#ppl just have to take the only thing I don’t like in the movie (miles suddenly obsessed over Gwen when they didn’t even interact that much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

China blocked Tumblr because of pornography and censorship problems in 2013.

#ppl just have to take the only thing I don’t like in the movie (miles suddenly obsessed over Gwen when they didn’t even interact that much

communistkenobi · 1 year

Note

re your glass onion rich ppl media post: i found your take of everyone turning on that elon musk guy in the end really interesting, bc i had a somewhat different interpretation.

they only turned on him once it was clear that he had lost all credibility and wouldn’t be able to get his new fuel idea off the ground. so, very true to their character so far, all of his friends turned out to be opportunists who simply realised that there was no longer any profit in protecting this guy. so they stabbed him in the back, just as they had done to andy, bc that is the kind of ppl he had sought out to surround himself with, and bc they were never his real friends to begin with.

all of which isn’t to take away from your main point that the actors and the director here are rich ppl making a movie for profit, bc i agree there

I actually completely agree! I wasn’t super clear on this point in the post and several people have brought this up, so that’s my bad.

To clarify: the interpretation that the other characters only turned on miles because it was suddenly advantageous to do so, as opposed to any deeper moral principle, is correct I think. Like that’s the intended take away. However, I think it’s also still true that these characters are being framed, even subtextually, as doing the right thing. The catharsis and sense of resolution you get from miles losing everything and Helen getting justice for her sister are facilitated by all of his “friends” turning on him. Their decision to rat him out, however self-centred, is still them participating in the narrative justice of miles “getting what’s coming to him.” and miles is absolutely fucked, but the rest of them are saved - or at least the consequences they will face are heavily minimised by the fact that they’re all turning on him.

I think this is actually why the critique of rich people that the movie offers - that they are entitled, narrow minded, anti-intellectual fakers - is so brilliant, because it allows for the possibility that all that entitled bigoted anti-intellectualism can still be used for just ends. That even if you’re this rich shithead who didn’t “earn” your wealth, your actions still have the capacity for doing good in the world. There is still an escape hatch, a way to save your soul. This is the deeper problem with the ending of the movie, because while it is narratively satisfying to see the good guys win at the end of the day, it is still facilitated by the whims of the (disgusting, petty, cruel) bourgeois. And I don’t think that ending is there to reassure the audience that we still have to obey our corporate overlords or whatever, I think it’s much more selfish than that - that by the writers (ie Rian Johnson) being this openly critical and self-deprecating about their own wealth and the wealth of their friends, they can still be the good guy. This movie is about rich people more than it’s about someone getting justice for their family member. Their wealth is justified because they’re making movies about how much wealthy people suck.

To be perhaps unfairly cynical, you could even make the argument that this new niche of rich-people-bad movies are a way of the wealthy exorcising their guilt for their own wealth, that by creating and acting in and watching these films they are being a good person by laughing at themselves, that self-mockery has a rehabilitative quality to it.

Anyway I don’t know if all of this is fair, and I’m not necessarily fully arguing that this is exactly the case, but as I see more and more people online herald this movie as a spectacular example of radical media, I think it’s good to keep in mind that it’s a fun movie about rich people being horrible to each other and any genuinely radical sentiment is just set dressing

#asks #glass onion

97 notes · View notes

destinyc1020 · 7 days

Note

I mean I don’t think he really said anything in that deadline article that he hasn’t said before. Even when they were doing press for nwh and people were asking if this would be it for him or if he would play spiderman again he kept saying the same sort of thing that he is so grateful to spider-man and he will always want to do it but maybe after a good break and only if it’s a good story that serves the character right and that yeah eventually if did continue he would eventually want to pass it on to miles morales or something.

Well, he's not gonna say "I'm quitting" during his actual promotion of his NWH Spiderman movie Anon lol 😆

That's why, I pay more attention to what ppl say AFTER they've promoted their film, and some time has passed by. Sometimes, actors will say anything during a press tour in order to get you to see their movie lol 😆 😂

But it seems like Tom had to clarify what he meant, coz I for sure got the impression (as did many others) that if he were still playing Spiderman/Peter Parker in his 30s, that he would find that a bit ridiculous. 👀

At least, I think that's what most fans kind of felt when they read his interview in this 👇🏾context:

Idk... to me that whole entire GQ interview though was kinda sad to me. 😔 It almost seemed like a cry for help in a way. 😥 He totally sounded a bit burnt out back then....😓 keep in mind, that was back in 2021. So, he might have been feeling emotionally different back then.

I'm SO glad Tom finally took a year off last year, coz he was seeming burnt out. This industry can take a lot out of you....especially when you've been going going going for nearly a decade. 😓

It could also be too that maybe Tom doesn't really know WHAT he wants to do?? He is a Gemini after all lol 😆, so they change their minds QUICK! 🤣

Idk, I kinda get the impression that at this point in time of this interview, Tom didn't really know WHAT he really wanted to do? 🤷🏾‍♀️ Maybe he was still figuring his life (both career-wise and private-wise) out?

I mean, ppl CAN change their minds. There's nothing wrong with that.

The mood of that interview just seemed a bit somber to me.... just in certain areas that's all. So maybe that's why I (and other fans) got the impression that maybe he wouldn't really want to still be playing Spiderman into his 30s.

He still sounds like he wouldn't mind passing the baton on to someone else in order to include more diversity? 🤷🏾‍♀️

Idk, that's the impression that I get at least.

6 notes · View notes

tiptapricot · 11 months

Note

brings you a fruit platter XD 🍑 & 🍈 & (blueberries - can't find the emoji, but ur fave underrated thing to write about in ur fandoms)

🍑 —If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

Hmmm this is a tough one because I honestly don’t do/think of crossovers very much? I rly like working within a piece n finding things to expand on inside it. I may unfortunately have to go w the boring answer of I probably wouldn’t JNDBDBD It’s not like I don’t read stuff either but I’m not exactly a literature man in my passions as reading takes a lot of brain power, so idrk any quotes or overarching things id try to tie in? This is honestly kinda interesting to me on its own that I just. Don’t have anything. But ig that’s just how it is fhdhdjbd I’m not rly a crossover or references dude I suppose.

Maybe something with Miguel/2099 stuff and Terry from Batman Beyond? Somth ab future versions of characters n legacies n Terry’s thing of helping an older roughened guy care ab ppl again, and the fact that he had spiderman inspo in his making, idk. But that’s more just a musing more than anything serious.

🍈 —Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions

I have many n don’t have one (I have a super hard time with single favorite characters) so I will not be giving all of them n just give some rapid fire thoughts from across the board.

I love trans Miguel O’Hara and Gwen Stacy esp from the spiderverse movies as I think those readings of them are a very thematically appropriate and fascinating way to explore them, and I love trans people

Comics Steven from MK paints the body’s nails and gets them regular manicures/pedicures/hair care treatments, etc n has an extensive collection of Bath and Bodyworks soaps and scrubs and lotions. They also have semi-sensitive skin and he’s very aware of ingredients and what will work for them

Hera w359 is aLso such a trans woman to me there is so much ab the self and holding it and creating it and breaking from the miles people tell you to stay in and finding the humanity in yourself and creating a new sense of self outside of programming and the literal voice someone forced you to have. I love her so dearly and aUGGH

Show!Steven from MK has a record player and is very careful about taking them out of the sleeves, but not careful about how they end up stacked up. Jake does CDs. Marc downloads random tracks onto their phone or only listens via YouTube (not YouTube music just looking up on YouTube)

🫐—What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

Well this isn’t rly underrated bc stuffs still kicking off but if someone hasn’t already, a timeloop fic for ATSV Miguel would slap absolute ass. I’m also on the (sort of but also not always?) rare train of genderqueer jake, and ofc the very rare train of some-flavor-of-transfem Marc. Also love non binding and non top op trans men/mascs and would lOve to see that around more. I’m also someone who does a lot of inhuman body exploration which while not uncommon in the big scheme I find a way to work into a lot of my headcanons for characters at some point and can be a huge draw (like to Ted n Jack from wwbn, the MK sys with weird Khonshu body effects and differing levels of human connection, or Miguel w his many mutations n differing levels of spider ppl connection).

Send me a fruity writing ask!

#the fruit is talking again #the fruit is answering again #ask game

2 notes · View notes

ghcstvalleychief · 2 years

Note

I love your account one of the very few ones that has no filter and is direct. I have seen so many accounts be like they don’t owe you anything “BOC & MA don’t owe us anything”….😒. Or others like “do you guys want them to finish filming the movie or not?” As if they didn’t go for a vacation for a whole week lol

Someone made a post bc they didn’t agree with another account(that said that this whole mess could have been avoided if BOC was better at communicating) ….? Like …?

I’ve always said it if you don’t agree move on make your post individually and block the person. The way they act like self righteous ppl defending that company and their mess. The internet is free and you can give opinions on everything and anything but tagging a post and acting like you are a much better for supporting Boc yeah nope….. it’s funny tho

I really do hope that MA know what they are doing, M clearly knows and is try to work around the family agenda as for A I feel like they are using his past experiences against him and believe me I’ve gone through that and it’s not good.

Im gonna stick around just bc I truly believe in MA they are such lovely ppl and amazing actors. hopefully M sees through the BS and moves and takes A with Him 😩

It's a blessing and a curse honestly. It can be a good thing and a bad thing to be so direct and blunt. Believe me, that's always been a problem for me growing up. That was always something the people around me trying to snuff out, but it didn't work.

