#that it doesn’t MATTER how its defined what shape it takes

[privateanxieties]

Peter Parker goes to the dentist

Summary: Going to the dentist when he has superpowers is enough of a hassle, but when he can’t explain the origin of his injuries it becomes an entire situation. Luckily, the doctor he picked is trustworthy. And competent. And pretty.

Pairing: tasm!Peter Parker x Reader (she/her); fluff, flirting.

Words: 5.1K

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It's the most ordinary of Wednesdays: no one schedules appointments bright and early in the middle of the week, freeing her to relax with tea and the book that took ages to pluck from the library's shelves. The mistake of thinking a private practice would afford more leisure has led to an existence defined by work and sleep, and she isn't even sure she remembers how to enjoy reading as an activity. The chance to figure it out passes by quickly, however, when a knock is heard at her office door. Her assistant, Stephanie, announces a walk-in patient with an emergency. Professionalism keeps her from grumbling her way to the front desk, tea abandoned and book stuffed back into a random drawer that she suspects will become its permanent resting place.

Her disappointment doesn't matter very much when her eyes fall upon the man in the waiting area - someone else is having a worse time than she is. Jaw and mouth abundantly bloody, the only parts of his face left visible are his eyes and forehead. The bundle of napkins he's holding up serves only to mask the disaster she'll be entrusted to fix.

Stephanie provides little detail of his condition other than constant twitching and a concerning level of secrecy as to the origin of the injury.

"He said he'll speak to you.", is what she whispers none-too-discreetly. The waiting room is too small and her assistant too freaked out.

Along with a warning she'll stand by in case of anything, Stephanie mouths a 'good luck' and retreats to her tasks.

Turning on her heel with focused intent, she approaches the brown-haired man slouching in one of the chairs, noticing his disheveled appearance and overall sulking demeanor. Maybe he got into a fight.

"Sir? If you'll follow me?", she requests gently, surprised by the speed of his reaction. At once he looks up, standing with no difficulty and pinning her with his eyes: slightly wild and off-kilter, but attentive. At least he's not concussed.

Once inside the privacy of the office, she motions for him to have a seat in the examination chair while she scrubs in, expecting that he'll divulge the nature of his injury; yet he doesn't so much as remove the soaked napkins from his face. She decides on a different approach.

Taking a seat herself, she pushes the tool tray aside and removes the surgical mask, a small smile forming once she notices just how nervous he looks.

"What's your name?"

What he mumbles from beneath the napkins sounds too much like Peter to be anything else, and he confirms with a nod when she double checks.

"Hi Peter. Can you show me what hurts?"

He doesn't move to oblige the request, instead staring into her eyes with remarkable intensity before he replies with a question of his own.

"Does doctor-patient confidentiality apply to dentists?"

The way he says it, muffled and broken, beckons laughter forward and it's only reigned in by decorum and practiced solemnity. Still, smiling is unavoidable.

"All medical providers have to follow HIPAA. If you're asking whether you can trust me, then the answer is yes."

Moments later, the hand he's holding to his face moves away, tissues bunched up between bloody fingers. Come to think of it, there's blood running down his neck as well, staining the collar of the unluckily white henley. He must've taken quite a tumble, she thinks, but the assumption is cut short by the sight revealed to her.

The state of his face clues her in to two things: the injury is internal, as there are no marks or cuts she can see on his face, and his mouth must be in pretty bad shape for so much blood to be produced. She has no idea how he appears unbothered. He must be in tremendous pain. Her lips press together subtly.

"What happened to you?"

"Is that strictly necessary to answer?", he returns quietly, and she isn't sure she likes the suspicion he regards her with.

"Hey, I'm not asking to judge. I'm asking so I know how to help you. I need to know how this happened, so I can watch out for things like nerve damage, sinus infection, damaged blood vessels - it's not just teeth I look at.", she explains calmly.

He seems persuaded, but remains guarded in the story he offers.

"Let's just say I uh - approached the ground with accelerated velocity and now… I think I might be a few teeth short of a full set."

"How did you fall?"

Again, he says nothing. A statue might provide better cooperation.

"And this… sudden inertia - it targeted your mouth specifically? You don't have any other injuries on your face."

Repeated silence and the avoidance of eye contact prompt a deep sigh to leave her chest. She could refuse him treatment if he doesn't provide the details of his condition, under the very reasonable concern that he's putting them both at risk of improper treatment.

But, he doesn't seem like a sketchy person. Overly avoidant and weary? Sure. Involved with nefarious people or dealings? Not really, if her instincts serve her.

"Ok. Lie back in the seat and let me have a look?"

Thankfully, he stops resisting and does as asked, handing her the ball of soaked napkins when she holds her hand out for them. Disposing of them and scrubbing in once more, she turns on the overhead light and the small flat screen TV fixed on the ceiling for the patients' comfort. Taking a seat herself, she grabs the small mirror tool and leans forward. Peter doesn't open his mouth right away.

"Just - I need you to know. If you see some weird stuff, could you try your best to ignore it?", he mumbles, visibly trying to move his lips minimally.

She pauses but does not lean back.

"I've seen a lot of weird stuff. Won't even phase me - promise."

Well.

Perhaps she has seen some weird stuff in her time, but nothing quite like this. He is indeed missing one molar and two incisors, among other damaged teeth that have either been chipped or severed in half. She wants to ask whether someone put his head through a wall, or if he's been in some kind of freak accident that only targeted his mouth, but she holds off on account of wanting him to relax.

She continues her examination, on the lookout for weird stuff as he put it. It's several minutes later that she pulls away, having cleaned up as much blood as possible and come to a conclusion on what needs to be done to fix the damage.

"Well, Peter… I won't sugarcoat this. You're looking at quite a few procedures. You have three missing teeth: two incisors on your mandibular arch and a molar on your maxillary. Your lower left canine has a nerve exposed - which, frankly, I'm not sure how you're not howling in pain right now. And there's secondary damage to four other teeth; chips, cracks, nerve damage from mechanical shock, but I'll need an X-ray to know for sure. And you have a cavity, but I don't think you got that today."

The silence that follows is normal in her line of work, especially when the news is this bad. She's been on the receiving end of some terrible information of the medical variety herself. She knows what people's first thoughts usually are.

"That's - that sounds pretty bad. Right? It is bad, isn't it?", he asks, likely to soothe himself by hoping she'll say no.

"It's nothing that can't be fixed, so that's a positive. But there is a lot of damage that I can't fix in one go. The best I can do right now is take care of the exposed nerve and make sure the other problems don't get worse before treatment. I can seal the cracks in your teeth and make sure the nerve damage isn't unmanageable until a future appointment."

Peter appears to consider her words carefully for a few moments, and she finds herself feeling a sliver of what he must be feeling. It's the part of the job that sucks the most, watching people weigh their options against their possibilities.

"And uh, this is going to cost how much to fix?"

Yes, exactly the part she hates. Despite not having gone into dentistry to get rich, she's been struggling since the beginning to keep costs to what they now are - more affordable than other clinics in the borough, yet still outside the range of what people can afford on an average wage. She thought having a private practice would enable her to make financial choices that others didn't want to make, and to a degree, that was true. There's no reason that an extraction should cost several hundred dollars, but she never realized cement would be this exorbitantly priced. They were all a cartel - the manufacturers and distributors of medical equipment were the real decision makers in this business, and cutting costs would always have to come from her own earnings. She's cut just about all she could, and still the cost for Peter's medical bills would be…

"For this session, I reckon around eight hundred and thirty dollars. I need to extract the nerve from your canine, reconstruct the tooth so it's not exposed anymore, seal 5 cracks in four teeth - that's fillings for each one - and immobilize the ones that have nerve damage so they don't worsen until they're treated. With the anaesthesia, that'll come up to just around nine hundred.", she explained.

It's a few seconds before Peter says something that baffles her.

"Well, I guess we can do without that last one."

"I'm sorry?"

"It won't do much good on me."

"The anaesthetic? Peter, these procedures are not a walk in the park and I need you to be still and calm. I can't pull out a nerve with you writhing in the chair.", she tries reasoning, assuming he's trying to either be brave or cut back on the total cost and possibly a bit of both.

Yet when he meets her eyes, the brown-haired man seems to have found a resolve that escaped him until now.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, right?"

She nods once, uncertain.

"Well, doc - unless you have some sort of elephant tranquilizer, which would be great if you did, then it won't be much help. The gas makes me dizzy and nauseous but it doesn't take away the pain, and the shot just kinda stops working after a minute of two. So unless you wanna stop every two minutes to give me a new one, I guess we're in a bit of a pickle. The wonders of superpowers.", he speaks candidly yet grimly.

Oh.

So that's why he was so cagey and weird. And why there's no outer damage on his face. And why he wouldn't say how he ended up like this. And - and - maybe she's freaking out a little bit.

"Did I lose you?"

His questions snaps her attention like a wire and she blinks heavily to refocus. He seems amused, but the grimace on his face cuts into what might be a humorous moment.

"Uh - no. No, that's… that's fine. Superpowers.", she breathes out.

"Yeah."

"What - what kind of…?"

"The kind that get me in trouble.", he answers curtly. It's obvious he won't offer more information, and to be completely fair, he doesn't have to. It's up to her to be professional and do her job, and that includes reigning in obnoxious curiosity.

"Right. Well. I don't have any - elephant tranquilizer, was it? But there is the possibility of giving you a general anaesthetic. You'll be completely under, like surgery. Have you tried that before?"

"Haven't had to, if I'm honest. Things just kind of… fix themselves. Or they did. Apparently I can heal a broken bone but not a broken tooth, which is weird 'cause teeth are also bones.", he jokes.

"Your medical knowledge is impressive.", she gives it right back.

A small pained chuckle is Peter's response, and after that, he nods with a sigh, saying that he wants to give it a go. She gets up from the chair and turns off the overhead light, announcing that she'll go get the nurse, but Peter stops her with a hand around her wrist.

"No, no. She can't - I can't have anyone else know. Please. Can you do it yourself?"

"I can, but I'd really be more comfortable if there was someone else in here to monitor you while you're under. I only have one pair of eyes."

His hesitation persists, and she tries for compromise.

"She doesn't have to know anything. I just need her to assist me. It'll be like any other patient."

"Ok. Ok, I trust you.", he relents, letting go of her wrist and mumbling a quick apology for getting handsy.

With a reassuring smile, she asks him to relax and leaves the room in search of Stephanie, updating her on the situation and getting herself ready. Taking a seat in the waiting area, she calms her nerves with a few deep breaths.

This is new and different, and not entirely lacking difficulty. She's never tended to a superpowered individual, but she isn't completely unfamiliar with them. To be fair, everyone in the city has had some contact with the extraordinary. Living in New York comes with its own interesting challenges, sometimes of the life-threatening kind. Making it to work in this city is more of a conundrum than it is in other places, not least of all because of the regular clashes of superhumans.

Chaotic and random, her own experience saw the ground underneath simply disappearing on the way to work one morning. An explosion had gone off underneath the intersection at 38th St. and Sixth Avenue, when she was barely two minutes away from her building.

It's been two years and change, and the memory is no less vivid; neither is the striking red and blue of the material she was clinging to mid-air, uncertain whether she was dead. She still feels the motion of the glide in her dreams sometimes, a jolt and swing that took her breath away. It was only upon landing on solid ground that she realized her breathing was labored from blood loss and traumatic injury. It had almost been the end.

There is a person in her office whom she knows nothing about other than what he's been willing to reveal. Superpowers.

No, no - the odds are astronomical.

Deciding on going through with the proposed treatment, she returns to the room to see her assistant preparing for the procedure, and Peter tapping away at the edge of the chair in a broken rhythm. She notices him tense up as she approaches silently, despite having his back to her.

Superpowers.

"Ready?", she tries with a smile. She wants to appear as composed as possible and transmit that confidence to him, but it feels like he sees through it.

"I am. Are you?", Peter returns quietly.

She glances briefly at Stephanie's turned back, and for a moment thinks that maybe she should've handled this without her aid.

"Yep. Let's run through some questions first before we get started."

He hums inquisitively.

"Do you have any allergies I should be aware of?"

"No, no allergies."

"Are you on any medication right now?"

"I wish."

"Any chronic or acute illnesses?"

"Is being a dumbass acute or chronic?"

She fixes him with a look that falls just a little short of stern, but then she notices that Stephanie is ready with the general anaesthesia and decides to lighten the atmosphere.

"Depends. Has this condition lasted longer than three months?" she asks to humor him.

"Considerably longer, doc."

"Then I'm afraid it falls under chronic. Requires prolonged medical attention and treatment."

"Or just a good smack upside the head.", he suggests, and from his tone and overall body language, she notices how nervous he really is. He's trying to distract himself, but he's also distracting her, and that is not good.

"From personal experience, I think kindness might go a longer way in terms of helping someone get back on the right track.", she says with finality.

It's funny - she's never gotten this wordy with a patient before, and she's pretty sure she's never gotten a look like that from one either. Peter has fallen silent, but he hasn't stopped fidgeting, and as her gaze drifts to his hands, she realizes they're still covered in blood. That's not good. Twitching hands covered in blood summon unwelcome memories, but instead of reaching for a napkin to offer him, instinct has her reaching out to place her palm over his.

The words come out of nowhere, like it isn't her saying them.

"You'll be ok. I've got you."

His fingers barely close around her own before Stephanie clears her throat and the moment shatters into a million pieces. Thank God someone kept their wits about them, because that was the most unprofessional she's ever been in her entire life. Her hand burns as she pulls it back, and the back of her neck feels cold.

She's so stunned she doesn't speak again until Peter is successfully under anaesthesia and Stephanie is looking too closely at what she's doing. Not her fault - it is the very thing an assistant is supposed to do, but she made a promise she'd keep his secret.

"Steph, would you please turn the news on? Haven't watched them in forever.", she asks without looking up.

A few moments later the volume on the television is turned up and she starts to feel even more relaxed, her mind now completely devoted to only one thing. She comes to regret her request some twenty minutes later, when Stephanie makes a comment that gives her pause.

"Damn, look at that. Poor guy got slammed with a bulldozer."

"What?" she asks, not completely registering the meaning.

"Spidey. They just showed him get wrecked, square in the face. They're playing it on repeat, look - ", Stephanie says, turning the volume up even louder.

A controlled exhale leaves her lips. The footage shown on the news is so brutal it's almost unwatchable. He goes flying and is out for the count for who knows how long, really? One second feels like forever, seeing him like that.

"That's not a bulldozer.", she remarks, somewhat dazed.

"Huh?"

"The thing that hit him. It was an asphalt compactor."

"Well, whatever it was, that must've sucked. Happened like, two hours ago. Do you think he's dead?" Stephanie asks.

Hm. No. No, she doesn't think so. Otherwise she'd get her license revoked for operating on dead people.

Jesus fucking Christ. Spider-Man is in her office, out cold, and she has her fingers in his mouth. The thing she does every day is suddenly weird, like an entity deconstructed it and put it back together on a smoke break. Superpowers.

"I'm sure he's fine.", she finally answers Stephanie's question, pulling herself together.

"Just horribly disfigured probably.", her assistant frowns.

Hm. No, not disfigured either. Quite pretty actually. Fuck. It's surreal to know what he looks like. It's surreal to be the one to help him now. Granted, what she's doing is hardly comparable. Anyone could fix his teeth, while she would've died if not for him.

She's too affected to say anything else for the rest of the procedure. More than two hours later, everything is done, and she leans back in her chair with a sigh. There's some pain in her lower back that reminds her she's got physio tonight, but most of all it reminds her that all of this is a strange turn of fate. It's been a year - she hasn't seen him since and she thought she'd never see him again, especially not like this.

"Do you want me to wake him up?" Stephanie asks.

"No. No, I'm ok to do that. Thank you, Steph."

"I'll go get the papers ready."

"No. That's not necessary. I mean, the patient file, yes. But no invoice."

"Uhh… are we doing things off the books now?" Stephanie jokes, but there is an edge of nervousness to her tone.

"Yeah, I figured I'd turn to a life of crime just now. No - I'm just not charging him.", she explains while cutting off the anaesthesia.

"Ok? I mean, you're the boss."

With that, the other woman leaves the room, and she's left to wonder how long it'll be before he wakes up. The average recovery time for this type of sedation is around thirty minutes. Keeping an eye on the clock, she remembers that his fingers are still covered in dried blood and wonders if she'd overstep.

He did it for you, she thinks.

The memories surface involuntarily, and this time she doesn't shake the images away, letting herself be lost to the sights and sounds of 38th Street, over a year ago. The ground disappeared, and she was falling before she had time to scream. Something stopped her descent none-too-gently, dislocating her shoulder and making pain bloom violently all along her spine. She hadn't yet felt the gash in her thigh that severed an artery, and even once back on solid ground, she kept staring at it without feeling anything. Another pair of hands wrapped the wound tightly, the sticky and white material getting soaked red in moments. The clock was running on her life, and she couldn't even focus. She was entirely elsewhere.

The blood on her hands was hard to think of as her own, and seeing it running down her leg and onto concrete in such quantities made it even harder. She saw blood every day, and yet she was paralyzed. Not a sound left her mouth.

And then those hands that worked so hard to keep her alive caught her own shaking ones, squeezing them firmly and breaking through the haze.

You'll be ok. I've got you.

By the time everything poured in and overwhelmed her, she was already in the back of the ambulance. She never even got to thank him.

Peter begins to stir only seven minutes in. His lashes flutter about delicately, brushing over the tiniest white scar just above the apple of his cheek. Was it from that day, or any of the million other days he put his life on the line for complete strangers? She's too in her head while wiping his fingers with a damp cloth to notice exactly when he opens his eyes, but when she looks up next, he's staring right into her soul. It's him who breaks the tension only she appears to be feeling.

"Think that might be the best nap I've ever had.", he mumbles somewhat adorably, but also… attractively? His voice is considerably deeper than it was before and Jesus Christ, she's hitting on a patient and needs to stop right now.

"Everything went well.", she announces. It's clipped and awkward, and she trailed off with no further explanation as if that was any sort of acceptable bedside manner. She rushes to supply the rest of the information, but Peter beats her to it.

"Knew it would."

"How?"

God - was she stammering now?

"Cause you said it would. Said you have me."

It's clear that while he seems to have an easier time talking than the average person, he's still a little out of it and she doesn't want to hear what else he might say under the influence of drugs or she might burst into tears. Some medical professional.

"You should rest a little - mandatory recovery time, superpowers or not."

"How long?" he whines, head lulling back against the seat and eyes closing slowly.

"Let's say, until we get someone here to bring you home. Do you have anyone we can call?"

"Mmm… my aunt. Aunt May. But you don't need to call her, I can get home fine. She worries a lot."

She can imagine. Although, if he won't call her to come pick him up from the dentist, she likely doesn't know about anything worse.

"Ok. But if you're not recovered in half an hour, I'm taking you home myself."

"Bossy."

"Alright, you're still out of it. I won't hold that against you. This one time.", she warns without malice, getting up from her seat and heading towards the door. His voice stops her before she can leave.

"Hope there's multiple times. You're really nice."

Yeah. Definitely out of it.

"Well, if you get into trouble again, you'll know where to find me. Stephanie will be in to check on you shortly."

That's it. That's all she can say before she really has to leave. She makes a beeline for the bathroom and gets there just in time for the first tears to fall, and she feels more than ridiculous for reacting this way. This past year she's thought of him and that day whenever her mind drifted, and each time she ended up more guilty. Grateful, but guilty. There were others who needed his help that day. She's seen the footage more times than she can count. It was chaos everywhere, more than one person could ever handle, and people were crying out for help from all directions. But he stayed with her. He stayed with her for longer than he reasonably should have, because she was unable to help herself in any capacity. His words of reassurance have been playing in her head ever since.

Splashing cold water on her face helps, but now she looks a mess because of all the days a week to wear more makeup than usual, she had to pick today. Who could've thought a boring Wednesday would turn out like this? Fixing herself up as much as possible, she looks at her watch and realizes fifteen minutes have passed in a blink. She needs to check on him if Stephanie hasn't already.

When she returns, Peter is nowhere to be found. She goes in search of her assistant, and it's just then that she hears another voice at the front desk. An argument between Stephanie and her missing patient is ongoing, and the few details she makes out immediately clue her in as to the issue.

"Steph, I got this. Why don't you go prep the office for the next appointment?" she asks quickly, not missing the relief on the blonde woman's face.

She avoids looking at Peter until Stephanie has left the room. It's quiet. Awkward.

"She won't let me pay. Why wouldn't she let me pay?" he asks, sounding much more focused and looking like he didn't just wake up from general anaesthesia.

"Because I told her not to.", she answers evenly.

"Why? Because I was worried about money? I'm not a charity case."

She thought he might be that type of person. Of course the selfless hero who risks everything and battles monsters every other week would think this way. It's insane that people like him exist. She weighs the words she wants to say for a moment or two, but there is no way around it. The look in his eyes is too intense to get away with anything but the truth.

"It's not charity. You saved my life.", she says quietly.

It's somewhat amusing that his first reaction is to get ready to pretend he doesn't know what she's talking about, and she'd like to see what he comes up with, but it's almost noon and enough emotion has scattered her brain. A meat tenderizer might've done less damage.

"You don't have to say anything. I saw you on the news. You got hit in the face with an asphalt compactor."

It's a few seconds before he replies, but this time, he's the one averting his eyes.

"Is that what it's called?"

"Mmhm."

