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taexual · 4 years ago

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i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (17)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst → smut (dom!jjk themes but only because he can’t control himself lol)

words: 8.2k

chapter seventeen

Namjoon dropped you off back on campus and was even kind enough – or guilty enough – to offer his help in your search for Jungkook, but you didn’t want to take up any more of his time and, in the case of actually finding Jungkook, you didn’t think you’d make the situation better by having Namjoon with you.

The first thing you did after you exited his car on campus was leave the campus – because you thought that Jungkook may have lingered by the club where Parental Advisory performed tonight; even if his bandmates didn’t seem to think so, since Yoongi insisted they’d lost their lead vocalist – and walking around in the shoes you’d picked today was almost enough to make you regret not asking Namjoon to drive you around, after all.

You hadn’t worn heels but the ballet flats were still not fit for this much walking and, once you circled the club twice and even asked the manager – who was having a smoke outside – if he’d seen Jungkook, you decided that you could understand why Yoongi had been so upset about his bandmate’s disappearance.

As you returned to campus, you decided that you were also ready to strangle Jungkook once you finally found him.

“Have you heard anything from him?” you asked in your text message to Yoongi and then informed him, “I’m on my way to my dorm now to change into more comfortable shoes but I’ll check some of the buildings where he has classes after that.”

Just as you passed the library – and peeked inside because, although slim, there was the possibility that Jungkook may have been hiding out here (he wasn’t) – your phone buzzed with Yoongi’s reply.

“The guys and I will check them,” he was saying, “are there any other places on campus that have some significance to you and him?”

You did a double-take when you finished reading the text, not liking the wave of awkward and misplaced guilt that returned when you fully grasped what Yoongi was implying – he may not have been accusing you of anything, but he was, clearly, convinced that you were the reason why Jungkook missed the encore of his show and then disappeared off of the face of the Earth.

“I’m not sure,” you started to type back as you walked past the double-doors of your dormitory, startling your seemingly drunk RA who had been dozing off on the couch in the first-floor lounge. You stopped typing to press the elevator button, but then resumed, “I’ll walk around. He couldn’t have gone far.”

“He could have,” came Yoongi’s arbitrary – but, frankly, objective – response and you sighed as you read his words, your reflection looking very gloomy in the mirror of the elevator. “But let’s hope he didn’t. If you find him first, kick him where it hurts most. And then punch him for me, too.”

You couldn’t help snickering at the absurdity of the situation that you were in – you definitely never thought you’d end up bonding with Jungkook’s bandmates over your mutual frustration with him – as you typed back your response.

“If his phone isn’t back on within the next ten minutes,” you were saying in your text, stopping for a second when the elevator ding! announced that you’d reached your floor, “I will be doing a lot more than just—”

You stopped typing as an audible gasp escaped your lips, prompted by the sight at the far end of the hallway, right by the door of your dorm. Your phone nearly left your hands, on its way to crash on the floor. You’d caught it—miraculously—your eyes still locked on the figure, sitting on the floor by your door.

“Jungkook,” you said, meaning it as a question but not being able to articulate it properly due to your shock. The dim lighting of the hallway made it difficult for you to make out if it the silhouette was actually him, or if it was someone who was incredibly similar to him.

“Oh,” the person replied and – clumsily – stood up, relying heavily on the wall to help him support his weight. It was Jungkook alright. But barely. “You’re here.”

“I’m—of course, I’m here. I live here,” you said, not sure how to react. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

Various unintelligible sounds left your mouth after he said this – the first syllables of all the words you wanted to say in the moment; all of them rated-R – until you settled on watching him for a minute to get some time to form a coherent thought and to asses the damage.

It didn’t look like he’d been in a fight. It simply looked like he got very drunk and plopped down on the floor next to your dorm room.

“Waiting for—Jungkook, fuck—do you know that your band is literally out there, looking for you?” you demanded after inhaling sharply. “There’s a whole search party for you and you’re—you’re here.”

“I was waiting for you to come back,” Jungkook said. He was a lot more sober now than he was hours ago, but he still wasn’t sober enough to recognize his own guilt. Actually, he was probably never sober enough to feel guilty about anything, but alcohol had little to do with it. “I was going to drive over there to find you—”

“You’re drunk,” you snapped, interrupting him.

“Yeah, and that’s why I didn’t,” he said, pausing for more effect as he waited for you to express your admiration for his self-control but, after it didn’t come, he cleared his throat and, sounding disappointed, explained, “I knew you would give me shit if I drove a car drunk and I promised you that I wouldn’t. So I didn’t. I waited for you here instead.”

“You should have known that drunk-driving is unacceptable because that puts you and everyone around you in danger,” you countered, the moral superiority in your voice clouding the meaning of your words, “and not just because I would give you shit if you did it again.”

He rolled his eyes but chose not to expand on this argument because you didn’t look like you were in the right mood to understand his point of view about “conforming to societal norms”, even if it meant that he was putting himself – and those around him – in danger. Not to mention, he was still too tipsy to hold out a proper conversation.

“How long have you been here?” you asked after he didn’t reply.

You were well-aware that you were having this conversation in the hallway when you could have, theoretically, had it in your room. The door was right there. The key was in your handbag.

But entering – and inviting him inside – wasn’t something you were ready for just yet. The adrenaline from not knowing where Jungkook was and what had happened to him still hadn’t faded. Your breathing still hadn’t calmed down – funnily enough, it would not calm down for the rest of the night, but you didn’t know that yet.

“A while,” he replied just as you remembered you were supposed to let Yoongi know you’d located the missing boy. You got your phone out while Jungkook continued, “I bribed your RA with my six-pack of Heineken. Well, actually, it wasn’t really mine, I just took it from the bar, but—”

You stopped typing the text message to give him a hard look. “You stole six bottles of beer?”

Jungkook blinked, thrown off by the fever in your eyes. “No. I took them.”

“Without paying?” you asked. He nodded. “That’s stealing.”

“I do it all the time,” he waved his hand dismissively – and pushed himself off the wall in the process, only to lean back against it again a moment later, when he realized he was still not steady enough on his feet. He nodded his head at your phone, “ask Yoongi. The manager knows us there. We get drinks on the house.”

“I’m—how do you know I’m texting Yoongi?”

“You said there was a search party for me,” he said, taking you off-guard with his accurate conclusions. You wondered what sort of effect alcohol had on him, “Yoongi is the only one that cares enough to lead it.”

He didn’t mean to make it sound sad – in fact, his facial expression remained the same: somewhat cautious and a little irritated – but you still felt an unpleasant pang of misery in the pit of your stomach.

“He’s—well, I care, too,” you said with a nervous cough that was meant to rid you of all pity you felt towards him because pity didn’t justify what he did. “A lot of people care. You can’t just disappear like that in the middle of your show and—”

“It is Yoongi you’re texting, right?” Jungkook asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing. “Not someone else?”

He was probably trying to be nonchalant about it but, consciously or not, he ended up making his question unbearably obvious. The “someone else” may have been an abstract concept to outsiders – your peers, lurking by their doors and watching the argument play out through their peepholes – but you both knew whom Jungkook had in mind.

“Yes,” you said. “I was texting Yoongi. We’d agreed to let each other know if we found you.”

“Okay, good,” Jungkook said and proceeded to act like this was all a mere misunderstanding that wasn’t worth a lengthy discussion. “Can we go inside now? It’s weird to talk in the hall.”

“Are you going to tell me why you got drunk before your show?” you asked, your voice on the edge of yelling. “Or why you skipped out on the encore?”

Understanding that answering this was the one condition to enter your room, Jungkook sighed.

He was hoping you’d come to your own conclusion about this and he could just roll with whatever you thought was the truth – that he was useless, untrustworthy, reckless, and any other thing that people regarded him as – because explaining himself meant talking about his feelings. And he was so good at pretending that he didn’t like to do that.

“Because you weren’t there,” Jungkook answered.

You couldn’t help but groan. You’d gotten so tired of his no-more-than-four-word responses to serious questions, you couldn’t hear any more of them. You hated having to ask specific questions to get him to talk when he knew very well what you wanted to know.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you questioned irritably. “I wasn’t at your previous shows and that didn’t seem to be a problem.”

“Before—”

“Not to mention,” you continued, choosing to let it all out now that he’d shown you he wasn’t going to be completely upfront with you, “you knew where I was. We’d talked about our plans for tonight extensively, and I wasn’t supposed to hear from you until the barbecue ended and you wrapped up your show.”

“Okay, fine,” Jungkook said, his voice rushed. He didn’t want to hear any more of your accusations because he knew he would lose the battle of wits – he would have lost it on an ordinary day, but today, everything he said seemed extremely wrong. “It’s because you were with him.”

“With Namjoon?” you clarified, crossing your arms over your chest.

Not liking your defensive stance, Jungkook swallowed and said slowly, “yes.”

You looked away from him then – as if you were gazing into an unseen camera and waiting for someone to yell that you’d been punk’d – your eyes losing focus.

“Are you kidding me?” you asked with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m not,” he replied, his jaw clenched. “My own father sent me the picture.”

“The picture?” you raised your eyebrows, almost laughing. “It was just a picture of the company employees! Namjoon happened to be standing next to me. You can’t seriously be acting like that because of something as minor and irrelevant as this. I thought we’d already talked about this.”

Completely forgetting every past conversation, Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Minor and irrelevant,” he repeated, an undeniable snarl in his voice. “Is that what this is? At this point, you spend as much time with him as you do with me.”

“Why is that a problem?” you challenged. “We’d already agreed you wouldn’t do this! I am allowed to hang out with my friends. You have no reason – or no right, for that matter – to react like that. You know there’s nothing going on.”

“I’m not—”

“And I spend even more time with Inna than I do with Namjoon,” you cut him off, “why was she never an issue?”

“Oh, so, Inna, Namjoon, and I are all the same to you?”

You squinted your eyes, trying to see through the trap he must have set for you with this question. “Yes.”

“Oh, how brilliant,” Jungkook scoffed, pushing himself off the wall and turning his back to you as he spat, “your three closest friends.”

“I wouldn’t say—”

He turned around suddenly, his gaze full of blazing fire. “Do you kiss them the way you kissed me last week?”

His words seemed to punch you right in your lungs and all breath left them as you stood there, trying desperately to inhale and suddenly feeling a lot more drunk than he was, despite not having had a single drop of alcohol tonight.

“I didn’t think we were going to talk about that,” you said lamely, all conflict having left you along with your breath. It wasn’t really a response to his question but it was the best you could do when he was looking at you like that.

“We weren’t,” he said. “But only because I could see how much you didn’t want to. I could tell you were pushing me away—”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he interrupted you before you could properly interrupt him, and continued his tirade, “and I understand your reasons. I left you seven years ago and friends aren’t supposed to do that. They don’t abandon friends.”

Faced with this point-blank truth, you were forced to lower your eyes to the floor as you attempted to lie, “I-I didn’t—”

“I told you of my reasons back then,” Jungkook said, not needing your excuses. He knew what the truth was and he didn’t blame you for feeling insecure. “I wanted to keep you safe from myself. And maybe I have my reasons now, too.”

“What?” your stomach dropped. When you looked up at him again, he was already standing a few steps closer to you. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t want to walk away from you,” he said, spilling his next words in one single breath, “but I can’t handle just fake-dating you because the thought of someone else dating you for real, makes me want to tear the fucker up to pieces.”

You didn’t say anything, not entirely sure if you understood his speedy delivery correctly or if your heart was banging against your ribs for no reason.

“And maybe that’s why I should leave,” he spoke then, taking another step towards you and taking over your personal space not with just his words, but with his presence, too. “But we’re both adults now. I’m still learning how to properly be one, but I’d already missed one opportunity to be with you and I can’t miss another one. So, even though I should, I can’t fucking leave. I don’t want to.”

Speaking quietly, you asked, “then don’t.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he said and you couldn’t find it in yourself to lift your eyes to his and settled on watching his lips instead, which was about ten times worse, “I am—I’m in love with you and I don’t want to be the same as the rest of your friends for you. And I really don’t fucking want to be the same as Namjoon.”

“Namjoon—he drove me here,” you found yourself saying as your mind short-circuited, “to look for you. He’s kind and understanding but neither of us are interested in one another. He… I think he always knew that my heart was elsewhere.”

This time, it was Jungkook who needed a full explanation, not an off-handed excuse. “Where?”

Right here, you would have said but you chose to show him instead as you leaned in closer, removing the remaining bits of distance between you by gently touching his lips with yours.

Jungkook reacted immediately, responding to you and refusing to let you pull away by placing one of his hands on your right elbow and another one on your waist. He wasted a split-second when he pulled back to inhale, but then he made up for it by kissing you again, his lips closing against yours in a tight lip-lock.

You pulled back, however, a smacking noise echoing around the hallway as you did, whispering to him, “are you still drunk?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jungkook replied breathlessly before pressing his lips to yours again.

Kissing him back and feeling how the quick, gentle pecks turned into deep, open-mouthed kisses as his tongue caressed your lower lip before making its way into your mouth, made your mind hazy and you were forced to hold onto him tighter.

He sighed into the kiss; the feeling of you clutching the flaps of his jacket was more than enough to make him lose his mind.

And then you let go suddenly, pulling away yet again.

“Are you going to do it again?” you asked because you had to hear him say it. “Are you going to leave? Stop talking to me?”

To be honest, Jungkook would have promised you the world in that moment. Hell, he’d have promised you the whole universe when you looked at him like that – with eyes full of need and parted lips as you tried to catch your breath.

“Never,” he told you.

You seemed to read his mind. “You better not be saying that so we could keep kissing.”

He could have laughed at this if he didn’t know how much this meant to you – how much this meant to you-and-him – but he did know, and that’s why he took your hand, pulling it away from the flap of his denim jacket, and placing it squarely on his chest.

“I promise,” he said in tandem with his heartbeat.

Your lips crashed against each other again and the collision could have had painful consequences if your hands wouldn’t have been there to soften it. You held onto one another, pulling each other closer despite already touching everywhere it was possible to touch.

You could still taste the alcohol on his tongue but you could also taste him – mint and strawberries – especially when he used one of his hands to tilt your face in the right angle that allowed his tongue to play with yours. And then, as if he’d just snapped his fingers, you completely forgot about your surroundings and focused on kissing him back.

His touch ignited your skin and, as soon as he lifted the corner of your shirt and barely grazed your bare hip with the tips of his fingers, you already knew he’d started a fire you couldn’t put out.

In a rare moment when your mind cleared – all because Jungkook needed to inhale before he kissed you again – you realized that you were still in the hallway where, technically, anyone could have seen you.

Except that didn’t scare you much.

What scared you was this very realization: you wouldn’t have cared who saw you here, as long as he was still so close.

“My keys,” you whispered. He understood what you were saying – and what you implied by that – but he’d have rather been struck by lightning than voluntarily pulled away from you.

And so, forgetting your sanity for a yet another moment, you cherished in the feeling of his lips on yours, letting him push you against the wall next to your door.

Only when his body was pressed so tightly against yours that you found yourself trapped in the most delightful way possible, did you realize that this wasn’t going to be enough and you needed to leave the hallway before it escalated.

“Jungkook—” you tried again, pulling away this this time. Naturally, he lowered his head to kiss the side of your face instead, going down to your jawline and planting kisses on your neck, all while you desperately tried to find the keys in your handbag, your hands – and your entire body – shaking. “I can’t—ah, please, let me—the door—”

Jungkook would have pulled away from you if you’d asked but you weren’t asking – you didn’t want him to. And he had a hard time focusing on what you were saying anyway, especially when the beginning of his name never left the tip of your tongue.

Finally, your fingers located your keychain and pulled it out from your handbag. But blindly unlocking the door proved to be even more difficult than finding the keys.

Had you been less lost in each other, you could have stopped kissing for one minute to enter your dorm room, but any thought of disconnecting your mouths and bodies seemed ridiculous and impractical. Why would you waste your time by not kissing each other?

You managed to push the key into the lock through sheer luck, and then, hoping to open the door, you took a step forwards, away from the wall and into Jungkook – who didn’t mind being the one who held you, not letting you get too far away from him.

The speed with which you entered your room once the door was opened, would have probably knocked you both off your feet. But God favored those who were in love, and, the thing that you ended up knocking down, was just the bowl for keys that you and Inna kept by the door. You couldn’t have cared less about it – you barely even heard it clatter against the floor.