I never understood this idea that BOC doesn't 'owe' us anything. If I'm paying for a service, I expect to get the full experience. If I'm putting money into the pockets of a man who's probably already far more wealthy than the majority of KP fans, then I absolutely expect to be impressed and catered to. They want your money. They want your support. What kind of bullshit is that? You're buying tickets to a world tour. You're buying merchandise on said world tour. You're spending your hard earned money on this entire thing. Why wouldn't you be the main priority here? If the fans stopped talking about this show, if they stopped talking about this stupid tour, how long do you think it would take for this world tour to implode? How long until the entire company falls apart as a result of lack of fan interest? The fans spread the word of everything having to do with KP and BOC. The fans are doing that. BOC wouldn't survive if the fans didn't do that. That's a fact.

To each their own, but I think that's absolutely asinine personally. I've been trying to limit my fights on the internet these days, so I've taken to blocking people. Yeah, I know some people think that's a rather extreme reaction to a minor disagreement. However, people get downright nasty sometimes. Yes, people will immediately resort to ad hominem attacks over something as simple as an opinion about something that doesn't directly affect any of us. So, I agree, anon. Block people and move on. Hell, I've even blocked BOC. I never know anything about what they post unless my mutuals start talking about it on my TL.

But yes, Mile is taking a very different approach to what's going on. It's almost like Mile understands what the fans have been saying this entire time in terms of promotion. The fans have made numerous statements about how incompetent BOC is when it comes to that, but I think Mile has actually been paying attention to the things we've been saying. I think he's probably been lurking around honestly, which is good. I know Apo is more willing to take the more neutral, diplomatic approach but that's only going to work for so long until it stops. Sometimes, you have to pick a side. Sometimes, you have to make a firm stance when it comes to most things. Again, he has every right to do what he pleases but ... Anyway, I'm in total agreement with you, anon.

You're your own biggest cheerleader. If no one else is going to promote and give you credit for your hard work, then you have to do it yourself. Toot your own horn!

#anonymous #answered asks

4 notes · View notes

1kook · 3 years

Text

ZOOM CALL

⇢ meeting two

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

⇢ series masterlist

summary: Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group. genre: fluff, slice of life, smut (tags tba) warnings: ITS A SLOW BURN OKAY...., sweetheart jk, campus crush jk, college crushes, social distancing, zoom -_-, jk owns a keroppi plush, oc thirsts over his hot bod, jk’s sweet attempts at flirting </3 he’s just 2 cute for his own good ratings: e for everyone <3 wc: 3.7k

notes: this took long bc i wrote one version but it was SO LAME u guys r lucky my friend and editor ( @kigurumu 🖤 ) stopped me from posting it. so then i had to reorganize my thoughts n b like girl. the ppl are waiting. get it together. anyway here’s zoom jk 😎

Being grouped with Jeon Jungkook (he/him) for your first class on the first day of your first Zoom semester truly sets the standard.

By no means do your other classes suck; they’re quite enjoyable, more relevant to your area of study. They’re familiar which makes them comfortable, your Zoom meetings filled with faces you’ve seen time and time again the last four years. The material interests you, so you definitely don’t have anything against them or your classmates.

That being said, no one is prepared for the awkwardness that comes with each and every Zoom meeting. You never thought you’d be embarrassed to turn your mic on— to speak in a class filled with your peers. And the meetings are all like that, filled with uncomfortable silences and endless black screens.

You wish there was a Jeon Jungkook (he/him) in every class.

Jungkook’s just got this bubbly aura to him, this magnetic presence that staples itself into the back of your mind with each passing day. No one fills a Zoom call like he does, making every person laugh and smile like him.

Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself a little disheartened when you don’t get sorted into the same randomized group as him again. Disappointment melts into annoyance when you find out how incompetent your other classmates are, refusing to speak in the small group or just completely clocking out all together. A lot of them didn’t do the reading— the one you stayed up all night doing —and your first partnered assignment of the semester finds you doing it all by yourself. Muted mics, black windows, complete radio silence; you hated it all.

You find yourself weirdly longing for Jeon Jungkook’s presence, even if he’s only there to talk about some movie he saw last night. No one is as much of a chatterbox as him, can’t even hold a candle to the way he draws everyone in with his mindless conversations. At least he speaks during Breakout Rooms, you think bitterly.

Anyway, the first week of classes ends and your brain is a frenzied mess. There’s schedules to memorize, professors to impress, assignments to plan out. There’s definitely no time to sit around and fantasize about the curly haired cutie in one of your general classes. The weekend is spent trying to organize your planner, filling in due dates and exam days ahead of time. It’s your last semester and you’re dead set on making it your best one yet. There’s a lot of written work this time around, analyses and research papers that need to be organized. The road ahead is manageable, but you’ll have to work hard to keep it that way for the next five months.

Most notably, there’s one group project waiting for you, which leads you to Friday. Sitting at your desk, bright and early, absolutely dreading being assigned to your group.

Jungkook is early this time, not like on Monday where he’d been one of the last to filter in, and he’s looking as chirpy as ever. Donning this horrendously hot pink shirt, completely unlike the neutral tones he’d worn during your last two meetings and that decorate his room, and the cutest pair of circle glasses sitting on his nose. He says his regularly scheduled ‘good morning’ to you all and receives a collective response from the rest of the class that not even your professor got.

Speaking of the professor, you’ve been giving him the stink eye this whole time. Not that he can tell, given the fact he’s probably miles away in his own home while you angrily glare at him through your webcam. It’s this old guy who’s decided to sort you all into semester long groups for the class, which is the absolute worst. These types of groups always go the same way: you make a group chat promising to study together, those plans fall through, and then everyone just leeches off of each other for homework answers. And in most cases, it’s you handing over your homework answers because no one else ever bothers to do anything. Sadly, it’s a routine you’ve had to suffer through many times in your academic career.

The thought makes you sick. Having to spend another semester being labeled as the bossy, nerdy dictator of the group? Not exactly how you wanted to spend the last few months of college, but there’s nothing you can do. Maybe this time around you’ll just let it be, won’t fight it (and by it, you mean your lazy classmates when they inevitably try to guilt trip you for homework) and simply let it run its course.

“I’m going to put you guys into Breakout Rooms with your new groups!” your professor claps excitedly, and then you and the rest of your classmates are forced to watch him lean too close to the camera as he begins clicking around to find the preset groups he’s assigned the class. “Remember, guys, this is it for the rest of the semester. So if something isn’t right, let me know by the end of today.”

Man, this was going to suck, you groan. The syllabus had said that the purpose of these groups was to keep you all connected with your classmates during these trying times, to give you the same opportunities in-person learning would. Frankly, you’re not too worried about making friends with everyone in this large class. Most of them are younger than you anyway, save for Jeon Jungkook (he/him) and a handful of others who are apparently in your year. Befriending lowerclassmen only to have to bid them adieu in a few months seems awfully sad, a little too heartbreaking. You really just want to get a good grade in this class, collect the last of your credits, and put this whole college experience behind you.

Your thoughts are wrapped up by the pop-up message that appears on screen.

The host is inviting you to join a Breakout Room: Group 12

You sigh, contemplate dropping this class for all of two seconds, before dutifully accepting the request. Worse comes to worst, you make up some lie to tell your professor that you’re allergic to group work and hope it works. (It won’t.)

You sit through the mandatory loading screen for a few seconds before being abruptly dumped into your new room, Group 12, or so the message had said. There’s no one else here yet, which isn’t really a surprise. A lot of your classmates are probably like you, scowling at the pop up message every time your professor sends you into small groups before accepting the request. So you chill by yourself, eyes tracing over your own mirrored image. The notes on last night’s reading are neatly laid out before you, your copy of the book off to the side.

Another beat and then, much to your surprise, Jeon Jungkook (he/him) is appearing in your room. “Oh,” he says, round eyes magnified by the thick lens of his glasses, the glare of the computer’s glow casting a funny shape across the lens that momentarily robs you of his pretty eyes. His pretty pink lips stretch into a smile, upper lip thinning out a bit when he flashes you those perfect teeth. “Hi, __,” he greets politely, bubbly.

It’s embarrassing how much his presence affects you, your back going ramrod straight in a terrible attempt to compose yourself. “Hi, Jungkook,” you manage to get out, fingers nervously reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself. They land on a pencil.

Jungkook doesn’t seem even the slightest bit aware of the commotion he causes within you. “I was really nervous for these groups,” he begins rambling right away, lips pushing down into an exaggerated frown as he shivers at the memory. “But I’m glad I got placed with someone hardworking like you!”

Despite how sweet he sounds, you’re not entirely sure if he’s buttering you up just to take advantage of your ‘hardworking’ attitude later down the road or if he’s genuinely being polite. The little information you know about Jungkook wants you to believe it is the latter; he’s very kind, sweet and nice in a way that makes everyone he speaks to feel warm. Still, for all you know this could be some elaborate ruse of his to make you trust him now and then convince you to do all the work for the rest of the semester.

Tentatively, you ask, “and how would you know that?” You try your best to keep your usual snappiness out of your voice, pose it simply out of curiosity. But everything you say or do feels like a stark contrast to Jungkook and his bubbliness.

His head tilts cutely to the side, imploring brown eyes looking at you for one hard second. And then, “I read your forum analysis from Wednesday,” he admits, breaking into a smile. Shy and tiny, bashfully looking down at his desk. “I thought your perspective on the piece was really interesting,” he says, lips pursing together as if he’s suddenly too embarrassed to admit such things to you.

Stunned, all you can manage is one slow nod. “Thank you,” you eventually choke out, trying to ward the heat away from your cheeks as Jungkook sheepishly nods back, cute smile still on his face.

“Oh, please,” he chuckles, raising his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me!”

It is in this exact moment that you are suddenly made aware of two things.

