#and real analysis is being given tomorrow and I don’t have to be there

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 3

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia

Synopsis:  When falling in love is the easy part where does the difficulty lie? In a society where we’re defined by our job, it’s those little details as a relationship goes on that ends up setting a course for whether or not a couple can make it in the long run.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

You were not going to let him get away with dropping what could almost be a relative confession like that. At least, not until after work when you had the time to harass him about it.

You: So…

Rolling over from where you had collapsed on your couch you watched as predictably the message was read and no response came. You’d resigned yourself to a fight earlier in the day after deciding to press the issue, but a part of you could always dream.

You: Are we going to talk about how you ran away?

You chewed your bottom lip as the little read check mark appeared. You tried to picture what he was up to. Glancing to the nearby windows, you spied the last vestiges of twilight waning orange. When your attention returned to your device you saw the response bubbles percolating.

He must have written and deleted several versions because the one he landed on seemed far too short for the amount of time it took.

Donatello: Laughable.

You giggled to yourself. Not that you’d been able to indulge in it, but texting removed the usual bearings in an interesting way. Where in real life you had to hope you caught his micro expressions, his texts would be stuck on display for longer analysis.

You: I’m glad we agree!

You: Though I’m laughing at how cute it was that you got embarrassed

Again the check came and this time the bubbles appeared instantly. The pot was essentially stewing.

Moving to sit up, you wondered how he’d handle the stripped down context. He was obviously drafting something, but he must have realized the same as you that this type of conversation was far easier to abandon. Frowning and worrying that you might have pushed a little too hard, your stomach clenched as a reply came.

Donatello: I see what you’re doing.

You: Oh? I don’t consider this breaking the ‘no frivolous’ texts rule because it’s important to me

He saw it and you curled up into yourself. You’d spent most of the public transit ride home thinking of all the little contingencies he might use to get out of a conversation. Obliviously you had no real remedy if he chose not to respond, but you’d tried to prepare for anything else he could lob your way.

Donatello: For the time being you may exploit the loop hole, but only due to my lack of oversight.

“Just admit you like me.”

You gave a breathy sigh and pulled your device to your chest. A shred of you still wondered, but for the most part you were sure he was interested in some way. His staunch nature prevented absolutes and there was always a chance you were conning yourself, but even the fact that he was indulging these messages seemed to point in your preferred direction. Where that road ultimately lead you hadn’t given much thought, but the fizzy soda excitement was a high you were happy to chase.

You: Should I expect a contract at tomorrow’s lunch?

Donatello: Be prepared to sign in triplicate.

You blew you a puff of air into a smile. With him a line like that could both be a joke and deadly serious. You imagined him pulling out a briefcase and removing large daunting stacks of paper. He’d make for the world’s most annoying lawyer.

You: I’ll bring my embossed pen

You: Back to the original topic though…

Donatello: I’d rather discuss the pen.

You: I’ll share all the juicy details after

You: Spoiler alert: the engraving isn’t what you’d think!

Donatello: In other words, not your name.

You: Elevator explanation first

With your phone balancing on your knee you watched as he again hitched the conversation between intermediary dotted lines. You wondered if this kind of loading screen would be a good real world comparison for the time it took to him formulate verbal conversation. Staring fondly at the screen you dismissed it only because surely that mind of his cycled through so many more possibilities than you could fathom which meant a loading screen as a pathetic comparison.

Donatello: What exactly are you hoping for?

Wasn’t that the million dollar question.

You had a strong sense of the matter at hand and had even voiced your desires aloud just a few moments ago, but there was an undeniable unknown quality to the whole thing.

It had only been two days.

The time frame deflated your otherwise impenetrable smile.

That’s what was holding you up. Unfurling, your phone lowered with your legs and you watched it lull to sleep. The crush exhilaration had shrouded your mind in tittering hormones that made for a high chasing addiction. As much as you wanted to know everything about him, in reality there was no rush. Something so simple seemed like a sobering revelation.

Glancing over your shoulder at the kitchen, you wondered how he’d handle it if you passed on a slapdash response in favor of eating. Meals were quite high on the list of mind clearing activities and would give you a chance to compose something that wasn’t based on pure instinct.

Setting your phone on the arm rest, you stood and moved to the fridge. Taking your time would also shift the tone of the conversation. Grabbing the handle to the ice box, you opened it so its cold air washed over you in time with your second epiphany of the evening.

You didn’t want this to end after two more sandwiches.

Exchanging the freezer door for the fridge proper, you pulled out some leftovers. As odd as he seemed, you craved more. Trying to part the giddy fog in your mind, you set up a mental pros and cons list as you warmed your food. On one hand there had been a few undeniable red flag actions, he was exhaustively closed off, you knew next to nothing what he did outside of getting lunch, and he held vice grips on conversations in a dauntingly manipulative manner.

With a poke you checked if your food was warm enough. The lukewarm response said no, so you popped the dish back into the microwave and the newly sauced digit into your mouth.

Other the other hand he was handsome, mysterious, he’d exhibited multiple times that he was capable of concern or remorse, his vigilante watch translated as attentive, and he’d even been protective over a perceived threat.

Your microwave reminded you it was done and you retrieved the food. The plate stung your finger tips and you set it on the counter to watch the steam roll off.

If you thought about either list for too long, you noticed how each tick skewed the line. For his protection, he’d also taken a worrying satisfaction in scaring another human being. Where he refused to talk about himself cropped up the alluring unknowns. His staunch control issues were what lead to him needing to make amends in the first place.

You leaned over to pop a drawer open to grab cutlery. Once outfitted, you pinched the cooler edges of your plate and transported your dinner to the same spot on the couch. Collapsing into its relenting cushions, your phone lit up and read no new notifications. You flipped it over with one hand and then sought the remote. Whatever app the TV was last on buzzed to life and you let it run with listless curiosity as you took your first bite.

All of this back and forth was nothing unheard of though. Though the serial killer conversation had been partially a joke, there was an undeniable game that had to be played whenever you tried to puzzle a new person into your life. No two people were perfectly made for the jigsaw, but time snapped the piece together regardless as long as they were a close enough match.

A few more bites and your stomach was already feeling warm.

Maybe the puzzle metaphor wasn’t the best.

A personality buzzed about something on the television and you found it caught your attention. Between the video and hearty chews, you felt your resolve stabilize. By the time your plate was clean you’d even found that a tapestry was a much better analogy and even had ancient roots in the fates. Setting your plate aside of a coffee table, you snatched up your phone.

You: I guess you could say your little stunt made me wonder if we should reexamine our current contract

Donatello: Which terms do you not find agreeable?

You tilted your head as you read the question several times over.

You: The length

Though it was by your hand, you found it frustrating that you’d accidentally put yourself into another veiled conversation.

Donatello: Elaborate.

A little surprised hum escaped your throat.

It was almost as if he’d thought the exact same thing.

You certainly weren’t going to waste a chance to make the conversation definite.

You: I’ll just say it then

You: If I’m wrong though, don’t rub it in. I’ll be torturing myself enough

You watched his response stew and quickly typed out a few nonsense letters so your own to signal him that you weren’t done. It took a moment, but his disappeared and you cleared the text to start anew.

You: I think you’re interested in me too, but there’s been mixed signals

Your heart was beating so fast your blood pressure waned in your ears.

You: It was that look you gave me

You watched the quiver in your thumbs as you typed.

You: Would you want to keep seeing each other after you move on to the next sandwich quadrant?

You gave a shaky smile at the ridiculous terms this whole thing was perched upon.

You watched as a read receipt appeared and you tapped the cursor off the text bar to signal the end of your clarification. Your chest felt heavy and you brought one hand up to press your sternum in a pathetic attempt to release the pressure.

Not even his typing notification appeared.

Nerves already frayed, your mind went into overdrive.

Reading back over your texts you winced at the one about not rubbing it in.

Had that not been clear enough?

Mind split right down the middle, your thumbs flew back to your keyboard. For each satisfactory letter that was typed out an equal part of your brain screamed at you for doing so.

It was so much easier to blurt these things out in real time.

You: The nature of which doesn’t have to be specified. Just,

You cursed aloud as when you moved to edit the comma placement, you’d sent the unfinished text.

Staring at it harshly, the fight or flight warped leaving you unsure of what you’d wanted to clarify at all. Coming down, it took over a minute for you to realize the check mark hadn’t appeared. You lowered your screen instinctually. He wasn’t actively in the chat anymore. Putting your device to sleep, you leaned over and set it next to your plate. It wasn’t that strange as you’d left him in a similar manner when you’d made your dinner. Still, you could feel your blood moving through your veins so you desperately palmed the remote for a suitable distraction. You forced yourself to sit through a 27 minute video before you allowed yourself to pick up your device.

You nearly dove for it as the personality on TV recommended something else.

Suddenly in a surprise juggle with your device, the blurry notification disappeared as you mistakenly clicked it. You watched the screen temporarily black out before coming fully to life in the text window.

Donatello: I should have expected two days wouldn’t be enough time to improve one’s taste.

Half on and half off the couch from the phone debacle, you squinted at the message.

It somehow feel perfectly in line with what you expected while being nothing at all what you anticipated.

It was also fascinating how he seemed to take something that should be self-depreciating and make it seem like an insult to the other party.

That party being you, of course.

You: I’ll have you know I gave it a lot of thought. I made a pros and cons list and everything

Donatello: Your data collection capability is abysmal. Have you even considered your sample size or standard deviation? 

You: Nope. Want to teach me?

That was truly terrible.

You laughed to yourself.

The way his response bubble appeared and popped multiples times either meant that line had miraculously worked or he was also seized with the comedy of it all.

There were surely more options than that, but you preferred to consider only those two.

Donatello: Ever presumptuous, tenuous, and ludicrous.

You stared as an even bigger smile spread on your face.

You typed out your next text.

With a thumb hovering over the send button you considered how badly this next statement could go.

You had a feeling it wasn’t in your favor, but there was just something about the three adjectives that he had sent.

You gave a single chuckle and slammed your screen with an audible tap.

You: Funny, I believe it was you who gave me your number of your own accord

He left you on read.

-

You didn’t necessarily regret your choice.

However, you didn’t really love it either.

As lunch loomed eerily close, you checked your bag from under your desk for what must have been the hundredth time. Every time your heart surged not with tempered hope, but fear that your boss would catch wind. The last thing you needed was that guy adding anymore undue stress. That aside, there was still the unmistakable possibility that you had messed up your chance. It definitely stung, but it also wouldn’t be the end of days.

You had only known him two days.

Giving a little sigh, you tucked your bag back into its slot. Deciding you might as well get some semblance of work done, you brought up several useful screens and moved to tack the time away on your keyboard. You’d gotten into a groove when you heard two employees pass with lunch curiosities on their lips. Checking the time said you could slip away with minimal complaint and, even though your plans were still up in the air when you’d left this morning, you’d still kept your docket open just in case. With a final glance to make sure all work was in order, you swiveled in your chair. Catching your bag in the motion, you got to your feet and headed for the elevator.

Pulling your phone out was almost an afterthought as you debated what to get.

At least, that’s what you told yourself when you saw the notification preview faultily clip an image.

You scarcely heard the elevator arrive and stepped back so no one would hold it for you. Against the opposite wall, you opened the message and stared at it curiously.

Donatello had simply sent a screenshot receipt of a sandwich purchase. Clicking it larger, it read the ever present specifications he’d deemed standard. It also had a sum of two sandwiches so he was presumably going to be in attendance. The payment information had been specifically cropped out, but the header for the shop read its address. Tempering your excitement, you flipped back and forth to type it out in your map app. It was predictably nearby so you stepped forward to push the elevator button.

The trek down and lunchtime rushed streets swept you to the location with little time to overthink. You spied his hulking black coated form through the window and slipped through the door with a pleasant chime announcing your entry. You glanced up at the little bell before heading over to Donatello.

His shoulders held staunch as he passed you only a glance before continuing to stare at the pick-up counter. For a moment you let him continue his oddly petty act before rolling on the balls of your feet and prodding your inner cheek with your tongue.

He hadn’t outright rejected you, but something was definitely off.

The overwhelming desire to poke the bear superseded concern.

If you were already in hot water, might as well take a bath.

“You really streamlined the process of asking someone out.”

Already staring at him, you caught the flicker of recognition in his eye before his pupil nearly rolled. When his gaze landed on you, he seemed to note that you had seen the move and flattened out his expression.

“My other line was something about how it’s presumptuous to just buy someone lunch without asking.”

“You’re overanalyzing.”

You rose up on the tips of your toes to get his full attention. He parted it as you entered his personal space and you did your best impression of his patented look.

His jaw flexed as if he grit his teeth though no pearly whites shined through.

“We’ll discuss it while we eat.”

You gave a curious hum that was cut off when an employee set a sack on the counter. Donatello was in motion before the employee could depart and strung a finger through the bag’s handle. He then followed through by turning to the dining room and going straight to a table. You watched his departing form for a moment and couldn’t help but imagine how he must have thought all this through while he was waiting.

How much earlier than his pick-up time had he arrived?

You followed him languidly and made a show of taking a seat. He slid your sandwich across the table and tucked your bag away beside your chair. When you surfaced you found him sitting still with his untouched sandwich wrapped in front of him.

“Should I be worried?”

The question processed in his gaze and seemed to awaken his limbs.

“That depends.”

Though he made it a statement, the end felt clipped away.

You wondered what else he meant to say as he robotically went through the motions of undoing the wrapping and folding it back. You left him to his routine and instead separated the halves of your sandwich to eat one with the parchment peeled back. You had just gotten down your first bite when you caught him picking up his meal without his usual measured grab.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of what you’re requesting.” 

Pausing, you turned the sentence over before taking another bite. “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

His head lolled slightly with dissatisfaction. Though his face didn’t betray it, you could feel the a dissatisfied aura coming off of him. “The weight doesn’t lie in the fraternization.”

You squinted at him.

He brought his sandwich up and narrowed his gaze at it.

“Is this… related to that taste thing?”

“Yes.” He punctured the single syllable with a sharp bite of his sandwich.

You watched openly as one of his lids twitched. He gave an odd side to side chew of the morsel before lowering the sandwich back to the paper. He seemed to struggle to get it down and his dark mood further clouded.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s me I don’t think you understand.” He grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth and pushed his meal a few centimeters away from his person.

“That’s sort of the point.”

“Y/N.”

You broke away from staring at him to look at his sandwich.

“Even if we could set aside what is rapidly becoming willful ignorance, you don’t seem to have considered the fact that I’m a mutant and you’re human.”

“So?” Your own meal came down with your brow.

“Which is exactly why I still have reservations about your motives.”

“I’ve never been with a mutant before. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve even talked to one before you.” Flicking eyes between your lunch and his, you made quick work of unwrapping your bitten half.  

