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kiwi-gumboot-politics · 2 years

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National Parties Shandy Pavlova

The ingredients for a New Zealand Pavlova are pretty simple-

For Meringue Shell:

4 large egg whites, at room temperature

1 cup castor sugar (also known as caster sugar, or berry sugar)

1/2 tablespoon cornstarch

1 teaspoon white vinegar

1 teaspoon vanilla

For the Whipped Cream

1/2 cup whipping cream

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1/2 cup icing sugar (also known as confectioners' sugar)

For the Fruit Garnish:

2 cups whole berries or sliced fresh fruit of choice (strawberries, kiwi fruit, passion fruit, bananas)

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, optional

Fresh mint sprigs, optional

Cost Statistics

Stats NZ data shows it costs $11.07 to acquire all the ingredients for a pavlova for 2017. In 2007, it was $7.88.

The cost of cream was the biggest contributor to the increase - 300ml was $1.50 in 2007 but $2.62 for 2017.

Kiwifruit also increased 55 per cent in price, from 44c for 200g in 2007 to 68c.

Geo Politics; 30 January 2020

WHO declares the epidemic a global health emergency.

National Parties “Three big actors in society; separated by buzz words.”

Community Organization (pain, hurt, frustration)

The point of view of a story determines who is telling it and the narrator's relationship to the characters in the story. In first person point of view the narrator is a character in the story telling it from their perspective. In third person point of view the narrator is not part of the story and the characters never acknowledge the narrator's presence. Less common than first and third is second person point of view. In second person point of view the reader is part of the story. The narrator describes the reader's actions, thoughts, and background using "you." When a team exhibits both ownership and accountability, a high-trust environment is created, and you’ll see the makings of a high-performance team-

Make ownership and accountability a lived value.

Draw a box and let the employee own what goes on inside it.

There’s no such thing as half delegating.

Explain why their box even exists in the first place.

Become an active listener and let them make their box better.

Nationals BUZZ WORDS

Take a step back

Look at what’s going on in the economy

Strong, enlarge it,

Bigger and Better

Ultimately solve these long term challenges

Right now, one thing we have to do

Tackle inflation

Conservative effort

They way you do that

Business (Move with great speed and scale)

Because many buzzwords use metaphors or made-up expressions, many people find them difficult to understand at first. However, by practicing using buzzwords in your vocabulary at work, you can quickly learn their correct context and meaning. Here are the definitions of 30 common business buzzwords that you might hear in the workplace:

Return on investment

Synergy

Customer journey

Deep dive

Impact

Ballpark

Core competency

Visibility

Startup

Sustainability

Pain point

Quick win

Hyperlocal

Next generation

Holistic

Logistics

Alignment

Freemium

Quota

Touchpoint

Retargeting

Content is king

Big data

Incentivize

Move the needle

Unpack

Ping

Drill down

Ecosystem

Bandwidth

Nationals BUZZ WORDS

We have got a pretty simple four point plan

Think about, think about, think about

Remove bottle necks

The difference….. we would power them up…..

No, no, no, that’s not true

A real short term problem

Get serious about it

Tackle that head on

Half of it is….. (Beyond our control).

Factors that are happening

Small, medium, larger….. Be even better

At the moment….. cut down….remove bottle neck… back to people

That’s not true…that’s not true…..that’s not true…the bottom line

More….able to grow…thats ultimately what we have to do…build a more…that’s how we deliver

In the long term, but not the long term…. You got to get those setting right…if you’re not removing bottle necks …productive…..grow…..drive….that’s how it all works

Got to get those setting right….tackling…..

Long term answer here…Why is it…we aren’t invested enough

Government (central and local set up the frame works to enable all three actors work together on problems)

Consumers are increasingly mindful of corporate social responsibility (CSR) when making purchase and consumption decisions, but evidence of the impact of CSR initiatives on actual purchase decisions is lacking. This article introduces a novel brand accountability–based framework of consumer response to CSR initiatives, which categorizes CSR efforts as “corrective,” “compensating,” or “cultivating goodwill.” Leveraging a database of CSR press releases by leading consumer packaged goods brands. The findings suggest that CSR initiatives that genuinely aim to reduce a brand's negative externalities (“corrective” and “compensating”) lift sales, whereas CSR actions focused on philanthropy (“cultivating goodwill”) can hurt sales.

The marketing function takes different forms in different companies at different product life-cycle stages—all of which can deeply affect the relationship between Sales and Marketing.

The strains between Sales and Marketing fall into two main categories: economic and cultural.

It’s not difficult for companies to assess the quality of the working relationship between Sales and Marketing. (This article includes a diagnostic tool for doing so.)

Companies can take practical steps to move the two functions into a more productive relationship, once they’ve established where the groups are starting from.

Nationals BUZZ WORDS

The five drivers of prosperity….and that’s our job….create more wealth….get more

We’ve got to look at right now…long run…..benefits

In the context of the economics

Make sure it’s appropriate

Priorities will be very very clear…confusing and conflating…spending outcomes

Something in the middle delivery, execution….. Implementation

That is gone under this …cannot get anything done right

It does not matter which topic you pick… you can’t get it done

That’s not the way… really on point

Did a good job…utter shambles….in terms of…you know…..slow job….bottom line….extremely well….we would say, that’s the point…you really got to make sure.

Get back into the long term drivers….that will make fundamentally…..investing in….that’s not just failure…..crisis….use…..connections….delivery …..delivers…..I would just put it to you…..amazing team reaching…..do a much better job….reaching….build…..better…….Recipes……Recipes

Billy T James, New Zealand Pavlova Steps to Making

Take a step back

Look at what’s going on

Enlarge it

One thing we have to do

They way you do that

We have got a pretty simple four point plan

Remove bottle necks

Tackle that head on

Half of it

Small, medium, larger

Got to get those setting right

The five drivers of prosperity

Delivery, execution….. Implementation

Did a good job

Recipes……Recipes

Now that you have found the recipe book and opened the ingredients bottle, follow instructions.

Cognitive Bias #1: The Mere Exposure Effect

Cognitive Bias #2: Loss Aversion

Cognitive Bias #3: The Compromise Effect

Anchoring effect

Ambiguity effect

Bandwagon effect

Confirmation bias

Halo effect

IKEA effect

Sunk-cost Fallacy

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 3 years

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Honestly, I'm tired. I often try to give the benefit of doubt to almost everyone. Astruc completely destroyed my enjoyment of the show.

Season 3 wasn't great, but had some cool moments that I genuinely enjoyed, but I draw the line to what happened in Miracle Queen.

I can get behind a character hitting rock bottom for rising up in other seasons, but how much Asstruc bashes Chloe has become too much. Everywhere I go, I find people defending this poor choice in character development. I can't say that Zoè's introduction to the show is a poor choice in my opinion, that suddenly I get downvoted almost immediately in Reddit or find myself in long ass diatribe about why Chloe is an horrible person and doesn't reserve redemption.

I was fine with Season 1 Chloe, she was just a bully character who was there to be a plot device to make the main cast akumas and to be Marinette's total opposite.

He wanted to make Chloe unlikable, then he shouldn't have never introduces Audrey. He was pretty telling that the only people who tolerated Chloe were her dad, her butler and Sabrina, even Adrien, who supposedly was her childhood friends, barely hangs out with her.

When Audrey was introduced, Chloe became a sympathetic character and from there there was a bit of complexity in a character in a show where the protagonist are often bland and boring and the antagonist is a worse Mr. Freeze.

Seriously, from that point, I related to Chloe in a way that neither Marinette nor Adrien managed to do. Marinette has good parents and is loved by everyone, Adrien has a shitty father but Plagg, Gorilla, Nathalie and his friends make up for it and even then, the show goes out of his way to show that even if he became a magical terrorist, Gabriel somewhat cares for his son, while Audrey doesn't even remember her daughter's name.

After Miracle Queen, I didn't watch the two specials and I dreaded to watch season 4, scared that the show would have worsened and while I watched Truth, that I liked a little because I liked the Akuma power, even with the stupid thing about Jagged Stone being an horrible father, and I related a bit in Guiltrip, because I have a chronic illness and a bit of depression, I still haven't managed to gather the courage to watch Lies, Gang of Secret, Furious Fu etc.

I realized I was tired after the promo for the second season of The Owl House was dropped a few days ago. I realized that I no longer enjoy the show, that I lurk into the fandom because the show left me unsatisfied and the fan fiction somewhat seems better than the show itself, while with The Owl House happened the exact opposite. For TOH, the show left me so satisfied that I barely enter the fandom, because is that good, while with MLB, I stay for the fandom.

I'm tired of it and I think I'm going to take a break from this show, and it is in part because Astruc's crusade against Chloe.

Sorry for the long ask, but I just needed to vent.

Don't worry, your anger is completely valid.

The treatment of Chloe has proven to be a real breaking point with some fans. After the creator of a show scolds fans for getting invested in a character arc, why get invested in anything else?

It's even worse when you remember this show airs on the same channel that airs Gravity Falls, Amphibia, and The Owl House, shows that actually treat their so-called "bully characters" with depth, showing that they aren't just one-dimensional villains like Astruc claims Chloe is.

I think it's a good idea to distance yourself for now, because things with Astruc aren't going to be pretty tomorrow when "Queen Banana airs".

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #thomas astruc #thomas astruc salt #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #chloe bourgeois #queen bee #queen b

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bellakitse · 3 years

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part of the deal (of loving you)

Carlos reminds TK that worrying about him is part of loving him.

Written for @carlosreyesweek - Day 1: “I love you, but stop talking” + fluff

Carlos Reyes has learned many things about himself in the year and a half of dating one Tyler Kennedy Strand.

He’s learned that he’s capable of having more love in his heart for one person than he ever thought possible. He’s learned that soulmates are real and that his, is a brave, cocky, tenderhearted, often bratty firefighter. He’s also learned that TK’s health and safety are vital to his mental state. Unfortunately, given that his boyfriend is all the previously said things – brave, cocky, and a damn brat – Carlos’ mental health is continuously getting tested.

He gets the call from Judd. The deep, aggravated sigh the cowboy lets out when he says hello, tells him what kind of call it’s going to be. “Man, come get your idiot boyfriend. Michelle says he might have a concussion, and someone needs to watch him.”

Carlos isn’t sure what sound escapes his throat, but it causes Judd to mutter under his breath.

“He’s fine,” he assures him. His tone tells Carlos that the older man is looking for patience and finding none. “But he took his helmet off before the all-clear in a house fire earlier, and a bit of the house fell on him. Michelle says he doesn’t have to go to the hospital, but he needs a sitter.”

Judd stops for a moment, and Carlos can hear someone shouting in the background.

“Yes, you do because you’re obviously an accident-prone baby!” Judd yells back, making Carlos wince, both at the comment’s volume and the words themselves. Knowing who they’re directed at, he knows they aren’t well-received. “Seriously man, come and get him. Cap is still out of town on that conference of his, and I already have an infant at home. I don’t need one at work too.”

Carlos sighs as he hears more grumbling from the other side of the call. “I’m coming,” he says, already heading for the door. “Stop antagonizing him.”

Judd chuckles, his petty amusement clear. “But he makes it so easy.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, praying for patience himself. That’s another thing he’s learned to have more of since TK Strand came into his life. “Don’t make me call Grace on you.”

The silence he’s met with makes him smile for the first time since the call started – and when Judd calls him a dick, he’s finally calm enough to enjoy it.

֍֍֍

He arrives at the firehouse fifteen minutes later, shaving off at least eight minutes of his usual time by turning on the extra light bar he keeps on his Camaro. He parks at the side of the building, hurrying out of the car in his need to get to his boyfriend. As he makes his way through the firehouse’s bay doors, he spots Nancy first. He gets a knowing smile from the pretty EMT, and, with a finger towards the station’s common area, she shows him where he needs to go. Carlos flashes her a grateful smile of his own before heading in the direction she pointed at.

He finds the usual suspects lounging around in the living room. Paul, who is to the side eating a banana, sees him first. He gives him a smirk around his mouthful, jerking his head towards the couches.

There, in the middle, with Buttercup on his lap, sits his boyfriend. He seems determined to focus hard on the dog as he pets him, ignoring the mean look Judd is giving him from the sofa across from him. Marjan sits next to TK, stroking his hair the way TK is doing with Buttercup, while poor Mateo sits a little farther away, looking anxious the same way the poor kid always looks when someone from the team gets hurt.

He clears his throat, drawing their attention while his focus goes to TK. He looks okay, at least physically. The thundercloud that is currently his face is a whole other story.

Marjan gets up from the couch, leaving the space open for him, and Carlos squeezes her arm in thanks as he passes her. Sitting down next to his boyfriend, he finds his pretty green eyes already watching him. The frown on TK’s face causing a wrinkle between his brows.

“Judd shouldn’t have called you,” he says, shooting his friend a dark look before turning back to him. “I’m fine.”

Carlos lets out a deep breath. It’s echoed by more than one person in the room, causing TK’s frown to deepen further. “TK, I love you,” he starts to say, hoping the declaration will lessen the sting of what he says next. “But stop talking nonsense.”

Judd lets out a snort at his words before getting up from the sofa, silently signaling everyone to follow him out of the room and leave them alone. Sensing TK’s turbulent mood, even Buttercup gets up from his special spot on his favorite person’s lap, also going away. Smart dog.

Once alone, they’re left in silence as TK stews. Carlos studies his boyfriend, taking in his shoulders’ tight lines and the way he clenches his hands.

“Hey,” he whispers, getting a little worried by TK’s strange mood. “What’s going on?”

TK doesn’t answer. Instead, he bites down on his bottom lip hard enough that it looks painful, making Carlos wince. He reaches out, pressing his thumb on it, pleased by the gasp TK lets out at the touch. As a result, his mouth parts, finally releasing that poor lip.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he says, hoping his voice is calm and reassuring. Patience, he remembers, is the key to TK.

TK looks at him; those green eyes of his are thankfully clear, as Carlos also remembers that Michelle checked him for a concussion. It takes him a moment to notice the blush working its way over TK’s face. His eyes distracting Carlos as usual.

“I’m embarrassed,” TK finally tells him in a low voice. “That was such a rookie mistake,” he continues, rolling his eyes at himself. “I know I’m not supposed to take my helmet off before we’re clear. It was stupid of me.”

“No,” Carlos shakes his head. He just hates the downtrodden look on TK’s face. “Sometimes mistakes happen, baby, but you’re an amazing firefighter. Okay?”

TK shrugs his shoulders, not agreeing but thankfully not disagreeing either.

Carlos looks at him again, the first thing TK said when he came in coming back to him. “Why didn’t you want Judd to call me, Ty?” he questions quietly, concerned.

TK lets out a sigh before he reaches out, touching his hand. There is a small smile on his face when Carlos turns his hand to intertwine their fingers. “You already worry so much about me,” he says, not adding anything else.

He doesn’t have to; Carlos can hear the rest of the thought without TK speaking them out loud.

Almost two years into knowing him and it still breaks Carlos’ heart that TK thinks he might be a bother to him. But unlike when they first started, he understands now where it comes from. Growing up with loving but often absent parents and then later a boyfriend that ignored him has conditioned TK to think he’s too much to deal with. When they first started, Carlos didn’t know how to fix it. Now, he understands it’s not about fixing it but helping TK realize it isn’t true for himself.

“Do you worry about me when I’m at work?” he asks, biting down on the urge to smile at the wide-eyed look TK gives him.

“Of course,” he rushes to say. “I always worry about you.”

“Hmm,” Carlos hums, all-consuming love for the man in front of him coursing through his veins. “Why is that?”

TK frowns deeply. “Well, I love you, of course, I–“ he trails off, eyes narrowing as Carlos finally grins, amused. “You think you’re slick, don’t you?” he says with a grumble that makes Carlos laugh.

“I think that I love you,” he corrects him, smile still in place as TK gives him a soft, almost shy look. “As much as you love me. I think we have jobs that involve risk, and I worry about you every time you clock in. Something I think you’re familiar with.”

“Yeah,” TK whispers, letting out a breath. “Yeah, I do.”

“Yeah,” Carlos agrees softly. “We’re always going to worry about each other, baby. It’s part of the deal of loving someone. But we’ll both worry more if we try to keep things from each other, right?”

TK nods, looking remorseful. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Come here,” Carlos says with a small tug on TK’s hand, letting out a content sound as TK immediately turns his body towards him, tucking his face into the crook of Carlos’ neck as he hugs him. He holds him tight, running his hand through TK’s hair the way Marjan had been doing earlier. Smiling into it as he feels TK all but melt under his touch. “How about I take you back to my place? I’ll make you something yummy to eat, and we can relax with a movie as I try to keep you awake for the next few hours, hmm?”

“Throw in some fooling around, and you have yourself a deal,” TK mumbles against his skin, giving his collarbone a quick bite when Carlos laughs.

“You drive a hard bargain, Strand,” he says, still chuckling. He leans in to kiss the tip of TK’s nose as he pulls back to look at him with a silly grin on that face Carlos loves so much. “So, home?”

TK’s smile grows as he nods once more. “Yeah, babe. Take me home.”

#911 lone star #tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #carlosreyesweek2021 #tk x carlos #my writing

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adam-memeleri · 3 years

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Imperfections

it may not be foreign affairs anymore, but its still ayna day in my heart 😔❤️. thanks @gay-dinosaur-banana-milk-carton for the prompt again, i threw in some angst this time cuz i like pain :) kinky

no idea when anything takes place, but im aiming for during the fake relationship i think ?? who knows tbh

tagging -@bubblelaureno @lookingforsomethingcuzimbored @swimmingshoebakerydreamer @alccaddsccup @cardinalnuggets

if you do or do not wanna be tagged

Masterlists shameless self promotion lmao

T Rating (uhhhh i think hurt/comfort? primarily? idk man)

Ayna x MC (Kennedy, they/them)

~2k words unedited but thats nothing new now is it?

Ayna’s fingers fasten a necklace clasp behind her neck, every movement careful and precise as she readies herself. They move to her hair, fixing it for the nth time, just to assure it’s perfect.

It has to be perfect, all of it. Every hair, every pore, every fine detail - it’s all been carefully thought through for weeks now, for this one specific date.

Valentine’s Day.

The end all be all, at least this year. She’s never given it much thought before, but she’s never really had a reason to. Until this year. Until this crazy, wild, borderline disastrous year. Until the day Kennedy stumbled into her class, all smiles and longing looks.

Until she spent days looking forward to coffee house meetups, until short texts could make her whole day, until every class was an excuse to share a small smile. And, unfortunately, until those meetups were forced to end, until those texts stopped coming, until class was just a reminder that even smiles were dangerous.

But not today. She had a plan today, a foolproof, perfect plan. No planned meetups, no trackable texts, nothing too out in the open. And she’d be damned if it failed.

She turns from the hanging mirror, shrugging on a jacket and tugging on a nice pair of shoes before straightening. Her reflection stares back at her, carefully done makeup and slightly askew glasses. She quickly adjusts them, tucking back one last strand of hair.

With one last glimpse at herself, she grabs the bouquet of roses she picked out earlier in the day, bright red petals resting on her table. And with that she leaves, exiting her building and venturing onto Vancross campus.

She eventually steps out onto one of the many winding paths leading through the school’s grounds, carefully making her way to the expansive library settled in one corner of campus. It’s familiar warmth shines through the windows, yellow lights on even in the darkening night for cramming and over enthusiastic students.