One: despite his collection of soft sweaters and t-shirts, his bouncy curls and sweet smile, Jeon Jungkook’s body is neither as cute nor as soft as any of his belongings. In fact, Jeon Jungkook’s body is all hard planes and prominent veins. Arms beefy, biceps that bulge beneath the fabric of the short sleeve t-shirt he’s donned today. His shoulders fill out the material nicely, making him look broad and huge, but that’s not even the worst part, because—

—two: Jeon Jungkook is covered in ink. Dark streaks and swirls paint his forearms, curling around his elbow. Every inch of his pale skin is littered with tiny designs. They dance along the back of his hands, over his knuckles, and end at an unidentifiable point beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he tugs at the neckline of his shirt in an effort to readjust it, you hope your eyes are deceiving you and that isn’t a hint of ink by his collarbone.

Your normal composure seems to slip away at the mere thought.

It’s Jungkook’s voice that brings you back, a soft timbre that asks, “aren’t we supposed to have someone else in our group?” You flinch as if you’ve been caught ogling him, never mind the fact he’s started mindlessly shuffling some papers around on his desk, not the slightest bit concerned with you.

“Oh— um, yes. I think,” you stammer, feeling like some creep for ogling your very cute, very sweet classmate. The memory of his inky skin nearly sends a shiver down your spine as you navigate back to the class syllabus. “We’re supposed to have at least three people,” you read off, glancing at the boy on your screen who frowns at the news.

“Do you think they dropped?” Given it was still only the first week of school, probably. There had been a fewer number of people in the call when it started, you remembered. Jungkook sighs, this rather light sound that ends in a hum. “Well, we can always wait a few minutes just in case.”

So you wait, nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It’s not awkward, or at least, not as awkward as it would be with anyone else. The other week you had silently sat with another classmate in a one-on-one discussion and hadn’t uttered a word for five minutes. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about the class, but because said classmate had been tapping away on their phone the entire time and hadn’t even responded to your simple greeting. That was awkward.

With Jungkook it’s more weird than awkward. You can tell the silence makes him uncomfortable because he keeps doing these tiny inhales like he’s about to speak, followed by a little head shake where he seemingly stops himself from saying anything at all. He wants to talk, very badly it seems, but holds back for some odd reason.

He’s scribbling on some sheet of paper, leaning forward to give you a view of the top of his head. From this angle, his shirt hangs forward and a silver necklace falls out from beneath the neckline, thuds against the table. And then your suspicions are nearly confirmed, and oh god, is that a chest piece—

You quickly look away.

Robbed of his handsome face and feeling like you’ll die if you look at his body any longer, you settle for your newly acquired favorite pastime: inspecting your classmates’ rooms over Zoom. Yes, you’ll admit it is incredibly nosy, but what else can you do? You can only look at your professor for so long until you inevitably grow bored, attention drifting off to your classmates tiny windows. And with no professor in sight, just gorgeous Jeon Jungkook, you quickly begin your examination of his bedroom.

Jungkook’s room is pretty much the same as you remember it, rather neat and plain. There’s not a lot going on in terms of decoration, which is a little surprising to say the least. Over the course of the week, you’ve watched your classmates’ dormitories and bedrooms gradually change, decorations and tapestries decorating the walls, mountains of pillows added to their beds. It’s only natural that everyone has an innate need to show off who they are now more than ever, and you thought Jungkook would be the same.

Apparently not.

Aside from the guitar you had spotted on Monday, his little dorm room remains unchanged. Blank walls, grayscale sheets. The same perfectly fluffed pillows and then—

A tiny Keroppi plush smack dab in the middle of his bed.

It’s adorable but a little out of place amongst Jungkook’s rather masculine decorations (or lack thereof). A tiny green doll sitting by his pillows, cute striped shirt and ridiculously dopey smile.

Leaning forward, you unmute yourself and conversationally say, “I love your Keroppi.”

At the sudden sound of your voice, Jungkook abruptly straightens up, glasses practically at the very tip of his nose. Eyes wide, it takes him a second to process your words before jerkily whipping around to stare at the aforementioned item. “Oh,” he jumps, slowly looking at his screen again, lips pulled into a tight line. “Um… it’s not mi—“

“It’s adorable,” you add, propping your chin in your palm, absolutely endeared with the rosy color that paints his cheeks, fades down the column of his neck.

He squirms, hurriedly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’ll deny it again, nervously nibbling at his lower lip, before eventually he settles with a sigh. “I won it from a crane machine,” he confesses with a sheepish huff of laughter, rolling backwards to the edge of his bed to snatch it from its spot.

(Of course he manspreads as he sits, dark jeans hugging his thighs as he rolls back your way. His arm looks so strong, covered in all that ink, you nearly drool.)

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” he says, abandoning his embarrassment as he shakes the little figure around, makes it look like it’s dancing for you. “My mom said it looks like me.”

At that, you laugh. Loud and boisterous because you were definitely not expecting Jungkook to say that, such an odd but weirdly fitting comparison that has you looking at the doll in his hands with renewed interest. And through the pixelated screen, you can see the similarities: Jungkook does have the same smile as Keroppi.

“Your mom was right,” you agree, wiping a faux tear from the corner of your eye. “Very cute.”

Jungkook’s got this big goofy smile on, shaking his head in disbelief that you would ever dare agree with his mom. Like he’s genuinely enjoying himself, you think, oddly proud to have evoked that reaction from him. Granted, Jungkook always looks like he’s pretty happy during class, but it feels nice knowing that you were (confirmed) the reason why.

A little caught up with the bumbling feeling in your chest, you’re not expecting his next words. “Does that mean I’m cute?” he asks, still with that same dopey smile on his face.

It’s a bold statement you wouldn’t have expected from him, someone who seems content being the world’s friend, but apparently Jeon Jungkook also craves compliments.

Slowly, you nod. “...yes,” you say, trying to keep the tumultuous emotions inside of you at bay while you grant him this one compliment. Outwardly, you give him what you hope is an obviously feigned look of disbelief, managing to lace it with a little amusement as you shake your head at his inquiry. On the inside, your mind and heart are a thundering racetrack, the roar of the engines and the screams of the crowd enough to momentarily make you lose your senses. “Very cute,” you repeat, hoping he can’t hear the same pounding of your heartbeat in your throat and in your ears as you do. “Like a little frog.”

Jungkook graces your robotic response with the most boyish laugh, head tossed back as one loud cackle (because, really, there is no other way to describe the sound that tears itself from his throat) escapes him, curls bouncing back from the movement. “Cute like a frog,” he wheezes, seemingly to himself as he shakes his head with a grin, scooting closer to the camera again. “That’s a new one.”

“You set yourself up for it,” you defend, busying yourself with the papers spread out in front of you before Jungkook can distract you any further. “Anyway!” you announce, neatly lining the papers up. “Our group.”

Jungkook does his best to wipe the glee off his face, but even as he reaches around for his things, it’s still there. “Right,” he agrees, “we have to, um—“ a huff of laughter “—group contract! Or, well, partner project.”

Briefly, you consider calling in your professor to inform him of your missing partner. He had said to let him know by the end of today if something was wrong. But, honestly, you didn’t see a problem with your group the way it was now. While you can only hope he’ll turn out to be as dedicated to his work as you, as it stands now, there weren’t any major red flags surrounding Jungkook’s character.

Besides, you didn’t mind being with him for the rest of the semester.

You nod, forcing yourself to ignore the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at you through the screen. “I think it’s safe to say it’ll just be the two of us, which I don’t mind,” you say, glancing at the time on the corner of your screen to see five minutes have passed since you agreed to wait. “Do you?”

On screen, Jungkook profusely shakes his head, curls bouncing all over the place. “Nope,” he hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he reassures you, resting his chin in his palm as he regards you, and then sweetly adds, “it’ll be nice with just us, __.”

Right.

You gulp, heart fluttering at the dreaminess he exudes through your screen, the soft strand of hair that falls over his forehead, tickles his brow bone when he flashes you another smile. He was so handsome. Before you say anything silly, you quickly attempt to move on. “But it does make us more of a duo than a group.”

Jungkook looks away from his screen for the first time in what feels like forever and you finally let your heart rest for a second. “A duo,” he murmurs, shuffling through his papers. “Like Mickey and Minnie?”

You nearly choke on your spit, coughing to hide the surprise from his rather cute suggestion. He’s not even looking at you, doesn’t even realize the absolute shock he’s thrown you in by comparing the two of you to one of the most famous couples— that’s what they are, a goddamn couple, not a duo! the words mean two completely different things! —in the world. Instead, Jungkook is humming the theme song to Drake & Josh.

This man was dangerous for your heart.

After having felt all the emotions in the world in the span of ten seconds, you eventually gather the courage to say, “sure,” and quickly try to move the conversation along. “We just need to, um, make some ground rules and responsibilities for us to follow.”

Jungkook nods, finally glancing up again, but not at you. He’s glaring at some point behind his computer, brows furrowed together as he begins brainstorming on his own. You try to, really, but his lips pout adorably when he’s deep in thought, and they’re just so pink and look so soft and would feel like—

“Well, we should probably exchange numbers first,” Jungkook says, interrupting your spiraling thoughts with a new topic to spiral over. He tilts his head to the side, brown eyes focused on you.

“Yes, of course,” you stammer, fumbling for your phone as Jungkook lets out a soft yay at your acceptance of his request. Quickly, he recites his number and you type it in with trembling hands into the number pad, giving him a quick call so he can have your number as well.

You save him right away, just his name followed by the class you share with him. Not like you know any other Jeon Jungkooks, and if you did, you doubt anyone could ever leave such an impact like this Jeon Jungkook.

“__, look,” Jungkook calls, that same excitement lacing his already lovely voice, and you raise your head up at the screen again. He’s waving his phone over his camera, so you don’t get to see his face when he says, “It’s a little mouse emoji and a pink bow— just like Minnie!”

