.” He nuzzled Martin’s tee, curling into him, and it was so Not Jon he thought he might combust because it was adorable, even if he was sick. “And I’ve. I’m.” Now wasn’t the time for such serious conversations. Not when Jon could barely string two words together and was still seeing things that frightened him in the shadows.

“It’s alright.” It wasn’t a hard decision to make. “Up you come, now.” And this time Martin did swing him up into his arms, tucking him close, the gasp of surprise just a puff of warm air against his throat. No wonder this illness was hitting him so hard, he weighed far too little and Martin knew he wasn’t sleeping well. Eating well. He clung to him, dizzied and reeling.

“Head hurts…ev’rythin’ hurts…”

“I know.” He tucked Jon into bed, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear before climbing in beside him.

“You’ll...get sick.”

“I’ll be fine.” When he tugged him close there was no resistance, all pretense and worry stripped away with exhaustion and fatigue, and Jon melted willingly into the comfort he offered, too feverish, too tired, too frightened.

“Mm.”

“Sleep, Jon. Tomorrow, everything will be better.”

It wouldn’t. But the lie was enough for now.

[daresplaining]

A Few Thoughts About the Current Run

    I feel like I ought to say a few things about my feelings on Zdarsky’s run, as of right now (August 2020, pre-Annual-- that may be important). I haven’t said much about this run, and I should admit that I actually stopped reading it for a while. At a certain point, I realized I was dreading the release of each preview, and took that as a sign that maybe I should take a break and just re-read some back issues instead. This is, above all, supposed to be fun; I never, ever want reading DD to feel like a chore.  

    That said, I am now caught up and feel ready to begin untangling exactly why this run is so distasteful to me. I’ve been fortunate to have other DD fans to chat with about this, which has helped me to pinpoint what my problems are... because on paper, this run seems like something I’d enjoy. Matt accidentally kills a guy; that’s always fun. Marco Checchetto is great. The story explores Daredevil’s relationship with the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen, which I love. Foggy helps Matt with an action-y Daredevil thing; that’s awesome. There are some very cool fights. Elektra is in it. Stilt-Man is (briefly) in it. It has all the trappings of an interesting narrative. But there is a giant hole in the middle of this run, and that hole is Matt Murdock-shaped and impossible to ignore.     

    I read Daredevil comics for a lot of things (anyone who’s been following me for the past few years might think I read Daredevil comics for Mike Murdock, and you may have a point there) but first and foremost, I read them for Matt. There is a lot that makes a good DD story great-- historically, the comic has featured great supporting casts, and that’s another problem with this run that I’ll get back to in a minute-- but Matt is always the anchor. One of the greatest strengths in Daredevil comes from the fact that the protagonist is such a compelling character. You are interested in what he’s doing. You want to follow his story. You enjoy being inside his head. I’m not saying that you can’t write a good Matt-free Daredevil story-- you definitely can. But if Matt is present and written poorly, the whole story will collapse around him, and that’s been my experience with Zdarsky’s run. Part of the reason I’ve taken so long to write this post is because I’ve been trying to figure out if my complaint comes from my own personal taste-- which is not a basis on which I can critique this comic-- or whether the problem is inherent in the work itself. Having discussed it with other people, I feel comfortable saying that I think the problem is in the writing. 

    Zdarsky’s Matt feels profoundly unfamiliar to me, and that in itself isn’t necessarily a problem, but I don’t find this new version of my favorite superhero interesting. I actually find him a little repellant. If this run had been my introduction to Daredevil, I would’ve said “Nope” and read something else. Matt is a character with depth. He is intensely multifaceted. His relationship to superheroing is complicated, his views on justice and morality are rich and often contradictory. Zdarsky somehow missed all of that and has crafted a one-dimensional character with a blatantly black-and-white sense of morality. Matt’s reaction to accidentally killing someone seems to be to decide that all superheroes are bad-- something I complained about at the beginning of the run and which, unfortunately, only grew more annoying as the story progressed. Zdarsky’s Matt is painfully self-righteous, to a degree that makes him extremely unlikeable (at least to me). And yes, Matt has been written as unlikeable before. I actually love when Matt behaves badly; I find that fascinating from a narrative perspective. But I’ve realized that the key reason that has been effective in the past is because the story has never condoned that behavior. When Matt was emotionally abusive toward Heather Glenn, Frank Miller went out of his way to show us-- via the side characters, via blatant expressions of Heather’s pain-- that Matt was in the wrong. When Matt was a jerk in Bendis’ and Brubaker’s runs, when he drove his friends away, when he acted irrationally and harmfully, the narrative commented on that jerkiness and irrationality. 

    But Zdarsky does not do that in his run. He presents Matt’s irrational and jerkish behavior without comment or nuance, as if it’s a perfectly normal, reasonable way for Matt to act under the circumstances, and I have been surprised to realize how distasteful I find that, and how bad it makes Matt look. There’s a difference between having a character who is comfortably flawed-- whose behavior you’re supposed to occasionally question-- and a character who is just unpleasant and unlikeable, seemingly by accident. In the most recent issue (#21), Matt has an extremely upsetting interaction with Spider-Man, one of his oldest friends, and Matt is positioned as heroic for behaving this way, and it made me feel a little ill, because there’s no textual examination or questioning of this behavior. It’s just Matt, pushing people away, being Angsty(TM) and Gritty(TM) and lone wolf-y just because, in a way that is grating and unpleasant and completely lacks nuance. 

    The other major element of Zdarsky’s characterization of Matt is religion. I’ve mentioned before (as have other DD fans before me) that Matt is not generally written as religious, and it’s a strange phenomenon that this characterization has appeared in multiple adaptations (the movie and the Netflix show) while having very little actual presence in the source material. But it was a key theme in the Netflix show, and while hopefully that influence will disappear from the comics as more time passes, we are still in a honeymoon phase wherein MCU elements are still popping up in the 616 universe. It’s clear that Zdarsky really liked the show, and Soule as well; I’m certainly not letting Soule off the hook here, because the idea of Matt being devoutly Christian showed up his run first. But there, you could get away from it if it wasn’t your thing (which, for me, it’s not). Soule had whole story arcs that didn’t mention it. But Zdarsky has made it 75% of Matt’s personality. When he isn’t fighting or sleeping with someone in this run, Matt is angsting about God. 