You could feel his gaze intensify, so your brought yours up in an open show of your honesty. His pupils darted around taking in an unknown amount of information before he looked away towards a window.

With his attention parted, you reached across the table and snagged the corner of his parchment. As soon as you started sliding it towards you, he caught the motion and returned his gaze. He didn’t stop you, so you brought both meals next to each other and started to reach for his. Seeing your hand’s descent triggered something in your mind and you halted. As you twisted to grab your bag, you saw Donatello go for something in his pocket. When you both returned to the table you stared at each other and your travel sized bottles of hand sanitizer.

You immediately laughed in spite of the tense air.

He gave the barest huff and returned his own bottle to his person.

“Great minds.” You mumbled, trying to taper off your giggles as your disinfected your hands.

If he responded, you couldn’t hear it as you finally reached for his sandwich. Peeling back the bread on the half he’d bitten, you grimaced at what lie underneath. His lettuce was a pathetically wilted smear against his oily tomato. Peeking out from underneath that was an alarmingly pale piece of bacon. You picked at the tongue that slumped off the side of the sandwich and found it to be just as floppy as it looked.

“We ordered the same thing.” You remarked before quickly moving to uncap your sandwich. Yours, in comparison, looked like a meal that was ready for its menu shoot. “Are both sides like that?”

He again didn’t seem to respond, so you moved to remove the bread from the rest of his meal. The other half continued the same trend. You sat back in your seat and considered the dichotomy. Confused, you finally swept your gaze to your companion.

Across from you, Donatello’s irritation continued to waft off of him, but he was directing it into his person. It was all such a strange show that it left you unnerved. It reminded you of the day prior when the mystery of the supposedly unknown sandwich shop loomed overhead.

You blinked.

Straightening up, you spun around in your chair. The speed of the move meant you just caught the way the whispering employees departed from each other behind the counter. Your eyes widened to a degree that nearly stung. You spun back around to find Donatello staring at you with a dark knowing expression.

That’s why he had brought up human/mutant relations.

“They gave you a gross sandwich on purpose.”

He gave a curt nod.

“But…” You leaned into the table, but in doing so it brought your face closer to said offense. You sloppily reconstructed it before messily squishing the parchment down to hide it away. “How would they know you’d take the intended one?”

The way Donatello stared evenly back made several things clear.

He had in fact arrived to the shop early.

He’d seen and let them make him a subpar meal.

He then accepted it in a way that ensured he’d get the gross one and not you.

The deep frown on your lips stung your cheeks. “If… If they saw you order it, why weren’t both sandwiches gross?”

“The wait.” It seemed like a struggle for him to get the two words out evenly.

Your lips parted.

There had been a wait from when you’d arrived to when the sandwiches had been ready.

Those whispering bastards had seriously rushed to remake a sandwich as soon as they found out a human was on the order.

As the pieces of the events fell into place, confusion melted away under budding fury. “Why didn’t you say something? That doesn’t seem like-!”

You bit down to keep the presumption from coming out.

He leaned forward in a similar manner as you had done.

It brought your voice down and you spoke before he could. “Yesterday at the building, they weren’t glaring because we were there. They were mad because we were together?”

His chin tipped up the barest amount, but you couldn’t take in his appreciation for your correct guess based on its content.

“That or… that’s just how they look at you.”

“Both.” The single syllable dripped with disdain.

Considering he could barely keep a lid on his resentment, it made very little sense why he allowed this to happen. You forced yourself to swallow your own anger in mustering up a pleading eye. “I don’t understand…?”

His expression was pulled so taunt it seemed like a piano wire about to snap. “I needed to talk to you first and foremost, but trust me when I say the retribution will be swift.”

There was a manic flash to his eyes that you only barely caught before a tidal wave of emotion flooded you. Any remnant thoughts on it washed away as your heart buoyed to the surface. You could feel your eyes rapidly watering. With both of you craned over the table into one another, you knew he had a front row seat. Screwing your eyes shut, you hoped he wouldn’t see it as pity or sadness. You certainly weren’t going to celebrate and you were already forming your own just recourse, but the man in front of you had endured blatant xenophobia in silence just so not as to upset these plans.

You didn’t care.

Whatever terrible things he thought of himself.

Whatever things he might have done in the past.

Hell, for all you knew he was still doing it.

It simply didn’t matter.

You wanted him.

 More than ever.

Your eyes popped open in time with a smile on your lips.

He seemed to wince against the brightness of it.

“First things first.” You sat back and grabbed your uneaten sandwich half.

“That’s yours.”

“And?” You pushed it towards him. “You’re not eating that.” You waved off his appalling excuse of a meal.

“You’ll be stuck at work and I can get something else.” He reached out with a single digit and used it to slide the sandwich half back.

“It’s not up for discussion.” You reached out to do something similar, but he hadn’t lifted his hand. You glowered at the offending digit and moved to send that same dissatisfied look to his face.

A resolute blank stare sat there.

“Split then.”

“It’s not even.”

You groaned loudly.

He remained unmoved.

With your uneaten half ensnared, you moved to your bitten half. Searching around, you found a loose plastic knife on the table and made a cut that bisected the sandwich in a way that severed off the contaminated half for yourself. He kept a close eye as you then made a show of folding your parchment into as close of a version as how he did and set the clean segment upon it. It had some sort of effect on him because he finally relinquished his hold. Moving fast in case he changed his mind, you cut the uneaten half and the doled out the sandwich into two meals.

“Obviously this place is not a contender, but it would be annoying if you couldn’t pass proper judgment on it.”  

You felt his gaze linger as you took an annoyed bite of your bread. You chewed a little harder than necessary and when his stare continued to linger, you brought a staunch eye to him.

You expected any of a dozen things to be there.

What you didn’t expect was a softness to his features that could almost be read with affection.

You nearly choked as you swallowed prematurely.

“May I see that?” He nodded to the sandwich in your hand.

It seemed like an odd request, but you were still dumbfounded by the kindness in his eyes. You nodded numbly and held it out to him.

With his hands tucked beneath the table he leaned forward. You wondered if there was something gross in your meal that you had neglected when his mouth suddenly opened. Before you could do anything else, his hands surfaced to steady yours and he took a big bite straight of where you had taken your last one. He retreated while chewing and moved his attention downward, finally doing his pick-up calculations.

Several incoherent sounds puttered off your lips as you brought back the little left of your sandwich.

He had just made such a fuss about it being even too.

You waited numbly until he swallowed his mouthful, having a sense that he’d speak on it.

“For clarification. I’m not a germophobe, just cleanly.” 

You gaze snapped from your meal to him.

“The hand sanitizer?!”

He didn’t respond, but you were sure you saw the quirk of a smile as he got the right angle down and lifted his own meal to take a bite.

“Don’t think you’ve escaped the discussion.”

“Your far more dangerous in how unpredictable you are. I don’t know if my heart will be able to take it.”

This time you actually got substantial peek of the upturned corner of his lips between bites. “If that’s what you label as dangerous, you might as well leave now.”

“No way, after what I’ve seen? I’m more invested than ever!.”

He shook his head and polished the food he had. “Mediocre.” He gestured to the parchment.

“Agreed.” You nodded into another bite. “But regardless of what I say, it’s still a two-way street. If you don’t want to see me after the next shop, I’ll understand.”

“You opened changing the terms of the agreement, who’s to say I didn’t terminate it early?”

You paused and gave him a suspicious look.

The even gaze he returned seemed to still be genial.

“I can’t tell if you think you’re messing with me on purpose, it’s teasing, or you really mean it.”

“Consider that something you’ll have to contend with.”

“List some more; for my sample size, I mean.”

He tipped his chin up and you finally had a chance to bask in that satisfaction.

“You’ve seen my disposition: Don’t expect flowers and chocolates. I wasn’t built for the machinations of formulaic romance. I’m evil and you will be kept in the dark about many things that widely range from what I simply don’t wish to expound on to legal ramifications.”

You stared back at him for a long moment, but he didn’t buckle under the pressure.

That amicable air had all but evaporated so you took to checking your surroundings for a hidden camera.

Finding you were not in fact on a twisted TV show, you returned your gaze to him to find him leaned back in apparent wait.

“I doubt you’ll believe me if you’re still hung up on the mutant thing, but I swear I’ve already taken pretty much all that into account.”

His gaze narrowed the slightest bit and you let him evaluate you in the same way.

You both came away in a similar stalemate: all evidence said the other was being honest, but it was hard to believe.

“Do you need a list like that for me?”

“No, I’ve gathered sufficient data.”

Now that you needed no consideration over.

It just made sense.

“So…?”

“I’m adding ‘stubborn’ to your negatives.”

“If I wasn’t, I doubt you’d even have given me a second glance.”

You weren’t sure what it was about that, but it seemed to irritate him more than another other jab you’d sent his way.

You hadn’t even meant it to be one.

“We have another shop to explore and then we’ll take it from there.”

“That’s the best I’m going to get out of you, huh?”

He gave you his trademarked look.

You gave a lazy smile and finished up your sandwich. He hadn’t made his usual move to clean up the table and you suspected it was the first of many disrespects he’d be giving the place.

You smiled inwardly.

He had no idea.

“I’m gonna guess I just took another long lunch?” The fact that fewer suits passed outside signified the hour had passed.

Donatello gave a nod.

“This is either the one weird thing my boss turns the other cheek to or he’s building up to something.”

“Best of luck with that.”

“Not a trace of sympathy!”

“It’s your occupation.” His head tipped slightly to one side.

“Thanks for not saying ‘just quit.’”

“Nothing in life is so simple. Are you at least applying for other jobs?”

You laughed. “I absolutely am.”

“Fine then. I detest those that complain without even attempting to change their station.”

“Oh! Your first deal breaker! I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“You can use it as an easy out.” His blinks seemed a bit slower as if he were relaxed.

A flicker of warmth sparked in your chest. “If that’s the case you should have told me for our earlier dates.”

He grimaced.

If you were standing you might have fallen over.

It was the first clear and open emotion he had given.

More so than even eating a rotten sandwich.

“Wha…?” You flubbed the question dumbly and rose a confused finger up to him.

“These are not dates.”

Your jaw slacked and you squinted with bewilderment.

“If I were to take you on a proper date, you would know it.”

“You’re… offended?” Recognition bloomed and seeped into the confused cracks.

He only gave you that obvious look. All other traces of emotion disappearing from his person.

“But in your warnings there was that bit about romance…?”

“I’m going to gift you a book on statistics. I expect you to read it in length.”

“Come on! That’s not even a sample size guess! It directly contradicts what you said!”

He clicked his tongue and made it seem like it was heavy labor to open his mouth. “I gave a general statement. You’re folding your assumption into that when you don’t know what I consider applicable.”

“Which is…?”

“Too lengthy if you don’t want to turn a supposition about your boss’s attitude into an certainty.”

“Fine…” You trailed off and made a move to stand. He followed suit, leaving the trash behind, and you bent over to retrieve your bag. “I’m a visual learner, by the way.” Feeling emboldened by how the whole meeting had gone, you tossed a wink along with the comment.

He passed you an unamused look and you grabbed the repulsive sandwich from earlier.

You leaned into him sweetly. “Thanks for considering it, by the way. I want to quell one of your concerns. This is how I’ll deal with the whole cross-species thing.” You whispered before rounding away from him in a extended sweep .

Several people seated nearby seemed to take notice.

“Hey!” You shouted directly at the front counter. “So rotten food is just a standard thing here!?” 

Caught up in your display and already storming the employee’s fortress, you couldn’t be sure, but you imagined Donatello watching after you with that fond expression in his eyes.

NEXT

[wylanwriting]

Analysis of Scaramouche and Bohemian Rhapsody’s lyrics

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see

As Scaramouche himself says, “The stars, the sky... It's all a gigantic hoax. A lie.", likely in reference to discovering that the sky in Teyvat is fake, as hinted by Dottore.

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy Because I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me 

Reference to Scaramouche’s anemo vision and blasé attitude 

Mama, just killed a man Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead Mama, life had just begun But now I've gone and thrown it all away

I think this could be referring to either many of the plausible deaths he caused, or maybe even his death as a god. “Life had just begun” for him as a god and he “threw it all away.”

Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry If I'm not back again this time tomorrow Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters

Generally referring to his negative relationship with Raiden Ei and thinking she had abandoned him for being weak, possibly in an ironic way, telling her to “carry on” as if she even thought twice about him after ‘abandoning him’.

Too late, my time has come Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go

After being defeated by Nahida and the Traveler and gravely injured. As he says in “Wanderer: Ashes, “Once more... I have lost my heart. It hurts. My skin feels like it’s on fire.”

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

Entering Irmunsul to “face the truth” and attempt to erase himself.

Mama, ooh  I don't wanna die I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all

Spoken by him in ‘Wanderer: Ashes’: “No, in fact, I wish I’d never been born at all.”

I see a little silhouetto of a man Scaramouche, Scaramouche,-

Obviously ‘Scaramouche’ is his name given during his time at the Fauti, likely as an insult as it means “a boastful but cowardly person.” It could also refer to a type of puppet.

-will you do the Fandango?

The theme during Scaramouche’s first introduction is named “Ominous Fandango”, Also, in his profile under “Least Favorite Food” he states: “I'm no fan of Dango, or any other sticky sweets....” which is an odd way to word it, possibly intentional so it reads out “fan … Dango.” Raiden Ei, notably, is a fan of dango milk and sweets in general.

Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me

Reference to Raiden Shogun and Inazuma as a whole.

(Galileo) Galileo, (Galileo) Galileo, Galileo Figaro magnifico

Galileo was an astronomer who challenged beliefs held at the time, such as the Sun being the center of the universe rather than the Earth. This could be referring to the idea that the sky in Teyvat is fake, as hinted by Dottore. Scaramouche also proclaims himself, “The stars, the sky... It's all a gigantic hoax. A lie." It’s very possible that Scara, upon becoming a god and making contact with Irminsul, learned the true nature of Teyvat and its sky. (Credit to Scara’s wiki for pointing this out)

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me!

Raiden Ei’s demon name is Baal/Beelzebub. I think the “devil” she put aside for him may be referring to Yae Miko, who proposed to Ei that Scaramouche should be killed shortly after his birth instead of set free.

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die? Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby! Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

This could be about all three of his ‘betrayals.’ The line “So you think you can love me and leave me to die?” makes me think of the child who ‘betrayed him’ by dying, and ‘Just gotta get out’ could be referring to him leaving Tatarasuna to wander Inazuma.

There’s probably a lot that I missed, but this is what I took of how the lyrics correspond to his story. Again, credit to his wikipedia page for pointing out a lot of this

[tomatoland]

Hi! I’m not sure if you will see this or even reply to this but I do want to say that I want to show a lot of appreciation for your blog and your breakdowns about TopMew so much. I saw your post about only friends being a morality drama and the idea of media literacy and it made me reflect a lot about myself as a viewer.