Dangerous for your heart and, most likely, the death of you this semester.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk♡#mine

2K notes · View notes

aardvaark · 3 years

Text

it was semi-believable back when there was hardly such a thing as an accessible internet, BUT no one could feasibly have a secret identity as a superhero these days due to social media lemme just. okay.

we have paparazzi for celebrities, its gonna be 100x more for superheroes realistically. they would have a fanbase online who would clearly want to find out who they are. plus i think c*ps might be trying to find them.

let’s take spiderman as an example. it should have taken a few months at most imo. even though he has a fully body suit, we still have criteria for him

- male (spider*man*, stereotypical body shaping, ‘masculine’-coded voice, etc) - young. age bracket would be about 15-25, and though they wouldn’t exactly expect someone that young, people are going to be lenient with age. and he’s clearly not very old - again, voice, use of language, appearance - primarily english-speaking w/american accent. - you can get a very accurate height from photos & videos (as we know from that one dude on tiktok), and there is a LOT of media of spiderman - lives in NY - muscular to an extent, athletic physique, somewhat thin.

ofc you can be like “well that barely helps” but heres some stats.

7 billion ppl in the world.

8.4 million in NY.

4.2 million men in NY (roughly)

504,000 men in NY between 15-24 (about 12% of NY.)

352,800 men in NY between 15-24 whose first langauge is english/would likely have american coded accent (added a bit bc ppl with other langauges may easily still have an american-coded accent like Spiderman’s)

137592 men in NY between 15-24 similar accent height close to tom holland’s (which is current spiderman: 39%)

42654 men in NY right age right height right langauge/accent similar physique (69% americans considered overweight or obese)

38389 ‘’ who do not have a disability which would make it actually not possible for them to do what spiderman has done (note: i still firmly believe anyone could be spiderman, à la the entire movie about Miles Morales and a cartoon pig and a black and white old detective movies guy etc etc, but videos and stuff from THIS specific reality have shown spiderman do certain stunts, walk without aid for long periods of time, etc. this list is not about ‘who can be spiderman’ but about ‘who from his universe could be this person whose superhero identity is spiderman’)

so now we’ve narrowed down 8.4 mil to 38389. just under 0.46% of NY is still eligible by discounting ppl on very basic facts. thats still a whole lot, but its... a significant amount less. now we make some assumptions.

he’s at an age where he would be at school, college or an apprenticeship. let’s be real, none of those are particularly flexible. you have a new criterion: search for ppl with high absences in education OR absences whenever spiderman is around during the day. its only a little, but its all you need. all you need is access to some school records, and it seems like just about anyone with any interest in tech in the universe spiderman is in, has the skills to break into literally all records ever, so this isn’t even a reach. (peter obviously would have to meet this criteria, plus being ‘lost’ on field trips an awful lot)

another group you would search would be anyone close to tony stark or that works at stark industries, for possible candidates. we know he’s getting tech from somewhere and is seen w the avengers on occasion or where they are. (peter’s... internship... meets this criteria. the fact that its sorta unofficial and unexplained makes it that much dodgier.)

another group is young men of over-average IQ or do ‘intellectual’ things. boys who are really into science, essentially. cause he had to make his suit somehow, he has to be keeping up grades to some extent, he has to be smart to get away w it, he has to manufacture web fluid. you’d search participants in competitions, awards that are handed out to school and college students, scholarship programs for science, etc. (peter does meet this criteria in fact; academic decathalon, science school, high grades.)

so essentially your method would be:

to go through (students) + (ppl close to stark industries) + (highly intelligent). we can assume a candidate would meet AT LEAST ONE of these points (peter meets all 3).

file out anyone who isn’t in that, like, less than 0.5% of people who fit his physical description

suddenly you have a far more concise list, of which you can count out anyone who has an obviously different body shape/features/etc which completely don’t coincide with all the images of spiderman

suddenly you have a far more concise list of people to track.

from here, you want to find anything dodgy, like the weird stark internship thing which sorta just got made for peter parker, or ppl with excessive injuries, sick days, etc

AND this is all based on the assumption that no one’s been snapping shots of him while even a small bit of his skin is exposed (eg if he is injured), or that he’s never given any information whatsoever about himself like having an aunt or what colour his hair is or his favourite flavour soup. and that no one has ever followed him home at least a short way.

if we use some of those, then

we would know he’s either white, very light-skinned or has vitiligo (depends how much skin exposed)

we would know he’s vaguely from queens & surrounding area

we could discount people whose favourite soup flavour is tomato or something idek

my point being, it gets narrower and narrower. you’d end up with at most like 30 subjects, who you would monitor and someone might even leak the names. this is just something fans (who don’t care about his safety much) could do, but imagine if you were his enemy and actually had to find him. or stark did it, right? it’s just not particularly hard. i very firmly believe ppl would find him. i dont agree w it, cause tbh i’d rather a superhero keep their secret identity or else they’d get prosecuted and stuff by c*ps, but ppl would likely do this. and this is a superhero whose face we have never seen, much less his skin or eye colour hair colour etc.

tl;dr clark kent needs to fucking step it up my dude

157 notes · View notes

myelocin · 4 years

Text

To Us, A Love Story Unwritten | Kuroo T., Miya A.

Hello!! Before you begin reading, THIS STORY IS A PART TWO to Redefining You , which I highly recommend you read first because a lot of things are connected! :D

Part 1 | Part 2 | Epilogue | Bonus

Synopsis: Time away from Tetsurou leads you to the serendipity that is Miya Atsumu.

Characters: Kuroo Tetsurou, You, Miya Atsumu

Genre/Warnings/Tags: None! Angst, HEALING, Hurt & Comfort, surfer!Atsumu, tattooed!Kuroo, Fluff

WC: 7600+

a/n: here’s a word dump of my feelings bcos i made an oopsie and projected real ppl in 2d characters again

*playlist if u want maximum feelies: Blue (Elina), Miles Apart (Nick Wilson)

The thought of healing didn’t cross your mind until some months later.

In the mornings after that morning, you stood in your balcony, leaning against the railing with a mug of coffee, your thoughts wandering. Sometimes you thought of what kind of coffee you liked, and other times you caught yourself wondering how Tetsurou moved through his six AMs. Morning thoughts were reserved for the things you prefer to keep out of your head during the day. Tetsurou, of course, had always been an exception. He somehow always flowed in your train of thought whether the numbers on your watch flashed 3am or 3pm.

Or now, you thought after taking a quick peek at the time in your phone, 6:19 AM; all you could think about was how sad his golden eyes looked against the black of Tokyo’s backdrop.

Tetsurou making his way into your thoughts has always how it’s been for almost a decade, and habits are a little hard to break. At least, that’s what you say to reason with yourself.

Thinking back to your words that night, the “I love you” just kind of slipped out. But you know you meant it. Shifting your wrist to the side, you studied the tattoo again, then closed your eyes to remember the expression on your best friend’s features.

You meant the I love you, you told yourself again. Towards yourself that was for sure; towards Tetsurou.

And that’s always going to be the case, taunted the voice in the back of your head.

After that night, Tetsurou had broken up with his long term girlfriend for good. Though he didn’t necessarily ruin himself over the breakup—there were changes.

He still texted you at odd hours to show you a video he thought was funny, still showed up to your apartment for movie nights, and more or less was still present. But it was during the particularly sentimental scenes in the movie where he’d choose to refill the popcorn or grab another soda, and you could see that his can was still half full. You noticing that Tetsurou always chose to pick the other boba shop that was on the other side of town never flew past you either. You knew that that was the shop he always used to take her after classes—so even seeing how his hands never failed to tighten against the steering wheel when the two of you would drive by, you always pretended not to notice. Even though four months had passed, you know that for him, the wound was still fresh.

And remembering how sad he looked that night, you couldn’t help yourself to feel for his pain. At the end of the day, weren’t you just two people who yearned for the love that couldn’t be yours?

So you sigh and take a sip of coffee from the mug; it had grown a little cold. The digital clock on your phone read 6:31 AM next to a text from Tetsurou asking if you had time for lunch later.

Replying a quick ‘yep. meet u at the usual :)’, did nothing for you trying to have a more productive day off today and thus the morning felt a little slower than normal, so you sigh. Again.

It was going to be one of those days.

Tetsurou always made it a point to look gorgeous. Was he trying? Probably not, but that son a bitch knew people gave him looks that lingered a bit too long to be considered just a passing glance. You nearly snort in laughter at the way he opens the door to the café a little too, for better words, extravagantly, and walk to you purposely taking his time because you could tell he felt the way the young mom sitting at the table near the counter was giving him the look.

Then again, you don’t blame her. You weren’t too far from her reaction, albeit you actually had the decency to not openly gawk at him. Tetsurou plopped down in the chair opposite from you and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and propping them up the table before grabbing the menu from the middle of the table.

Already knowing your order, and his even though he still looks through the menu every time, you sit in your seat waiting for him to settle on the same thing he ordered the last time you ate there.

“Tetsu, why do you have to be so extra every time you see someone looking at you for more than three seconds?”

He cocked his head to the side and peeked at you from behind the menu, “Because I’m hot, tree.”

Though you rolled your eyes at the nickname, you still smiled at the familiar banter, “I still don’t get why you call me tree when you’re the literal beanpole in this friendship.”

“That’s rich coming from you, considering you told people you knew a talking rooster in highschool,” he deadpanned, but you knew he was on the edge of a chuckle from the way he emphasized his words.

“Hey,” you raised your arms up in defense, “people thought you were interesting that way so…”

Tetsurou set the menu down and rolled his eyes at your response as the waiter greeted the two of you. Before Tetsurou could open his mouth to say what he wanted, you spoke, “I’ll get the carbonara and he’ll get the tonkatsu ramen—“

“Oi-“ he interrupted from the side, still, you continued, “we’ll also get iced tea, extra sugar for him, and a little less for me.”

The waiter looked between the two of you waiting for Tetsurou to finish speaking but he only leans back huffing out a, “She’s right.”

You smirked. “You get the same thing every time.”

“Well what if I want something else one day?” he replied to which you rolled your eyes as a reply.

In between bites, Tetsurou looks up from his meal, “Any plans?”