    I hesitate to complain about this because it’s Zdarsky’s right as a DD writer to change the protagonist however he likes. It’s frustrating, yes, but not actually a sign of bad writing per se. Plus, not everyone is me. Many people-- probably including many people who were fans of the Netflix show and are entering the comics via that connection (which seems to be the target audience for this run)-- may be religious and may connect to MCU/Zdarsky Matt in that way. And that’s wonderful. I want to be very clear: it’s not the religiousness itself that I’m complaining about. My complaint is this: if you’re going to drastically alter a character, you need to back it up. You need to dig into it, make that new personality element feel powerful and real, and integrate it into the character’s pre-existing personality. And if you’re going to base the entirety of that character’s emotional journey on that new trait, you need to work to make sure it’s accessible to your readership. I, as a non-religious person, have no sense of why Matt is so upset about God. I have no frame of reference for his pain, either from my own experiences or from previous Daredevil continuity, and Zdarsky does nothing to develop or explore the basis of Matt’s faith, and so it all just falls flat. I feel alienated by this run. I see an angsty, self-righteous, prickly jerk ranting about needing to do God’s will, and then I put the issue down and read some She-Hulk instead. If Zdarsky (or Soule-- again, he could have done this too) had made an effort to actually explore and explain Matt’s feelings about his religion, rather than lazily shoving that characterization in there and assuming readers will just accept it, it wouldn’t bother me nearly as much as it has. 

    Also, I feel I have to mention; this is a fantasy universe. Matt went to Hell and yelled at Mephisto in Nocenti’s run, and it was awesome. Maybe this is just me, but if you’re going to bring in religion, at least have some fun with it! Bookend Nocenti’s run: Matt goes to Heaven, runs into God, and she gives him some free therapy and a souvenir t-shirt (or, I don’t know, something). To give Zdarsky credit, he did at least hint at that sort of thing in Matt’s conversation with Reed Richards in #9. 

    I'm going to cut this post short, because I really don’t enjoy writing negative reviews. I’d much rather post about things I love, and over the next few weeks I do plan to highlight aspects of this run that I’ve enjoyed. But I’ll end by saying that the weaknesses in Matt’s characterization could have been mitigated by a great supporting cast. Having prominent secondary protagonists would have provided outside perspectives on Matt’s behavior and given the reader other characters to root for when he got too out-of-hand. They would have drawn out the human elements in Matt’s character and helped give him that nuance he so desperately needs. But this run, just like Soule’s before it, is woefully underpopulated. Foggy’s presence is extremely weak and his appearances far too infrequent. Apart from brief cameos in MacKay’s Man Without Fear mini, Kirsten McDuffie and Sam Chung have both vanished, and I’m worried that Kirsten might have joined Milla Donovan in the limbo of still-living-but-permanently-benched ex-love interests. The women in this run are all either villains or people for Matt to sleep with (I was pumped about Elektra’s return and the idea of her training Matt, but her characterization was disappointing (I may write a separate post about this), and Mindy Libris could have been really compelling as a moral person trying to survive life in a crime family, but instead she was just a one-note, underdeveloped victim for Matt to lust after). To Zdarsky’s credit, he has clearly been trying to give the Kingpin a humanizing story arc, but even that I haven’t found compelling enough to want to keep reading (though that could just be me). Cole North was intriguing at first, but he ended up feeling more like a concept than an actual person. And none of these characters engage with Matt on a human, emotional level, which is what a good supporting cast needs to do. I commented early-on that this run felt like all flash and no bang (Is that a term? It is now.) and I think I still stand by that-- it’s all bombastic plot concepts and big ideas without any of the actual development or nuance necessary to make them work. There is nothing in this run that has pulled me in and held my interest; in the absence of a Matt I can connect to, I need something, and so far I haven’t found it. 

    I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point. This run was nominated for an Eisner for best ongoing series, so apparently someone likes it, but it has become clear that-- so far, anyway-- it’s just not right for me.  

[welllpthisishappening]

Like My Mirror Years Ago

Hey, hi there, that gif doesn’t really have anything to do with the story! So, a couple days ago @shireness-says​ sent me this post and was like, “You know what you should do? Write some domestic Enchanted Forest with Killian unlacing Emma’s dress.” And I was like, “Yes, this seems like a good idea.” Only then, I didn’t write it. As I am apt to do. Instead here is some season 5A Camelot divergence set at some point between 5x02 and 5x04 with a conversation I have wanted to write forever, but didn’t originally plan on writing until I started typing it yesterday. And we do get to the unlacing, but first: angst in the form of nearly 5.3K. 

Also, it should be known that the Google doc title of this was [Insert Hozier Lyrics Here] so if you’re looking for a soundtrack. 

————

She knows the exact moment. 

As soon as his breathing shifts ever so slightly, a hint quicker than it is when he’s actually asleep and, if nothing else, Emma supposes his inherent inability to lie is something of a victory. To her. Specifically. Or them. Collectively. Or that pesky future that feels as if it’s begun to drape itself across her shoulders. 

That might explain the near-constant ache between her shoulder blades. 

She resolutely refuses to accept any other reasons. 

“You suck at that, you know,” she murmurs, not taking her eyes away from the piece of curved wood in her hands. Killian scoffs, and she doesn’t have to turn to know when he props himself up on his elbows either. 

The creaking mattress helps. 

Everything creaks a little in Camelot, another metaphor Emma isn’t particularly inclined to spend too long thinking about, but she’s got the growing suspicion that most of this kingdom is prone to making noise. As if it’s shattering right in front of her, tiny cracks that she’s not able to prevent, but that also might just be a commentary on her sanity at this point and—

She’s holding her breath. 

Letting it out in a huff she tries very hard to make quiet, Emma knows she fails. Spectacularly. Another sweeping commentary. 

“Unparalleled observational skills,” Killian says. With a smile. Smirk, probably. Emma still doesn’t bother looking, can hear the inflection in his voice and already knows how forced the even tone is. Seeing the inevitable arch of his eyebrow will only make it worse. 

“Get me in a crow’s nest or something.” “What do you know about crow’s nests?” She shrugs, fingers still moving and the buzzing under her skin hasn’t ebbed much since she started, but there was something almost oddly peaceful about the pattern of Killian’s breathing when he was asleep. 

In and out. Over and over. Simple and easy and consistent. Steady, even. Something about the tides or another nautical joke Emma isn’t willing to make. 

The mattress creaks again.

As do the floorboards. 

And she doesn’t shudder when his hand lands on her shoulder. She doesn’t stop this twisted arts and crafts project, either. She leans back, though — another passing victory and momentary return to normal, relishing the solid feel of his chest behind her. 

Killian takes a deep breath. 

“How long have I been asleep?” “Not long,” Emma replies, and one of the muscles in her neck isn’t all that appreciative of the current twist it’s in. She doesn’t move, feels as if it’d be admitting to something far bigger and she can’t imagine how he’s still so warm. 

Like magic. 

Not at all like magic. At least not the kind she’s used to now.

“Awfully vague,” he mutters. Accusation doesn’t particularly hang from the letters, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see it in the way Killian’s fingers tighten ever so slightly, like he’s trying to hold onto more than just her and her tension-filled shoulder blades, and he’d never unbuckled his sword. 

Or taken his hook off. 