You spoke a lot of truths in your post. I think a lot of viewers resort to archetypes (e.g. TopMew) or comparisons (e.g. Top vs Ray) when they find characters on “different sides of the same coin” or stereotypes that they can associate characters with. But at the end of the day, these characters don’t have the same upbringing/backstories/personalities. Ngl I do admit my opinions do get swayed sometimes by other meta posts because it’s difficult to find meta posts that analyse TopMew without turning them or their actions into something rancid/evil or there’s a lack of TopMew analysis. Your analysis posts have truly been a gift.

I agree 100% that accountability is a major theme here. I’m guessing other people brought in ephemerality due to the idea that these characters are still in college, hence they are more likely to act without thinking about the consequences. But accountability is very much the bigger picture imo. I just don’t get the idea of being a “___ defender/apologist”. As a FB stan, I do like TopMew, especially Mew. But do I excuse their wrongdoings? No. I can enjoy and like them while acknowledging their misdeeds. All I need is to understand is their rationale behind it. 

I also see a lot of viewers constantly trying to push ideas what they want the characters to do ___ (E.g. TopMew doing a threesome with Boeing, really?). More people need to realise this show is not made to fulfil people’s fantasies. I mean MewRay happened, which was clearly what the majority were against. I think it’s also important to keep in my mind what would make sense for these characters to do (e.g. what are their best interests, their characterisation). My only fear right now is if Jojo and his crew would try to appease the majority, given that they cut out a Top scene from EP7 based on fans’ reactions. Are they going to bring justice to these characters’ actions and consequences by the end of the series based on how accountable/responsible they are? Or is it just going to be based on what the majority wants?

I want to thank you again for speaking out about this. I love your posts, especially the ones on Top’s wounded inner child, the Madonna-Whore complex on TopMew, TopMew working on the hostel project. I also love it so much about how TopMew can be linked to “Young and Beautiful” by Lana Del Ray (I just vibe with it so much). I think we the FB fandom can agree that ForceBook has brought so much to their characters and we’re so proud of them. Thanks for reading!

You are so sweet!! 🥰 and thank you very much. foxmochi hug!

Oh! Is that what people mean by ephemerality? I honestly do not understand lol. Because life is also ephemeral? No one is guaranteed a tomorrow.

Right? Human beings are complex. And people treat TopMew as morality foils or NPCs. And in real life, no one is a side character, you know what I'm saying? No one is an actual villain except well, Boston, but I actually think his storyline is going to get justice. Boston looks like he's going to have an introspective moment in the preview and I am here for it.

Okay, I actually do know where that comes from. Mond re-tweeted this pic adding "I'd like to be friends too."

And this

While I'm down for a little jealous Mew and Boeing testing him, Top & Mew have only ever wanted to be with each other. And the confirmation that one of the deleted scenes being Top trying to move on, but not being able to, really confirms this. So I'm gutted we didn't get it.

Yes, that was a bit surreal to hear from Jojo. And it makes me uneasy.

Like the story of the series is in flux when it shouldn't be. And those theories about re-shoots 🙃 I'm just going to remember that FB would have told us if they did re-shoots. Being the spoiler kings they are and the foxmochi thai superfans definitely would have known.

Top & Mew are almost there. They just need to have honest communication and not the kinda cautious communication they had when they were courting. And I need FB to have at least one scorching hot sex scene so absolutely no one can deny that TopMew and FB have chemistry coming out of their eyeballs. And I think FB as artists would be down to do it.

Okay, you're going to get my Ray take because I have written it and I don’t want to make a separate post.

Not once in the show does Ray try to curb his drinking. It's one thing to try and then to slip, you are at least trying, but not once has Ray ever said, no I'm trying to cut back. He doesn't and has never seen it as a problem even after the accident.

Ray needs to learn that while trauma might explain why he does what he does, it is not an excuse. Ray needs to do some soul-reckoning. Some people want it be a case of "Love conquers All" and *dun dun da dun, insert hero fanfare here* Sand is going to swoop in and save Ray from himself without losing himself in return. But Sand and his presence are not enough to make Ray change. Ray must want it for himself. Read any article on how to handle addiction for loved ones and they all say this. And this is actually the hardest and most painful life lesson I've ever had to learn in my life. People have to want to change and as much as you can want it, no matter how much you beg, nothing will change unless they want for themselves.

I am actually really sad that in the preview Ray says he'll go to rehab if Sand wants him too. It's only Sand, he's thinking about? Not himself, not his friends, not his dad, or his fellow humans? It's really weak character development. He still lacks the ability to be introspective or think about others. Ray has to do some honest soul-discovery before he can be a good partner to anyone. And I'm praying that it's still coming. Please, show, please do this for Ray.

I know I'm basically preaching to the choir at this point but whatever, I want these posts to exist because sometime from now, after the show finishes airing, someone will come to Tumblr and find one of these posts. And TopMew deserve the right to context.

You are the sweetest. Yes, I love "Young and Beautiful" for them. And I agree, ForceBook have done an amazing job in OF.

And just remember whatever weird stuff is happening here, Thai fans LOVE them and don’t overanalyze TopMew.

I hope you have a wonderful day, hun and thank you for dropping by my mailbox~ You made my day 💕

[galculus]

Let me tell you all a story.

Once upon a time, a grad student had to take 3 qualifying exams to prove she knew about math and things so she could start working on her dissertation. The first exam she had to take was graph theory.

All the other grad students who had taken prelims told her that she needed to study the past prelims. So she did. She and the other students gathered together and studied hard and the day the prelim came, they answered everything well. 48 hours later, the grad student received an email from the main graph theorist in the department that she had passed the exam. Huzzah!

Later that summer came the Algebra prelim. The grad student was much more scared for this exam because she felt as though she didn’t understand algebra as well as graph theory. She and her fellow grad students studied hard, though, taking as many past qualifying exams as they could get their hands on. The little grad student even read way more about gröbner bases than she ever wanted to know. And then the prelim came. And she had to define elementary symmetric polynomials on the exam. And that was a thing. Two weeks later, she and her fellow grad students received letters in their mailboxes saying they passed. *(kinda. There’s a long story about this one, but it is not little grad student’s story to tell.) Huzzah!

Now little grad student hadn’t fully committed to graph theory as her area of study at this point. So grad student wondered what would happen if she pursued another area. Well, she’d have to take 2 more prelims instead of just one. So for that reason and many others, little grad student decided to prepare only for Algebraic topology the next summer. She studied hard and then on a dark Monday morning, she and her fellow grad students made their way to campus to take the prelim.

According to sources, right after turning in her exam, grad student was as pale as a ghost, which is impressive because grad student is already very very pale skinned.

Everyone in the department had told grad student that she would do fine. But grad student was scared. Then, during TA orientation, the professor of Algebraic topology lets slip to one of the fellow grad students that “they all did fine”. Then suddenly fifteen minutes later, after fellow grad student has told this to his peers, the professor announces with a giant thumbs up that the three grad students passed.

Little grad student missed all this. She was too busy talking to another grad student and professor about something else and only found out she passed her prelim when the professor was right behind her to shake her hand.

But seriously. Little grad student wants it in writing that she passed. It would be greatly appreciated.

TLDR: I have passed all three of my prelims and the way we were told we passed the last one was WILD. This is the condensed version of the story, but at least the chair of the department was in the room.

[ahtsumu]

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu​! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving. 

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun?

summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

warnings: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Trauma Bonding, narcotics anonymous meetings, Strangers to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, meet-cute,

word count: 3.3K

a/n: this is completely self-indulgent and overly personal but i def recommend writing why spencer would love you as a form of therapy

read on ao3

In the blink of an eye, she was up and racing around her apartment. Her mental health was like a teeter-totter, and right now she was on her way to the top. Mania was creeping in; changing from just anxiety-induced butterflied to the feeling that she could jump off a building and survive.

That was never a good time. All she wanted was to either spend all her money, fuck a stranger or get high as shit. It made her legs jumpy and her ears ring and she couldn’t take it anymore. It was all too much.

She threw on a sweater and jeans, her hair was up in a butterfly clip and she hastily threw on her fanny pack full of everything she needed as well as a big coat, and she then left her apartment. She got to the stairs before realizing she actually needed to lock the door.

Her hands shook and she tried to slide the key into the lock, dropping them as her neighbour rushed out of the room and startled her. “Sorry,” she heard him say.

She picked up her keys and turned to look at him, “can you help me? I can’t seem to stop shaking,” she asked as she held her keys towards him.

“yes, sure,” he rushed the words out as he walked towards her, only looking at the keys, never in her eyes. But that was okay, she was never a big fan of eye contact.

He placed her keys back in her hand and took a step back, “are you alright?” he asked.

“No,” she said honestly. “I’m going to find an NA meeting.”

“Do you have one in the area? I haven’t seen you around before?”

She shook her head, surprised that he was also an addict, he didn’t look like he’s ever even smoked weed.

“No, I moved in only a little while ago on a whim, but I think it’s time I got some support,” she said as they started to walk down the hallway together. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Spencer,” he smiled softly. “I’m going to a meeting right now, actually, if you’d like to come? I won’t exactly be anonymous to you, but it’s a good one to go to if you just need one to fill the void until you find your preferred group.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need.” She smiled at him this time as he held the door open for her. “So, have you lived around here for long?”

“For about a few years now.”

“The building is good then? I was a little hesitant but I needed to get away,” she said, this time holding the door for them to leave the building and turn down the street towards where she knew the subway was.

The moon should be out, she looked up but only sees buildings. It was the one thing she missed the most about not being in the country; seeing the stars and feeling like there was a reason to it all.

“Are you running from someone?” He asks as they start the walk down to the meeting.

“Myself,” she said softly. “I’m on disability and don’t drive and I lived in the middle of nowhere with my parents, well into my 20’s, and I needed a change so my parents surprised me by saving up money for a few month's rent and told me to follow my heart.”

“And you picked Virginia?”

“I stayed in Virginia, just moved into the city. I watch a lot of murder documentaries in my free time, I thought being near Quantico would introduce me to some interesting people, but I have yet to meet anyone from the FBI at all.”

She laughed to herself at how dumb it was that she wanted to meet a profiler like Holden Ford from Mindhunter, “either they are all very good at keeping their jobs secret or Virginia is a very large and densely populated area with a low percentage of FBI agents.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“How long have you lived here?” he asked, slowing as he walked so he could look at her.

“2 months.”

“It took you two months to meet the FBI agent across the hall from you.”

“You’re kidding?” she said, stopping on the sidewalk abruptly. “I knew that apartment was calling me for a reason.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but, are you really just coincidentally my neighbour or are you secretly spying on me because you have an evil plan to kill me and my co-workers?” he's completely serious, it's almost scary.

“No offence, Spence, but for a supposed FBI agent that’s a dumb question to ask,” she said, pointing finger guns at him, “you don’t think I’ll give up my cover that easily? Do you?”

He points a finger gun back at her, “technically, I’m a doctor.”

The two of them narrow their eyes at each other, slowly walking in a circle, still facing each other with their make-believe guns trying to hold back smirks. She lowered her ‘weapon’ first. “It’s okay, doctor, don’t worry. I’m not a spy just an idiot with an imagination.”

He giggled softly, “I’ve never felt this comfortable with someone this fast.”

“Well, you are with criminals a lot, right? That would be alarming if you bonded with them,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his as they walked. “But I feel the same. I actually haven’t talked to someone in person in forever.”

“No?”

“I do most of my work and socializing online,” She felt embarrassed, but in today’s day and age, it wasn’t that weird. “I’m not very good outside or with people.”

“If it wasn’t for my job, I don’t think I would go outside very often either. My co-workers are my only friends, they’re more like my family actually.”

“That’s so wonderful to hear, found family is very important,” her smile disappeared as she thought about how alone she was. “Um, can I ask what it is you do at the FBI?”

“Behavioural Analysis.”

“Holy shit," she gasps, knowing way too much about that unit thanks to fucking Netflix, "that’s what the BSU became right? Do you work with the really fucked up shit?” she asked softly.

He laughed, “oh yeah, I really do.”

“Do you share a lot at NA?”

“Kinda, I tend to ramble about facts when I’m nervous so sometimes my short talk becomes more like a ted talk and what was supposed to be just me saying I haven’t relapsed on Dilaudid becomes a lesson on how the human brain works,” he explained, rambling just like he said he would.

She nodded along as he spoke, “funny, that was also my drug of choice.”

“Liquid or oral?”

“Oral. I was given it after I had my appendix out when I was 17. They get you started real young now, big pharma has its hand in everyone's pocket,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, “it was rough.”

He hummed in agreement. “I was held captive by an unsub with multiple personalities. One personality drugged me till I died and the other one brought me back.”

“Spencer, Holy fuck?” she stopped and stared at him so incredibly concerned for someone who just met him. She reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder and looked him in the eyes, “I know I barely know you, but if you need someone to talk I’m literally always across the hall.”

“Thank you,” he smiled softly as he looked back into her eyes. “The meeting is right there across the street, do you want a coffee first? The place beside it is amazing.”

She nodded and he took her hand, looking both ways before J-walking across the street with her to buy her a coffee and a snack. Maybe that would help her stop shaking, he looked like he worried about her and she wasn't used to that at all.

He didn’t talk at this meeting, he sat in the chair beside the group leader, she sat down across from him in the circle so she could focus. When the floor was opened up to new members, Y/N stood at the first chance she got.

“Hi I’m Y/N,” she said, to which she was welcomed by the crowd.

“I’m new to the city and looking for a new home group, not sure if I’ll stay here because I know Spencer outside of here but I really just needed to come today.”

She takes a deep breath as she thinks of how to start it, opting to just explain it and let the rant go where it may.

“I’ve never lived alone before and it’s incredibly hard to occupy my time without drugs. I still smoke weed to help me sleep at night but my addiction is with Dilaudid and then Benadryl a little after having surgery in high school. I don’t know if it’s my trauma, my disability or my Autism, maybe it’s my OCD, I really don’t know, but I just feel so useless and alone and boring and lonely, the drugs used to help but they don’t anymore and I really just don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

They all looked like they understood, small smiles grew all around the circle as she took a lookout at the crowd, “Thank you for letting me get that out.”

Everyone clapped as she sat back down and wiped a tear off her cheek.

The meeting ended shortly after that, Spencer walked from his seat in the circle to where she was sitting, reaching a hand out to help her to her feet. “For the record, I think you’re funny, smart, kind and pretty. And you don’t have to be alone anymore if you don’t want to be.”

She slapped her hand into his and stood up with purpose, “Did we just become best friends?”

“I believe we did.”

The walk home was much like the walk there. They traded facts, they flirted, they laughed, she pushed him into a pole at one point, by accident as they laughed. The two of them stopping to sit at a bus bench, laughing so hard she felt like she would pee her pants right then and there.