You twirled the straw of your drink around the liquid and looked at him, “I was thinking of traveling somewhere. My boss is letting me take some time off, and season’s kind of slow, so might as well.”

He nods, and then points his chopsticks at you, sighing, “Oh to be young and employed with an employer who doesn’t want to kill you with work.”

“We’re literally seven months apart,” you deadpan.

He huffs in his seat and continues eating.

“Have you decided where you’re going?”

You look to your left at Tetsurou who’s facing you, no longer paying attention to the movie playing in the TV. Smoothing out the blanket on your lap, you sigh and tilt your head. “Kinda? I’m thinking somewhere warm. Kinda miss the sea.”

At this point the movie you two settled on a few hours ago had been completely forgotten, so you shift your body and face him. He offers you your third (or was it the fourth?) can of beer for that night, which you take and pop open immediately.

“(Y/n), can you even swim?” he laughs.

You glare at him from behind your drink. “I can go and look pretty in the beach while sipping my margaritas thank you very much.”

Tetsurou clinks his can against yours and leans back against the couch, shifting to a more comfortable position. When he finally settles, he positions his head in a way that’s still facing you.

Draping your legs across his lap, you rearrange the blanket so that it covers the both of you. You feel the weight of his hands leaning against your legs and then hear him speak, “How long are you gonna be gone?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, a month? Two months? Haven’t even got the ticket yet.”

He gives you a look you can’t decipher, and then his voice becomes a little quiet, “What if I want to go with you?”

“Tetsu, you know your job won’t let you off that long,” you reply.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and pout at you, “You’re going to go and find a new surfer best friend who’ll buy you margaritas that flips his hair and you’ll forget about me.”

You chuckle. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

At this point the alcohol must have hit the both of you because you suddenly look at him, eyes soft in the way you usually would mask in the hours you were sober. He looks at you, equally as deep in the state of inebriation as you are because his eyes are as hazy as the slur in his tone when he says, “Nope! Because you looooove me (y/n).”

And he laughs at his own joke, tilting his head back to take another swig of beer. The comedic undertone flies past you anyway, because you fiddle with the edge of your sweater and sadly nod, “Yeah. I do”

In front of you, Tetsurou raises his hand, smiling, then hollers, “High five! Love you too.”

If it wasn’t for the liquid confidence, you would’ve laughed along to his joke and take another gulp of your beer to swallow the confession—but you’re four cans in and Tetsurou saying that he loves you too clouds the usual boundaries swimming in your head.

He doesn’t notice you when you take another heavy gulp from your can, or bite your lip afterwards, but he hears you when you say, “I do, you dumb fuck, I love you.”

And as soon as you say it, you feel him look at you. You choose to keep your head down. A few beats of silence passes before he speaks, “I know, (y/n),” he reaches forward to grab your hand, taking it into his. He traces the lining of the tattoo before continuing, “I know your tattoo story. And I’m still proud of-“

“I love you, Tetsurou,” you could almost wince at how loud it echoed in the silence, and the alcohol is still swimming in your system so you take another gulp hoping to dive deeper.

You feel him stop tracing the lines on your wrist so you take your hand back to your lap. He let the quiet envelop the room again before he spoke, and you could tell he was careful with his words.

“That time in the balcony, when you said you loved someone…” he trailed off so you look up and catch his stare. His eyes were still glassy; your head was still swimming, the rational thoughts further muffled by liquid confidence.

“I meant you,” you say, and try to fight the urge to break eye contact.

And because Tetsurou chooses to reply with a hushed ‘I’m sorry.’, you tell him ‘it’s okay, Tetsu.’ and retreat to your bedroom with a mumbled excuse of sleeping off a headache.

You lie in the dark with one hand over your eyes and sniffle quietly. You hear his “I’m sorry,” echo in the silence, but you try to ignore the thought at how immediate the apology was. He always had a habit of thinking about his answers in uncertain situations.

But you know him more than you give yourself credit for, you realize, so you shut your eyes and ignore the sting of the tears because you know. You’ve always known everything you felt for him had been on the unrequited side for the most part.

The certainty in his apology still hurt none the less.

That morning you wake up with a slight pound in your head and an empty apartment. At least he didn’t stick around, you thought, fully aware that the conversation afterwards would have most likely been too awkward to sit through.

Sighing as you rounded the corner to enter the kitchen, you paused in your track to look at the table where a plate of omurice lay in the middle next to a glass of sweet tea, the condensation still a little fresh on the glass.

Taking a seat and whispering a soft, “Itadakimasu”, you picked up the glass and took a sip. It didn’t taste as sweet as his.

Your eyes still stung, but you couldn’t help but smile at the taste. Looks like he remembers how you like your tea too.

After that night, there never really came a talk about where the two of you stood. Two days after the not so sober confession, Tetsurou showed up at your door with a bag of donuts demanding your company to picnic at this new spot he found recently. So you played along and pretended like nothing happened. The rational thoughts were back, your head no longer cloudy so this time, you laughed along with Tetsurou.

Though you could tell this time around his gaze towards you lingered a little longer, and he began to have moments where it looked like he was contemplating to start a conversation then ultimately deciding against it at the very last second. It was fine, though. You weren’t sure if you were ready to have that conversation just yet.

So the next few weeks flowed like how it always did. Movie nights, playful banters, small talk, and beer—only this time you never drank more than two.

“Have you decided where you’re going?” he asks.

“Yeah, there’s this island in the Philippines. Siargao. My flight’s next week. The place looks sunny enough, but I might hop around the other islands if I stay long enough,” you reply.

“Don’t drown,” he laughs, and sets his beer down. You turn your focus back to the movie after chuckling at his reply and ignore how he never picked up a third can this time. And unlike before, he didn’t ask if he could come along this time.

Tetsurou drops you off with a half hug and a request that you update him as often as you can.

After a final wave at the gate, you board the plane with a return ticket to Japan slotted for two months later down the year.

The island of Siargao is as beautiful as the pictures you always see on social media. Outside the unit you rented, was a stretch of untouched beach that was some ways from the main square of the city. And true to your words, for the first week of your arrival, you spent your days kicking the sand, lounging by the water and sipping on margaritas.

Tetsurou sent you multiple messages during the first few days, to which you replied through selfies with your margaritas. He’d send you a photo of himself rolling his eyes with the caption “off to work, because I have a job. Like some people.” , or something along similar lines.

You tried to think this wasn’t some random trip you took just because of Tetsurou. It had been a long time since you last took a vacation for yourself; work was lenient, you saved up enough, and frankly, you missed the beach. Tetsurou was just the icing on top of the cake that helped you make your decision, you rationalized.

Plus, you thought, this place is paradise.

And you held on to that thought because a few days later came the knock on your door at six in the morning that introduced you to the serendipity you never could have predicted. Your little summer serendipity came in the form of a six foot one, and totally ripped blonde named Miya Atsumu.

He knocked at your door asking if you knew any places that rented out surfboards and scooters. By the time he was at the third word of his sentence, you knew he was Japanese because of the accent that lingered after he spoke. By the fourth sentence, he smiled in a way that had his eyes crinkling. And by the end of the conversation, by whatever being possessed you in that moment, probably that extra margarita, you had agreed to go to the main square in the city with him.

Atsumu knocks on your door for the second time that day at five in the afternoon wearing a loose white button shirt and another eye crinkling smile. Dangling a set of keys in one hand he nodded behind him and said, “Ready to go? I got the scooter from the place you told me.”

This time, you voiced out your hesitation, “Ahh, it’s alright. You don’t have to get dinner for me tonight. I just happened to know a place.”

He smiles and blinks at you laughing, “Ya travelin’ alone?” You nod then he continues, “Same here. Might as well know someone in the area. Heard the food here’s good, so let’s go.”

You open your mouth to protest but he turns and walks towards his scooter so you huff and follow after him. He did have a point. You were going to be there for two months so might as well actually take the time to know some people.

After Atsumu helps you fasten the belt on the helmet, he tells you to ‘feel free to hold on to my waist if ya need to balance.’ and then backs to the main street. Your hands rest on his shoulders as he drives along a road parallel to the stretch of water on your far left. It must have been close to seven, you take note, because as you glance up the colors in the sky begin to blend into mellow hues of orange and red.

You look forward and glance at Atsumu’s reflection in the side mirror before briefly catching his eye. From the mirror, you could see an expression that was somewhere between a smirk and a smile.

“Ya like what ya see?” he yells over the wind.

You squeeze his shoulder, then lean closer saying, “Just drive. I’m not in the mood to die.”

He laughs over the holler of the open air and you can’t help but smile along to how his laugh lingers in the air.

Soon enough, the two of you settle into a restobar by the beach, one close enough to the water where you could ditch your flip flops and let your feet sink in the sand.

This has got to be the fifth margarita I’m drinking today, you think to yourself before taking a sip. Still good though, you inwardly snort. Atsumu sits across you from the table nursing his own choice of drink.

The atmosphere was nice, the live musician strumming his first song in the background. Then Atsumu speaks from across you, “So,” he begins, “How long ya stayin’?”

You fiddle with the straw of your drink, facing him, “Two months. You?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know yet. Off season and there’s not much to do back home, so might as well be bored somewhere a little more scenic.”

“Indefinite vacation,” you nod—impressed, “Must be hella loaded.”

He laughs again, “I’m comfortable.”

The silence envelops the two of you again, but as the musician begins another song, from the corner of your eye you see Atsumu listen, clap, and smile so you decide maybe befriending this stranger won’t be so bad after all.

The next night you head for go for drinks, Tetsurou messages you with a picture of him and Kenma in the car with a caption, “movie night minus the traitor who left the country >:((“ and you reply with your signature margarita selfie with Atsumu throwing a peace sign to your right. Tetsurou replies with a smiley face and you don’t hear from him for the rest of the night.