Following the invisible pull towards your bed, you and Jungkook successfully maneuvered past the door frame separating the bedroom area from the hallway, and – only stumbling once, when he pulled back to take his jacket off – you finally reached the privacy of your room.

“If you want me to stop,” Jungkook mumbled against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he held your body against his; your bed was right behind you and you knew you’d have fallen on it with the smallest push from him, “you have to tell me now because—” he kissed you again with the same raw hunger as before, “I don’t think I’ll be able to leave otherwise.”

“No,” you breathed, matching the intensity of his kisses with your own, “don’t stop.”

And that was the permission he needed to nudge you forwards until he landed on top of you on your bed, leaning on his elbows on either side of you. It was so similar to the way you’d made out on Sunday night in his parents’ house, and yet, it was so different, too, because you were past the point of caring about any interruptions now.

If someone knocked on your door right then – if someone walked in – you wouldn’t have even flinched.

Lifting your shirt and exposing more of your skin for his impatient fingers to explore, Jungkook was forced to break the kiss again, so he could fully take the garment off. And then he had to pause again so he could take a quick breather because of how ethereal you looked like this: half-naked and daring him to keep going with your eyes.

“Jungkook,” your soft whisper brought him back to life and helped him realize that this time, he wasn’t dreaming. This time, he had you here with him.

And so, he took his own shirt off before leaning down to kiss you again – clumsily and sloppily – and the new feeling of his bare skin against yours was enough for you to arch your back off the bed, all so you could feel more of him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook cursed before bringing his hands up your sides and kissing down your neck. Encouraged by the sound of your whimpers when he gently brought his teeth over the spot below your collarbone, he sucked on the skin there with more force, leaving faint bruises.

Your hands slid down to his waist – reaching for the buckle of his belt – but they froze when you felt his tongue soothe over the new mark he’d made on your neck. It stung but you felt more pleasure than pain and, for a good minute, that pleasure was all you could focus on.

You felt his fingertips dance around the edge of your bra and heavy breaths left his lips when he brought his face back to yours, stopping just close enough to feel the pull of your lips, but far enough to still be able to look you in the eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, successfully undoing your bra in his first attempt – he wouldn’t have called himself an expert in that particular area; he was just determined to always get what he wanted and he wanted you.

You barely had enough time to hum in response before he lowered his face and reconnected your lips, sliding the straps of your bra down your shoulders in a motion so slow, you nearly threw him off the bed and did it yourself.

Instead, you chose to concentrate on finally undoing his belt, which wasn’t going well due to how badly your hands were shaking. But, once you finally succeeded and got through to the zipper of his jeans, it seemed like Jungkook was no longer so dead-set on taking this slow, either.

“Oh,” a sigh passed your lips when he threw your bra to a side and repositioned himself in-between your legs, his hips grinding into yours in a dangerously satisfying way that only left you wanting more. “Please, Jungkook.”

“I know,” he spoke and his normally melodious voice seemed deeper now.

He placed a kiss to your lips again and then pulled away to slide your jeans down your legs, tossing them aside before bringing his hands over the bare skin of your ankles, then up your calves, over your knees, and down your thighs again.

“Jungkook,” you tried again, “do something, please.”

“Hmm,” he wasn’t entirely aware of his surroundings as he cherished in the feeling of your skin right under his fingertips. He had to touch – to feel – all of you, so every bit of your body, every crevice and every wrinkle, remembered him.

Your breath got caught in your throat when he finally reached the waistband of your panties, and Jungkook was convinced he was going to die when he took them off of you – but he didn’t mind dying in the slightest, not if he got to see you like this first.

“I’m going to make you feel so,” he said, lifting your hips off the bed—just barely—so he could slide your panties down your legs, “so good.”

And he resolved to show you that he meant it, peppering the insides of your thighs with butterfly kisses that were the complete opposite of the tight grip he had on you.

Hooking your legs over his shoulders, he felt the way your body shuddered in anticipation as his kisses neared your core and he could feel his own pants tighten uncomfortably around his now rock-hard length.

Placing a soft, chaste kiss right above your clit, Jungkook heard your deep breath and that encouraged him to keep going, applying more force to his kisses as he went lower. Finally, just as your hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets underneath you, he spread your lower lips with his tongue and lightly—so lightly, that you weren’t sure you didn’t just imagine this—licked his way up to your clit.

“Oh, shit,” you threw your head back and Jungkook – who’d already proved how much positive reinforcements meant to him – released a guttural breath that vibrated against your core.

The sensation added more to the blissful feeling of his tongue as he finally flattened it against your mound, licking and sucking with a loud and sloppy slurping sound.

You gasped when the previously teasing motions increased in speed and his tongue circled around your entrance, touching and tasting you in clockwise movements, never forgetting to pay special attention to the most sensitive spots on and around your clit.

“You taste so sweet,” Jungkook spoke breathlessly and you struggled to understand him not just because of how good he was making you feel with his mouth, but also because he did not pull away far enough and his words quavered against your core. “Talk to me.”

“I-I’m—that’s good,” you tried to say but your head was spinning, “so good, you—oh! Oh, fuck, Jungkook!”

Almost screaming out in surprise, you felt his fingers against your core, gentle and careful for the first second, but eager and energetic the next as Jungkook explored the wetness around your entrance. Bringing his tongue over your clit, he slid two of his fingers inside, ready to stop and wait for your reaction but that was not needed.

Arching your back off the bed, you sighed deeply and pleaded far louder than you’d intended, “p-please—”

Smirking to himself as you struggled to finish your sentences, he sped up his movements, not giving you a moment to collect your breath as he rubbed the insides of your walls with his fingers and sucked on your clit, the slow movements of his tongue contrasting with how quickly he was moving inside of you.

“Good girl,” he said, his hot breath against your core making your whole body tingle. He felt one of your hands touch his hair, grabbing onto it; softly at first, but gradually pulling harder when the circling motions of his fingers sped up. “Are you close, baby? Tell me.”

You were close – and the pet name only increased the burning pleasure inside of you – but, at that point, you were only capable of moaning weakly, “hmmm, yes. Don’t stop, please, d-don’t—”

Gasping again as Jungkook removed his mouth from you, readjusting himself on the bed so he could move his fingers in and out of you quicker, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried desperately to keep your sounds to a minimum.

“Nngh—so close,” you spoke and just then, you felt his thumb rub vicious circles on your clit. The motion was so delicious, you were forced to abandon your attempts to stay quiet, almost shouting when you felt your walls tighten, already so close to your edge.

He could feel you clench around his fingers – a feeling that did no good to the painful hardness in his pants – and applied more force to his movements, maintaining the same speed that allowed him to pay equal attention to your swollen clit and the soft walls inside of you.

“Come for me,” he said, his voice coarse. “I want to watch you come for me, baby, please.”

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you groaned, barely able to catch your breath as he thrust his fingers in and out of you, circling and curling them in a way that was just right, until the knot in your stomach unraveled with a pop so strong, your whole body seemed to lift up from the bed as you whimpered, unable to make any other noise.

Watching you lose control of your body, Jungkook used his free hand to hold you down as he kept the pace up with his fingers while you rode out your high. Barely any sound left your mouth when you reached your peak but your heavy breaths and the rise and fall of your chest as you came still overflooded his senses.

Jungkook didn’t think it was healthy to need someone this much.

When you opened your eyes a moment later, still breathing heavily, he was hovering above you, leaning on one arm as he sucked on his fingers, exhaling shakily when you bit your lip.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to have you here like this,” he said, “how long I’ve wanted to hear you sound like this.”

Still overwhelmed and momentarily rendered speechless by the strength of your climax, you replied to him by sitting up so you could reach his lips with yours.

Kissing him – and hearing him growl into the kiss as soon as your hips pressed into his, adding pressure against his hard length – you could distinctly taste yourself on his tongue, but Jungkook wasn’t going to give you a lot of time to analyze all the different sensations you were feeling; he flipped you over until he was on his back, and you were straddling his hips.

Being on top of him gave you a lot more control of the situation, but it also made the shaking of your hands all the more obvious. You lifted yourself off him slightly to slide his jeans and boxers down, not bothering with teasing him – even though, that would have been the fair thing to do, considering how slowly he’d undressed you before.

He didn’t regret that one bit – that was plain obvious in the darkness of his lustful eyes that followed your every move – but he did wish you went a little faster because each brush of your hands right by his length made him think he was going to explode.

“There’s a condom,” he said, swallowing, “in the pocket of my jacket.”

You had to look around the room to find the jacket and, when you located it, it still took you a few minutes to get the glittering wrapper out. Biting your lip as you made your way back to Jungkook – sprawled almost helplessly on your bed – you couldn’t help yourself.

“Do you always carry condoms around in the pocket of your—”

“No,” he replied, obviously not very interested in discussing his condom-bearing habits when you were unwrapping the packaging with your teeth after your fingers weren’t enough.

“Ah, so today was a special occasion?” you asked, smiling teasingly because your heart wasn’t really in this conversation, either – you could analyze why he’d brought the condoms with him later.

Unrolling some of the latex in your hands, your fingers finally touched his length as you pinched the tip of the condom and rolled it down his shaft. Jungkook exhaled with a low grunt, not particularly enjoying himself in a position this vulnerable – he didn’t think the simple act of putting a condom on had ever aroused him this much before – but not being able to do anything about it because this was you.

And if you wanted to take your time with the condom – since you seemed to double-check to make sure if it was really properly on; he thought you were just teasing him, really – then, he was going to let you take your time.

For the first twenty seconds, anyway.

Just as you raised your eyes to meet his, Jungkook sat up and pulled you closer to him, only lying back down on the bed when he made sure his arms were wrapped around your body, which was pressed against his as tightly as he could manage without breaking any of your ribs with his arms.

“If I wait any longer,” he whispered, his mouth so close to yours, you could almost taste him as he spoke, “I’m really going to pass out.”

“Well,” you said, your heart beating wildly behind your ribcage and echoing against his chest, “then don’t wait.”

“Fuck,” was the last word that left his mouth before he connected your lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss and sat up a bit to reach his length with his hand and position himself at your entrance. “Tell me if you want me to stop.

“Mmhmm—oh,” your hum of approval was quick to turn into a shaky gasp as his length slid inside of you, stretching you out far more than his fingers had before.

He watched your facial expression the whole time, entering you slowly, inch by inch, so he could stop if he noticed any pain. Mercifully, the only thing he noticed in your eyes was a silent plea to keep going – well, that, and the fact that you did most of the job for him by lowering yourself on him until he was fully inside of you – and Jungkook was sure of it: he was most certainly going to lose it.

“I’m not going to last long,” he warned breathlessly, “you’re s-so tight—you feel so good—I—”

His grip on you had loosened, which allowed you to place one hand on his chest and push him into the bed, until his head landed back on the pillow. As soon as he bottomed out inside of you, he stopped and you closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing for a second, before you looked up at him again and lifted your hips.

“F-fuck,” Jungkook whispered, his hands clutching your hips so tightly, he was probably going to leave imprints there.

Lowering yourself on him again, you sighed deeply, unsure what brought you more pleasure – the sight of his starved gaze and swollen lips as he allowed you to set the pace, or the feeling of his length, caressing your inner walls and reaching places so deep inside of you, you could have used a warning.

“Y-you’re so—mm, good,” you mewled, your hips rising and falling on top of him as you tried to get used to the feeling but failed, your walls clenching around him each time you moved.

“Baby,” Jungkook said and it was almost a whine, “I need you to go faster. Can you do that for me?”

“Hmm,” you weren’t sure what he was saying.

Your senses were malfunctioning as you lost yourself in the feeling, so, instead of going faster, you lowered yourself until you could feel your walls hug his entire length. You stayed still for a moment, but hearing him sigh in desperation, you finally started to move again – grinding your hips against his quicker.

“O-oh,” the sudden change of pace took him off guard as Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut. The feeling of your warmth wrapped so tightly around him was pure bliss. “That’s good. Y-you’re doing so good.”

You continued to move on top of him, grinding your hips in large and smaller figure-eights, as Jungkook slid his hands up and down your sides, feeling your silky skin and gently kneading your breasts. He brought his fingertips over your sensitive nipples and, noticing how your breath got caught in your throat as soon as he did, he applied more pressure to his touch.

“Jungkook,” you said weakly and then completely lost your voice when he sat up – suddenly reaching even deeper inside of you, even though that probably shouldn’t have even been possible – and brought his tongue to your nipple, carefully toying with it at first, and then sucking harder later.

Your hips were still moving against his but you were losing your stamina, not at all helped by the fact that his smallest touch nearly tipped you over the edge.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you sighed and, somewhere in his own name, he heard the request for him to take over.

Fully immersed in the feeling of having you on top of him, Jungkook had no plans to change the position. He pulled away from your breasts, licking his lips, and then, finding a more fitting position on the bed, he locked both of your arms behind you by wrapped a hand around your waist and lifting his hips off the mattress.

He roughly thrust into you once – and then once more because he couldn’t stop himself – and then paused to gauge your reaction. Your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed, but your parted lips and the excited movement of your hips as they met his when he moved, was a clear indication that you didn’t mind the faster pace.

“Look at me,” he instructed, not moving until you did. “Good girl.”

Finally, he slammed his hips into yours again, this time not pausing for a single second, even though both of you were completely breathless already. His length drilled into you, rubbing your walls until the fire in your stomach started to spread and you involuntarily closed your eyes again, throwing your head back in pleasure.

“Jungkook—”

“What did I tell you, baby?” he asked, holding your hands behind your back with one of his arms, as he used his other hand to bring your face to his again. You opened your eyes. “That’s it. Are you close?”

“Hmm—I-I’m—” the next words didn’t come out when Jungkook straightened his posture and thrust into you with enough force to send you backwards until you were laying flat on your back again. “Fuck, I’m really close.”

His hips continued the relentless pace but he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to keep going, especially with the way you squeezed around him each time he re-entered your warmth. You could already feel your orgasm creeping in as you bit your lip and felt your vision go out of focus, the ceiling of your room spinning as the whole place seemed to shake from the force of his hips.

“Don’t look away,” Jungkook spoke, breathing heavily and setting himself up for failure because he nearly collapsed as soon as you returned your eyes to his – all dark and clouded with near-euphoric delight. “I want you to look at me when you come, yeah? Will you do that for me, baby—please?”

“Y-yes—” you managed, barely getting the word out before you felt Jungkook readjust his weight by leaning on one arm and lowering his other one to your core.

He brought his thumb over your clit and, matching the speed of his hips thrusting in and out of you, he began to rub circles on your already over-stimulated center.

“Jungkook!” you weren’t sure if you were screaming, your heartbeat was too loud in your ears as you felt yourself tip over the edge. “Oh, fuck, fuck—right there!”

“Y-yeah? Does that feel good, baby?,” he groaned, “I can’t hold out for much longer, so I’m going to need you to come for me. Hmm?”

“I’m—please, fuck—” your pleas turned into an incomprehensible mess when Jungkook applied more pressure to your clit, flicking it before rubbing it in circles again, and you were completely done for.

Throwing your head back against the mattress and lifting your hips to meet his, you reached your high and Jungkook – cursing and trying his hardest not to lose his balance – bit his lip because he knew he was going to follow right after you.

His hips had slowed, although only a little, as he continued the assault on your senses by thrusting his throbbing member into you and simultaneously rubbing your clit all through your orgasm.

Your warm walls that hugged his length tightened around him when you came and, groaning loudly, he felt his own climax take over him. He stopped moving with one final thrust into you, loud grunts mixed with your name leaving his lips as he released himself into the condom.

Breathing heavily but still not getting enough oxygen, you both stayed still as you tried to recover.

“F-fuck,” Jungkook exhaled when he regained some control of his body. His eyes met yours and he did not hesitate before adding, “I love you. I’ve loved you for so fucking long.”

You allowed a heavy moment of silence to pass as you watched him. Then, you propped yourself up on your elbows and brought your lips to his. The kiss may have been less enthusiastic than the one in the hallway earlier tonight, but it still didn’t lack any heat.

“I love you,” you replied, the words as pointless as they were necessary, because your feelings for each other had been obvious from the very beginning, but neither of you confronted them. “I’ve loved you for much longer.”