By the time they were back on their floor, it was well after midnight. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to meetings with you.”

“Oh, why?” he looked disappointed.

“Isn’t rule 13 that you’re not supposed to want to sleep with your group members when you’re healing?”

“Wanting to and doing it are two very different things,” he corrected her as he waited at his own door.

She smirked, “you’re right. Still don’t think I can go back with you, however.”

“I’ll probably have a case tomorrow, they normally take me out of town for at least a week, but when I get back, can I see you?” he asked lightly.

“Knock on my door when you get back,” she said before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “See you.”

“Bye.”

They waved from their doors before departing, excited by something that felt better than drugs.

—

120 hours later there was a light knock at her door, she knows exactly how long it’s been because she’s been counting and looking out the door at every noise for the whole time he’s been gone. Waiting for him like a wife whose husband went off to war, not knowing when their next correspondence would be.

“Coming,” she called, stopping to fluff her hair and straighten her glasses before she opened the door.

“Spencer!”

“Hi,” he said softly.

She took a moment to look him over, a little in shock at what she saw. He was in a plain t-shirt and track pants, he had not one, but two black eyes, bandages on his brow bone and scrapes all along his arms.

“Are you okay?”

“You should see the other guy,” he giggled softly, rolling his eyes.

“Come in, let’s sit you down.” She worried, taking him by the elbow and helping him inside.

“I’m fine, really, I’m used to this.”

“Well I’m not,” she reminded him with a nervous pout, “am I allowed to ask about it or is it classified stuff?”

He sat on the couch and patted a seat beside himself so she would join him. He rested his arm against the back of the chair so that she could slide in beside him.

“Did you hear about the child abduction in Tampa?”

“Yeah? The two boys?”

“I was trying to talk the unsub down and he dropped the gun but he grabbed me as I turned him around and punched me in the face and we fell into the ditch and I luckily managed to flip over him and get his hands behind his back and cuffed faster than I ever have before.”

“You’re amazing,” she whispered.

He laughed, “if I really was, I would have waited for backup before talking to the guy.”

“I’ve always wanted to help other people get justice but not being able to go to school makes it hard to get a job doing anything meaningful,” she whispered, ashamed of the fact she wasn’t successful like most people her age.

“Our technical analyst was hired because she was an amazing hacker, they will hire anyone who is valuable.” He shrugs and watches her face light up at the idea.

“You know what, we have meetings all this week unless there’s an emergency, if you want I can show you around the office?” he offered. “It’s not illegal for you to pass by what I’m working on and notice something I missed.”

“Spencer, I don’t even know your last name and you’re inviting me to your government job? When just last week you asked, not so jokingly, if I was a secret agent trying to kill you and that you’ve been kidnapped before?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid, and what can I say?” he said shyly, “I’m trying to find excuses to see you smile all the time.”

She placed her hand on his cheek, the tips of her fingers lightly resting on his purple and yellow bruised eyes. She leaned in slowly and kissed him on the lips, so gently as if she’s afraid he’ll break or turn into a frog… he was too good to be true.

“You can see me whenever you want, Doctor Spencer Reid…”

He kissed her again, letting his hands roam her back and she trailed her free hand down his chest. She pulled back slightly to throw a leg over him carefully and sit in his lap. Holding his face in her hands now, she peppered kisses over his bruised face.

She stopped to look at him, still holding his face in her hands as his hands now rested on her hips. “I really like you, Spencer.”

“Really?”

She looks at him carefully, analyzing his response and seeing the hurt that rested deep inside of him, “I take it you’re like me?”

“What does that mean?”

“You try to not get too involved with people because no one has ever shown you true genuine interest or love, and you never think you’ll find it anyway so you push away all small acts of kindness, thinking it’s friendly because then you can’t get your hope up, just to have that person drop them?” she explained herself in a whisper.

He nodded, “you get it.”

She kissed his lips again, and then over his cheek and up to his ear, “I do.”

He looked extra sad when she pulled away, she just held his face gently as she mirrored his puppy dog eyes. Communicating with their eyes, she knew he was okay and he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so she smiled.

“Want to watch a movie?” She asks softly.

He nods, looking behind her to see she doesn’t have a tv in the living room. “How?”

“In my room, the TV is on my dresser if you don’t mind sitting in my bed?”

He shakes his head in a simple no, picking her up and taking her to her room. He knew where it was purely because her apartment was just his but backwards. She laughs, holding onto him tight as she rests her head on his shoulder.

He sets her down gently, watching her move up to the headboard and wait for him. They got under the blankets and she found the remote in the sheet before she cuddled into him.

“You’re really cuddly,” she complimented him as he wrapped an arm around her and held her close. He kissed the top of her head as a thank you.

“I think I’m going to end up falling in love with you, Spencer Reid,” she whispers the words, afraid of them more than his response.

“I beat you to it,” he whispers right back.

She shoots up, turning to look at him with surprise. “How?”

He looks at her like she grew two heads, “what do you mean how?”

“How did you fall in love with me? You don’t even know me?” She’s so confused, no one has ever loved her before and it’s a lot to take in.

“Y/N…” his face drops, his heart physically breaks in front of her. “I don’t know you, you're right. Not all of you, at least. I’m sure you have your hidden doors and locked cupboards but from the outside, I see you’re so beautiful, you’re radiant… your mind is lovely. You’re so kind, you’re so brave, you’re everything I wish I could be as charismatically as you are.”

She’s just swallowing over and over as she shakes her head and breathes through her nose, processing it. She’s breathing deeply then, staring off and she feels like she’s having a new kind of panic attack. A happier one, somehow?

“I don’t like myself, but if you like me I guess I must be pretty nice,” she smiles, accepting his praise and believing him. “Yeah. Thank you, Spencer.”

He smiles then, it’s cute and press-lipped and she swears he almost has dimples. His eyes are like honey and his lips are like roses. She leans in, kissing him and reaching a hand back to cup the nape of his neck.

He doesn’t know it, but he’s the first person she’s kissed in a few years. They’re soft, peck after peck as they hold each other softly, eyes open as they watch each other experience the happiness of finding someone good, finally.

“I uh, I wanted to tell you I’m almost exactly everything you described yourself as in the meeting,” he whispers against her lips, the air touching her skin gently as she absorbs the words.

“What part? My diagnosis or my self-hatred?” She smiles, okay with either really.

“Almost both, I’m pretty hard to be around.”

She shakes her head, “I invited you in for a movie, not a pity party. You can tell me everything you hate right now and then we should just share the good parts okay? Brag about yourself. Tell me what you’re proud of.”

She was really serious, keeping a stern look on her face as she spoke. He nodded, “I’m anxious all the time, I’m always worried because I’ve never had anyone to worry about me. I don’t know how to be a real person really, all I do is drink coffee and solve crimes and I barely sleep. And the only time I was relaxed and okay is when I was on drugs.”

She nodded, “it fucking sucks, doesn’t it? Like why did we get stuck like this, I don't care about peaking in high school but didn’t we deserve some kind of love and support? I’ve never understood if souls and shit are real, why did mine pick this terrible meat suit and awful traumatic path?”

She’s crying because she’s angry and because she’s never said it to anyone before. He cries because she understands. She truly knows.

“I love you,” he announces. “Just because of that.”

Taglist: @blanchardsbk @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 297: We’re Bustin’ Outta This Joint

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi did his best to undo all of the good vibes from the Girl Power arc by killing off Midnight. It sucks and I still don’t like it, but it is what it is. Unfortunately, Not Killing Off Your One Female Teacher Character With Any Character Development was worth 30% of his grade for the semester, so it brought his average down all the way to a C-, and so he and his report card will just have to live with that. Meanwhile Ochako did some rescuing, and the other U.A. kids lay around unconscious and/or traumatized. The chapter ended with an abrupt cut to Tartarus, where AFO is apparently just chilling and waiting for the Nearly High Ends to come bust him free. What kind of a cliffhanger is that to leave your fans hanging on for three whole weeks. Who’s suffering more here, the characters or the readers.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “okay I know you all want to know what happens to Deku and Shouto and the rest, but have you considered finding out what happens to Overhaul and Muscular and Moonfish and New Girl Character instead?” Fandom is all, “you had us at New Girl Character.” Seiji’s dad is all, “I’m just going to say a bunch of stuff to help make sure none of the readers feel conflicted about cheering on a bunch of mass murderers escaping from prison.” Tomura is all, “dammit AFO why are you still here.” AFO is all, “shhh, Tomura, go back to sleep.” Tomura is all, “wtf but you’re literally hijacking my body and continuing to shred it to bits while we break into BnHA Alcatraz to recruit your own personal Suicide Squad.” AFO is all, “:).” Real!AFO is all, “HERE I AM, EVERYONE, SORRY TO KEEP YOU WAITING.” And then the chapter ends. Geez.

oh shit lol it’s a whole big fucking page all about Tartarus

my very first thought was “that’s a long-ass fucking bridge”, and then I went to go google “longest bridges”, and Wikipedia was all “son there are literally a hundred and fifty bridges in the real world longer than 5km, and the longest one is actually 165km”, and I was all “oh shit I really don’t know jack shit about bridges.” then I looked at the list for a few more minutes and realized that the super-long bridges were all built over land, and that the longest bridge over water is only 38km. which is way more reasonable, but also still really fucking long though?? ngl I would freak the fuck out on that bridge. what does any of this have to do with Tartarus you ask?? absolutely nothing, I literally forgot I was reading a chapter for a sec lol uh

anyway, my parting thought on the bridge is that it kind of defeats the whole purpose of having a giant island fortress prison, but whatever. moving on

and the six levels thing is straight out of One Piece lol. something tells me BnHA’s prison break arc isn’t going to be quite as fun. hmm

so now we’re cutting to “the Bronze Gate”, which is the main entrance off of the bridge, and some goat-looking motherfucker is out here trying to become my new favorite character. bro

SON OF A BITCH WHAT’S WITH THE BULLETS FLYING IN THE BACKGROUND. DON’T TELL ME THEY’RE SHOOTING AT GYGES. THEY CAN’T KILL OFF MY FRESHEST HOMIE GYGES. SURELY THEY WOULDN’T

ooh and now, giant robots!

giant robots with machine guns. “I’m very sorry I killed off Midnight, makeste” you know what, fuck you Horikoshi. thinking you can buy my affections back so easily

does Gyges have six arms??? look how fucking calm he is announcing the code red security lockdown, holy shit. GYGES

NOOOO

NO NOT BRIAREUS. THIS DAY EXACTS A HEAVY TOLL

YO, WHAT

he came there himself?? so much for making the Noumus do his dirty work. and based on the speech bubble shape and font, this is still AFO talking

uh oh what’s happening

is he using Decay or is his arm just sort of crumbling to pieces because he hasn’t had time to heal up yet? if it’s the former this prison break is going to set a record for shortest arc yet isn’t it

now we’re cutting to B10 which is apparently the lowest level. but do they mean lowest as in the least security, or lowest as in the deepest underground, a.k.a. the most security? idk it’s confusing and I think they should be more specific. is it B like in basement?? are there six levels or ten?? stupid Tartarus

anyway so the guards are talking about how Gigantomachia is scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning. heh. will there even be a Tartarus tomorrow morning

(ETA: WELL, UH.)

wow they’re talking about just killing him outright. damn

I kinda feel like “prison guard” is one of those jobs that just sort of naturally attracts shitty people. anyways yeah, Seiji your dad is a real piece of work

and he’s even doubling down on it after the other guy repeatedly keeps trying to hush him up. dude we get it, you’re an asshole

ooh and now we’re getting an interesting look at the various prisoners, some of whom look suspiciously familiar!

for starters, that’s definitely Moonfish in the upper left corner, I’m like 99% sure. not quite clear who that is across from him in the upper right, but it’s been a hot minute since we saw Muscular, so maybe?

and could that be Overhaul in the panel beneath him?? they’re not showing his face so I assume it’s someone we’d recognize, and he’s the only currently-incarcerated villain with that haircut as far as I can recall. though it seems weird that he’s not restrained more given his quirk. I thought Horikoshi mentioned in Ultra Analysis that he’d gotten it back somehow. eh well we will wait for answers

I don’t recognize the person to his left either (though she has an oddly familiar look to her?). but the person on the bottom right, next to Kurogiri... is it Stain?? the hair and body language are sure giving off Stain vibes. if someone had told the me from two years ago that I’d actually be excited to see Stain again I would have said you were full of shit. and yet here we are. these sure are interesting times

anyway so now the Code Red intruder alarm is blaring. and I gotta say, that one scene sure was effective at killing any sympathy I might have been inclined to feel for these guards lol. bring on the imminent massacre

“what horrible timing” lol yes. it’s almost as if they planned it that way

uh oh

is he omae wa shindeiruing. watch your six, Mr. Prison Guard

oh shit

WHAT DID I SAY. WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY. but nooo, you all were all, “but a bridge is more convenient!” VERY WELL THEN, LIE IN THE BED THAT YOU HAVE MADE

anyway so it’s the High Ends lol. I mean we already knew it was them. let’s just get on with it

omfg Tomura ARE YOU RIDING ONE

WHAT ARE YOU, A NAZGUL. WHY IS THIS MY FAVORITE THING

and it looks like it actually is Tomura again, too (as opposed to AFOmura)

-- is he using Decay on himself?? is that what it is?? or no wait, is this just more of the weird side effect shit that’s been happening since he Awakened. actually yeah never mind that’s clearly what it is

y’all this man is out here having a full blown argument with himself

so this is equal parts compelling and hilarious to me right now lol. like I feel so bad for Tomura, but I also lowkey want to see how far this escalates. like do you think he’d go as far as to punch himself in the face. where will this journey lead us

fucking look at this shit

other people have already mentioned this, but with this scene especially it makes me really curious how they’re going to show this in the anime. will it be AFO’s voice coming out of Tomura’s mouth? or Tomura’s voice using AFO’s speech patterns? more importantly, will it be cool and dramatic, or will it actually wind up being hilarious? or both?? never count out both

also he’s looking pretty good there in that bottom panel with his one eye just barely visible. that doesn’t have anything to do with anything, but here I am, pointing it out

also also, lol at Tomura being all, “the fuck do you mean, ‘rest’, you’re the one that dragged my body out here to raid a fucking prison,” and AFO being all, “oh yeah, lol, true true, but I meant rest after that.” yes, this man clearly has nothing but the purest intentions, Tomura. trustworthy af

this fucking guy. Tomura is your bullshit radar finally operational yet?? can you see yet that it was always his intention to use you right from the very start?? oh man I am starting to get fidgety now listening to this

so Tomura’s saying he doesn’t just want to be used as a chess piece. and AFO is all, “well okay but what if it’s a VERY NICE AND IMPORTANT chess piece.” bro DID HE STUTTER

-- AHH BUT NEVER MIND THAT, HERE IT IS, THIS IS WHERE THE FUN STARTS OMG

GO ON AND ACQUIRE THEM THEN! omg. why am I so fucking excited. it seriously makes no sense. like seriously, ‘hooray, our old buddies, Overhaul and Stain!!’ -- come again now?? who is this person that I have become

meanwhile AFO is making all this fuss and I really don’t understand it though

why would you need to plow directly through the building. why can’t you just use doors like a normal person. it’s not like they can lock you out, like hello, you can literally turn anything you touch into dust, what’s with all the melodrama

anyway so he’s apparently hitting the prison with some sort of EMP attack now and shutting down all their systems

omg the suspense is killing me. this is going to be so badass once it’s animated, but right now all I keep thinking is “YES, GREAT, CAN WE PLEASE JUST MOVE IT ALONG”

the doors are opening ahhhhhhh come on come on come on let’s go let’s get to the excitement already

now the guards are running over to try and regain control. but, like

yeah that’s pretty much how I’m expecting the rest of this to go basically

so now they’re shooting at the dust cloud lol. well if there’s one thing movies have taught me, it’s that bad guys who wait inside clouds of dust while panicked cops blindly rain bullets at them until they run out of ammo are basically invincible lol. soooooo

OHHHHH SHIT

AHAHAHAHAHAHA. THEY ARE SO FUCKED LOL, SHIT

YEP, AND HERE’S ANOTHER ONE

is this the first time we’ve seen Moonfish’s face? I feel like we might have caught a glimpse of it before on an omake page or something. either way, it wasn’t anything I actually needed to see again. thanks...?? I guess??

okay but seriously, are we supposed to actually know who this badass lady is?? like I don’t know her but I feel like I know her, you feel?