Ayna’s fingers tighten over the door’s handle, tugging it open as a small, excited grin overtakes her lips. She steps inside, flowers poised in her hands regardless of how cheesy they may be, and scans for

They’re with her. Sitting with her, talking with her, laughing with her. They’ve been doing everything with her, and today’s no different. Today’s not special, not exempt, not reserved for Ayna.

Huddled close at a table, books spread before the pair as they whisper, heads so close. Arms touching, smiles wide, chairs so close. They’re so close, that’s all Ayna can think about as she simply stands there, all her previous excitement evaporating from her body.

And they don’t even notice her. Kennedy’s gaze doesn’t flicker in her direction in the way it always does. Their cheeks don’t flush when they’re caught like they always do in the lecture hall. Their hands don’t fidget with barely contained nerves, atop the table, a pen twirling between anxious fingers.

Their gaze is glued to Evelyn’s features, their cheeks dust in a blush from her words, their hands are relaxed as they lean against her shoulder. They don’t even notice Ayna.

She turns on her heel, quickly rushing out the library’s front doors and into the dusk settled around campus. Her heels clack with some strange anger, some swirling in the pit of her gut as her fist clenches, crushing the bouquet she spent so long picking out.

And all for naught. This is all for naught, that’s the worst part. The outfit, the shoes, the hair and makeup - all for absolutely nothing.

She stalks to a trash can resting beside the pavement, glaring down at it with pale knuckles and a furrow in her brow. She breaks, like a glass hitting concrete. She breaks, stuffing the ridiculous flowers into the bin over and over again, until she’s just needlessly exerting herself, needlessly scratching herself on discarded thorns.

Little nicks on her skin, tiny imperfections to ruin it all. A visual of her failings, a marking to remind her of this disastrous night. A brand forged without fire, one that’ll remain in the morning, even after she’s washed off the rest of tonight. Even when the mascara and curls and jacket are discarded in the next few hours, the cuts will stay, at least for a few days.

She breaks once more, from the trash bin as an angry and hurt tear slips down her cheek. A crumpled fist hurriedly wipes it away, before she’s stamping down the paved path once more, shoulders tight and expression pinched.

“Hey! Ayna!” a voice rings behind her, out of breath as quick footsteps draw closer and closer. “Hey,” a hand softly grasps her sleeve, a smiling face slipping into her line of sight.

“Hey,” she mumbles back, her gaze trained on the pavement beneath her feet, feet that haven’t once halted.

Kennedy slows by her side, falling into step with her easily. “Tatum said he saw you come into the library then leave, what’s up?”

Ayna’s shoulders lift in a halfhearted shrug, slumping with an exhale. “Nothing.”

“You sure? You seem kinda… distant.”

“I’m fine.”

“Well, okay,” Kennedy relents, head swiveling as they search for something to occupy her attention. “Um, happy Valentine’s!” Their hands clap together excitedly, expression alight with a beaming smile. “I wanted to call you or something earlier, but Winston was hovering over me all day and I don’t know… You’re usually busy this time of night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Ayna shrugs again, her hands fisted in her pockets. “I’m not busy.”

“Really? Then let’s do something!”

Her gaze snaps up, shock sparking throughout her mind. “What?” she blanks, stopping in her tracks to further scrutinise Kennedy.

“Yeah!” Kennedy’s grin is brilliant, even in the low light, before they glance about the quad. Their hands slip into Ayna’s, fingers tangling with hers, before they’re tugging her along, away from the light posts and travelled paths.

She’s led past the bushes, to a secluded bench, empty branches hanging above it, stretching from a large tree. A soft breeze stirs them, whistling through the leafless wood.

“Okay,” Kennedy starts, sucking in a deep breath. “So I know this is super late, and I don’t really know how to go about this, but…” they meet her eyes, hope glimmering within, “would you, Ayna Seth, do me the honour of being my Valentine?”

She blinks. Not a single other muscle moves, her breath halts in her lungs, her brain malfunctions entirely, and the only thing she can do is blink. Again. And again.

“...Ayna?” Kennedy squeezes her hands where they still rest in theirs.

“You really… Really?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ve been trying to find a good time for ages, so I figured… Are you bleeding?”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding! Your hands!” they grip her forearm, tugging her down to the bench, where they carefully cradle her hands in their lap. Their fingers hover over her skin, not sure what to do as they send uneasy glances up to Ayna’s eyes.

She inspects the scratches now, all of them shallow and mostly painless. “It’s just a few cuts,” she mumbles, Kennedy’s panicked gaze quieting her.

“What happened?” they whisper, as if worried the volume of their voice could inflict further damage.

“I, um -” Ayna steals her hands back, folding them in her lap to hide them. “The flowers,” she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, “They had thorns.”

“You should be more careful.”

“Okay,” she nods, still biting her lip.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You’ve been wanting to ask me out?” They speak at the same time, concern brimming in Kennedy’s eyes and disbelief in Ayna’s.

A grin quirks Kennedy’s lips as they settle against the bench, arm draped over the back. “I asked first.”

“Barely,” Ayna chuckles lighty.

“Still got there first.”

Ayna shakes her head in exasperation, a fond smile lifting her lips. Before it all falls away, replaced by a crease between her brows. “I, um,” she shifts in her seat awkwardly, struggling for the words. “I don’t think I’m as comfortable with the fake relationship as I thought I was…”

“Okay,” Kennedy answers quickly, easily.

“What?” she balks, jaw working for words. “Are you sure?” is all she manages.

“Of course,” they chime, just as quickly, as easily. “If you’re jealous or uncomfortable, I’ll do whatever I can to put a stop to it.”

Ayna’s jaw snaps shut, a frown curving her mouth, “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh really?” Kennedy’s voice hums, a teasing lilt to it.

“I’m not,” Ayna’s frown deepens.

“Okay…” they hum again, leaning closer as their voice lowers. “So you’d have no problem with me, say, asking out Evelyn for real?” Their eyebrow raises, head cocking to the side. “Or what about Blaine? Maybe Zaira…?” they tap their chin thoughtfully.

Ayna starts, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” her voice tapers off, replaced by the bouncing of her leg and the picking of a nail.

“You’re jealous?” Kennedy supplies with an amused smile.

Ayna deflates, sighing heavily, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being… jealous,” she almost spits the word, distaste heavy on her tongue and sloshing in her stomach.

Kennedy shifts closer, their body warm against Ayna’s in the cool night air. “Don’t be. It’s normal, it’s fine,” they take her hand, their palm covering tiny cuts, tiny imperfections with warmth and comfort. “I’d get jealous if you were walking around with someone too.”

“You’re not weirded out by it?”

“No, it’s normal,” They squeeze Ayna’s hand, thumb brushing lightly on her skin. “It’s human. You’re human.”

“I still don’t like it,” she scowls, eliciting a nudge and smirk from Kennedy.

“That’s fine, too,” they reassure, a more serious expression taking over. “So what happened with the thorns?”

“I got you roses,” Ayna’s cheeks flush dark, “Even though I know it’s lame, and then I kinda, uh, threw them out.”

A wide grin breaks across Kennedy’s face as they sidle up against Ayna, throwing their arm over her shoulder. “One:” they count off on the hand resting over her shoulder, “that’s adorable, and two: why’d you toss them?”

She doesn’t move beneath their arm, sitting stiff and rigid, her voice the same, “I got jealous and ruined them. I wanted tonight to be perfect, it was supposed to be perfect, and I ruined it.”

“Stop that. You didn’t ruin anything,” Kennedy scolds. “I told you, jealousy’s human. And I tend to like the things about you that make you human. It’d be weird if my Valentine was a robot,” they tease, nudging Ayna until she joins them in smiling.

She finally faces them fully, her own eyebrow jutting upwards, “I never said I’d be your Valentine.”

“You didn’t, did you?” Their arm retracts, leg folding on the bench as their body rotates towards hers. Their palms clasp in their lap as they lean forward, a smirk on their lips. “So what’ll it be, Ayna? Be my Valentine? My perfectly imperfect Valentine?”

She chuckles, shaking her head as she finally relaxes, the teasing familiar. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she smiles softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, unbothered by it.

“It does if you turn off the robot brain,” Kennedy lightly taps Ayna on the nose, laughing when her face scrunches.

“The robot brain is a part of the Valentine’s package.”

Kennedy squints, eyes roving over Ayna’s features. The askew glasses, the smudged lipstick, the flyaway hairs. “Are the roses also a part of it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then I’m all in,” they grin, just as infectious and brilliant as always. “So? Valentines?” they prod, wiggling their eyebrows playfully.

Ayna smiles softly back, scratched hands rising to cup Kennedy’s cheeks and close the already shrinking distance between them. “Valentines,” she murmurs against their lips, a whispered promise. Before they meet, light and soft and full of the light that’s held beyond the bushes.

#tbh this is probably a *bit* ooc but i just wanted angst so whatever #ayna seth #ayna x mc #playchoices #choices fanfic #i think i had something else to say but i forgot so just imagine a thumbs up with a really awkward smile instead :)

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sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Mused obsession (2)

Written by @sombreboy as Jungkook & @chimoona as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 5.4k ⇢Ch.warnings: Alcohol consumption, profanity, jealous jk, so much sexual tension, bending the overwatch rules for the sake of the story don’t come at me lmao, also this is the last chapter without any filth so buckle up honey

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

Jimin’s mind kept wandering to the young artist even when he was bustling backstage. He delegates tasks to a couple crew members and walks over to a standing mirror to check his appearance. He’s ethereal, dressed in a soft white shirt, wrapping high around his neck and tied with a loose bow. On top of that is a fitted jacket with large black lapels, covered entirely in dark gold accents. He wanted to be seen, and this would definitely do the trick. His guests haven’t even arrived and he’s already getting looks from the backstage crew and hired models. He adjusts his tight pants to hug comfortably, drawing just the right amount of attention to his toned legs and small waist.

“Park, it’s time.” His stage manager approaches with a waitlist in-hand. “Follow me to the entryway. It’s time to greet our guests.”

Guests trail in one by one, or in groups, filling up the venue. However, Jungkook is still on his way, in no rush. He hates to be in the middle of a cramped crowd. Although he knows he would most likely be allowed to pass through the line, he prefers to simply arrive a little later than everybody else. It gives him a grand entrance, in some type of way — always drawing the eyes of people, shocked that he actually would show up. He knows the game.

“We’ve arrived, Jeon.” The chauffeur announces as they park in front of the building. Jungkook’s slick black car is turning the heads of those curious to see who would show up late. With his type of car, surely it’s somebody of importance. Jungkook wonders if Jimin is anxious to see him, or maybe even a tad bit worried about whether he would show up or not.

Inside, Jimin floats from person to person as they arrive, thanking them for coming and receiving compliments in return. He was right about his choice in clothing as he began to attract a lot of attention, especially from his agency mate Taehyung.

Tae is best known for his work in accessory modelling, using his smooth hands, tapered wrists and long neck to his advantage. His physical assets are a prized commodity when displaying very luxe pieces of jewellery. His ads often display on Cartier and Rolex storefronts, in case you didn’t know. Like he’d ever let you forget. Being managed by the same company often meant Tae got the chance to work alongside Jimin, always taking the opportunity to shamelessly flirt.

“You should have asked me to model for you, Jimin.” He places his hand on the small of Jimin’s back and toys with the sequins there. He leans close to Jimin’s ear and breathes gently, tickling his cuff—“You know I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Jimin clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure. “I’ll keep that in mind, Tae. Thank you for offering.” Taehyung cracks a sly smile and begins to walk away, turning to look over his shoulder, making sure Jimin watches. “Congratulations on the collection, by the way. Can’t wait to see how Jeon pulled off the promo shots.”

Jimin smiles back and nods as Tae leaves to greet their manager, then releases a sigh and looks around the room for Jungkook, wondering if he’d ever show up.

Jungkook steps out of the car as his chauffeur holds the door open, then heads towards the venue’s front door and is immediately allowed to pass by the small queue waiting to enter. Perks of being a celebrity, supposedly. As expected, he’s greeted with smiles, almost flocked by other celebrities trying to make a connection — mostly for business, others for personal reasons. He doesn’t smile, however. He simply excuses himself as he moves further, eyes searching for the one blonde he came for in the first place. Unsuccessful in his mission, he opts for alcohol, heading towards the bar area to lean against the counter. He orders a large pint of beer, never truly understanding those able to drink whiskey. As he chugs down a few gulps, his eyes finally spot the man he was looking for. Only question is... who’s that whispering in his ear?

Jungkook’s eyes spark in recognition when the mystery man pulls away to leave. Ah, Kim Taehyung. Another model that has been up his ass for quite a while to have his photo taken. Well, he just blew his chance on that one... The younger remains at his spot, halfway done with his drink and eyes fixated on the blonde. He’s fascinated by his effortless beauty, simply socializing with others. He quickly remembers he brought a small camera, just as high quality as his larger ones, but much more subtle for places like this. He places the beer back on the counter before aiming his camera at Jimin, snapping a few secret shots.

Absolutely angelic.

Jimin taps his foot to the music, leaning against the bar at the back of the room while he waits for his cocktail to arrive. He has no shame in ordering a cosmopolitan, loving the blushed pink color and sweet taste. He was craving something sweet after his photo shoot yesterday—banana milk still ripe on his tongue. He finds himself wondering if he should order something for Jungkook, pleading to make the impression of a courteous host, but decides he’d rather wait to see the man first. Drink in hand, he sways his hips to the music, combing through the crowd, shaking hands and kissing other fellow agency members on the cheek as he brushes past them. Now on his second cosmo, he’s feeling loose and a little impatient. His lips curl delicately around the rim of the glass to sip down the last of the pink liquid. He thumbs a stray droplet from his bottom lip and decides it’s time to head backstage and check in.

Jungkook keeps his eyes fixed on the elder the entire time, enjoying the opportunity to observe how Jimin acts when he isn’t aware of the younger's eyes. A cosmopolitan, huh? Jimin would order such a drink. Kook wants to taste for himself — having never tried one before. He normally goes for beer, which he finishes off and sets down on the counter with a clonk. He’s still watching Jimin, the social butterfly that he is. A beautiful, gorgeous butterfly...the way his plush lips curl around the rim of the glass — mesmerizing. What’s even more devastating is the subtle swipe of his thumb across his lower lip.

“Park Jimin, you are dangerous...” Jungkook mutters to himself as his cautious eyes follow the man. He glances down at his watch, knowing it was almost showtime. He decides to announce his presence beforehand, sauntering over, keeping his gaze on Jimin until he’s next to him. He gives his arm a light nudge with his own.

“Hey.”

It takes Jimin a couple seconds to register that the nudge was coming from Jungkook, then stops dead in his tracks by the man’s dark suit and styled hair. He can smell a woodsy musk coming from him, enchanting his senses. Jimin is so impressed by how well Jungkook has cleaned up that he can barely take his eyes off him.

“Hey, you,” Jimin smiles and wraps him in a friendly hug—perhaps a little too friendly given his liquid courage. “You look great,” he gushes and gives the man a light kiss on the cheek like he did with his friends — just a little longer than the rest. “Decided to finally show up, huh? Fashionably late—I get it.” The model teases, enjoying how wide Jungkook’s eyes get when he doesn’t treat him like a big-shot. “Let’s get you settled in, Jeon.” Jimin loops his arm into the younger’s and leads him to the bar to buy a new round of cosmos. “The show is about to begin. I saved you a seat at the front.”

Jungkook is no stranger to friendly kisses on the cheek from acquaintances, but this was the first time when coming from another man — that it made a shiver run down his spine. Jimin’s lips are soft, plushy, and feel like a kiss from an angel itself. It is, unfortunately, addicting . A part of him can’t help but wonder how they’d feel on his own lips... Jungkook shrugs off his continuous thoughts; there are more important things to think about than kissing the man holding him close... right? He lets the smaller man guide him towards the bar, eyes immediately falling on the sweet drink and licking his lips at the sight. It looks delicious, so he decides to get one as well, then picks it up and tilts his head back, tasting it with a larger gulp than one normally would . T he sweetness coats his tongue and leaves a small layer of liquid on his lower lip.

“I’m technically not late...the show hasn't started yet.” He smiles, the mix of beer and cosmo slowly hitting his system. Kook glances up at Jimin. “Shall we go, then?”

Arm in arm, Jimin guides Jungkook towards the runway. He holds him close to navigate through the dense crowd. Heads turn as the two of them enter the room, some trying their best to network with the photographer as he passes by. “You’re getting more attention than me,” Jimin comments over the sound of bustling gossip. “If I was smart I would have offered to dress you in a suit from my collection. You’d fit right in with the models.”

“That would have been a smart choice,” Jungkook jokes, eyes continuously falling back to where Jimin holds his bicep close, and where their bodies pressed together. He barely notices the passing words of others and they completely go over his head. His focus is solely on Jimin’s sweet tone, trying to keep his eyes up to look around. He isn’t usually comfortable in crowded areas, so he’s grateful to the model for keeping him grounded. “Maybe I would’ve accepted.”

“Then it’s settled,” Jimin says with a squeeze to his arm, noting how the tall handsome man melts into his touch. “And it’s not going to be just any suit, obviously. It has to be custom .” He leads Jungkook close to the stage and takes a seat next to him, keeping his body close for comfort in the hectic bustle of celebrities. “Think of it as a tip for your hard work these past few days,” he adds.

...Or an excuse to run his hands over more of the photographer’s toned body as he takes measurements. Either way, it would give him another opportunity to have the man alone.

“I wouldn’t expect anything but custom,” Jungkook scrunches his nose as he smiles, joking on his own expense. “That, or I wouldn’t be Jeon Jungkook.” He slumps down on the chair as Jimin follows to take a seat next to him. Their sides are still pressed together tightly — not that the younger has anything against it. Rather the opposite. He enjoys the close proximity. His gaze continously steals glances at the elders flawless profile. He knew he was admiring the man already, but up close...it’s next level. Jungkook’s eyes travel down the soft slope of Jimin’s nose until they land on the plush, tinted lips that are blessed with a natural pout. ...it should be illegal.

Jimin may not have noticed Jungkook’s covert photos earlier, but he’s not blind to the man’s roaming stare as it fixates on every facet of his face. Jimin sneaks a few glances for himself, or rather, unabashedly eye-fucks him. Everything about the guy is alluring—the long dark hair, the sharp jawline and slightly exposed chest under his low-cut black shirt. Jimin almost salivates at the thought of claiming his mouth in front of all these strangers. It must be the third cosmo in his system. He’s feeling loose and uninhibited, even more now that he knows his interests aren’t misplaced. If Jungkook keeps staring, Jimin might have to fast-track that personal fitting.

The lights dim to indicate that the show was about to begin.

“Excuse me,” Jimin leans close to whisper, purposefully pressing his glossy pout against Jungkook’s ear, anxious to see how it affects him, “I’ve got a speech to give.” He then stands and gracefully floats to stage to find his footing in front of the microphone.

Jungkook forces himself to tightly swallow down the groan threatening to escape his lips when he feels Jimin’s breath fan over his ear. The scent of alcohol mixed with the elders sweet perfume is intoxicating. One turn of his head and his lips could’ve been on Jimin’s. The thought was awfully tempting, but before he was able to react in any way, the blonde withdrew himself to stride towards the stage. Jimin’s ring-clad fingers delicately wrap around the microphone stand, and the younger straightens his posture — gaze still fixed on the gorgeous angel before him. He reaches down his pocket, fingers gripping around his camera. He really wants to capture the moment.

“I thank each and every one of you for attending, what I hope to be, the very beginning of a successful launch.”

Cameras flash from the crowd—a few media sources, fashion bloggers and excited industry mates document the moment. Jimin gulps down a small wave of nerves and continues on. He’s a professional. He can do this.