The next few weeks consisted of waking up shy of the sunrise and walks along the trail where the waves crept towards the sand. Atsumu liked to join you in the mornings, of course, the days he actually wakes up before ten AM. Some days you’d watch him peddle out into the water catching wave after wave as you sat in the sand, under a shade. You didn’t really go out into the water and preferred to just sit in the sun, so the times Atsumu would catch a break, he’d lay out a towel next to you and sit to talk.

He was talkative. Extremely talkative. But it was welcome, you suppose. He asked aimless questions during conversations. Conversations with him usually sounded like this: “(y/n)?” “Yep?” “Whadda ya think about riceballs?” “They’re…okay, I guess.” “Good to know.”

It was endearing, you suppose. Atsumu respected your boundaries and never pried, that fact was for sure. Though, he chose to fill in the beats of silence with little facts about his life. Over the course of the next month, in the moments you’d spend with Atsumu during the day, you’ve learned that he was playing for a professional volleyball team, he’s originally not from Tokyo, he tripped during a fan meeting, has a twin brother who’s darn good at cookin’ (he emphasized), and that his favorite food is fatty tuna. You don’t remember specifically asking, but he talks anyway you can’t bring yourself to mind one bit.

During the past month and some, Tetsurou sporadically texts you a greeting to which you reply to—but this time, it wasn’t until much, much later that you realize you didn’t think too much about the change of tone and much hastier conversations. You usually ended the phone call this time around, too.

Nearing the last few stretches of golden hour, Atsumu would routinely knock at your door and drag you out to walk around the beach only retreating to your respective units hours after the sunset.

It was during this one night where Atsumu sits you down and stars a small bonfire. He excused himself for a brief moment then came back with a Tupperware of what you assumed to be snacks, a blanket, and a hoodie which he lent you (that up to now you still haven’t returned). You smile as he takes his seat next to you, comfortable in his hoodie.

“So,” Atsumu breaks the silence, “how come yer runnin’ away for two months?”

“That’s kinda sudden,” you reply.

He knocks your shoulder with his lightly before speaking again, “You don’t have ta’ share if you don’t wanna.”

“No pressure,” he says again and his eyes crinkle at his smile so you press your shoulder against his and say, “I just wanted time for myself I guess.”

He nods, so you continue, “It’s nothing dramatic, really. For a big part of my life I just…lived according to how people placed me in their lives. I guess I just wanted the space where I had to make decisions from nothing if that even makes any sense.”

“Depends. How many margaritas did ya have today?” he jokes.

“Atsumu! You were with me the whole day, I haven’t even had one yet,” you laugh out.

“But I understand what ya’ mean. Yer all good, I just thought you were gonna say you were soul searchin’ cause of a boy that broke ya’ heart back home.”

You look at him and wince. “In a way, that was a factor as well.”

Half expecting a sympathetic reply, you find yourself rolling your eyes and laughing because Atsumu suddenly yells, “Bingo!” and flicks your forehead.

He faces you and holds his hands up, “Hey, we all got a reason to do stuff so I ain’t gonna judge ya’.”

You smile and lean against his shoulder because you know he’s sincere.

“Atsumu?” you call out.

“Yeah?” he replies as he turns his head looking at you.

The red of the flames flicker as a glassy reflection against the brown in his eyes and your thoughts become jumbled for a second.

“If I find out you’re here because you got dumped I’m never letting you live it down.”

His eyes crinkle along with his laugh and you find yourself missing the pools of brown, but the echo of his laugh resonates clear in your ears as compensation so you decide you’re satiated.

“I swear I just got bored back home!”

Atsumu spends the next few hours by telling you stories and giving you soft smiles, and you don’t notice the absence of Tetsurou’s message that night.

On the afternoon after some weeks more, Atsumu comes to you by knocking at your door at five in the afternoon (which doesn’t even surprise you at this point), demanding you put on swimwear because he was going to teach you how to swim. At first, you stare at him with a blank look—wherein he stares at you right back with equal intensity, so after some time, you sigh and shoo him out, telling him you’ll meet him outside after you get ready.

After tugging on some shorts and a bikini top, you walk outside and glance around looking for the telltale blonde of Atsumu’s head. It doesn’t really surprise you when you hear your name being hollered from some distance, so as you look to the direction of the water—you see Atsumu waving his arms wildly, already waist deep out in sea.

The water was warm, at least, and you carefully wade in the water towards Atsumu. He lets you grab his arms to help you find balance against the waves knocking against you.

“You know you’re going to fail if you try to teach me right?” you say.

“Just needed an excuse to get you in the water,” he chuckles.

You respond by splashing him with a handful of water. And somewhere in between splashes of water and playful banter, you find yourself wading chest deep into warm water, Atsumu’s arms acting as your anchor against the push and pull of the waves. The two of you stay like that for some time and you allow the woosh of the water and distant sounds of the children on shore fill the silence.

“Golden hour’s almost up, ‘Tsumu, we should go back.” you say after some time.

He stands behind you and leans down a bit, then surprises you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest. Your breath hitches, then his voice sounds low near your ear, “Look at the sky.”

And so you do. The sky in front of you lights itself in bursting shades of oranges, reds, and touches of violets. You turn your face to the side but stop because you see Atsumu staring at you, the expression on his face soft.

“Pretty, ain’t it?” his lips part to say, and you nod because you see licks of the sky’s painting reflected in the glassy brown pools of Atsumu’s eyes.

He blinks and smiles in a softer way that only the corners crinkle up, and you don’t notice how your hand eventually found its way to wrap around his because you’re gravitating towards him—face angling closer until you felt his lips press against your forehead.

“Did you know,” you begin, “when you feel deja vu that means the universe is telling you you’re going down the right path?”

Atsumu looks as you, “Does this feel familiar?”

“In a way,” you respond and smile.

Turning to face him, Atsumu’s hands cradle yours as he presses his lips towards the side of your lips, then back to the side of your head feeling him smiling into the kiss. “You’re somethin’ else, (y/n).”

You look at him wearing a smile mirroring his, “Something good I hope.”

It’s something good, you decide later that night as you settle in bed after dinner with Atsumu. The past few hours flew by in a mirage of good conversation, light hearted jokes and even more eye crinkling smiles from Atsumu.

Settling into the comforter, you grab your laptop just in time as Tetsurou’s face pops up on screen, requesting a video call. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you hit the accept button and wave hello as Tetsuou’s face appears on the screen. He holds a can of beer as a greeting and leans forward. His eyes look glassy.

“(Y/n)..” His voice trails off before slowly continuing, “—how are you?”

You don’t notice his tone from the high you’re still feeling from the day so you beam at him, “I’m good! Atsumu and I are really hitting it off! You’d love him Tetsu!”

He stares at you through the webcam and then he sighs deep. Finally catching a drift of the atmosphere he’s giving off, you watch him crack another beer open and slowly speak, “You okay? Did something happen?”

He sets the can down at the table in front of him and places his face in his hands. You notice the new ink around his forearms. “I miss you, (y/n).”

“I’ll be home next week, Tetsu,” you say

“I—“ he pauses to look up at you with glassy eyes, “I think we should give us a try.”

Your heart clenches. “Tetsurou, you’re drunk. We can talk when I get home.” He shakes his head, and his movement is a little sluggish, so you continue to speak before he could, “I saw the photo your ex posted earlier. You’re still not okay, Tetsu.”

He leans back to his chair with a little force, “And suddenly you are? After being in love with me for eight years, (y/n), you expect me to believe that you’re suddenly okay? Bullshit.”

Your face grimaces, and you feel anger bubble up, the emotion seeping into your words, “I don’t think you’re ever going to go away, Tetsurou. For years I watched you fall in and out of love with someone who was never me. I’m not suddenly okay but I accepted that this—“ you pause to gesture between the two of you, “—isn’t going to happen and I’m moving on. I watched you when you were at your happiest and I deserve that too, Tetsu. I deserve to be at my happiest whether it be by myself or with Atsu-“

“We can try, (y/n),” he cuts you off softly.

“But I don’t deserve someone who isn’t sure about me,” you reply.

And maybe it’s the liquid confidence that riles him up, but he suddenly straightens his back and looks at you with the same glare you stare at him with, “And are you sure about Atsumu? You told me none of us are saints, (y/n), you’re not better off than I am here.”

You open your mouth, but the silence remains; the atmosphere suddenly heavy.

Then Tetsurou slumps before he he speaks, “(Y/n), I—“

“It’s okay, Kuroo,” you watch as he winces at his surname, “It’s late and I really want to get some sleep. You should too. Take care.”

You catch the last second of him parting his lips at an attempt to reply before you promptly ended the call and shut off your laptop.

His words ring in your ear the entire night, and you think of Atsumu the entire night. You watch the second hand of the clock on your bedside table tick slowly. Your hand comes to rest against your eyes as you try to let sleep pull you in.

You think of Tetsurou who looked at you with glassy eyes that told you all the reasons why his heart was still hurting, then you think of Atsumu—of how the sunset looked better reflected in his eyes than it did painted across the sky.

“I really hope this is something good,” you echo your words from earlier as you let sleep finally succumb into slumber.

The night before your flight, Atsumu seats you outside for a bonfire, with the same blankets, snacks, and hoodie fitted around you. The first few hours he jokes about little stories that happened throughout his life and listens patiently when you’d share a snippet of yours.

At this point, you weren’t sure where the two of you stood. You look at him from the corner of your eye as he blows against an extremely burnt marshmallow before sheepishly offering the stick to you.

“When we’re back in Japan I’m lettin’ ya taste ‘Samu’s cookin’ to make up for this I swear.”

You lean your head against his arm and blow on the charred marshmallow, “Have you decided when you’re coming back?”

“Yes, but I’m not tellin ya,” Atsumu chuckles.

“What!” You exclaim, suddenly sitting up, “You already have a ticket?”