"I'll remember that next time. Wouldn't want to get killed by something and not know what it's called."

"Please don’t.", she interjects before she can stop herself.

"Don't what?"

"Please don't get killed."

"Can't make any promises.", he says with a smile. Then, maybe to break the tension or maybe to be stubborn, he continues. "But I do have to insist. I have to pay you for this."

"Well, I have to insist too. I wouldn't be here to help anyone if you hadn't helped me. This is the least I can do. And don't try to argue, because I went to med school. You won't win."

"I was right. You are bossy.", he quips back, smiling a little too wide and wincing from the likely still sore jaw.

Did he call her that again to see what she would do? Because she isn't one to back down from a challenge.

"Only with mouthy patients."

"Yeah? What about with non-patients?", he volleys back easily.

Is he - ? The look on his face certainly seems to suggest it.

"Depends. Are you asking what I think you're asking, or are you still a little dizzy?" she teases lightly.

"You know the answer to that."

"Yeah, but I want to hear you say it."

Peter sighs like he's been told he has to empty out a swimming pool with a bowl.

"You won't let me pay you for your services. Will you at least let me take you out for dinner?"

Her face falls like she's just been told the same thing. Why would she ever think he’d -

"Fuck. That was - it's not a quid pro quo. That's not what I meant. You're uh… you're really pretty, and obviously smart, and maybe this is uh - inappropriate - but I'd like it if you said yes. But you don't have to, and I wouldn't blame you. I always put my foot in my mouth.", he fumbles adorably.

No. Not adorably. Ugh. This is the third time she's thought he was adorable. Saying no at this point would be a loss for them both, if he really means what he said. Shit. Spider-Man just called her pretty.

"Please don't put any more things in your mouth. I just fixed everything.", she says, watching him sigh again, though much more subtly this time.

"Hey, it's ok. I understand, it's not like -"

"You can pick me up after seven."

That he lights up like a Christmas tree is just another thing. Another thing to think about on this day of endless swarming thoughts and conflicting emotions, and another one to add to a small but promising list of qualities under the name Peter. Next to his name, after she gives him her phone, is a spider web emoji and a…

"This is a tractor.", she says with a raised brow.

His boyish smile immediately gets moved to the top of the list.

"Yeah, they didn't have an asphalt compactor. Probably low demand for them."

"Probably more now that people know you're vulnerable to them.", she half-jokes, but he shrugs it off lightly.

On his way out the door, he pauses once, mouth already upturned in a sly smirk.

"For what it's worth, maybe getting hit with that thing wasn't so bad after all."

   - fin -

A/N: Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. Also, this isn’t proofread, so apologies for any spelling or grammar mistakes you may have noticed.

[missingn000]

tpg character mini-analysis: hajime kashimo + honor

i wanted to talk a bit about one of kashimo's defining traits that no other tpg character has: honor. after gojo meets them, he trudges away thinking kashimo has no moral structure, but this isn't...quite true. this quality shapes how hajime views the world as they evaluate others' actions based on a certain standard of conduct.

take a look at this line of theirs:

“What [the sorcerers] did back then in order to execute [Sukuna]…I can’t think of anything else so honorless. It doesn’t matter how many sorcerers he took down. There are some things you just don’t do.”

sukuna's yet-unrevealed backstory is incredibly devastating and tragic. in most people, it would evoke intense feelings of sympathy, sorrow, and anger on sukuna's behalf. others would say the people who did That to sukuna were heartless.

but instead kashimo says it was honorless. to them, this is the equivalent of the visceral reaction other people would've had. it's about perspective and priorities.

more below cut!

hajime continues to say:

They shake their head. “If the stories of what the sorcerers did to him back then are true...as far as I’m concerned, they deserved it.”

they deserved it. they DESERVED it? even mahito says he's surprised hajime would take sukuna's side. i'll say this conclusively about sukuna's backstory: the myth that after his failed execution, he wiped out an entire prefecture upon becoming a curse is true.

but hajime still thinks that punishment was deserved. what the sorcerers did to execute sukuna was so far beyond their rigid standard of conduct that such a fate was an appropriate punishment to them.

further, something that significantly annoys them about mahito is that he kills people who can't fight back. tpg 37 got long as hell, so i cut a few things, including this short snippet:

It’s not the violence that repulses them; that’d be illogical for someone whose body count is in the triple-digits. But there’s no honor in it, just slaughtering people who can’t even put up a fight. Kashimo’s fought more than their fair share of unsatisfying, ultimately one-sided battles, but that’s what they were: battles. Reciprocated killing intention. Of course weaklings deserve to die, but that’s a retroactive punishment.

they're repulsed at the idea of killing someone who's done nothing at all for no reason. killing the storehouse guards had a purpose: those people were in the way of their goals and actively fought back to try to stop them. but mahito frequently kills innocent people just for fun, which is completely honorless to them.

four hundred years ago, when sorcery was all about duels and death matches, honor existed in the place of laws or a legal structure. since death was a permitted end to a fight, there had to be something to keep sorcerers from just going around slaughtering people. honor is a form of social currency that earns respect and dignity within a community. conducting actions that fall outside its definition result in being hated and shunned.

however, despite mahito's misgivings, mahito is still rapidly becoming someone important to them -- the first person ever to be important to them. this does not fit in their current moral structure. take a look at what kashimo says when gojo is surprised they'd lay down their life to protect mahito:

Hajime flinches. “I made a promise,” they try. The glow beneath their eyes flickers, a store sign that can’t decide if it’s open or closed. “Breaking it would be honorless. I’d rather die than not be able to live with myself.”

Honor? No one has done anything strictly for honor in hundreds of years. “Is that really what you’re worried about?”

“Of course it is,” Hajime replies, after a delay too long to be entirely convincing. “I have no interest in forming bonds with others, least of all him.”

they're still pretty in denial regarding caring about mahito, so they're trying to convince themself it's about honor, because they can tie that to their existing values. since caring about someone is new, it's far more grounding to sort it into a value structure they already possess rather than face the horrifying ordeal of creating a new one that goes against their current worldview.

in that quote, they say they'd rather die than not be able to live with themself. honor is so important to them that the idea of acting without it is worse than death; they couldn't sleep at night. extreme, right? but i actually got this idea from canon.

take a look at this panel from hakari vs kashimo:

this. why did no one talk about this?? kashimo is someone who exists for fighting strong opponents. they let kenjaku brutally mutilate their body into a cursed object to incarnate four centuries into the future with the sole purpose of fighting sukuna. if hakari killed them here, that goal would not happen.

and yet.

they ask him to kill them. or rather, they think hakari should kill them. it was a fair fight. a fair loss of which they accept the outcome. therefore, they believe it is hakari's right to kill them. that's so, so interesting to me, and it really stands out against the backdrop of their otherwise shallow personality, so i just couldn't resist expanding on it.

their character will continue to develop throughout the story, so stay tuned. thanks for reading!

[allimocha]

Apologies if this has been asked before, but how do draw your bodies?

No worries, this is actually the first time someone has asked me something like this! I’m not great at explaining things so I’ll try my best to get it across!

Everyone draws human bodies in different ways, but for me it takes 3 steps!

1. Thumbnail. (Usually thumbnails are much smaller than this) Basically what your doing is conceptualizing what your about to draw in a simple sketch, it doesn’t need to be too much, just make sure when thumb-nailing poses you get the basic anatomy down. I usually use squares or rectangles for the torso, the head, and the hips. This along with connecting them all with lines for the neck, arms and legs should give you an armature that should basically be your pose. If your not good at anatomy, before anything, I recommend sketching your thumbnail on a human reference! References are one of the most important things for artists! If I can’t think up a pose, I’ll usually look up either @adorkastock (a great person who does pose references), or model poses. After that you can stylize the proportions to your liking in the next stage! I recommend doing multiple thumbnails til’ you find the right pose.

2. Rough Sketch. Now that thats over with, its time for the rough sketch! Basically after choosing your thumbnail, you size it up, and start sketching more prominent features. Maybe define the legs, shape the head, start sketching the hands and all that good stuff. You can also stylize your proportions if you used a human reference, like size up the head, lengthen the legs, all that jazz. In this stage you’ll be basically making a skeleton from your thumbnail so you can get ready for the final stage! In this stage you can also sketch the clothes, the eyes and the hair as well.

3. Lineart. Usually I only do one sketch layer, that being the rough sketch. Others may be more comfortable sketching on another layer so they can make more features prominent, which is also fine, and encouraged if your a new artist! After your sketching is done, this is basically the stage where you finally draw your lineart. Define your features, finish drawing your limbs, etc etc. One big thing in this stage is too… Flip your canvas! Flipping your canvas can help you see your artwork with fresh eyes and so you can fix any wonky anatomy or anything that just felt off when it was unflipped. Flip it right, left, upside down, it doesn’t matter, it’ll still have the same effect. And after you finished and flipped it back. Voila! The body is done!

At least thats how I do it. Hope this was helpful!

[imthepunchlord]

Out of curiously, what’s your opinion on giving the Kwamis mindsets more like their respective animals? Like, Tikki becomes a predator, Pollen saves the label of ‘Queen’ for any wielder that she thinks doesn’t measure up… honestly I’m not sure what Trixx and Wayzz would do, but Plagg would probably just stay as is.

For me, I like the idea that depending on what animal a kwami is based on, it'll have influence on their personality and mindset. Especially factoring in symbolism and such.

But I wouldn't want it to define the kwami personality, especially since they're not animals themselves. At most, the animal they're based on gives them little quirks, but they should have more personality past that.

And for quirks, I mean like:

Like, Tikki, Nooroo, and Pollen all love to be around flowers or near a garden and help care for it.

Plagg and Trixx are mischievous and occasionally like to pounce on their humans.

Wayzz and Sass like to spend time in the morning sunbathing, and the former also likes it if he can have some water to drift in.

Sometimes Duusu likes to sing/scream, and when Duusu really wants attention, those tail feathers fan to be more eyecatching. Or they fan when angry to make Duusu seem bigger.

These can also shape their morals and what they think is right.

Trixx thinks its ok to lie so long as you're not being malicious about it or you're being smart about your lies.

Plagg thinks it's ok to be selfish/put yourself first as your wants matter. Yes, it may inconvenience others, but sometimes that's just how the cup is pushed off the table.

Pollen thinks all humans should thrive to be productive and helpful, reasonable, open minded, and firm; and for her users to play a role that suits them best whether that be support, aggressor, ect.. She could also be one of the few kwamis that has a gender preference, and maybe requested that her miraculous be a hair comb so mostly girls will use her. As a more personal joke/kab, she can definitely snidely adopt "Queen" as a demoting term to any humans she receives, and be a secret danger to them. Perhaps one of the few kwamis to really push boundaries in the face of misuse. Nothing lethal of course, but those misusers won't be in for a good time.

On ladybugs, considering how effective they are at clearing out pests, Tikki should be more war oriented, and maybe she in the past she was considering she went to a lot of warriors? TIkki also should be all about love and family, which is the 2nd biggest symbolism for ladybugs, particularly in Europe. There are so many little myths that say you'll marry soon if a ladybug lands on you, or where it goes is where your future partner is, or how many spots is on it will tell you how many children you'll have (you can even note that Marinette wants 3 kids and Tikki herself has 3 spots). If Tikki took more to ladybugs, not only should she be more about wiping out pests, but very invested in Marinette's love life. At most, Tikki matches the ladybug symbol of luck, seeking to bring happiness to all around her (minus her human who she seems to think should be more focused on happiness for others than herself).

So, using Tikki as an example, my ideal kwami that has more nod to the animal they're based:

Tikki's canon personality is still there, happiness of others before yourself, duty always takes priority; but she's far more openly hostile and irritates with the likes of Chloe and Lila. Also Chat Noir is really starting to irritate her, which extends to Adrien post her learning that he is Chat and it's something she will fight Plagg on when they're together. And when Marinette's in that very romantic mood and gushing about her crush, Tikki isn't teasing her but gushing with her. It'd actually work in canon's favor as Marinette's crush on Adrien was fueled by an invested Tikki. And when Tikki learns Adrien = Chat, Tikki starts to push her towards Luka, adding to Marinette being torn and uncertain. And as little unique quirks from being a ladybug, Tikki likes to be around a garden and will help care for it, and she gets sleepy and snuggly during the winter time.

This would be my ideal Tikki. She's got some aspects to ladybugs in behavior and her moral stance and views are based around symbolism, but she also has more to her. A personality, opinions and views, dislikes, biases, and flaws.

This is my ideal sort of kwami. Their personality, quirks, and views are shaped by what animal they are, but it's not a defining personality. I wouldn't want Pollen to have the same exclusive mindset that bees would have, I would like her to have more to her. To be gentle yet tenacious. To be open minded and very engaging with her humans, desiring to help humans find what they do best and help them thrive as that would be their best way to help their community as a whole.

[raggaraddy]

hello if you want you can ignore this of course but I was wondering what would vampire Hoseok do if he found out someone turned oc? Your fics are amazing by the way!

Bitten to death

A/N: Thank you for your request :) It was fun to write. However I took it less as a reaction, and more of a story prompt. So it's not exactly a conclusive answer to your question. I hope you still like it, though ^-^ 💜💜💜

Summary: You thought you knew everything about Vampires but when you wake up one you learn there are some important things you did not know. And it's only going to let worse once you learn why you were turned.

Trigger Warnings: Blood, death, maiming, choking, violence, mind control, abduction, yandere themes.

Vampire! Hoseok

It was like a horror story within your already horrific story. Some man you've never met before broke into Hoseok's house when only you were there. While you screamed and fought and instinctively called for Hoseok, he covered you in bites unlike any other you had felt before. Ones that made you suffer as if fire was coursing through your veins. You wish that you could say you were strong enough that your fight had some kind of impact. But in truth, it was over after only a few seconds. And it was in those few seconds that you felt your chest burning and your breath fill your lungs for the last time.

Waking you're met by the stranger hovering above you. Your head aching and your body throbbing in ways you had never experienced before. With a quick glance, you can see everything around you, and that does mean everything. Every single little detail. And the information is overwhelming.

Your mind feels as if it's breaking from everything you're taking in. For as far as you can see there are pallets and long isles of shelves lined up, the contents on every rack crystal clear. You can hear the sound of his shoes on the concrete and the dirt gritting underneath, and how each peak of sound travels and bounces off the farthest point in the warehouse. Even the smells, there are hundreds of them all hitting you at once. A few you know like the fragrance of the treated wood or the oils stain, but others you couldn't guess at. It's as if all of your senses are on high and you have no way to focus them.

Despite your panic, no matter how much you want to run, you can't. Laying on your back with your arms spread out to either side of you and your legs held together, you're being bound by the thinnest most delicate length of silver chain. Though, it's not tied. It's only draped over you, but still holding you as if it were stronger than any steel. Burning you as if it were touched by the sun.

You may have only seen a few newly made vampires before, but you have still been around them enough and know enough about their existence to recognize how and why your body feels wrong. And absurdly you can't help but feel betrayed. This was not supposed to happen to you. It was the only safety you got from belonging to someone who was called The Immortal King, and The Origin of Cruelty. No one was supposed to be foolish enough to steal from him, and most importantly, no one was supposed to be able to hurt you. But now because Hobi didn't keep you safe, he's now lost his blood supply and you've lost your humanity.

The stranger snaps his fingers, the sound bursting in your eardrums making you groan and wince as he repeats it. "Focus your attention on just this one sound. On just the sight of my hand. Feel the air around it." He coaxes you, snapping again. The noise echos dozens of times, ricocheting off every wall. The dull thud of his fingertips hitting his palm only sounding the once though.

Opening your eyes your concentration goes to the hand held above your face as he said, the space around it blurring. On the back of his pointer finger on an otherwise porcelain complexion, you notice a small patch of dry skin just below his knuckle. Clear blue-black defined veins wrapping the back of his palm. He clicks his fingers again and you catch the sound of friction from the way his finger rubs down his thumb, feeling the most minuscule shift in the air created by his motion.

The pinpointed attention helps for a moment, but then you shift your eyes to his face and the explosion of information overpowers you again. His hold comes around your neck keeping your head from turning. The tight pressure on your throat while stifling your movement, nearly makes you smile. There's no airflow to restrict. Your chest isn't heating, your body isn't convulsing trying to breathe. Even in this tense moment, you can't help but find it humorous, thinking how many times over the years had you wished for this exact thing when Hobi had squeezed the air from you.

"Watch my eyes," on his words your vision becomes immersed in them. They're piercing blue. Made up of streaks of white interlacing with a clear sapphire shade, like thousands of threads made out of the purest tropical ocean. A transparent irregular line encircling his pupil, and beyond that every distinct strand blurs together with the others until it reaches the shadowed grey edge that holds the circular shape. Slowly his jet black pupils dilate, stretching and filling his entire iris till every trace of colour is removed. As if transfixed, you're unable to close your own eyes, a flooding of bright light filling your field of view. The strength of it is so intense that the tendons in your sockets ache and your eyes begin to water. Tears rolling down the sides of your face, cresting in your ears.

"Apologies, you are only my second." He confuses you with a vague explanation you did not ask for. The black finally receding into its natural size. Your own eyes scrunching as you try to blink away the soreness. The bizarre occurrence leaving you feeling drained of strength, filling you with anxiety caused by the uncertainty, which is only worsened by the glimmer of triumph in his gaze.

Searching past him to the ceiling your brain is again processing the whole image instead of the sum of its parts. The strain in your head slowly fading, your tight held muscles releasing as everything begins to normalize. You don't know what he did, but it seemed to help.

He doesn't back away, continuing to invade your personal space. Although, the way his fingers are trailing along your skin while you're restrained on the floor is still not the worst thing he has done to you. Seeing as he killed you.

"I had almost given up hope that Jung Hoseok would love." His hand daintily caresses along your neck and up your jaw. Your eyes shutting as his fingertips run over your lips. "I began to fear it might not be something possible for him." He divulges, his touch still aimlessly wandering.

The way he speaks you can feel his vailed anger. Despite his soft words, this is not someone who cares about Hoseok's wellbeing, this is someone who hates him deeply.

"However, you restored my lost faith. And for that, I would like to thank you, Inamorata."

He thinks Hoseok loves you? Is he crazy?. He's possessive of you, that is all. Even in moments of deception or weakness when you had told him that you loved him, he's never said it back with any sincerity. And he has never said it of his own accord.

"Sir," your eyes reopen. "I think you've misunderstood. These," you weakly gesture to the silver, each slight movement searing the links deeper into your flesh. "aren't necessary. We are on the same side. I hate Hobi, more than anyone."

"Truly?" He asks tilting his head to the side. His white hair messily hanging across his forehead.

"Yes," you nod trying to insist your point. "He's kept me locked up for years." you chuckle dryly. Finding it nearly risible that all of this is because this man believes in a fantasy.

"Well then, you are free to rise," he nods resolutely. Plucking the chains out of your melted skin as you grit your teeth. The sound of the sizzle on his own skin baffling you as to how he can even lift them.

Sitting up you gently pull your limbs in, inspecting the blistered and bloody marks. The skin on your wrists already starting to intricately knit itself back together.

"Come here." The stranger calls from a rested place on one of the pallets to your right.

Standing, it is a bit hard to walk with your ankles still cut up but you make it to him decently. Looking around you, you can see the sun streaming in from the high windows that line the whole length of the warehouse. It's enough to light up the otherwise dark space, but with the sheer size of this place, the beams of sunlight do not get close to the two of you in the centre. Still in the middle of the day, it means Hobi can't get to you. Not easily at least. So you're on your own for now.

"Kneel." He instructs plainly. And you follow, lowering onto your knees in front of him. Your only thoughts are of escape. You may be in your first minutes as a vampire, but it should be simple to move quickly. It always seemed like something that came easily to them. "Inamorata, you will call me Master." he declares abruptly.

"Yes, Master." You smile confusedly. Inamorata? Why does he keep calling you that? You're unsure if it's a name or a title, but it's weirding you out.

Your face drops, your heart thumping, realizing what you said. The words you just spoke replaying in your head. You hadn't meant to say that.

Why did you say that?

In fact, why had you knelt? Why were you doing what he said at all?

With a gaped mouth you climb back to your feet. "Look, I think-um." You start not knowing what you want to say.

"Kneel." He orders again more forcefully yet with a knowing, jovial smirk. You shake your head hard, staying upright. You're not going to let him order you around. He has to be kidding.

Your brows furrow, your mouth drops open, and your forehead tightens as your knees bend against your wishes. You drop back into your knelt position. Grunting as your jaw clenches, your fingers digging into your legs, doing your best to resist without success.

Your eyes go wide in shock.

"Good. Now stay there," his voice makes your stomach drop. But your muscles relax, your shoulders dropping and your bottom lowering on your calves. Your body resting in this position.

This is nothing you have ever seen before. It's nothing that you knew was possible. It shouldn't be possible. On top of all the horrible advantages they already have, you're sure you would have known if mind control was one of them!

"How?" You gape, shaking your head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Why?" a smile fills his face, "What you have told me is far different than what I had heard." He stands and turns, tapping his foot against the top pallet sending it and its boxed contents flying. He grabs at the bottom slats of wood underneath and drags them closer to you with a horrid screeching on the concrete. Sitting back down he is now much lower and much nearer to you. So much so that his legs spread straight out on either side of you. "See, I had heard stories of the self-proclaimed King of Vampires, who had fallen in love with his human pet. That he kept her close, kept her safe, and drank from her exclusively."