“My team and I are excited to share a first look at the ‘Be Your Light’ collection, created to evoke confidence and empower those who wear it to show their true selves.” He clasps his hands together in thanks and gives a small bow to the crowd. “Enjoy the show and please look forward to more in the coming weeks...” He looks over to Jungkook, as if speaking directly to the man as he delivers his finishing statement — “...there’s much more yet to come.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to lift his own camera along with everybody else, snapping a few closeup shots of this big moment. It’s huge, and Kook can’t help but smile with pride. He’s gonna go so far, especially with his assistance. As soon as their eyes meet, Jungkook lowers his camera to truly see Jimin as he finishes on stage. His heart flutters — excitement evident as he flashes the gorgeous angel a toothy grin followed with a nod of approval. There surely is much more to come. And, hopefully, more projects together.

Jimin can’t wipe the smile from his face. The applause of the room carries on as he walks back to his seat. But barely there, he’s tugged to the side by a familiar pair of smooth hands.

“Loved the speech,” Taehyung slurs, urging the model to sit beside him instead. The scent of dark rum is heavy on his breath. He was never very good at staying composed during events like this. Deep bass thunders from the rafters as the first model hits the runway.

“Thanks Tae, but I’ve got to—“ Jimin is silenced by the man as he grips his face and tries to kiss him roughly, missing by an inch.

“You’re such a TEASE tonight,” Tae snarls. “Come home with me.”

His proposition is blunt as per usual. Jimin politely shakes his head and smiles as if nothing happened, trying to reduce the amount of attention they’re already drawing. To his relief, their manager intervenes and coaxes Tae to sit back in his seat, allowing Jimin enough time to slip back to his rightful spot beside Jungkook.

Jungkook saw everything. Watching Taehyung attempt to kiss Jimin was probably one of the most frustrating feelings he had ever felt. That’s when he knew he didn’t want anybody else to have a chance with the blonde. It also meant...Jungkook really has an interest in the man. It’s obvious, but he wouldn’t acknowledge it — not until he saw Jimin almost kiss somebody who wasn’t him. The very moment Jimin sat down next to him, his tongue continuously prodded the inside of his cheek in annoyance. One arm quickly wraps around the elders shoulders, pulling him closer to talk to through the loud music. “What the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” Jimin mumbles, crossing his legs. He and Tae have unfinished business but his fashion show is far from the appropriate venue to address it. In the past, Tae’s everlasting propositions would often bring him to his knees and he knew it well. Behind the curtain of a runway, to the filthy floor of a club bathroom. But that was the past. Jungkook probably doesn’t need to know that part, not when he’s already so annoyed. “He just had too much to drink,” Jimin clarifies, “it’s fine.”

Jungkook doesn’t even attempt to hide the way he scrunches his nose in annoyance. Maybe it’s due to the alcohol, but he presses Jimin closer to himself and fans his breath over the elders ear as he speaks. “You’re not required to stay any longer, right? You did your speech...”

Jimin leans his small body tight to Jungkook, needing to be closer as well, blood warming to his dominant aura. He still feels the white hot stares of neighbouring attendees after the little stunt Taehyung pulled. His stage manager is more than capable of handling the rest of the show, he’s sure of that. If he wants the attention back on the garments and the rest of the show to be a success, it’s best he slips out.

He keeps his voice low enough for only Jungkook to hear — “Get me out of here.”

The words roll off Jimin’s lips, and they’re more than enough for Jungkook to spring into action. A smirk curls on his lips as he stands up, grabbing the elders hand shamelessly.

“Let’s go, then.”

He tugs the blonde along, scuffing through the crowd. On the way out, his eyes meet Taehyung’s sharp gaze as it flickers between the two men hand in hand. Jungkook flashes him a shit eating grin, knowing Tae would simply have nothing to argue about, especially if he ever wants a slight chance to work with the photographer in the future.

He could forget about it, Kook muses to himself.

He leads Jimin to his car, already on cue to leave at Jungkook's say so. He holds the back door open for his company, letting him get seated before joining inside.

Jimin settles in close as the driver begins to take them away. He’s not sure where they’re going and doesn’t care to ask, content as long as it’s far from prying eyes. He slips his hand under Jungkook’s as he misses the feeling of skin on skin, then looks up at the younger with a small smile on his pouty lips. “Thank you,” he says, mentally musing over the many ways he’d like to show him his gratitude. The way Jungkook took command of that situation wrecks Jimin, to say the least. He can’t blink away the image of Jungkook’s jaw tightening, nose scrunching, or how hot his breath felt like fire against his neck as he asked about Taehyung.

Jungkook shrugs lightly, a small smile on his lips at the simple words of gratitude. It’s cute, the way Jimin suddenly seems to shrink beside him when they’re alone. Apparently an audience makes him cocky, but the one-on-one moments together make him look almost... innocent . The duality is exactly why Jungkook feels such a strong pull towards him. The car slowly pulls through a large gated area, turning into a driveway next to a grand mansion. Kook doesn’t wait for the chauffeur to open the door and simply does so himself without a word, waiting for the elder to follow. He hasn’t bothered asking Jimin if he wants to go with him to his home. Then again, Jungkook often does whatever he pleases.

Jimin follows him obediently, noting that perhaps chivalry isn’t dead. He hasn’t had a man open a door for him unless he was paid or obligated to do so. He nods in thanks and marvels at the house he’s about to step into. Just from the outside, it’s beautiful and meticulously landscaped.

“Is this all yours?” Jimin asks, mouth slightly parted in awe. He’s considered himself to be well off for his age, but the younger man takes it to the next level.

Jungkook cranes his neck to observe his house, giving a light nod before he strolls towards the grand front door, fumbling in his pockets to fish out the keys. “All mine.” His lips twitch in a smile, glancing over the shoulder at the blonde. Kook remembers buying his house — the excitement back then was comparable to that of a child on christmas. However, with time, material things grew worthless. In a sense, he’s used to it all, but seeing Jimin’s admiration sparks a pride — an appreciation for his own wealth, perhaps. “Wanna come inside?” he asks cheekily, as if that wasn’t already the plan.

Jimin nods again and follows him in. It isn’t normal by any stretch to have as much self-built notoriety and materialistic gain before the age of 30... or any age, really. It makes him even more curious to know the young photographer. It’s not the fame or fortune that draws him in; it’s the reminder that Jeon Jungkook, GJK-branded icon, photographer to the stars, is also the milk-sipping boy with manners and a childlike glimmer in his eye. What a conundrum, Jimin thinks. His eyes flick to Jungkook’s ass as he walks through the grand doors, noting for the first time just how toned it is. A very...alluring conundrum.

Tonight may be the night he discovers even more about the semi-mysterious younger man. He’s almost jittery with anticipation, wondering what he has in store for their evening together.

The doors automatically close behind them — the loud click of the lock echoes in the hallway as Jungkook slowly saunters towards the open space of the living room, gesturing towards the couch to offer Jimin a seat. Kook paces through the room to reach the open kitchen, stepping behind the only thing separating the two rooms — a large marbled counter, which frames the space deemed a kitchen. He opens the fridge and scans his various beverages with a hum.

Yes, he has a fridge solemnly dedicated to drinks...

“Want something to drink? I have alcohol, soda, energy drinks...even bananamilk. You liked that, right?” Kook’s oddball mind almost craves to mix alcohol with his favorite sweet drink. It could be the best of both worlds, as a kids show once told him.

Already three cosmos into the night, Jimin decides to stray from the sweet side of the flavor spectrum, at least until he’s a little more drunk.

“I did like the banana milk...” he’s almost tempted to take him up on the offer just knowing how pleased Jungkook would be by the decision, but no, he needs something that will make him a little more... uninhibited . He taps his fingers against his chin in thought, taking a seat on the big couch. “I’ll take a glass of wine. Red, if you have it.”

Jungkook hums as he crouches to the bottom of the fridge. His stack of unopened wine bottles is finally coming to use as he doesn’t normally drink wine too often himself. He supposes he can indulge in some as well. “Does the brand matter?” Kook asks, but not really waiting for an answer before he picks one that he remembers getting as a gift from... well , he doesn’t remember. All he knows is it’s of decent quality. Pricey, to say the least. The bottles clonk together as he grabs the one he thinks fits Jimin best, forgetting about his craving for the milk as he returns to the couch with the large bottle and two glasses in hand. “If you want anything specific I can always have it delivered.” He murmurs as he places the glasses down and pulls up his sleeves to open the bottle with a pop. Pop is also an accurate description of what the veins in his hands did as he works the cork out of the bottle neck.

Jimin cannot help the gravitational pull he has towards hands, especially those that do hard work and reflect the fruits of their labor. When Jungkook raises his sleeves, it’s the first time Jimin gets a look at the tattoos that wrap around one arm and down his long fingers. He watches as Jungkook uncorks the bottle and swipes his tongue across his lips to wet them. “Thanks for the offer,” he says quietly, too engrossed in the task at hand. “I’m sure we have everything we need right here.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows tightly draw together as he focuses on pouring the drink into each glass, having no care for the etiquette of ‘filling halfway.’ No, Jungkook fills the glasses until the transparent material is completely red, seeing no reason in being stingy with the drink. When satisfied, he places the bottle on the table and sits down to hand Jimin his overfilled glass while treating himself to the same. He wastes no time in taking a large gulp as he’s not the kind to ‘savor the taste.’

Jimin watched the process and throughout and thought how cute it was that he didn't know how to pour wine. It was just another moment Jimin savoured as unexpected yet endearing. He follows Jungkook’s lead and greedily gulps down a mouthful of the dry merlot. He can tell it’s expensive because it drinks like water and bursts with fruity flavour. He takes another gulp and already feels his alcohol levels rise.

“What do you do around here for fun?” Jimin asks, looking around the room.

Jungkook’s eyes twinkle with excitement at the question, quickly pointing towards the large TV hanging on the wall. “I like video games…” He takes another gulp of his wine, already having downed most of it. He feels the alcohol loosening him up a bit with cheeks a hue of red, puffing up with a smile. “Do you play?”

Jimin swivels to look at the TV and surveys the gaming setup. There’s no doubt the photographer likes to indulge his interests given he owns every console imaginable. He stands with his wine, drinking it steadily as he walks over to the selection of games.

“I’ve played Overwatch before,” he notes, plucking the game and walking it back to Jungkook. “But I won’t go easy on you, Jeon.” He smirks, holding eye contact. He wraps his full lips around the rim of the glass to polish off the rest of his wine, even braver than he was a second ago. “In fact, let’s make this interesting.” His confidence is back in full swing. “Weaker player has to do whatever the other wants, no questions asked.”

Jungkook’s fingers curl around the gamecase — the small pull on his lips quickly turn into a playful smirk at the elders' words. “You won’t go easy on me ?” His smirk morphs, surprised by Jimin’s challenge. He quickly closes his mouth, processing his words as the alcohol amplifies his curiosity about all the possible outcomes of when he wins. Because, obviously, there’s no way Jimin could beat him in overwatch. “Oh... really? ” Jungkook purrs as he stands up, stepping closer to the blonde until their chests merely graze together. His warm breath fans Jimin’s face as he waves the game in the air. “Deal...no questions asked.”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow and wastes no time in turning the game on, then returns to the couch with two controllers and hands one to Jimin. He’s confident, however, a part of him wonders what Jimin would come up with if he did win…

“D-deal,” Jimin repeats softly, blushing. He grips the controller to focus on something tangible. His heart thunders in his chest as Jungkook’s warm breath still lingers on his flesh. “Before we get started,” he slightly slurs and waves his empty glass in the air, feeling loose. “...Refill time?” Overwatch isn’t necessarily the model’s forte but perhaps he can get the upper hand if Jungkook is just a little more inebriated. Not that he’s trying to take advantage…or maybe he is. The opportunity to do whatever he wants with the man, no questions asked? He doesn’t even know where he would start. He almost feels lightheaded by the thought of guiding Jungkook’s tattooed hand to wrap around his throat, punishing him for being indecisive.

Jungkook’s eyes land on the empty glass in Jimin’s hand. …He wants more? One bottle down, and even the younger man can feel that he’s leaning way past tipsy. But , he thinks, what the hell . It’s a night of celebration, after all. Besides, he may not get another chance like this, alone with the gorgeous blonde. There’s no use in wasting it.

“Okay.” He stands up once more to grab another bottle, returning to fill the glasses up to the brim. There isn’t a single bone in Jungkook that can be described as stingy. He’s very generous. “Don’t blame the wine if you lose though,” he slurs out the words and slumps down on the couch. His fingers tightly grip the controller with one hand as he tilts his head back to chug more of his beverage ; throat muscles flexing as he does so.

Who is he kidding? Jimin has never played the game before. Knocking back a large gulp of his drink, he sets the glass aside to focus. It’s already starting; Jungkook eagerly bounces in his seat to kick his ass. Jimin has already accepted defeat—his drunken mind circling the various shenanigans a man like Jungkook could be interested in. He combs a hand through his styled hair and ruffles it, relaxing into the couch.

“Let’s get it,” he smiles, biting down on his lip.

Jungkook’s nose scrunches up in a snort at Jimin’s words, repeating them himself in a breathy laugh — “Let’s get it!”

After not long at all , t he younger isn’t surprised to see that Jimin has no fucking idea what he’s doing. His cocky attitude was simply for show. Kook barely has to try, half-focused on glancing over at the blonde’s reactions and attempts to figure out the game. A small crease forms between Jimin’s eyebrows, so endearing. The pout on his rosey lips is... alluring . With the bet in mind, Jungkook’s mind wanders…

As the game continues on, it becomes very apparent that the blonde is going to lose his own bet. He keeps running into walls and firing at trees. With a frustrated sigh, he releases the controller and lets it flop pathetically in his lap. “The tree moved, I swear!” To think, he did it to himself. What a fool —he should have chosen something more his speed like Katamari Damacy. He scrambles to pick the controller back up, steadfast in upholding his air of perfection, but it’s too late. …it's time for his punishment.

Jungkook’s toothy smile grows, moreso at the reactions he draws out of the man next to him rather than the actual victory of the game.

“What a dumb tree, huh?” He snickers, putting the controller on the table before turning his whole body towards Jimin, swirling the wine glass in hand. Jungkook rests one arm behind Jimin and leans in real close. “Now, who lost the bet?” He clearly knows, but he really craves hearing it. Call it an ego boost, but hearing the blonde accept his loss in a flustered manner is an incredibly amusing sight.

Swallowing his pride, perhaps a little too easily, Jimin concedes with a light pink blush adorning his cheeks.

“You won, Jeon.” He finishes off the rest of his wine glass and enjoys the floaty euphoric feeling of being out of control but still very present. “Fair and square,” he breathes, inching forward, resting his hands in his lap obediently. “You hold all the power. What would you like me to do?”

‘You hold all the power.’ The words made a shiver run down Jungkook’s spine. It could be innocent, but with the tension between them, that was highly unlikely.

Jungkook’s mind wanders further as his senses amplify and unhinge by the amount of alcohol running through his system. He places his wine glass on the table, now daring to settle his free hand on Jimin’s thigh to give it a soft squeeze. His eyes never waver from the blonde as he tries to draw more reactions from him.

“No questions asked...right?”

#fic: mused obsession #yandere jungkook #jungkook x jimin #jikook #yandere bts #bts mxm #chimoona #sombreboy #boymeetsmxm #jikook fic

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softspideys · 4 years

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Fruit Lover (Tom Holland x reader)

summary: you’re working as a cashier at the local grocery store. tom is a stranger who keeps giving you fruit.

warnings: none

word count: 2.6k

pairings: tom holland x reader

a/n: this is the first thing I’ve written in quite a while and I really am happy with it! just some cute, tooth-rotting fluff, I hope you enjoy:)

Being a cashier at the grocery store wasn’t exactly how you thought you’d be spending your summer. But you were home from college with nothing to do, and money was money.

Aside from dealing with impatient old people or bratty, screaming kids, the job wasn’t really that bad either. And, to make things better, your usual register was right next to your best friend Zendaya’s. When either of you had crazy long lines or were being berated by someone for not scanning their expired coupon, you could just glance up and find her already looking over her shoulder at you, rolling her eyes.

You were unlucky enough to be working the closing shift one Saturday night. It was 10pm, meaning the place was basically empty. You’d been standing at your register for hours by now and your feet were killing you. Despite the air conditioning in the store, the humidity outside still managed to find its way in.

You’d found a pen on the counter and were mindlessly doodling on the palm of your hand when someone in front of you cleared their throat. You jumped, looking up, and immediately thought oh.

The guy standing in front of you was about your age, and he was cute. He was wearing a white t-shirt and black mesh shorts, a baseball cap pulled over his head. You liked the way his dark hair curled over his ears and the bottom of the hat.

“Sorry,” you said guiltily, putting the pen down and starting to scan his items. “I, um, didn’t see you.”

“S’okay,” he said with a smile. “You looked like you were concentrating pretty hard. What were you drawing?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, uh . . .” You weren’t sure why, but you held up your hand so he could see the flowers you’d drawn on your palm before realizing how stupid that was. You swallowed and quickly resumed your scanning.

“Nice,” he said, to your surprise. “You’re lucky; I’m a terrible artist. No one ever wants me on their Pictionary team.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you just nodded. “You must like fruit,” you commented, motioning to his groceries: a hand of bananas, some strawberries, a mango, and two kiwis. Oh, and some bread and milk.

He laughed and you felt your face get hot. Why did a cute boy have the power to turn you into a flustered, nervous mess?

“I guess you could say that,” he said. “But doesn’t everyone?”

You shrugged as you began bagging everything. “Sure. I mean, I don’t really like bananas, but mangoes and strawberries are good. I’ve never had a kiwi though.”

“Hmm,” he said, almost thoughtfully. He didn’t say anything else, and you’d never been good at keeping the conversation going with customers anyway, so you didn’t either.

After he paid, you handed him the receipt and pushed his bag towards him. “Have a good night,” you said, already starting to replay the conversation in your head and cursing your awkwardness.

Instead of answering, he reached into the bag, pulled out one of his kiwis, and offered it to you. “Here,” he said. “For you.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You said you’d never had a kiwi before,” he said, nodding at it. “So here. Try it.”

“I—I can’t,” you stammered, although you weren’t actually sure if that was true. There was a rule that employees couldn’t accept tips from customers, but you’d never heard anything against fruit.

“Sure you can,” he said. “It’s already been paid for. Just take it.”

Hesitantly, you accepted. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. If I can convert just one person into being a kiwi-lover, then my work here is done.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

He grinned back, shouldering the bag and starting towards the exit. “No problem. See you around.”

You were still smiling when Zendaya approached your register, plopping a bottle of chocolate milk and a magazine on the belt. “Now that was interesting,” she said.

“He gave me a kiwi,” you said, marveling at it. She rolled her eyes.

“I wish hot customers would come to my lane and give me stuff. Well, there was that one guy who tried to give me a lock of his hair, but I guess that’s not the same thing.”

“I’ve never seen him around here before,” you said, carefully placing the fruit on your counter. “I wonder why he picked me?”

“He probably thought you were cute, duh,” Zendaya said.

You immediately shook your head. “No way. He probably just thought it would be funny. I doubt I’ll ever see him again anyway.”

* * *

A week later, you found yourself working the same shift. All of your other friends were out partying while you were bored out of your mind on a Saturday night. Even Zendaya had taken the night off. She’d tried to convince you to do the same, but you knew you really could use the money. Besides, a small part of you was hoping you’d see the fruit boy again.