“That’s also a secret, doll.”

You sigh and move to lightly punch his shoulder, but instead, he catches your hand midway and envelops it in his own. Atsumu looks at the tattoo on your wrist peeking out, so tentatively, he pushes down the sleeve and looks at it.

“Baby’s breath means eternal love, right?” he asks, voice hushed.

“I’m surprised a big, buff, man like you knows,” you reply.

“Oi, big buff men can be sentimental too,” Atsumu quips.

“(Y/n),” he begins then looks at you in a way that suddenly has your stomach churning, “Should we give us a go at this?”

He asks the same question as Tetsurou did a few nights back and your head is swimming. Tetsurou’s words muddle the thoughts in your head as you turn to face Atsumu who is looking at you with eyes that always held the same softness that remained unchanged from two months ago.

Is this even fair for Atsumu? is the thought that you circle around.

“I don’t want to give you only half of me, ‘Tsumu,” you cradle his cheek in your palm and your heart stirs when he leans in.

“You’re too good for me,” you confess.

He closes his eyes and you find yourself missing the dancing specks of scarlet flames reflected in his orbs.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he sighs, his face still warm against your palm. Atsumu’s hand trails up and cups your hand that’s still flush against his cheek.

“Is this the part where we say we’re the right people who met at the wrong time?” he jokes quietly. Atsumu looks at you with a smile contrasting against the somber expression in his face, and you feel your heart clench.

Your thoughts momentarily flicker back to the night you talked to Tetsurou in your balcony some months ago and remember the feeling of déjà vu hinting that you were heading in the right direction with your decision.

Staring back at him, you look at your own reflection in darkened pools of brown and don’t feel déjà vu’s familiar push. Atsumu’s other hand trails up your face and his thumb rubs against your cheek. You stay silent when he sighs again and your heart clenches in the way that hurts, and your brain scrambles for a reason why.

Atsumu angles your hand in a way that lets him press a kiss to the tattoo on your wrist. “Hope ya heal in time, (y/n).”

You’re still quiet, thoughts still muddled as your rationality wrestles to string words to convey to Atsumu. “We can stay in contact, ‘Tsumu. I still want you to be in my life,” you slowly say.

“I don’t wanna be hurtin’ you while you’re still tryin’ to find yourself,” he says, and you nod. Déjà vu never comes and your heart still aches.

And your heart remains heavy as the two of you stand up to retreat for the night. Against the door of your room you look at him and press a kiss on his cheek. He smiles at you.

“Well, I guess,” you initiate, “see you around?”

He smiles and crosses the short distance between the two of you, then presses a chaste kiss on your forehead. “If the universe wills it, doll.”

The feeling of déjà vu is absent for the rest of the night.

After the first few days of your arrival back in Japan, you stay in your apartment cursing the winter. This particular winter was a little harsh for Tokyo and the sudden temperature change you needed to adjust to didn’t help with your traitor immune system. Kenma had waited for you at the arrival area of the airport instead of Tetsurou that day. Then again, you weren’t complaining—you didn’t have any plans to talk to him immediately after coming back home.

You didn’t need to report back to your job until the next week so the first few days, you loitered around your apartment mindlessly passing the time. Some mornings, you’d drag a chair by the balcony and sip your morning coffee. The snow accumulating on the rails and the gloomy morning light was a far cry from the little island you explored with Atsumu back in the Philippines, but your thoughts still ghosted around him from time to time.

The morning you left for the airport, he slept in, but that didn’t stop you from leaving a sticky note in his front door with your contact details neatly printed in the paper. Throughout your day, your eyes constantly flickered to sneak glimpses at your phone’s notification bar, but there was never an unknown number. So you sighed, and instead scrolled through the photos you managed to capture with him. The image of Atsumu stared back at you through the screen, expression beaming with unfiltered happiness and you find yourself smiling along every time.

A knock on your door one morning brings you out of your haze. Before you could look through the peep hole, another knock comes and then a voice, “Ah, (y/n), I think you’re home now,” your hand on the door knob loosens, “It’s Tetsurou. Can we please talk?”

You must have stayed quiet too long because he speaks again, “I got you donuts.”

And you sigh, because he’s right, the two of you need to talk. But you still tell yourself you’re only opening the door because it’s six in the morning and you can’t be bothered to make breakfast so the donuts are the only reason you’re letting him in.

Tetsurou sits on the opposite side of the dining table gripping the handle of his mug with one hand before he clears his throat and looks at you, “I’m sorry.”

“Tetsurou,” you begin, “You’re someone that I don’t think will ever leave my system.” His eyes are a little clearer now that you return his stare. “You’re still the person who grew up with me even if time difference existed you know. You’ve had so many roles in my life and that’s never going to change.”

He looks at you, suddenly looking like a teenager again. His golden eyes stare at you and gleam of something unspoken. “I think somewhere along the years I really did fall in love with you, (y/n). And it just sucks how we never met at the same page. I really do love you, (y/n).”

“Maybe in the next life, Tetsu,” you say suddenly choked up. “We both deserve-“

“A fresh start.” He cuts you off, smiling. “A fresh start.” You affirm.

Before you knew it, Tetsurou rolls his sleeve to his elbows and angles his arm showing you a small outline of the sun peeking out behind some buildings. You look at him just in time for his explanation, “It’s not as sentimental as your baby’s breath tattoo, but sunrises remind me of you.”

You feel your eyes water when you look at the amber of his eyes growing glassier, “You got a tattoo that reminds you of me?”

“You’ve always been a constant in my life, (y/n). I shared so many sunrises with you. And I mean it when I say that I want you to find what makes you happy.” He tells you as you smile and lean forward, tracing the lining of his tattoo. The moment feels a little like déjà vu that doesn’t disappear when Tetsurou speaking again, “I love you enough to realize that kind of happiness won’t be with me, (y/n).”

He looks at you and everything feels so familiar. You choke out a sob that sounded a little like a laugh and Tetsurou does the same.

“You’re never getting rid of me, you lunatic,” you say, and Tetsurou laughs—eyes glassy from the pricks of tears fighting to slide down his cheeks. “We’re okay, right?” He asks you. And you nod, because your heart constricts in a way that doesn’t hurt, the knot in your stomach gone and Tetsurou looking so beautiful from the morning light that filtered in feels so familiar.

“Always, Tetsu.”

And after some moments of comfortable silence, he looks to the window on his left saying, “So, surfer dude slash volleyball player, huh? I think you got a type going on, (y/n).”

You roll your eyes and finally grab a donut from the box. “Yeah.”

Tetsurou chuckles, “Tell me about him. He’s the first guy who makes you look dopey in love.” So you smile and look out the window thinking about the boy who spoke of the little moments and showed you worlds under the sun and feel your heart mellow to a gentle beat, “He’s something good.”

Atsumu’s number doesn’t show up on your phone for the next month, but you try to keep yourself from doing your own research, or as Tetsurou pointed out, stalking, for his presence in social media. If he didn’t want to be found, you’d just leave him to it.

Tetsurou sits across from you at the arrival gate in Haneda airport later that month, scrolling through his phone and mumbling curses because Bokuto, his friend, had told him the wrong time for his arrival and won’t be arriving until a few hours later. Instead of driving back home, wasting gas, and sitting through traffic, you suggest to pass the time at a café instead.

“I swear to god, (y/n), remind me to end my friendship with him the second he lands,” Tetsurou huffs from across you.

“You’re being dramatic again,” You roll your eyes, laughing.

“He’s gonna be here in a bit,” you pause and stand up, grabbing your phone, “I’ll go check the board so stay here.”

“Since you left your wallet here, I’m treating myself to another frapp, thanks (y/n)!” you hear him call from behind you, so you turn to flick him off as you keep walking.

Looking at the board above the gate, your eyes scan to look for information regarding Bokuto’s flight. Under said flight, you smile looking at SIARGAO listed within the board. Briefly, your thought wonders off to Atsumu; you hoped he was doing well.

A flow of people begin to trail out of the gate and into the lobby. Assuming that it must be from Bokuto’s flight, you stand on your tip toes from your little corner to look for the telltale monochromatic palette of his hair.

Grabbing your phone, you hastily press call to Tetsurou’s contact name, to which he answers with a drawled out “Heeelllloo?” along with an exaggerated slurp to the Frappuccino he bought with your card.

You open your mouth to tell him to come over, except that you don’t because standing a few meters in front of you is a familiar blonde.

From the phone in your ear, you hear Tetsurou call your name, so through the haze in your thoughts, you mumble a quick “Never mind.” and hang up. You don’t think Atsumu notices you just yet because he’s pulled his luggage to the side, a little closer to you this time, and pulled out his phone to what you could guess was him texting somebody.

You don’t speak for the first few beats of silence because, holy shit this is fanfiction material—is this actually happening? Eventually he pockets his phone and looks around, before his eyes spots you, who at this point, is still openly gawking at him some distance away.

Then three things happen in succession; first, Atsumu’s eyes widen, second, he blinks really fast, and then finally, third, cracks a smile.

And as soon as his smile pushes the crinkle in his eyes, you feel yourself release the breath you’ve unconsciously held in. He pushes his luggage with him as he walks towards you, hand held up in greeting and the smile still plastered wide on his face.

“Yo,” he says and your heart bursts with your reply that came out a little more breathless than you’d expected, “Hi.”

Tetsurou stands some distance away from the two of you, holding your wallet and his Frappuccino. He spots the blonde mop of head you’re staring at, really you should chill out (he thinks), and immediately recognizes his features as Miya Atsumu, the same guy who’s been a part of your daily margarita selfie for the two months you were in the Philippines.