(ETA: lol there are already like 60 different theories about how she’s related to every single character in the series. will be interesting to see if anything comes of this. although we did just get three “this villain was secretly related to [insert character(s) here] all along” reveals just in the last arc, so idk, it might be better if we pass on it this time lol.)

girl who are you. please stick around. for the love of god don’t let this man kill you off too

????

wait so is this Overhaul? boy sure has seen better days huh. but the floppy sleeves... yeah, it’s gotta be him

anyway so then the only ones missing are Stain and Kurogiri, yes?? omg. and one page left to go

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO CONVINCE ME HE COULDN’T HAVE DONE THIS SHIT RIGHT FROM THE VERY BEGINNING. FUCKING TIME-BIDING DRAMA QUEEN

AND HE’S JUST FLOATING HIS LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM ALONG BEHIND HIM SOB. THIS FUCKING GUY

AND IS HE JUST ABSENTMINDEDLY DRAGGING SOME POOR SCHLUB’S CORPSE ALONG BESIDE HIM LIKE A SLEEPY TODDLER CARRYING THEIR TEDDY BEAR. I FUCKING CAN’T. REST IN PEACE, FRIEND. GIVE MY REGARDS TO GOOD OLD BRIAREUS

so that’s it! and we still don’t have any idea what AFO is actually planning to do now, after all of that. are they going to merge bodies?? or is he going to try to switch with him?? either way Tomura’s body has to be part of the plan somehow since he keeps making so much of a fuss over it. flkhglkhlk. dammit I need answers lol

[emmys-grimoire]

Lesson 58 analysis + 59 predictions

I expected this lesson to drop tomorrow! It was a pleasant surprise. Sort of.

tl;dr Summary

When we last left our heroes, they were about to be decked by the bogeyman. We get saved, though! And it scampers off into a nearby room. The lesson is then just each brother tagging along with MC as they enter the room and one by one they get scared off, or do damage to the bogeyman.

Asmo’s greatest fear is just an uglier version of himself, which really does not lend any depth or credibility to the theory that he isn’t entirely self-involved. Belphie is frightened of a particular alarm clock that Satan once got him and possibly the dark (?).

Beelzebub at least gets an illusionary scene change with scary music + animated flame overlay, and his scene involves him accidentally hitting Belphegor with one of his attacks (bogeyman takes the form of Belphegor). The illusion backdrop is the Celestial Realm, so it’s clearly trying to draw a parellel between what is occurring in the illusion and what happened to Lilith.

Satan gets a similar treatment, only it’s a flaming coliseum and he’s being taunted by angel Lucifer about just being a budget Lucifer. Real Lucifer talks him out of it by pointing out their differences, but I found the things he brings up pretty surface level (he likes music while Satan prefers reading, Satan likes cats while he prefers dogs, etc.)

It seems like Satan’s wrath powers are enough to finally vanquish the bogeyman and everyone breathes a sigh of relief… UNTIL IT COMES BACK for one last round. You guessed it: it’s Lucifer’s turn.

A familiar shard of light appears in the corner of the screen, but Simeon seems to react more to it than Lucifer does. Lucifer tells him to calm down and claims it’s “his” light (spoiler: it’s not), and effortlessly banishes it once and for all. It’s very anti-climatic… because this isn’t the real climax.

Simeon, however, doesn’t recover right away. Or at all, really. We get interrupted when he’s ready to finally tell us (or later, Lucifer) what’s bothering him, so we’re kept in the dark. We receive our last star and celebrate becoming a full fledged sorcerer.

Only Luke has heard a rumor about a three-headed wolf prowling around that he informs us of via text. Guess what’s going to be the real climax?

EDIT: @obey-mes-treasure has a better explanation about Lucy's and Belphie's fears in the comments.

Analysis

Luke’s power

If we needed any confirmation that Luke has great potential, we got it in this lesson. The bogeyman’s powers don’t affect us because Luke’s blessing is still in effect and protecting us. He may be a smol angel, but his power rivals many of the high-ranking angels already. It explains why Michael has taken an interest in him, probably, but you’d think an angel like him would have been ranked already… unless Michael is deliberately refusing to rank him for some reason. Maybe he doesn’t want to train more archangels/soldiers given the three realms seem to be moving towards peace?

It does put Mammon mocking him by suggesting one day he could be a seraphim earlier in the season in a different light, though. Michael might be grooming him to be his heir, or something akin to that. It also explains why he didn’t worry about sending Luke into the Devildom in the first place, in spite of his youth. The kid could handle himself even if he isn’t aware of it.

Figure in the light

Lucifer and Simeon fear the same thing, but Lucifer handled facing whoever it was much better. I think this is probably daddy. The reason why Lucifer was capable of withstanding it is because he was preparing for his stand-off with their father for centuries before he finally rebelled, is my guess.

It could be Michael, but I expect Simeon interacts with him frequently, and he’s already made it pretty clear that he has a cavalier attitude about angering the guy in Season 2. Simeon could fear having to watch Michael and Lucifer fight again, though, if all three of them were close before the Great Celestial War. Can’t imagine that was a fun time for him.

But, if how the Celestial Realm as a whole functions is any indicator, all three of them probably fear Father the most. That fear kept them in line until it didn’t.

This also lends some credibility to the “empty throne” theory that posits Father has been absent for a prolonged period of time for some reason, if it is him.

This is the second time this season that Simeon has expressed these sort of doubts. I think someone is suffering from insecurities and regrets more and more these days, and it seems like associations with the Celestial Realm trigger them. I doubt he’s going to fall – like I’ve said before, he actually seems to enjoy partaking in the standard angel duties – but it is noteworthy. He might have a complicated relationship with Father, too.

The three-headed wolf

This is going to be the actual climax, which is kind of dumb considering it literally was introduced this lesson. Just dropped in there.

I don’t think Cerberus is a wolf, though? He looked more like a hound in his art. Looking up “three headed wolf” on Google gets you Cerberus, though.

Predictions

We’re going to deal with the wolf thing next lesson and then have a rushed season ending or end it on a cliffhanger. It’s going to make a mess of things and we’ll have to tame it, and/or a certain SOMEONE in the Celestial Realm will need to step in to keep collateral damage to a minimum. Still confident he’s showing up in some capacity.

HOPEFULLY we’ll finally get confirmation about the identity of the celestial light person that the bogeyman tried to emulate. But we don’t get that closure in this lesson.

Not sure if this is going exceed Season 1 or Season 2’s quality, though. The ring of light suddenly being introduced at least gave us more insight into Simeon’s character and the telepathic conversation with Michael. Suddenly introducing a new beastie to fight in the second to last lesson of the season seems way too heavy-handed, and I’m not sure it’s at all related to whatever Michael’s plot is.

I guess we’re saving the answer to that question for season 4?

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: infinitely varied Ship: obikin Summary: Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he's in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak.Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics. AN: Happy birthday @ghostwriterofthemachine

Language is a process of free creation; its laws and principles are fixed, but the manner in which the principles of generation are used is free and infinitely varied. Even the interpretation and use of words involves a process of free creation.

Noam Chomsky

I.

Life was a query of expectations, margins on doorframes, bucket lists, first loves, broken hearts, and happy middles because only fools would settle for a happy ending when they had so many decades left to live. The thought never failed to bring a smile to Anakin’s face, no matter how frustrated, remembering the simple way Obi-Wan had proposed. There had been no fancy dinner, particularly stunning outing, or anything resembling outlandish romantic gestures. Anakin would have appreciated them because every act would have been colored by Obi-Wan’s love, but now, older and wiser than the rash youth who’s fallen in love at first heated debate, he preferred the way their proposal had actually gone down. A quiet Sunday morning, eating breakfast together on the sofa while the news droned in the background from Anakin’s old radio, a hesitant “I don’t need forever, but I want the present”.

And, well, for all his genius, Anakin could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but not when it came to this.

Married life was interesting.

Somehow nothing changed, except also everything. They had bought a real house, moved out of their old apartment and made more compromises than Anakin had ever thought himself capable of, for they hadn’t been like fighting an uphill battle but dancing together. It had made him happy to paint the entrance hall in the shade of green Obi-Wan preferred if he got to paint the kitchen in the light blue he wanted.

Obi-Wan got the attic for his office where his antique book collection looked right at home, and Anakin got the basement where the hum of his servers and the generator powering them annoyed nobody else.

It was as close to white-picket-fence as it could be with two queer men, no kids, a bratty cat, and an anxious dog under one roof. His childhood self would be appalled to see how much Anakin, always the whirlwind, had settled. To a nine-year-old, Anakin probably looked very adult.

Anakin, however, did not feel very grown-up, banging his head against his desk in the middle of the night. Obi-Wan had gone to sleep hours ago, and so had Anakin until inspiration had struck and he’d snuck out of bed to return to his favorite project.

A.H.S.O.K.A may not be a child, but Anakin certainly could relate to exhausted parents when they complained about their children in endless repetitions. To this day, Anakin didn’t know why his mother figured it would be great parenting to encourage her WarGames obsessed kid to dig into the world of artificial intelligence when WOPR nearly started a nuclear war, but he’d forever remain thankful.

Or, he’d resume being thankful when he could finally get A.H.S.O.K.A to learn. He’d rewritten her code a thousand times. It was his ever-constant companion, from his first awful-looking early 2000s website to its current incarnation. A.H.S.O.K.A could solve simple logic puzzles, given that he fed her enough data. Her solutions to tasks could be downright hilarious, but they were not enough. He wanted her to be smarter, better, capable of gaining true understanding.

Perhaps, it was a dream for the future and not a Thursday night.

Anakin didn’t have any work tomorrow morning as he worked as a freelancer, so he could afford to pull an all-nighter. But his dear husband had planned a nice afternoon for them, so Anakin should call it a night or a morning as a glance at the clock told him.

Staring at the many lines of code again, Anakin sighed and leaned back in his chair and took another sip of his by-now cold tea. Obi-Wan would definitely complain that Anakin had snatched his favorite mug once he got up and couldn’t find it in the kitchen. Anakin had bought it at the last linguistic convention Obi-Wan had taken him to.

Language is a process of free invention, it read in delicate cursive before the rest of the quote disassembled in pure chaos.

Huh.

Now there was a thought. Anakin got out of his chair and left the basement, haunted by fixed principles and infinite combinations. Up in the attic, carrying Obi-Wan’s computer downstairs again, Anakin thought on interpretations and free creations. He was as giddy and nervous as he’d been on the morning of his wedding day, which had started similarly early. Connecting Obi-Wan’s computer, and more importantly, the priced result of his thesis, to Anakin’s server felt a little like unwrapping birthday presents.

language_acquisition_prediction.exe

Enter.

II.

Obi-Wan was not surprised when he woke to an empty bed. Anakin had a habit of suddenly pulling all-nighters or getting up early before the sun even thought of rising. Given that he couldn’t smell breakfast yet, Obi-Wan deduced that Anakin had pulled an all-nighter again. He slowly crawled out of bed to avoid disturbing Artoo and Threepio sleeping to his feet. Obi-Wan was pretty sure he shared his bed more often with his pets than he did with his husband.

He walked down the stairs to the ground level and went by the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. To his displeasure, Obi-Wan couldn’t find his favorite mug and so had to settle for another. After another thought, he decided to make a second one for Anakin, lavender this time so Anakin would hopefully crash after breakfast. He put both mugs on a small tray together with a couple tomatoes. Obi-Wan usually wasn’t one for eating a full breakfast on workdays – that was the influence of Anakin and his mother’s kitchen – but he was the expert in smalltime snacks. With both in hand, he walked down the second flight of stairs, down to the basement. As expected, he found Anakin at his desk, clinging to what was bound to be a cold cup, staring intensely at his screens, which were running one program or another.

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan greeted him and kissed Anakin’s cheek.

“Mo-orning,” Anakin replied, a yawn interrupting him halfway. “Wait, what time is it?”

“Eight,” Obi-Wan said. “How long have you been up?”

“Uuuh.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to see Anakin’s face to know the answer. “Did you even go to sleep?”

“I did sleep for a while!” Anakin argued. “But then I had an idea, I mean, look at this!”

Obi-Wan gave the screens a closer look. Despite common misconceptions, he was not technically illiterate. Privately, he blamed the fact that Anakin was quite well known for his tech know-how and Obi-Wan tended to talk more about literature given that he was filling in as a lecturer in the British Lit. department. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan had gotten his professorship with a program he’d written, and the code currently displayed on the screens looked very similar to a section that had given him stress nightmares. “Is that my thesis?” he asked.

“Yes, sorta, partially?” Anakin replied. “I kind of took it apart a lot and maybe corrupted it a bit, but that’s not the important part! Look what she’s doing with it.”

She could only refer to one person, intelligence. There were a few constants in their life, their new house the most recent one, and Ahsoka was probably the longest. Obi-Wan didn’t know why Anakin hadn’t set her aside already, he was happy enough to leave other started-never-finished projects lying around, but the last time he’d even just suggested such, Anakin had looked heartbroken.