"That's not love." you interrupt with a scoff, "That's imprisonment."

"Well, let us see what the truth is. Tell me honestly, Jung Hoseok's little Inamorata, do you love him?"

"Yes." You're mouth answers before your mind has time to think. "No!" you instantly correct.

The smile grows larger on his face "And what do you feel about him?"

"I'm scared of him. But I care for him." The words are pouring out of you uncontrollably, your face placifying as you speak. "and I miss him when he isn't home."

"And does he love you?"

"I think so, yes." You wish you could make yourself shut up! Your calm tone drops and you bite your jaw trying to take back your own body, growling as you do. "No! He doesn't." you snarl in a rapid shift.

"You think so? Then my last question; Do you want him to love you?" He asks satirically.

"Yes," The word slips out. Being accepted joyously from him. "You can't just make me say anything you want!" you shout. Your body is rigid and stiff as you think to stand with nothing happening.

"I did not," he chuckles, "I made you say what you believe is true."

"No, you didn't! Tha-" his finger raises to his lips shushing you, cutting you off like your voice had disappeared.

That is not how you feel! Hobi may have gotten better as time has gone on, but he is still cruel and malicious and heartless. The only thing this man is doing is speaking to your primal brain. The part of you that gave into its survival instinct and it's the part that you fight every day to repress so that you stay in control. You can't love him, it's not possible.

"Ha, you are far more amenable than my last. I can hardly feel any resistance." He mocks, tapping his temple. "And I recall Jung Hoseok trying to move heaven and earth to break free. Even Mansueto struggled to contain him. But you," he reaches down holding out his hand and you follow his gesture, your body moving independently to accept it. "You are a broken little thing."

You don't understand his ridicule. You're not moving consciously. Your own mind isn't connected to your actions. So you can't fathom how your body is even reacting, let alone how you should be able to fight it.

"Stop." You complain, your voice coming out with far less strength than you had intended. "Look, Hoseok doesn't have my blood anymore, okay. So just leave me out of whatever fucked up feud you have you have going with him."

"No, that is not enough." his tone becomes suddenly harsh. He lifts his hand and you stand as he raises it. "He stole someone precious to me and he must feel the same agony of loss."

"You're wrong." you swallow, working to overcome your nerves, "I'm sorry, but you just are. He doesn't love me. I'm not precious." You try to reason, seeing your pleas falling on an unreceptive man.

"We will see."

The sun has barely set before you hear commotion beyond the metal walls.

You had tried over and over to pry information from this man, to convince him to let you leave. But you were unable to gather so much as a name from him, and clearly, you failed to be let go. After a certain point of ignoring you, he stopped you from speaking altogether. Not allowing you to say a word until he permits it. More than that though, he filled your head with many instructions. Telling you how to behave in anticipation of Hoseok's arrival.

100 meters in front of you the locked doors are ripped off their hinges, a dozen men and women pouring into the warehouse with inhuman speed. But as if time slows down your eyes adjust and you can see them, see their movements with full clarity. Hoseok comes in last and straight down the middle into the open square that you all occupy. And you must admit, you are genuinely happy to see him. Now you just want him to hurry up and get you out of here.

The man steps forward to meet them while you are sat on the stack of pallets behind him. Your only instruction at this time is to sit quietly and wait for him to call you. Hating the feeling of being restrained by your own body.

Watching them all lineup versus a single man, you find it comical how outmatched he is.

Hobi always said that when he got tired of playing with your human body, he was going to turn you. And he was furious if anyone robbed him of even your smallest reactions, so clearly, he was going to be beyond pissed that someone sped up his plan, and took your death away from him.

"That's mine," Hoseok puffs up his chest, looking past the man's shoulder to you. 

The only thing that's confusing you, though, is if this man knows who The Vampire King is, why he didn't expect to be met with hell on earth, and why he didn't prepare better.

"Jung Hoseok, always so impolite. Do you not think you should greet an old friend after so many years?"

"We can talk all you like, Kol," Hoseok snarls, finally giving a name to your killer. "Once I get my property back."

"I think you'll find this is my belonging now." he chuckles in a brief pause. Hoseok's expression darkens, his eyes becoming murderous. The fury around him actually making you shiver. "Do you like the modifications I made? She is much more durable now."

Supposedly, Hobi's already noticed your change, because he doesn't look at you again. Instead, the two men have an intense staredown. All of the vampires on his side looking ready to kill on a word.

"And far more obedient. Come here," Kol calls you, holding his hand out at shoulder height for you to take. Moving automatically, you jump down from the stack of wooden pallets placing your fingers on his palm.

Unable to stand the rage on Hoseok's face you look down, just missing the exact moment he charges. But you see an instant later as he is thrown back like a paper doll into four stories of shelves, his weight bringing the metal, the shelves, and the products down on top of him as the whole structure collapses. His men looking as startled as you to see Hoseok so easily discarded.

Before the toppling construction settles, Kol breaks from your side and an incredible, horrible scene breaks out. His speed is something you can't follow, even now. You only see the trail of destruction when he stops. One after the other, he made his way through half of the vampires, ripping them apart. Literally tearing some in two halves. Decorating the square with blood and innards.

The others are as belated and overwhelmed as you, only just having the sense to react as his blurred image stops. When he advances again, this time he doesn't use his quickness for an advantage and simply ploughs through them. They attack all at once, and still as they grab and strike at him, their forces barely move him. And his response is terrifying.

You can only bear to watch the first one. Kol's fist driving through a woman's chest, the horrid cracking of her ribs as he tears it back out making you want to scream. But his orders have you completely silent. Instead, you close your eyes, sealing your hands over your ears. Trying to block out the violent sickening sounds of his destructive rampage.

There's a last thud before it falls quiet again. Your eyes springing open to see as horrific of a sight as you had imagined. He's dripping in blood. Drenched in it. And Hoseok's people are strewn in every which way. Not a single one having survived.

Sauntering through the sea of dead bodies, he makes his way to the side where Hoseok is unmoved, tossing away the beams and panels as if they were nothing. Grabbing him by the ankle, he drags him from the rubble into the clear space in front of you. The man you once thought of as the most powerful in existence, and his troupe of vampires, was completely demolished in mere seconds of work. And you can only watch on with your body shaking. Your hopes of rescue decimated. Your chest aching with worry, even for Hobi's sake.

"Now that it's a more intimate number of us, should we talk?" Kol releases him, brushing past you as he sits where you had before. His action triggering an instruction he provided earlier, forcing you to follow him and kneel at his feet.

Sitting up, Hoseok rubs the back of his hand against a large gash under his eye. The ferocity not having left his mannerisms. "You disappear for 90 years, and you show up to what, gimmie a blood bath." His laugh falls into a grimace as he stands himself back up.

"I was created in the 13th century and you brought infants to a fight with me. What did you think would happen?" Kol asks scornfully.

"I was hoping they would do a little better," He smirks, shrugging off their deaths. "Okay, that's my bad. But still, that doesn't tell me what you want. Or did you just want to remind me that you're still alive?" He taunts, his sardonic nature returning, "Remind me that you're still pissed and you can kick my ass. Good job. You put on quite a show." he smiles, his tongue running over his fangs as he gestures around at the gruesome display. "But she," he points to you with two fingers, bitterness lacing his next words, "is worth nothing to you."

"Oh, she is worth everything to me," Kol slides forward, his hand brushing down the back of your neck, "because she is worth everything to you."

On those words, you get the most heart-wrenching sight. A pang of insecurity shows up in Hoseok's eyes. Uncertainty and something so close to fear. The smile fading as he looks him up and down.

"I am curious, though, Vampire King, do you think she will detest the Sire bond as greatly as you did?" he punctuates the question, tugging your head back by your hair. "If I treat her as Mansueto treated you, how long do think until she breaks?"

With immense speed, Hoseok splinters one of the wooden crates near him, lunging at Kol, aiming to drive the shard into his heart with a roar. But he's caught before his hand ever plunges forward. Instead, Kol takes the sharp wood and spikes it into Hoseok's stomach. Continuing to dominate him with a solid blow, knocking him off his feet, smacking him into the concrete in front of you. Stepping down, he swings his foot punting Hoseok in the chest hurling him back among the remains of his fallen creations.

You had thought if you ever saw Hobi being handled as roughly as he treated you, that you would enjoy the Karma of it. But seeing him so easily immobilized is making you sick with fear and mostly sadness.

With Kol having stood, you're no longer bound on your knees and you scramble to your feet. You want to run to Hoseok's side but before you have the chance Kol drags you into him, his hand wrapped around your waist, his other crudely brushing the hair from off the side of your face.

"Call out to him. Tell him your every feeling." He hushes the order in your ear.

"Hobi!" you yell, not sure you would have even needed to be compelled to want to shout for him. "Get up, please. I'm scared. I wanna go home!"

"Go to him," Kol releases you and you sprint to his side, hardly able to slow your sudden frantic speed.

Doubled over Hoseok is bleeding profusely. He needs your blood- but you can't do that anymore. And you have no idea what to do. You don't know how to help him or how to get out of here. He's the one that is supposed to keep you safe.

Coming from behind you, Kol bends down shoving you out of the way to lift Hoseok by the throat. "Stop!" you follow their movement, hanging on Kol's arm. "Stop! Please." But you have no effect. Instead, he jerks the wood dagger out making Hobi yell in pain.

"Do you recall what you said as you killed our Sire?" Kol whispers maliciously. "You told me that 'I will get over it'." Releasing him, he lets Hoseok plummet to the floor and you drop with him trying to catch his weight. "In 100 years from now, I'll let you see her again and you can tell me if you were able to take your own advice." he smiles spitefully.

"Hobi," you whine lowly. Brushing his hair from his sweat and blood wet forehead. "I don't want to go with him. Rather the devil you know, right," you softly chuckle, trying to pull his energy back.

Even though you know the both of you have no chance at the moment, you guess you're just looking for an affirmation that he isn't going to let you go and let this other man keep you for the next century.

"Please," you whisper, your waterline filling with tears.

Reaching towards you, Hoseok's hand constricts around your throat, pulling you into him like he has countless times before.

"You're mine," he growls through pained grunts. His anger lessened, distress replacing it. But he gives you the answer he could see you searching for.

"Yes," you nod subtly. Closing your eyes as you lean further into his hold.

"Get up," Kol orders, interrupting you.

Despite his tightening grip, you pull away from Hobi, standing as you were told. The elder vampire taking your arm leads you away through the bodies to the open doorway.

"Say goodbye Jung Hoseok," Kol calls back, leaving him injured and alone, making you wish more than ever that you could pull back. "And do not worry, I'll take very good care of her for you."

[autistic-autumn]

Agency and the worlds of Undertale and Deltarune

Undertale and Deltarune are fascinating games. Undertale’s running theme was that of the importance of your actions and the power of agency. In contrast to this Deltarune appears to be giving statements such as “your choices don’t matter”, implying that the player has no meaningful freedom or agency. To explore these ideas I’ve compiled an essay on agency in games and how this applies to both Undertale and Deltarune.

Most of my analysis of agency in games will be based on the book ‘Games: Agency as an Art’ by author C. Thi Nguyen. The book is a fascinating read on the philosophy of agency and its use as a medium for art. I am not going to be defining agency nor will I attempt to determine the nature of free will, however conclusions about both can be drawn from my Analysis. I’ve also summarized my analysis at the end if you don’t wish to read through this entire post.

Before I start I’ll quickly give a brief bit of terminology in case you aren’t entirely familiar with some of the words or concepts used here. Agency is the most important one to this analysis and refers to the feeling of control or freedom over one's actions. Many philosophers have given a much more in depth definition and analysis of agency however this definition should suffice for this analysis.

To begin it’s worth defining what category of gameplay games such as Undertale and Deltarune fall under. Nguyen defines four main categories of ways to experience games; however the only relevant one in this situation is games which are played for the experience of playing them. These are defined as gamers which encourage ‘striving play’. In striving play the final object of a game isn’t the point of the game, winning is inconsequential to the experience itself. This however doesn’t mean winning isn’t a condition that the player doesn’t strive for, rather that isn’t the purpose of playing such a game. For example, a striving player who plays chess takes up the purpose of winning not for the sake of winning chess, but for the experience of the game itself. Games such as Undertale fall distinctly into this category. The ultimate experience of Undertale is not in attempting to beat the game, but experiencing the world, characters and story of the game. Many simply refer to this as the idea of stories being the journey, not about the ending. Games have the fascinating ability to sculpt the agency a player has within their games; a good game will define rules and boundaries for the player to experience. Games design the goal of the game and give shape to the players agency, but don’t prescribe how a player uses said agency. In contrast to this, a book is experienced in a strictly prescribed manner, you read from left to right and follow the story exactly as the author intends. Games however simply give an outline to experience for the player to immerse themselves in, like being given a page of a book but reading it in whatever order you wish. As Nguyen puts it “The game designer doesn't just create a world; they create who you will be in that world. They tell you what abilities to use and what goals to take on. In other words, they specify a form of agency.”. 

This freedom that games provide within their prescribed confines gives a greater level of immersion and agency to the player that traditional forms of art don’t provide. Curiously however you don’t need actual freedom or agency for a game to provide the experience of striving play, rather simply the illusion of agency. As stated earlier, the game designer sculpts the rules and goals of a game; you can’t just decide to move your rook diagonally in chess, the player is still limited by the rules of the game. On a computer this is easy to enforce, the developer can simply not allow the player to do certain actions by not coding in said actions. Games rely on these rules to function as games and to provide meaningful experience. A game of chess without rules cannot grant the same experience as all you now have is a set of nicely decorated wooden figures and a meaningless board. The aesthetics of the agency are the fundamental rules and structures of games which bring rise to unique experience. Games are an art of agency that function by providing the player with a set of actions to provide the experience. 

To use an example from another video game that doesn’t really give the player freedom or agency I’ll briefly discuss the game Oneshot. Note that this isn’t the only game that matches my I’ll discuss, rather the one I am most familiar with. In Oneshot the player is given a single goal, to reach the tower and return the sun. This goal is made very clear from the very beginning and is the driving force behind all actions the player takes. To progress through the game the player must take on this goal and navigate the world while solving puzzles to achieve this. However the player has no choice in the fact they must solve these puzzles and explore the world if they wish to progress, not doing so would stop all progression of the player. By taking on the goal of saving the world the player then goes through the game exactly as the developer intended. The player has no freedom in how they go about getting through the world. Yet despite this the player feels as if their actions have meaning, that they have agency within this world. By giving the player the opportunity to explore the world and interact with it the game gives the player the illusion that they have agency and their actions have meaning. From a meta perspective, something the game even questions, the goal of the game is entirely futile, the world of Oneshot is nothing more than a computer game and everything within it is entirely arbitrary. The immersion within the game’s world and illusion of Agency is often referred to as ‘Suspension of Disbelief’.

Undertale however does something rather interesting, it straddles a boundary between the players actions truly meaning something while still existing within the confines of the game. For example, if you kill Toriel and then go back on your save to save her Flowey will actively comment on your decision. The game takes the experience of a narrative and carefully give the player a great degree of freedom within the world. You however are still forced to go through the games puzzles to progress, told to take on the goals of escaping the underground. In this regard the player doesn’t have “true freedom” over their actions, they are still prescribed by Toby Fox. Toby Fox provides the outlines of how you are meant to play and gives the player complete freedom within those confines, and then questions their actions constantly. Is a player that plays the genocide run truly free or did the game push them into doing so by giving the player so much freedom? This question is one of the most fascinating things about Undertale, by giving the player the illusion that they have the choice in what they do and what I believe makes Undertale so successful as a game. It uses the medium of agency to create a work of art. 

So what does this mean for Deltarune? One of the themes Deltarune establishes directly from the beginning is that “your choices don’t matter”, yet it seems, as of chapter two’s snowgrave route, that the player does seem to have freedom control within this world. The game still has all the distinct features of a game, goals, rules and the agency within those. This leads me to wonder about if the message of “your choices don’t matter” is commentary on a lack of freedom within the confines of the game, perhaps even at a meta-level. The Dark worlds offer an interesting insight into this thought. Dark worlds appear to be structured almost as games within games: the party, and by extension the player, is given the goal of sealing the dark fountain by Ralsei; there are established rules and boundaries of which the team is such as the combat system, recruiting and more; and the gang must immerse themselves in this world as if it was real. All of these, as stated previously, are traits that define games and how they function.

Many people have compared the Dark Worlds to escapism which I feel is a reductive way of looking at them. Similarly, the quote “Your choices don’t matter” is both true while over simplifying the situation. From the perspective of a non-striving player the experience and taking up of temporal goals and agencies is done not for the sake of the experience, but for the sake of winning. Games like Undertale and Deltarune therefore don’t hold any value or merit as their value is in the striving experience. The temporal goals and limited agential freedom were designed to immerse the player and give them the experience of agency within the world, whether they have it or not. In the example of Oneshot from earlier, the player had almost no freedom of how the game must play out, they were strictly bound by the prescribed narrative of the game. Arguably in this situation one could easily proclaim “your choices don’t matter” within Oneshot. However this misses the point of the game, your choices don’t need to matter. The small choices and degrees of freedom the player has is far more important in the game. Deltarune, I would argue, is no different. Whether the player has freedom over the ending of the game or not isn’t the point of the game. The game is  taking up the seemingly futile goals and illusion of agency for the striving experience.

Curiously, like Undertale, Deltarune already seems to be pushing this theme and twisting it into something even more fascinating. The Dark Worlds acting as games within games has the potential to push the idea of freedom and the illusion of agency a long way. Perhaps one of the big themes will be about the concept of free will and illusion of agency. This wouldn’t be particularly surprising given it was the overarching theme of Undertale. The implication of this would be that Deltarune is about the philosophical idea known as compatibilism and how even within the confines of the game and, by extension reality, the immersion of striving play isn’t something harmful. That immersing yourself in these games isn’t something bad and has its own and provides its own aesthetic experience that could not otherwise be achieved. This is of course all speculation on my part, the game could very easily take a different course of action in the future. There are also plenty of counter arguments to striving play, many ludologists have argued that the best experience from open world games is one where complete freedom is given to the player. I would thoroughly recommend the book ‘Games: Agency as an Art’ by C. Thi Nguyen which goes significantly further in depth than I ever could on the subject. If you’re curious on the concept of free will there is also plenty of good reading to do on the subject which ranges from the idea of determinism, that being we have no free will at all, to ideas such as libertarianism (not the political philosophy) which state that we have complete free will.

To briefly summarize: Games provide a unique experience of agency that is prescribed by developers to create an immersive experience within a confined set of rules. These temporal goals and rules give rise to new aesthetic experiences that could not otherwise exist without these restrictions. Deltarune’s Dark Worlds act in a similar manner to games in this regard with their set goals and defined rules. This makes statements like “Your choices don’t matter” somewhat reductive because, like in games, the experience is not from pure freedom, but the restricted freedom that brings rise to great experience. 

[blzzrdstryr]

Galatea

Yandere(?) Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount: 2410

CW: Panic attacks, hallucinations, slight dehumanization.

...and his creation was so beautiful: silent and non judgemental, pure and demure, it would endure any of his whims of love and passion.

Albedo looks calm as usual as he scoops the honey from the beehive, even though he doesn’t wear any protection; Bees are angrily buzzing nearby, but otherwise not attacking him. It would look strange to you if you didn’t know the answer: insects are not real. The alchemist created them, turning pure slabs of carbon, water and organic matter into tiny fuzzy bodies, as you watched the scene with wide eyes, one moment and a non-living becomes living. He commented on the whole process and while you tried your best to listen to him there were so many scientific terms and jargons in his speech that after some time you zoned out, preferring to observe the birth of insects instead.

There are bones and flesh and organs growing and fusing together. They writhe and convulse as blood starts to fill them. Whose body is it?

“Is this for examination too?”, you remember that Albedo was collecting honey several days ago, albeit in much lesser quantities, and when you asked what the alchemist was doing, he said it was for comparative analysis.

“Well, you could say that” alchemist looks at the full jar and closes the lid, “Previous analysis showed that this honey has the same compounds as the natural one in the same proportions and isn’t dangerous for consumption”. You nod, urging him to continue - even though Albedo isn’t the chattiest person, you noticed how talkative he becomes when you ask him for explanations.

“Smell and taste are usually dependent on the composition, but there is always a place for exceptions, so I decided to conduct another experiment, one that needs your help”

You raise eyebrows - alchemist, despite actually enjoying your company, usually didn’t disclose much of his work :“Is that so? How can I help?”

Small smile appears on his lips, subtle and controlled, “I want you to taste it”. He looks happy.

You have seen that smile long before. You can’t remember where.

You hate sweets, but there's something stopping you from declining. It's bone-deep and chilling, woven into every fiber of your flesh. You can’t get out the needed words, even if you wanted, with your lips somehow shutting tight at the mere thought. There's something stopping you from saying "no" to Albedo and you assume it's gratitude.

***

The honey turns out to be as sickly sweet as the one from the real bees. You frown, as you take another sip of tea, trying to wash down the saccharine taste from the tongue. Albedo sits in front of you and scribes something in his notebook, throwing occasional glances at you from time to time.

“It seems that we’ll need to keep this secret from Klee” you muse, no longer tasting the nectar on your tongue.

“Why so?” he asks, still writing - his handwriting is too small for you to see from this distance. You could stretch your neck to have a better glimpse, but it would be rude to do, so you refrain, curiosity still nipping at you.