The bedhead watches you walk towards Atsumu, and he to you before you both met somewhat in the middle, then looks at you, finding himself smile because of how happy you looked. He stands in his spot and can’t help but feel some sort of déjà vu as he stops himself from approaching the two of you. His heart, he realizes, clenches in a way that sort of hurts but sort of doesn’t, but because this is the first time looking at you with a smile so unabashed, he settles with the thought that because he loves you—you deserve nothing short of the happiness you’re feeling now.

And you can’t help but feel the same as Atsumu laughs out a comment about how the universe must really want the two of you together. His arms circle your figure after exchanging a few pleasantries and inside jokes and you smile into the crook of his neck.

“This feels a little like that déjà vu thing ya talked about before, ya know.” He mumbles. And for the brief moment you see Tetsurou’s text on the screen of your phone reading, “whipped.”, you laugh in a way that has you feeling dizzy and light. You feel like you could cry when Atsumu kisses the side of your head, because this moment feels so familiar.

Atsumu feels so familiar. So when you break the embrace and look at the reflection of your watering eyes in the warm pools of his, more than ever, you were sure that this is exactly where the gods meant for you to be.

a/n: *i’m aware there’s no direct flight from haneda/siargao but pls bear w me ;A;

proceed to Epilogue :D

541 notes · View notes

booasaur · 3 years

Note

i’m closeted around my family and seeing ppl say stuff like “if they won’t come out to their parents they don’t love you enough, extenuating circumstances only apply if they’re financially dependent”. it’s a really hard difficult situation to be in and it’s not abt the s/o so much as it is abt the person themselves. don’t we deserve the freedom to choose who and how we share ourselves?

All right, back to answering these! Sorry I took so long.

Honestly...your ask really made me rethink some things I’d always taken for granted. First I’ll just preface this by saying I’m mostly thinking out loud and offering questions, I’m not insisting on or condemning or judging anything, and certainly not dismissing what people’ve lived through or their choices.

So my original answer to this was going to be to loosely agree with your points and then use them to pivot to John’s speech about everyone’s coming out journey not being the same, because as you both said, it’s not about the partner at all, and was going stay focused on the movie but you’ve really made me consider what coming out and closeted even really mean, on a much larger scale. Because Harper has come out where she lives, right. She’s not hiding herself there, she’s affectionate and loving and by Abby’s own account, a totally different person than with family. So we don’t just mean she has to come out, we mean she has to come out to her family. Why? Like truly, your last point, how come this doesn’t get the same treatment about consent and privacy as everything else? And let’s not say, oh, of course it’s up to you when you come out, nobody should out you, because the message from all directions, within the community and without, is very much that you eventually do have to at some point.

Even in this movie, John’s lovely speech STILL does imply that this is an end destination someone has to be “ready” to finally get to. If they don’t, that’s a failure to get there. And this is of course oversimplifying the fact that some people may come out to a sibling or one parent first or only them ever. But like, really, as you said, why is it seen this way, to prove people aren’t ashamed of themselves, of their gayness, of their partner, that literally, if they love their partner, they have to risk losing their family? Because what else is that saying? Knowing John’s own story, knowing that Harper had just admitted she was scared of telling and losing them, what did Abby’s I want someone who’s ready then mean, if not that? Someone ready to tell their parents and risk losing them, no? And this isn’t at all bashing Abby or even the movie, it’s just this overriding expectation. She’s of course valid in wanting to date someone out (though, again, in the ways that most affected Abby’s life, Harper was out--leaving out this trip from hell that it would also be completely understandable to want to escape from) but in the context of that moment, what else did it mean? And this isn’t the only media that does it, so many stories out there do.

I remember we briefly discussed this because of April from TBH, and even there, a character who is financially dependent on her family and with a conservative, violent father got some flak for not coming out. GLOW did this recently too, and Little Voice, where the queer person who wasn’t fully out is hiding their True Selves and ashamed and how no out person will want any part of that. And then the person comes out and hardly ever is the reaction as bad as it would most likely have been in real life, including for Harper. Why is this narrative so pervasive? “Just stop being a coward and it’ll all turn out okay.”

I mean. I do get WHY. It is an incredibly important step. For a lot of people, their family are the first and closest people they feel like they have to and want to tell, especially if they're young and/or live at home. And if we don't tell them, how do we push things forward for the community, and we've fought for so long to live openly like this, gay pride is what it is for a reason, and what good is being loved without being known and ultimately, it is traumatizing being closeted. People want to share this and have others share with them and keeping this huge secret that you know is unjustly forced upon you does take a mental toll. Agreed, agreed, agreed. But then why make it even worse by adding shame and guilt and pressure on top of it, you know? Surely there’s a middle ground. I get that there needs to be a strong motivation sometimes, otherwise people might stay in a kind of closeted “comfort zone” and end up missing out on surprisingly positive experiences, but maybe people shouldn’t be pushed either way. Some of us who think we might not ever may still yet decide we want to, but I have confidence that those people coming out in their own time would do so even without this stigma attached to the closet. Nobody stays in there because we want to. We all feel that same need to tell our families, all those reasons above apply to us, too. Circumstances are just different sometimes.

And the funny part is, I do think Harper is a person who should come out to her parents, because it matters that much to her. She’d never be happy without telling them. It goes without saying she shouldn’t have lied or brought Abby within a hundred miles of them before it was all sorted. But, say, a different person in her situation, one who told Abby she had no plans to come out to her parents anytime soon and either went home alone or not at all...is that so bad?

#hs closeted messages #6 #whew #now you know why it took so long #honestly this is the first time I've ever looked at it like this myself #and still pondering it #replies #femslash related stuff #sent on 20201127 #Anonymous #happiest season spoilers #happiest season

59 notes · View notes

letterstomilen · 3 years

Text

i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 1) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe (read part 2 here) When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe has a very effective method of getting through college. His little sister, who’s caught him making coffee at three in the morning on more than one occasion the past week alone, would beg to differ.

“You’re the best older brother,” she starts off, and he’s sure she’s trying to convince herself more than him at this point, “but you need to fix your sleeping habits.” Then, because she’s his little sister, she’d flash him a smile and pat his shoulder reassuringly.

(The comment is not lost on him though. He understands his sleeping situation will eventually wear him down if it hadn’t already, but he believes if he’ll drink a coffee every morning and a Monster every night, he’ll get through three days. By the third day, he’ll hardly be coherent but that doesn’t matter because he’ll conk out for the next twelve hours and then repeat.)

“Don’t worry, Tonia,” he says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible as he contemplates whether it’s worth it or not to swallow a pill of 5-hour energy with his morning coffee. “Once break ends, I’ll get back to normal.”

“You said that six seasons ago.”

Childe frowns, trying to remember if his sleeping schedule was this dysfunctional last year. “Huh?”

“The Walking Dead seasons,” Tonia clarifies, as if she’s not twelve years old and the show is for grown adults. He thinks. He hasn’t checked Commonsensemedia ever since La Signora labeled him as a “helicopter parent” and his Netflix tab has been playing How to Get Away with Murder as background noise for the past few weeks.

Isn’t it a show about zombies though? Tonia’s sheepish smile tells it all, because it’s the same exact guilty look he had when he got caught red-handed as a kid.

(Once he remembers later, Childe promises himself, he’ll check out The Walking Dead.)

“Oh. Well. I have a lot of shows to catch up on, you know. Not to mention a ton of my professors gave me reading for over the break.”

A half lie. They did give him a lot of reading because each professor assumed that their classes were his only one, and with seven days left, he still has a textbook worth of reading to go through. But there are no shows that Childe would sacrifice his precious sleep for. As a matter of fact, he would love to sleep. He’s spent the majority of his classes back in high school sleeping and faking attention, saving his grade at the last minute — it was quite the extreme sport really, if he says so himself.

Whenever he tries to sleep recently, his thoughts run at several hundred miles per hour, and he spends several hours staring at the ceiling before succumbing to the computer at his desk and watching trashy movies. At this point, he must have gone through the entire romance comedy list on Netflix. (Not a proud point in his life but if anybody ever wanted him to give a list of best to worst romance comedy movies, he now has one.)

Tonia, on the other hand, isn’t incredibly convinced.

Admittedly, the excuse was lame. Also, he can’t easily lie to his little sister, who’s far shrewder than he takes her for at times.

“You never start your reading in advance. You like to speed read it right before your class or watch a five-minute video on the chapters while your teachers take attendance. But that’s… uh, ‘a bad work ethic.’” Tonia looks immensely proud of herself as she says this, finishing it off with, “Zhongli told me that.”

“Zhongli?” he repeats, trying to remember if that’s one of her classmates or some stranger that’s hoping to kidnap his sister.

“The guy that volunteers at the library sometimes. He recommended me a loot of good books to read, but he talks like an old man.”

“How old?” Childe can tell she’s enjoying this — talking about her new friend at the library that he’ll probably have to run a background check on.

“Like he’s in his sixties or something. But he looks… actually, he looks your age! And he’s a student too. I told him all about you.”

Well, that doesn’t sound very reassuring coming from the mouth of a twelve-year-old. He’s not sure if that translates to his social security number, his current dilemma, or just that he’s her older brother.

“Like all of the stories you told me when I was a kid. And then when Lumine came to pick me up, she stayed to show him pictures of you too.”

“Of course she did,” he mumbles, ruffling her hair. One of these days he’s going to move without telling his classmates and the twins won’t enter his apartment unannounced. (But Tonia adores their company and the stories they tell her far too much for him to actually do it. But that doesn’t mean he’s above making threats when they tell his little sister about the bet he made about white-out and how it could dye hair. The jury is still out on this one.) “She’s just mad because I get away with it and she doesn’t. But don’t do it yourself. It’s a bad habit,” he adds, remembering that he should at least try to be a good influence on his younger sister when he can.

“Okaaay,” she says unconvincingly, before shaking her hair and running off to her room with lunch he prepared for her.

Watching her close the door and no doubt continue her binge of The Walking Dead, he takes out his phone and texts Lumine.

Childe