“No,” he disagreed, kissing you again as he pulled out of you and rolled off to the edge of the bed so he could discard of the condom. Turning to look at you one more time before standing up, he said, very matter-of-fact, “I’ve loved you my whole life. Through every happy moment and every fuck-up, and every—”

With your lips stretching into a smile, you warned, “don’t try to one-up me with your pillowtalk.”

He already had his back turned to you as he walked towards the bin in the corner of your room, but you heard him laugh. When he turned around to return to you, there was a wide smile on his bright, red lips, still wet and swollen from kissing you.

“That’s not pillowtalk,” he countered, laying down next to you and draping an arm over your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck with a delighted hum, “that’s just me telling you what I was supposed to tell you on the day I talked to you at my party.”

“I’m glad you told me now,” you replied, lifting one of your hands to touch his disheveled hair and the few stray curls that were stuck to his sweaty forehead, “even if you did cause a scene today.”

The softness of your touch was almost the exact opposite of the hidden razor-sharp meaning behind your words. Jungkook – who’d closed his eyes so he could breathe you in – suddenly lifted himself up on his elbows and gave you an inquiring look.

“I did not cause a scene,” he said, not in a very defensive manner because he did not think he needed to defend himself, “I was peacefully waiting for you to come back home. You caused a scene when you saw me.”

“I—oh, wow,” you scoffed in surprise, “you really are an expert at blame-shifting.”

He would have protested – and he was going to – but laying here next to you, with not a single piece of clothing preventing him from feeling the softness of your skin, he just shrugged. There were far more important things to focus on, he decided as he traced indiscernible patterns on your navel.

“Don’t do that again, though, okay?” you asked him then.

Smiling – because he was proud of his title as the resident Little Shit – Jungkook replied, “which part, exactly?”

The feeling of his fingertips dancing on your stomach was distracting, but you persevered for the greater good.

“Don’t change all of your plans if I spend time with someone else,” you said, swallowing. “Don’t put yourself in danger.”

“I won’t.”

His promise was brief but he leaned down to kiss you to seal it, and the feeling of his lips against yours had more impact than just his words alone. Then, pulling away a moment too soon, Jungkook surprised you with a warning look in his eyes.

“But don’t ask me not to kiss you in public,” he said. “Don’t ask me not to hold your hand. Don’t—”

You blinked, not following him. “W-wait, why? I wasn’t going to ask.”

“No, but you already did. At the last party we went to?” he said and then tried to jog your memory by adding, in a vexed tone, “when you were talking to Brock, and I—”

The party – and the long, long conversation that followed – returned to your mind even before the mention of Brock. You were just trying to understand why Jungkook was thinking about all of that now.

“Well, that’s because you were being a possessive dipshit,” you told him as an explanation, not an excuse.

You weren’t apologizing for standing up for yourself when you felt like your dignity was threatened, and he didn’t need you to. What he needed, was for you to understand that:

“I still am a possessive dipshit,” he said with the most unapologetic grin you’d ever seen adorning his features.

“Oh, yeah?” you raised your eyebrows, the mock-surprise completing your sarcastic look, “would not have guessed.”

“Funny,” he leaned down to kiss you again before making it clear, “I can’t stop myself from wanting everyone to know—”

“But they do know,” you said, cutting him off but not sharply, “everyone knows, Jungkook. You’ve made your point.”

“No, people still have doubts about us,” he said, “they’re still not fully convinced that you’re—that we’re together,” he paused, flashing back to the night at the party and remembering the words you’d said to him then, “but they don’t matter. It’s not about them. It’s about us. And I don’t want to imply that I own you or that you’re an object—or anything of the sort. I know you’re a person. You’re a great person. And you belong to yourself. You’re yours. B-but can you be a little bit mine, too?”

“I am,” you said and, even though you may not have always liked it, this was the truth. There was no way around it. So, pressing a soft kiss to his waiting lips, you admitted, “I’ve always been yours as much as I’ve been mine.”

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linkspooky · 4 years ago

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hey, can you share your thoughts and opinions on dazai osamu's no longer human?(just the book and not in connection with bsd) i read it, i liked it, but i couldnt really relate to it. so im wondering if i should read the setting sun or not. what do you think abt this book?

I don’t think books really need to be relatable to be impactful, but context can help you understand it. In general my advice is the best way to understand a book is to read more books like it. Always, read more books.

Sure, I can write a repsonse to the text though. The book, not the anime. (Ignore the picture of Dazai, he’s just there to look cute.)

The biggest and most important idea in No Longer Human (Ningen Shikakku). The most literal translation of the title being (人間失格) "Disqualified From Being Human. I bring this up, because use of the character in the title has specific meaning.

人 (hito) : human, person 人間 (ningen): human Generally speaking, 人 is used for people, while 人間 is used for humans as a taxonomic classification.

Much like English, the fact that a person is a human is usually a given, because in our world, we call those who are humane “people,” and only humans can be humane. Just like you wouldn’t usually count humans with “three humans” and say “three people” instead, the usual way to count three humans in Japanese would also be 三人 instead of 三人間. “Human society” is 人間社会, etc.

Or to shorten 人 (hito) : human, person 人間 (ningen): human, biological.

So, there’s an extra nuannce there in the translation. The title of the book uses “ningen” as in the sense of taxonomical classification. So, it’s like saying “disqualified from being considered as a part of the human species.”

I go this far in my intro because most consider Dazai’s work to be a response to Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, (he name drops both Dostoevsky and the novel itself). Both of these novels portray society as a whole as an antagonistic force to one individual, who is considered an outsider to that same society. There’s a lot of similarities between the protagonists, both Raksolnikov and Yozo are terminally ill, show signs of mental illness, and both are characters who show incredible self-awareness and moments of self reflection while at the same time being unable to connect to the feelings or identify with the people around them in any healthy way.

To connect back to my little rant on the translation of the title though, what could disqualify a person from being considered a human being? Well, they could commit a crime for instance. Then they’d be classified as a crimminal.

Both protagonists of both novels are crimminals in a sense. However, that’s about where the similarities end. NLH is centrally about the main characters egoism. Society matters so little in NLH, society is just something that hangs ominously in the background to the outsider.

Now there’s another novel by Dostoevsky that similiarly is recorded in a journal format, and is mainly about the main characters Ego. Notes from Underground is considered to be one of Dos’s first existentialist novels. Existentialism (to oversimplify) in a sense of what does existing in this world mean?

That’s why I say the central conflict is not with society itself, but rather within the character’s own head. The outsiders of society only exist within their own heads. Their main challenge is not to grapple with society, morality and law like Raskolnikov but rather to figure out what is inside their own heads and what they live for.

Which is why the protagonists of both novels are terrible egoists. Their main personality trait is their egocentrism, or rather their inability or unwillingness to try to see or understand the feelings or experiences of others. They are first person narrators who only see the world from their own point of view, but they are not objectve narrators. The only thing they can see, the only thing they can relate to, the only thing they can convey is their feelings to the reader.

F. Scott Fitzgerald writes a similiar novel from a similiar point of view in This Side of Paraidse, which shows the journey of one young man born into a rich family who grows up to not only lose the love of his life, but also to squander all his fortunes at the end of the story. However, Fitzgerald drops all pretense on what the story is about. The chapter titles are things like, the romantic egoist, the egoist considers, narcissus off duty, all the way to the egoist becomes a personage.

The book ends like this.

He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.

“I know myself,” he cried, “but that is all.”

It’s an egoists journey to developing a personality. To way oversimplify again, ego is yourself that exists in your own head, personage is what you show to others. At the end of This Side of Paradise, the main character gains himself, while at the end of NLH the protagonist loses himself. It’s the same journey but in reverse, it’s a net loss, it’s tragic.

NLH, This Side of Paradise, and Notes from the Underground are all about egoists who are aware of their own feelings, but aren’t aware of the feelings of others. They’re all ridiculously self absorbed individuals. That’s actually, like, the unreliable narrator trick of the novel.

Yozo is sympathetic yes, he’s an outsider to society, but at the same time Yozo is not the helpless, miserable victim he portrays himself as. He is not the victim to a cruel society, one he comes from a place of privilege and two he becomes a perpetrator. Hence, the whole... crime and punishment allusions. It’s this added complexity to Yozo that’s what makes the book as brilliant as it is. Yozo is someone who is both victim and perpetrator, but he only sees himself as a victim and the story he tells paints him exclusively as a victim.

But Yozo’s central problem isn’t society its himself. His conflict and greatest obstacle is always his own ego. The reason we read the book biographically, is because we see him grow up, or rather fail to grow up. As a kid he is sympathetic, as an adult he’s a pretty serial user of people.

Yozo constantly asks for sympathy, but at the same time he’s not really one to sympathize with others. When he tries to commit suicide with a woman, he reports these events with no remorse at all.

I removed my coat andput it in the same spot.

We entered the water together.

She died. I was saved.

He seems real broken up about it.

That’s also a pattern that repeats again and again with Yozo. If you want to see the real nature of Yozo’s character you should see how he treats both women and children. They exist to make him happy, to soothe his misery, and when they don’t he leaves them.

Like, out of context. What does this sound like.

What a holy thing uncorrupted virginity is, I thought.

I had never slept with a virgin, a girl younger than myself. I’d marry her.

The few times we do meet outside characters we see that Yozo is someone referred to as a crimminal, but refers to himself as a victim.

“Don’t be cheeky now, I for one have never been tied up like a common crimminal the way you have.”

I was taken aback. Horiki at heart did not treat me like a fully human being.

If you read No Longer Human as a response to Crime and Punishment, you could even read the many women that Yozo falls into flings with and then promptly abandons as a response to Raskolnikov and Sonya. For Yozo, each woman he meets is his Sonya, they are meant to redeem him and bring him peace, and whn they don’t he leaves. Yozo someone missing the point that, Raskolnikov loved Sonya because he sympathized with her circumstances and suffering while Yozo really only ever cares about his own suffering.

To bring the discussion back to Notes from the Underground. It’s a story divided into two parts, that really doesn’t work without the second part of the story. In the first part, as we are just fed the main character’s thoughts he looks like some kind of revolutionary philosopher. Then in the second we follow the character though a day in his life and he’s just sort of... socially awkward. He’s not some brilliant thinker, he’s just an outsider who can’t connect with others, like Yozo. The second part is necessary to underwrite the first because in the first part of the journal he looks like a champion, and in the second he’s just pathetic. He’s just some guy. Notes from the Underground also has one of my favorite lines in all of fiction.

"They won't let me ... I can't be good!" I managed to articulate; then I went to the sofa, fell on it face downwards, and sobbed on it for a quarter of an hour in genuine hysterics. She came close to me, put her arms round me and stayed motionless in that position.

The protagonist encounters a young prostitute name Liza, he tries to save her at first, but then turns around and starts to treat her terribly and has a mental breakdown in front of her that ends in this line. She finds him pitiable, and comforts him in that moment.

However, after this moment of comfort he then he goes back to treating her terribly once more. He yells at her, and she grows tired of him. He pays her and she leaves and that’s the end of that relationship.

See it’s a moment that’s simultaneously, a moment of human connection, but also it shows how the protagonist regards other people and why he can’t connect to them. If you only use other people to comfort your loneliness, you’re going to end up alone either way. The same way the Narrator uses Liza, Yozo chronically uses women.

However, at the same time.

“They won’t let me... I can’t be good.”

Is what I consider the most striking lines in all of fiction. It is both an avoidance or responsibility, and at the same time an utterance of the baisc human desire to be good. It's always everyone else's fault, the problem is with other people. Yet both Narrator, and Yozo want to be good people, they want to connect with others.

Yozo and the Narrator are crimminals. They are bad people. (A person who has committed a crime isn’t necessarily a bad person but..) However, being a crimminal does not disqualify you as a human being. They are still people who are suffering. The secondary goal of a novel like Crime and Punishment is to show St. Petersburg as a city where everyone is human, and everyone suffers, good and bad people alike. Yozo and the Narrator are miserable, and there’s humanity in that misery. You don’t have to even connect to their feelings, isn’t it bad to see a person suffering? Doesn’t that elicit an emotional response because nobody wants to see other people suffering and in pain. That’s the basic humanity in these characters. Yozo and Narrator aren’t inhuman. They’re just like... normal people. They are anxious, avoidant. They are terminally insecure. They’re socially awkward. They understand themselves better than other people. Those are all just normal human sentiments shared by everyone, it’s just Yozo and Narrator are so egocentric they act like they’re the only people in the world.

Yet the same, just like the moment Liza sympathized with a man who treated her terribly and only saw her as a prostitute, people still sympathize with miserable people and want to ease the suffering of others. That’s why Dazai writes stories for miserable people.

I am writing a tired story for young readers,

not because I want to be different,

or because I am unconcerned with young readers’ tastes.

I write it rather because I know it will please them.

Young readers are tired and old themselves these days,

and my story can bring them no discomfort and no surprises.

It is a story for those who have lost hope.

(Osamu Dazai, Of Women)

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traincat · 4 years ago

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if you dont mind i would love to hear your thoughts on how and why peter seems to be more fulfilled by lower paying jobs (i.e photography, teaching) rather than by high paying jobs in STEM

(Sorry for the wait, anon! I did get this first ask, as you can see, it’s just that sometimes I tend to hoard asks that I want to give long in-depth answers to and then they get buried.)

So I think to best answer this the first thing we have to do is look at Peter’s 616 employment history -- what jobs he’s had when and for approximately how long. So here we have a more or less definitive list -- I may have skipped over a few minor jobs that aren’t important in the long run of the character history, but for the most part this is accurate. For the sake of brevity I am not going to count things he’s done as Spider-Man that have earned him money, like a brief bodyguard stint or his occasional time with the Avengers, because this is really more about his identity as Peter Parker and how his civilian employment plays into his life as Spider-Man than about his life as Spider-Man.

Works for the Daily Bugle on and off, through a variety of positions from part time to salaried, from the age of 15 onwards. Primarily a photographer. How good of a photographer Peter actually is varies from writer to writer, but he remains unmatched in his ability to get certain shots ranging from ones of Spider-Man (duh) to particularly high risk environments (different duh). He also briefly worked for rival newspaper the Daily Globe, the Bugle’s main competitor. His position as a full time newspaper photographer is his most well known (and most consistent) job.

A TA in grad school at Empire State University. At this point in time he labeled himself as having “the wrong temperament” for teaching -- and I would personally say I think his stints teaching college are much less engaging than high school.

Published author. His book, Webs, a collection of his Spider-Man photography, was a major bestseller that sent him on a book tour around the country. I hesitated sticking this on here because it’s very tied into his work with the Bugle -- and he was still working for the Bugle when the book was published -- but I figured it was worth including for the novelty of the fact that Peter’s technically a best selling author/artist.

Peter worked as a scientist at Galannan Alternative Research for Immunization Development (GARID) in Portland after his clone Ben Reilly took over the identity of Spider-Man. Although often overlooked in discussions of Peter’s job history, I think his stint at GARID is important in part because it illustrates how much of Peter’s time being Spider-Man took up and how a job with flexible hours was necessary for that balancing act. When he was working at GARID, Peter wasn’t Spider-Man, so it wasn’t difficult for him to keep a position at a laboratory.

I mean granted the GARID job didn’t last long and there was sort of a whole big mutated monster case going on with it but you know. Anyway he pretty quickly moved back to New York and started working for the Bugle again.

Peter’s next major job at a lab comes in another period where he’s supposed to have quit being Spider-Man. (Which he did, very temporarily, and then he very much didn’t. Anyway, you’re seeing the pattern here.) He briefly worked at Tricorp, a private brain trust. This is a really short-lived position, even as Peter’s science gigs go, because -- Spider-Man.

At this point things get dicey employment-wise as Peter heads into a weird period of canon where Mary Jane was presumed dead. She wasn’t! But everyone thought she was. It was weird. When MJ came back (and promptly left for LA, not that I blame her), Peter exited this period of limbo by becoming a science teacher at his old school, Midtown High. This is the main career, beside news photography, that I think he really shines in.

Civil War/One More Day/Brand New Day hit and completely tank the direction of Spider-Man history. Peter’s marriage is erased by the devil and also he’s not a high school teacher anymore, for some reason, even though nobody remembers he’s Spider-Man anymore which is the reason he initially lost the Midtown High job. Make it make sense. Anyway, in Marvel’s desperate scramble to take Spider-Man back to the unmarried basics, as if they even got new readers that way, Peter returned to photography. When Dexter Bennett bought the Bugle out from under JJJ while JJJ was sick, Peter began working for the newly minted “DB” as a tabloid photographer. It wasn’t great.