“Well, you know what a big sweet tooth she is, and if she learns that your bees don’t sting...”

“But they do sting, just not me”.

“Why?”

“Bees were created with my will, so they just can’t. It’s against the nature of alchemical creation to oppose its creator”

You hum, processing the new information and guessing how far he would teach you that in your own alchemy lessons. You are far behind Sucrose or Timaeus in your studies, still stuck on basics, but Kreideprinz doesn't look displeased or bored with you. In contrast, mentoring you is something he really likes, judging by the rare smiles he allows himself to show. He proposed to teach you one day and you couldn't find it in yourself to turn him down.

You thought it was strange at first how the recluse seemed to favour you, but then as you familiarized yourself with a man you realized that he liked all things unseen and unheard before and your selective amnesia must be the one.

There are large gaps in your memory, but you can remember some small moments - peeking into a cave and plunging deeper into a forest out of curiosity, spending hours in the library, completely captivated by the book before you, feeling satisfied from finally solving an advanced math problem.

None of the memories include people.

It's an identity forming memories, Albedo theorized when you shared your concerns, experiences shape who we are, [First], and maybe that's why you retained them, they define you.

Were you as reclusive as him then?

A bit later you see what Albedo was drawing: a familiar bird and decapitated head. You are disturbed - how does he know my dreams?

***

Mondstadtians are weird, it’s the first time you leave Albedo’s lab and side, deciding to take a quick stroll around the city and look around. Some look at you with wide eyes, as if you just grew a second head before their eyes, some shamelessly whisper things to each other.

The knight that was assigned to look after you for the duration of the walk is no better than them. He also treats you like some sort of oddity, with all that persistent glances and hesitancy to interact with you.

What kind of person old you were to prompt such a reaction?

Walking along the streets of the city you can't remember any of it. Books that mentioned amnesia and other memory related issues stated that visiting once familiar places can help with overall recollection. Walking along the streets of the city you can't recollect any of it, memories slipping past your fingers like water.

You can’t remember the blue cloudless sky above, or the deep clear lake of the same shade or the gentlest breezes playing with your hair. You can’t recall the bright red roof tiles, or the giant windmills that dwarf other buildings, or the statue of the anemo archont overseeing the city. You can't think of once being among the other idle citizens, of praying and worshipping Barbatos, of participating in the windtrace or Ludi Harpastum. There’s emptiness where a familiarity should be, a dull ache rotting and festering at the back of your mind - I don’t belong here, I never did.

You don’t feel like a part of Mondstadt, not even a single part of you does. There’s an invisible yet unbreakable wall separating you from other people. You can smile and chat and be all polite and nice, yet there’s always a certain coldness and caution others treat you with. You want to be both accepted and left alone, feel loved yet be distant enough to avoid any emotional hurt.

Of course, there are people who managed to get close to you - Albedo and Klee, with the former one being your official caretaker and mentor and the latter being as bright as the Sun, you doubt there’s anyone that couldn’t fall under little girl’s charms, except acting Grandmaster Jean.

That must be why you act so warm towards them, why you decide to bare your soul and feelings towards them, no matter how scary it can be. That’s why you play with Klee, engaging her in less destructive entertainment than the fish blasting and that is why you never refuse Albedo in any of his requests, be it a quick walk on a sunny day or assistance in his experiments.

***

A familiar dream.

You see a giant owl, it's yellow eyes piercing right through you. It's a majestic creature, with snow white fluffy feathers and razor sharp talons. Bird looks at you with all knowing eyes, and then spreads its wings, soundlessly flying in your direction. You dodge it, still marvelling at its grace, as the bird continues its way to the giant head laying behind you.

You turn back still tracing the bird's flight, eyes then turning to the bodiless head. It has the face of an aged man with wise eyes, it's lips move silently chanting. There's something hypnotizing in the chant - listen to me and you will now, listen to me and I will tell you, listen to me and you will learn things that he doesn’t want you to know.

You take a step, hand outstretched to touch it. It burns your skin, and the world around you darkens, all sounds stop and soon enough darkness consumes the bodiless head too, leaving you all alone.

A memory comes.

You're absolutely naked and shivering with Albedo hovering above you. He says something but you can’t understand the words, liquid(?) in your eyes and ears. You hear Sucrose and Timaeus in the background too and how excited they sound.

You turn your head, catching the sight of slabs of pure carbon, bottles of water, pieces of lime and ammonia solution and the rest of organic and inorganic matter lying around you.

There are no thoughts and feelings - you are nothing but an empty vessel that needs to be filled.

"Timaeus, bring the blanket" It's Albedo's voice, “Sucrose, check.. [First]’s temperature. I will observe them”

“[First]?”

“It’s a fitting name”

The memory ends. You wake up.

***

You wake up to Albedo sitting near your bed. It's not a rare occurrence with him frequently checking up on your health, but the memories of previous dreams make you almost jump when you see his silhouette again.

"Uhm, hello?" you still sound husky from sleep.

"Apologies for coming here, I heard your whimpers and decided to check if everything was alright". His face looks as impassive as ever, but there's a concerned tone in his voice. He must be extremely worried then.

"I..” you start but then trail off, unsure what to say. Is the revelation that you dreamt even true? Aside from the strange coincidence and sense of isolation that loomed over you, becoming a bit unbearable with each day, you had nothing to prove your nonsensical conclusion: you are not real.

“I saw a dream, of me lying among the lime and carbon and water” Albedo gives you an intense stare, eyes and expression completely unreadable: “it wasn’t just a dream, was it?”

A moment passes and then another and you feel even more stupid with each second to just come to that conclusion, not to mention saying it outloud. And then the most unexpected thing happens: Albedo nods.

“Yes, yes it happened to you” he suddenly sounds tired, as if he admitted a dark, dark secret, that it arguably is. A shock goes through you, as you start to gasp for air - it’s one thing to speculate and guess, it’s completely different to hear a confirmation.

You can’t exactly remember what happens next - you think you broke down right there and then, as alchemist awkwardly tried to comfort you. He was explaining how and why he created you - he thought that your creation would give him answers he was looking for, solve his internal conflict, and then he started to wonder how different artificial life is from the natural one and that’s why he decided to give you memories.

It was hard at first, he says, to push back the existing ones back and replace them with new. Make you believe that you were born too. Memories were his favourite thing to do, he had a theory you see, that people are majorly products of their environment, and he wanted to prove that with you. That’s why he decided to mold you into a person with traits he usually finds valuable.

In the end you found yourself nursing a hot tea mug with a few drops of calming concoction dissolved in it. Albedo is lingering around in his own disquieted fashion, as you rethink your whole life - can it even be called a life anymore?

You glance at the alchemist fretting around you, frowning, and unsure what to do, the warmth and happiness you felt upon seeing him replaced by disappointment and confusion. Albedo isn't the one who you thought him to be, Archons, you're not the one who you thought yourself to be!

Suddenly the way all others interacted you became crystal clear - they treated you like oddity because you were one. You remember Klee and how she always seemed to love calling you her "bestest special friend". No way they don't know of your origin. No way they will ever treat you like a person.

There's an ache when you think about Klee also turning away from you; She is a sunshine personified right now, spreading her kindness and enthusiasm without even trying, but who knows what will happen once she grows up, will she have a problem with her peers because of you, or she'll adopt the general public's opinion of you? The thought is almost enough to send you into a crying fit again. You want to run far away.

"I want to travel" you finally say, there's no way you can integrate into society when everyone knows what you are and will always see it before who you are. You want to run away and start anew somewhere far, so the rumors will never reach that place and no one will look at you with that wide eyed stare again. You say what you think about this whole situation.

"Please, don't" he says and you of course stop, legs no longer listening to you, "I understand you are distressed right now, but running away isn't the solution"

"But I will never be able to truly connect with anyone, they know it, of my birth, right? The whole city knows about it, right?"

"I know that you want to feel loved, I… We are the same - before your creation I felt the same loneliness, I couldn't bond with anyone save for Klee, but interacting with you was far more pleasant than expected. Relationships are needlessly tiring and I never understood why people focused on them so much, yet now, looking at you I can understand them. I love you, [First], you are perfect".

You still again, now stunted by his words and sudden love confession. It's all so sudden and strange and confusing and you are too tired and too shocked to deal with this, so you decide to distance yourself. "I can't love you in return"

"But you will"

"Why do you think that?"

"It's against your nature to oppose me in anything"

Note: Galatea is an ivory statue created by Pygmalion, who later fell in love with it. The head in reader's dream is decapitated Mimir, a figure in Norse mythology who is known for his knowledge and wisdom. His decapitated head was reciting secret knowledge and giving counsel to Odin.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Title: Brutalism

Author: Glenn E. Abrams

Rating: ½

BUT WHAT IS BRUTALISM?

You see the question mark, which means there's no answer.

This book describes how the architectural movement which aims at making buildings that are "spare and massive and precise and geometrical and striking in their inhuman, rock-like, machinelike beauty and roughness" started and became popular. But it never tries to define "brutalism." It presents a bunch of different perspectives on what "brutalism" means, to the point that there seems to be no single "brutalist perspective" on "brutalism" to defend.

Well, let's try to define it. There is no such definition to be found in Abrams's book, but let's try to dig one out of these quotes and excerpts. Most of them seem to me to be invalid, but let's see what we can find:

"The word brutalist refers to architecture and city planning that appeared in the 1950s in the UK and many other places, such as Scandinavia, the United States, the Soviet Union, France, Belgium, Spain, and Germany. […] Generally the word has been used derogatorily, to denote roughness, massiveness, jagged or sharp shapes, industrial materials such as concrete or reinforced steel, plus a sober, somber, or monstrous quality."

"Brutalism, in a derogatory way, meant buildings that were brute or brutish, that resembled béton brut and reinforced concrete, of course, but also featured sharp corners and angles, giant blocks with sparse ornamentation, and often rebar exposed."

"Brutalism describes inert, uncompromising, and non-joyful building."

"The new brutalism, on the other hand, that built on the 1950s efforts, was sweeping the world in the 1960s. The New Yorker's Susan Sontag described it as 'techno-spheric. Its key architectural element is a cube or a slab.'"

"When the term brutalism, or beton brute, has been used for some time, a dictionary defined it as meaning 'unsympathetic; harsh and raw. […] A term for raw and rude modernist architecture in which concrete is exposed and used in innovative ways.'"

"What is now known as 'brutalist' is a style of architecture in which one can recognize the inherent expressive power of concrete, the most malleable of the building materials."

By 1991, the term brutalism had left architectural criticism behind, to become a common word in the social discourse of the land, one whose meaning shifted so swiftly it was impossible to keep up with. […] 'Brutalism' may best be thought of as a way of saying, 'Fuck you.'"

The brutalist [beetle] is mass-produced, cheap, soft, blunt, and innocuous, and can be killed easily. It also tends to be unimaginative and doesn't know how to have fun, though, like the brutalist hotel, it is beautiful in its own way—in its sleek and simple geometry, with its basic form and function and lack of frills or flourishes."

"If the brutalist hotel is anything, it is anti-German, the building equivalent of a blank stare, or of a mute, uncomfortable presence, something uncommunicative that is going to take a long time to come to terms with, but in the meantime refuses to relinquish its edge."

"In the center of the box—precisely in the place where that smooth enclosure should have ended—is a vast opening. A vast opening, an indentation that cuts through the building, an indentation covered by a glass structure of complex form, a glass curtain that rises in a sharp angle and opens to the outside, breaking out of the enclosure. A glass curtain that opens the envelope, an indentation, a void, a break, the dismantling of the volumes, the cracking of the building. A void with no walls. Just an opening."

"The Brutalist monolith is dead and decaying. But we were never allowed to bury it."

"There are a lot of definitions for brutalist, depending on whether you are from the west or the east—but no matter where you live, it is always clear when you are in a building that could be described as brutalist. In a brutalist building, there is no limit to what you can do, and this includes being brutal."

"Brutalist buildings are aesthetically visceral and socially odious."

"What is really amazing is that people used to look at their own buildings and see the fact that they were brutal and think it was a good thing."

"The third stage of brutalism is about to begin, and will be even more disastrous than what we have seen before, because the reaction against the current post-Brutalist buildings will create even uglier architecture."

"Damn it, you can't achieve the sublime, or the truly modern, without brutality."

"The argument goes on, still in my mind—and how could I ever get past it, when, if I stand at the core of my being, that core is a brutalist block of concrete?"

But, still, I'm not sure this is exactly what Abrams's book is supposed to be about. Yes, he collects these quotes, but they don't seem to him like a solid argument for a particular position -- even for "brutalism is ambiguous," which was basically the thesis of part one. It's like the book is treating "what is brutalism" as an open problem, and then throwing in all these different definitions and dissertations in an unorganized way, without trying to pick a winner.

Because, uh, I guess I don't see the point of making a book about brutalism if the brutalism isn't going to be defined in any way. No matter how much of a book you want to write about a topic, it ought to have a thesis, right? You can't talk about something without having an opinion. (Which is just as true of the problem as of the solution that the book proposes.)

Or maybe I'm biased, because the concept of "brutalism" fascinates me so much that it feels like a weakness to write a book about it without definition being a part of it. But it's hard to explain how I feel about this. It's like somebody did a wonderful, exhaustive study of ants, and instead of talking about all the wonderful things that they learned about ants, just said "Yeah, there's just ants, I guess." It's true, but incomplete.

Which is the problem with this book -- it's like it's a volume of the Oxford English Dictionary, but of "Brutalism." For the words which it defines, it lists quotes, and it has footnotes with references to essays in other books. But when it comes to the one unifying question -- what does the book think is the phenomenon we are talking about? -- it is silent.

[spacedikut]

Derek would ask Spencer to explain how he feels about u to try and get him to understand that he’s in love with you but Spencer would just be like... is that not friendship?

god this idea is so fucking good but. i didn’t do it justice cause i went down a way more serious route :p 1.4k words, gn!reader

the team have been trying tirelessly to get spencer to just... see. what the rest of them see. the longing, lingering looks and requests to work together, the subtle touches that are so sweet in themselves but, with the added knowledge that spencer is Spencer, its...well, the team knows what they see. spencer is just lagging behind a little.

they try a whole plethora of methods. everyone talks to him and spencer either doesn’t connect the dots or simply says “we’re just friends!” and emily gets so frustrated she flicks spencer on the forehead and leaves a mark (i ask you picture pure, innocent spencer sat at his desk, watching emily’s retreating form with nothing but a puppy-dog confused expression and a red dent in the middle of his forehead).

penelope is at her wits end, so derek decides to step up and retry a very basic method: talking spencer through how he feels for you. surely he’s self-aware enough that he’ll hear himself and hear how un-friendlike it all sounds and... tada! love.

but it’s never quite as easy as you’ll think it’ll be, is it?

spencer should’ve known something was amiss when derek asked him if he wanted to hang out and let him choose where they would go - spencer? being allowed to choose where to hang out after work? have you ever heard of something called a red flag?

so spencer chooses a cafe which - immediately, the second they step through the doorway - spencer has a joy to him, telling derek about the last time you and him came here and what you ordered and what you thought of it and all these details that even the most attentive best friend wouldn’t think were anything more than trivial matters. he remembers the shape you tore your napkin into, for goodness sake. in what realm is that friendly behaviour?

then, to make matters worse, spencer, mid-walk to a table in the corner by a large window, abruptly changes directions, making derek almost spill his coffee. spencer apologies, then says they can’t sit in that booth cause that’s where you and spencer sit and - well. that’s your and spencer’s place, you can’t disrupt that! friends! friendly things and friends doing friendly stuff. friendship.

derek gives this scoff that spencer is so used to he barely reacts. when they sit, spencer is acutely aware that derek is staring - furrowed brows and this intense, firm gaze that only appears when he’s thinking. spencer’s only slightly intimidated. 

he’s never been able to lie to derek. he’s never been a good liar, period. he’s good at omissions and burying himself and his emotions but, god, if someone asks just the right question, he’ll fold like the cheap deckchair he truly is.

and derek... derek knows spencer better than he knows himself sometimes.

(is there anyone else that has similar qualities? no. of course not. only his best pal derek and not a colleague/very pretty person known as You)

a question. a question is all it takes.

“so, you and y/n come here a lot?”

derek’s starting light and spencer is so enthralled at the mention of you every worry he had about why he’s here with derek and why derek is looking at him like that flies out the window. 

“we do! actually, it’s the perfect meeting spot; the most convenient distance between our apartments and we both have favourite drinks here. we’ve become regulars, actually, so we make a habit of coming at least once a week at a minimum-“

and he keeps going, sweetly reminiscing about the first time you visited to the silly games you’ve created - because you’ll spend that long here, sitting opposite each other and just each other - and derek wonders how spencer doesn’t see it. doesn’t see the way he lights up at the mention of you, rambles like you’re a statistic spencer’s known for years and can’t help but bestow on everyone at every opportunity, not to mention the physical reaction he has to you. you’re not even present and spencer is wide-eyed, rosy cheeked, permanent curl to either side of his lips that looks involuntary.

he’s in love with you. his entire self, from head to toe, from mind to soul. everyone can see it, except you and him, apparently.

“they make you happy, huh?”

“well, obviously,” spencer hehs, “they’re my best friend.”

there’s an opportunity here, shyly gleaming from the corner of the conversation and derek digs it out. “you got a definition for best friend, reid?”

spencer’s taking a sip of his drink, but is happy to share his knowledge. he’s not quite as bright when he’s saying it. “a best friend has many definitions. friendship itself is usually defined as a relationship of mutual affection between people - it is a stronger form of interpersonal bond than an association, and has been studied in multiple academic fields-“

derek hums, encouraging him to keep going. he’ll get there.

and he does, after delving a little too far into the nature versus nurture debate.

“id consider you a best friend. jj, too. and garcia, of course. except... except with y/n it’s- it’s different.”

derek pretends to be shocked. “how’s that?”

“well... they have all the qualities id want in a friend - honesty, generosity, empathy...humour-“ spencer smiles to himself, small and intimate, remembering an inside joke between the two of you. “but they’re more than that, too. they’re there for me - not-not that you guys aren’t there for me too-“ derek just raises an eyebrow. “but...it’s different, with them. it always is.”

the shift of topic from friendship to you has spencer unfocused on his surroundings, eyes glazed over as he stares to the side of derek, who feels like he’s intruding - he rarely understands what goes on in that big head of spencer’s, vast in it’s knowledge and memories and self-perception, but right now he’s confident he does. 

it’s you. he’s thinking of you, the moments you have together - perhaps in this very cafe - that are reserved for spencer and spencer alone, a side of you derek will never know because it’s not his to know; it’s spencer’s, just as spencer is yours.

his voice is level but distant, the warning signs of that magnificent mind finding the pieces and putting them together. “i think-i think about them often. how they are, what they’re doing, if they’re thinking of me too. i know they’re only a text message away or-or, on cases, a few feet away... i guess i don’t want to seem clingy. or desperate.”

“they’d never think that. you know that, right?”

“i know. i-i know that. but-i don’t... i can’t.. i don’t want to risk losing them, i guess. one wrong move and they’ll realise what a-what a complete mess i am. ill unravel and they’ll see all the dark inside and they... they don’t deserve that.”

derek goes to interrupt, because god is spencer wrong, but he doesn’t have the chance.

“they deserve love and laughter and everything i can’t give them if they... if they get too close.” now, spencer brings himself to look derek in the eye. there’s a seriousness there, a solemn stand that spencer doesn’t often take. “i can’t lose them, morgan. i can’t.” his hands tighten around his coffee cup. “i want them here, with me, for as long as i can convince them to stay. i don’t want to be selfish, i don’t- i don’t mean to be, but. i want this. i want them. every day for the rest of my life, i want them. i choose them. im just terrified they’ll see me and... they won’t choose me.”

there’s an expected silence that befalls the two of them, the busting background noise of the cafe the only moving piece. does he get it now? does he understand what has motivated every thought and feeling? every worry and action?

“reid,” derek says, softly, in a tone that has spencer straightening his back. “that’s not... that’s not just friendship. you know that, right? you can see that?”

spencer blinks. 

no. you’re friends - close friends, yes, but friends nonetheless.

but he thinks back to what he’s just said - 

he’d say the same for jj, right? for penelope, and for derek. even gideon, perhaps.

except... no. he wouldn’t. it’s for you, he’s for you, all of it and all of him.

and then the picture is as clear as day. no fog, no obscurity, no hesitance - and spencer’s relieved. relieved that finally, finally, he can put all of his feelings into one simple sentence.

“im in love with them.”

“yeah,” derek says, leaning back against the booth. “yeah, reid, you are.”

[chocominnie]

One Last Time 02  —  Pjm. (M)

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Previous : 00   01

⇢ Word Count : 

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

Your eyes shoot open, chest heaving heavily as you let out a blood curdling scream. Not this again. The same dream over and over again each night. It leaves you sleepless. The time on the clock on your nightstand reads 3:04 am. Just only four hours ago is when you fell asleep. But a full night’s sleep hasn’t happened for a year so why would it matter anyways.

Once you catch your breath you unplug your phone from the charger and read some of the notifications. From your window, the night-time critters sing their songs along with the persistant owl that’s somewhere around the apartment complex. You’d only noticed him, the owl, just a few months ago when your cat started meowing with his hoots. 

A missed call from your uncle. 