He always took his hook off. Before. When they were—

Safe, Emma supposes. Emma supposes they aren’t that anymore. 

“There was no point in you staying up just so you could stare at me with those sad puppy dog eyes and all of that palpable concern.” His fingers loosen. For the best, probably. Since it appears the laces of Emma’s latest Camelot-provided gown, which she hasn’t bothered taking off, are tightening. Enough to threaten several of her internal organs. 

Laughter echoes softly around them. 

Her. 

Only her. 

Reaching for another string that she’s only a little worried she’ll snap before she can use, Emma barely moves her arm before there’s metal around her wrist, and anger runs red-hot down her spine. She snaps her head around quickly enough to do damage to several other neck muscles, but Killian hardly flinches at her expression. 

He lifts both eyebrows, instead. 

So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace. 

“We’ve a variety of things we can talk about,” Killian says, more forced lightness that grates on every one of Emma’s nerves, “Although I’ll admit I’m always partial to discussing the fascinating colloquialisms you’re in possession of.” “Can I possess the language?” “The knowledge of it’s—what’s the word? Slang?” Emma rolls her eyes. “That, at least.” “Oh, yeah, I'm the smartest person around.” “In this realm, certainly.”

Emma snorts, not any real humor in the sound, but her lungs work a hint better once Killian pulls his hook away from her. Licking her lips, she spins and neither one of them mention how close she comes to kicking him in a variety of potentially painful locations when she tugs her legs towards her chest. 

His lips twitch as soon as she rests her chin on her knees. 

There’s an absurd amount of fabric involved in this dress. 

“What do a dog’s eyes have to do with the overall force of my worry?” Killian asks, and it’s not exactly funny. Just like whatever noise Emma makes isn’t exactly a laugh. Not when it scratches at the sides of her throat, and the tip of her tongue and honestly screw Camelot. 

No ChapStick in other realms. 

She keeps twisting her lower lip between her teeth. 

“You shouldn't have let me fall asleep.” Her current eye roll rate is going to give Emma a migraine. Maybe Dark Ones can’t get migraines. That’d be something at least. “There really wasn’t any reason for you to be awake,” Emma says. “And I—” Killian tilts his head when she cuts herself off, something stupid like open book and knowing her and they might both be horrible liars. “I know you’re worried.” “Seems a given in this situation, don’t you think?” Another shrug. No eye roll, though. Small victories and whatnot. 

And Killian has to readjust his sword to crouch in front of her. Emma very nearly laughs again. Or cries. She’s having trouble distinguishing emotions at this point. 

God, but she’s exhausted. 

Metal finds her wrist again, cool on her skin, but Emma’s mind barely has a chance to recognize temperature before she’s wholly preoccupied with Killian’s ability to cover both her hands with one of his. It opens up some fairly romantic ideas, all of them fluttering around her skull and under that same magic-prone skin, a slightly different energy that makes her feel light and heavy and—

Her neck gives up. 

Leaves her head falling forward and crashing against Killian’s and he still doesn’t flinch. Even as he exhales again, air brushing Emma’s cheeks and the edges of her lips and she could come up with several better ways to use those lips. Something stops her. 

Quite possibly the laughter. 

That only she can hear. 

“You’ll give yourself a coronary.” “Sounds unpleasant.” Emma doesn’t smile. Quite honestly, she’s not sure the muscles in her face are capable of doing that anymore. Still, something in the center of her flutters traitorously at what might be the most twisted instance of flirting they’ve had in their relationship. 

Although there was that sword fight. And handcuffing him to the hospital bed. And him unlocking himself from the hospital bed. The Jello thing, too. 

Emma figures that all counts as pre-relationship. 

“I can’t imagine it would be,” she agrees. “But, uh—” “—Oh, if you say what I think you’re about to say, I will be very frustrated.”

It’s her turn to lift her eyebrows. “Will you just?” “I understand why Regina asked you to do what she did,” Killian starts, and it’s not the last thing Emma expects to hear, but it’s at least somewhere at the bottom of a list she hasn’t made yet. “And I understand even better why you did it. I also—” “—God, how much is there?” He nips at her nose, more out of place flirting that soothes some of...her, really. “This is it, I promise. I understand what it would be to feel that sort of desperation for someone you love. To be terrified of what will happen if you don’t act. Don’t do whatever you can. To fix all of it.”

Her throat collapses. 

Her lungs disappear. 

And there’s no more disembodied laughter, but the silence that stretches in the minimal space between them is almost worse, thick with unspoken meaning and heavy-handed allusions and Emma’s fingers are moving again. Before she’s entirely rationalized it. Brushing away strands of hair that’s almost getting too long, Killian’s eyes flutter closed at her touch. 

“That’s not your job,” Emma whispers. 

“Isn’t it, though?” “Falling asleep is not a failure, babe.” He scoffs, a quick click of his teeth and Emma hasn’t moved her fingers. He leans into her hand. “And yet here we are. At an impasse, of sorts.” “I thought we were having a conversation.”

“Not a very focused one.” “Ah, well you’re tired.” “And you’re a very good distraction,” Killian argues, not the insult Emma briefly hears it as. Even so, something almost like fear ripples across her skin. Latches onto the base of her skull and whatever neurons are clearly unstable and irrational and it only takes him a few moments to realize his mistake. 

“I know that’s not what you meant.” He hums, nosing at the inside of her wrist. “What are these things you’re making, exactly?” “Dreamcatchers.” “Sounds nefarious.” “No, no, the opposite, actually. Legend said—well, God, it’s kind of shitty that I’m making them, actually. But, um...they’re supposed to keep nightmares away.” “Is it working?” “I’m not the one asleep,” Emma points out. “And repeating my question seems redundant.” Sticking her tongue out is quite possibly the least mature thing Emma could possibly do — particularly when she’s at least seventy-two percent positive the churning in her stomach is actually magic, but she does it all the same. If only to ensure that Killian’s lips move again. 

She might be staring at his lips. 

Might be is another very bad lie. 

“Now you’re just trying to make me swoon with your own knowledge of the language,” she mumbles. “How’s it working?” “Better than it should.”

His lips move. Directly towards hers. Only to deviate at the last possible second, and Emma isn’t totally disappointed by that. Killian kisses the edge of her mouth. The curve of her chin. The bridge of her nose. Directly between her very pinched eyebrows. 

“You know, I thought you were dead.” Strictly speaking, Emma has no idea where that particular string of words came from. The depths of her soul, probably. Some dark — or darker — corner where that very specific terror lingers. The way she swore her heart stopped, and breathing was secondary and part of her might resent him. 

For making a joke of it. 

“That wasn’t a real reality, love,” Killian breathes, and Emma can’t imagine how his knees are dealing with any of this. He’s ancient, he can’t have the best joints. In this realm or any other. 