You’d worked afternoons during the week and he hadn’t come back, as far as you could tell. You were just beginning to think you were right about never seeing him again when the doors slid open and he walked in.

Heart pounding, you craned your neck and watched as he went into the produce section. He disappeared past your line of vision after that, so you had no choice but to stand and wait.

Quit being stupid, you told yourself. He might not even come to your register. He probably gives fruit to everyone who checks him out.

You forced yourself not to look for him, or even look up, until a familiar voice said, “Hello.”

And there he was, smiling at you and looking soft in a gray hoodie. “Hi,” you said, clearing your throat. “How are you?”

“Good, thanks. Working the late shift again?”

“Yeah,” you said. You didn’t say anything else, concentrating on scanning his groceries, before you added, “I usually work late on Saturdays and Sundays, and afternoons during the week.”

“Gotcha,” he said casually, but he was still smiling.

“More fruit?” you asked quickly, nodding to the items you were currently bagging.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You ever tried a papaya?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“What’d you think of the kiwi?”

You grinned at the memory. “It was really good. I had it with my breakfast the next morning.”

“Good.” He paid for his groceries and, like last time, reached into the bag and pulled out a fruit. “Here. Papaya next.”

This time you didn’t hesitate, reaching out and taking it from him. “Thanks,” you said, feeling your smile grow wider.

He returned it, and you noticed he had brown eyes. “Sure,” he said, already starting for the door. “Have a good night.”

And that was how it started. Over the next few weeks, you found yourself being gifted with not flowers or jewelry, but fruits. He came during the afternoon a few times, but as the store was usually busier then and there was less time to talk, he mostly stuck to late Saturday nights.

He always went to your register, even if you had a long line and Zendaya had no customers at all. He also made a point to give you fruits you’d never tried before. Some of them you’d heard of, like pomegranates, figs, and guavas, while others you didn’t even know were sold in the store, like jackfruit and kumquats.

You liked pretty much all of the fruits he’d given you so far, but your favorite was the figs, only because that was when you learned his name.

“It just seems unfair that you know mine and I don’t know yours,” you’d said as you handed him his receipt. “I call you ‘Fruit Guy’ in my head.”

He’d laughed, reaching into the bag and pulling out a fig to place on your counter. “I’ve had worse nicknames.”

He’d started to walk towards the exit, and you thought he was going to leave without telling you. But then he’d turned and smiled at you. “It’s Tom.”

Tom.

Zendaya insisted Tom had a crush on you—why else would he come to your register and give you fruits?

Even though the thought of it made your palms sweaty, you knew she was probably right. You also knew that you didn’t want Tom to lose interest in you, or worse: think that you didn’t like him too. You had to act soon.

So, you waited until you were working the next Saturday night. Four hours of your shift had already gone by, and you’d been a nervous wreck throughout all of it. Where was he?

Finally, the doors slid open and you saw Tom walk in. You watched as he went towards the deli, disappearing from your line of vision. You didn’t know how long it would take him to do his shopping, but all of a sudden it felt like you couldn’t wait any longer.

After a few more agonizing minutes, you finally thought fuck it. You placed a “CLOSED” sign on your belt and turned the light above your register off before going after him.

You wandered up and down the aisles before you found him at the very end of the store in the frozen food section. He had the door to one of the freezers open and appeared to be deep in thought, staring at the ice cream. He didn’t even notice you approaching.

“Hi,” you said.

“Oh, hi.” Tom blinked at you before he grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your legs before.”

You forced yourself to not look down at them. “Oh. Yeah. There they are.”

“There they are,” he agreed. “What’s up?”

You took a deep breath. “I was just thinking that this whole time, you’ve been giving me stuff, and I never got you anything in return.”

His smile faded. “I don’t want anything in return. That’s not—that isn’t why I’ve been doing that.”

“No, I know,” you said quickly. “I just thought—well, I thought I’d give you these.” You reached into the pocket of your apron and pulled out—

“Dates?” Tom said, taking them from you and looking very confused.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m giving you dates, and also asking you out on one.”

Tom stared at the bag and then back at you. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Just when you thought maybe you had the wrong idea about all of this, he surged forward and kissed you.

It was like all of your senses had been kicked into overdrive and you were feeling everything at once. His hands were cool from being by the freezers for so long. His eyelashes tickled as they brushed your cheeks. His lips were a little chapped, but soft, moving gently against yours.

“Oh,” you said when you finally broke apart. “Wow.”

He was grinning from ear to ear. “Dates. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. That’s genius, honestly.”

You smiled back, a little shyly. “Thanks.”

“I would really like to go out with you,” he said. “It’s probably time I got your number, right? So I don’t have to keep stalking you at your job?”

You exchanged numbers and he asked, “So, when are you free?”

“Well, I’m probably about to be fired for leaving my register without permission,” you said, only half-joking. “So really, anytime.”

He laughed. “Do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow, then? I can cook. Kind of. We can have a picnic somewhere.”

“Sure,” you said with a smile. “I’ll even bring dessert. How do you feel about fruit salad?”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland x you #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #writing #please enjoy this

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nastybuckybarnes · 5 years

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Bad Dream - One

Pairing: Dark!Steve X Reader

Summary: A year after wiping your memory and keeping you for himself, Steve Rogers is happy. Happier than he’s ever been. With you and your daughter, life couldn’t be any better. The only problem? You’re starting to remember things.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Manipulation

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: here’s the madness sequel part one. Hope you guys like it. I’m also sick right now again cause my immune system hates me.

!!!THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!!

MADNESS MASTERLIST

EDITED POORLY!

Comment/Send an Ask to be added to the taglist!

~*~

Your daughter babbles from in her highchair, smushed up bananas decorating her chubby face.

“All done your... mashed banana?” Sarah giggles and rubs her hands in the mess she’s made. You scoop her out of her highchair and smile brightly at her while bringing the empty baby food jar to the counter.

“Okay. Let’s clean you up then get dinner ready. Daddy’s gonna be home soon and we want him happy, right?” She simply looks at you with her big blue eyes, her tiny little fist in her mouth.

You hold her on your hip and grab her playpen, pulling it out of the living room and into the kitchen. “What should I make? Huh? I’m thinking pasta.” She babbles incoherently and you chuckle. “You agree?”

You wipe her face with a wet paper towel, laughing as she splutters lightly and pushes you away. You clean her up then give her two kisses on each cheek, giggling as she squeals happily.

“Now, dance around in here while I work on dinner, okay?” You set her down in her playpen and start making some Fettuccine Alfredo.

Steve climbs off of his motorcycle and stares up at his house, a small smile on his face.

Tony bought it for you and him after a month of your recovery. Of course, Tony insisted on going all out. It’s got enough space for the three of you and definitely a fourth, if Steve decides that’s what he wants. It’s fairly modern, with some old-timey and homey touches from Steve.

He saunters up the steps and unlocks the door, his smile growing as he smells dinner on the stove.

Sarah yells some baby nonsense from the kitchen at the sound of the door opening, and Steve can’t help but laugh softly.

"Steve?” You call from the kitchen, walking through the dining room and into the hallway to greet him.

As soon as he sees you he calms down immediately. Any and all stresses leave as soon as you come into view.

“Hey honey,” he whispers, his arms winding around your torso as you approach him.

“Hi! We missed you! How was work?” He presses a kiss to your cheek then sighs. “Stark’s been on my ass these past few days. But I’m glad I’m home now. Where’s my little munchkin?” He walks with you through the house, laughing as he sees his daughter bouncing happily in her playpen. She claps her hands together at the sight of her father, and Steve’s heart melts.

He never really thought he’d care too much for the child you gave him, but the moment your daughter opened her blue eyes, he was done for.

“Hey Princess. How’s daddy’s little angel?” He coos, picking her up and kissing all over her chubby face. She kicks her feet and grabs his nose, giggling like crazy.

“She’s been babbling all day. Looking around for you in our bedroom, knocking on your office door.” Steve's face softens and he kisses her hand.

“My baby missed me? Yeah? I missed you to, Sarah baby. I missed you oh so much!” He rocks her back and forth and you watch to two of them, a smile on your face as she relaxes against his shoulder.

“I made us some Fettuccine Alfredo, if you’re hungry,” you whisper, hugging him from behind. “Sounds good, darling.” He goes to put Sarah back into her playpen but, alas, she refuses, clinging to him as tight as she can.

He chuckles and shakes his head but keeps her against his chest while walking towards the kitchen, you following close behind.

You give him a plate of food and serve yourself one, smiling at the look of pure happiness on Steve’s face.

~*~

“I’ve got a mission coming up soon,” Steve whispers, his arm wrapped snuggly around your waist while the two of you watch TV together.

“How long?” You ask softly, fingers tracing absentminded little patterns on his chest.

“Not sure... a week, maybe two.” You nod then sigh, kissing his shoulder then snuggling back up against him.

“We’ll miss you. We always do.” He nods, squeezing you closer for a moment then relaxing again. “I know. And I’ll miss you both. Sarah’s getting so big so fast,” he whispers, shaking his head at the thought of his seven month-old daughter and just how quickly she’s growing.

“She really is.”

Almost as if she knew you were talking about her, Sarah’s whining cries fill the air.

With a hearty sigh, you heave yourself off of the couch and head up the stairs to get your daughter.

“Bring her down here, yeah?” Steve calls from his place on the couch.

“Alright.”

You head into the nursery and scoop Sarah up in your arms, shushing her softly and holding her close to your chest. She immediately grabs at your breast, no doubt hungry, and you sigh, slowly making your way back downstairs.

You sit down next to Steve and stroke Sarah’s hair gently. “She hungry?” He asks, eyes darkening as he looks at your heavy breasts.

“Yeah. Always hungry.” He reaches around you and helps tug your shirt and bra beneath your breasts, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as his fingers brush over your swollen nipples.

You hold Sarah carefully in your arms and lean against Steve as she starts suckling, her cries silenced as she fills her belly.

“I still can’t believe you made this,” he whispers, toying with your free nipple.

“Can’t believe your beautiful body... produced such an amazing baby. I can’t believe your body supported and created life. I want it to happen again.” You smile, fingers gently tugging through his hair.

“If that’ll make you happy.” Those words. Those beautiful words bring him so much joy.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips then ducking down and wrapping his lips around your nipple.

He sucks hard, hard enough to definitely brush and make it tender tomorrow, and you wince.

“C-can we wait until I put Sarah down? It feels wrong to do this with her here.” Steve pulls away with a groan. “Don't you want to make me happy?” You nod vigorously. “Of course I do! I just... I can’t give you the attention you deserve while I’m feeding Sarah. I wanna give you all my attention.” He raises his eyebrows and nods, allowing you to finish feeding Sarah before giving him what he wants.

When Sarah’s asleep in her crib, snoring softly, you return to Steve and straddle his lap.

“I’m yours. Whatever you want from me, you can have it,” you whisper, kissing his neck. He grips your waist tightly then ducks his head down and pulls one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard.

You moan at the sensation, rocking your hips against his and breathing heavily.

“M’gonna fuck you hard... gonna fuck another baby into you. Fill you up so you’re nice and round with my child. You want that? You want me to put another baby in you? Cum in that tight pussy?” You nod furiously, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

He lifts you up a bit so you’re off of his lap and pulls his cock out of his pants.

“You want my cock?” You nod again, trying to wiggle your way down. His grip is far too tight though, and he keeps you above him.

“Pull your panties aside and get that pussy ready for me.” You do as he says, pulling your panties aside and moaning at the feel of the cool breeze against your soaked pussy.

Steve inhales deeply through his nose, the tangy scent of you only making him harder. He lines you up with his cock then pulls you down fast. You wince at the press of him against your cervix, his impressive length hitting all the sensitive spots inside of you.

He gives you a few moments to adjust before he starts moving you, thrusting up into you while pulling you down onto his cock.

You moan softly, gripping his wrists and tossing your head back as he fucks up into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good for me... Fuck...” You nod along with his words, mewling as the pressure in your lower abdomen builds.

He fucks your cunt brutally, with zero remorse and you absolutely love it.

“Such a good pussy... always so tight.... so good...” Your jaw drops and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Please... I’m gonna cum... please...” He fucks you harder, the way you sound so soft and so obedient bringing him that much closer to the edge.

“Fuck! Fuck I-I’m... oh Fuck!” Your body convulses, pussy clenching and pulsating on his thick, gorgeous cock.

“Fuck, baby! Cum all over my cock. Fuck!” You cry out in almost pain as he fucks you even harder, chasing his own release.

His thrusts stutter then stop, filling you with his cum. You clamp down even harder on his cock, pussy milking all of his cum. “Good girl, greedy cunt taking all of my cum.” You nod, moaning lowly as your body starts to relax, spasming every now and then.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me. My good girl.”

~*~

#Steve rogers x reader #dark fic #trigger warning: Rape #Triggering content #dark!Steve Rogers #dark!fic #dark!steve #dark!marvel #Steve rogers x reader fanfic #dark series #madness #madness sequal #dark Steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x reader dark au #Steve rogers x reader dark fic #Steve rogers x reader Dark!fic

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shachihata · 5 years

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traffic jam // niru kajitsu theory post

This is a theory post about the song Traffic Jam by Niru Kajitsu, ft. v_flower; the music video was drawn by Akashi! Ultimately, in my opinion, the meaning of the song boils down to it being a message about the dangers of anonymity and the cyclical nature of blame and guilt. For the English lyrics, I’ll be using tosiaki’s translation of the song, with some of my own minor corrections for grammar and the like. Fair warning, there’s a bit of suicide imagery throughout the music video, so if you’re sensitive to that, I’d proceed with caution.

The song features two main characters: Flurry and Welter, although they take on two different forms through the plot of the music video. Flurry is the woman, and Welter is the man; for reference, I’ll be referring to the less-humanoid versions of them as Anon Flurry and Anon Welter, respectively (I’ll explain these titles in the theory section of the post).

LITERAL PLOT

The song starts off with a car crash, and the eyes in the background flicking towards it; the people who’ve been hit are Flurry and Welter, as you can see from Flurry’s yellow dress and earbuds and Welter’s hair.

The businessman who’s hit them is horrified, and attempts to pray for forgiveness/hang himself to escape the blame for their deaths, only for Anon Flurry and Welter to be watching. Anon Welter is holding scissors to cut down the rope and Anon Flurry has an insect net to catch the businessman as he falls. The businessman attempts to run…

...only to be caught in a car accident of his own.

Anon Welter is shown explaining to a bystander what happened, while Anon Flurry seems to be listening to other people arguing over the events Flurry was caught in (I’d personally assume this is some kind of interview, due to a brief scene at 0:30 where Anon Flurry is posing much more obviously at a press conference.)

There are a few more surreal scenes in between 0:50 and 2:40, featuring some dancing fruit, Anon Flurry/Welter alternatively flirting/fighting with each other, and a scene where they’re humming along to the music while looking like they’re about to go to a medieval-themed abstract wedding, but in terms of pure plot, all there is to really take away is that the two of them look for trouble while being haunted by their more human counterparts/consciences.

The two of them are watching YouTube (or NND, if you’re watching the NND version of it!), with the car crash being the video playing, and what looks to be Maddy Marmalade, Wozwald, and A Mistaken Belief of Love in the sidebar. The door behind them opens, and they’re shocked to see…

...themselves in the light behind them.

They revert to the more human Flurry and Welter, and are tormented by the new Anon Flurry and Welter.

As Flurry and Welter attempt to run away, the new Anon Flurry and Welter sit back and watch them. At the end of the music video, the same businessman from the beginning is seen getting back into the car that hit the two of them, implying that the plot loops on infinitely.

THEORY

The song’s meaning boils down to it being a cautionary message about, essentially, the Blame Game. Anon Flurry and Welter are representations of mass media, public opinion, anonymous sources, etc. while Flurry, Welter, and the businessman are victims being exploited for the sake of drama and attention. I’ll be going through the whole video, starting from the beginning, in the context of this theme.

パシャパシャとフラッシュ焚いたまあなんて可哀想な

With click, click, it flashed, “Well, how pitiful.”

Firstly, we can see Flurry and Welter being killed by the businessman in the car crash. The eyes represent how the minute any disaster occurs, there’s suddenly a million eyes watching it, no matter how personal it may be -- and a million people who weren’t involved in the incident itself giving their opinions on it, being shown by Anon Flurry at the press conference, obviously not having been killed like real Flurry was in the accident. She’s here for the attention -- instead of talking to the audience, she’s posing, like she’s acting in a movie.

In the second image, we see Anon Welter’s hands blinding one of the bystanders who saw the accident -- the line here, translated, reads “Well, how pitiful.” The lyrics in this section refers to both the flashing of the cameras of the press conference as well as the publicity that an accident like this would immediately get, with the media caring more about the general spectacle than the actual victims of the crash; the condescending nature of the bystander’s response show how desensitized the public’s become to horrifying incidents like this, once again, focusing more on the spectacle and asking who’s to blame.

許さねえや追い込めや逃げんのかいこの腰抜けが

It can't be forgiven, corner 'em, you fleeing? This coward.

Returning to this image of Anon Flurry and Welter cutting down the businessman from his noose, they demand that the blame for the accident be passed on to somebody -- if there’s a victim, there has to be a murderer, and there’s nobody to blame if the businessman is dead.

ああまただ衝突だ赤信号点滅ださあ

Ah yes, again, it's a crash, a flashing red light, now.

今度はどいつが悪いんだ誰でもいいや

Who's at fault this time? Doesn't matter who,

じゃああいつのせいだ

Then it's this one's fault,

譲り合いもへったくれもない

To hell with compromise.

The businessman is subsequently killed in a car crash of his own in an attempt to escape the watching eyes of Anon Flurry and Welter. In the top picture, you can see Anon Welter at the top and Anon Flurry at the bottom, with many other eyes accompanying their own in yellow -- a hint at how they’re a mere representation of the public as a whole, instead of simply being individual people. Even though the true culprit of the accident is caught, the two of them continue to demand that somebody be put to the guillotine for this new crash, even though it technically provides justice to the original Flurry and Welter who had been killed by the businessman -- Niru Kajitsu illustrating how mass media cares less about justice and the victims and more about the drama of it all. Anon Flurry randomly blaming somebody and saying “to hell with compromise” shows how truth and justice aren’t valued, anymore -- once again, spectacle is.

おいらにゃ関係ない?

“It has nothing to do with me?”

そうは問屋が卸しゃしねえんだわ

The wholesale won't sell this.

Assumedly, the text bubble in the top image is from the person that Anon Flurry’s blamed for the death of the businessman. Anon Welter rejects the accused’s protests, claiming that the “wholesale won’t sell this.” The “wholesale” typically refers to a company that mass-produces goods for the purpose of other retailers to sell them, and in this context, refers to the story that Anon Flurry and Welter have made up -- if the accused refuses to play along, they can’t give the story up to the media and get the attention that they crave.

Deuce Deuce Deuce！

君が逝くまで

Until you pass away,

僕が逝くまで

until I pass away,

痛み分けなどしないんで

we won't cancel the game 'cause of injuries,

Deuce Deuce Deuce！

鍍金が剥げるまで朝が来るまで

until our outer shells fall off, until morning comes,

二人で涎分け合っていよう

let's share the drool between us two.

In the pictures, the rapidly-switching fighting and flirting of Anon Flurry and Welter is repeated in many other places throughout the music video -- I took this to represent how public media and anons on the internet have constantly shifting opinions that, at different moments, both conflict and come into concord with each other. However, the teamwork that overshadows the love-hate tones throughout the video shows that they’re ultimately working towards the same goal -- deception of the public for the sake of views and attention.