Immediately you unlock your phone and dial the number. Bringing your index finger to your mouth you gently nip on it waiting for it to answer, The rings are agonizing to you. If something has happened you only wish and pray it wasn’t as bad as you think. He’s the only parental figure left in your life.

‘‘ Princess! Hello I was just calling to speak to you earlier. But I realized you are five hours ahead of me and you had probably went to sleep.’‘

His soothing voice calms your emotions making you let out a tiny breath of air. Thank god.

‘’Hey Charlie.” You sigh. Looking towards your left, you spot Clara purring quietly next to you. You can’t help but to smile while bringing a hand over to rub her head with your thumb.  She’s so small under the shining moonlight from your window.

Her white coat shines brightly amongst her, making you remember the first night you had brought her home. All she did was sleep, and it worried you because you had no prior expierence caring for anything, let alone a small animal. Clara only drank kitten milk and slept back then. Occasionally being awake enough to nip at your fingers whenever you pet or touched her.

Now she’s a bit bigger and walks around the apartment like she owns the place. Quite the little attitude she has, but its too damn cute for you to scold her whenever she does something wrong. 

“ Yes I did fall asleep from after a gathering at someone’s house.’’ You continue on, bringing your knees to your chest after opening the curtain of your window fully.

The moons brightness illuminates the entire room, but not so bright for you to complain though. ‘’ Oh- was it Jimin’s? Tell him I said hell-’’

You bite your lip hard at his name. He doesn’t know and you wont even dare to let him know. Knowing him, your uncle would have a fit and oppose to come back to Seoul to ‘set the record straight.’ to Jimin. That’s the last thing you want to do, cause trouble.

‘‘ It was his brother’s house warming party.” You say, lowering your tone in your voice. You look at the nightstand for a couple of seconds just before opening the top drawer of the wooden, polished piece. Your hands shakily pull out a picture of you two together.

It was taken at  Marne-la-Vallée, France right infront of Cinderella’s castle. That was the day that you and Jimin had to went to Disneyland in Paris, France. You cant help but to think, with the picture in hand, that it was one of the best nights ever. It was also the same night your virginity was taken.

‘‘ Oh.. I know that tone. Are you two arguing at the moment.”

You shrug, “ I mean you could say that.’’

No you cant.

‘‘ Alright alright I won’t talk more of him. Let’s change the subject.” He chuckles deeply into the phone.

‘‘ How’s Europe? Anything new happening on base?”

‘‘ Same old Same old. It’s been what? 2 years since I’ve left Seoul? The food is different over here. They don’t have kimchi pancakes sadly.”

You can only imagine the frowny face he makes at you whenever he doesn’t approve or like something. It always turns out to be funny.

You giggle into the phone shaking your head slightly, “ Of course. You are in Europe Charlie. Where are you getting food from anyway if you are on base?’’

‘‘ I can go off base to a certain mileage when I am off duty. I just have to report back in time. But you do know that you can always come live on base with me...’ He trails off.

Oh boy. Here he goes. He’s always talking about moving you on base with him. Hell, he’s been talking about it since before he had to go to be based in Europe. By then you were twenty years old and old enough to live by yourself. Growing up in Daegu, Korea since you were six, you felt as if Korea was home to you and you definately weren’t ready to leave yet.

Especially, after losing your parents here. Around eight years old, your aunt and mother were on the way to pick up your father from the airport. With your mom and dad also being military and based in Korea with your dad’s bestfriend, your uncle Charlie, your father had been called to take military leave to go and be based in Korea for the National Guard.

On the way back from the airport, a drunk driver had struck the car knocking them off the road and colliding head first into the railing of the bridge. All bodies were reported dead upon collision, including your aunt. Charlie didn’t take the news well at all, and so did you. Only eight years old and still a bit new to a foreign country. It was devistating for you and Charlie. Charlie did what was right and stepped up to be your legal guardian while taking some time off from the military. Till this day, he treats you like his sacred little daughter and you can’t ask for anyone better than him.

 “You are old enough to live on your own and housing is avail-”

You jump at his voice on the line again, being too spaced out from the tragic memory. Before he can go on any longer you cut him off. ‘‘ Im fine with the apartment you left me. Im paying the bills on time and taking good care of it.”

‘‘ Alright fine. But that option is always available you hear me? I will always be ready for you to come with me.’’

‘‘ Okay Charlie” You groan.

‘‘ Alright.. sweetie it’s getting late on this side and it’s already 3 am on your side. Get some sleep okay? Don’t you have a model shoot thingy or something? You have those a lot.’‘

‘‘ Yes i actually do in a couple of hours. It’s been a while since I’ve did a shoot. Please eat and sleep well. Don’t injure yourself.’‘

‘‘ I promise. You promise to do the same right?’‘ He says, rustling movements are in the background.

‘‘ Yes I promise. Good night sleep tight..’‘ You smile as you wait for him to finish the rest.

He chuckles one last time on the other end, ‘‘I’ll always love you, goodnight‘’

Beep Beep Beep

You in a racy light pink lingerie with white duvets and sheets is the concept of your comeback. It’s supposed to symbolize the “Night After’’. Camera’s click and directors yell and praise you in your subtle yet damaging moves and facial expressions. You want.. no need for this comeback to be successful. Not only did your manager schedule this, but she is making sure that they release this same very day.

Nobody in this company’s industry has ever did this before. But you, you are sort of the special one. The special foreigner as they say. It’s not like you don’t like it but you don’t like that they label you as that. Stylists, employee’s hell even anybody who works there treat you as a princess. It’s not bad, but it’s just weird.

‘‘ One last one. Give me a sexy yet innocent look mama.’‘ Elliot, the director says, smiling wide at you.

You slip a finger into your mouth and do a little pout with your lips.

Elliot busts out into a roar of happiness with his hands clapping furiously. ‘‘That’s it mama yes! That’s just what we needed!’‘

Adjusting his microphone earpiece, he turns around to greet and thank everyone, ‘‘ Alright everybody this concludes our shooting! You all worked so hard today. Make it home safe, eat well.’‘

Finally. You sigh out in relief and close your eyes. It’s been a long day. Almost 6 hours of shooting. Three Videos, and five swap outfits for each session of shooting for the ‘’ Night After’’.  As everyone heads out and starts cleaning up you bow your head slightly and thank them.

A stylist brings you a satin robe to cover yourself in. You thank her and put it on just before getting up from the bed and walking towards wardrobe. Once you are done putting on your clothes, your manager leads you straight out the exit. Outside awaits the car that drives you everywhere. Literally everywhere.

‘‘ Tomorrow somebody has put in a special request for you to appear as the main lead girl in their music video. It’s short notice and I told them I would have to bump some things around and notify you. But they are paying us and you good money to be in it.’‘

Money? Sounds like a plan.

‘‘ It’s fine. Who am I shooting for?’‘ You say, fluffing your hair just a little while inspecting yourself in the rear view mirror.

Your makeup is still intact with no ruins and the contacts they had given you suited you very well. A hazel with a slight bit of teal. Suddenly the car moves off into the busy streets of Seoul. You can’t help but to notice every couple that walks along the sidewalks. They seem so happy, glad to be around each other.

On the floor of the car lies your little mini backpack filled with all of your items and belongings. Picking it up, you begin to dig through it looking for some hand lotion to soothe your semi-dry hands. Once you find it you gently start to squeeze the tube.

‘‘ Kim Namjoon.’‘

You freeze. Namjoon? The same Namjoon from the group? Joonie? It’s been well… a year since you’ve seen him in person. Hell since you’ve seen all of Bangtan Sonyeondan together. Except for lastnight when Hoseok and.. that guy showed up.

You sigh already knowing the answer from the question you are about to ask.

‘‘ From…?’‘ You ask then put the lotion back in your bag. Slowly you rub your hands together to moisturize.

Your manager quickly flips through the daily planner, ‘‘ Bangtan Sonyeodan but this is for one of his mixtape songs.’‘

Thank goodness.

‘‘ That’s fine. What time will the car be arriving tomorrow?’‘

‘‘ 8 am on the dot. You need to be there by 8:30. I’ll be tending to one of my other models tomorrow so you will be alone. I can send som-’‘

‘‘ No no it’s truly okay. I know how to manage things myself. Besides, I learn from you.’‘ You reassure her with one of your winning smiles, laying your head on her shoulder.

‘‘ Aigoo what am I going to do with you?’‘

The day ends very well. The movies you’ve been watching have kept you occupied. But not occupied enough for you to keep crying at all the sad parts in the chick flicks. Breakups, someone had died, someone had even just spilled something onto the floor and that was enough to send you into tears.Only because when the main lead boy rushed to help clean it up, it reminded you of Jimin last-night helping Isabel.

‘’What is going on with myself.’’ You blow your nose into a tissue for what seemed like the thousandth time today. Clara lets out one of her meows beside you then goes back to grooming herself.

You place her onto your lap and begin to run your fingers through her fur over and over again. Such a soothing effect to you as you stare into space sulking in your thoughts.

Why is it that you weren’t enough for him? Why is it that every single little thing reminds you of him? You gave him your all and he gave you his but what happened? Where did you go wrong? Cooked, cleaned, satisfied his needs. You guys had even started to plan out what you wanted out of a family. When you wanted a baby and what you would name it. It was fun. The whole relationship was fun. Right until that scandal.

Ding.. Ding.. Ding.. DI-

You unlock your phone immediately to stop that annoying dinging noise. Not surprisingly it’s a text from Jeon Jungkook.

Kookie : Im coming over I’ll be there in exactly 3 minutes.

Kookie: Don’t think about leaving either.

Kookie: Im bringing someone with me.

Kookie: We need to have a serious talk babycheeks.

You roll your eyes at the nickname he’s given you. No matter how many times you tell him you want him to change it, he declines. There’s no point in asking anymore.

Why would he want to talk anyways and who is the person he’s bringing. Eh.. it might just be Ryan they seem to do everything together as a team.

As soon as you step foot out of your bed the sound the door clicking makes your head shoot up. How in the living hell does he know the password to your house? Rage takes over you. That’s something that you hate. When people invade your personal space. In this case, personal home.

‘‘ Jeon fucking Jungkook!’‘ You scream, abruptly stomping your feet all the way to and out your bedroom door. Suddenly you stop at the sight of the two faces staring back at you.

Jungkook’s expression holds a concerned yet upset face while the other just stands there calm and cool. But you on the other hand are way besides that level.

Your eyes must be filled with rage and the expression on your face is no good. How dare he disrespect you like that? Bringing him into your home, knowing the bad blood between you two. Oh, they both have something coming towards them. You begin to walk to them again making each step make the floor shake.

‘‘ Get out. Both of you. One you invade my personal private home..’‘

You grab both boys by their collars, making sure to grip the one on the right’s harder than usual. ‘‘ Two, you fucking invite him over here.’‘ You drag each of them towards the exit. Which is going good until Jungkook rips your hands away from his shirt and takes you over his shoulder.

You’ve had enough of him and his invasive ways. Pounding on his back with your fists, you make sure to scream into his ear. “ Put me the fuck down Jeon Jungko-”

You hiss at the stinging sensation on your ass. Did he just? Jimin stands there awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. You make sure to make eye contact with him and roll your eyes. Something that always had and will piss him off.

‘‘ Hush. I told you all of us needed to have a deep talk about you.’‘

Jungkook plops your frail body onto one side of the couch in which he sits next to you. He motions for Jimin to come sit across from the both of you but you aren’t having it.

‘‘ Don’t you do it.” You glare at him. Jungkook sighs harshly only to pluck your forehead two times. You whine and rub it with your index and middle finger.

Jungkook shakes his head in disapproval, ‘‘ When are you ever going to learn? Jimin sit down now.”

‘‘ Truthfully.. I feel as though I shouldn’t be here so-”

“ Good. Get out you are unwanted.” You snap back causing him to give you one of his long stares with no facial expression at all.

Jungkook glares at you just before getting up to throw his hands in the air full of disappointment. “ Enough! “

Yelling. Something else you don’t like to hear being done at yourself. You finally sit still and quite avoiding any eye contact with the both of them.

He sits back down and clears his throat. Jungkook gives Jimin a look before continuing on.

‘‘ I gathered us here to talk about you..”

‘‘ Why. Im fine. How many times do I have to say it. Im fine im fine im fine im fucking fine!’‘ You exclaim, getting more mad by the second. When will people accept this?

‘‘ Baby.. ’‘

Your eyes shoot up to him and his soft voice. You didn’t want to but you did because his voice to you is like candy that melts into your mouth.

‘‘ Don’t call me that. You have a girlfriend at-least be loyal to her rather than what you did to me.’‘

‘‘ Fuck is anybody going to just sit here and listen? Can we at-least get to the source of the problem? Huh?’‘ Jungkook leans back into the couch clearly pissed by your attitude.

Jimin’s the first to speak and holds a firm eye contact with you, almost daring you to break away from it.

‘‘ Fine. Im just going to cut straight to it then. Why are you so jealous? You aren’t okay at all. I seen the way you looked at us yesterday. You wanted to break down so bad but you didn’t. It looks like you’ve been dropping weight day by day why aren’t you eating well?’’

You’re taken a-back by his jealous comment. Although you are you just cannot admit it. You are jealous. You do want him back. You cant bear to see him with another girl but you. But the fact that Jimin is concerned makes you really hope. Just hope that there is something left of you still in his heart.

‘‘ Jealous? Jealous tuh.” You scoff, leaning into Jungkook’s arms where you rest his head on your chest. You only do this just to see Jimin’s reaction and by the look on his face he doesn’t enjoy that move one bit.

‘‘ Yes jealous. I mean why else would you put almond extra-

‘‘ Woah. No need to go there. We established that it was a so called accident lastnight.” Jungkook does finger quotes into the air and looks down at you.

You lift your head up and furrow your eyebrows in annoyance, “ So called? So you really believe that I did it on purpose. Wow Jungkook. Escort yourself out.’’

He sighs, wrapping his arms around you securly in hopes of you settling down a  little, “ Honestly it’s not like that. I wasn’t there to see you bake them nor was I watching her eat it. Im just saying that you knew Jimin was coming and obviously his girlfriend was going to come too. It’s a little sketchy is all.”

There’s no fixing what he said. Him adding onto his explanation just made things sound worse than what he’s trying to say. You don’t have time to be ganged up on, nor like it at all. It’s best if they both just leave, to not turn nothing into something.

‘‘ Get out. Now. Before I call and tell Ryan what you said and then she’ll definitely deal with you.’‘ You say, removing yourself from off of him and onto the other side of the couch with your legs crossed.

Mad isn’t even the word to describe yourself right now. You’re just a mixture of all emotions.

Jungkook now looks of sorriness written all over his face. You bite your lip and shake your head while pointing towards the door. He sighs heavily and takes one last look at you while removing himself from the couch. You watch him slip on his coat and shoes.

Jimin gets up from his spot on the couch, ‘‘ I’ll be leav-”

‘‘ Sit down we aren’t done talking.” 

He looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, sitting back down slowly.

Jungkook keeps his head down as he wraps his blue scarf around his neck. Poor baby, but he shouldn’t of said it. “Please better yourself and talk it out with each-other. Im leaving.”

‘‘ Make it home safely.. Kookie.” You sigh once the door closes behind him. Now you’re here. Face to face with Park Jimin.

The same Jimin who cheated on you. The same Jimin you haven’t seen in a while. You take a few moments to take in his appearance. He seems to have re-gained his muscles that are peaking through his black, longsleeve shirt. His thighs are still thick, just like his luscious lips. Of course he changed his hair color to black. But who knows, he might change it again.

‘‘ You’ve been doing well?’‘ You say, voice low but enough for him to hear. You drop your eyes to your lap instead of keeping intact with his.

‘‘ Yes. But you have not. Im disappointed in you. Why are you doing this to yourself? Don’t do this because of me.”

‘‘ Jimin you don’t know the feeling. You don’t know how it feels to be left wondering why you weren’t good enough for someone. Why they had cheated on you. You don’t understand at all and wont ever.’‘ Your voice cracks on the last sentence and you an feel the lump in your throat become sore.

He bites his lip unsure of what to say next. Those words had hit him good inside. ‘‘ Im sorry. I truly am. But you know the reason why we had to end it. I fucked up bad and the media was making the scandal bigger and messier day by day. It was better to just call it off.’‘

One by one your tears start to drop. You nose begins it’s running trip but you sniffle it back up.

‘‘ You could of denied it. You know you could of made a statement and denied it. But you felt something for her didn’t you? Didn’t you?’‘ You semi-yell, sobs already starting to take it’s way over.

He bites his lip once again and ruffles his fingers through his hair, “ Baby..’’

You wipe your tears with your hands making your face even more puffy from the crying. “ I am jealous. I am I admit it Jimin. But do you know i have been suffering for one year and two months? I can’t sleep at night because im so used to your touch at night. I look at every couple in Seoul and think to myself, Dang they seem so happy. What’s their secret?’’

Jimin sits up, making eye contact with you with tears welling up into his eyes. It hurt’s you more than yourself to see him crying. It always has.

‘‘ Please don’t do that. Don’t do this to yourself. Please get help from someone to try and move on. Please. I don’t like to see or hear you make yourself suffer.’ He begs, getting up from his seat and coming towards you.

Jimin sits next to you, hesitantly opening his arms up to you. Would it be wrong to embrace him? He’s being too sincere, but thats what you want right? You decide to just do it, and lean into him only for him to pull you in closer into his chest.You just lay there crying and sobbing while he runs his fingers through your hair. You shouldn’t be doing this. He has a girlfriend. But it feels so right.

‘‘ What does she have that I don’t? Why couldn’t you love me the same way you love her “  You cry into his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears. 

You’d been waiting for this moment to just let it out. Let everything out.

‘’ Please don’t make this harder than what it is right now. Just try and forget me and move on. Please.” Hypocritcal. How does he expect you to get over him when he’s the one whos holding you so tight right now. Soon enough his sniffles join yours in harmony.

You raise your head up and look him deep into the eyes while you wipe away his tears, “ Don’t cry Jimin. I’m the one supposed to be crying over you. Don’t cry.’’

He takes your hand away from his face and wraps his fist ontop of yours, “Please promise me you will move on okay?’’

You shake your head no, “ I can’t make that promise.”

He doesn’t say anything. He gently cradles you in his arms and lifts you up. You don’t think to where he is going. You just close your eyes and grab onto his shirt firmly not wanting to let go.

Soon enough you feel the cold sheets over your bed. He covers you in the duvet and leans down to your forehead.  A kiss. Your fist is still locked onto his shirt in which he tries to pry it away but you don’t want to let him go. He sighs and raises his arms up as he takes off the shirt revealing an extra plain white wife beater under it. Taking your other hand, he wraps your hand into another fist onto the shirt to where both of your hands are holding onto it.

‘‘ Please better yourself for me baby. Sleep and eat well. “

Is all he says before turning off the lights and walking out your bedroom door.  You can hear him putting on and zipping up his heavy coat but you just don’t make a sound.

The apartment door clicks and beeps letting you know he’s already gone.

[bigskydreaming]

I’m a big believer that Dick’s independence and self-reliance isn’t in any way rooted in him just being stubborn, prideful or self-destructive. I view it as being in his eyes a necessity….because on a deep, fundamental level….Dick doesn’t trust anything to be permanent. 

I’ll always go back to the fact that his character archetype isn’t that of the everyman, because he was of lower class origins compared to Bruce’s extreme upper class background.....but rather that given that Dick Grayson was allegedly exceptional from his debut, a child prodigy capable of feats of acrobatics few in the world could match....he could never actually be classified as an everyman. Rather, his core archetype is that of the fish out of water. The individual taken from the comforts of his original pond and thrust into a limelight of an entirely different nature from the one he grew up in, with the two not at all being interchangeable, and necessitating he change and adapt in dramatic and often unanticipated ways just to keep his footing in his new environs.

Its not incidental that his initial tragedy wasn’t JUST the loss of his parents, but rather the loss of his old routines, extended family, environment, way of life, expectations for the way his future would play out....it ALL vanished on the same night, never to return again. The loss of his parents was tragedy enough all on its own, but its really only one part of what Dick lost that night. He lost his entire footing. His frames of reference. Everything his life had previously prepared him for and everything he could have used as a familiar comfort or source of stability to lean on, if it had been ‘just’ his parents that he lost.

And I fundamentally don’t believe you ever get over THAT loss, no matter what peace you make with the loss of your loved ones or specific elements of that. Once you’ve experienced a shake-up of that size, once you have a bone-deep, visceral awareness of how completely your life can change in the blink of an eye, how you can effectively be set back to zero as though nothing you’ve previously accomplished matters (remember, he went from a kid whose name drew crowds on its OWN merits, based on what HE was capable of due to his own work and skills, the youngest of the Flying Graysons, capable of an acrobatic feat barely anyone else in the world could master......to being a kid who was only ever identified as in the context of Bruce Wayne having taken him in, as though his existence and worth were defined by someone else’s act of compassion rather than based on anything he’d ever done on his own, when the fact of the matter is even by age eight, he’d already accomplished a LOT)....

Like, the point is, you can’t go through a shake-up like that and ever fully FORGET how complete and total a change it was, how big a rewrite of your entire life story. 

That’s a trauma all its own, one that goes largely unacknowledged, and one that I don’t think Bruce and Alfred or anyone else fully realized was even there TO need addressing in the first place. So of course how could they ever fully address it, without realizing a need?

And I think Dick’s constant moves and self-reliance are actually born of that primal awareness that there are no guarantees, that nothing is truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in an instant.