“Still happened, though.” “Aye, it did. And I’d—” “—Nope,” Emma interrupts, lips popping on the word like that will turn it into some kind of decree. Technically, she’s a princess. It should work like that. “I absolutely do not care. At all. Like, at all. I stood there and watched you die and—” Crying is apparently something she’s not capable of doing anymore either, and that’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, but it does leave her blinking faster than she’d like and she’ll have to come up with another colloquialism for the look on Killian’s face. 

Abject devotion seems a little over the top. 

“This is my fault.” Killian blinks. More than once. “How the hell did you get to that conclusion?” “You died, babe. I—I stood there and watched, and it was...it was you, but it wasn’t you and it didn’t even matter because it’s always been you and—” She’s rambling. Words spill out of Emma without her explicit permission, which seems kind of unfair all things considered. Nearly absolute power should allow her to be a better conversationalist than this. 

The more things change, or whatever the saying is. 

“The point is, we found Regina after that. Henry and I and...she wasn’t going to do anything. Was going to let Robin marry Zelena. But I—well, I told her that I’d just—” He doesn’t look away from her. Emma isn’t sure if that’s good or bad, far too much blue in his gaze even as the candles around them burn to the base of their wicks. She licks her lips again. Still chapped. “I told her that love was a part of all happiness. That...that she had to fight for it because I’d just—” “—Watched me die?” “Not as much fun when you interrupt me.” He makes a noise, a low rumble that tickles Emma’s cheek. “Apologies, my lady.” “You think you’re very clever.” “I think you’re the most incredible lass—” “—Oh, call me lass one more time and see how that works out for you.” “It’s a compliment,” Killian mutters, almost entirely into her skin and the few strands of hair that have come loose. “And you’re being rather distracting again.”

“Still waiting on the compliment parts of this, honestly.” He finally stands up, both of his knees cracking in the process. And Emma hardly opens her mouth to make some sort of misplaced joke about that before Killian is shaking his head and tugging her out of her chair and they don’t lay down on Camelot’s noisiest mattress. 

They sit on the edge. Thighs pressed together and Emma’s fingers gripping his hook like some kind of lifeline, which it very well may be because they should have talked about this before, but there wasn’t time before and— “I love you.” Full-body shock, Emma finds rather quickly, is not nearly as uncomfortable as she assumed it would be. She’s imagined this going a lot of ways, loathe as she may be to ever admit such a thing. Most of the time they’re tangled in very soft sheets, or tucked into the questionably comfortable cot in the captain’s quarters of the Jolly, his fingers in her hair and that one specific smile that she’s only ever seen directed at her. 

Not once has she imagined it like this. 

Stuck in a different realm with a king that does not live up to the legend and something about the air in Camelot reminds Emma of Boston Harbor in the summer. 

Salty and a little stale. 

Her mouth goes dry and her pulse noticeably slows, turning her head to gape at him. That’s not romantic. That’s insane. This whole thing is absolutely and entirely insane and she can’t quite come to terms with the precise way he glances up at her. 

From underneath those stupid eyelashes, that are both kind of dreamy and even more offensive and Emma doesn’t object when he pulls both her hands up. So he can kiss the bend of her knuckles. Like some goddamn pirate prince. 

That helps a little bit, actually. 

“What?” “I love you,” Killian repeats. “In a variety of different realities, it seems.” “No.” “No?” “No,” Emma echoes, resisting the very real urge to jump up and start pacing. Possibly cast a few spells. That’s the crux of her problem, though. So she does the only reasonable thing. Stays frustrating still and yells at her boyfriend. 

Who doesn’t seem all that put out by this turn of events. 

“Where do you think I should start?” “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” Emma admits with a snarl. “I...there is no way that deckhand version—” “—Oh, that’s also a little insulting.” “You’re telling me that you were in love with me in a fake reality?” Killian shrugs. It’s absurd as when Emma did it. “I’d hardly die for anyone, darling.” “Really way too confident in your ability to—” “—Ensure swooning?” “I will kick you,” Emma warns, but the sentiment lacks any real threat and she’d like to hear him say it several times over again. The I love you part, not necessarily guarantees of swooning. 

“Please don’t do that.” “I’d have to stand up.” “Aye,” Killian laughs, “that is true. Although we are deviating just a tad now.” “From?” “How much I understand.” “Overblown confidence.” Tangling their fingers together doesn’t do much to help the state of Emma’s shoulders, but Killian’s hand is so warm and he’s so warm and, shoulder notwithstanding, every inch of Emma wants to curl against him and close her eyes and let him proclaim every ridiculous thought that has ever crossed his mind. 

Regarding her. Specifically. And them. Collectively. 

“An appropriate amount of confidence,” he corrects. “In regards to you, at least. Because it wasn’t the right reality, but...finding you, believing Henry, knowing that you could save all of us, that made sense to me. In a world where not much else did. That’s been the case from the very start, in fact.” She doesn’t reply. Knows she should, should say something else that proclaims a whole variety of things Emma isn’t sure she can follow through on, but her mind has already started to drift, eyes moving back towards the window and the dreamcatchers there and—

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

“Happily ever after,” she sighs. 

Killian squeezes her fingers. “A work in progress. But the fact remains that I am wholly,” he kisses the back of her palm, “irrevocably,” the side of her wrist, “completely,” her tattoo, “in love with you. And if you are going to believe anything, then I need you to believe that.” “Need?” “With my entire heart, Swan.” “Oh, that was good, actually.” He doesn’t pull away from her hand. Just looks back up at her, and Emma isn’t sure if she’s blushing or simply burning from the inside out, but both options seem feasible at this point. “She was desperate here because I told her she should be,” Emma says, “Regina, I mean.” “That wasn’t your fault. Love has a tendency to—” “—Make you desperate.” “And that wasn’t a question.” Emma makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, more scratches and marks that she knows are far more metaphorical than literal and she should probably say something back. To Killian. About loving him. 

Saying it under duress likely doesn’t count. 

She meant it, though. And in the alternate reality. And every time she thought it before that. 

She’s thought about it quite a bit. 

“Suppose it didn’t have to be,” Killian muses, dropping his head to press a kiss against Emma’s neck. No goosebumps, that time. “I’m sorry that you didn’t know before.” “Ah, I kind of did.” “Still. It’s—” Pulling back is also at the bottom of that list Emma hasn’t made, but it isn’t often that she hears him quite so tongue-tied and there’s something oddly endearing about the red at the tips of his ears. “It’s something you should hear, as often as possible.”