He also briefly at some point in here worked at a comic book store for like five minutes. Mostly he complained about people who read comic books and made jokes about how he doesn’t get along with the X-Men.

Under Slott’s run, Peter began working at Horizon Labs. Slott had a pretty major problem with Peter’s genius not being “recognized enough” and constantly had him inventing new things, showing off, etc.

Horizon Lab became Parker Industries under Otto Octavius when he bodyjacked Peter during Superior Spider-Man and made himself CEO. When Peter got his body back, he was still CEO. It was bad but Peter did tank the company on purpose so that Otto and also nazis couldn’t get their hands on it, which was sort of fun.

Peter went back to work for the Bugle, but as their science editor, because Slott was still in charge and there was some weird commentary about photography not being an adult job. Which I think is pretty weird in a medium that’s very dependent on visual art. But okay.

Then Peter got fired because he was busted for plagiarism of Otto Octavius’ work... that Otto did himself... while he was in Peter’s body... and Peter couldn’t reveal this because then he’d have to explain... and maybe I hate comics.

In MC2 he becomes a forensic scientist! I really like this for him actually. I think it combines his interests and experiences in a very thoughtful way. But I do want to note it’s after a Spider-Man career ending injury, so again there’s not a real conflict there between his work as Spider-Man and a career.

Peter I think is an especially interesting case in how his character ties into his employment history because one of the first things he does in his story is figure out how to make money, and he does this because the Parkers don’t have any. If Ben and May were comfortable -- even comfortable enough that their teenaged nephew was unaware of financial pressures -- Spider-Man’s story would be completely different. But Peter immediately feels he pressure to use his new powers to earn money, at first with brute strength. And what he says he’s going to do with his earnings is that he’s going to take care of Ben and May:

(Amazing Fantasy #15) So the concept of Peter as someone who is very aware of financial pressure and who is pretty explicitly linking money to support is present from the absolute beginning. But at the same time, there’s a kind of selfishness presented in him here -- he’s only going to take care of Ben and May. They’re the only ones he cares about here, because as he’s stated they’re the only ones who have ever “been kind” to him. Peter at the beginning of his story is very rooted in his anger and his bitterness, and it takes him losing Uncle Ben -- because it wasn’t Peter’s “job” to stop the burglar -- to get him to the point where he starts to be able to see beyond that.

Ben’s death also heightens the Parker’s financial pressures -- Ben is the primary earner in the household. (Aunt May in the original context of the early 1960s was most likely a homemaker, and as an older woman especially she wouldn’t be expected to have a job. But even moving the timescale up to a point where she would be expected as a woman to hold down a job, it’s important to note that early in Spider-Man canon Aunt May is depicted as being in very poor physical health.) While it’s not clear in the initial Spider-Man stories what Ben did, it’s clear that with his death whatever income the Parkers had coming in abruptly stops:

(ASM #1) This sets in concrete one of the central conflicts Peter and May have -- both of them lie to protect the other. Peter feigns being an ordinary boy in order to protect May from the stress of his secret life as Spider-Man, worried that she wouldn’t be strong enough to handle the danger he regularly puts himself in. But this is a learned behavior, and here we see that he most likely learned it from May: she doesn’t want him to worry about the very deep financial troubles they’re obviously in, so she pawns her jewelry, and she stresses to him the importance of his education. Again I have to note that there are some pretty significant social differences between the 1960s and today in regards to this story -- Betty Brant, for example, notes that she had to drop out of school and become a secretary because of her own family’s financial problems, something she’s ashamed of. So early Spider-Man is very rooted in money, class, education, and how those things intersect. I think it should be noted that the only early Spider-Man characters who are financially well-off are Liz, Gwen, and Harry. (We don’t know anything about Flash’s financial situation in early Spider-Man comics but retroactively we know his family situation is not well-off.) In high school, Liz’s father is a bigshot who owns a dining club, but later on the Allans experience financial hardship with Liz quite literally being on the streets when Peter reunites with her when he’s in college. Harry’s father is a rich businessman, but from the beginning he’s depicted as emotionally negligent, caring more about money than spending time with his son:

(ASM #40) “After all... I had a business to care of! Money was the most important thing of all! I had to get rich! I needed wealth... for that was the key to power!” So right away you have this link between wealth, corruption, and negligence. Norman’s pursuit of wealth is his given reason for his neglect of Harry. Later on we’d learn that Norman’s father was also abusive and that that abuse formed Norman’s ideas about power and wealth. (Spider-Man! It’s about cycles of abuse!) There’s a very contrast between Norman’s attitudes here and the Parkers loving (but poor) household. Gwen is the only exception here -- she and her father are depicted as comfortable, most likely edging into wealthy, although on nowhere the level the Osborns have been elevated to. But compared to Peter, Flash, and Mary Jane especially -- all from poor households, with MJ and Flash’s fathers both being abusive -- Gwen’s home situation is the picture of stability, both in terms of economic status and in terms of her loving and very present father.

My goal in outlining all of this isn’t to say that Spider-Man’s message is definitively “money is bad” because I don’t think it is. I think as a series Spider-Man is very aware of the comfort that money can provide. But I think there is a frequent message about excess in Spider-Man -- excess power, excess wealth. As Norman says above, in his eyes, money is the key to power. With great power, comes great responsibility. In Norman hoarding and abusing his wealth, he abuses his power. If he provides for Harry, it is solely through money -- there is no love or devotion in Norman’s money-focused world. And I think that’s important when you look at where Peter starts in his story, before Uncle Ben’s death. He’s going to use his powers to make a lot of money and he’s going to provide for Ben and May but he’s not going to care about the world outside of that. I think one of the interesting things about Peter -- and this is where Slott’s run especially fails the character -- is that he’s not interesting in getting rich. He’d like to be comfortable, for sure -- he’d like to have enough money to not have worry about it, to not have the need to hustle impede what he can do as Spider-Man, to be able to take care of his family. (And there’s some machismo stuff linked in here for him too -- in the early days of their marriage the fact that Mary Jane earns much more than him is something he struggles with.) But he doesn’t care about being rich. He doesn’t care about the money; he cares about the support that the money would bring.

That feels like a simple statement but I think it’s actually a really big distinction, especially when you’re analyzing a character. And I think it’s because Peter understands that value that it makes him so empathetic to others who have financial struggles. One of my favorite short self-contained Spider-Man stories is called Windfall, from Marvel Fanfare #42, where a mixup with a check embroils Peter in the personal affairs of a bank teller, a young single mother who is fired from her job ultimately because she refused the advances of her boss. Peter gets her her job back -- through blackmailing the boss for his other sexual affairs, which some people might think is immoral of him, but I think really speaks to Peter’s understanding of how the greater world works, and what he’s prepared to do to get bigger justice. But more importantly he uses his own money to pay the young woman’s rent, and he does it in a way where she never even knows it’s him. Because he understands her situation, the way someone who had grown up comfortable never could. And that understanding I think puts him a place where it’s more important for him to both keep that understanding and maintain that ability to act relatively freely, in the way that bigger, more prestigious positions in scientific fields might restrict him. There’s a reason he keeps getting fired from these scientific positions and it’s not that he can’t get them, because we can see from his employment history very clearly that he can. It’s because the freedom to act as Spider-Man and what he can do as Spider-Man is ultimately more important to him.

And while high school teacher is my number one favorite profession Peter has ever had, I think that his position as a newspaper photographer is also very important to the character’s history, in part because the Bugle is such a big part of his life and the connections he’s made but also because the Daily Bugle itself is important. I think it’s interesting to note that two of the biggest superheroes of all time from both of the big companies -- Spider-Man from Marvel and Superman from DC -- have had long running journalism jobs, Peter as a photographer and Clark as a reporter. I don’t think I really have to go into a whole thing about how good journalists are so important and why it matters that we have these incredibly famous mythic figures that are positioned in the roll of journalists specifically. But I do think it is important to Peter that he’s put in that position as someone who cares about uncovering the truth. So ultimately I think what I mean when I say Peter is more fulfilled by his jobs as a photojournalist and as a high school teacher than by his comparatively more high paying stints working as a scientist in a lab is that Peter gets the most fulfillment out of careers where he can actively see, day by day, that what he’s doing is helping people, and that it’s a very direct line from him to the people he’s helping. His efforts can’t be twisted, they can’t be used for other purposes the way they can within a larger organization. He has a line of control in what he can do to help other people. It’s like how Spider-Man functions best as a street level hero: what he does best is saving and helping individual people, on a case by case basis. And you can turn around and demonstrate that in his civilian life best in jobs where he gets to directly interact with people. And ultimately to Peter making that difference is more important than a better salary.

(Marvel Knights Spider-Man #9)

#peter parker #marvel comics #traincat talks comics #long post/

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 5

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Revenge is sweet but a well-timed dick joke is sweeter. xoxo gossip girl. Please supervise one Bucky Barnes on the internet. Questionable music taste. Detention is the price we pay for justice. Bruce Banner is too precious for this world, too pure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! 🎶🎵I love you biiitch ain't ever gonna stop loving you biiitch 🎵🎶

"Initiate phase one," I added a growly undertone to my whisper, holding my phone inconspicuously, as if I was making a simple phone call. There was no answer but I didn't expect one: I was testing the voice recorder app that I had downloaded for the sole purpose of documenting and relaying the inevitable fall of one Flash Thompson.

Making my way through the crowd of students during the busiest time of the day, I made the most intrigued and outraged facial expression I possibly could. Spying my targets, I leaned against a nearby wall, putting a hand over my mouth in fake outrage, keeping my eyes wide and trained on the opposite wall. Just as I had predicted, the two sophomore girls started giving me side-eye by minute two of my staring and finally approached me as I contemplated the wall for whole five minutes.

"I'm sorry, are you okay?" The brunette asked, her blonde friend hanging a step back.

"Yeah, totally," I mumbled. "I'm, like, shook beyond imagination, but nothing, like, bad."

The girls traded a curious look, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. The greedy gleam in their eyes had me internally cheering. "What happened?" The blonde one asked, coming closer.

"I'm not sure if I should tell that to anyone," I stammered, watching them bodily move forward. "Well, okay, I can't keep quiet. But you must never, ever speak of it or I'll get expelled or something," I said nervously. They both nodded so rapidly it reminded me of Funko Pop figurines. "You know the senior guy, Flash? Brown hair, kinda hot?" Again, they both nodded, conspicuously grinning. "I think I just saw him in the closed girls bathroom on the third floor with, like, some brunette from Ms. Johnson's History class," They both gasped. Predictable. "But that's not the worst! They were like, y'know," I made an obscene gesture with my hand and they instantly covered their own mouths with their palms in shock. "And the chick was like 'is it in yet?' and he was like 'yah' and I just closed the door and ran, oh my god I hope they didn't hear me," I squealed at the end, playing the part of a mortified teenager.

All three of us giggled uncomfortably for a moment. The blonde girl stared at me suspiciously. "And what were you doing there?"

I faked a nervous stammer, looking around briefly and showing them my lighter for a moment. They both gasped and nodded in recognition. "Don't tell anybody or my mom is going to have kittens," I pleaded. Both of them nodded solemnly, noticing their own group of friends approach. I used the brief moment to get lost in the river of pupils and by the time they turned around to introduce me, I was already at the opposite part of the hallway.

For the time being, everything seemed peaceful. There were a few giggles and side-eyes directed towards Flash Thompson but nothing out of the ordinary. He was disliked by most of the student population even if nobody dared to admit it outright. I took care to walk around without my earbuds for the day and pulled out my phone to record the most interesting conversations around me whenever I caught the tell tale signs of a gossip mill beginning to run its course around the school.

"Oh my god, I heard about this girl that was caught fucking Flash in the girls bathroom and she literally said 'is it in yet', can you imagine the shock, jeez!"

"Some chick literally just rejected Flash because his dick was too small."

"Rebecca from AP chemistry told me someone saw Flash's micropenis. Poor guy!"

"I wonder if his girlfriend dumped him because he can't do shit, I mean, he doesn't look like the type to eat the kitty."

Those were just the highlights of the Friday afternoon. Come the weekend and the news of Flash's unfortunate condition will make the rounds through every single group chat that the school has and by the time Monday rolls around, nobody will have a clue who started the rumour in the first place. I had to carefully select the girls who were to distribute the rumour and I was happy with the outcome: Marissa and Layla with their squad of chatty, bored rich girls were the perfect choice. I thought they would jump at any opportunity to cause drama and I was right.

It was sufficient to say I was bristling with pride as I cut and compiled the audio track from today's school day before sending it to the group chat.

Clint, Peter and Natasha appeared online as soon as the message delivered and I was delighted at their response. Romanoff's kind words, specifically, made me all warm and mushy inside. I didn't resist the feeling, basked in it even as I did a happy dance around my room. Peter's nonsensical string of emojis was another point of laughter for me.

It wasn't exactly the smartest way to go about killing Thompson's reputation... Alas, simplicity is the way to success when it comes to large crowds of teenagers. That tiny little vindictive part of me was very much looking forward to the weekend and the results of the inevitable distortion of the rumour I had started. Who knew, maybe by Monday Flash Thompson would not only have a micropenis but horns and hooves as well.

Near bedtime, I had all the avengers send me their regards and thumbs up. I answered the flurry of texts as quickly as I could but there was no point in keeping up with ten or so people constantly streaming their questions, opinions and comments.

I settled on a single easiest response: pulling my dad's old uni sweatshirt over my tiny lacy pajamas to preserve some modesty, I settled in front of my mirror, turning on my Bluetooth speaker to play "Boss Ass Bitch". In true gen-z fashion, I put on my best resting witch face and solemnly lip-synced to the song's eponymous chorus. My eyeliner was sharp enough to cut paper and my prismatic highlighter glittered enigmatically in the cold light of my blue lava lamp.

The response was, once again, delightful and I genuinely belly-laughed at the adults' attempts to meme after Peter. His blushy face emoji started a whole nother conversation that I didn't participate in but watched from the sidelines with glee, snorting every time his friends and mentors gently teased him about the very obvious crush he harboured on me.

Seeing Peter starting to go absolutely nuts, I interjected with an offer (more like a dare) of a lip sync battle. He jumped on the bandwagon, immediately going offline to undoubtedly film an epic video of what I thought would be dorky-dancing to some hipster song. I was pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be a pre-recorded tik tok video of him and Ned fighting with lightsabers while mouthing the words to Fergalicious that played over the Imperial March.

Weirdos. I still followed him on the app, though, it was pretty funny.

Bucky interjected with a very well executed rendition of "Bring Me to Life": he was wearing his full Winter Soldier get-up, complete with an AK-47, dramatically serenading Steve who looked seventeen shades of done with his partner's antics. Wanda's following twenty second voice message consisted of nothing but pure hysterical laughter, summing up everyone's reaction to the video. Bucky was going to go viral one of these days...

Obviously, I had good competition and nobody else seemed to want to participate so I rearranged my surroundings a little bit and stood up at my full height and swapped the old sweatshirt for a cute crop-top hoodie. My thigh-highs were on display and with my make-up, I looked like a proper internet e-girl. I leaned against the mirror as I mouthed along to the song with my best interpretation of the famous Lucifer smirk, seasoned with a tiny bit of angelic innocence: "Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I got a bad case of loving you..."

Needless to say, I won the competition. Eventually Wanda joined in, looking menacing and ominous with her dark clothes and Natasha's red hair flashing somewhere in the background; even Tony did a round (AC/DC as his soundtrack of course) with one of his Iron Man suits but nothing beat my stunt and the reaction that it caused.

I had accidentally called out Bruce with the choice of my song and his teammates gave both of us a lot of cheeky comments about it. We relented and flirted with each other a bit as the conversation flowed into more mundane discussion; I said my good nights somewhere between Tony's bitching about the hobbies of my generation and my nightly skincare routine. The little green heart that I'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks greeted me just as I was about to lock my phone.

Bruce was really too precious for this world. My crush on him was different than the one on Tony, it mellowed out in comparison. I wanted him to hold me, to stroke my hair, to call me his darling and wrap me up in one of those dorky button-ups that he insisted on wearing in spite of Tony's unwanted, however very valid, fashion advice.