He’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to be taken away again - as people have pointed out in other posts, Dick can never seem to have nice things. Even the apartment building he lived in while in Bludhaven….that wasn’t some height of luxury by ANY stretch of the imagination…was lost to him, along with all the friends and neighbors and community he’d built among them, something evidenced by how highly they all spoke of him, even to a total stranger. And that’s not even getting into how even the CITY he sought to establish himself as a guardian over, like, he lost the city itself. The CITY!

Dick, I believe, insists on holding down 9-5 jobs and paying his own way and only touching money that comes from Bruce originally, when like…he has no other option or its to help someone else….just like he’s resistant to ever fully putting down roots, at least none so deep that he can’t uproot himself and quickly relocate without ripping off a piece of himself and leaving it still buried in the ground behind him. 

Because deep down, he’s always bracing for the next seismic event that’ll rip everything away from him, and he wants to be prepared. He WANTS to make sure he never takes anything for granted. That if he loses it all - hell, if he and Bruce fight again and Bruce decides once and for all to take it all away from Dick, cut their ties, something that would very much be a deep-rooted insecurity for a kid with as massive of abandonment issues as Dick must have given his childhood and a number of events after that…

Dick I think needs to trust that he’ll be capable of surviving, of standing on his own two feet, if the worst should ever happen again and he’s left on his own again. His self-reliance and obsessive need for independence aren’t a REJECTION of anyone else or anything Bruce or others have ever done for him.

They’re simply the defense mechanisms of a boy who was once upon a time torn away from everything he knew and in certain origins was then on top of that plunged into hellish circumstances before finding a refuge with Bruce….

And the man that boy grew up to be, who is determined to never be caught in a situation like that again, where his very survival might otherwise require the kindness of a stranger….with Dick knowing better than to count on lightning striking twice there, and him getting lucky a second time.

So in a lot of ways, my core perception of Dick having spent more time growing up in the luxury of Wayne Manor than any of the other kids is that its largely irrelevant to who he grew up to be. Because he was still more than old enough by the time he arrived that he had formative experiences all his own that no amount of time was sufficient to overwrite and exchange for new ones.

His experiences are so extreme in terms of the loss of all forms of stability, that the SHAPE that stability takes in the periods where his life IS stable, is largely unimportant. Because its the absence of stability that’s the defining recurrence in his life. Even the stability offered by his childhood in Wayne Manor eventually gave way to canon where he left the Manor before he was even eighteen, as well as canon where no matter how it was ultimately reversed, he was for a time affected by having the ability to call the Manor his home STRIPPED AWAY FROM HIM. Thus even when Bruce did ultimately welcome him back, there still retained an awareness that even the fact that this had happened in the first place was a reminder that even THIS was something Dick could lose, that no matter how stable his childhood there had been at times, it couldn’t in and of itself be COUNTED as a source of stability due to the simple fact that his ability to call it his home HADN’T turned out to be an irrevocable constant. 

And so this is another of those areas where I think its fundamentally an oversight to have members of the family commenting on Dick’s self-reliance or tendencies to relocate himself, let alone in any kind of critical capacity......

If there’s not going to be an acknowledgment within the family or by the people raising these criticisms like, what kind of a role the family themselves have played in Dick feeling a NEED to have these tendencies in the first place.

If someone doesn’t trust in any place he lives in to ever truly be a constant in his life, truly permanent, that anything can be taken away in the right circumstances....and you yourself have done something that has made him feel or given him reason TO leave a place he’s found stability in at some point in the past....you kiiiiiinda forsake your right to be critical of his inability to see any place as permanent or constant, y’know?

Like, insert Miranda Whatshername gif or Meryl Streep peering down her glasses and going oh I see, you think this has nothing to do with you.

So I’d argue that Dick’s insistence on simulating the average person’s reality of livelihood, even when he has other means and funds available to him….just as his insistence on being as solely responsible for the well-being of the place or people he sees as his responsibilities, being single-minded about relying only on himself for tasks that he sees as ultimately having nothing to do with someone other than himself, etc....

All that is in my opinion BECAUSE he’s so firmly attached to the reality that anything and everything can be taken away, at ANY given moment. That he can be reduced to having nothing and no one he can depend on BEYOND just his own innate skills and experiences, the only things he trusts to be truly unable to be stripped from him by others.

If you ask me, one of the core aspects of Dick’s characterization throughout his adulthood in canon is SPECIFICALLY his fear that everything he cares about, or trusts, or relies on…can be taken away from him or lost. 

And his determination to make sure that he’ll be able to survive even if that should ever happen again.

[sirowsky]

The Stories We Tell Ourselves (One-Shot)

Author's Note: So, this was an ask sent to me by my darling wife, @lucrezia-thoughts a while back, that I for some reason never actually added to my collection of works. Which seemed like a shame, since I'm kinda proud of it (it was my very first ask), so I thought I'd re-post it and give it a proper spotlight. Description: Mando's injured and Grogu's bored, so fem!reader tells him a bedtime story.

Rating: Everyone (all fluff all the way on this one, though blood is mentioned) Word Count: 1872

It had been one of those days when one thing had just bled into another, and everything had gone wrong. It was a miracle all three of you had survived, but the Mandalorian had been injured, trying to protect you from a very unpleasant trader, who had knives concealed everywhere in his clothing. Mando had been cut along his side, and while the injury would heal on its own, it had bled a lot before you’d been able to get back to the Crest and properly dress it. He’d insisted on getting the ship off the planets surface before he’d allowed you to help him, and as a result, there was blood everywhere. He hadn’t actually hired you, he had just sort of… realised that the kid liked you and decided that if you were brave enough to stick with them despite the danger of their situation, without even asking for payment, then he wouldn’t stop you.

You weren’t sure if he actually liked you. It was hard to tell with him, even after months of being couped up with the man. You could quite easily read him around others, as you’d become familiar with his body language and mannerisms, so you knew how he should behave if he liked you. But for some reason, he behaved differently with you. His body language was always much more still and maybe even careful, around you, as though he was afraid you’d break if he accidentally bumped into you. It was more than a little annoying, sometimes, since it made it difficult to define what your relationship actually was. But it was mostly just annoying because you wanted him to bump into you. He was a mystery, but that wasn’t what drew you to him. He was kind and respectful, quiet but strong, in both body and conviction. He wasn’t too proud or too self-assured, but he was loyal and protective and gentle. It was quite amazing to you that he was so proficient at using those hands for violence, when he was also so tender with the baby. It had brought tears to your eyes on more than one occasion.

When you’d finally cleaned the last remnants of blood from the controls in the cock-pit, you headed back down to check on Mando. But your eyes fell on the empty pram sitting on the floor of the cargo-bay.

“Oh, no. Kid… where’d you go?”

You searched quietly, not wanting to wake Mando after you’d finally gotten him to lay down in his bunk to rest, before going to scrub the blood away. But then you heard a muffled giggle, and of course it came from the damned bunk. You’d left the door open so that you could easily hear it if he stirred or seemed to worsen in any way.

“No, no, no… Come on, get out of there, let the man rest.”

You reached in and snatched the kid off of Mando’s chest and then stood there for a minute, rocking him quietly against your hip, while you listened for any sign that your… companion… had woken up. You eventually sighed and sat down on a crate, directly behind the bunk, cradling the kid in your arms.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, you know.”

He just cooed and looked at you with bright eyes.

“Okay. How about a bedtime story?”

He just blinked and angled his head a bit more towards you.

“Hm, let’s see. When I was young, my mother would tell me stories about love to get me to sleep. She said that a child that feels loved, will always have the comfort to sleep soundly. So, this story begins with a King. A good, and kind man who rules his land with open arms and a warm heart, but also protects it with ferocity and conviction. Because that land holds everything that he loves, and without it – he’d be broken. One day, when the King is travelling, he finds an orphan outside of his dominion, and being the good man that he is, he brings the child home, to raise as his own. He has no idea how to do that, and it’s chaotic most of the time, especially since his duties can’t be put on hold while he cares for a baby. He still has to rule the land. But he loves that baby so much, that no matter how hard it gets, he endures. He doesn’t care that he hasn’t slept in days, or that he’s always terrified that something’s gonna happen to his boy. None of it matters, as long as the child is safe.”

Mando woke up the moment the kid climbed onto his chest. It was reflexive at this point. Even though he knew that you were there, and would care for the boy without his asking, he was already conditioned to react to whatever the little one needed. But he was wounded and tired, and he heard you coming down from the cock-pit, probably having cleaned up his mess – yet again, so he ignored the kid, and made no effort to let you know that he was awake, when you came to pick the child up. He was in some pain, the wound throbbing a little with each beat of his pulse, which made falling back asleep a little harder, even though he was exhausted. And it was surprisingly nice, just listening to you talk quietly to the kid, not knowing he could hear you. It wasn’t surprising that he found it nice; he found everything about you nice. It was surprising that he enjoyed the eavesdropping aspect so much. That he liked the intimacy of listening to you when your guard was down, and you were just being a woman caring for a child. He listened closely to your story, not missing the clear similarities to your actual life and the way you two had met.

“So, when the King has to travel again, he decides to bring his son along, and they go on a long and adventurous journey together. But on their way back, they come across a woman, wounded and in need of help. And because the King is a good man, he brings the woman to his castle, and helps her heal. And while she heals, she repays the King his kindness, by looking after his son while he cares for his kingdom. And as the woman watches her rescuer, and sees the true warmth of his heart as he cares for his land as closely, and tenderly, as he cares for his son, she falls in love with him.”

He nearly stopped breathing as he heard the words. Could you really mean him? The rest of the story was more or less exactly your story, so you had to be talking about him. He had never allowed himself to consider it. To think that you could ever want to be with a man like him, no matter how much he might want you to. He knew that his efforts to restrain himself around you made him seem stiff and perhaps a bit cold, and it always hurt him to see you try so hard to read him, to understand why he was different towards you than his friends. But if you wanted him too… that changed everything.

“But this wonderful man is a King, and she’s just a woman he found on the side of the road. She has no claim to him, and she’s afraid to tell him how she feels, because if he doesn’t feel the same, it’ll break her heart. So, she cares for the child as best she can, and hopes that he won’t make her leave the castle once she’s healed. And he doesn’t. He let’s her stay, and over time, she finds the courage to tell him the truth, and he reveals that he loves her too. And together they raise the child with love and happiness and adventures, and that’s how this little story ends, my sweet.”

The kid was asleep by the time you finished the tale, and you rocked him gently in your arms after you fell silent, to make sure he wouldn’t stir once you got up to put him back in his pram. You tucked him in snugly, and then closed the little egg up, to keep him warm and safe. Once you were done, you raised your hand up to your neck, rubbing idly at the knots and strained muscles, after such a long day of hardships and stress, and you couldn’t stop the exhausted sigh that escaped you. The movement to your side didn’t register in your brain until Mando was already sitting up at the edge of the bunk, and it startled you. You flinched and then your brain woke up again, and you approached him.

“Hey, what’s the matter, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Oh, stars above… the number of ways that he could answer that last question.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“No, no, you’re the one that’s wounded, which means I’m the only one that gets to ask that.”

He considered that for a moment.

“I heard your story, mesh’la.”

You froze, and suddenly your heart was frantic in your chest. He heard… all of that? You’d been so certain he was completely passed out! You hadn’t meant to pour so much truth into the story, but it had happened anyway, and now he knew how you felt. He knew. He saw you begin to panic and reached a gloved hand out to you, which you couldn’t bring yourself to take, but before you could back away from him, he reached for your waist instead, and pulled you in closer, until you were standing between his slightly bent knees as he rested against the bunk. You were flustered and shocked to suddenly be so close to him, and you found yourself having trouble figuring out where to put your hands in the small space between you. He’d never given any indication that he liked it whenever you’d touched him, so you settled for resting your palms on the flat and cool beskar on his chest, with your eyes firmly planted on the diamond shaped indentation at the centre of it.

“It was a very good story. I really liked it.”

Your eyes snapped up to stare at his visor, and you wanted to say a thousand things. But nothing came out. You felt him draw in a shaky breath, before his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you even closer. Then he bent his head forwards, leaning his helmet against your forehead, and your arms found their way around his waist, suddenly needing to hold him to you, now that he’d finally given you his silent permission.

“Would you tell me another story?”

His voice was trembling just a bit. Just enough that you could tell through the modulator.

“Okay. What would you like to hear?”

“Tell me how the story continues, after the King declares his love for the woman? Tell me how they live happily ever after… and I promise I’ll try to make the story come true for you.”

THE END

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife For Thor Pt.01

10/12/2020

Arrivals and Departures

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 6,990

Warnings: language, talks of death, angst, talks of sex,

A/N: This is seriously...I mean, I don’t even know where this came from. Credits to @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ because Roo gave me the idea and I kinda ran with it. Like omg, y’all. Blame Roo. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo Dialogue from Thor Ragnarok has been used in the beginning of this story.

Please do not REPOST my stories anywhere. Reblogs are most welcome!

He stands with his arms crossed in what appears to be a small sitting room with a large window that opens to the sublime sight of the black space beyond. Sterling silver, radiant red, and brilliant blue stars twinkle into infinity.

This is a sight that Thor had seen many times before and yet, for the first time in an age, he felt hopeful for the future.

His fight had ended. With Ragnarok, his journey had reached an end. Not the end, but certainly that of a chapter I which his battles might rest.

He imagines that this might be how his father felt when he had taken charge of the nine realms.

However violent that takeover might have been, his father had lied about many things—his sister for one—it had been the beginning of a quieter reign. A new formative time for his father. He may not have been a perfect man, but he’d grown wiser in many ways. Still not the best father, but his father, nonetheless.

Thor can almost picture his life on Earth, a time of peace. A time to rebuild. He will be able to give his people a good life there and he’s certain that his friends will appreciate having him closer. Friends from work they may be, but friends.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go back to Earth?” Loki asks, standing beside him with his hands held gently at his front.

Thor looks at him, waiting a moment to allow him to finish speaking.

“Yes, of course.” Thor assures him. “The people of Earth love me. I’m very popular.”

Loki takes a breath, looking out the window as he quickly accepts his brother’s reasoning while simultaneously realizing he must word this differently to get his point across.

“Let me rephrase that.” Loki begins, “Do you really think it’s a good idea to bring me back to Earth?”

Thor knows that Loki has a point. His history with Earth is…not perfect. To say the least.

“Probably not, to be honest.” He admits, noting Loki’s apprehension.

Loki smiles, a little knowing.

“I wouldn’t worry, brother.” Thor tells him, both turning back to the void outside. “I feel like everything’s going to work out fine.”

The moment seems endless, the two of them waiting as if the something should or might happen after Thor’s optimistic sentiments.

Then the moment passes and Loki sighs.

“Right, well, I’ll start rounding up the people who will be of the most use once we arrive.”

Thor gives his brother one parting smile but doesn’t watch him leave.

Thor doesn’t know exactly what has changed in him, what makes him so confident in this decision, but he knows it’s the best decision he could have made. And if he’s honest, though he’d never admit it out loud, the possibility of finally being on the same planet as Jane…well, he’d be a fool not to consider the possibilities.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something feels different today.

As you wake, turning onto your side to stare across the small room at the blinking line on the blank word document on your computer screen, you can’t quite put your finger on what is making you nervous.

Your stomach is rolling, making you queasy, despite the fact that you have no reason to be anxious.

Yesterday was like the day before and today will be just like yesterday. Nothing in your life ever changes, and that’s become so much of who you are that whenever you have even a doctor’s appointment your heart begins to race in dreaded anticipation.

With trembling hands you clutch your blanket, trying to find a reason behind this mood. Your breath quickens as your heart panics, your mind scrambling to make sense of these emotions but nothing comes to mind.

So, you get out of bed. You get dressed choosing a simple knee length black dress that fits loose enough to keep you comfortable throughout the day. Then you head into the kitchen and start the coffee pot.

Halfway through the brew you shut the machine off and rush to dump out its contents into the sink.

“Fuck.”

You sigh, realizing you should really invest in decaf coffee for morning just like this.

“Tea. Tea is better.” You rationalize and pull your kettle off the warmer and fill it in the sink.

You replace it in its dock then turn your back to it, hands gripping the edge of the counter as you lean against it.

Your fingers stroke the smooth and unvarnished wooden countertop, suddenly going rigid around the lip as your heart goes frantic again.

The island counter directly in front of you is made of the same unvarnished wood, a slightly mismatched chair on the other side, tucked in beside the open shelving that holds your pots and pans. Along the center of the island sits a small vase with nearly completely withered flowers.

You’re filled with relief as your hands are given new task and you hurry forward and take the clear glass vase, toss the flowers—which crumble as they hit yesterday’s empty cereal box—dump the water in the sink and quickly refill it.

Setting the vase aside, you pull open a drawer and pluck from an array of contents a small packet of flower food, a pair of small pruners, a long piece of twine, and head out the back door to your modest backyard.

There isn’t much in it, and it’s unfenced. A large tree at the back-left corner provides shade and pecans. In the center of the yard sits a set of antique iron work garden furniture. Twisted and shaped into what reminds you of lace. Two smaller chairs and one long bench with curved backs.

You’ve been of a mind to buy cushions for them, but you haven’t found an excuse to justify the expense.

In between the garden set sits an outdoor coffee table made of wood and painted white. It’s fading and will need a new coat soon but again the expense can wait. At least until you sell another story.

Apart from this set and a small wooden shed beside the pecan tree, your yard is mostly overgrown grass and carefully cultivated flowers lining the length of your narrow back porch.

You smile, noticing the length of your grass, grateful for another something to keep you busy today. Something to keep your mind off this mysterious and anxious premonition of something to come.

Quickly you move to a large blooming bush at the end of your porch and cut from it several bunches of pink and blue garden phlox.

You admire the shade of the blue flowers. The color reminds you a pair of blue eyes you’d once seen on a woman who’d come to your school as a child.

She’d been beautiful and kind, but she hadn’t picked you. Still, you’d never forgotten the color of her eyes.

The pink is pastel at the edges of its petals and vibrant magenta at the center.

As you head back in, the kettle only barely beginning to steam, you quickly arrange the bunches you’ve picked and wrap them up with the twine. You set the bushel aside and with the vase pulled close, you tear the packet of flower food with your teeth and pour it in.

Replacing the flowers, you give the kettle one more look before you race back into your bedroom to pick out a more appropriate outfit for cutting the grass.

You decide on a pair of jeans and a plain yellow t-shirt. Pulling them on, you pause with your shirt hooked around your arms as your eyes find your laptop screen, annoyingly black still.

With a groan you pull your shirt on and from the kitchen you hear the whistle.

Breakfast is simple. A store-bought muffin and a cup of breakfast tea do the trick and while you’re still chewing your last bite you head out to cut your grass.

It doesn’t take you too long and you lament the last bit as you cut it, the machine vibrating violently in your nervous grip.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself, this feeling of something terrible coming will not go away and you’re about to go out of your mind when a shout from your back door pulls your mind from it.

Standing there is an older man with an unconventionally handsome face. His lips are thin, cheekbones prominent, brown eyes sunken, and his nose long and defined. His dark hair slicked and parted, neatly kept to match his crisp navy suit.

“Aren’t you a little overdressed?” You shout at him as the whirr of the machine dies into silence.

The man moves towards you, a smile brightening his face.

“I was just at a meeting.” He explains.

“Do you ever stop working?” You wonder, pushing the lawn mower towards the shed as he follows.

“Only when I’m on vacation.” He tells you, amusement in his voice but subdued and you only hear it because you’ve known him for years.

“You don’t take vacations.” You sputter, almost laughing.

“Precisely.” He agrees.

He waits for you to shut the door and when you turn, he greets you with open arms.

“How have you been?” He asks, holding the hug for longer than you’re used to which only adds to the anxiety you’ve been feeling all morning.

What’s going on?!

“Hey, you okay?” You ask him, ignoring his question in favor of satisfying your curiosity.

He doesn’t answer but holds the hug a moment longer before pulling back to look at you.

“We have to talk.” He tells you, making your heart pound.

“Okay. You want some breakfast?” You offer, and swallow hard as your fear mounts.

“Sure.” He says and follows you inside.

You make him a full breakfast. Eggs, bacon, breakfast sausage, and buttered toast with a cup of coffee. Just because you can’t stand the idea of being hyped up on caffeine today doesn’t mean David won’t.

He digs right in while you stand on the other side of the island, sipping on your second cup of tea in hopes that it will ease your frayed nerves.

For a few minutes he gobbles down your food but when you shift on your feet for the fourth time, he clears his throat, takes a drink of his coffee, then puts his fork down.

“It’s not exactly bad news.” He assures you, easing you a little but something tells you that you still won’t like it.

“Just tell me, David.”

“As your lawyer,” He begins, sitting back in your old wobbly chair. “It’s my duty to inform you when there are developments with your family’s estate.”

“Right.” You agree, remembering the day he’d found you when you’d turned eighteen to tell you that you weren’t exactly as poor as you’d thought.

You’re not really rich either. You have a little money that your parents set aside for you. Old money that you hadn’t really touched. You use it mostly for bills when you can’t sell a story fast enough and most of your wealth is in this cottage. A family home that you’d had no idea was yours until David brought you here.

Finally, a home, after living in that school all those years.

“Well, I think it might be time to reveal a little more of that estate’s history.”

“Why?” You put down the floral porcelain cup and wrap your arms around yourself, afraid of what he’ll say.