“You’re on a roll.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Emma nods, “and I—you know, for like a solid half second I was totally pissed at you when you showed up in the loft.” “What? Why?” “Making jokes.” To his credit, Killian does look more than a little scandalized. Wide eyes meet Emma’s, and his skin is paler than it was a few seconds before, but that might also have to do with the candles and their inability to burn for an entire night. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I can only tell you I know so many times before it starts getting annoying, I just—I’m not entirely sure what I would have done if it was true. Torn the world apart, probably.” She’s not surprised by the sincerity in her voice. Conviction and another promise that seems to rattle the windows and Emma’s bones in equal measure. Killian’s eyes don’t return to their proper size. 

“If you’re not careful, Your Highness,” he says, “I'll be the one swooning soon.” He catches her before she can swat at his chest. 

“Idiot.” “Less so now, maybe. But I understand the sentiment. When you were—Gods, it’s entirely unfair to do it like this, isn’t it?”

“This?” He rolls his eyes that time. Emma appreciates the symmetry. “Despite assurances otherwise, I’m not a fool, Swan. I knew you wanted to say something in your parent’s loft and I remembered some of that alternate reality. But then, as always, another disaster. Another problem. Another reason for you to sacrifice yourself. And then words I’d waited to hear for far longer than I’d care to admit, but you were gone and it was—” Killian grits his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Emma is an idiot. The biggest idiot. Supreme idiot. She should have realized. “Like a nightmare come true,” he breathes. “Staring at the spot where you were, like I could will you back. Like I could tell you how I loved you more than anything else. No matter what else would happen.”

Lunge is not the best word, but at some point Emma lost any previous control she had over the English language and she’s far too busy relishing Killian’s gasp of surprise when her mouth all but slams against his to be worried about anything else. 

She tilts her head. Closes her eyes. Forgets to breathe. Emma forces herself into this moment and this feeling, lets it wrap around her and sink under her skin until it times up with the beat of her pulse and—

The magic in her veins shifts. Rushing from the top of her head to the back of her heels, the kind of power that leaves her dizzy and overwhelmed and greedy for more. 

Killian’s tongue traces the seam of her lips. 

“They don’t want my help.” “With?” Killian asks, not bothering to pull away from her. Emma’s grip on the back of his hair probably doesn’t help much. “Getting Merlin out of the fucking tree.” “Ah.” “Sound more surprised next time. Have they been talking to you about this?” “Not as such, no. It does not appear that I am part of the inner-Camelot circle.” “Is there one?” “Eh,” he grunts. Disentangling their limbs isn’t all that easy, but it does end with Emma flush against Killian’s side and she supposes beggars can’t be magical choosers. “It seems as if your father is rather taken with having another royal in his midst. Can’t have a notorious pirate captain join them on their perilous quest.” “And how exactly does this notorious pirate captain know about such a quest?”

Suggesting that his eyes actually sparkle at her is entirely absurd and inherently fairy tale, and Emma could not begin to care less. 

She can’t hear anything but Killian’s answering laugh. “I’m afraid that’s a rather closely guarded secret, my love.” “Oh, that’s absolutely—” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. Because it’s not a huge change. Might not even be a change at all, but she latches onto it all the same and the ends of Killian’s lips quirk up. She’s got to find something else to stare at. “Is it super selfish to be glad you’re not going on some perilous quest?”

He shakes his head. It makes the ends of his hair shift, threatening to brush over eyebrows that are far too expressive. “Possibly, but I also can’t help to be anything except glad that you aren’t using more of your magic. I suppose we’re on even ground.” “Not the worst ground to be on.” “No,” Killian agrees, and that’s a strange way to do that. “It’s not. Let Her Majesty work out Merlin’s riddle, she’s got Belle doing research. That’s more help than she deserves.” “High praise. Just,” Emma huffs, “I hate sitting here. There’s too much—” “—Magic?” “Sounds shitty like that.” “Sounds understandable like that. And while I understand what Regina asked of you at the ball, using that power is dangerous.” “I know that,” Emma sneers.

Killian still doesn’t flinch. “I’m not suggesting otherwise, all I’m saying is that we are all here to help, Swan. Some more than others.” “You?” It’s another memory. Another moment her mind has conjured up, a string that connects her to the past and the present and his goddamn eyebrows, Killian staring at her with something that feels like longing and even more like—

Dedication, maybe. Love, definitely. 

Emma’s not sure she’s ever been looked at like that. 

It’s the worst lie she’s told herself yet. 

“Me,” Killian says, and there’s no room for doubt between either one of the letters. “How’d you learn to make the dreamcatchers?” “There was no magic involved if that’s what you’re getting at.” “I wasn’t, in fact.” “No?” He shakes his head. Kisses her forehead. “No.”

And Emma doesn’t deflate, so much as she sags against him. Some of the fight leaves her, pleasantly surprised to find that it also doesn’t leave her feeling hollow. Rather like there’s space for something new there, possibility and potential and her fingers curl themselves into the charms hanging over his shirt. 

Another metaphorical anchor and cool metal, helping to temper the myriad of emotions twisting between her ribs. 

“I didn’t really learn,” she admits, “just kind of remade them from memory and the supplies Guinevere agreed to give me. Should have seen the first one, it looked like garbage.” Chuckling into her hair, Killian’s hand dances across Emma’s back, grazing the laces she’d almost forgotten about. “You think we’ll ever get to go to a ball on our own terms?” “You mean without time travel or Arthur the worthless king involved?” “It’s a good name.”

“You flatter me,” Killian grins, and Emma doesn’t double check that time either. It’s easy to hear. “And I certainly hope so. I have quite a number of thoughts about you and gowns.” “That so? How many thoughts are we talking?” “Vast.” “That’s not very specific. And I don’t know, babe. As nice as the dancing is, getting dressed for balls is kind of overrated. Half a dozen lady’s maids showed up to tie the laces for me and my mom and then they came back to stuff a gazillion pins into my hair.” “Gazillion also sounds rather vast.” Emma’s eye roll gets her yet another smirk, so she figures that’s a fair trade even if there does end up being a migraine involved eventually. “Did you not think about magic’ing the laces loose?” He says it soft enough that Emma can barely hear him — half concern and even more trepidation, crossing a line that hadn’t been there before and shouldn’t remain there now and she shakes her head. “Didn’t even consider it, honestly. Just kinda resigned myself to a crushed spleen, I guess.”

“Sounds painful.”

The metaphors are stupid now. They should go back to declarations and unfounded promises that Emma wants desperately and she’s not entirely prepared for the first tap of Killian’s finger. 

Or for him to mutter, “Turn around for me, love.”

She does. Despite the confusion and the flutter of butterfly wings that have suddenly appeared in her stomach, Emma does as instructed. Something — someone — chafes at that, hackles rising and defenses lifting, and her nails dig deep enough into her palm that they leave tiny crescent shaped marks in their wake. 

“No need to get anyone else to help,” Killian says, “when I’m perfectly capable.” Emma must nod. Her neck moves, so that must mean she nods. Speaking however, seems impossible at the moment. When her tongue is taking up too much space in her mouth and the butterflies are threatening to surge out of her and it really is easier to breathe when the laces aren’t quite that tight. 