For all that's worth, the scientist probably knew or at least suspected and had the good grace to play along just enough to satisfy my deep need for attention... Without crossing any actual lines. It was frustrating, it was disappointing but I had virtually nothing to complain about. Besides, I didn't want to lose the quirky friendship that we had. Banner was, probably, the least judgemental person I knew and I wasn't about to trade that for an awkwardly stolen kiss.

Monday and Tuesday passed in a flurry of giggling and snorting every time Flash walked by. His girlfriend broke up with him, very publicly, accusing him of cheating and he didn't even deny it - just insulted her and stormed off, leaving even his friends looking lost and clueless. I started dragging Peter and his two pet nerds along with me just about everywhere I went in case Thompson decided to do something stupid again. If judging only by the looks he was throwing our little company, he was on his way to figuring out who began nibbling at his reputation.

The week was coming to an end and the rumour began dying off, slowly. That just didn't sit with me, I wanted the fucker gone. Due to the obvious time constraints, I approached MJ regarding Peter - after a brief argument, we came to an agreement regarding Peter's safety should I need to leave him alone in the hallways or at lunch.

I needed to do this alone so if I got caught, I won't drag them down with me. Granted, I would probably get something like a suspension and the school will attempt to call my mother (she never picks up) but that's about it. That's where her reputation comes in handy-people consciously avoid dealing with her, she can be that unbearable.

But first, I needed to get a teacher that's on my side. After carefully considering the candidates, I settled on my Social Studies professor - he taught the college-level classes and was overall a very chill, nice dude. And he disliked bullies with a flaming passion. So it didn't take me long to work him into a righteous fury - just a quick chat over a cup of tea in his homeroom and a few pictures of Peter's bruised face, complete with my own pleading puppy eyes. We agreed Mr Davies would "accidentally" leave the teacher's lounge unlocked during third period and I would sneak in. The plan wasn't foolproof but if it worked, not only Flash, but also his whole misogynistic, bigoted family would go down.

As I was leaving, Mr Davies looked up at me with a bright smile: "Give them Hell, alright?" And I suddenly noticed he was, in fact, very attractive. The smile brought out the fine wrinkles around his mouth, the crow's feet around his eyes - he smiled a lot. Silver strands mixed in with the wooden brown of his hair.

I let my eyes slide over him briefly before baring my teeth in return. "I owe you one," I don't know what possessed me to say that. My mouth really had a mind of its own sometimes. The room suddenly became hot.

"Sure," He replied, totally oblivious.

On Friday, I made myself a small nest in the empty classroom opposite the teacher's lounge and sat waiting for the signal from Mr Davies - he'd tap on the door once and I'd quietly go inside the teacher's lounge, retrieve Thompson's file and make my way back to the empty classroom to grab my backpack and carry the file to my locker for further examination.

The first part went successfully and I managed to snag Thompson's file. It was heavy and hefty, all the evidence of his rowdiness compiled into one flimsy plastic folder. There were A LOT of pink slips and I rejoiced internally: at least there was a paper trail of his exploits. The principal didn't do anything about it which was... If not against the rules then at least frowned upon; the plan was to take copies and anonymously submit them to the school board prompting at least an investigation into the blatant disregard for Flash's immoral and illegal behaviour.

On my way back I stumbled upon the principal herself which got me not only a stern talking to, but a whole detention for skipping class. Whatever, I was too elated from potentially ruining the life of a dumb fuck who ruined my friend's face.

Surprise came in the face of Mr Davies, who, having heard the commotion in the hallway, stepped out of his class and saw me being lectured by the principal.

"I'll take her for the detention," I heard the familiar voice behind me. The principal nodded solemnly and I had no choice but to sigh in resignation. "Three thirty, be here," He nodded to me, walking back, looking way too smug for his own good. So I wasn't the only one excited about the successful completion of stage two of my nefarious plan. Cue evil laughter.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #bun writes #party favours #author doesn't advocate for small dick jokes but tbh the abusive fucker deserves it

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chandelier-s-notebook · 4 years ago

Text

Doodlewash April 2021 prompt 11: Telephone

Tangentially related because communication.

I mention a character named Meri, that’s the name of LDShadowLady’s IRL dog, for the purposes of this storyline, Meri is her child.

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist of this Vigilante AU, feel free to message me/send an ask/or mention it in reblogs.

--------------------------

5up finished up his last class of the day. He dropped his school things off in his bedroom. He grabbed his bright pink leather jacket faded from use and changed from dress pants into a worn pair of black jeans. The white masquerade mask with a leaf motif was taken from its place in the back of his closet and slipped it in the inner pocket of his jacket.

5up’s father may hate vigilantes with a passion, but the guy in charge of the security for their apartment was a fan. 5up’s father thought that vigilantes were a danger to society and that people just trust the system rather than some self-proclaimed public service helper. Another fact was that 5up’s father was too rich for crime against him to be worth it, and when things did happen to him, he could call up Hero HQ and let his reputation carry the weight necessary to get a hero rather quickly. But the people in the ground didn’t have that luxury, so even though 5up’s father asked for a report on what his son does, the security guys doesn’t only fail to mention the whole vigilante thing, he also loops the camera feed in case the man comes to take a look for himself.

5up chuckled sardonically. Who was he kidding? His father wouldn’t call Hero HQ; he goes to a kidnapped child ring to bet on the outcomes once a week.

5up decided that he should go get Elaina and DK on board first. xChocobars might need a little more time to process before agreeing.

5up dashed down the City sewer system. He threw down his skateboard and rolled through the tunnels to District 87. It was surprising how it was faster to get from his apartment complex in District 67 to the Sweet Shoppe and Bakery in District 87 by skateboarding through the sewers than catching the city bus.

5up rolled the skateboard to a stop below the grate in the back alley of the Sweet Shoppe & Bakery. 5up took the guitar strap out of his jacket pocket and attached it to the skateboard then tossed it over his shoulder. He climbed up the ladder and popped up in the back alley.

It was surprising that the stench from the sewers didn’t permeate into his clothing.

He slipped around and walked in the front door. “I’m back Niki and I’d like to buy a dozen cupcakes.”

“Hello 5up, and what brings you back down here?” She knew 5up’s order; he just wanted a random selection.

“I need to have a chat with Elaina Exe.”

“Elaina? Not Eret?” Niki asked conversationally.

5up shrugged. “You know how it is sometimes. Would you have an idea where she is right now?”

“She works at The Golden Bloom after school. This’ll be $27.”

“Thanks.” 5up pays in cash. “Where is that?”

“Just outside, turn left, cross three times, turn right, cross twice more, turn right and it’s the shop on the corner.”

“Thanks.”

5up opens the box and eats a cupcake as he follows Niki’s directions to The Golden Bloom.

- - -

Elaina is helping a customer in the succulent section of The Garden Bloom when the wind chimes over the door ring. She glances to the newcomer out of the corner of her eye; 5up. She smiles a little strained at the customer, and starts to speed up the process.

5up raises a hand in greeting and starts to skim the yellow flower section.

Elaina gets her other costumer paid and out the door. She walks over to 5up. “Alstroemeria,” she says approvingly.

“And in English?”

“Lily of the Incas.”

“Nice. Will they work as friendship flowers?”

“So you wanted friendship?” Elaina jokes. “I was going to ask if you had your eye on someone.”

“No. Just need to soften the blow of information.”

“Oh?”

“Stuff. Will we be eavesdropped on here?”

“No.”

5up nodded. “Could I have some of these?” He took out a cupcake and offered it to Elaina.

She snatched it. “Lemme finish this first. What did you want to talk about?”

“I was wondering if there were any children that had gone missing within the last couple of months.”

Elaina’s hands paused in the flowers. “Why?” Her head dropped forward and she laughed. “That sounded defensive.”

“No no don’t worry about it. Hafu found something and I was wondering how wide spread the problem was.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. One of those situations.”

Elaina’s hands found their movement and she sifted to find the best flowers and pulled them out. “A dozen?”

“Yes please.”

“Lizzie’s daughter Meri went missing three months ago. But that’s all I’ve heard.”

“So yes?”

“Yeah.” Elaina beckoned him over to the counter. “Why?”

“I might know where she is.”

“Really? Where?”

“Hafu found a child fighting ring in her patrol section. My father invited me to it, saw someone who’d gone missing seven months back.”

“Child fighting ring?”

“Illegal. Obviously. It’s a betting thing.”

“Have I ever told you that your father is a bad person?”

“Not you specifically, but I have been told that.”

“Good. Don’t be like him.”

“I won’t. That doesn’t sound fun.”

“No.” Elaina shook her head and laughed. “$25.” She wrapped the bundle in paper while 5up fished out the cash. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Would you be willing to come to Hafu’s tomorrow at 9pm to advice us on how to proceed?”

“Me? Me? You don’t want Eret for that? Illegal children fighting ring of kidnapped kids sounds like an Eret thing.”

“It also sounds like a file report to Hero HQ.”

“Uhm…. Yeah?”

“Hafu and I estimated 200 children, you remember the School Exploder.”

Elaina smiled fondly. “I had a test postponed because of that.”

“Exe.”

“Right right. Yeah. Hero HQ isn’t going to be quick or efficient enough.”

“They would be, but more than one hero is gonna need to work together,” 5up trailed off.

“If there were a hundred then we could trust SBI to do it,” Elaina continued his thought process. “But there are too many kids for just of three of them.”

“And we don’t know how many criminals there are to round up.”

Elaina dropped her head in her hands. “So I’m the second best option.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Captain Sparklez hero knowledge would be invaluable, but Eret is a little too close for this project.”

5up nodded sagely, finally picking up his flowers. “Hafu’s, 9pm tomorror?”

“I’ll be there.”

The door chimed.

“One second.” She turned back to 5up. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait until we have a game plan before you tell Eret.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

- - -

5up was rolling down the sewers to DK’s Dojo up in District 37; he had his mask donned; cupcake box in one hand; and flowers for xChocobars in the other.

It was really nice that DK had an elevator directly to the sewers, it was so nice not having to climb up a ladder with all the stuff he had to carry.

5up drifted from the elevator to the front desk. “Hi, is Dakotaz in?”

The receptionist didn’t look up from their screen. “No.”

5up placed a cupcake on the counted. “Ahem.”

The receptionist looked up.

“And what about for me?”

They noticed the jacket and white leaf mask and started apologizing,. “I’m so sorry 5up, I thought you were literally anyone else. Yeah. DK’s sparing with Dumbdog in his private room.”

“No worries. Thanks.”

5up swiveled his board around and propelled himself to the back room.

“Cupcakes!”

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Rich Boy.”

“Cupcakes?”Dumbdog took DK out of the headlock and leaped over. “Yes. Oh my goodness. The Sweet Shoppe and Bakery makes the best cupcakes.”

“Geez Dog, have some class.” DK picks himself off the ground. “Yo bro? Can I have one?”

5up handed one of DumbDog and held out another for DK. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“No why?”

“Think you have time to stop by Hafu’s at 9pm tomorrow to discuss something?”

“Yeah sure. What’s up?”

“We found some missing children and need a munitions expert.”

DumbDog raised his cupcake in toast to DK. “Do you need me?”

5up turned it over in his head. “If you’re available.”

- - -

xChocobars was sitting on the roof of a building keeping watch of the streets below. There was a meeting between the City’s two biggest gangs. They always met up in this square of District 66.

She saw other vigilantes of the roof around the square and a little ways down the road where the cars were sitting. Someone dropped next to her. “Cupcake.”

“Of course.”

The leaders shook hands and headed their separate ways. xChocobars kept watch as the gang members and other vigilantes disappeared into the shadows back to their home districts. “Hello 5up.” Flowers were thrust into her hands. “Oh?”

“I found your twin sister.”

xChocobars eyes hardened behind her mask. “Oh?”

“We can’t go in guns blazing though.”

She gestured to the flowers. “I figured.”

“She’s ‘fine.’ Not really.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s just say that there are other people who got shorter sticks.”

“Stop softening the blow.”

“Your sister’s kidnappers are forcing her to fight and people like my father bet on the outcome.”

xChocobars dropped flowers. They fell soundlessly into her lap. “Oh?”

“She was one of the less bruised and was winning.”

“Good for her,” xChocobars said. “Bad for others.”

“Bad for others,” 5up agreed. “We’re going to Hafu’s 9pm tomorrow to plan an escape.”

“Good. I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“Go home 5up.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

- - -

“Hello Hafu.”

Hafu startled from where she was sitting on her fire escape. “Hello 5up.”

“I have six cupcakes left.”

“Oooh. Gimme.”

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow? I told people to come at 9pm.”

“We’ll talk over dinner about how to approach this.”

“Mhm. You, me, Elaina, DK, DumbDog, and xChocobars.”

“Good team. We’ll need to expand.” Hafu popped a cupcake in her mouth. “Think you can do some recon?”

“Yeah. I’m sure my father would love to spend some time with me.”

#5up #Hafu #ElainaExe #DK #DumbDog #xChocobars #Plushys #Vigilante AU #DoodlewashApril2021

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 4 years ago

Text

This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 6)

Two life long friends. Secretly in love. Home for the holidays. Will they risk everything by telling the other how they feel? Or will they spend another year loving from afar?

Read these first Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

By the time you were back at your Mum’s house after a day of shopping, you were exhausted. Apparently your mother waited to do all her Christmas shopping in one day and have you hold it all. Your arms were so full of bags and boxes for all your mother’s book club friends, you had zero room to look and purchase any of the presents you had planned on buying on your little outing.

“Is there a reason you bought literally every bottle of wine today?” You groaned, placing yet another bag on the counter.

“We’re doing a wine exchange this year,” she said.

“How many bottles of wine are you exchanging with one person?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you ask so many questions?” She scoffed.

“I’m a writer. It’s what I do,” you smirked. “Also, this book club of yours how much time is spent on discussing the actual book vs the amount of time spent drinking wine.”

“Eh… 60/40,” she said, moving her hand back and forth.

“More like 40/60,” you laughed, just as the doorbell rang.

“Oh! They’re here,” she said. “Y/N get the door.”

“Who is here?” You said, heading towards the door.

As soon as you opened it up, you saw Anne and Harry standing on the front porch.

“Oh, uh, hey,” you smiled. “What are you two doing here?”

“I’m here for the book club,” Anne smirked. “Harry’s here to be the designated driver.”

“Yay me,” Harry waved his hands in the air.

“That’s tonight?” you asked.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Your mother shouted from the kitchen. “Stop being rude and let them in already!”

“Right, sorry,” you winced, moving out the way.

Anne walked right past you, while you and Harry stood there in the foyer.

“So… um, I should probably help my Mum set up,” you said. “But after we could head up to my room and talk…”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “And I can help, set up too.”

“Good because you don’t have a choice,” you smirked, pulling him into the kitchen.

About an hour later, the book club was well underway and you and Harry were still making sandwiches and putting cheese and crackers onto a plate.

“Why do I feel like we’re only being used as free labor?” Harry joked.

“Because we are,” you laughed. “I think it has something to do with the whole they were in labor with us, so now we must labor for them.”

“I guess it’s the least we could do, right?” He laughed.

You giggled picking up the plates and taking them out. No one was paying any attention to you and Harry, so you decided to sneak up to your old bedroom and finally have the conversation you were dreading to have. When you got up there, Harry walked around a bit, remembering the last time he was there.

“I see you still have the Jonas Brothers poster,” he raised an eyebrow.

“That’s never coming down,” you scoffed. “You should know that. In fact, I would take it with me to my flat in London, but I have a new one I got last year on their tour.”

“I don’t know if I should be jealous or offended by that,” he laughed.

“Why would you be either of those?” you laughed.

“Because I don’t see any One Direction posters here and unless you have a poster of me at your flat…” he said.

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t,” you smirked. “You’re just not as cute.”

“Ouch!” He said, putting his hand over his heart. “I am now officially both emotions. You do realize they’re all married, right? Two of which have children, so unless you plan on being a homewrecker…”

“Well, I mean… if the opportunity arises…,” you joked.

“Wow,” he gasped. “I know what I’m getting you for Christmas. A big ass poster of me to cover your entire wall. One for here, one for your flat, and one to take with you when you travel.”