Now, onto the actual analysis of the chorus. The repetition of the word “deuce” has multiple meanings, all of which apply to the theme of the video. Firstly, there’s the meaning directly referenced in the chorus, with the “deuce” referring to the two on dice or playing cards -- showing how Anon Flurry and Welter see the entire incident as just a “game”, the two of them having fun as they exploit the suffering of others. Secondly, in tennis, a deuce refers to, essentially, a draw -- a reference to the cyclical nature of the music video, in which Anon Flurry and Welter never truly win and merely become the victims of the next accident (also vaguely referenced in the chorus: “until you pass away / until I pass away.” The two of them are at a stalemate with the other Anon Flurries/Welters stalking them and waiting for them to slip up. This makes more sense in the context of my explanation for the scene when Anon Flurry and Welter are exposed by new versions of themselves.). The last meaning of a deuce is in the use of “deuce” as a euphemism for the word “devil” (i.e. the expression “what the deuce are we supposed to do”). It’s a bit dated, but it could be a reference to the inherent evil of media, Anon Flurry and Welter focusing on the drama of their counterparts’ deaths instead of on the deaths themselves.

The meaning of “until our outer shells fall off” is made clearer later on in the video, when they’re exposed by new versions of themselves. I’ll be explaining this part more thoroughly when we get there.

Now, onto some of the more surreal scenes in the video.

然もさもしいこの魂生を受けたは良いが

Moreover for this self-seeking soul, it's good it received life, but,

粗探し、穴探し飽くなき人の性

Fault-finding, flaw-finding, tireless human nature,

爪灯した火で養生せんとな

Recover by the fire lit by claws.

Personally, I think that the fruit-people are symbols of the people that Anon Flurry and Welter have exploited for the sake of the media. The lemon is put under spotlight, dancing, and putting on a show for the camera; the apple is under spotlight as well, tied to a chair, before an arrow pierces it (once again, putting on a show -- except in this case, it’s metaphorically killed for the sake of it); and the banana is being peeled, with Anon Welter taking spoonfuls of it (how people are “eaten alive” by the media).

The lyrics are pretty straightforward in this part. Anon Flurry and Welter are glad they’re alive to experience the drama of life, but, as “human nature” demands, they’re constantly searching for faults and flaws in others in order to try to fulfill themselves (“recover by”); however, the fire was “lit by claws”, meaning that the gossip they’re trying to fulfill themselves with was never started with good intentions in the first place.

This part of the song is pretty straightforward, as well. The town switching to night shows how there’s a “dark underbelly” to the bright side of themselves that Anon Flurry and Welter try to portray; Anon Flurry’s heart “freezing over” shows how she’s given up on her emotion and empathy in her need for drama and attention; Anon Welter casually sipping on a drink while all of this is going on around him shows how one can numb themselves to the pain they’re causing in others.

雨晒し憂さ晴らし屁理屈の速贄

Weather-worn and distracted from worries, an early sacrifice of sophistry.

The second part of this specific lyric is interesting enough to point out, though. “Sophistry” refers to a fallacious argument, typically made for the purpose of deceiving others. A “sacrifice of sophistry,” I’d assume, refers to Anon Flurry and Welter offering up fallacious stories and arguments to the people around them just for the sake of drama.

The following chorus doesn’t offer much, just more sick animation of Anon Flurry and Welter dancing and another fruit-person performing for the camera. The lyrics after that, though...

不安に駆られてふらふらとさ

Succumbing to unease, staggering,

行き着いたが最後後に引けない

The place arrived at is the last, with no turning back,

ゆりかごから墓場まで亡者

A dead person from bird cage to grave.

This part clarifies the part in the first chorus that refers to Anon Flurry and Welter’s “outer shells.” In these images, you can see how under the masks that the Anons put on, there’s the hint of humanity -- and the lyrics only reinforce this, claiming that they’re “succumbing to unease… a dead person from bird cage to grave.” Anon Flurry and Welter put on a brave mask, being uninvolved with the incident and merely spreading lies about it, but have had to kill off their true selves (the “humanity” inside them) ever since they were bound by the bird cage of societal pressure for attention and success. The implication here is that they’ll never escape until they die -- presumably, in a car accident of their own.

This next image is pretty interesting -- it’s a moment of (relative) silence in the song. Having been preceded by these lyrics that show Anon Flurry and Welter finally feeling uneasy about their decisions, I like to see this as the Anons being trapped by the web of lies and blame and drama that they’ve woven around themselves. I looked it up, and the word “kansou” is translated as “feelings” or, more specifically, somebody asking you “what you think” about something. The Anons have to put on this “holier-than-thou” guise, now, when they’re being asked their opinions on something -- now that they’ve gained the social standing that they so desired, they have to be careful not to lose it.

Unfortunately, their hopes are about to be crushed in the next part of the song (my personal favorite part of the video).

This part of the video is when everything seems to click together. The Anons are watching the car crash again, presumably laughing at it or at the drama that they’ve sparked… until they’re suddenly exposed to the light that they’ve been hiding away from for so long. The minute they’re confronted by another Anon Flurry and Welter, their “outer shells” melt away, as seen in the half-human, half-Anon Flurry in the last image. This sequence, very quickly, reveals the true message behind the song: Anon Flurry and Welter and their human counterparts aren’t just single-instance characters, they’re a representation of the constant cycle of drama, exposure, drama, exposure, that permeates mass media today.

Anon Flurry and Welter could afford to be so bold, constantly looking for trouble and blaming others for the deaths of Flurry and Welter, because they were hiding behind their anonymous masks of a YouTube screen and their “holy” attitudes. Once they’re exposed -- notably, by another set of Anons, who presumably are looking for the same trouble that the originals were -- they immediately lose that “anonymous” mask and are now the subject of the same scrutiny and bullying that they subjected Flurry and Welter to.

俺は人間なんかに成らずに済んだのにな

It'd be fine even if I never become human.

Being “human” -- or, rather, not having the mask of anonymity to hide behind -- is seen as a loss. They don’t want to be Flurry and Welter, the victims of a car crash, they want to be the Anons, who can afford to bully people until their personal victims become victims of a car crash.

さあ往生しよう

Now, let's move on from life,

この終わった世界で Deuceが尽きるまで

In this finished world, until Deuce runs out.

The car crash isn’t a car crash at all -- it’s drama that leaves people socially (or physically) dead, their hardships suddenly making them the center of a sob story instead of the people exploiting it for attention in the first place. Original Anon Flurry and Welter are killed, once again, in an attempt to escape the watching eyes of new Anon Flurry and Welter; a bystander who inadvertently caused their death is blamed for it, until they’re killed as well; the new Anons take their newfound notoriety and make it big before they’re exposed for their own role in the suffering.

Once again, gotta emphasize -- Flurry and Welter are just representations for entire groups of people who go through this constant cycle. As Niru Kajitsu said in the comments:

They’re just symbols. The world is made out of victims (Flurry and Welter) and the people who exploit them (Anon Flurry and Welter). Eventually, once the anonymous “outer shell” is peeled away, they’re nothing more than victims themselves. It’s a criticism about the culture of mass media and public opinion today.

(Also, a fun little note: Flurry and Welter’s names both essentially symbolize the chaos of this system! Taking the most applicable dictionary definitions of each, a flurry is a “short period of commotion and excitement,” and a welter is a “state of general disorder.” Most of the meanings of those two words apply, though -- special shoutout to another definition of the verb form of welter meaning “to lie steeped in blood with no help or care,” which I think you can infer the significance of.)

(Another fun note: the synth from the beginning of the song is repeated again at the very end of the song, but, even if you’re just a casual listener, you can tell how different the tone is.)

Anyway, thanks for reading! This was pretty fun to write -- I haven’t dissected a music video like this before, so I hope it all makes sense. I’d love to discuss it with you, if you’ve got any questions!

#other stuff #niru kajitsu #traffic jam #v flower #vocaloid #flower #this song is SO good please listen to it nd watch the mv #we do stan niru kajitsu vocaloid producer master

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tvwriteups · 3 years

Text

ESC 2021 GF

Opening was okay. Think that's the largest the stage has looked.

Watching on PeacockTV. No commentary. This time I'm watching through my speakers and not through headphones. Not gonna do a rundown since a lot of the songs are familiar.

I did not watch any of the big 5 or the Dutch rehearsal/jury videos so I'll be watching those whole for the first time. (I probably should have watched them. Oops. Too late now!)

I really have no idea who will win. Kind of makes it exciting!

What's a little weird with my setup is how much "sharper" the music sounds on my speakers.

Let the Grand Final of the ESC begin!

1. Cyprus

2. Albania

3. Israel

4. Belgium

What's funny for me here is that the Belgian song is growing on me on this third listen. I like it more each time. (This might actually make my Eurovision AND Hooverphonic playlist!) With the other songs I was... like I didn't feel the level of "excitement" I felt when I watched them earlier this week.

5. Russia

Oh yeah! This is another one I'm liking more on a second viewing. I like her expressiveness. This is never not interesting. And an enthusiastic response there.

6. Malta

Maltese Lizzo. I know this is very popular with the ESC crowd and I get it but it doesn't personally register with me. I think it's the speed. It's like the same fast speed and mostly same level of "noise." Crowd really loooooves it though. Might just be my own autistic sound processing issues.

7. Portugal

I still am impressed with how well-structured this is. I'll probably forget the song next week but when it was being performed I never lost interest.

8. Serbia

They seem so wholesome in their postcard. Hmm, singing doesn't sound as good on my speakers. This is like the first 3 songs for me.

And now a break.

Kind of sucks performing early because it hurts you with the vote but at least you get to sit back easy and watch the rest of the show.

I still feel very conflicted about how to feel about Junior ESC. Lots of pressure to put on children.

Jamala, Emmelie de Forest, Duncan Laurence on where they keep their awards... nope, Nikkie, I'm not gonna check out the live blog. I like the ESC but even I have to draw a line somewhere.

9. United Kingdom

First time watching. I don't understand these British songwriters who perform their own songs and yet... like, it doesn't sound ideally suited to their own voices. It was okay but it's another one I'll forget in a week.

10. Greece

Well, I didn't get to watch this properly the first time so here goes: I don't like the huge reliance on effects but it's BEHIND her so it's completely acceptable to me. I think this would've worked better for me if the dancing was "more [active?]" since it's a fast song about dancing.

The hosts briefly have to tell us something for some reason.

Hmm, apparently a lot of my sound issue is that the rear speakers are coming through louder.

11. Switzerland

This is playing much better for me today than it did the other day. The overall performance is better. I don't like the epilepsy-inducing light though. That's my only complaint. Well done!

12. Iceland

Well, literally the same exact performance we watched the other day but it was fun so... and my viewing experience is slightly different so... Hmm.. what I'm really feeling right now is a song placement thing. We went from intense to chill and that energy change is a bit much for me.

13. Spain

This song does not have a strong hook. I ... can't remember the song and it only just finished.

14. Moldova

I honestly don't think this song would've made it through the first SF. I just don't care for it. I think I spent most of the performance looking at the dancers when that was an option.

15. Germany

This feels like a cross between a Moldovan and a San Marino entry. I dunno, I enjoyed it. I wouldn't watch it again though.

I do also understand that part of watching this as an American is that I don't ever have to feel embarrassment that I'm being represented through any of these performances.

16. Finland

Now that I know that this is like this I'm totally not interested. I'd probably feel very differently if I was in the same space as these guys because it's a SHOW!

And another break. Oh, the broadcaster boxes. I always assume that they're going to harass Graham Norton but they're actually visiting the Danes right now. And the Russians.

Hosts talking about orchestras now.

17. Bulgaria

I remember this postcard from the other day because of the menagerie this girl has. This song is also growing on me. I was confused about the lyrics the other day but now am experiencing them as playful. Feeling the "production" of this one.

18. Lithuania

It's hard for me because I really liked "On Fire." I'm really enjoying this the second time and a really great, entertaining performance. And maybe it's in a better place during the night.

Hosts talking about the app. They're really hammering this whole "clap along" thing (which I haven't found on the app because I'm probably too old to care).

19. Ukraine

This song is a trip. Bangy-est banger of the night. You just never know.

20. France

You know, this comes off as something the juries would love to award. Damn, girl! You know, I wasn't impressed when they showed the short clip at the end of the SF. You really have to watch the whole thing.

21. Azerbaijan

Seems more appropriate to sing about Mata Hari than Cleopatra in the Netherlands when you think about it. It could be because I've already seen this before but I'm still processing France. There's also something about this staging that makes them look small on the stage to me.

22. Norway

I don't know why I find him adorable but I do. This song feels like a hug. (Or it's the "feathers." LOL)

Mini-break about what's upcoming.

23. The Netherlands

I was into it until the last 30 when it got really repetitive but that's still an overall like.

24. Italy

I really can't predict anything. I dig this but we've sort of filled a quota for intensity for the night.

25. Sweden

I'm just kind of like....of course Sweden has the Rijksmuseum postcard. It's like the most recognizable place in all of these postcards. And be near the end of the show. I'll be honest: I'm just predisposed to be against Sweden. Ugh, epilepsy light. I can't even look at the screen. Also, I liked Russia's "A Million Voices" in 2015. I'm guessing this song did not look like this at Melodifestivalen because it's really looking terrible on my tv. This is the worst visual presentation of the night.

26. San Marino

Honestly wondering how well San Marino is gonna finish this year. This felt more awesome the first time. Well, also Flo Rida delightfully surprised me the first time.

And how our hosts telling us about the importance of voting. I have no idea how these are going to pan out. I just know that if I was voting I think I'd throw my votes at Ukraine and France...while feeling bad that I'm not throwing some at Bulgaria, Iceland, Lithuania or Switzerland. (I also liked Russia but I wouldn't vote for them.) I mean, I liked Italy but... I don't know. I think I ran out of energy by then.

Really think it's that Ukraine and France just zapped my energy for energetic songs. The only one I felt after those was the hug of Norway. Or maybe Norway lulled me. LOL.

Would be interested in the televotes for some of these countries.

Recap. Ooof. France doesn't work in short recap clip.

"Music Binds Us"....because we've heard of Afrojack here. I swear every other major city has one of those bridges. I'd otherwise dig this but we've had so much intense music tonight.

I'm guessing we're listening to "Titanium" because Afrojack wrote and produced it.

I'm sitting here wondering if ANYONE is going to vote for the UK at all. Or, really, how many of the Big 5 are going to be in the Bottom 5.

Another recap.

Another Nikkie ESC Tutorial segment. This is actually kind of annoying.

And now a behind-the-scenes montage while the voting numbers are displayed at the bottom.

Catching up with past winners now.

ESC honoring itself again. Enjoying how much they're not overemphasizing the whole "in front of a live audience" stuff like they were doing the other nights.

Another recap.

Oddly, I think Moldova annoys me the most. It feels like the emptiest song in the final.

How quickly are they going to burn through the votes. It's already feeling like this show is long.

65th anniversary stuff. Rock the Roof. Måns again. I don't like this song. I think 2015 was a great overall year (even if I was able to predict the top 10 (except for Latvia) but I still listen to a lot of songs from that year... just not "Heroes." I resent that I have to hear it every year now.

Teach-In....because Dutch and because we need a song with 'Ding" and "Dong" in it.

SANDRA KIM!!!!!!!! Forever the youngest winner of this contest.

Lenny Kuhr.

Helena Paparizou. LOL, totally sticking to the choreo.

Lordi. Probably had to choose their roof first to get the permission to shoot the pyro off it.

So are they saving Duncan Laurence for when they calculate the votes? It feels like the voting window has been open forever now. I keep looking for a countdown clock.

This sounds like a way of saying Duncan Laurence has tested positive for COVID without saying that he tested positive for COVID.

Are they emphasizing that the Netherlands is below sea level?

New song... I'll take anything as long as it's not "Nana Banana."

The voting still isn't closed!

Oh, they have a special countdown dance is why. How very Paparizou of them.

Oh, that weird part where they banter with the delegations.

Malta. Just Malta?

Martin Österdahl. Because Swedes. Jury time. I forgot that revealing votes this way eliminates the performances during the vote calculation. They calculate the televote during the jury stuff.

Jury Votes

Israel, the least popular child in the room right now gives their 12 points to Switzerland.

Poland goes to San Marino.

San Marino goes to France.

Albania to Switzerland.

Malta to Albania.

These are going all over the place. But then it's juries.

Estonia's 12 to Switzerland.

Switzerland and France popular with juries so far.

North Macedonia to Serbia.

Recap. Switzerland, France and Italy in the Top 3.

Els and Nikki or however you spell their names. Azerbaijan throws their points at Russia of course.

Norway to....Malta.

Spain to France.

Austria to Iceland.

Ooof, UK, Spain and Norway totally blanked right now.

The UK....with Amanda Holden...and 12 points for France.

Italy gives its 12 points to Lithuania. No points for Switzerland from them!

Now it's just the UK blank.

Slovenia to Italy.

Juries don't like Ukraine. :-(

Greece...making us try not to boo by having a child tell us that the points are going to Cyprus.

Latvia with Aminata of course. 12 points go to Switzerland.

Ireland to France.

Moldova epic saxing us. Epic saxing Bulgaria too.

Serbia to France.

Bulgaria to Moldova. Ugh.

Cyprus ...should've used a child. Even the crowd is all "Greece, duh."

Belgium to Switzerland. It's almost like they have something against France, LOL.

Banter with Switzerland. Banter with France. No cringe. Practically no cringe in these interviews. They're adorable.

On a side note, my HVAC is dying on a 90 degree day.

Germany to France.

UK still sitting on a jury egg.

Australia to Malta.

Finland to Switzerland.

Portugal to Bulgaria.

Ukraine to Italy. Love the 0 points to Russia there.

Iceland. LOL. LOL. LOL. Of course a "Jaja Ding Dong" reference. Switzerland for them.

Romania to Malta.

Without televotes this stuff is almost meaningless. I can't imagine France getting the televotes.

Croatia to Italy.

Czech Republic to...like who would they.. oh Portugal. Of course. LOL.

Georgia to Italy.

Lithuania to Ukraine.

Denmark to Switzerland.

Top 5: Switzerland, France, Malta, Italy and Iceland.

"A Million Voices" Polina telling us Russia is giving their points to Moldova. Lots of side-eye from me.

France can't give points to themself so.... Greece. I... I... don't know.

Sweden with Carola. OMG Carola....why so much talking? Did she take something? Or drink something? She's on something. Gives their points to Malta.

Switzerland gives point to France. Most anticlimatic points reveal.

The Netherlands gives its points to France.

UK with ZERO points from juries.

Switzerland, France, Malta, Italy, Iceland.

We don't see the jury performances so...like... I dunno.

Gonna waste time in the Green Room again before the televote reveal. Talking with Switzerland... meaning that Gjon gets to replace John Lundvik as the face of losing if they don't get enough votes.

TELEVOTE TIME!

I hope this goes fast. And they're revealing these in the order of jury votes, least to most. So maybe a different face of losing.

UK with 0 points. OUCH! And they didn't genocide anyone this year! James Newman being a sport.

Germany with 0 points.

Spain with 0 points.

Netherlands with 0 points.

LMAO. I don't think I've ever seen this.

Norway with 60 points.

Serbia with 82 points.

Albania with 35 points.

Azerbaijan with 33 points.

San Marino with 13 points...even with Flo Rida!!!

Sweden with 63 points?

Cyprus with 44 points.

Moldova with 62 points.

Lithuania with 165 points!!!