Killian makes quick work of it all. At least Emma assumes, still twisted away from him and staring at the mess she’d left on the desk. She’s not sure why there’s a desk in this room. 

“Should I be jealous of your talents in this particular area?” He laughs, kissing the side of her neck again. “Part of me finds that very appealing, actually.” “Which part is that?” “The bastard who wouldn’t mind you claiming me entirely as your own.” “Not into that possessive kind of stuff.” “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” Killian argues, and Emma’s breath shudders out of her. In a distinctly swoon-like manner. “I think I’d rather willingly surrender.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” “Aye, I suppose I am.” He kisses her again. Emma hopes it helps. “Milah used to—she had these outfits. Full of laces and buckles and there weren’t any lady’s maids on board the Jolly. It became something of a routine. Dressing in the morning, getting on deck, picking a heading. Anywhere and everywhere, right at the tips of our fingers. But it was a bit easier, then.” Emma’s muscles are never going to recover from this conversation. She turns anyway, straining her neck to meet his gaze and barely-there smile and it doesn’t take her long to figure that out either. “You’re resourceful,” she says, “I bet you’d even be able to figure out how to lace me back up.” “Suggests you’ll be here in the morning.” “Quite a royal scandal, sharing a boudoir with a notorious pirate captain.”

Killian’s smile stretches. Not by much, but enough and, for now, that’s enough. “I love you.”

He’s waiting, Emma can tell. For the response. The answer. The words that she swears are going to snap her tongue in half, weighing it down as they are. 

She doesn’t say anything. 

Pulling in a deep breath, she moves her hands instead and shimmies until the gown she only sort of likes pools around her waist, leaving her in nothing but a slip. And magic, the kind that hangs in the shadows and festers in the corners of her soul. 

Emma wraps her fingers around the brace at Killian’s arms. Buckles and leather, some of it a slightly different color than the rest from years of use and magic of a different kind and she’s only a little worried she’s inadvertently frozen him there. 

Until his eyes shift, tracing over her face with that same reverence that she’s come to covet in the exact possessive way she’d always wanted to avoid. 

Bastard, indeed. 

“Your turn,” Emma says, and her voice doesn’t crack. Another victory. 

Killian doesn’t object either. Lets her flick and flip and tug, as lightly as she possibly can, twisting the hook off eventually. That last part seems like overkill, but Emma’s always enjoyed the way it clicks off — almost as if she’s flipping a switch on some other part of her, giving into the vulnerability she can see in Killian’s eyes and she’s going to fix all of this. If only to avoid her melodramatic commentary. 

“Come on,” she mumbles, tugging him down next to her as she shoves off the rest of her gown. These sheets aren’t as soft, unfamiliar when Emma pulls them over both of them, but Killian’s arm curls around her waist all the same and her cheek always fits very well against the crook of his neck. 

He flinches. “What? That’s—are you—” “Fine,” Killian cuts in. “Just tickles, is all. When you exhale so dramatically.” “God.” “Close your eyes, love.” “I’m not going to—” “—I know, but you can still stay here. With me.” There’s more to those words too. Fraught with hope and even more want, and Emma can’t ever remember wanting this as badly as she does now. So she doesn’t move. She doesn’t close her eyes, either. But she stays still, listens to the steady in and out of Killian’s breathing and—

Laughter. 

Creeping across the floor and inching up the stone walls, circling either one of Emma’s ankles until it slams into her chest and takes root. She shifts — not quickly, but determined, careful not to wake Killian as she avoids the other face she knows is hidden just out of sight. 

Magic makes her fingers itch. Makes her skin crawl. Anticipation clings to each of her vertebrae. 

With her gown still on the floor, and a pirate she knows would tear the world apart for her still asleep, she sits back down at the table and starts again, anxious to catch the nightmares before they can linger for too long. 

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- I actually though this chapter wasn’t gonna happen. But I’m a procrastinator at heart here it is. The version of Crimson and Clover quoted is the original by Tommy James and the Shondells)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7

Warnings- Angst, sort of, I guess(?)

Chapter 8- Inescapable Bitterness

"Dad!" Y/n shrieked, everything blurring, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug as she stumbled to his path, in an effort to stop him from assaulting Keanu. Standing about a foot in front of him, with her arms outstretched defensively, she racked her brain for helpful words, quickly discarding the useless and desperately searching for anything that would make their situation better. Though, in the end, all she could come up with was a ridiculous, shaky, "This isn't what it looks like."

Vaguely, in the background, Y/n could hear Keanu's confused; "It's not?" But she quickly decided that that was an issue for much later. If there was even a later after everything was over.

"Yeah?" Roger folded his arms across his chest, his shoulders under his red and black flannel tightening and the veins at the side of his neck and on his forehead prominent, "So what the hell is it?" He gave her a couple minutes to scamper for an appropriate response. Though, when not as much as a peep left her mouth, he started moving around her to get to Keanu,  "Cause it looks like Keanu's been taking advantage of my kid."

Loudly, she scoffed in disbelief, grabbing Rogers's forearms to keep him here he was, "He's not taking advantage of me, I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself."

"You're twenty-two," Roger managed, exasperated, shaking off Y/n's grip. Finally free, he approached Keanu and they stood head to head. Y/n could figure out if Keanu was just gonna take a punch or if they were going to have a full on fight, “And he’s fifty five. To him, you are a kid.”

“She’s not a kid,” Keanu managed through gritted teeth, standing tall. If he was phased by Roger, he was definitely good at hiding it.

“Yeah, you should know, right?” Neither of them made a move to get physical; her father was always more of a pacifist, getting loud if necessary but never violent, at least, not in any instance that she could recall. "You had no business."

"I didn't know she was your daughter-"

"It doesn't matter who's kid I am!" Y/n's hasty interjection was met with startled stares, "I'm an adult dad, and I'm gonna date whoever I want."

Before Y/n could speak again, Roger was interrupting, "You think I don't know that? But he's thirty years older than you. And you said it yourself; he doesn't want anything serious, so I'm not gonna stand back and let him hurt you."

She understood his point, well, she tried to; when you have kids, you want to protect them, make sure no harm came their way. But you also couldn't do it forever, there'd come a time when they'd have to make their own mistakes. And if Keanu was one of those mistakes, Y/n was willing to find out on her own. "I know," her tone softened empathically, "And I appreciate that dad, but I'm not sixteen anymore, you can't just yell at the guy I'm dating and ground me so we don't see each other again. I'm an adult and I can don’t need you to protect me all the time."