How did you know that something was coming? What kind of sixth sense do you have?!

“After all this time, why would it matter?” You sigh, moving to pull out the second chair to his right on the shorter end of the island.

“Don’t panic.” He tells you, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Let’s keep our heads. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“You say that, but why do I feel like that’s not exactly true?” You sigh.

He blinks, gathering his thoughts before he nods.

“I think I’ll tell you all at once. Like ripping a band-aid. Might be the easiest for you.” He realizes.

You don’t disagree.

“Your family comes from a very small people in Europe. Their origins are hard to trace but we know that they travelled between France, Norway, Denmark, Romania, Belgium, Sweden, Austria, Greece, and even spent a large amount of time in hiding in the United Kingdom.”

“I get it, they were nomads.” You sigh, your mood taking a turn from the anticipation of clarity.

“Yes. Nomads.” David agrees, patting your hand in an attempt to calm you. “I only mention it because there are many questions as to where they had originated from. No one seems to know. Unfortunately, I don’t think that question will ever be answered as all records before their stint in France have been lost.

“What we do know is that your ancestors, your bloodline are royalty.” David says, as easily as if he were telling you your age. “Even though the titles have long since been lost, you are technically—though you have no country to rule over—a princess.”

Slowly his words sink in and your face begins to relax. You look down at his hand over yours and without warning you laugh once. Then again, and again, until you’re leaning on your chair, head thrown back as your whole body shakes with it.

“What is so funny?” David asks, unamused but he goes back to eating.

“This is a joke, right? You’re pulling my leg.” You gasp, breath shallow.

“Not one little bit.” He shakes his head. “If we knew what country your ancestors came from, you would very much be in some palace or castle, reigning over your people. Your parents, were they alive, would have been King and Queen.

“You may not think it possible, but that is your legacy, Y/N. You are of royal blood.” David insists which sobers you a little, but you think it’s so silly that this is what you’d been so scared of.

This is what you’d been dreading?

“Okay. Fine. I believe you. But what does it matter? You said that if I still had a country then I would be princess, but clearly, I don’t. So, I’m not. What’s the point of telling me this when it makes absolutely no difference to my life?

“I don’t feel any different and it’s not like that makes me any richer? I’m still sitting on a decently sized fortune to assure that I don’t want for anything at least until my forties. What could this possibly change that you felt it necessary to tell me?”

David wipes his mouth with his napkin, finishing up the last bit of his coffee before he gets up and with his dirty plates moves towards the sink.

“Leave it, David. I’ll clean up later.” You watch him, sitting up a little straighter as that anxious feeling begins to grow again with his extended silence.

He washes the plate and as he does, your nerves begin to fray again. You anxiously pick at a small splinter in your island, waiting for him to speak.

He turns towards you as he finished washing his plate, then meets your eyes.

“You weren’t just revealing my heritage, were you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I felt I needed to reveal your heritage because someone has reached out with the hopes of setting up a meeting with you.”

“Why would anyone wanna meet with me simply because they know of my lineage?” You wonder, slouched, hands moved to your lap to rest limply as you stare at David, fear increasing with every moment that passes.

“May I ask you a personal question?” He says, moving to stand closer as he dries his hand on your dishtowel.

“David, you know everything about me.” You sigh.

“Why haven’t you ever had a boyfriend? Or girlfriend? I’m not sure I’ve ever asked if you-?”

“To be honest, I don’t know either.” You shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not even as a child?” He wonders.

“I was too busy wishing for parents as a kid.” You clarify. “I didn’t have time for crushes or any of that stuff.”

“Are you opposed to a relationship?” David asks, dropping the towel then moving around to sit back down in his seat.

“Opposed?” You ask, shaking your head. “Not exactly opposed. I’ve just never known anyone worth caring about like that. I’m mainly here at home. I do go into town when I need to get my packages but there isn’t anyone there that…I don’t draw attention like that.”

“You’re a pretty girl.” David tells you, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. “When you aren’t sweaty and covered in grass clippings.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“It’s not something I really worry about.” You admit.

“Would you ever want to get married?” David asks, and your heart is suddenly pounding.

The idea of being someone’s wife had crossed your mind once or twice. Mostly when you’d been jotting down ideas or plotlines for your books. In the end, because you didn’t think you had enough insight, you’d opted to remove all romance. You write mysteries.

“I don’t know that I’d be any good at it.” You confess. “I’m not…I can’t exactly picture myself being someone’s wife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I don’t even know what I’d be like in a relationship, sharing space and time, much less sharing an entire life?” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that I haven’t thought about it but it’s only ever been in passing.”

David goes silent, tapping his index finger against the island.

“David, please. You know I can’t take the suspense.” You plead.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He nods then reminds himself, “Band-aid.”

You take a deep breath and turn to face him a little more in your seat.

“Well, you are aware of our planet’s newest inhabitants?”

“Th-The Asgardians in Norway?”

“Yes.” David nods. “Well, as a sign of good faith, to ensure that they will abide by Earth’s laws and to assuage any ideas from panicked world leaders that they might try and overtake the planet and make it their own, they have decided that marriage to someone from Earth might be the best way to do that.

“The Asgardian known as Brunnhilde has reached out to all families of royal blood and asked to meet with any eligible women, preferably—as she so tactfully put it—maidens.” He explains. “Which I take it you are?”

You swallow hard, your lungs rubbed of oxygen and yet you somehow manage to quietly acknowledge, “Yes. I’m a virgin.”

How can you not be after spending your whole life unconcerned with romance?

“You don’t have to do it, Y/N.” David suddenly says; however, you can see the ‘but’ in his eyes. “But if you don’t and the Asgardian king cannot choose from the women he does meet, you will probably be hunted down and forced to meet with him anyway.

“All world leaders are in agreement that this is the correct and only way to ensure the safety of the planet. They will not give up until every woman meeting the Asgardian’s requirements have been given the chance to meet with Thor.”

“Thor?!” You gasp, rising to your feet as hundreds if not thousands of images flash through your mind of the Thunder God and the Avengers fighting side by side.

“Yes.” David affirms, rising to his feet with you. “With the death of his father, he is now King of Asgard.”

Of course, Thor is going to be King. You already knew this. It’s common sense.

For some reason though, the confirmation made out loud, vocally…how the fuck are you supposed to marry Thor? An Avenger? That’s not…this cannot be real life!

“David,” You begin, apprehensive.

“I know. I know it is a lot to ask but as I said, I don’t believe we have much of a choice. He might very well not pick you.” David adds, rushing to comfort you and point out how unlikely you’d be the one Thor chooses to wed. “There are plenty of other women that he’s already met with. Women that are more suited to life in a palace than you are. The Hungarian princess is so eager to be Queen of Asgard that she’s been sending the other women bribes to try and convince them to refuse.

“It won’t make a difference, since they cannot refuse should Thor choose them.” David admits.

“A-all I have to do is meet with him?” You stutter, heart in your throat.

“Just a quick one-hour meeting. He’ll ask you questions. Get to know a bit about you. See if you are suited for life as Asgardian queen and then it’s over.” David assures you.

“I’m…There are lots of other women better for it, right?”

“Loads of them.” David promises.

New fears begin to take hold in your heart and mind.

It conjures up the last time you’d seen Thor, strutting from a massive spaceship docked over the ocean by New Asgard. He’d risen from its depths all wide shoulders and biceps. Heavy steps thudding as he’d stopped at the end of the massive ramp, waving at the cameras as his people had filed out behind him.

His hair cropped short as opposed to the long tresses he’d had when he’d last been on Earth, one eye missing with a sleek black and gold metal patch over it the absence.

You’ve never been threatened by him before. He’s a hero. But the prospect of being his wife and having wifely duties...

Your mind flies into panic as it shifts that large body over you, crawling towards you with his hands prying your legs open. The years of sexual experience radiating off of this fantasy Thor and all of his bulging muscles.

You almost want to throw up at the prospect of having to consummate a marriage. You haven’t exactly been eager to be with anyone since you haven’t met anyone special, but you’d at least imagined something more intimate. More personal.

“David I-they won’t choose me though, right?” You reach out for him because your legs are suddenly weak.

He takes hold of your arms and helps you stand still.

“They won’t.” He tells you, sounding convinced. “There are better candidates. Women with actual titles.”

He’s right. Of course, he’s right. He has to be right.

“It’s just a quick meeting.” He promises. “Then it’ll all be over, and you can come back to your cottage and live just as you have been, with no one to bother you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leaving your little place is difficult. After spending years without a home to call your own, now that you have your cottage, tearing yourself away from it is like pulling splinters.

You like your little yard. You like your flowers. You love your bed and its white sheets, little pink and yellow flowers printed on the soft fabric.

You’d made it more feminine. You’d brought flowers back and frills and lace. You’d made it everything you thought a cottage at the edge of a wood should look like and as time had gone by you’d brought in more personal touches.

After several years, your home is finally completely you.

This place, this massive Asgardian structure is less gold and more wood, stone, and iron. Silver steel polished so bright it gleams even in moonlight. This place is not you. It’s him. It’s Thor. His home.

Right now, with the day almost over, the palace takes on a warmer tone. The wooden structures and gray stone pillars are bathed in orange light, giving the place a pleasant glow and despite yourself, you can almost picture Thor meandering through these Nordic halls, a long crimson robe around his thick form.

It isn’t an unpleasant image now that you’ve given yourself some time to get used to the idea of him.

When you arrived you were greeted and seated in a large round room, the lower quarter of the sturdy walls made of ornate stone brick, the rest of the wall beautiful dark oak. The floor is also stone, massive carpets underneath several pieces of obviously Norse inspired furniture.

Well actually, the Norse was probably derived from Asgardian styles. There’s a difference in them that you can see but don’t understand. The coffee table in front of you has ornately carved legs, golden embellishments, and a black coat of paint.

The sofa you’re sitting on is mostly wood, painted gold, with plush and soft satin covered cushions in wine red.

There are two other tables around the room, a collection of books on one and an array of fruits, foods, and drinks on the other. There are several different statues and stands. Lamps that look as if they should have flames instead of the electric bulbs they now hold.

Small touches of modern design filter through the room complimenting the more traditional décor.

“Hello there.” Says a lilting voice.

You recognize it and turn to find Loki, slipping through a narrow opening in the large set of doors you’d been escorted through almost half an hour ago.

He’s dressed in a black suit with a plain white t-shirt underneath dressing the look down.

“H-Hi.” You stammer, surprised by his appearance.

You stand, knowing well that he may not be King but for Asgard, Loki is still a prince.

“No, please. Do not get up on my account.” He gestures at your seat and you settle back in as he crosses to the table with all the books. “I forgot some papers in here, I only came to retrieve them. Do not mind me.”

You avert your eyes, afraid to see something you shouldn’t and sit just as stiffly as before, hands fisting the royal purple dress you’d chosen to wear. It’s simple, quarter sleeves, high neckline with a small V at the center. Just above your knees in length, it rises as you grip it.

“Nervous to meet my brother?” Loki asks, stopping by the doors as he eyes your tight grip.

“This whole situation is a little stressful.” You admit. “I’m…I live in a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Ah, you’re the one with the lost lineage.” Loki realizes, moving closer with interest. “A hidden princess. You could have refused to come, you know?”

“I would have been forced eventually.” You point out. “There are a lot of people who want this marriage thing to happen.”

“True.” Loki agrees, “My fault, I’m afraid. I make them nervous.”

“You did very nearly destroy New York.” You point out, remembering the carnage reported that day. The aftermath had taken forever to clean up.

“I did.” Loki agrees. “Do you fear me?”

“No.” You admit. “If you weren’t safe, Thor wouldn’t have brought you back here.”

“He could just be too trusting.”

“Maybe.” You agree. “But with the fate of his entire people tied to the successful acclimation of Asgard and Earth, if you were really a threat, I think he’d have cut you out before coming back.”

Loki’s lips slowly curl up into a smile before breaking apart into a toothy grin.

“What is your name again?” He asks, a sparkle of something in his eyes.

“Y/N.” You tell him. “Why?”

“No reason. This has been very illuminating, Y/N. It was lovely to meet you.” Loki says then with a quick bow of his head, he leaves you to your solitude.

Confused, you sit there completely at a loss for what just happened.

Had you taken too many liberties with Loki? What had that smile meant? You’d been made aware that Loki was also involved in recruiting women of royal blood into marriage meetings for Thor, but you hadn’t expected him to know you by the description of where you live.

Maybe because it’s so unlike anyone else’s?

You sit there stewing for another twenty minutes, wondering if maybe you’re being stood up when the large doors open once again.

You shoot up onto your feet, so damn nervous your body reacts without your permission. Through the door this time comes the man of the hour. The massive Thunder God dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain gray t-shirt crosses over to the table with food and pours himself a stein of what looks like beer from a sloshing brown pitcher.

“Estrid, is this from the new batch of ale?” He booms loud enough that he can be heard even outside of the room as he takes a quick sniff of the liquid.

His voice is so deep.

Licking your lips, you watch him drink the entire stein without taking a breath or waiting for an answer, and then refill it before grabbing it and taking an apple with his other hand.

He turns, holding the fruit up to his mouth and freezes with it pressed to his lips as he meets your eyes, realizing he isn’t alone.

You’re not exactly sure what to say or what to do, completely taken aback by this strange and sudden exposure to candid Thor. Both of you unprepared to see each other despite the fact that you’ve literally been waiting nearly an hour for him.

His confusion mounts as he lowers the apple, looking around as if expecting an explanation or to see if he’s in the correct room.

“What time is it?” He suddenly asks, meeting your gaze again.

“N-Nearly six.” You tell him, and his one good eye goes slightly wide.

“Oh!” His lips curl up into an easy smile. “I did not think it was that late.”

His smile makes you feel a little more at ease, but you’re still on edge.

“You’re my meeting.” He tells you, as if you don’t already know that. “Y/N? Y/L/N, right?”

“Yes.” You nod, then before you can stop yourself… “You’re late.”

Thor blinks. Startled it seems or maybe just surprised, but then he smiles again. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, you can be as late as you’d like. This is your meeting. Sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know why I said that.” You rush to say.

“No, no.” Thor turns to put down his stein of beer and the apple replaced in its bowl. “You’re right. I am late. We were supposed to meet at five, weren’t we?”

When he turns back to you, you nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you have much you could be doing.” Thor says, moving towards you and gesturing at the spot you’d been in before sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“No.” You confess. “Not really. I’m actually one of the only people that probably doesn’t have much to do. Well, I mean, I could be writing. Or cleaning house.”

“They tell me that you had no knowledge about your lineage before Brunnhilde reached out to your lawyer?”

You nod. “It’s not really important. Or…no. That’s not the right-what I mean to say is that it isn’t significant to my life.”

“Don’t you want to know who your family is?” Thor wonders.

“I know who my family is. I had a mom. And a dad. Both died just after I was born. That’s my family.” You explain. “Apart from getting to meet you, the news that my family was once royalty doesn’t change it in any way. I’m still just as insignificant today as I was before.”

Thor narrows his brow, watching you for a long torturous moment as he considers what you’d just said.

“Tell me about yourself.” He suddenly says, turning to lean back against the arm, his own thrown over the back, right leg bent up onto the sofa.

“There isn’t much to tell.” You admit. “I was born, my parents died in an accident. I was taken to a school for orphans where I grew up and aged out. On the day I had to leave, Mr. Valis found me and gave me my inheritance which is a good amount of money and a small house. I’ve been living there ever since.”

“You didn’t take any additional schooling?” Thor asks, relaxing. “All the other young women I’ve met have made it a point to tell me about the universities and colleges they’ve attended.”

“I took a few correspondence classes.” You tell him, “But I’ve only ever wanted to write, and I didn’t feel that I needed a higher education to do it. I mean, it would probably look better on my resume, but my writing should speak for itself.”

You can’t really tell what he’s thinking with the way he’s watching you, his hand playing with a thread on the back of the sofa.

You take it as a good sign that many of the other women have a degree of some sort. They must want someone respectable with a good education, right?

“How do you feel about political marriages?” He asks, and you’re stunned for a moment.

“Um…”

“Be honest, please.”

“I guess I don’t like the idea?” You admit. “Being forced to marry someone you don’t love because duty demands it? Feels archaic. If you love someone, whether they fit into whatever political standards are being demanded or not should not be a reason to get married.”

Thor sits up, shifting a little closer as he leans towards you.

“If you were asked to go along with a political marriage in every way but the heart, could you?” He wonders, much more interested than before.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“Well, let’s say for example, you and I were to marry. We’d be expected to have children. You’d be bound to do your duties as Queen of Asgard, but you would not be required to love me. Would you be able to fulfill these requirements?”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?” You realize, seeing the eagerness in his eyes. His shoulders slump. “If you don’t want to get married, why don’t you just say something?”

“I must do what I can to ensure the future of my people.” Thor says, sighing deeply.

“I’m guessing there’s someone else you do love that you can’t marry?”

“Not that I can’t but won’t. She isn’t ready for marriage and I don’t feel right making that kind of demand from her when she clearly has other things she’d like to be doing with her life. And…yes, maybe a little bit can’t. A royal marriage would make the most sense. I need a Queen.” Thor says.

You can’t find the words to tell him how fucked up this all is so instead you sit in silence.

“I know this is not ideal. I’ve tried to find other ways of assuring Earth of my commitment to this planet but nothing I’ve suggested is good enough.”

He needs a Queen. This gives you solace. No one is less of a queen than you are.

“I’m sorry.” You finally tell him. “It’s not fair. But I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who checks all those boxes for you. I hear the Hungarian princess is pretty eager.”

Thor ignores you, stroking his beard as he watches you. “What do you want from a marriage? Let us say it’s many years from now and you have found someone you love beyond all reason. You two decide to get married. What does that look like?”

You’re a little surprised by the question but you humor him and take a moment to really think about it.

The man you picture has no face. There is no one you care enough about to imagine. So…because he’s the only option, you take Thor’s face and give your imaginary husband a face.

“We’d be partners.” You tell him. “Open about everything important. We would respect each other’s individualities. If something is troubling me, I would like to know that I could turn to him and if he had something on his mind, I’d hope that he could turn to me too.

“We’d be honest about even the unpleasant aspects of our life together. If we disagreed, we would talk about it openly. We wouldn’t hide from each other. We’d spend as much time as we could together and always make time for each other.”

You picture Thor sitting at your island in your comfy cottage. He’s so massive that he’d take up so much space. You’d have to squeeze past him, and he’d turn to wrap his arms around your waist as you pass.

He’d trap you there, not letting you move.

“We’d make breakfast together. Cramped up in my little kitchen, it would turn into play.” You smile. “We’d lounge around the house, reading and listening to music. In the evenings we’d move out to the backyard and watch the sun set then watch the stars until I’d fall asleep on his shoulder.”

As if you’re caught doing something you shouldn’t be, you startle yourself out of your daydream and feel your neck heat up.

You’d crossed from rational marriage into sentimental and you’re a little shocked at the detail in which your mind has gone.

You’re also a little startled by the pleasant feeling that picturing Thor in those situations has given you.

For someone who has never had a crush, you’re startled by the butterflies it gives you.

“But I’ve never been into anyone like that before.” You tell him, looking away from his intense gaze. “So, even if that’s what I picture, it’s not like it’s ever gonna happen.”

“It might.” Thor says, sounding as if he might be trying to comfort you.

“It won’t.” You assure him. “I hope your girl changes her mind.”

There’s a bitter ache in your chest as you say it, and you’re certain it’s only there because of the little fantasy you just allowed yourself to have. You should have picture someone else.

“I hope they relax on the royal blood thing and let you marry someone you love instead.” You hope.

“You say that as if you already know that I won’t pick you.” Thor observes.

You smile wide, laughing even as you bite your lip. “Well, I’m nothing like the girls you’ve met with. I don’t have endless amounts of money. I don’t have a prestigious education or extensive family. I don’t know anything about being royalty. The others have been doing it their entire lives. I’m the least likely candidate. I don’t fit the requirements, except for the bloodline thing.

“I only agreed to meet with you because I knew that the likelihood of you picking me was almost non-existent.”

“Ouch.” Thor says.

“No!” You rush to say. “You’re very…I mean, you’re kind from what I can tell and honorable. You’ve saved Earth a couple times and you’re a little self-centered but only in a superficial way that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good man.

“I honestly don’t know why your girl won’t marry you but I’m not right for this.” You nod. “I wouldn’t make a good Queen for you.”

Thor nods slowly, thinking for a minute before he straightens up and turns to rise, slapping his hands on his knees before he moves back towards the table of fruit and beer.

“You’re probably right.” He agrees, and for some reason, you’re disappointed.

Not so much that he isn’t picking you, but rather that he sees you aren’t enough. You’re lacking in some way. Which you already knew but…knowing he thinks that makes you feel a little lousy despite that being something you wanted.

“I suppose I’ll just have to pick someone more suitable. Someone who knows better about ruling a people. All the same, thank you for coming.” Thor says, dismissing you.

He picks up his stein again and turns to look at you as you rise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you.”

You nod, “Likewise.”

After a moment of hesitation, you give him a wave and move for the doors, trembling hands reaching out to yank the doors open and make your escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been weeks since you met with Thor and you’ve completely forgotten the whole thing. Life has gone back to normal and even though you now know that you’re from royal stock, nothing, as you expected, has changed.

The only plus that has risen from this whole situation is that you can now picture marriage a little better, however inexperienced and cliché it might be, you can make something up now.