Belgium with 3 points. Hooverphonic with only 3 points. Better than zero. But totally a jury thing their SF result was.

20 points to Israel.

Finland with 218. Shocker that. For me. Not the public, of course. Now in first.

Greece with 79 points.

Ukraine with 267. Into the lead.

Russia with 100 points.

Portugal with 27.

Bulgaria with 30 points.

Iceland with 180 points...and in 1st.

Italy with 318 points.

Malta with 47 points.

France with 251 points. Into 2nd.

Switzerland with 160 points.

Winner is Italy. So Switzerland is the new face of losing.

Televote alone it's Italy, Ukraine, France, Finland, Iceland, Lithuania, Switzerland, and Russia with 100 or more points. Serbia and Greece rounding out the top 10 in televote.

Surprised and delighted that the public gave all those votes to France. I was not expecting that at all.

In the breakdowns I really would like to see if their are any public correlations between folks who votes Italy/Finland or France/Switzerland.

#tvw watches the esc

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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singersdd

replied to your video

“washingtonburakovsky: i love how tylers shamelessly watching the caps...”

It's Killian and Peggy while she's home with a cold & happy at the moment.

Listen, I am only human. Albeit a human who really is very concerned about how much hummus I’m going to consume while social-distancing. But the point remains. And when I see solid ideas, I feel compelled to write about them. We’re going to go the teething route, though. So, sorry other anon, that Blue Line masterlist has another thing on it now. Here’s like 1.5 K of total fluff.

-----

They had tried everything.

Anything. All of it. And then some.

They were bordering on desperate now, a growing frustration over the last few days that had not happened when Matt was this age. Nothing helped.

Peggy twisted and turned and tossed and whined, which didn’t follow the alliterative rule that Killian had apparently come up wth, but he was more than willing to blame that on his absolute and complete exhaustion.

Sleeping, it seemed, was a luxury neither he nor Emma could afford anymore.

Not when they were so busy reading lists and searching for some kind of an answer, typing word combinations that Killian wasn’t even aware existed in the English language until some time in the realm of four that morning. That was after the pacing. But before the bobbing — moving through a variety of rooms in their apartment because some website on the third page of the Google results promised it would work.

It didn’t.

He hadn’t expected it to.

Nothing good ever came from the third page of Google.

“Ah, no, no, nah—c’mon,” Killian mumbled, reaching out a hand that he didn’t think should feel quite that heavy in an attempt to tug Peggy’s fingers away from her mouth.

Every inch of him ached, and that might have also been a byproduct of the only-recent end to the season, an admittedly not great end either, a second-round loss that would probably grate on his nerves even more than Peggy’s tooth-related screeching, but none of those words were particularly positive to begin with.

So.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever had so many opinions on words.

Matt was going to stay with the Vankalds for the rest of the weekend.

“We’re not doing that,” Killian continued. Peggy made a noise. Not words. Figured. She was a baby. “I know it hurts, but you can’t start sticking your fingers in your mouth. Did the medicine wear off?”

Still no response.

It really had not been this bad for Matt.

That seemed unfair.

For all parties involved.

“Alright, we’ll get the ring thing and that’ll probably help and you won’t mention how that rhymed, right?”

That got him a gurgle and a wobbling lower lip.

Killian’s head dropped — whether from exhaustion or the overwhelming obstacle of a teething six-month-old, he wasn’t entirely sure. “We’ve just got to make sure the ring thing isn’t frozen, ok, Pegs? And then you can have that and maybe some more medicine. Where do you think Mom put the medicine box?” Killian swayed on the spot, trying to look in the kitchen without walking, rocking his head to a rhythm that didn’t exist when the TV was playing a game in the background.

The Capitals and Penguins.

In the Eastern Conference Finals.

So, maybe Killian was just a masochist.

It was the first time he’d watched a game since his ended.

Peggy squirmed again, tears welling in the corner of her eyes while her unoccupied fingers curled forward to reach for something. There wasn’t a shirt there anymore — a product of lunch and mashed bananas were disgusting anyway, and Emma had postseason stuff to do at the Garden.

Killian needed to pick his shirt off their bedroom floor at some point.

“I know, I know, I know,” he chanted, leaning back like meeting his daughter’s gaze would help the situation. It did not. Version, four-hundred and sixty-two.

He was admittedly less worried about numbers than words.

The tears spilled over, and he honestly wasn’t sure where all the moisture on her face was coming from — her eyes or her mouth or a mixture of both and someone on the myriad of websites he and Emma had spent all night clicking on should have made it more obvious that parenting was like this.

Difficult. Exhausting.

Possibly impossible.

Killian huffed, teeth digging into his lower lip. He kept moving, ignoring the state of his calves and the force Peggy got into her kicks when she flailed her legs into his ribs.

“Ok, ok, ok,” he said. Apparently he could only repeat things in triplicate now. That was at least on brand for hockey and—

Killian let out another breath, ruffling the ends of Peggy’s barely-there hair. “Alright, we’re going to try something new.”

The medicine was on top of the refrigerator, which wasn’t the first place Killian thought to look, but it hadn't been at the bottom of his metaphorical list and he was going to take his victories where he could get them.

Plus, the ring-thing, plastic monstrosity, whatever, was not frozen.

“Only one more away from a parenting hat trick, huh?” he muttered, mostly into the top of Peggy’s head. She’d stopped crying eventually, more than a few hiccups and noises that ebbed as soon as Killian started drawing circles on her back.

“That was actually really funny,” Killian added. “You’ll appreciate that eventually, I know it.” He dropped back into the corner of the couch, careful not to jostle the kid in his arms and it wasn’t the most comfortable he’d ever been, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.

Where stepping wasn’t involved at all.

More like, staring. Directly at the hockey game in front of them.

Killian was fairly certain Peggy’s eyes didn’t actually widen, but he was willing to blame the exhaustion again and they definitely should have thought of this before. He’d admittedly been avoiding most things hockey-related though, and that was also a little childish.

They only had room for so many children in that apartment.

He let Peggy turn, her back to his chest and tiny legs stretched out in front of her. Her head rested just under his collarbone, those same few tufts of hair tickling his skin.

Killian smiled.

Even if it was the Capitals and the Penguins.

And, so it went — for the next two periods, part medicine, part ring-thing, part analyzing the game, a running stream of commentary from Killian and baby-type sounds from Peggy and neither one of them tried to sleep, which might not have been the best decision, but he did get her to giggle several times and he assumed that was a wash.

Maybe some kind of zamboni joke. Fresh start or clear ice or something.

“See, that right winger on the Pens can’t get the puck in the zone,” Killian mumbled, almost halfway through the third period, and he’d stretched out at some point.

His feet hung over the side of the couch, toes threatening to rest on the arm of the closest chair, with one arm twisted behind his head. He still hadn’t put his shirt back on, Peggy resting on his chest on hands and knees, making it only too easy to press absent-minded kisses to her chin and her cheek and the bridge of her nose when she started to babble again.

“I know,” Killian nodded. “I don’t think he’s good either. You’re a genius, you know that?”

More babbling. A few da’s sprinkled in for good measure.

Killian’s heart felt like it was going to burst.

It was a much better feeling than that lingering ache in his calves.

Someone on the TV smacked the puck into the boards, earning another noise from Peggy and a grin from Killian and he was almost genuinely disappointed that they missed the final few minutes of the game.

Exhaustion appeared to be the winner anyway.

His eyelids fluttered when he heard the lock in the door, soft footsteps and the telltale sounds of shoes kicked off, and Peggy didn’t move when Emma did.

She scrunched her nose as soon as she stopped in front of the couch.

“I probably should feel bad waking you up, huh?” she asked softly, a quick hiss when one her knees cracked. She’d crouched down.

Killian clicked his tongue. “I’m sure it’s painfully adorable.” “Something like that, for sure. What worked?” “Who won the game?”

“Oh my God, did hockey do this?” “You could probably argue that hockey did all of this,” Killian said, doing his best not to laugh for fear of shifting Peggy too much. Emma rolled her eyes. “Go on, admit you’re into that.” “I’m delirious from sleep deprivation.” “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this before. Sounds of the rink as a lullaby.” “God,” Emma groaned, but it didn’t sound particularly frustrated. “If I go sleep in bed like a normal person, you going to be annoyed?” “Not at all.” “Do you also want to go sleep in bed?”

Emma lifted her eyebrows when she pressed her lips together and Killian got the very real impression she already knew the answer. “Nah,” he whispered. “I’m good here.” She nodded once, a kiss to the side of his mouth and the top of Peggy’s head and Killian fell asleep to the sounds of post-game press conferences and in-studio analysis.

#singersdd #cs ff #captain swan #blue line one shots #i'm sorry anon!#can't stop won't stop #killian watching hockey with his kids is one of my favorite things

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themusicplayedherlife · 4 years

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Growing Up (18)

pairing: steve rogers x reader characters: reader, steve rogers, pietro and wanda m., clint, natasha, maria h., sam w. word count: 3k+ warnings: some angst, some doubt and a little bit of fluff summary: its time to clean things out, but you might not be as okay as you’re trying to make yourself seem a/n: eeeeeeeek so close to the end

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There are 365 days in a year.

Over 4,000 days were spent hating a man that only wanted to right a wrong that was done to him. 4,000 days used to crucify and push him away when all he wanted was to spend time with you, his eldest daughter.

“It’s not your fault,” a gentle voice whispers into the dark room as warm fingers trail up and down your back.

But isn’t it?

“You didn’t know.”

It doesn’t matter. The unwarranted hatred you pushed on him is despicable; the hurt you inflicted on him is unforgivable.

Soft lips press against your temple. “Talk to me.”

There’s nothing to talk about, you mentally convey, pressing yourself closer to the tall, muscular body pressed against yours, stuffing your face into his chest.

Steve sighs, and his hold on you tightens. “I don’t think he hated her for what she did.” He says it so gently into the air that you barely catch it. “He was angry, yes.” He tugs on your strands gently before weaving his fingers into your hair. “But he never hated her.”

Your face reacts, twitching into an unpleasant frown. “How do you know that?”

“Because he understood,” Steve starts slowly, thinking over his words carefully, “Tony… he was… he was a good defender. The reason he was able to win his cases was because he understood both sides. He didn’t just tackle the case as the defense, he also became the prosecutor. He stood on both sides, fighting both battles.”

You drink in his words, mulling them over as they twist and turn in your mind, trying to get you to understand.

“He understood why your mom did what she did because he looked at it from her side; he understood because you were the only thing either of them had left. And he knew they would both fight at nothing just to be able to have you for one last moment.”

You pick at his shirt. “But did she have to stoop so low?” There had to have been other options. “Was shared custody so bad?”

“Desperate people do desperate things,” he speaks into your hair, words a little muffled.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” you admit. “Or that I’ll forgive her, I just—“

“I know,” he says, confident that he does. And maybe he does know. Maybe he knows better than anyone. He’s been by your side since Tony died, seen you at your worst and best and most of all, he’s been by Tony’s side, too, watching him struggle with the fact that his eldest daughter wanted nothing to do with him, both living their lives separately because of a desperate lie.

You press against him and allow the heat of his body, the caress of his fingers in your hair, and his soothing lips against your skin lull you to sleep, knowing that tomorrow, no matter how you feel about your mother and this horrible situation she created, you have Maria, Steve, and the twins in your corner.

The morning is quiet, not a single peep from the twins or Maria. Usually Maria would be up already, dragging her small body to your bed and trying to wake you up—weekend be damned. But today, this morning, she’s awfully quiet and you’re starting to think it might have to do with the twins.

You breathe in, campfires and clean soap engulfing your senses.

Steve’s chest rises and falls rhythmically, and his voice comes out as a raspy whisper. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you greet back, shyness seeping into your voice.

He chuckles, his sweet voice hoarse and sleep ridden. “Sleep well?”

You stuff your face into his chest, allowing his arms to wrap around you completely. “Yeah. You?”

“Sleeping with you by my side?” His chest rises and falls deeply. “Best sleep ever.”

You laugh and his chest rumbles with his own laughter. “I don’t want to get up,” you mumble and he hums, his fingers weaving into your hair. You sigh contently and stretch languidly, your toes barely grazing his ankles.

“Then don’t.” He wraps his arms around you, leg thrown over your waist and caging you in. “Let's stay in bed.”

“Steve,” you whine with a laugh. “I have things to do.”

“Mhmm, like what?”

“Like cleaning out the house.” His hold on you grows lax, and he pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. You smile up at him, wide and as bright as you can muster. “I think it’s time I make this mine and Maria’s home? Don’t you?”

His blue eyes search yours, flying across your face and he cups your cheeks as if to keep you in place, as if you’d move away from him, deny him the opportunity to drink you in. You’d be stupid to deny him that right.

Birds chirp outside your window and you swear you hear Maria’s giggles coming from outside and Pietro’s loud laugh, but it all washes away when Steve’s lips descend on yours in a lazy, sweet kiss.

Kiss swollen lips, gentle touches, and bright blue eyes are all you feel and see for the next few minutes, the unconditional love and care Steve has for you pouring into you with every brush of his lips.

“If you keep kissing me, I won’t want to get out of bed,” you confess airily into the small space between you, haphazardly counting every individual lash fluttering against his skin in your mind.

He chuckles and he bumps his nose with yours, parted lips barely brushing against yours. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm, such a shame.”

His eyes twinkle and you can’t help but press your lips against his once more, and if it takes you another hour to get out of bed, it isn’t your fault. It’s his.

Tony has a lot of paperwork you realize as you sort through his office. Most of it are drawings by Maria that he most likely couldn’t bring himself to throw away. You shuffle through them, smiling at each one—stick figures of Pepper and Tony, and of shapeless animals, and colorful houses. Her drawings improve with each one.

Your smile grows wider when you come to a different drawing. Four figures are standing in a meadow of red flowers: there’s a red head, tall and wearing a white triangle dress—Pepper, she’s holding hands with a tiny stick figure, a pigtailed brunette wearing a small, pink triangle dress—Maria, and next to her is what you assume is you, taller than her but shorter than the figure next to her, smiling and holding hands with her and him, tall stick figure in rectangle pants and blue shirt—Tony.

She once asked, “We’re family?” Maybe it wasn’t directed at you at all.

You feel foolish for thinking she never saw you as family, when she always has. This drawing is proof of that.

You put it aside to frame it the next chance you get.

“Where do you want these?”

You pause to look over your shoulder. Pietro stands at the entrance of the office with a box with the written word: clothes that was stored in the garage. “Take them to Wanda and Maria. They have the clothes pile.”

He nods and disappears down the hallway.

Placing the rest of the drawings in a box, you’re taken by surprise when a folded paper falls to your feet. You eye it curiously as you pick it up. It’s worn, like it’s been opened and stored away so many times, but kept safe and guarded. Following the lines, you carefully unfold it.

Colorful lines greet your eyes and your breath stalls in your throat, hand slapping over your mouth to keep you from gasping aloud.

A row of buildings of different color are etched onto the piece of paper, blue water colored hastily and out of line, a simple boat that looks more like a banana floating in the middle of it while it carries a little stick figure holding a much taller one by the hand, identical curved lines spread wide on their round faces. Your name is written messily in the corner and right under it, in much neater writing than your messy one are the words; one day.

You slide to the floor, eyes scanning over the drawing endlessly, trying to desperately convince yourself that it couldn’t be yours, that he couldn’t have kept it all this time—why would he?

“Daddy! Daddy!” You started from your place in his office, dragging the book with you as you ran to him, not caring that you were slurring words. “This really a city on water?”

Tony, who had been reading over something looked up and smiled when you shoved the book of different places around the world in his face. “It is.”

“Can we go, puhlease, daddy?” You glanced up at him, doing your best to wobble your bottom lip.

He chuckled. “Better learn how to swim first, kiddo.”

You frowned, staring at the picture in your book. “You think momma will sign me up for swimming?” Mom didn’t seem to like it when you wanted to do things without her anymore.

He picked you up and settled you on his lap, staring down at the picture over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. If she says no, I’ve got your back.”

You beamed, eyes wide with excitement and childlike wonder. “So we can go?”

“One day,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Tiny arms wrap around your neck from behind, warmth spreading around you. Maria's soft voice echoes in your head, reminding you that Tony did love you. He always loved you.

Your eyes lift from the paper and standing at the door is Steve. He watches you, eyes soft and warm and restraining himself physically from running to you by grabbing onto the door frame. Instead, he stays in place as Maria holds you as you allow yourself to cry.

It takes two weekends and a couple days in between to clean up the house. Truthfully, most of the time, you find yourself hating it; hating yourself, hating this, hating Tony, hating mom, everything. It’s emotional and draining and it takes a lot of breaks and quiet moments to recollect yourself, but you somehow manage, especially when you tell yourself to be strong for Maria.

It’s hard to part with Tony and Pepper’s things. Especially now that your feelings are all over the place; it’s like you’re giving up a part of them that you never allowed yourself to see and learn. It breaks your heart.

It’s even harder for Maria.

She clings to your waist, watching as Steve and Pietro load a rented truck with the things that you don’t really need, but could have kept if you wanted to. You had both agreed there are people out there that need them more than you.

She’s trying to be strong, but the tight hold on your waist says otherwise, and you don’t blame her. While you’re giving up a part of them you never tried to get to know, she's giving up every single thing she knew about them and loved them for. But Maria understood that it was time to move on, for your sake, and hers. And with Steve’s help, you did compromise. You both kept a couple of things of theirs that you just couldn’t bare part with. You weren’t letting go of Tony and Pepper completely.

You smooth her hair out of her face and she looks up at you with red eyes and you flash her a watery smile that she returns.

“I’m okay,” she says, as if reading your mind. Your thumb caresses her cheekbone as you cup her jaw, gently pressing her closer to you. “We’ll be okay.”

Yeah. You will be.

With the last of the boxes on the truck, Wanda turns to you with a patient and caring gaze. “You ready?”

“Readier than we’ll ever be.”

You help Maria into the passenger side of the truck and then slide in yourself after buckling her in. Steve hops into the driver's seat and looks at you as he starts the truck. You give him a small nod and smile and with one of his own, he pulls out of the driveway.

The ride to the shelter is quiet, the only sound coming from the radio station. Occasionally, you catch Steve staring at you and every time you do, you’d smile. The arm wrapped around Maria lifts from her small body to rub his shoulder, hoping to ease his worry, and it works because soon he’s more relaxed in his seat, no longer rigid.

Another thirty minutes in traffic and soon you arrive at your destination, a shelter for families from low income neighborhoods to come together and do activities and have healthy options for food, as well as a place to stay for families that have been forcibly relocated or lost their homes.

According to Steve and Maria, Tony and Pepper would donate a hefty amount of their personal savings and would hold charity events to help raise money for it—it being the Avengers Shelter. Before Steve made the suggestion, you had heard of the place, but you didn’t know Pepper and Tony were somehow associated with the foundation.

Apparently, they kept their donations a secret from most, never reporting it in their taxes. And the charity events were credited to the firm, not them, even if they were the hosts.

(“They saw no point,” Steve answered when you asked why. “Didn’t believe that good deeds should be announced, just… done.”

You frowned and leaned your head against the window. If you had known, maybe your stubborn ass wouldn’t have minded being linked to Tony and the firm so much.)

You help Maria out of the truck just as the back door of the place opens to reveal Sam, who flashes you a wide grin. At the familiar face, Maria wiggles out of your hold and runs to him, greeting him jovially. Clint and Natasha appear behind him along with a few other employees from the firm that you recognize.

Natasha gathers you into a tight hug as you greet her. “Come, let's leave the boys to do the heavy lifting.”