Obi-Wan looked at the screen Anakin was pointing at and began to read.

script input: inhibition auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˌɪn.ɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˌɪn.hɪˈbɪʃ.ən/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: outstanding

script input: better auditory input 1 designation skyguy: /ˈbet̬.ɚ/ auditory input 2 designation professor: /ˈbet.ər/ analysis: mismatch diagnosis: rhoticism? query: define

The text continued for a while, though apparently Ahsoka only picked out the mismatched parts in her analysis.

“Is that ‘Must have done something right’?” Obi-Wan asked, the connection between the words suddenly starting to make sense.

“Yes!” Anakin grinned. “I wasn’t quite sure how to teach her sounds properly because I hadn’t equipped her with a sound analysis program before and I figured that if babies just learn by listening to their parents, Ahsoka could learn by listening to us.”

“So you fed her audio of us singing?” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure whether to be impressed, confused, or just plain tired but decided to settle on confusion for now and let the course of the conversation determine where they’d end up.

“That too, but I actually just started by playing old voice messages. I figured getting her used to just one phonetic inventory would be enough for now. Honestly, for the first hour, I wasn’t even sure whether that would be of any use because she had no symbols to connect the sounds to, and I thought using the IPA might bias her.”

Because, of course, Anakin never deleted any of Obi-Wan’s voice messages and just kept them on his phone. The fact that he just glossed over it as if it weren’t anything special either made Obi-Wan smile.

“It’s cute that you think we have the same inventory,” Obi-Wan commented. “But continue. You just let her listen to sounds and then? Don’t tell me you gave her written texts.”

Anakin rolled his eyes and confirmed another one of Ahsoka’s queries before answering. “No, I gave her the IPA then and let her listen to the full inventory and then analyze which ones we use.”

That made enough sense. Obi-Wan was reasonably sure it was a great deal more complicated than Anakin was lying it out right now, but it was still within the realm of possible and not downright sci-fi. There were enough programs that could analyze speech and filter out patterns, recognize even emotions and tone. Feeding data to a computer wasn’t too different from the way babies learned, though, as far as Obi-Wan knew from talking to people with children, they didn’t like their progeny being compared to lines of code.

“And you accomplished this by feeding my thesis program, which is meant to predict the language acquisition of children, to Ahsoka?”

“Yes, that, uh, happened more or less,” Anakin said, his nose scrunched up just so that Obi-Wan knew he wasn’t certain. “I’m pretty sure I like, wrote some of it down. Not all of it because I knocked out at like 4 a.m., which resulted in pretty interesting inquiries on the great vowel shift.”

Obi-Wan froze. “She’s asking about the great vowel shift?”

There was a difference in the size of the Atlantic between analyzing sounds and recognizing a six-hundred-year-old change in pronunciation.

“Not really,” Anakin said. “She just noticed the patterns? And had inquiries? We’ve been following up on it since, mostly by also giving her written text, but I think that might have backfired and confused her a bit. I’m thinking of synching up the input with a visible feed so she’d learn to associate an actual object with the sound, but I’m not sure whether that wouldn’t just lead to her matching data instead of actually learning its relevance. Can teach an AI what an apple looks like, sounds like, tastes like, but that doesn’t mean you can teach it what an apple is and all that.”

Anakin smiled impishly, and unfortunately, despite his generally messy appearance, Obi-Wan still thought he was handsome. “Please don’t cite my book back at me like that.”

Closing his eyes for a moment and pinching his nose, Obi-Wan tried to focus. This was not how he expected to start his free day. He needed to wake up and possibly grab his notes to sort out this mess. This almost made him wish the car was still wrecked and Anakin would spend all his free time fixing that. “Did you have to start her on English of all languages?”

Anakin was fluent in two other romance languages; it would have been much easier to deal with a French AI than an English one. Sighing, Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka’s latest question and promptly frowned.

script input: bear auditory input: /beər/ match found: bare analysis: mismatch diagnosis: failed word formation query: bear = bare? query: deletion >bare<?

“How long has she been doing that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Doing what— oh, that’s new.”

So Ahsoka had jumped from matching sounds to text to comparing sound to words and then referencing those words against one another. That was a logical step, but also a step Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure she should be doing without prompting.

“She thinks bear and bare are related because they have the same sound. Didn’t really expect that turn of events. Should I show her those are two different words?”

“Does she even know what a word is yet?” Obi-Wan asked in turn.

“No.”

“Then teach her what a word is first— after breakfast. I want your pancakes.”

“You never want pancakes on a Friday.”

“My husband also never decided to rope me into teaching an artificial intelligence morphology before.”

Obi-Wan needed a proper meal for this. He could talk to his students on an empty stomach, but he could not deal with the latest brand of Skywalker insanity without something sweet first.

“I haven’t—”

Ever the negotiator, Obi-Wan decided to shut Anakin up with a kiss. “After breakfast.”

Ahsoka’s many questions could wait for an hour.

[takerfoxx]

The Owl House, Season 2, Episode 6, "Hunting Palisman," First Impressions!

Screw it, I'm doing this now!

Well, it's happened. Our new rival, the Golden Guard, finally gets his own episode. And it is a doozy!

So, there's a lot to talk about there, and as such, I'll refrain from doing a plot synopsis, as I mainly started doing those because I had trouble coming up with new things to say in season 1, and get right to the analysis.

Firstly, let's talk about the first thing we learn: we get Belos's personal council (forget their names). I think they're the coven leaders? Anyway, from what I gather, their overall plan is to fuse the Boiling Isles with the human realm, which...kinda makes sense. One has the magic, the other has the resources and so much more real estate. Also, I expect questionable fanart of the furry one on my desk by tomorrow, or I will be very disappointed.

Next, we get more on Belos's little situation. Still no word on if he's Wittebane, but we do learn that his malady doesn't just weaken him, they outright cause him to mutate and start spewing goo everywhere! And it is both disgusting and visually awesome. I'm guessing that if he is Wittebane or at the very least a descendant, our guy tried to force himself to become magical through unnatural means instead of learning wild magic from the ground up like Luz is doing, and that gave him his current problem that he needs to absorb the lifeforce of palismans to control.

Also, Golden Guard refers to him as "Uncle." Interesting. Well, Golden Guard is a straight-up native, so is their relationship actually blood, or more of an adopted sort of thing? Signs point to the latter, given the whole "took you in" thing.

And Kikimora and the Golden Guard got a bit of a rivalry going on, one viscous enough that she doesn't mind a little murder to get him out of the way. Fascinating.

Okay, onto to Luz. Now, her getting rejected by the palismans was pretty obvious. We wouldn't have a story otherwise. At first I thought it might be due to her lack of natural magic, but then if that were the case then the Bat Queen would have said something, and we got the similarly magicless Golden Guard getting his own palisman at the very end (more on that later). I guess Luz's goals really haven't been all that well defined. I mean, she's living her dream, but her dream has mostly been based on her favorite books about Azura, and she hasn't really given much thought to what being a witch would actually entail and where that would take her, while everyone else already is a witch and thus have separate goals.

However, we do get a couple interesting takeaways from that whole scene.

Firstly, yay for Bat Queen, we need more of her.

Second, Principal Bump's scorpion-hat thing is his palisman, and my man has an absolutely fabulous do under it! Also, he lost an eye at some point.

And now Eda is actually assisting at the school in some kind of unofficial capacity? Huh.

And Amity is AWOL, no doubt due to post-kiss gay panic. Oh, Amity.

Well, she'd better get back soon, because we all know what resident bi-disaster Luz does with her former rivals!

Okay, okay, in all seriousness, I do think Lumity is endgame and don't see Golden Guard (or Hunter, as we'll be calling him now) as actually being a real threat, though he and Luz did end up having a ton of chemistry in their dynamic. And I honestly don't see him switching sides soon enough to really get any sort of triangle going. But hey, a rapport was formed.

So anyway, here's what we now know about the guy.

1. He is a white-haired pretty boy, AS PREDICTED!

2. He doesn't have magic of his own and, like Belos, relies on technology. Apparently it runs in his family.

3. He is at Belos's right hand, something Kikimora is not happy about.

4. He genuinely wants to help Belos but doesn't know what happened to him. Whatever it was, it was big.

But in terms of character types, he is definitely a Zuko though, albeit a bit lighter. He even has a scar! Or at least, I think that's a scar. And a missing tooth. Was it always missing or was that because of the fall?

And he does seem to have an innate fascination with wild magic, but suppresses it because he also is an actual believer of Belos's ideals. This might start changing though, especially now that he has a palisman of his own. Oh, Rascal. Is that really the wisest choice.

I admit, I was also expecting Rascal to bond with Luz, so the Hunter thing was a nice twist. Her carving her own palisman does tie into her thing about forging her own path, so I'm curious what it'll turn out to be, and what magic she'll actually be able to do with it. I also kinda expected the echo mouse to turn into a palisman, despite knowing that that's not how it works.

Man, this season really has been firing on all cylinders, hasn't it? Shame about DISNEY BEING JERKS AND GUTTING SEASON 3!!!!

[hobiwonder]

mission impossible | (m)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut, crack.

Warnings: Oral, dirty talk, unprotected sex, overstimulation, slight degradation. dom/sub themes (jungkookie being a good boy and then... not so good lol)

Words: 9k+

Summary: When you find out that your groupmate is whoring it up on tinder instead of handing in his part of the project, you go on a mission to teach him a lesson. And maybe get him to finish his part.

A/N: hello!!!! thankyou all for waiting patiently. or maybe you’ve just forgotten about me lol. it’s been a while since i uploaded anything!!! I hope you enjoy this crack as much as I enjoyed writing fuckboy but still a movable baby!jungkook. please don't forget to tell me ur thoughts. feedback keeps me going :)

If it was something strange, it would happen to you. You were not just saying that because of the hint of narcissism in your personality that made you think that everything was about you. Oh no. You never seem to catch a break these days. And quite honestly, you should’ve expected your dose of absurd to be handed to you soon. It had been a week too long without any fatuous incidents and/or people happening to you. Was this just a y/n thing? Was every girl with your name cursed? Maybe it had something to do with your astrological sign. That always seemed to be the explanation of a lot of your friends who did not want to admit to their faults that would land them in hot water. The usual “oh it’s because i’m insert-star-sign”. 

Were you really becoming that girl? Though it was hard to blame yourself for this one. Currently staring at your phone. More specifically, the defined abdominals of your group mate. A group mate who has not shown up to a single meeting. After a whole day of slaving away at your study desk, deleting and rewriting your discussion and evidential analysis to conclude whether or not it was a plausible inference that the movies, Whiplash and Black Swan were excellent cinematic representations of the ‘Obsessed Performer.’ 

Yeah. That was a mouthful. And you bet your right ass cheek that you were the only one out of yourself and Jungkook who had even watched the said movies. In the group of four, Jungkook and yourself were given the discussion and conclusion to write. The three of you who had been present at the initial group meeting had chosen your parts as was decided in the group chat prior. When all of you had received a text from Jungkook cancelling last minute, you’d snagged the conclusion as well as half of the discussion to write as just the conclusion would be a little too easy. And you had wrongfully assumed that your peer had been in some sort of ‘emergency’ since he always sounded like he was in a hurry to do something incredibly important. 

You’d pitied the seemingly sweet looking boy and told him that you’ll work together on the last two sections of the paper. And his bastard self had always been all smile emojis and ‘yes :)’ and just all around misleading. Sounding like he was diligently working on his part by himself and definitely will turn everything into you by Thursday. Thursday was yesterday and you had not received even a single message from Jungkook about where he was in terms of progress on the 1000 words he needed to write. Message after message, you weren’t even being left on read. And in concern you had messaged your group chat that maybe he was facing some real life crisis to be so MIA. Until this.

Until you had picked up your phone about half an hour ago to mindlessly scroll through your instagram feed and then in the last 10 minutes had decided to also go on to tinder just to humour yourself. You were well aware that tinder was a cesspit of weird and unhinged men who would only be a good enough to make a youtube video about or a horror story texted to your best friend. You were speaking from experience. Decent men on tinder was like finding a luxury vintage dress in half good condition at a thrift store. 

So when you’d swiped left for the 30th time - you’d finally come across the perfect face of someone very familiar. You’d almost swiped left on reflex before you’d brought the phone almost too close to see why the face looked so recognisable. Even without having actually ever met Jungkook face to face - apart from that first lecture - it was hard to miss that this definitely was him. Your mouth had fallen open, jaw just shy of touching your soft bedsheets. You’d found Jeon Jungkook on tinder. His perfectly coy smile staring right at you, the first few buttons of his black shirt open wide to capture your attention back to his smooth, muscular chest. Hastily dialling Momo’s number, you can barely contain your shock and anger and annoyance. All of it wrapped up in one powerful burst of dialogue that you subject Momo’s ears too.

“Bitch!!!” You can’t help screeching, mind boggled.

“What happened now? Jungkook finally reply to you?”

“No oh my god. I found his tinder. I found his tinder Mo. I found his tinder!” You were screaming again but you couldn’t help it. 

You were missing a Jeon Jungkook to rightfully scream at so poor Mom was bearing the brunt of your anger and maniacal laughter because your brain was having a hard time believing your luck.

 “Wait, seriously? Did you match him?” Oh wait. Of course. There was still another step.

Wordlessly you swipe right, hard skipping a few beats in anticipation. And when the screen shows that he swiped you right as well and that you could now message him, you’re laughing once more.

“So he did. Wow. What a piece of shit.” She’s also laughing albiet much more like a normal human being.

“I cannot believe this Mo. This fuckhead doesn’t read any of my messages for the last week and I find him matched to me on tinder?”

Just then, your phone vibrates. Telling Mo to hold on, you don’t want to believe that this is actually happening. You had just received a message from Jungkook. It had barely been a whole minute of you matching up with him on this app and he had already messaged you.

Jungkook: What has 36 teeth and holds back the Incredible Hulk? My zipper.

This must be a bad dream. Were the cameras of Punk going to start showing up form under your bed? Were you being punked? Not only was Jeon Jungkook just the worst partner out of all the group projects you had been in, he was most definitely a fuckboy. Who used terrible pick-up lines. Did he really not recognise you? Granted that your pictures were not the ones you had put up on facebook - it was still quite discernible that this was definitely you.

“Mo, he just sent me a horny pick-up line oh my god. I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Of course he did. I always thought he was a bit of a player. What did he say?”

When you read out the message, both of you are coughing from the laughter. This was too ridiculous and just very much like something that would happen to you. You had a group project due in less than two days and your group mate had turned out to be a bit of a horny bastard that was more concerned with getting his dick wet than messaging you back.

“You need to message him back, y/n. Pour the cold water on him already and tell him how badly he fucked up.”

“No way! I bet you he’s going to never message me back. At least on tinder i’m going to get a reply. Just how the hell do I ask him about the paper that he should’ve emailed me, like, yesterday? Ugh.”

“Just message him back, firstly. Or lose the only communication you just got. Do you know what dorm he’s in?”

“No idea.” Typing your reply and deleting it - much like your assessment that you were working hard on. Unlike him.