“Okay, that’s a little much,” you giggled.

“No, I don’t think so,” he laughed.

You shook your head with a laugh as you sat down on your bed, “So, what did you do today before you got dragged here?”

“Oh, nothing much, just spent some time with Mum,” he shrugged. “After she caught me sneaking back into the house this morning.”

“Smooth,” you laughed.

“What? I told you she got up early, but you wouldn’t let me get out before the sun was up,” he defended.

“Actually, you were the one to refuse to get out of bed,” you said.

“I was cold,” he shrugged. “And I didn’t feel like making the trek back to the house.”

“It’s like an extra twenty steps away,” you said.

“Anyway,” he said sitting down in your desk chair and spinning around a few days. “We have a conversation to discuss.”

“That we do,” you nodded. “Who should go first?”

“Weeellllll, since I’m the one who kinda just blurted out ‘I Love You’... why don’t you take this one next?” He suggested. “I mean it’s only fair.”

“I guess,” you sighed, dramatically laying down on the bed. “Before we discuss the next step… I need to get something off my chest. I don’t want you to take any of this the wrong way or anything…”

“Y/N, you’re rambling,” he said. “But I’ll try my best not to get upset or whatever.”

You sighed again, kicking your feet up to push yourself back up to sit on your bed.

“When you told me you loved me last night… I’ve wanted to hear those words for so long. Honestly, I think I probably would have wanted to hear those words back when we were like fourteen or something. And now that you’ve finally said them, It was like the best moment ever,” you smiled.

“Why do I sense a but coming?” He sighed.

“Because there is,” you sighed. “Even though I’ve been waiting to hear those three words and finally got them, I can’t just jump into a relationship with you because….”

“Because why?” He asked.

“We’re not the same people we were the last time we spoke, Harry,” you sighed. “We’ve gone years without even speaking a word to one another. What if we’re not the same people we fell in love with…”

“So, then you don’t love me?” He asked, confusion and hurt evident on his face.

“No, I’m not saying that,” you answered quickly. “I just… I think we need to go about this slowly because I’d rather take our time, get to know each other again, than to just jump right in and find out we’re not… you know.”

Harry hesitated for a minute before nodding, “I agree. I want to get to know you again. I want us to be closer again… and I want us to be together, but I’ll go as slow as we need to.”

You nodded, “There’s also… another thing we need to discuss.”

“Okay?” He asked.

“The whole long distance thing,” you whispered. “I know you live in London now, but eventually you’re going to go away for work or I’m going to go away for work. How do we know things won’t end like last time?”

“Because I won’t let that happen,” he said, taking your hand. “I fucked up. I know that, but I’d never do that again. I can’t… I won’t lose you again.”

“You really hurt me,” you whispered. “And it wasn’t just because you didn’t call or text, but because you were willingly spending and making time for all these other people… yet I never got that. Why? Why wasn’t I good enough back then? How do I know I’ll be good enough for you now?”

“I told you,” he said. “It was never because of you. It was me… me thinking I had to live a certain way.”

“Don’t you get it,” you said. “By you saying that, it obviously means that I didn’t fit into that way of life, Harry. I get it. I’m not some super famous and rich celebrity… I mean yeah, I’m not hurting for money, but I’m not a fucking millionaire either. I don’t own a house or have a super fancy car. I own a few designer things, but most of my clothes come from thrift shops or random shops in the city. I don’t look like someone who belongs on the cover of a magazine or in a movie or whatever. I’m just… me.”

“And that’s why I fucking love you, Y/N,” he whispered, looking into your eyes. “Do you honestly think I care about what material things you have or don’t have? Do you really think I’m that fucking shallow? I love you because you’re Y/N. My Y/N. I know we’ve changed, but everything I’ve always loved about you is still there because it’s what makes you , you.”

“I just don’t want to be the reason we don’t work out,” you whispered. “Because I’m not-”

“Hey,” he whispered. “If anyone should be worried, it’s me. I fucked our friendship, remember? I’m the one who will be leaving on tour, while you have a life here. You could easily forget about me.”

“I’ve never forgotten about you,” you told him.

“We can make this work,” he said, putting his hands on your cheeks. “We just have to let it.”

It was the next morning and you were typing away at your computer. You were making great progress and if everything went as planned, you would be finished with the manuscript by Christmas. You were finishing up your cup of coffee, when there was a tapping on the door.

“It’s open,” you said.

As soon as you got the words out, the door opened and Harry walked inside.

“Morning,” he smiled walking over and jumping on your bed.

You laughed, “Morning. What brings you by this early in the morning?”

“Nothing, just thought I’d see how you’re doing. Check in on your writing,” he said, looking around.

“Riiight,” you said. “I’d love to believe that, but you’re a terrible liar.”

He rolled his eyes, “I’m not lying.”

“Sure,” you said. “Whatever you say. I have about another half hour or so of writing before I’m finished with this chapter.”

“Okay, then I’ll just chill out here until you’re done,” he said.

“You’re up to something,” you said.

“Am not,” he said.

“Fine, deny it all you want, but I’ll figure it out,” you said, turning around to face your computer.

You looked back over your notes before getting back into the writing zone. After about five minutes, you felt someone staring at you. You glanced back behind you and sure enough Harry was staring at you.

“Can I help you?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, what? No, I’m good,” he said.

“Then why are you staring at me?” You laughed.

“Because you look really hot when you’re writing,” he smirked.

“You’re here to makeout, aren’t you?” you said.

“Well, since you offered,” he smirked, pulling you over to the bed and on top of him.

“I have a chapter to finish,” you laughed.

“So, you can finish it after a little break,” he said.

“I like the way you think,” you giggled, pressing your lips against his.

The previous night you two had really talked over what you were feeling and what you wanted. Both of you wanted to be together, that much was obvious, but you two knew things wouldn’t be that simple. But despite all your worries and your fears, you were willing to try and you couldn’t think of a better time to do it than back at home where it all started during Christmas time.

And you couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

So sorry about the super late post, but I got busy and lost track of time!

Look out for Part 7 tomorrow!

#Harry Styles Imagines #Harry Styles Fics #Harry Styles Fanfictions #Harry Styles Fanfiction #Harry Styles Christmas Series

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jeanjauthor · 3 years ago

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I have a bunch of regions with different accents. Any tips on how I imply that?

I do have a few! One of the things you can do is listen to accents, and then try to type them out phoenetically--BUT, do not put that into your story.

Why not? Because transcribing the phoenetic version of an accent syllable for syllable is, well, an exaggeration, and that makes it a stereotype. But you can put in a few touches. The trick is to figure out how to distill each accent down to its unique linguistic qualities, and add touches of that.

"BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!!"

Accents aren't the only thing about regional dialects, because regional variations aren't just how words are pronounced. There are also phrases that are endemic to a specific culture, regional or national, or even occupational.

(Yes, occupational! A blacksmith may temper steel, while a chocolatier also tempers chocolate. In one way, they mean two almost completely different / separate things...even though it's both a matter of picking the right temperature at which to crystalize the material being created. Yet you wouldn't hear a blacksmith discussing how to smooth out impurities in their metal by using a melangeur.)

Anyway!

Canadians like to end things with "...eh?" (pronounced ay as in day). Americans tend to say "huh" instead. But where and when Americans use "huh" varies from where and where Canadians use "eh" because it's often used by Canadians to inject a conversation-leavening note that solicits the potential agreement from a listener. An American "huh" is more of an exclamation / emphasis. Unless it's literally being used as a question (such as for someone who wasn't paying attention), it isn't a question or an interrogative, so much as an emphatic sentence-ender.

Americans will also pronounce Z as zee, while Canadians, Brits, and other English-speaking cultures influenced by the Commonwealth will tend to pronounce Z as zed. Americans will say the trunk of the car, Canadians will call it the boot, and they'll say "open the bonnet" when an American means "open the hood" aka the lid enclosing the engine compartment of a car.

And even within a greater culture, you'll have regional variation--and even arguments--over which word will be used. Do you call a non-alcoholic carbonated sweetened drink soda, pop, cola, or soda-pop?

Individual words can indicate a regional dialect & culture, but so can whole phrases. "He's gone bonkers!" versus "He's stark raving mad!" "He's f---in' crazy!" are all from different cultures. When a woman from the Upper Midwest puts her hands on her hips and says, "Well, now!" it's the same thing as an Italian woman flinging her hands up in the air and shouting, "Basta!" (which means "Enough!")

These phrases can also contain cultural attitudes, too. Where a woman from the Pacific Northwest might eye an idiot and say, "You are being a total Chad / Karen right now!" meaning they are trying to scold the person being an ass, a Southern woman from, say, Georgia, might look them in the eye, smile sweetly, and say, "Bless your heart!" Which is quite possiblyi the sweetest and kindest way to tell someone they're being a f---in' idiot. The thing is, though, that someone from the Pacific Northwest might not know that they've just been chided and insulted by the Southerner, but you can bet a fellow Southerner would feel the sting and the lash of that remark!

If you're working with a created world, you're probably going to want to come up with a list of phrases and phoenetic accent choices, and write them down under the name of that region. For instance, some people would pronounce the -g in f---ing, giving the last three letters an -eeng sound, but others would pronounce it f---in', making in -ihn for its sound.

(However, there are also rules for that kind of dialectism, whether it's the full -ing or the abbreviated -in'...and for that particular word, there are times when you do want to give it the full pronunciation for impact, versus times you just want to slip it in there for quick punctuation of a point (emotional or conversational) in a discussion.

Lastly, even within regions, there will be class or caste variations. Those who are poor versus those who are rich, those who are highly / widely educated versus those who have had little education, so on and so forth. One of the reasons why words such as piss, shit, and so forth are considered vulgar in English is because they were Anglo-Saxon words, the language of the peasantry.

The French-Norman ruling class who moved in and took over with William the Conqueror were allowed to say words like merde (shit in French) because it was in their language. They were the conquerers, they had to be respected at all times, and thus the peasantry had to be respectful at all times. This extended to the Norman conquerors not having to learn Anglo-Saxon for several generations, instead forcing the commoners to learn their language to have any conversations with the higher caste.

So in your created cultures, you should also know who would be allowed to swear (if anyone) as well as what words they would use. Generationally, there will also be some differences. Someone who was a teen in the mid-20th century would say "daddy-o" to a companion, whereas a teen today might say "bro" when talking to a companion. And while in my generation as a teen (i'm 49, so it was a while ago), we might've risked getting our mouth washed out by calling an unpleasant female a bitch, these days, teens can call someone a bitch, or they can call someone a Karen--depending on what kind of unpleasant female they're being.

It is a lot to consider, but if you keep the implementation of accents light, with a list of a few key phrases, spellings, that sort of thing for each regional culture and/or generation, you can keep track of it.

Above all, do not paint yourself into a corner. Accents are a part of language, and language is constantly evolving. Go back just 10 years, and nobody would know what you meant by she's such a Karen. Maybe 10 years from now, we'll be using another term...?

(...Then again, maybe not; those bitchy-to-others archetypes have always been around, and I doubt we're going to give up such a one-word-encapsulates-it-all term for conversational shorthand.)

Hope that helps!

#answers #writing regional accents

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ixellent · 4 years ago

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So in case you’re not on twitter a bunch of artists recently announced they were working with an “eco friendly” NFT company and the reactions were mixed but I wanted to put a few simple notes without even talking about the environmental impact of NFTs as a whole, like let’s just skip the whole discussion of that part for a second. It’s not that I don’t think it’s important, but it’s a little bit of a distraction on this issue because people can split hairs and pull statistics over the cost of NFT vs carbon offsetting vs how much electricity we waste vs big corporations all day. This is probably not going to be how we finally pass legislation to stop pollution and save the planet, so let’s just put a pin in that aspect and talk about ethically what’s going on.

1) Money Laundering A lot of artists were interested in NFT because they saw how much money people were allegedly making, right? We want that money, we feel that art is underpriced, undercut, underappreciated, it sucks out there! But! Why does NFT go for so much? Because it’s certified authentic ownership of digital art or whatever? We have been able to do this with digital files for a long time, quickly and easily, it’s called DRM. "Authenticity” and “owning an original” was never the reason. This has been happening in the fine art community for decades. (Rich) People use art to launder money because they can buy it for some amount of money*, insure it for even more money, have it valued at more money, and sell it to other people for obscene money and that’s a lot easier to explain than randomly paying someone thousands or hundreds of thousands of dollars for doing you a favor. It also effectively “hides” money the same way real estate can. It doesn’t mean it’s easy but it’s a loophole to avoid taxes and the IRS and makes your money look more “legitimate�� on paper because less of your assets are liquid, they can still “appreciate” because the object of value the money is tied to can be subjectively desirable as to make it “worth” whatever you want. * Art CAN be somewhat objectively valued by experts and historians, kind of like how comics or Magic cards can be valued, but it is a unique good in that people can decide its value based on literally whatever they want, which is to say, nothing at all. And you can be like “Well what about LEGITIMATE art sales!” I don’t know how to explain to you that most art isn’t going to suddenly be worth thousands of more dollars overnight legitimately. Like aren’t people suspicious of the fact that people would suddenly be paying a lot of money for wafer-thin ownership of an image they made? You can be like “idc where the money comes from” I guess, but then you’re probably not concerned about the issue of unregulated markets in the first place lol. Here’s some articles: https://www.natlawreview.com/article/art-and-money-laundering - This one does a great job explaining how private art sales and real estate manage this and what they’ve been trying to do to stymie it, as well as making it obvious how NFT sales are exactly the same as the warehouses people keep art in lol https://www.artandobject.com/news/how-money-laundering-works-art-world - this talks a bit about the big famous warehouse https://www.cnn.com/2020/07/29/business/art-money-laundering-sanctions-senate/index.html - I know it’s CNN but it talks a little about the red tape that allegedly exists and where it doesn’t https://news.artnet.com/market/think-artists-are-getting-rich-off-nfts-think-again-1962752 - your art isn’t worth thousands overnight lol

2) Artificial Scarcity So this is one of those things that people can come down a few different ways on. In the last few decades of The Internet, you’ll have some people who believe in a free and open internet and exchange of ideas and media, while other people want to keep ownership of the things they create and protect that ownership, and if you ask me, neither of them are wrong exactly! But that doesn’t matter because when we “mint NFTs” for art, it is artificial scarcity, because with a digital copy of work, you can redistribute, copy, paste, screenshot it as much as you want for personal use. It’s not illegal until you try to sell copies of things you DIDN’T create (and as we’ve seen with some vehement NFT benefiters, the lines for fair use, parody, and ownership are being ground into dust in order to make a buck), and it’s certainly frowned upon to repost or share it without permission. But NFTs create limited “certified original copies” or “ownership” of an image for no reason other than to give people a reason to inflate its value (see money laundering above). As a digital artist, I’m not saying I think my art is less valuable because it’s digital, but I can create infinite copies of it - the file itself is worth virtually nothing but the demand for the labor it took to create it. A limited physical run of prints of digital art has ACTUAL scarcity because it may not be printed again, or might not be printed in that way, so the price can be set by demand/by the market! There are physical costs of materials, shipping etc. The physical cost of digital goods is measurable but not as easily because of the myriad of ways it is produced. My digital commissioners actually pay for the service of art rather than a physical good, and my freelance clients pay for the RIGHT to use an image as well as my labor, because there is no scarcity of digital materials themselves. This is not to say digital art does not need preservation at some point, or that it is a zero-cost-to-produce situation, but I hope you can see why limiting certificates of ownership of a digital file in this way to do art sales is suspicious and kind of weird. We have had secure methods of demonstrating creation and ownership of a digital file for a long time if we really wanted it to be about “ownership” but it wouldn’t stop people just screenshotting all the same. That’s why so many artists will offer the option to pay for ACCESS to the files and we still depend largely on the honor system! As they’ve been saying with piracy all these years, anyone who was going to pay for it would have, and all we can do is give people convenient, accessible ways to get the content they want to try and prevent them from stealing it, and some people always will because they think it should all be free. (And I’m not here to pass judgement on that! I’ve been on the internet a long time lol.) I just wanted to get this out because people got so up in arms about the ecological impact of NFTs (and rightly in a lot of ways! Sure!) and missed the part where the fine art business is MONEY LAUNDERING. Also idk but the fact that all the NFT stuff can literally just shut down and be gone forever isn’t really secure finances. You can tell me that it’s spread out on a bunch of computers so it doesn’t just disappear when one goes down, but it doesn’t appear to be so seamless in practice, and like all currency, we have to agree collectively that it’s worth something for it to be worth anything. https://www.businessinsider.com/what-happens-to-digital-art-nft-servers-shut-down-2021-3

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historic-old-guard-lover · 4 years ago

Note

How good is each old guard at maths and arithmetic and handling money ? ( Personally I think Yusuf is the best since he was a merchant from a society that heavily emphasized maths and science )

In an attempt to keep this post a reasonable length, I’m actually going to focus on key points in the history of money (and the required skills and concepts for its use). If you want me to overview the history of math like number patterns, numeral systems, geometry, etc., just submit a second ask!