Clint rolls his eyes, but he agrees with his wife. “Go, take a tour, you’re gonna love the place.” He surprises you with a small kiss to your cheek before joining Steve and the others.

Natasha laughs at the expression on your face. “Well?”

Your eyes meets Steve’s and he tilts his head towards the shelter and you bite your lip before nodding. “All right.” Maria skips back to you as you hold your hand out for her.

You follow Natasha inside and immediately, apart from all the noise of children laughing and playing, are hit with cinnamon and nutmeg?

Natasha, noticing you sniffing the air, smirks and leads you to a closed door. “Baking classes. I think they’re making cinnamon spice cookies.”

Maria’s eyes light up. “Can I join?”

“There’s another class in an hour that you can join,” a female voice behind you announces, one that Maria seems to recognize because her head perks up and she smiles brightly not just at the opportunity to be in the class, but the person. “Hello, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, yet. My name is Maria Hill.”

You accept her handshake and return her polite smile with your own name.

“She’s the Director of the foundation,” Natasha explains as Hill leads you deeper into the place.

A child runs between your group and apologizes loudly, screaming something about being late for some kind of practice. Hill shakes her head fondly, calling out to the child to be more careful.

“So,” you start, glancing around and taking in the picnic tables with adults and children eating or helping one another with something—homework, paperwork, projects etc. Hill called it the Open Space. “You’re the reason why this place is so well taken care of and loved.”

She looks at you over her shoulder briefly before leading you outside to grassy terrain and Maria excuses herself by asking for permission to go play. Natasha goes with her. “As much as I’d like to take the credit, it’s actually all thanks to Nick Fury and your father, Miss Stark. They founded this place when it was most needed. I’m only helping grow what they’ve built.”

That news is a revelation to you. “I didn’t even know they founded this place.”

“Tony did prefer keeping some of his achievements private, surprisingly enough,” she jokes as you watch over the children playing on the small field. “But Fury has never shied from his accomplishments as Director, even after retiring he likes to remind me that he’s the reason they were able to secure this plot of land.”

You snort.

“I want to thank you,” Hill suddenly says and your head whips in her direction. “For the clothes and everything. I know it isn’t easy to give up their things, especially so soon after…” It’s been a couple of months, a little over half a year, but it still feels so fresh.

You press your lips together, one side lifting slowly. “It’s not, but we have to learn to let go at some point, don’t we?”

She studied you for a moment before smiling warmly at you. “As long as you take your time.”

Your pull at the hem of your shirt. “Miss Hill, if there’s any way I can help—“

She grips your shoulder gently. “Don’t worry, Tony and Pepper made sure that even after they’re gone, we’d be financially secure. We are, however, always looking for volunteers. And a secretarial position just opened up, if you’re interested.”

Your eyes widen. “I’d love to volunteer, but I don’t know about the job.”

“You’re still a student, correct?” You nod and she smiles. “Well, you’ll always have a job here, Fury made sure of that. Said that if his favorite ankle biter ever came around asking for a job, that we made sure we had one.”

You cringe; that definitely sounds like Nick all right. “I’m sorry.”

She laughs. “Don’t be. I’ve seen your resume.” You raise about eyebrow at that. “Besides Fury doesn’t vouch for just any body and I trust his judgement.” Her eyes move from your face to over your shoulder and she offers you one last squeeze and smile before pulling out a card from her pocket and handing it to you. “I should be heading back inside. If you have any questions, let me know.” You thank her and she gives a quick nod before leaving you.

Hands settle on your shoulders and they shake you gently, playfully. “What do you think so far?” Steve asks, his lips close enough to your ear to brush against your skin.

You lean back into him. “Why did Tony try to hide this?”

His hands travel down the length of your arms and they wrap around your waist, securing you against him. “He didn’t,” Steve answers, a little hesitant and that’s when you know it’s not because he wanted to hide this from you. It’s because you didn’t want to listen.

Your eyes water as Maria plays with the other kids, chasing them around the courtyard. “I really messed up, didn’t I?”

His hold on you tightens and your hands land on his thicker ones. He presses a kiss to your temple. “No. You didn’t. You couldn’t have known.”

“But I could have,” your voice cracks and your head hangs low. “If I had just—if I hadn’t been so angry—“

He sighs and it tickles your ear, but you don’t move, allowing him to take hold of your hands as his warmth leaves your back. “I want to show you something.”

He leads you back inside and you look back at Maria and Natasha, finding Natasha’s eyes on you, a small smile on her face.

“We won’t be gone for long,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand.

Steve leads you upstairs, towards the offices of the staff and stands in front of the door. He lets go of your hand and turns on his heels to look down at you. “This—this was Pepper’s and Tony’s office.”

Your heart leaps and your take a step back. “Steve—“

He reaches for your wrist, holding it gently in his large hands. “I think… I think you should see this.”

His blue eyes are gently and full of patience, searching your face for who knows what. You shift on your feet, wondering whether or not you should convince Steve to take you elsewhere, but instead you let out a loud sigh and nod. “Okay.”

He lets go of your wrist to reach for the doorknob. “For two years now, Pepper was dividing her time between the firm and this place, so most of everything here was hers, except for—“ he opens the door and he steps aside to let you in, but you immediately regret it.

It’s another punch to the gut and your heart can’t take it anymore. It was so much easier when you thought Tony didn’t care about you, so much easier when you hated him. Now your emotions are all over the place and you don’t know what to make of them anymore.

On the right wall, opposite of the left wall full of bookshelves is a mural, a very familiar mural. Your little drawing that you made years ago covered every inch of the wall. How—?

“Tony wasn’t planning on just asking if you could be Maria’s guardian during the trip to the cabin, he was hoping you’d go to Venice with him the summer you graduate,” he whispers. “He wouldn’t stop talking about how when you were a little girl, you loved the idea of a city floating on water.” He chuckles, stuck in his own memories of Tony. He sighs fondly, his own eyes most likely on the simple mural of your five year old imagination. “He wanted to make that a reality for you one day.”

One day.

There isn’t going to be a one day because you were horrible, because you couldn’t for one moment give him a chance! Because your mother was vindictive and full of pettiness. Hatred, sorrow, confusion, every single emotion known to man crawls in your stomach, fighting upwards towards your head, pounding and pounding, trying to win a lost battle. You stagger back, but his arms wrapping around you stop you from falling on your ass. “I—“

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You breathe harshly and he gently coaxes you to turn to look at him, but you keep your gaze fixated on his shirt. “Steve, I—I think I need help,” you whisper.

His finger hooks under your chin, lifting your head to meet your gaze. “Hey, whatever you need, sweetheart, I’m here for you.”

Your lashes cling together, your nose burning as the tears begin to spring up. “No, Steve. I think I need professional help. I can’t—I’m feeling too much and I feel so overwhelmed, I—don’t know what to do,” you whisper harshly. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore!”

If it’s possible, his eyes get even softer and his bottom lip wobbles with yours, understanding and compassion flashing in his beautiful blue eyes. “Then we’ll find it. We’ll find help.”

You sob, pressing yourself against his warm body and cry, mourning for the man you never got to know, for the hurt your mother has caused, for the little girl that’s relying on you, and most of all, for the little girl who used to wait for her dad she thought had forgotten about her.

a/n: we’re getting closer to the end and so much is still being unraveled and somethings are slowly being answered. the next chapter (or two) will answer a lot of unanswered questions or might even bring up new ones, who knows -insert winking emoji- lemme know what you thought and maybe your theories?

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #reader insert #marvel imagine #steve rogers fanfic

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patchwork-panda · 4 years

Text

If A Moment Is All We Are (ch 2)

For those who prefer AO3 format: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121633/chapters/58417417#workskin

Part 2:

My breath was growing ragged as I sprinted back to my apartment complex; clearly, the lack of food and sleep was finally taking its toll. I managed to make it all the way up to my floor before I finally tripped in the middle of the hallway and fell to the ground, not two feet from my own door. As I stared down the hall, the doorway to Mrs. Yamazaki’s unit seemed to draw me in. I immediately closed my eyes to keep from looking at it but as soon as I did so, the haunting images of the vision I’d had earlier resurfaced and it was all I could do not to break down right there on the spot.

I’d seen that cat-shaped clock once before, when Mrs. Yamazaki had first pulled me into her apartment and sat me down in her living room. The TV had been exactly where I remembered it, set to the channel Mrs. Yamazaki had kept it at all evening; she’d even told me about the comedic variety show she sometimes stayed up to watch on weekends, the program that played every Saturday, including this one, when the man with the snake tattoo breaks in to her apartment and stabs her in the chest...

I felt something welling up in my throat and I quickly pushed myself back to my feet, covering my mouth with one hand as I dug around in my pockets with the other for the key to my unit. My vision swam as I struggled to put the key into the rusty lock and the more I tried to concentrate on getting back inside where it was safe, the more vivid Mrs. Yamazaki’s grateful, smiling face grew in my mind’s eye.

“I don’t know where I would be if you weren’t here, Kyou-chan...”

I shook my head to clear the images away—it didn’t work.

“From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

The lock clicked open and I threw myself inside my apartment, kicking my grocery bag into my apartment so that it lay in a sagging heap in the entryway. I slammed the door shut behind me.

“Don’t thank me...”

My feeble voice echoed throughout the empty room. The dizziness returned and I covered my face in my hands and slumped against the nearest wall.

“I don’t deserve it.”

I sat there for some time, my head still filled with the angry buzzing that usually followed these horrific visions of death and I curled into myself, hugging my knees to my chest and forcing myself to breathe until my breaths evened out again. Out of nowhere, my stomach growled—very loudly—and I shakily reached into the bag for one of the bananas I’d gotten earlier.

When I was about halfway through my banana (with the headache disappearing, I could feel my blood sugar returning to a normal level), I heard a chime from my laptop. One glance at my desk showed me that, as usual, I’d forgotten to close my laptop before I’d gone out and as I got up and walked towards it, I saw that I had a new email notification.

“New Commission,” it read.

Gears turned in my head as I stared at my computer; I suddenly had a crazy idea.

Picking up the pace, I half-ran to my desk and immediately swept everything off of it except the laptop. Empty boxes and wrappers cascaded onto the floor but I ignored them and went straight for the pencil drawer. Drawing and sketching had always been just a hobby of mine but since leaving college, I’d managed to use my artistic ability to earn some money by doing commissions—drawings of anime and video game characters. It wasn’t a lot of money and I still needed to stretch whatever my parents had left in my bank account (I couldn’t handle telling them I’d dropped out) but I made it work.

The crazy idea solidified as I flipped my sketchbook to a fresh page and began sketching lines.

Maybe I could use my art skills to save Mrs. Yamazaki.

Drawing what I could see of the attacker was the easy part. Convincing the police that they needed to do something would be the challenge...

***

“Half-past eleven in a week’s time, you say,” the officer deadpanned, raising one eyebrow as he looked over my drawing at me.

“Yes, that’s right,” I said, nervously fiddling with the strap on my bag.

I’d done the impossible. I literally couldn’t remember the last time I’d left my apartment twice in a single day—I’d even showered twice today and eaten an actual piece of fruit. Not only that, I was wearing the cutest blouse I possessed, had thrown on a decently fashionable light jacket and picked out clean jeans and sneakers to wear, with not a speck of anime memorabilia in sight. For the first time in months, I could honestly say I looked like a normal person; I’d even taken off my face mask and stuck it in my bag before walking inside the police station.

As I watched the officer look over the sketch I’d made, the most accurate impression of the snake tattoo I could recreate, I felt a flicker of my old self returning to me. Despite having just seen another vision of a death this morning, I managed to force myself out of my apartment and now here I was, the furthest I’d ever been from my apartment in ages, talking to a complete stranger face-to-face. Perhaps this was all I needed in order to leave—someone to be concerned about besides myself. If I could end my self-imposed confinement for Mrs. Yamazaki’s sake, maybe with time I could do it for myself.

Maybe.

As long as I never ran out of face masks and nitrile gloves, it should be easy enough... I did have another mild panic attack after finding out I’d ripped my last pair of gloves when I’d saved Mrs. Yamazaki. At least wearing a face mask convinced enough people on public transit that I had a relatively bad cold and needed to be avoided...

I was in the middle of figuring out how to wean myself off of face masks and gloves when the police officer pushed my drawing back towards me and let out a heavy sigh.

“Look uh...” he squinted at me. “What was your name again...?”

“Kusunoki,” I said. “My name is Kusunoki Kyou.”

“Right. Kusunoki-san.”

He scratched his balding head.

“This is highly unusual. You say you overheard a man on the street talking about planning a break-in on his cell phone... and he gave an actual address—your neighbor’s address actually—and an exact time...?”

I nodded uneasily as he repeated my story, his suspicion starting to show in his tone.

“And instead of snapping a photo of this man and bringing us an image of his actual face, you went home and made a drawing of his tattoo.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Yes...?” I squeaked.

He scowled.

“Listen, we’re a very busy precinct and we don’t have time for crazy stories. Go home and study for your exams or something.”

He got up from his seat and escorted me to the door. By the time I shook my elbow out of his grasp, I was already outside and the automatic glass doors had slid closed with a sharp slap. I stood there on the sidewalk, staring at my own shocked reflection, my useless (but meticulously colored) sketch wrinkling beneath my fingertips and my brain unable to process what had just happened.

Everything had been going so well...

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized the officer was right. My story really didn’t make any sense. Any normal person would think it was a prank, especially coming from a weirdo like me; I was lucky I wasn’t fined for my antics.

I’d managed to clean myself up a little but my nervous mannerisms and inability to meet the police officer’s gaze must’ve overrode my general appearance, making me seem suspicious and unreliable anyway. I twisted a lock of long black hair between my fingers, staring past my reflection into the office, turning away only when the officer looked back up.

Distantly, I heard the crosswalk light change and a cool breeze began to blow.

In the end, I couldn’t change a thing...

The breeze tugged at my drawing; it started to slip out of my hands but I didn’t tighten my grip.

My efforts didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I should just go home right now and go back to being a useless shut-in...

Suddenly, the wind picked up. It ripped the heavy sketch paper right out of my hands and I watched it numbly as it flew high into the air and sailed away into the crosswalk, where someone abruptly jumped up and caught my drawing in his hand.

“Whoops!” he exclaimed, snatching it out of the sky.

Drawing in hand, he jogged towards me, the crosswalk light changing from green to red behind him. As he approached, his face broke into a brilliant smile.

“Is this yours?” he asked warmly, holding the crinkled page out to me.

I nodded mutely and reached out for the sketch.

He was tall and relatively good-looking, with a mop of unkempt brown hair that curled loosely around his face and a pair of intelligent brown eyes that sparkled pleasantly in the light. Curiously, underneath his tan trench coat and professional attire, his palms, wrists and even neck were covered in a thin layer of fresh white bandages. It was almost as if he’d just walked out of the hospital... As I looked at up him, his eyebrows slowly rose until they disappeared into his bangs and the corners of his mouth began to twitch in obvious amusement—I realized with a start that I was staring at him instead of taking back my drawing.

“Oh...! I’m sorry!” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as I quickly stuffed my sketch back into my bag. “I’m flattered to have caught the eye of such a beautiful woman.”

I abruptly stopped trying to close my bag and looked up. This time, I really stared.

“Huh?”

In one smooth movement, he gathered both my hands in his and tenderly held them to his chest.

“And what radiance you possess,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “With your lips as red as a Camellia blossom and your eyes as dark as the finest port wine—ah, if only I could drown in your eyes...! To cross paths with such beauty on so fine a day—has fate smiled upon me at last...?”

He gave my fingers a squeeze and I swear I felt time stop.

His grip was firm and his hands were so nice and warm that it took me a moment too long to realize that my skin was in physical contact with his and I needed to let go right away...!

But something was off.

Although he held my hands tightly in his, I wasn’t seeing anything from the distant future. No death, no scenes from another time, another place. No. Just this oddly flirtatious stranger in front of me, holding my hands in his and giving me compliments my shell-shocked brain couldn’t process.

“Beauty...? A-are you talking about me?”

He smiled, his lips curling around perfect, white teeth and what was left of my brain completely short-circuited.

“Of course I am.”

He leaned in close, his long bangs shifting softly with his movements and my cheeks burned when I noticed he was even more attractive up close. I could barely hear his next words over the sound of my own pulse pounding in my ears.

“Are you doing anything later this evening?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “If not, I was wondering... would you be interested in joining me in a double su—”

“THERE YOU ARE, DAZAI!!” someone bellowed.

I let out a yelp and instinctively pushed the man away, snatching back my hands in the process and backing several steps away. The sudden outburst had shocked me back to my senses and while I thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest, the bandaged man in the trench coat didn’t look fazed in the least. With a small, disappointed sigh, he shot me an apologetic look, straightened up and turned to face the crosswalk where the noise had come from.

“Kunikida-kun! I was wondering when you’d catch up,” he called, his voice pitching up into an almost sing-song tenor, a big goofy grin plastered on his face as he waved jovially to someone standing across the street.

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Kunikida roared back.

There, standing at the opposite crosswalk, looking angrier than anyone I’d ever seen, was a very tall man. His arms were crossed so tightly over his chest, it looked like he could snap himself in half if he squeezed any harder. Like Dazai, he was dressed like a professional, wearing a beige vest and pant set over a long-sleeved black shirt, a wine-colored ribbon tied neatly at his collar. He wore his hair long, in stylishly cut dark-blond ponytail and his rectangular glasses flashed menacingly as he glared sharply at Dazai. Unease building in my stomach, I watched his foot tap up and down with the uncanny precision of a metronome, like a countdown, and as soon as the crosswalk light turned green, he charged at us with all the force of a raging bull. I threw myself out of the way just as his arms shot out and his fingers closed around my companion’s bandaged neck. To my alarm, Dazai started laughing.

“Didn’t I tell you this morning that we had a very tight schedule today?” Kunikida barked, viciously shaking the brunette, who appeared completely indifferent to the assault, even entertained as his body rocked back and forth and his feet nearly lifted off the sidewalk.

“So what do you do? You wander off as soon as we leave the station and where do I find you? Flirting with a woman in broad daylight in the middle of the street! Smearing mud on the Agency’s good name while you are on the clock! You disgust me!”

At once, he dropped the guy and turned to me. Instinctively, I took a step back but to my surprise, he bent forward at the waist at a nearly perfect ninety-degree angle, sweat beading on his brow as he began apologizing to me.

“I am deeply sorry about my partner, Miss. This is completely inappropriate and the Agency will be taking full responsibility for his actions.”

“It’s okay!” I exclaimed, half afraid Kunikida would finish Dazai off if I said anything even remotely incriminating. “I’m fine. He didn’t do anything... bad...?”

Kunikida stared at me, the look in his gray-green eyes somewhere between confused, doubting and dumbfounded. Next to him, Dazai dusted himself off and I could feel his eyes on me as I chose my next words carefully.

“Really. It’s fine, you don’t need to do anything...” I glanced at Dazai’s skinny, bandaged neck, wondering when the bruises were going to show. “I’m alright.”

At once, Kunikida’s shoulders collapsed in obvious relief and as he straightened up, he fished around in his pocket to produce a small slip of paper.

“Here. My card.”

Bowing politely as I received it, I glanced over it. It was a rather plain-looking card, the sharp black text looking just as neat and tidy as the man in front of me. Intrigued, I read the card aloud.

“Kunikida Doppo-san. Armed Detective Agency?”

Something about that name sounded familiar...

“We’re detectives, Miss,” Kunikida said, as I turned the card over in my hands. “If you or anyone you know have any need of our services, please don’t hesitate to give us a call.”