Tentatively, Keanu added, "She's right Rog-"

"No,” he turned, pointing warningly, his face still beet red with anger, “You stay out of this! God you’re-” Unable to find the words, Roger cut himself off, shaking his head, huffing so he could catch his breath. It was clear to Y/n that he was no longer willing to put up a verbal fight, though she knew that the next time they saw each other in private, all wouldn’t be as it typically was. She was definitely in for a lengthy lecture, the one she’d been duly avoiding. 

Sighing heavily, her father finally continued, his tone significantly softer that time, "Look, I get it, you're a grown up, you can do whatever you want," reluctantly, he shook his head, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, "I can't stop you. But," at that, he turned to face Keanu, his expression hardening once again, and his pointer finger jammed into Keanu’s chest, "If you hurt her, and I mean this, I will destroy you."

"I…."

Before either of them could respond, Roger was already headed for the door, the thuds of his boots heavy on the floor, not even looking back as Y/n called after him, scurrying slowly so she wouldn't actually have to grab him. "Come on. Dad," she tried one final, fruitless time, before he was pulling the door shut behind him, sound of it closing enough to bring a chilly finality to their interaction.

Y/n stood, rooted the floor, staring at the white painted double doors hopelessly. Her heart thumped erratically against her chest as panic swoll up slowly. Y/n hadn't seen her father mad at anyone like that since he'd left her mother. Just like he'd left her a few minutes ago. It was absolutely irrational, she was an adult, and the situation was completely different, but Y/n couldn't help but worry that it would end the same. That really, she was like Elane. First it was Luke, and now her own father. She hurt people too, just like her.

Her glassy eyes stung and there was a lump caught in her throat that couldn't be remedied in time to respond to Keanu's calls. Y/n's lips quivered, though she didn't have the slightest clue on if it was due to words unsaid or her sheer, though unwarranted panic. She had to fix things, she couldn't lose her father again. And it couldn't be her fault. 

"Y/n," Keanu called out to her again, that time, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Jumping slightly, a little gasp escaped her parted lips as she turned, and her paled cheeks were enough to exaggerate the emotion in her eyes. Even as she looked at him, even if he'd drawn her attention, Keanu's words seemed to have failed him and he simply stood there with her, his touch not as intimate as the ones they'd shared over the past two months, but his eyes were sympathetic and dim.

Keanu couldn't have recalled a worse time to be rendered speechless. He knew that he should have said something, anything, but nothing seemed right. He couldn't believe that he hadn't put the pieces together; her name and the things he'd heard from Roger in the past. Hell, it was probably plastered all over the fucking internet. But ignorance is bliss. 

Would he have been with her if he knew who she was? If they'd met a few years before, when he and her father were frequent poker buddies, playing rounds with a slew of other bachelors at Chateau Marmont on Thursday nights? 

Sometimes, over the summer, Roger would skip poker or whatever else they'd planned, telling everyone that he was headed to spend some time with his daughter. "She's great," he'd say, a haughty, proud smile plastered on his features as he slapped Keanu on the back, "I've gotta bring her out to meet everyone some time."

He'd never brought her.

And now, Keanu knew her. Better than any of those other men surrounding the green felt ever would. It was funny, Keanu thought, back then, he'd envy Roger, wishing that he'd have someone waiting to spend vacation with him. Someone he could spend hours talking about, being proud of. Someone he loved. Maybe a kid, maybe a wife, just anyone really. But shortly after that, he'd aged out of it, the tingle of jealousy turning into disinterest; his time for those things had passed, and all that was left were fleeting pleasures.

Reverting to the present, Keanu tired to blink the guilt away, refocusing his attention on Y/n, who still seemed tragically bewildered, "Y/n-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she sunk into herself and Keanu couldn't help but be a little grateful. He didn't think he'd do a very good job at explaining things, and he could tell that their….. companionship had hit a new level of fragility, now easily shattered by whatever came next. 

"What do you want to do?" Desperately, Keanu needed her to tell him. He wanted to fix things for her, for them, but the situation was less than familiar, it wasn't everyday that he'd get caught with his hands up a friend's daughter's blouse, and really, Keanu didn't have the slightest clue on what would make things better. It would help if she'd let him in, but he'd learnt that Y/n wasn't the type of person that was quick to do something like that; he'd have to earn the privilege of hearing her thoughts. Though seeing her like that, so shaken and in need of comfort and an emotional band aid, he ached to do something, even if it meant she'd have to spell it out.

For a moment more, Y/n regarded him curiously, as if assessing to see whether or not his offer was a genuine one. "Have a drink with me," she finally determined, slipping out of his loose grasp and heading to the kitchen.

"Why don't we go out?" Keanu offered, he knew just the place he'd take her, it was secluded and not too popular, meaning that they wouldn't have been discovered, and they served almost every kind of liquor available. It was the perfect combination of trashy and classy. 

Her hand was already gripping the handle of the refrigerator, though, it wasn't open yet when she stopped to consider his offer. Going out would be good, at least she could forget the horridity of what had not too long ago happened. "For drinks?"

"Yeah," Keanu nodded slowly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, "If we leave soon, it shouldn't take us too long to get there."

A faint ghost of a smile brushed Y/n's lips, and she let her hand fall  to her side as she nodded, “Okay, let’s do it.”

Instead of taking the bike he’d gone to her place with, they’d taken Y/n’s car after she’d showered and changed into a simple pair of black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with a loose, lace tank top on the inside. The drive had been an hour and a half longer than Y/n had expected it to be, and she and Keanu had spent most of it in tense silence. She couldn’t figure out if she was mad at him for not trying to break it off or if she wanted it to stay that way for a while. 

For the most part, she’d spent the ride propped on her arm, jammed against the passenger door, while Keanu manned the driver’s seat, maneuvering her sleek grey vehicle with ease; five fingers easily closed around the velvet wheel covering, his other hand stationed on his thigh, never reaching over console. At some point, she’d turned the stereo on, playing what she had saved there, but the soft hum of music wasn’t enough to cut the tension swirling around the enclosed vehicle, and at some point, Y/n had shifted her gaze, to out the window, staring blindly as glittering buildings grew sparse, replaced with houses, those eventually becoming infrequent too while periods where the headlights were the only source of light growing longer and longer. Desolate desert lined the street on both sides, and it was like that for a considerable chunk of the journey, until, out of nowhere really there a bar came into sight. 

It was at the helm of what looked like a small, scantily populated town and didn’t look very credible with beat up concrete walls and a gravel filled parking lot. When Keanu parked, her Tesla stood out impressively among the less eventful cars that were there, scattered about the large lot. There weren’t many though, and when Keanu led her through the door, Y/n found that there weren’t many patrons either. 