Your little fling with the idea of Thor had given you fuel to slip a little romance into your writing and your fingers are flying across the keyboard of your laptop as you type up a new and promising mystery about a set of lovers and the body they discover in the attic of their new home.

You hate to be interrupted during a writing session, but you must have forgotten that about yourself because your phone starts to ring.

Normally you mute it before you even sit down to write.

With a growl you reach over and take a quick look at the number.

David flashes on your screen and quickly you swipe to answer.

“Hey, can I call you back in like an hour? I’m in the middle of a chapter and I’m on a roll.” You plead, fingers still flying across the keys.

“Y/N, Thor chose you.” David’s voice says and your fingers freeze.

There’s a pounding in your chest and your head is full of white fuzz. Your legs are numb, and your stomach is swirling with both flutters and nausea.

You can’t have heard that right.

“What?” You ask, voice shaky.

“Thor. He chose you. I just got off the phone with Brunnhilde and she wanted to let me know so that I could call you and let you know that she’ll be by tomorrow to pick you up.”

This can’t be happening.

“She said to pack only what you absolutely need. Everything else will be provided for you.”

“David…I…I can refuse, right? I don’t have to marry him.” You plead desperately.

“Y/N…” David sighs. “You agreed to this before you went to see him. I’m afraid the time to back out has come and gone.”

“But I can just not do it.” You argue. “They can’t force me to do it.”

“The government will seize your assets if you refuse.” David explains. “They want this done. I’m sorry, Y/N. There’s no backing out of this now.”

“But…But he loves someone else.” You tell him and even though your mind knows that this should be the last thing to concern you, it should not be the first reason you can think of why marrying Thor is a bad idea, it is.

As your eyes focus on the little blinking line of your word doc, your heart gives a painful ache knowing that your husband will be loving someone else.

[hamliet]

What Does It Mean to Save?

I keep seeing it said that Deku, Ochaco, and Shouto will “save” Shigaraki, Himiko, and Dabi, but that there will be no redemption and/or no survival for them. I’m truly not trying to vague these posts and everyone is entitled to their opinion, but literary criticism is fundamentally responsive so I’m writing this anyways.

I personally think that’s not BNHA’s definition of saving nor of redemption. So here, have a deep dive into literary tropes related to redemption, genre, and character arcs as they pertain to BNHA and the question of: what does it mean to save Shigaraki, Touya, and Himiko?

Before we begin, let me say that while we might be personally uncomfortable with redemption (there’s a redemption arc in BNHA I am personally quite uncomfortable with), that doesn’t inherently mean the narrative won’t go there. The key principle I’m operating on here is BNHA’s message that heroes save people. It’s held up as the highest ideal. 

So let’s talk redemption in BNHA-verse. With this guy, whose redemption arc I dislike in principle but accept as part of the story so don’t come for me stans and/or antis. I’m analyzing because it shows us what redemption means in BNHA-verse, whether or not that is satisfying to you personally as it fits/does not fit with your own morality/philosophy.

If Endeavor can be redeemed and live, and he’s Bakugou’s negative foil, I highly doubt Shigaraki and Deku as well as Touya and Shouto and Ochaco and Himiko will be any different. Why? Because Enji is an adult character. The others--well, Himiko’s age we don’t know, but we do know that Shigaraki and Dabi are technically adults. But does the story consider them adults?

(It doesn’t.)

Child-coded characters are generally more likely to survive a redemption, which I’ll explain more later. First I have to define what I mean by child-coding, because I DO NOT mean this in the way it’s often (mis)used in fandom wank. Child-coding is a real thing, but it is not done to infantilize and it has nothing to do with shipping.

Child coding frames the character as a child for a few narrative purposes to convey a story’s theme or purpose. For example, if it’s a coming of age story coding a character as a child even if they legally are not emphasizes their journey to an understanding of self-actualization, or a true understanding of self with self-awareness and an understanding of self-value. An example of an adult coded as a child is The Kite Runner, wherein Amir is a legal adult for half the story, even married for fifteen years so we’re talking 30s-40s, but he does not truly become an adult until he returns to his homeland and takes responsibility for a childhood sin. In Attack on Titan, the main characters are now nineteen, but are still struggling to take responsibility as adults and have only started doing so now that their mentors/parental figures have started dying.

Along those lines, in any kind of story, you can code a character as a child of someone, regardless of biological relationship, to convey the type of relationship they have (usually a mentor one). For an example of this, see Bungo Stray Dogs’ Dazai and Akutagawa. Despite their two year age difference, Dazai recruited him to the mafia, abandoned him, and Akutagawa desperately seeks his approval. Usually in these stories a character will “overcome” their parental figure. This can be done through overcoming their need for the parental figure’s approval in stories where the parental figure is kindly (such as in Harry Potter, when in the final book Harry, Ron, and Hermione leave the Weasleys to find the Horcruxes despite Mrs. Weasley’s please) or through like, killing/stopping/leaving the parental figure when they are abusive (see fairy tales like Rapunzel and Cinderella). The parental link to self-actualization is because it is childlike (and a part of actual psychology that is reflected in literature) to see yourself as a part of your parent; self-actualized person would see yourself as a distinct person from your parent, but also acknowledge the ways in which they’ve shaped you.

So, how do you code a character as a child? BNHA isn’t subtle about it, because Horikoshi seldom is subtle about anything. The villain trio are all coded as children.

Shigaraki Tomura:

Who cannot achieve self-actualization so long as AFO has access to his body, as he’s literally trying to possess him. He’s trying, but it’s not gonna work because Shigaraki can’t keep AFO and become an adult at the same time. It’s a choice the narrative is setting up: your dream of destroying, or your freedom? (To get the latter, he’ll probably have to destroy AFO).

Todoroki Touya, who is repeatedly emphasized as a small child when compared to his siblings, and yes, I know he’s now tall. Specifically he’s spotlighted as the child of Endeavor:

And he’s the least self-actualized one in a lot of ways, contradicting himself constantly. I’m not Endeavor, DUH! But these are Endeavor’s flames! He’s gonna have to choose one or the other, because the tragic irony is that the more he takes out his rage on those around him, the more like Endeavor he becomes.

And Toga Himiko (who might well literally be a legal child), who is actually the most self-actualized one thus far, because she rejects Curious’s child insistence (Curious holds her in a Pieta pose, based on Michelangelo’s statue wherein Mary holds a deceased Christ):

She’s still got, like, a way to go though:

Because Himiko also wants to be like the people she loves to the point where she loses her own identity in them, which is er, not self-actualization. So she’ll have to choose whether or not she really wants to be like the people she loves or whether she wants to live her own way, which she herself tells us how that would end (death):

Deku said it himself: it’s good to focus on what someone is doing now. And look, I have issues with this statement and how it’s framed. I’ve talked about it at length and it was doomed to fail because Shouto himself told us long ago that it was annoying to hear a righteous speech by a stranger when you hadn’t gone through the same, plus Endeavor kinda failed by choosing being a hero over a dad here. But, the principle is that if the past doesn’t preclude Endeavor from seeking a better self, why would it preclude three characters coded as children, one of whom is literally somewhat the product of Endeavor’s sins? BNHA doesn’t think the past keeps someone from a better future. 

So what about Dabi’s counterpoint, which is indeed valid? Well, redemption doesn’t mean the past forgets, either. It’s complicated and nuanced, and we can debate how well Horikoshi strikes this nuance (it’s got its flaws), and admittedly I don’t know how this will go down in the future. But it is asking Endeavor: how do you redeem yourself to the people you’ve hurt? And we have Endeavor asking this question to Touya’s shrine. I mean, the foreshadowing is obvious. Endeavor has to redeem himself by trying to save Touya. However, it will still probably come down to Shouto to save Touya.

For our three villains, it’s a little harder to predict... well, sort of. For Shigaraki it’s extremely obvious: he has to help take down AFO. Dabi probably has to do something to help his family (siblings probably), but it’s vague. Toga needs help and not condemnation, but presumably she’ll help Ochaco with something.

So, is this redemption? I’d define it as redemption in the eyes of the narrative. To address what makes a redemption is another essay unto itself, but if we bring in the oft-compared Star Wars example: did Darth Vader get a redemption? Did Ben Solo? Everyone says yes to both. However, only Luke witnesses Vader’s redemption, and only Rey Ben Solo’s. So the rest of the galaxy? Doesn’t think so. When I say they’ll be redeemed, I’m defining it as their role in the eyes of the narrative, not whether or not society will accept them or even whether their victims will forgive them (of note, in canonical novels, Leia never forgave Darth Vader despite learning he was her father and obviously knowing Luke’s account of his redemption was true).

So, redemption in a narrative doesn’t mean all of society has to forgive and accept them. Dabi has still like, murdered 30 people--many of whom were thugs, but he himself acknowledges they didn’t deserve to die. Additionally, he himself also acknowledges that the families left behind--their feelings matter:

But why does that mean they have to die? Why even does it mean they have to languish in prison forever? (If there’s even a safe prison at the end of BNHA which I kinda have doubts about.) Heroes have also killed: see Hawks as Exhibit A. In fact, some people want revenge on the heroes precisely because they arrested or killed their loved ones (jail isn’t held up as a rehabilitative place in BNHA’s world. In most countries it isn’t in real life, either, but again that’s for another essay). So why don’t the League’s feelings on Twice’s death matter just as much as the feelings of unnamed and unseen (and thereby less important narratively) characters?

Additionally, regarding death... the villains routinely get called on their death wishes. Himiko’s determination to decide how/when she dies is called out because this is right  before Twice overcomes his trauma to save her, and the next arc they appear in is when Twice dies trying to save her again. Dabi’s suicide wish keeps him from getting close to others, and it keeps getting thwarted. Shigaraki’s obsession with destruction and death is clearly not a good thing, and his rejection of his family’s desire for them to join him in death this past arc is growth.

In other words: what Dabi said and what Snatch said about families and how they feel matter for the villains too. The villains are their own weird found family (Dabi as the deadbeat prodigal brother of both his families). Their deaths--Magne’s and Twice’s thus far, and I’m not ruling out further deaths in the future--affect the others. People’s feelings on losing loved ones matter. The villains are people, as Himiko said herself this arc:

Their feelings about each other matter:

How would Touya dying affect the Todorokis? At least they saved him spiritually, I guess, but that’s absolutely lame narratively, and if you have Enji eventually do a sacrifice to save Dabi (pretty likely, even if I personally think Enji will survive said sacrifice) then what’s the point of Dabi dying? How would Himiko dying affect society? As a martyr like Curious wanted her to be, even a redeemed one? A tragic warning story? What even is the point of Ochaco saving her if that’s the case? If Shigaraki dies, well, who would mourn besides Deku? How would Shigaraki dying affect the surviving members of the league? He just couldn’t be saved physically? 

It’s not impossible some of this happens, but it doesn’t seem like great writing, especially with panels like, oh, these that show us BNHA’s perspective on death:

Sacrificing something is a type of death that occurs in stories; this should happen in a redemption arc, which is why I’ve been saying Enji needs to sacrifice his hero reputation to help save Touya and even then it’ll still be Shouto imo who does the saving. But physical death?

If you want further analysis of the latter two panels and how they relate to the ending, see here.

We already have another villain who will definitely die redemptively (Kurogiri--an adult coded character--because he’s already, like, dead), and Spinner and Mr. Compress aren’t coded as kids so I hold them with anxiety towards the end. But again, this isn’t me being ageist or saying this is the way things ought to be in fiction or real life: it’s me looking at writing tropes and saying that child-coded characters tend to survive their redemptions. See: Zuko. Why? Because the death of children or child-coded characters is a tragedy. When a child-coded character dies redemptively it doesn’t feel like a happy ending and if framed as such, it’s often criticized for bad writing (see: Ben Solo). Curious even called this out in her fight with Himiko. I would hope Horikoshi doesn’t end the story being like yeah Curious was right that’s the best use of Himiko’s/Dabi’s/Shigaraki’s arcs:

Additionally, as for the believability of a character getting a new chance after so much destruction and murder... well, it’s kinda a thing in shonen and even in seinen? For better or for worse, it’s a thing. We have Vegeta in Dragon Ball Z and Kaneki Ken in Tokyo Ghoul (Kaneki, by the way, is absolutely an inspiration for Shigaraki). We can debate how well-written these redemptions are (I personally have been quite critical of Kaneki’s despite wanting it to happen narratively), but it can be done. BNHA’s Japan especially isn’t as harsh a world as Tokyo Ghoul’s Japan, so it would make even more sense for something like Kaneki’s ending.

The reality is that the cycle of revenge via hurting people and then leaving hurting families and loved ones has to stop somewhere. Someone has to be the bigger person and step up and be like “naw.” That’s heroic. That’s brave. That’s sacrificial itself. Justice itself doesn’t really exist in its purest form without mercy.

There’s another genre-reason I don’t see death or jail as likely (I could see, like, maybe a mental health ward like Rei’s? But it’s too soon to speculate).

If saving is considered a good thing for the story, if it’s truly the highest ideal, then saving someone should be rewarded by the narrative. The characters who save should have a positive result to show us this a good thing.

This is why it doesn’t work for the heroes’ end journey to be accepting that some people cannot be saved. The notion of just accepting that you cannot do something, you cannot save everyone, you cannot, cannot, cannot, is called out as a flaw of society. Determination, on the other hand, is rewarded.

We see it with Deku as well as with Mirio.

So, what if they save them and the redeemed characters then go on to sacrifice themselves in their redemption and die (come to the same end)? If saving changes absolutely nothing for the saved person, if it’s too late for the saved from themselves to change and/or do anything that matters besides die, then the narrative theme of saving as important is left unemphasized at best and undermined at worst. Simple intrinsic knowledge that the kids “did the right thing” doesn’t cut it for a story with so much focus on physical saving when the kids are already doing the right thing; moral struggles about whether to choose to be good aren’t really Deku, Ochaco, or Shouto’s arcs. It works for Aizawa’s arc with Kurogiri, but not for the kiddos. If BNHA was more of a philosophical/spiritual text, that would indeed make sense, but it is not. Genre-wise, BNHA is a fantastical superhero optimistic story, not a gritty real-world set drama.

[quirkykidsworld]

Loves comes in all forms

I don't know much about love, not sure if I understand it enough. Neither am I old nor sage to recognize how it appears but if there's one feeling that has been expressed by saints & sinners alike it's love.

So, what does love really look like? I believe love is like water. It floats & takes the shape of the container it is held in. Let's explore it the filmy way:

- The not-so-conventional love story between Barfi (deaf & mute since birth) & Jhimil (autistic)

- The finding love in old age as seen in Lage Raho Munna Bhai

- The fight for acceptance of your orientation & lover by one's family as shown in Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan

- The love that knows to wait & didn't stop even when borders & religion separates them as portrayed in Veer-Zaara.

Movies have defined & redefined love time & again but one of the central aspects among its varied faces is acceptance.

Accepting one's identity for who they are, loving them unconditionally & the struggle around it is not just essential but also difficult.

The movie Chandigarh Kare Aashiqui explores acceptance & struggle effectively. The confusion, difficulty in acceptance & struggle is not just displayed through the lead character Manu but all the characters. It depicts the struggle Maanvi, her parents, relatives & everyone else has but it also gently reminds us that rose & love with any other name would still be the same.

Dum Lage Ke Haisha is another such reminder. The fat shaming that Sandhya faced from her husband acted as a contrast for the comfort & love she had for her own body. The realisation that it doesn't matter what size his wife is & that love doesn't fix itself on a shape knocks Prem's mind & heart towards the end of the movie.

So, what even is love? I don't know but I know that the next time someone worries about log kya kahenge I'll quote Amitabh Bachchan & sing "Mere angane me tumhare kya kaam hai", as an answer to all the people because love is love.

Keep sharing love in little ways!

- Gayathri, intern @lemmebegirls​

[glowingbadger]

Ashe SFW and nsfw HC? Also ferdie too pls? Ty!

A couple of sweet good boys on a sunday let's gooooo

Ashe, Ferdinand (FE3H) x GN Reader HCs

SFW (nsfw below the cut)

Ashe:

- Ashe is absolute precious boyfriend material, with all of the cozy and comforting trappings that come with it. Cute inside jokes and pet names that sound like nonsense to anyone else, shared clothing and swinging your hand slightly when he holds it- all of the wonderful little things that reinforce the effortless way you just 'get' each other.

- He does worry about you a lot, but he'll tend to channel that into productive solutions. He'll offer to teach you some techniques with a bow, or even certain little survival tricks he learned in his rougher upbringing. His first instinct is to be your chivalrous knight- to throw himself in front of you and protect you with his whole being. However, he can certainly be convinced to channel this instead into helping you feel confident in your abilities so you both have less cause to worry to begin with.

- Dates with Ashe are usually pleasant walks through town, or through a nice forest path he'd heard of from the locals. You two will bring some food you prepared together, and simply enjoy each other's company along with the sights. When you do feel like taking time for a bite to eat, he'll even regale you with his favorite chivalrous tales. He apologizes for getting so wrapped up in them- surely you must find them embarrassing or boring -but he's so passionate and engaging when he tells you these stories, it's hard not to get swept up with him.

Ferdinand:

- get ready to be ~spoiled~ my friend. Once you've captured Ferdie's heart, no gesture is too grand, no price is too high, and no effort is too great for the chance for him to express his adoration. He'll have flowers delivered to your quarters until you're surrounded by a veritable garden, and if he has to bring a personal chef to Garreg Mach to ensure your favorite dishes are always available, then so be it. If his absolute excessive doting is too much for comfort, he can be talked down a little bit, though you're going to have to be firm with him. In general, Ferdinand does best with a straightforward and communicative partner, as he doesn't always do well with subtext.

- While not necessarily into PDA (it seems ignoble to engage in physical pleasures in public), he has absolutely no qualms about calling you "darling" or "dearest" no matter what the company. He'll openly brag about you to anyone who will listen too- though he hardly sees why he should have to, since it's so obvious that you're the most stunning, brilliant, charming person in Fodlan and elsewhere.

- Ferdie frequently enjoys sharing a ride around the castle grounds on horseback. If you don't know how to ride, he'll gladly teach you, and in fact he secretly savors the chance to guide you by hand and provide for you. Of course, it's equally if not more appealing to have you share a saddle with him, held close to him by an arm around your waist.

- He's shy about admitting it at first but he loves when you brush and/or braid his hair- it feels so intimate and loving!

NSFW v

Ashe:

- we've chatted about Ashe's sexual tendencies a bit, so feel free to check the masterlist in my profile for more of this good good boy (he's in a bunch of the multi character posts), but let's see what else we can chat about.

- Ashe bruises fairly easily, so it's likely you'll leave a hickey or two on him without even fully meaning to. He's very sweet about it, shyly smiling and telling you that he doesn't mind if it's from you. The other Blue Lions (okay mostly just Sylvain) might tease him a bit if they notice, but in truth, this just makes Ashe think about how wonderful it was to have you and how he can't wait to be with you again.

- His cock is about average in length, but it has a wonderful shape to it that stimulates all kinds of unexpected spots. When fully erect, it has a nice, strong upward curve, and the head bulges a bit thicker and has an attractive dark pink flush to it. Ashe also has gorgeously defined arm and shoulder muscles, so he's more than strong and dexterous enough to pull off any position you'd like to try, despite his lithe frame. If anything, the gap appeal between how sweet and earnest he is and how pleasurable the sex can be is arousing in its own right.

- He's very shy about giving and receiving oral at first. He has this idea that giving oral is a complex and scientific process for him to master, and he desperately wants to get it right for you. Meanwhile, receiving feels like he's making you do something subservient for him, which he's personally not into (he's not into power dynamics in bed much in general). He can absolutely get over this, and in fact he can be quite good at oral once he learns to relax and just try things and learn together, but you're going to have to reassure him a bit.

Ferdinand:

- why have I written so little about Ferdie?? He's a joy, let's talk about fucking him.

- Ferdinand actually has a fairly impressive cock, and he has no idea. It's not like he's completely naïve- he's fooled around a bit with romantic interests in the past- but you're likely to be his first true sexual partner once he's realized his enduring feelings for you. So when you ease down the hem of his breeches and see his manhood standing long and thick and nicely tapered, you might be a bit pleasantly surprised.

- Related, Ferdie definitely gets off on praise. Steadily stroking his length while telling him how beautiful his cock is, how big it is, how you can't wait to feel him inside of you, will easily have him bright red in the face and panting for you in no time. If you liked, you could certainly get him to cum like this, making an absolute mess as he spills his load all over your hands with his head tilted back and his fists clenched.

- He's a bit clumsy with his hands at first, having not learned about sex to any great degree prior to you. He'll be immensely relieved if you're the type to tell him exactly what you want and what feels good for you, so communication is key when it comes to him. However, he has a wonderful natural sense of how to move his hips, and his thigh and glute muscles are well developed as any true equestrian's would be. Riding Ferdinand is especially enjoyable, since he'll intuitively match your rhythm so he's pushing deep into you at the best possible angle.

- Ferdinand is beautifully sensitive in a number of places. He loves having his hair pulled, and feeling your nails along his scalp and down the back of his neck raises goosebumps across his skin. His nipples are sensitive as well, and while he may be shy about you playing with them at first, the feeling is simply too pleasurable to resist. As he starts to realize the full potential of different types of sensations, his foreplay improves exponentially as well- he becomes more adventurous, kissing and gently nipping at your stomach, your inner thighs, anywhere he can reach really.