“Detectives? As in private investigators?” I asked, suddenly feeling hopeful.

When Kunikida nodded, I quickly took the (very crumpled) drawing back out of my purse.

“Actually, I do have something I could use your help with. You see, I’m trying to stop a murder—”

“Murder?!”

Kunikida looked stunned but I kept talking as he and Dazai exchanged a glance.

“Yeah, I have this neighbor, Yamazaki-san. She lives across the hallway from me and if somebody doesn’t intervene in the next few days, she’s going to—”

“I’m really sorry,” Dazai interrupted me, looking apologetic, “But wouldn’t it be better to be asking the police for help on something like this?”

The hope died in my chest.

“I already tried asking the police,” I said stonily, staring at his feet. “They wouldn’t listen to me. They... they thought I was playing a joke on them.”

Kunikida stepped forward. He looked like he was about to speak when Dazai stopped him with a meaningful look. Dazai then turned to me, bowing his head a little as he spoke so that he was closer to my level.

“Hey...”

He put a bandaged hand on my shoulder.

“They’ll listen to you,” he said gently, his smile radiating compassion, “You just have to go in there and act like you’re someone worth listening to.”

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at his fellow detective.

“I mean, just look at Kunikida-kun. It works for him.”

“What the hell does that mean, Dazai?”

“What I’m trying to say,” Dazai continued, blatantly ignoring an increasingly incensed Kunikida as he spoke, “Is that you should try again. Look behind you, there’s been a shift change. Maybe you couldn’t convince the last person, but perhaps this officer will take you seriously.”

I turned and looked at where he was pointing, and sure enough, a different person had taken the place of the older, balding man from before. Dazai patted me on the shoulder.

“You can do it. I have faith in you. Oh, but just in case it doesn’t work out...”

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a card that looked very similar to Kunikida’s.

“You can contact me or Kunikida-kun and we will help you.”

He took my hand, placed the card face-down in the center of my palm and curled my fingers over it. Again, nothing happened when his skin met mine. I was dumbfounded. I looked up into his face and saw that he was smiling again, turning the charm back up to eleven as he stroked my hand with his half-bandaged fingers.

“In fact, you can call me if you need aaaanything at all,” he said, winking.

I flushed.

Unable to stomach any more, Kunikida abruptly seized him by the scruff of his neck, lifting him off of the ground (my hands fell out of Dazai’s at once) for a fraction of a second before slamming him down onto the sidewalk in a move straight out of a martial arts movie. Stunned into silence, I could only watch as Kunikida gave me a curt nod, asked me to call him directly if Dazai ever bothered me again and coolly adjusted his glasses, sliding them back up his nose.

“Please excuse us,” he said humbly.

He inclined his head in farewell and immediately dragged his limp companion down the street and out of my sight, Dazai’s tan trench-coat scraping unpleasantly against the sidewalk as he was taken away. My fellow pedestrians and I stared after them for a moment and only when people began walking around again did I remember to look at the card Dazai had placed in my hand.

“Dazai Osamu. Armed Detective Agency.”

#dazai x oc #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #osamu dazai #doppo kunikida #bungou stray dogs #bungou sd #bsd

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theslythertrash · 4 years

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So whenever I see superheroes I always freak out over small impractical costume things but I have never been angrier at show’s costumes than at bnha and this has been on my chest for several months now and it’s midnight and I’m half asleep so it’s the perfect time to write an essay about it on Tumblr.

Here are my ranking for the bnha costumes for all of 1-A:

I’m fully prepared to be slammed for this. (Also I’m supposed to be an artist so if I ever find some free time I’ll actually draw my babies some proper costumes.)

Midoriya’s is 9.5/10. It has an aesthetic, good color scheme and it compliments his quirk with iron soles and leg/arm enforcements. Has a nice belt, a mask for gas (hopefully) and facial protection. The only stupid thing is his bunny ears mask but it looks good when it’s down like a hood. My only correction would be to make his mask an actual hood.

Bakugo is 8/10 Kacchan also has an aesthetic. His mask is a little ridiculous but I’m fond of it. He also has practical shoes and stuff. HIS GAUNTLET IS SO STUPID. HAS THE MANGA ARTIST EVER WORN LARGE BRACELETS? DOES HE KNOW HOW ANNOYING THEY ARE? YOU CANT WRITE. OR SCRATCH YOUR HAND. OR REACH INTO TIGHT SPACES. I know they’re for storing sweat but sweat is a liquid and if people can invent Aizawa’s magic scarf they can invent smaller gauntlets. Jesus. But his winter costume makes them smaller I think (idk I don’t read the manga but I’ve seen fanart) so 8/10.

Uraraka is 5/10 Uraraka has a cool aesthetic. I enjoy the space theme and colors. A helmet is good since she’s flying around (though I don’t understand why it doesn’t cover her entire head? Protect the back of your head! Also her mouth- that should help against gas and things but I also know she vomits a lot so it’s probably better without one).

However, she’s sexualized too. Even outside of it being skin tight, she has a camel toe? Literally no one mentions it ever and it drives me crazyyyy. Look at her- why does she have that line there? Why? And why is her belt so bulky. How is she supposed to squeeze into tight spaces? AND ONCE AGAIN UNNECESSARY LARGE BRACELETS OH MY GOD. The manga explains her bulky heels and bracelets are to help with nausea but I refuse to believe they can’t invent smaller ones. And also boots without heels. Who is gonna run over debris on heels? 5/10

Iida is 7/10 He is too bulky. Why are they all so bulky. He looks like when he walks down the street he clanks as he walks. Way to be stealthy dude, smh.

Todoroki is fine I guess. Little boring but it’s passable. I wish it had more stuff for his quirk. Like maybe thermal fabric so he can cool down faster? Idk. 7.5/10

Tsuyu is a much bigger improvement over Uraraka. She’s got big ass bracelets again but they look like soft fabric so it’s probably easy to ignore. Her outfit has a wet suit aesthetic so that’s practical. Her goggles look a little bulky again but they are practical. WHY IS SHE IN HEELS. 8/10

Mineta looks like he has a diaper kink and it’s not even there to help his quirk. -10/10

Kirishima. Baby. Put on a shirt. Also what the fuck are those gears. Why are you wearing bulky shit that’s unrelated to your quirk? How are you gonna lie down comfortably when you have large ass rings on your shoulders. Why are you wearing a muzzle thing? How is that related to your quirk? If your gonna put something on your face wear something to protect your mouth from dust and gas. His bottom half is fine ig. I’ve got mixed feels on his cape/skirt thing but at least it’s an aesthetic. 6/10

Don’t get me started on Yaoyorozu. God Almighty. Even outside of the perversion, why does she have a whole ass bookshelf on her butt instead of an iPad for easy access? And not only is it AN ENTIRE BOOKSHELF, its HORIZONTAL. Why do you have a horizontal ass shelf when it can be vertical at the very least? She needs tech with Siri so she can ask what chemicals are in stuff into an earpiece. And also some pants. And a bra. -10/10

Idk what Tokoyami is doing. Being edgy I guess. 6/10 it’s fine.

Kaminari is fine I guess? He’s got the same problem as Tokoyami and Todoroki where it’s just an outfit and doesn’t actually help his quirk in any way. He could include metal bits on his gloves so punches have an extra shock to them. Or maybe a rubber helmet or something to protect his brain from his own shocks...would that work? I’m not a scientist. Maybe carry around extra shock-resistant fabric in a belt or something so he can protect bystanders before releasing a full attack. I REALLY like his added equipment for long-range attacks and I think he could go further with the idea- maybe add cords in the style of bows and arrows? Basically very boring but fine ig. 7.5/10 (solely adding the .5 for his new equipment)

Aoyama looks like he has the same bulky and loud problem as Iida but it’s toned down and I’m low key very amused by it so it’s fine. 9/10 for my flamboyant boy.

Jirou looks like she is going to the mall. She has no aesthetic and looks super boring. I like that her outfit actually helps her quirk with her speaker boots but she should carry around some weapons too. And wear a padded suit for hits. Actually they all should have padding. Goggles and mask would be helpful too. It’s fine I guess. Boring. 6.5/10

Okay, I’ve seen a lot of people complain that Ashido’s is really ugly. I’m actually amused by it so I don’t mind too much. The fur is ridiculous and the colors are loud but they are as loud as her personality so at least it has an aesthetic. I’m more bothered that it’s impractical. It doesn’t help with her quirk. She should have gauntlets similar to Kacchan’s so she can store acid (don’t make them bulky though, please). Padding too. Her shoes can have an extra retractable surface for gliding on acid. It would also probably be helpful to carry around a similar blanket to the hypothetical one Kaminari would have so she can shield civilians from her acid. It’s fine ig. At least she’s not sexualized. 7/10

Shoji looks like he has multiple nipples. At least it’s kinda practical tho. 6/10

Ojiro looks like he was on his way from karate class when a cat died on his shoulder. Once again he’s boring and doesn’t have anything interesting to compliment his quirk. He’s a good fighter so maybe he can also carry around a staff or nunchucks or something. He should pad his tail so the hits are extra hard. Boring but passable if he removes the stupid fur. It looks like it’ll tickle his cheek when he runs.7/10

I actually really like Sero’s. It fits his aesthetics and is practical. His helmet and shoulders could be a tad less bulky but whatever. It would be cool if he had like suction cups on his shoes or something to make it easier to stick to walls but I imagine that would be hard to walk in so it’s fine. 8.5/10

Tooru is naked. She has no costume. She’s 15- that’s so gross. Also she’s probably constantly cold and extremely vulnerable. I can’t imagine all the scraps she gets just from running around. And her sensitive parts are exposed to disease- she’s going to get a yeast infection. And not to be gross on main or whatever but what does she do when she’s on her period? ALSO, how can she feel comfortable running around without a bra? If Mirio can have a costume made of his hair so can Tooru. 0/10

Sato looks like a banana. Very boring with no aesthetic but at least he has pockets to carry sugar in so that’s practical. Some padding would be nice. 6/10 boring

Why the fuck is Koda in shorts. He’s gonna get scraps on his knees. What is that ugly ass symbol on his chest? At least he’s practical with his mask to hide when he’s talking to animals. Personally, I think it’s ugly but at least it’s useful 6/10

Woo I'm done. Thank you for coming to my TedTalk/ midnight essay. Winners: Deku, Kacchan, Sero, maybe Tsuyu. Maybe Aoyama. Absolute losers: Mineta, Momo, Tooru, Uraraka. Everyone else is varying levels of average

Also, I know I said I would only do 1-A but I have a special little place of hate in my heart for Aizawa’s costume so here’s my rant on him too:

JESUS CHRIST MAN CUT YOUR FUCKING HAIR YOU DINGUS. I know you're trying to have a hoboTM aesthetic and you have stubble and blah blah blah- I get it. We got it. (I lowkey think you’re hot) you wanna have dramatic hair. Noted. But you're entire personality is about being practical and not wanting attention. That’s why you disliked All Might. Set an example for your kids PLEASE. Why are you even bothering with goggles to hide when you blink WHEN YOUR HAIR IS A BIGGER TELL. I PROMISE I’M MORE LIKELY TO NOTICE YOUR HAIR DROP THAN YOUR EYES BLINKING YOU DUMB DUMB IDIOT.

Either cut it, put it in a bun (best option imo) or get a hood.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #costume #redesign #ugly impractical clothing #rant #rant over

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undecidedpersonality · 4 years

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Writer’s Month 2020 Day Twenty-Three: Poison

Title: “The Royal Murderer”

By: Nalijah Daniels

Word Count: 1874

Genre: Fiction - Fantasy

CW: murder, death, public execution, sacrifice,

I might as well have been a lab rat under bright-white observation lights. The beige uniform was baggy on my thinning body and made it uncomfortable to sleep. All it did was twist around my body, yanking me out of my dreamless sleep to struggle with it until it was back in place. Every night was like that. Just like every day was the same.

The blinding lights turn on at exactly 8 a.m. I flip onto my stomach and push my face into the thin pillow, trying to make the space behind my closed eyes as dark as possible. The heavy door on the opposite wall slides open, activated by the fingerprint of my security guard, Manuel. He used to be nice to me until I was caught halfway through my only possible escape plan and put his job on the line. I always smile at him when he forces me to sit up on the bed and hauls me out of the room, gripping around my arm just below the armpit. He hasn’t smiled back in 167 days. I know this because I’ve been counting on the wall with a tiny piece of chalk left here from who knows what. I’ve been here for 378 days in total. I marked the day Manuel stopped smiling with a small ‘x’ at the top. Day 211.

Once we’re through the door of my cell, we turn left, a long curve of concrete walls stretch ahead of us. There’s no other doors until we get to the bathroom. This is the only positive part about my prisoner gig; I’m allowed showers every other day. When I was younger, rumors spread around town that royal prisoners were only allowed to shower once a month. Apparently the hygiene of a criminal doesn’t matter. Don’t even get me started on their rumored food schedules. I imagine they let me shower this often because when they finally get to show off my dead body to the public––they’re gonna want to do that––it would be off-putting to see grime on the beautiful young body and face of a twenty-year-old girl, no matter how dangerous I was.

The water shoots out of the rusted head high on the wall at first with a sputter, then a steady stream, pelting my body with near scalding water. The smooth water beads rolling over my body has been the only positive touch I’ve gotten in over a year. I glance over my shoulder to Manuel standing in the opposite corner of the square room, his eyes trained on the wall across from him, hands clasped behind his back. I put an innocent smile on my face and whistle, trying to catch his attention. I’m never getting out of here alive, and he already hates me, so I might as well have as much fun playing mind games as I can. I begin to ramble about anything that I think might draw his eyes towards me. Why I hate the new Duke. My longing for the touches of my pre-imprisonment lovers. My yearning to step under the night sky and not see it through a small barred window five feet above my head. I even begin to sway my bare hips and sing an old lullaby about marriage. I don’t even get a muscle spasm in response.

I roll my eyes when he continues to ignore me and drop the act to focus my mind on something else. Just like every other dull moment, my mind manages to drift to why I’m here. I sacrificed myself for my younger brother, who was almost imprisoned for keeping my identity a secret. Even though they knew my real name, Izetta Llewellyn, they had called me The Royal Murderer around town. The townies whispered around me in the shopping center when I snuck through in disguise, none of them knowing I was right there.

Once, I was the right hand woman of the Duchess, happily waiting on her hand and foot as soon as I turned fifteen. Despite our ten-year age gap, we were the best of friends, the sister I never had. She made sure that my position as her young lady-in-waiting wasn’t taken too seriously so that I could still have “good ol’ teenage fun.” She trusted me with all of her secrets, including how the Duke berates her while throwing her around in their private residence. I helped undo her dress the evening she told me and saw the lightening bruises across her sides and stomach. He told her that he’s only going to stop abusing her because she’s pregnant, but that he wasn’t afraid to punish her again if she messed up just bad enough. I was eighteen then. I wasn’t going to let that possibility happen.

Being young and trusted meant I had a lot of access to the kingdom. I was never seen as a threat. The tapestries of rich color and stitching that hung down over the charcoal gray stone walls familiar to me in every hallway but one. The one that I walked down that fatal day had paintings with details of greens, golds, and white. The Duke’s favorite color scheme. They were the colors he adorned himself in to attend his most important events. I rapped on the doorframe to his open study and stood with my hands folded in front of me, waiting for him to look up.

He greeted me kindly, like I truly was the little sister-in-law he never had. He often ruffled my hair when seeing me, telling me just how much the Duchess adored me. As if I didn’t know. I put a small smile on my face to appear to be that same honorable, innocent, young girl. When he invited me into the room, I didn’t let much time pass. I would need as much time as possible to get out from the kingdom walls and off the grounds in order to not be caught. They would know it was me. The cameras caught and kept everything they weren’t told to delete.

When I plunged the dagger into his stomach, a true smile, honest and wide, spread on my face as I stared into his angry and scared eyes. They were hard set on mine, yet darting to figure out how to help himself as I whispered into his ear everything that I knew, telling him how happy I was that he would never be able to do them again.

I’m still not sorry.

I learned I was immune to poison when they caught me. My older brother had been hiding me for a year when royal guard’s found out he was The Royal Killer’s accomplice. They dragged him into town square, pushing him onto his knees on the bottom step of the dais the royal family sat on for public events, like execution. Knowing what this would do to my mother and father––knowing that would be my fault for my brother’s conviction––I wasted no time revealing myself. I pulled the dark cloak’s hood from my head as I stepped out of a shadowed corner, declaring that they could take my life in exchange for my brother’s safe return home. My brother looked at me with wide eyes––bewilderment, terror, and rage dancing across his face–– because I wouldn’t let them take him. He wanted me to be safe from them, but there was no extra time wasted as I got dragged to his place.

The kingdom was never one for mutilating people, no matter how bad their crime, so they could keep their status to their citizens as classy and not blood hungry. Public murders were cold and emotionless instead, making everyone watch the person’s life disappear behind their eyes after forcing them to swallow a vile of poison. The toxin levels were what made the punishment. Some simply fainted in mere seconds and were gone. Others, like the one intended for me, would seize the person’s body for multiple minutes, leaving them writhing and screaming in agony on the ground, unable to pull themselves up and away from the pain. When I was younger watching these events, I had always imagined the toxins feeling like fires burning your body from the inside out, your bones snapping under the pressure of heat until you were nothing but a sack of flesh laying on the ground. None of that happened to me.

After sitting on my knees, waiting for the pain to seize me––nothing. The crowd murmured and the royal family, sitting at the top of the dais the whole time, began to stir. Before I could attempt to run off, I was hauled up by four guards to be taken to the cell I’ve been in ever since. As they marched me past, I saw the Duchess who was already staring at me. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the arms of her chair but her face was soft, one tear falling down her left cheek before I could no longer see her.

The shower water shuts off. My fifteen minutes of warmth finished. I’m hauled back the same way I came after toweling off and putting on a fresh uniform. Now for my first meal of the day.

They never give me much, just enough to put what they hope is the right dose of this and that chemical mixture to end me once and for all. This time it’s a muffin, banana nut. I hate banana nut muffins, but I have no choice but to consume it. Manuel would force it into my mouth if he had to like the first couple of days that I was here.

I lower my head to the plate to stiff it. I expected to be solely repulsed by the sweet banana smell but a wave of nausea washes over me instead. This other thing, I don’t actually smell, but its toxic makeup sends warning signals to my brain right away. I’ve never experienced this before, this sickness. When I look up at Manuel, his eyes burn into mine and he smiles, cruel and excited, breaking the streak.

Letting out a slow breath, I try to swallow but the tightness in my throat makes it nearly impossible. For the first time in 378 days, I am scared. I lift my hands from resting in my lap and they feel heavy, the muffin making them even heavier as I cup it in my hands. My breathing becomes more ragged as I close my eyes and lift the muffin to my mouth. My lips begin to tingle just from touching the muffin to my lips. I try once to open my mouth to take a bite and can’t bring myself to do it. My final bite. I know it will be. Opening my eyes, the white lights and everything it encompasses is blurry and shakes. I don’t know when I started crying. My mouth is finally able to open wide enough to sink my teeth into just one edge of the buttery pastry. The sweet and salty taste seizes my heart before I’m able to swallow and I gasp for air that isn’t there anymore.

This time they found my kryptonite. This time I die.

#writersmonth2020 #writer #new writers on tumblr #poison #prompt fill #writing prompt #the royal murderer #fiction #fantasy #my ocs #original writing #original content #original character #the duke #the duchess #lady in waiting

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