TL;DR: Headcannons For Each Immortal’s Background with Money:

Lykon: has an amazing memory for debts, carries an bag of tally sticks and I.O.Us, uncanny ability to keep cowrie shells safe

Andy: wishes that literally wearing money hadn’t gone out of style but can begrudgingly appreciate how much easier coins made life, is very happy when someone else manages the finances (she was a god, they don’t pay)

Quynh: likes to remind people that paper money was invented in the East (especially if she is from the very north of Vietnam which was part of the Song Empire), the quickest with numbers of the older members but can’t be trusted to hold onto the currency

Joe: designated banker of the group, picked up reading economics papers a few centuries ago for fun, knows the exchange rate of their destination even if he forgets where they’re going, definitely the one in charge of remembering which banks have their savings

Nicolo: got lazy after traveling with Joe for a while and just points to him when someone asks about money, 110% a gold-digger who spent all his wealth to come first crusade and then married a rich husband and 110% does not care when Nile calls him one, if you were insistent you’d realize that he’s picked up pieces of information from reading over Joe’s shoulder

Booker: pretty good at picking investments but makes sure to have Joe approve all of his major decisions, spent years as Joe’s apprentice and is now allowed to do most of the online banking so that Joe doesn’t have to, enjoys messing with people on the stock market (especially shorting stocks for famous companies - he’s in for the LONG run)

Nile: thought she was great at budgeting until she met everyone else, confuses and frustrates everyone by insisting that they should invest in bitcoin, gets overwhelmed when Joe and Booker lay out their financial system after she insists that she gets involved (she didn’t even know that there were that many banks!) and then never asks again

The underlying skills of managing money are nothing new to humanity. Humans have been keeping “count” for a long time. The oldest tool for documenting numbers and quantities is the “tally stick” which is exactly what it sounds like: a stick or bone that people kept track of things on. The oldest artifact found so far that archaeologists believe represents an attempt at recording numbers is the Lebombo bone which is between 44,200 and 43,000 years old. The current hypothesis is that tally sticks and similar tools helped keep track of money before the invention of writing (briefly discussed in this earlier post), but it is impossible to know for certain how the earliest money worked. This means that even the oldest members of the Old Guard who predate writing needed some experience with basic arithmetic and budgeting.

[ID: picture of the Lebombo bone showing the intentional tally marks.]

This brings us to the two broad categories for what money can represent: “money of account (debits and credits on ledgers) and money of exchange (tangible media of exchange made from clay, leather, paper, bamboo, metal, etc.)” as Wikipedia’s History of Money page explains. We’ve just covered “money of account” with the tally stick and writing. The “money of exchange” is also straightforward, a medium to convey the transfer of wealth. The value needs to be linked to something (redemption credit or inherent value), but this concept predates semi-precious metal coinage that most people picture. You can think redemption credits as early “I.O.U.” papers that would be traded around. The important part of “money of exchange” or currency is that it’s a physical object and not an abstract concept like “debt” that has no physical state (ie. you can’t own negative money). The currencies before coin-based money were livestock or agricultural products (or representative tokens) starting around ~9000 - 6000 BCE and cowrie shells around 1200 BCE in China. Fun fact: cowrie shells are both the currency that was the most widely used and lasted the longest. You go, you funky little mollusks!

[ID: ~6 visible threads of cowrie shells labelled as “NATIVE SHELL MONEY” with the note “Sections of “cowries” thread on cane. New Ireland, Pacific. Presented by Mr. J. F. Cockerell”]

Not to be a smart-ass, but I think that Lykon, Andy, and Quynh deserve credit for the best money-handlers in the literal sense. Physically, a cowrie shell is much more breakable than a piece of copper. I can only imagine how many shells would get accidentally crushed when falling off a horse or throwing your bag to the ground. If you dropped it, it was gone. I could never do it. I can barely let someone else keep track of *digital money* I’ve never seen in bank accounts. That is the idea behind history of money in my opinion: it becomes more and more abstract. It has always required abstraction since it replaced the literal exchange of goods for goods (bartering), but the digital era makes it possible for someone to hypothetically never see government-issued money in order to participate in exchange. Back to the old folks of the Old Guard, they understand money but probably don’t care for the craziness of the banking industry because money to them was always very physical. You wore you money or hide it, but you never misplaced it because then you had no way of regaining it.

After the invention and standardization of coinage, which Yusuf and Nicolo benefit from, the next big innovation is the invention of paper money or the banknote. (Note: yes, I’m skipping a whole bunch of history, but feel free to scroll through images of medieval coins here. Once coins are invented, they just get changed so much, any time the ruler changes. They’re a good historical tool and help show cultural exchange, but kinda boring in terms of invention.) True paper money appears first in Song dynasty China in the 11th century CE. It’s considered different from previous forms of paper currency (aka I.O.U.s or promissory notes) because the government issued them and specified their redeemable value in coinage. It’s like they say, running out of copper is the mother of invention. With the expansion of the Mongol Empire (who I love and wrote about here), paper money started becoming a thing throughout the rest of Eurasia as part of a coinage exchange system around 1200 CE.

At this point, we’ve built up the basic system of money that will become the basis for Booker and Nile’s understanding of currency. You may think that they have a distinct advantage over things like banking and exchange rates, but you’ve overlooked the Islamic Golden Age (a classic blunder!). Using the caliphate’s gold dinar as a stable currency system, Muslim economists invented “credit,[90] cheques, promissory notes,[91] savings accounts, transactional accounts, loaning, trusts, exchange rates, the transfer of credit and debt,[92] and banking institutions for loans and deposits[92]” from the 7th to 12th centuries CE. As a merchant, Yusuf has been involved with banking his entire life and is probably the best at it. He might need a little help with technology because of e-trading and online banking (provided by either Booker or Nile), but he grew up with one of the earliest “modern” banking systems.

[ID: the two faces of a gold dinar issued during the reign of the Fatimid emir Al-Mu'izz li-Din Allah in Mansuriyah in 344 AH (955 CE).]

It’s no wonder that Europeans wanted to invade the Islamic Empire - I’d be jealous too! Nicolo can have some credit, too. The European middle ages saw the invention of “trade bills of exchange” which we can understand as multi-purpose notes which could both act like a traveler’s check (deposit somewhere, withdraw money elsewhere) or a loan (take one out, then pay it back later). Get the pun now? It’s an early multi-purpose credit system that was handy for trade. Nicolo wouldn’t have been totally helpless with money and understood the basic tenants of banking (like credit) if he has a wealthy background, but I think he would have been impressed with the Islamic Caliphate’s systems.

The next innovation in banking is the establishment of the “fractional-reserve system.” This wasn’t possible until the establishment of the first central bank (the Swedish Riksbank) in 1668. Prior to this, you were supposed to be able to go up to a bank, ask them their worth, and then see the actual money that gave them their value. This would sometimes cause bank failures because too many people requiring that you give them the sum of their account at once (called a bank run) would bankrupt a bank as they tried to collect on loans and stocks to get the cash. In comes fractional-reserve banking in which a centralized body like a national bank sets up rules on how much money a bank needs to keep physically on-hand for the loans it makes. These rules, backed by national assistance, allowed bankers to make loans and credit less risky; as long as they always kept say ten percent of all the money they were in charge of, the government would temporarily help them out if everyone wanted their money suddenly. This means that Booker is the first immortal born after the establishment of modern banking, characterized by international exchange, government-stabilized banking, and venture capitalism. As a forger, he clearly has experience with money. Don’t be sad for Nile because there is one innovation that characterizes her lifetime: cryptocurrency.

[ID: an infographic summarizing how bitcoin works.]

Remember how I mentioned that money has become increasingly abstract? Cryptocurrency, starting with Bitcoin in 2008, is the total abstraction of wealth: it only exists as ledger entries. The entire system has no physical basis, not even a government guaranteeing that it has value. I grew up with Bitcoin and even I am confounded any time that I ponder it. Quite frankly, it proves to me that fiat money (money without inherent value, ie. a coin of gold versus a piece of green cotton that says $1) doesn’t make sense. Nile, who has been surrounded by modern computing for her entire life, is the one best suited to understand cryptocurrency and other digital banking systems. Andy feels like it might be dark magic, Joe is horrified, and Booker is torn between awe and terror.

#asks #lovely anon #math #money #historic #reference #tally sticks #currency #coinage #paper money #banknotes #cryptocurrency #fractional-reserve banking #the old guard

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years ago

Note

Fair warning, this is a lot lol

Miles finished putting on mascara and walked over to his closet.

The only person that ever stayed over was Franzy, and he wasn't too worried about her looking through his wardrobe. The silver-haired man moved to the back of his closet and found a skirt. The light red was the same shade as the suit he wore in court. Miles zipped up the back of the skirt and adjusted it at the waist. He moved over and put on a white blouse and threw his jacket over it. Next came the hair extensions, which were, of course, the same as his hair so that it seemed more natural.

Surprisingly, the prosecutor was almost an expert at walking in heels, but he dressed up a lot, so it became easier after a while. The media was on his back all the time; Newspapers, journalists, even Ms. Hart. "Am I that much of an anomaly?" He thought when she had approached him.

Miles didn't like all the attention of being "The Demon Prosecutor." He cringed at the thought of it and swore he'd find a way to have it revoked.

The man walked out of his room, down the hall. He walked into the foyer and rubbed Pess behind the ears. The dog wagged her tail and barked. Edgeworth walked out the door, locking it behind him.

"The car might attract too much attention." He said to himself. Miles walked. He walked for a while, turning down roads and sidewalks. Finally he made it to the park.

Maya was on the prowl. She was scouting some very pretty ladies to go out for a burger with.

"That Franziska lady didn't respond!" She wailed when Nick asked what she was doing.

"Welcome to my world, Maya." He sighed.

Maya laughed and said "Yeah, but at least Edgeworth makes up excuses." The young spirit medium grabbed Phoenix by the wrist and pulled him over to a food truck. "Nick I'm hungry. Can you get me a burger and I pay you back later?" She said, smiling coyly.

"I'm 90% sure that you don't even make money." Phoenix grumbled.

"Rude." Maya said, sticking out her tongue.

Maya turned around, fully prepared to chain herself to the food truck to get the lawyer's attention. It wasn't her fault that she was hungry. She sat down on a bench, pouting.

The spiked lawyer rolled his eyes and turned to order a two burgers. As Phoenix had his back to the park, Maya was still a woman on a mission. She scanned the park, up and down, when a familiar almost pink caught her eye. Maya stood up, squinting at the figure a couple yards away.

"Nick! Nick I'm going. I saw someone pretty, don't wait for me!" She called over her shoulder before breaking into a sprint to the lady. "Hi! I'm Maya, I- hold on let me catch my breath." The figure in front of her stopped abruptly. The woman turned, her bangs falling into her eyes. The lady, despite wearing heels made chasing her quite difficult.

"Almost lost her!" Miles thought as he ran. He stopped for a moment, hobbling out of the shoes and ran even faster. People were staring. The mascera was starting to run and his lipstick got smudged when Miles wiped his face. He rounded a corner and hid behind a wall. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bricks.

"You know, that's not a very good hiding place. Are we playing tag? Don't worry, I won't tell Nick." The girl said, suddenly appearing in front of him. "Oh boy. I have some wipes if you need them."

"That won't be necessary, thank you though. I- um, I don't know who this Nick person is, or why you approached me, what's happening?"

"How do you change your voice like that, Mr. Edgewo-" Maya was cut off by Miles, putting his hand over her mouth.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come with me, I'll buy you lunch and we can discuss this." Edgeworth's voice had returned to it's normal rich baritone.

"Well, I can't turn down a free meal." Maya said, after removing the hand from her face.

Miles walked off down the road, only stopping to put the heels back on and make sure Maya was following. She was. Miles walked into a small diner. The waiter showed them to a booth in the back. "If you would wait right here, Ms. Fey, I'll be right back." Miles walked to the restroom. "Dear God, how did this happen?" He grumbled. After having fixed his makeup, The prosecutor came back out and sat down.

"Order anything you'd like, Ms. Fey." Edgeworth said. "Now, I know you'd probably like an explanation."

The waiter interrupted, setting two menus on the table. "Ah thank you." He walked off, smiling.

"Now, back to the matter at hand." Miles said, turning to the girl across the table. "I want to say immediately that this," he looked down at the skirt "isn't a hobby or something of the likes."

"Well, I'll say this, your makeup is wonderful and the skirt fits you very well. I won't judge. But why did you dress up?" She said, tilting her head.

"The- I'll be straightforward with you, everyone is constantly chasing after me. Everyone wants to know if I forged evidence, if rumors about me are true, it's tiring. So, I dress like a woman to throw them off my trail. Only you and Ms. Von Karma know about this. Skirts are quite comfortable though."

"Oh my god, I know right? I've been trying get Nick to wear one for forever. You know how he is, though. He's so bullheaded."

Miles opened his mouth to speak, but was once again interrupted by the waiter. "Are you ready to order?"

"I'll have the burger, extra ketchup, with a side of wings and some tea." Maya said eagerly.

"I'll just have a water." Edgeworth said. "Ms. Fey, if you wouldn't mention this to Wright, I'd greatly appreciate it."

"Nick? Oh I'd never. You can count on my lips being sealed." Maya laughed.

The prosecutor in disguise sighed in relief. "So, what were you and Wright doing in the park?"

"Well, Ms. Von Karma turned me down to go eat, so I was looking for another girl to ask out. Nick was just along for the ride." Maya giggled before adding "I was going to see if you were free, you look very pretty, but it was mostly the color that caught my eye. It looked familiar, so I went to catch up with you and.... Well here we are!"

"Well that's certainly and interesting tale. I'll have to scold Franziska for not spending the day with you." He chuckled.

Once Maya had finished eating, she stood up. "Thank you for the food, I should probably get back. Nick must be worried sick, I left in such a hurry. I guess I'll see you in court some time."

"At least let me accompany you back to the park." He insisted.

"Alright, come on!" Maya said, already walking out the door.

Edgeworth caught up with the spirit medium and walked with her until they were almost a block away from the park.

"MAYA! MAYA WHERE ARE YOU?" Phoenix's voice rang out. Miles flinched at the voice, but Maya's head whipped around.

"I'm over here, Nick. I'm fine." Maya called back. Phoenix ran over and hugged the girl tightly. He was almost sobbing into her shoulder.

"Nick, what's wrong?" She asked, concerned.

"I thought I'd lost you again. Don't run off like that, you had me scared. It- It reminded me of that case. I don't like thinking about that." He said, his voice barely a whisper. Maya rubbed his back in smal circles, attempting to calm Nick down.

"I'm fine Phoenix, I'm okay." She said. Phoenix straightened up at the use of his name. He was so used to her nicknames, it caught him off guard.

The lawyer wiped his eyes and pinched his nose. "Where did you even go?" He asked, bewildered.

"I told you, I saw a lady that I thought was pretty and went to catch up with her." Maya said, pointing at Miles, who'd been silent the whole time.

"Ah, I'm sorry you had to put up with her, she's a-" His voice trailed off as he looked at Edgeworth. "You... Hmm. You look familiar, but I can't-"

"What's the matter, Nick?" Maya asked.

"Where have I seen... No. I know who you look like now, gah I'm sorry, you looked like an old friend." Phoenix chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "It's almost scary how much she looks like him. That's, wow, that's like the exact same color, and your bangs-"

Phoenix froze when he made eye contact with the steel gaze. "Miles?"

"Surprising, isn't it?" Edgeworth said, gripping the crook of his elbow. He averted his gaze, looking over at a woman walking her dog.