You:  Hulk always was my favourite Avenger :)

“You did not just say that! Grossssss.” Yeah. Humouring fuckboys was exclusively for post 6 tequila shots Y/n.

Chuckling at your own response, you’re trying to keep your cool while trying to keep Jungkook’s attention so he doesn’t stop messaging you.

“Mo, wait. I just had an idea.”

“Please, y/n, violence is not the answer.”

“I won’t hurt him you knob. Okay talk to you later!” Not a lot anyway.

“I’m telling the police I don’t know you if they come around tomorrow! Bye!”

Making a face at your phone for good measure - you go ahead with your plan. There was no way you were letting Jeon Jungkook get away that easily. You’d been working so hard this semester. Harder than you have ever tried and you would not let his sloppy self to bring down your grade on an assessment that was worth 40% of your grade. Nearly half. Neither did the people in your group deserved it.

“Just you wait, Jeon. I’m going to kick your horny ass.”

Jungkook: let my Hulk destroy any traces of bad fucks you’ve had.

Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head at his brashness. Did he really just ask you to fuck? This is the second thing he has said to you and it’s him asking to fuck you. You can’t believe how much of a textbook fuckboy he was. When you haven’t responded for a few minutes, you get another message form him.

Jungkook: if that was too forward ^-^

Jungkook: then what i said was a lie lol.

Jungkook: I'm probably the best fuck you’ll ever have.

You cannot believe your eyes. With each message, Jungkook is either confusing you or making you shake your head at how exactly like all the other boys on tinder he is. This was hands down, the longest conversation you have had with Jungkook directly. In the group chat he generally adressed everyone, shooting haphazard apologies right before meetings. Saying he would not be able to make it. It had frustrated you to no end as the date for submission got closer and closer. And to see him reply quicker than you, on tinder no less, was beyond infuriating. 

You: Well then. Prove it.

You: Where do you live?

You doubted that Jungkook would be reluctant to give you his address. That’s just not something you see happening. Maybe he preferred to go to the girl’s place? That wouldn’t matter to you either. Though convincing him to bring his laptop with him would be a challenge but you were fine to let him work on your own. There was no way you were letting him go without coughing up his part.

Jungkook: you sure?

You: wanna fuck. Hurry up.

Jungkook: you’re so sexy :)

You were going to literally lose it. Not sure why you were biting the inside of your cheek so hard to stop yourself from laughing at his messages. Jungkook was the epitome of a snapchat fuckboy. It was much more hilarious than you anticipated. You were expecting to be feeling the singular emotion of sheer hostility. But you were having too much fun with this. Especially when you weren’t going to actually fuck him but seeing how eager and self-assured he was, this was all the more pleasant. 

Jungkook texts you his address and you let him know that you’ll be there in around 20 minutes. He lived surprisingly close. Though him staying in an all male rich residential college was definitely not a surprise. Only kids with a lot of disposable income and no worries of being evicted avoided doing any actual school work. The rest of you were not privy to such luxury. The more you thought about it the more you knew how gratifying it will be to show up at Jeon Jungkook’s door with a pile of notes and your laptop. He was in for a treat.

Dressing in that one little black dress you had was only part of the plan. An attempt to fool him one last time before you handed him the checklist of what he had to do. You shrug on a large jean jacket that fell below your bottom to conceal your provocative dress, grab your bag after stuffing all the necessities and then set out the door. Dialling Momo’s number, you let her know where you will be incase anything happens. You could never be too careful.

“Yo, I’m going to Cornell college. Jungkook apparently lives there so I’m going to meet him.”

“Are you serious? He told you his address?!”

“Sure did.”

“I pray for his soul.”

“He made me suffer far longer! Whose side are you on, traitor?!”

“Yours but knowing you, he’s in for a LOT. Okay stay safe.”

“Yeah yeah. He needs to be safe not me.”

“Yeah that was what I was saying. Anywhore. have fun.”

“Bye.”

The closer you get to the college, you are starting to hear loud music. Was this even allowed on colleges? Were there not any volume restrictions given what time it was and the fact that it was managed by onsite staff? Arriving on the level Jungkook told you his room was, 4th, the music is even more noticeable. The sign pointing to the common room was where most of the bass was coming from and you guess maybe there is a function going on. Though the closer you walk, you realise that this was not just any event. This was a party. The cracks in the door gave away to the activities happening inside the large hall. Deciding not to wait any longer, you text Jungkook again. Being as serious as you can be to get him to meet you outside instead of carrying your backpack with you inside.

You: I’m here to fuck, not party.

Jungkook: it’s a good party tho. We can slowly take it back to my room ;)

You: I’ll find someone else.

You hope he takes your bluff.

Jungkook: love it when you order me around baby.

Jungkook: don’t forget who’s in charge. Me.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, still smirking at your phone. No matter what your initial intentions were, you had to admit that playing with Jungkook was fun. He was unacceptably attractive and looked like the type of guy you would reduce to tears. But none of that tonight. You had to stay focused. You’re about to type another message to speed him up but he beats you to it. 

Jungkook: room is unlocked. go in. i’ll be there in a minute.

Letting out a whoosh of air you’d been holding, you head down the hall, further away from the heavy bass and the party music. Somewhat hesitantly, you open the door to the room number he gave you. Nothing out of the ordinary. His room wasn’t messy. It was tidy. No sign of books. Just a bunch of sketches and film negatives strewn about on his  study desk. Shamelessly, you snoop around, trying to find any evidence that he studies at all. So far, you’d only found an industry grade recording mic, two different types of cameras and some more unused camera reel. 

Getting out your notes and the checklist you were going to hand to Jungkook, you get everything ready for when Jungkook arrives. You were not going to let him get away with this. Just another minute later, you can hear the footsteps getting closer. And for a moment, so does your heartbeat. You were quite confident in yourself but there was always a chance that Jungkook was more than a harmless oversexed college boy. All of the very rational fears are thrown out the window, however, as soon as the black mop of hair comes into view. Jungkook was incredibly handsome. Even moreso than his pictures. His hair was longer than the last time you saw him months ago. The long strands of inky black hair fell endearingly in his face, just to the middle of his eyes, parted right in the middle and curling slightly. He wore a long sleeved shirt with hip-hugging jeans that almost made you drool visibly. The saliva was positively pooling in your mouth but you swallowed it quickly to avoid embarrassment. 

Now, you were angry. You really were. You needed this assessment finished so you could start on other projects and without Jungkook finishing up his part, there was no way you would have finished yours on time. But you would be a bold faced liar if you didn’t admit that you were oh so tempted to abandon your vendetta and not ride him like a bronco. You could tell that unfortunately, unlike other men who strutted about with empty words - Jungkook would be the best you would have in a while.

And when he smiles, it’s not any easier.

“Hey you.”

“Hi.” Desperately trying to keep your voice even, you smile coyly.

Jungkook locks the door, running a hand through his hair before he stalks towards you. Confident as ever. You bite your lip, baiting him even further before you strike. Just when he gets close enough to you, you hold out an arm to keep him from touching you.

“God, you’re even more sexy in person.”

“Uh-uh, be patient.” He’s blissfully unaware, just smirking in return as he watches your hands roam his chest before going up to his face. Taking a step closer to him, you rake your nails up his neck, leaving little white lines from the scratches. 

“Close your eyes, Jungkook.” Jungkook, ever the obedient boy, closes them quickly. Awaiting your next move.

You can’t help yourself when he looks like this. Completely immersed in the feel of your hands. He was a good few inches taller than you but your platformed sneakers made it easier for you to teach him a lesson. His dark eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks, face so relaxed you would think he’s sleeping. You deserved to play a little at least, right? Leaning forward, you stop with the internal rationalising and just make the move.

Your lips meet his in a fiery kiss. His stoic figure melting as soon as your lips lock, hands grabbing at your waist while his tongue grazes your bottom lip. Jungkook is moaning in the kiss like he’s taking his first gulp of water after roaming the desserts. Momentarily, you forget your purpose for even being here in the first place. Wrapping your hands in his tempting long tresses and pulling, making even more sweeter noises to spill past his lips. He’s panting and restless. Moving his body against yours like he’ll die without it. Moving him backwards, you push him agains his swivelling study chair that was conveniently faced the right way. 

His hands are all over you as soon as he’s down on the chair with your legs straddling his thighs on either side. All you can feel are his lips and his tongue and his hands. All over you, sliding your jacket off your shoulders to travel his kisses down another path. The desperate intake of oxygen is enough to bring your head back in the game, barely. With Jungkook nipping away at the now exposed skin of your shoulders and neck, it’s hard for you to stay focused. Especially when the hard tent in those sinfully tight jeans is now pushing against your softest part. He’s impossibly hard and you’re impossibly soft down there. It’s a lethal combination because neither of you can live without the other being pressed against each other. When you push down on him he pushes his hips up with even more ferocity, moaning louder with every illicit rub of the thickness between his thighs. 

You’re addicted to the feeling and not sure how you’ll centre yourself enough to do what you actually came to do. God was really making you eat your words, huh? You were so close to ripping all his clothes off and fucking his brains out. You bet he’ll make the prettiest sounds when you ride him. His whimpers and moans just from gyrating up against you were enough of an indication. Sliding your hands back up in his hair, you yank it back from your neck to see his sweaty, glistening face looking up at you. He looked slightly inebriated. You had tasted the traces of vodka in his kiss but you had a feeling that a lot of his current state had to do with you and not the liquor.

“Jungkook?” He shamelessly rut his hips against yours, not fully hearing you, lost in his own lusty haze.

“Yeah?” Your lips close around the soft cartilage of his earlobe, tugging and flicking with your tongue, illiciting more salacious noises out of him. 

“How’s the assignment coming along?” It takes him a few seconds to respond but the urgency with which he was pawing at you has slowed to a halt like a broken down car.

“Huh?” Pulling back completely, you stare him right in his twinkly eyes that look like a deer caught in the headlights.

“The paper you’re writing on modern cinema?”

“How... how do you know about that?” You smile at him sweetly. Before you flick him across his forehead.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“I should be saying that you harlot!”

“Harlot? really? You were all over me just now. You are all over me!” You’re surprised he knows the meaning of the medieval insult. 

“Don’t try and weasel out of this! I’ve been waiting for your finished part since yesterday!”

“Wait... you’re y/n, y/n?”

“Took you long enough.”

“With your tongue down my throat? I wonder why.” You cannot believe you are arguing with a boy whilst still in his lap with his hands holding on to your waist.

Jungkook is trying his hardest to deflect and make you seem like the desperate one when he had been the one to want to fuck you from the get go. Getting off his lap, you fix your dress, tugging it down a little since the assault from Jungkook had almost bared your ass. Jungkook is still sitting in his study chair, dumbfounded.

“Finish your part of the discussion Jungkook. I have to write the conclusion and submit the paper.”

He is still staring. And now your eyes are travelling down to his thighs. Particularly the large bulge a little further up. A very substantial bulge that makes your mouth water once more. 

“Jungkook!”

“Sorry, what? I just had a dream that a crazy girl tried to get me to do my homework right before we were going to fuck.”

“Listen here you little shit,” You grab Jungkook’s chin, gently despite his theatrical reactions, tilting it up to look you in the eyes. His reactions are so comical you almost laugh. “I’ve worked too hard for you to just give me piss poor, last minute effort. I’m here until you finish it.”

“You cannot be serious.” Letting go of his chin, you step back, folding your arms against your chest for good measure. Raising an eyebrow for him to challenge you.

“You expect me to write a thousand something words with this,” He points between his legs, you roll your eyes, “still here? No way.”

“I don’t remember giving you a choice, pretty boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?” So pretty. But he didn’t need to know that. You swivel his chair around back to face his desk.

“Less talk and more work!”

“Y/n, you can’t- can’t make me!” He’s throwing his hands around like a child and it’s a little too cute for an annoying boy like him who’s put you through so much anxiety. Sitting on his bed, swinging your legs as your eyes look around at the paintings, you let him huff and puff.

“Oh yeah? Guess I’ll have to call the cops because of the weed you have.”

His nose scrunches up adorably. “I don’t have any weed.”

“But I do. Who will they believe?” His eyes widen once more as he realises what you’re saying.

“Are you seriously blackmailing me?” You nod, smiling brightly. Jungkook turns back around, head in his hands as he mutters to himself how his tinder hookups are always crazy.

“Hey! I wouldn’t be here if you did your work! or replied to any of my messages.”

“Um, I was going too? I was busy.”

“Taking vodka shots? Yeah I could tell.” The mention of the kiss is bringing a rosy flush to Jungkook’s cheeks. Such an uncharacteristic reaction for a guy with his looks and his confidence.

He was that much more appealing to you because of how he contradicted his own personality. You knew he was one of those boys who acted all tough but secretly wanted to be bossed around. Told to do this and that. Made uncomfortable and maybe slightly humiliated. They lived to please. And the way Jungkook had melted into your body almost as if asking for guidance earlier, you knew he was exactly like that. He may not even know it yet but you could have him in the palm of your hands in a matter of minutes.

“What do I get in return?” He’s still grunting his disapproval, but looking through the notes you put on his desk anyway.

“A good grade and a life longer than 22?”

“You’re crazy.”

“All the more reason for you to be quiet and work!” He pouts at you before quietly looking through the notes and logging into his laptop.

When you’re satisfied he’s actually working, you lay down on his bed, making yourself comfortable knowing that it will take him at least an hour to finish his part. You had practically handed him all the points, he just had to write his own opinion and synthesise the evidence you had collected. The part of discussion required each student in the group’s own thoughts and thus you couldn’t just make them up on Jungkook’s behalf. Nor did you want to. You were done doing two people’s work back in your freshman year. These were advanced level classes and you weren’t going to ruin your grade because of one person.

Thirty minutes later, you’re almost about to doze off when you see Jungkook getting up from his chair in your periphery. Sitting up in a flash - though a little dizzy - you point an accusatory finger at Jungkook. Said boy has stopped mid-standing up.

“Don’t you dare Jeon! Get back in that chair and finish your work.”

“Jesus.” He’s holding his head in his hands once more before he starts whining again. “Y/n, please. Can’t I just do this tomorrow and send it to you then?”

You think about it. You do. “And have you go off the face of the planet again? No way.”

“Please.” He drags out the syllables, pouting and blinking up at you and it almost works.

“No. Not a chance. Just finish it ASAP and I’ll edit it. But finish writing it. The sooner you’re done the quicker I’ll be out of your hair.”

He glares at you. And not the scary, tough man glare that might make you slightly nervous and fidgety that you’re getting on his nerves. It’s a glare a kid gives you when you tell them no more TV or no more xbox. It’s the most adorable thing you’ve seen Jungkook do tonight. Or maybe you’re just sleep deprived. Either way, you wanted to kiss the hell out of him. But you turn your head away, faux annoyance ebbed into your features as you wait for him to start writing again.