The nameless establishment was just as she suspected, a bit worn down from years of use; upholstery boasting hints of wear and tear while the heavy wooden interior constituting the lengthy bar, chair frames and floors told their age in surface scratches and a dulled color that was mostly hidden by the dim yellow lighting. A lone television hung over one end of the counter, the rerun of a football game on mute while rock music wafted softly from speakers stationed at the corners. It wasn’t at all the kind of place that Y/n usually ventured to, with her half a handful of friends; it had a sort of eighties biker feel that she found was charming. As far as she was concerned, the bar didn’t have a name, but it had one hell of a personality. 

With a gentle hand stationed at the center of her back, Keanu led Y/n to  a circled booth at one of the corners, leaving her for a handful of minutes to get them a couple of drinks- that definitely wasn't the kind of place with a wait staff. He returned not too long after, setting down a couple glasses of whiskey neat. “I figured you’d want something strong after…..”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, bringing the simple glass to her lips, wincing at the burn of the alcohol. It wasn’t as smooth as the ones she’d witnessed Keanu ordering before, he had exquisite taste when it came to spirits, but it was definitely from the top shelf. “That was…..” Embarrassing? Traumatizing? Confusing?

Even if she hadn’t finished, Keanu knew exactly what she was talking about. It really wasn’t up there with the moments of his life that he wanted on mental speed dial, but it was too late, forever, probably every time he saw that armchair at her place or wore that t-shirt, Keanu would remember, and probably cringe, at that memory. It was branded into his brain. “It was,” he followed suit when Y/n took another swing of her drink, quietly hissing at the tinge of the amber liquid

Y/n took several of those ‘almost’ breaths, the kind that people took before they said something important or asked a question that they weren’t too sure of. The type where you’d inhale, but only halfway and where your chest expanded, but not noticeably so. Those breaths. “How do you know him?” When Keanu glanced up at her, the darkness of his gaze was seemingly tripled by the shoddy lighting as dark strands curtained his ruggedness. He was so attractive, so sinfully perfect, it was hard to believe that he and her father could be the same age. Why’d he have to be so handsome? 

“Your dad?” He cleared his throat, staring at his drink, probably considering downing it in one go, before looking up at her again, “When I used to live at Chateau Marmont, about….” he thought on it for a minute, “Maybe twenty years ago, he’d stay there whenever he was in Los Angeles, we’d talk in passing but didn’t really know each other personally,” Y/n listened intently, her head tilted to the side, some of her loose hair cascading over her shoulder, her head propped up by her hand as she leaned into the lip of the table. She didn’t remember anything from the time Keanu was referring to, she couldn’t have been more than a couple years old anyway. “We only got to really know each other after I moved out,” he leaned into his side of the small booth, one fist still on the table, the other hand bringing his glass to his lips, moistening his lips before he continued, “I’d still go sometimes, and then Roger- your dad,” Keanu seemed unsure of how to refer him from them on, and Y/n was too intrigued to offer anything helpful, “He told me that he was living there, he and his wife were separated.”

Y/n gasped quietly; that must have been no more than a few months before her parents’, very messy,  divorce but definitely after he’d left their home. It wasn’t breaking news that he’d spent a few years at a hotel before finding himself the Malibu pad, but Y/n just hadn’t known what hotel he’d been living at. “That’s it?” Y/n probed, referring to Keanu's long pause.

He’d hoped it was enough to appease her, though Y/n could apparently see right through him, already knowing that he was holding back, “No,” he sighed heavily, “The two of us, and some of the other regulars started playing poker together on Thursday nights, drinking and whatever,” he waved it off, not going into much more detail. “He talked about you a lot,” Keanu quirked half smile, “How smart you are, how proud he was and how lucky he was to have such a great kid.”

Huffing quietly, Y/n took another sip of her whiskey, returning his faint smile. She always knew that her father was proud of her, Roger never made any attempt to hide it, but hearing it from someone else sparked a warmness in her chest. As upset as he’d been when he left her apartment that evening, Keanu’s words were enough to instill some level of reassurance, he was still her father, and he’d always love her. 

“Did you know?” Earlier, Y/n had heard Keanu tell her father, several times, that he didn’t know who she was, but Y/n had to hear it for herself. She needed the truth, desperately.

For the first time, since they’d left her building, Keanu reached out to touch her, easing her grip from the glass and taking hold of the tips of her fingers, “I promise you,” he leaned forward, his eyes pleading with hers to believe him, “I had no idea. I should have put together somehow. If I’d known……” Keanu let the words trail off, thinking better of hurting her like that.

But Y/n wasn’t so quick to let the issue go, “If you’d known?” Keanu just carried on with absently stroking her knuckles, turning his face towards the open space of the floor left for dancing. There was no one there, everyone seemed interested in drinking and quiet chatter, but nothing more. “If you’d known,” she repeated slowly, dragging his attention back to the moment, “What would you have done?”

He probably wouldn’t have fucked her.

Probably wouldn’t have cornered her in an empty pool.

He probably wouldn’t have asked her out, or whatever he’d done.

Keanu probably wouldn't have done a lot of things.

But he couldn’t tell her that and risk hurting her. Besides, that would have been a really awkward ride back. “Come on,” he polished off his drink, pulling Y/n off the seat, gently tugging her towards the makeshift dance floor. “Dance with me,” pretending to not hear her question, or rather, blatantly ignoring it was probably his safest, least emotionally taxing option. And Keanu was going to take it and run.

“I asked you a question,” Y/n urged, though, still letting Keanu pull her to his chest. An old song was playing, one from when he was a teenager, a slow rock ballad that had been covered several times since the original.

Ah, now I don’t hardly know her But I think I could love her.

"I know," Keanu held Y/n against him, looking down at her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her middle and hers looped his neck. They swayed slowly in one place, not really in time with the beat but, unless his eyes had betrayed him, Keanu didn't think the other patrons were paying them any mind anyway. 

My, my such a sweet thing I want to do everything  What a beautiful feeling

Y/n shifted her head, casting her gaze to the glittering bottles adoring the oak shelves behind the bar, fixed on the skewed reflection of their forms of the reflective glass behind the stocks, bodies in sync though minds gravely troubled. "Aren't you going to answer me?" Her words were void of any urgency, a mere, husky whisper barely heard above the hypnotizing mantra of Tommy James.

Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over

"No," was all he offered, just as softly as her previous words, one of his hands sliding to the center of Y/n’s back. She didn’t look at him, apparently unaffected, but considering their position didn’t afford Keanu a ready view of her expression, he didn’t think he could actually determine anything. 

Keanu didn't need to tell her for either of them to know. He prided himself, well typically, on being the keeper of a strong moral compass. Infidelity wasn't something he took lightly, even if he'd proven himself wrong in recent months. But a friend's daughter? That was something else. 

Keanu didn't tell her, Y/n knew it anyway.

If he'd known, he'd have never slept with her. 

If he'd known, they wouldn't even be standing there.

It was a tumultuous thought. And the worst part? Neither of them knew if they'd preferred it that way or not.

********

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