"Maya, can you pinch me?" Phoenix asked, his eyes glazing over.

"Okay, it didn't have to be that hard. Can- Can you explain what's happening?" Nick asked, very obviously still confused.

"Calm down, Nick. Don't be so narrow-minded. It's to throw off reporters." Maya said, exasperated.

Phoenix's face was beggining to turn red. "Mi- Miles I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I'm going to stop talking."

"It's fine, Wright." Edgeworth finally released the grip on his arm and looked at the blushing attorney. "I can imagine this is quite shocking. Anyways, I'll be off." He turned to go, but Phoenix grabbed his hand.

"Wait! Um, well, I- You look nice, Miles. You can pull it off." Phoenix let go of the other man's hand and turned, grabbed Maya and left. He hadn't moved that quickly away from anyone in a while, and he was a mess.

Miles: Everyone is constantly chasing after me. Reporters. Franziska. Wright. You literally ten minutes ago.

Maya: *Chewing her burger* Huh wonder what that’s like.

Love it Aramanna!!!!!!!!

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herglowinggirl · 4 years ago

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can you see an ending to SOK where yun lives / yun redemption? i've been thinking a lot about the trend of abused kids never getting over their abuse and dying instead, and i feel like FCYee does a good job of writing yun and i don't want to say he's guilty of this trend, but sometimes i wonder if there could've been another ending. sorry if this ask is weird/uncomfy, you don't have to answer. have a nice day!

ok so...I am writing a meta about this (familiar anon i see you) but I feel like it’s worth answering here, too. this is less of a meta and more my personal thoughts so there’s no graphic descriptions of anything but I’ll put it under a cut because it got long, tw for canon typical violence/death.

short answer: yeah, there were workarounds but nothing that wouldn’t change the motifs, themes, plot points of the novels. I think the novels set out to make a different point on abuse than atla (think “it was wrong and it was cruel” as opposed to avatar “the obligation to be more than the sum of her grievances with the world” kyoshi) which isn’t a bad thing, necessarily. also, like, atla was a kids show and the kyoshi novels are ya and they very successfully make points on moral ambiguity and who gets to live and who gets to die. I agree and think f.c. yee handled it pretty well and yun was “meant” to die based on his backstory and evidence discussed below + the fact that he’s emulating the cycle of abuse by the end of the book. could it have been done differently? absolutely. was this story meant to? not really. you already said that it doesn’t feel like yun was killed off instead of writing about him dealing with the impacts of abuse, because the impacts were dealt with and explored just...he died at the end anyway, because of the places dealing with that stuff lead him. quoting a line from below the cut but yes, yun apologism on main. but I very much prefer to do it within canon, I think.

but would I want to see a version where yun lived? a little, yeah, because I wanted, well, justice for him. I wanted him to reunite with rangi and kyoshi and meet team avatar and live out the rest of his life happy and free from jianzhu because I love yun’s characterization, but as a character he has a bigger part of the narrative than being someone I’m attached to. I think that also begs the question should he have been used in those narratives of abuse the way that he was if someone like me (whose relationships could be classified under “complicated” at the very least) could relate and love him, especially for a YA novel? also not sure. maybe it’s not that deep, especially because what’s already been written and published is all but set in stone (and I am not very interested in writing fix-it fanfiction, just building on canon).

so those are my personal thoughts summed up (there’s extra rambling on why he was supposed to die + a plot workaround below). when all is said and done, this is a storyline I turn to in order to cope, but if there’s anything similar that perhaps ends with the survivor alive...any recs would be appreciated, from anyone! thank you for asking and making sure I’d feel ok ruminating on it <3 I hope you have a nice day too!

contextual evidence...zoryu going “some people will always change you back to who you were,” rangi asking kyoshi why she didn’t stop yun and kyoshi’s only answer being that seeing him had turned her back to her unsure state, yun trying to rid kyoshi of her fans and all her character growth during the final Boss Battle™...these things are a theme. you can’t strip the books of this touch of some are always meant to end, esp b/c that stuff was set up in trok (I always seem to come back to kyoshi asserting her only duty was to protect her loved ones in yokoya and then her duty becoming something much larger) so I feel like you couldn’t get rid of yun death without significant workarounds in the motifs and plot points in the novels.

that being said, I’m sure there are and were plot workarounds to killing yun. there’s an alternate universe out there where the novels ended with yun being a parallel to lao ge (I’ve talked about how they parallel each other before I think it’s very spicy; here and here), where he becomes jianzhu’s successor and just like lao ge kept kyoshi accountable on the other side of things, this time to the bureaucracy of the earth kingdom instead of lao ge’s agenda. this would also tie up when lao ge said something along the lines of “jianzhu does good work.” the novels are in no way perfect and the ending and pacing in the last third of the book do feel rushed to me (although the last kyoshi pov chapter ends sooo sentimental, enough for me to call f.c. yee a sap) but I feel they do establish the ways that kyoshi is going to cope with being a political figure, but I’ll have to elaborate on that somewhere else, so I digress.

the truth of it is this, and it is very harsh—yun was always supposed to be dead. we see it in how he and kyoshi have very similar backstories and the ways that jianzhu and kelsang are also pitted against each other their kids (well, kelsang’s kid, jianzhu’s pupil) end up dealing with the reasons why they were brought in. kelsang saved kyoshi from the goodness of his heart, he took her in and raised her like his own child (this makes me very emotional...) whereas yun was taken in because he was thought to be the avatar. then it turns out that kyoshi might be the avatar, but she is still kelsang’s daughter first, with kelsang honoring her wishes to keep it secret and letting her comfort him on the iceberg, and then when he believed kyoshi over jianzhu. establishing kyoshi’s humanity is really important in the novels so we can give kelsang a big thank you to him and then later to rangi to make sure kyoshi loves and treats herself well.

what i’m getting at here is that if yun hadn’t been taken in for being the avatar, he would’ve been dead and it’s a form of uh...narrative checkov’s gun in a way? there’s only so long you can make something of yourself by beating tourists at pai sho. kyoshi and yun both had expiration dates and only by the grace of jianzhu and kelsang did they survive. yun reassures himself that life is a game and “he will survive a turn longer.” his story is always about doing the next thing to survive, to prove he’s worthy of the survival and salvation given to him by jianzhu. kyoshi’s story is not about deserving avatarhood, it’s about becoming the avatar. it’s a key difference in the way the narrative treats them. if he’s hadn’t been mistaken for the avatar, he would literally be nothing. he’d be dead.

and there’s only so far you can go playing the person who deserved avatarhood if you’re not the avatar, and I think that mainly accounts for discrepancies in the idea of justice and how yun and kyoshi get to act on it because believe me, I would’ve loved to see yun tear the whole thing down. like, to see kyoshi have to kill yun for destroying the system (this is an oversimplification*) and then have her declared the “breakdown of negotiations?” like alright...sure, jan. let the boy kill a few people!! eat the rich!! murder isn’t even that bad anyway (/joking).

*yun is literally declared the residue of kuruk’s generation’s sins by hei-ran. this theme of legacy and cycles of abuse is emulated to him which brings me to acknowledge that yeah, it’s really shitty to see him killed when that theme lives in both him and kyoshi. it is a symbolic ending to the cycle of abuse when kyoshi “puts him away” (did she have to say that!!!) but that shit hurts, man. however the line “I’m sorry I said you would have to live with your pain. Because you won’t,” serves to acknowledge that by the end of the duology, yun himself has become an abuser. he’s shoving kyoshi into boxes, tries to kill rangi (to be fair rangi tried to kill him minutes/seconds earlier but he did try to kill her mom for allowing a man to try to kill him. it’s almost like...a cycle), he holds people hostage, terrorizes and murders several people in his pov chapters...at least lao ge was subtle about his work.

so yes, yun apologism on main. but I very much prefer to do it within canon, I think.

#you all know the song baby boy by mother mother?#yeah #thank you so much for asking <3 #anonymous #answered asks #z.txt

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

The (un)Helpful Mage (Pt.3/3)

Previous _____

Months turned into years into decades.

The bard and the witcher were still travelling together and if you were to meet them on the road you might believe that they were still cursed. After years of practice they danced around each other, never getting in each other’s way nor moving further than about twenty feet from each other. It was as if they could predict the other’s movements and adjust accordingly.

In fact, after decades of travelling together, the two men still believed they were cursed. They had no desire to be separated and those who wished ill against them had been warned about tearing the White Wolf from his Nightingale. Only death came to those who tried.

“Geralt.” The bard, Master Jaskier, whined as the two men entered a small tavern just a few days ride from Posada. “My feet are about to drop off. If you don’t get us a room then I am leaving you, dear heart. I will get a nice house in Toissant with an even nicer wine cellar and perhaps an even nicer spouse to keep my bed warm.”

The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, scoffed and tilted his head as he smiled warmly at his bard. “Nice try, bard, but we both know that can’t happen.”

Jaskier twirled a lock of his chestnut hair in his fingers. It now fell down to just below his chin in soft waves, he’d given up cutting it a few years ago whilst on a particularly long trek through the forests beside the witcher whilst they were chasing after Ciri. The decision to let it grow had been encouraged by whispers in his ear after dark whilst the witcher’s hands tugged at the growing strands of hair.

“Ah yes. The blasted curse.” The bard fell dramatically against Geralt who caught him with ease.

Geralt rolled his eyes but seemed content to hold the troubadour in his arms.

“Someone once called it a blessing.” Geralt muttered.

“Don’t go getting sentimental on me now, witcher.” Jaskier placed a long elegant finger on the witcher’s nose. “We both know I have all the poetic talent in this relationship.”

Geralt opened his mouth to say something but the troubadour’s finger slipped from the witcher’s nose to his lips, effectively silencing him. The other patrons of the tavern watched the whole interaction with unabashed curiosity. They had heard of the bard who was not afraid of witchers, the bard who teased them and bossed them about as if he were a dragon and not a lowly human. It was different hearing the stories to seeing them in person. Every person in the tavern watched the new arrivals with bated breath.

“Limericks about Lambert do not count, dear heart.” Jaskier chided. “No matter how accurate they may be.”

The witcher smirked at the man in his arms and promptly dropped him. The bard’s arms scrambled to keep a hold on Geralt’s neck and it barely managed to stop himself from landed on his arse.

“Geralt!” He pouted up at the witcher as he clung from his neck, his knees lax and feet still unstable on the ground. To everyone’s surprise, Geralt of Rivia laughed and leant down to kiss the bard on the lips. His arms wrapped around the troubadour’s waist to steady him and Jaskier practically melted against the witcher’s chest.

The stories didn’t do it justice.

A wave of hushed whispers rose up in the tavern, all eager to discuss what they had just seen with their own eyes.

In the corner of the tavern was a robed figure, a mage and their beloved wife.

“Carwyn?” The woman with eyes like rich molten chocolate whispered to her partner. “The curse has not lifted?” She seemed distraught by this revelation.

Carwyn closed their eyes and inhaled deeply and then shook their head, a strand of greying auburn hair falling in front of their face. “I think it has, my dove.” They laughed gently. “They don’t appear to have noticed.”

“We must tell them!”

Carwyn shook their head and squeezed Amala’s arm. “My love, please distract the witcher for me.”

Amala stood up and gently guided the witcher from the bar with tales of monsters and a contract. Carwyn intercepted Jaskier by asking the bard about his latest ballads and the tubes of parchment that he’d begun to carry on his back. The troubadour was easily flattered and at times narcissistic so he was led away from the witcher with no real effort on the mage’s part.

Jaskier followed Carwyn towards the bank of the river that the tavern stood beside, talking about rhymes and chord progressions and the intricacies of his music that only a trained ear could pick up but even a fool could love.

Carwyn hummed thoughtfully in the right places and prompted the bard to continue whenever his gaze began to drift behind them. They were about twenty five feet away from the tavern when the bard stopped abruptly.

“Isn’t that right Geralt?” He spun round to ask with a charming smile on his face. The smile quickly faded as he noticed the witcher was nowhere to be seen. “Geralt?!”

The bard began to panic and Carwyn realised they had made a terrible mistake as they suddenly had a knife pressed to their throat. “You tricked me!” The bard spat out, his cornflower blue eyes were blazing furiously. The man may be approaching his fifties but he was not as weak as he seemed. “Where is Geralt, Mage?”

Carwyn closed their eyes. “There is no trick, bard.” They said as calmly as possible but the knife dug deeper into their neck.

“How is this possible?” The troubadour hissed. “I’ve never been this far away from him. Never! It’s just not possible! Don’t you understand?!”

“It was my curse, Master Jaskier, or my blessing as I once told your witcher.” The knife fell to the ground and Carwyn kicked it away with their foot. “When was the last time you tried to leave Master Geralt?”

The bard watched the mage with a curious, thoughtful expression. “I was kidnapped. Bandits. They didn’t get very far. After fifteen feet it was as if I was too heavy for them to carry, not to mention Geralt came screaming after me. They died in pools of their own blood.” Jaskier laughed darkly. “It only happened once more after that before people stopped trying.”

“And when did you and your witcher become a couple?” The mage asked.

Jaskier laughed with a toss of his hair. “Oh well. We were rather more oblivious to that one. It was about three years into our acquaintance. Geralt almost died after he saved the Princess of Temeria from a curse and I, being the fool that I am, blurted out that he couldn’t just die because I loved him! It was bad enough that he’d locked me in a crypt all night to keep me safe and then he went and got himself mortally wounded. If Triss Merigold hadn’t been there then, well, I’m afraid our story would have a rather different ending, but anyway. It turned out that Geralt loved me too and we’ve been disgustingly in love since.”

“You’ve been a couple for over two decades?” Carwyn asked with a hint of surprise in their voice. “You’ve not been more than twenty feet apart for over two decades?”

The bard stuck his tongue out and counted back the years on his fingers. “No?” The word was drawn out as if he didn’t quite believe his calculations. “No. That can’t be right? We must have at least gotten close. We would have felt it.”

Carwyn shook their head. “Perhaps I should have cursed you so you couldn’t be within twenty feet of each other.”

“What? No? You can’t do that. Geralt?!” The bard shouted as the door of the tavern flung open to reveal an incredible irate witcher.

“Jaskier!” The two men embraced tightly and the witcher glared ferociously at the mage. “I knew I recognised you from somewhere. You little shit!”

Carwyn smiled serenely at the witcher, not at all showing their fear even though the witcher could have smelled it a mile off. “When you said fuck Destiny, witcher. I didn’t think you meant it literally.”

“Destiny?” The troubadour pulled back from the witcher’s embraced but his arm stay wrapped around his waist, Geralt was just as loathed to let his partner go but he kept one hand free just incase he needed to draw his sword.

The witcher hummed nonchalantly.

“Now now, don’t give me that. Geralt. What did they mean by Destiny?” Jaskier prodded Geralt in his chest.

Carwyn raised their eyebrow at the witcher. “You never told him?”

“It never came up.” Geralt grunted.

The bard looked between the mage and the witcher with a look of utter betrayal. “What never came up? What’s going on, darling?”

“The curse, or blessing,” Carwyn started to say.

“You’re my soulmate. Apparently. According to some shitty curse from when you were eighteen.” Geralt snapped quickly. “It’s bullshit.”

The bard’s eyes lit up. Bards were in their nature hopeless romantic and the thought of being bound to one’s soulmate was too much for the excitable poet. “Oh ho ho!”He laughed gleefully. “Oh Geralt, you brute! You never said! Just think of the possibilities, the ballads! I could write a play! I’d change the names of course. You know I hate being featured in my own work. Perhaps Yennefer wouldn’t mind, you know my adoring public can’t get enough of your romantic exploits with the beautiful sorceress!”

“There are no romantic exploits and you know it, bard.” Geralt rolled his eyes but his protests fell on deaf ears.

“Soulmates!” Jaskier sighed. “You’ve been holding out on me, my love.”

Geralt hummed.

“Yes yes. I know. You knew how I would react but Geralt!” The troubadour pulled his lute from off his back and began to try out rhymes and rhythms.

The mage followed the pair back into the tavern and as they began to barter with the barkeep about a room, the mage nodded at their wife.

It had taken over twenty years for their spell to pay off but they had finally repaid the witcher for the debt they owed him. _______

More witcher fun!

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt/jaskier #the unhelpful mage #wolfie's witcher writing #soulmates au

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