It works for another half hour, Jungkook now actually typing more than he’s complaining. It was only a thousand words that he had to write but there was a lot of information that needed to be condensed in those thousand words which meant he was typing and then deleting, repeating the process again and again until he looked to be halfway through. You were impressed at how much he was getting done. Maybe it was your watchful gaze that was making him perform at his peak. You were now just hoping that whatever he wrote was actually plausible and not just rubbish to get you out of his room.

“I can’t believe you’re making me work with a boner. You could’ve at least gotten me off.” His pout his still there as he types casually.

“Stop being a brat and keep working.” 

“Yeah? You’re going to make me write lines? ‘I am a brat’.” He chuckles to himself like he’s burnt you to a crisp with that one comment. 

Taking your hand off of your face, you sit up. You watch the way his biceps bulge under his shirt as he types away at his laptop, legs splayed wide under his desk as he supported a semi. It was still a sizeable dent but nowhere near as daunting looking as before. But none of that diminishes your desire for him. You watch him talk to himself quietly as he types, but now stuck somewhere as he types and deletes and then types a sentence again. 

You’re not sure what sets it off. Maybe it’s your frustration or that you think he owes you something more than just this. Maybe it’s the way he’s sitting? There are a lot of reasons you can use to justify your serious and formidable attraction to him. But you cannot deny that it was him from the get go. Just him in all his submissive glory that made you attracted to him. And that attraction was now getting the best of you. Maybe it was time to torture him in another way.

“No. I’ll do something much more to your liking.”

His head turns back around fast, fingers halting at his keyboard while he inspects the drunken look in your eyes. Slowly, you spread your legs, hands bracing yourself as they clutch the sheets on either side of you. Your heart is racing at the look in his own eyes. Primal and needy. 

“Get on your knees Jungkook.” His chest is rising and falling much quicker than yours. Like he’s holding himself back.

You patiently wait for him to listen to your instructions, watching him. Never breaking eye contact. You know it’s new to him. It’s too obvious for you to deny it. But you relish the look of surprise every time you say something he doesn’t expect. Slowly, get’s up from his chair. Never taking a step further as he drops to his knees, crawling forwards until he’s right infant of you. The room is not that big at all so it doesn’t take him long. Now, his wide, doe eyes look at you. Inquisitive and aroused and it turns you on even more. He’s all man with hard ridges and bulging muscles but the way he’s looking at you right now makes you feel like at the centre of his world.

“Are... are you going to- to make me eat your pussy?” the explicit question sends your nerve endings on fire. 

You’re a second away from grabbing his hair and shoving him right between your legs but the way his soft mouth says the dirty words - it makes you feel a very different kind of way. Now it’s you who can’t stop staring at him. Thinking about what else he has up his sleeves. You expected him to be vocal but never this. He is bold and shy all at the same time.

“Would you like that, Jungkook?” His eyes drop between your legs again, watching the way your panties cling to your increasingly wet folds.

Jungkook is moving between your legs more, eagerly nodding so the strands of his fringe rustle up and down in his face. His arms are going under your thighs, gropping them for good measure before he looks up at you with those eyes again.

“Please.” He’s almost whispering, longing lacing his every word. “Please, y/n. Please let me taste you. ‘wanna taste you.”

His words have turned into pleas and the pleas turn into kisses alongside your inner thighs and then any place Jungkook can get his lips and tongue on. Everything else is forgotten. It’s just you laying on his bed while Jungkook tries to get a taste of you anyway he can. His lips travel up to your covered mound, never daring to move the piece of fabric holding him back from his destination. Opting to only kiss over it, lick his way up your clit through the thin cotton that’s now moulding to your swollen folds.

“Do- do you deserve it, Jungkook? For putting me through so much h-headache? Oh.” Your moans accompany almost every word. Fingers laced into Jungkook’s luscious hair as he continues his hurried tasting of your arousal. 

His response is mumbled between your legs. You watch his veiny hands repeatedly grab at the flesh of your thighs. Kneading it desperately like he’s trying to distract himself from doing something else entirely. A yelp leaves his mouth at your tug on his hair. Pale skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He looks like an addict when he is looking at you like you’re giving him his fix and God, you want to kiss his swollen lips.

“Answer me, brat. Do you deserve anything from me?” 

“N-No.”

“Right. Yet you’re still begging to taste me like the needy little slut you are. Hm?”

Jungkook is whimpering, his lids fluttering. He doesn’t expect the smack across his face, a little too hard for what you had originally aimed for. The surprise is evident and for a moment you’re worried he’s going to be upset. Instead, his breathing is picking up even further.

“Answer me when I speak to you.”

“Y-Yes... Noona.” The breath is almost sucked out of you at his timid tone. And it only makes you want to push him further.

“Good boy.” His eyes are lighting up at the praise like hundreds of little galaxies called them home.

Sliding down towards the edge of the bed, you let your legs hang off, letting your toes touch the floor. Jungkook is still on his knees, watching you manoeuvre yourself around his bed before you reach for the hem of your dress. Watching his every facial expression as you strip. He looks up at you wide-eyed, taking in your soaked underwear and the thin black bra where your nipples pointed right at him. You can see his hands twitch by his side. You’d pushed them off you when you’d changed your position and were surprised at how calm and obedient Jungkook was being. Contrast to how much of an argumentative brat he was. But you had a sneaking feeling that he liked it when you called him that.

You were trying to remain calm yourself. Not give too much away on the dilemma you held inside your head. Thinking if you should take this any further. Though it was a little too late now, you guess. You were practically naked, wetter than ever before as Jungkook watched you with his wide doe eyes. Hunger evident with every flit of his gaze. You would feel cruel if you stopped at this point. So you let the rational part of your brain take a backseat and letting the consequences of tonight berate you in the morning after. Sliding your palms down your stomach, straight inside your soaked panties, you stroke yourself ever so slowly. Holding his heated gaze with cloudy eyes.

“Noona...” It sends another jolt of arousal throughout your already overheated body. He’s biting his plump bottom lip, sliding his hand up and down carelessly on to his erection that had grown considerably in the past fifteen minutes. Jungkook looks like the embodiment of desperation and it makes you rub yourself a little faster. Every time your fingers come in contact with your sensitised clit, you bite the urge to buck your hips brazenly. 

“Yeah, baby? You want to see?” You hold out your wet fingers to him and in a flash, you feel his warm mouth around your digits. He moans loudly like he’s been relieved after years of drought.

“M-More. Please, Noona. I’ll do anything please, please.” Now that didn’t take long. Chuckling at his agonised face, you throw your head back, enjoying the relief your own fingers brought.

But you were torturing yourself too at this point. You wanted to replace your small fingers with Jungkook’s bigger and more vascular hands. You remember the view of his body from the glorified hookup app. Knew what he was hiding under the baggy shirt. The sweet whimpers and ‘please’ sounds coming from him were a delicacy on their own. 

“Take my panties off then. With your mouth. Don’t use your hands... or else.” Your tone is stern enough to give you that satisfying flash going through his eyes. 

In seconds, he’s leaning forward on his hands and knees, eyes never leaving yours as he bites the cotton on your hips, dragging it down. The act itself is a little clumsy. In his haste, Jungkook is taking twice as long should he use his hands. But something about his complete compliance, his willingness to be accepted by you and his utter devotion to pleasing you is the ultimately your undoing. This may be a power trip but you were thoroughly getting ruined during it. 

At last, the cotton has reached your ankles. Quickly, you shrug off your dress as well, completely naked. He’s placed small kisses in greetings before he takes them off completely. Out of breath and out of his mind. The glazed look has taken a permanent vacation in his eyes and you were getting high on it. Jungkook was a communicator. If it wasn’t his mouth relaying the naughty words to you then his eyes were holding yours hostage, smouldering.

Bracing your hands behind yourself and never breaking away from his eyes, your ankles part. Jungkook’s eyes are automatically falling on the mess between your legs but he doesn’t dare move. Awaiting your instructions. Jerking your chin towards his general direction, you silently bring his attention back to his overly dressed self.

“Lose the pants.” His hands make fast work of his jeans. Falling back on to the ground to push them off. 

“Uh-uh. Keep them on.” His eyes widen at your command to keep the underwear on. You weren’t about to just let him have it.

Not yet.

“Noona...” The high pitched noise of protest only makes your nostrils flare. You wanted to live out your every dirty fantasy with him if he sounded this sweet with just watching. The desire was making your head spin and your palms sweat. 

“Yeah?” 

“Please... I’ll do anything.” His eyes twinkle in the dim light as he kneels infant of you. 

“I’ll eat you out for hours, let you sit on me face until I can’t breathe. Let you ride my tongue until you can’t cum anymore. Just please... fuck me.” The last two words leave him in such agony that for a second it truly sounds like he’s in pain. 

Which is ridiculous given the ted talk he just gave on the Perfect Words To Say to Ruin Y/N and Her Panties. You’re the one currently in pain from clenching your jaw so tight. Resolve like a skinny rubber band about to snap. Dirty talk was the chink in your armour. And by the way Jungkook’s face lit up and his words became a lot more sure and confident, you knew that he was weaponising his skill to control you fully. And you needed to put him in his place before you gave up your pride and rode him until you ran out of stamina or died from your body overheating. Whichever happened first. 

“Get up.” 

“Fuck yes-“ Jungkook’s blubbering about how you’re the hottest person he’s ever seen and that he knows he can blow your mind while you push him back on the bed and straddle his meaty thighs. When he begins to push down your panties, you push his hands off and rest them on his sides. 

“Keep them there or you won’t be coming. Understood?”

His curls bounce around his face as he nods, chest heaving when he looks at your hips move over the biggest bulge you’ve felt under you. You would’ve thought that he’d stuffed his underwear with socks if you couldn’t feel the burning heat his cock was pressing in to you, even through his boxers. Each roll of your hips pressed him to your every crevice like two puzzle pieces fitting in to complete the picture. 

“Oh fuck-... You feel so good noona. I-I’m going to cum if you keep going.” He’s resorted to use his hands at his sides to push him upwards, pressing himself with every gyrate of your hips downward on him.

“Yeah? you’re gunna cum from just this? Is noona making you feel really good?” 

Jungkook is lost in soaking up every sensation like a drunkard.  Gaze not leaving where your hips met. Furrowing his eyebrows in deep concentration as he thrust his hips up, rocking you off balance slightly. Your hands slide into his sweaty curls, pulling them hard enough to yank his beautiful face up and close to your own.

“Answer me what I ask you a question.” And he whines. Or moans.   Nevertheless it’s a lethal mixture of the two and you’re about to kiss him senseless.

“Yes. I-I feel really good. Noona is- oh fuck- g-gunna make me cum.”

“And are you going to?” He looks up at you nervously, trying to speaking amidst every roll of your flaming core onto his dick. It was getting harder and harder for you to speak as well. 

“N-No?” 

“Good. Because only good boys get to cum. Not needy sluts like you.” 

Now Jungkook whimpers like a wounded animal. Because you’ve upped the ante. Holding onto his shoulders while you grind down on his throbbing cock just the right angle so your clit is receiving the mind-numbingly pleasurable stimulation. You were going to cum any minute and it looked as if he was too.

“F-Fuck. I’m going to cum Jungkook. Your cock feels so good.”

“Noona please. Please s-stop. I-I’m going to cum-“

“That’s not my fucking problem. If you want me to fuck you then you better not. Understood?”

He looks utterly panicked. Torn between letting himself go to the unbelievable pleasure of this act alone and wanting to hold back and obey your every command. Jungkook’s lip is bitten red, chest heaving and eyes watering as he watches the erotic sight of your brazen bouncing on his lap. You’re putting on a show just to make it that much more difficult for him to hold back. But he somehow does. Watching your face contort with pleasure as your head is thrown back. Your moans are loud and lewd. Designed just to rile him up to the point of breaking.

“Oh god. I’m- I’m gunna cum baby.” With a shout, you’re riding out wave after wave of the liquid pleasure running through your veins like molten gold. 

It takes a solid minute for your eyes to focus on a singular object. Or a person. More specifically, an incredibly handsome,  glistening, starry eyed, muscular, put-micheal-angelo’s-david-to-shame, strikingly adorable man. Jungkook looked on the verge of losing his sanity. Yet, he didn’t stop watching you collect yourself, flicking the stray strands over your shoulder before you pressed your mouth to his.

You brought your mouth to his and kissed him hungrily. When your lips met, you heard him make a tiny sound. His body went rigid, and he wasn’t reciprocating. You think it might have been down to shock, though, because when your tongue slid past the seam of his lips, he opened them willingly and trembled against you.

Your fingers dug into his thighs, and he pulls you closer. You were on fire, felt like you were melting into him. Never before had a single kiss gotten you so worked up. She tasted like chocolate and strawberries. Jungkook rocked forward, and then you felt his tongue move expertly against yours. Of its own accord, a groan emanated from deep in your chest. When he brought his hands to your neck and massaged your throat, you whimper. He was hard as a rock and you finally wanted to reward him for holding out this long.

He’s chasing your lips when you break away, sliding his kisses down your neck as if breaking the contact will be fatal for him. “You did so good baby. Such a good boy.”

The praise seems to rejuvenate his body. Not that he needed to.  He was bursting at the seems with testosterone. The longer he went on without a release, the more unhinged Jungkook seemed. The incongruence of his raw masculinity with his alarmingly meek behaviour towards you was something you didn’t understand but it affected you the most. He surprised you with every move and you wanted nothing more than to own him completely. 

Jungkook makes a noise in his throat at the praise, sliding his hands down to caress the globes of your ass. “I’ve been a good boy. Now fuck me.”

His words are steady, deliberate and to the point. Scratch everything you said about Jungkook being meek. They send shudders down your spine where his hands reside. This was a man who looked on the verge of tearing something apart. And judging from the current situation, he was going to be tearing you apart. You’d let him, gladly. But being the cocktease you are- you push him even more.

“And if I don’t, little boy? Gunna beg?” A heartbeat later, you’re the one on the soft mattress and it’s Jungkook that’s hovering over you.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Then I’ll fuck you noona.” 

You’re not too mad because you’re wetter than before and the change in his demeanour has you besides yourself with the need to feel him inside. Jungkook’s teeth are tugging on your hardened nipples. Circling them with his tongue before sucking the puffy buds tenderly. The pressure of his suction is so delicious that you might just cum from this. 

“God! Jungkook, b-baby please. Fuck your noona.” He grins around a nipple, hands sliding inside your soaked core.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should make you wait like you made me. Hm?”

“Don’t be a brat. I’ll stuff your mouth next time with a sock Jeon J- oh fuck!”

He’d slid down your body, his kissing every inch. Your stomach, your hip bones, your thighs.

“I’d rather it be your pussy.” He whispered, bringing his mouth to your wetness, and then licked.

“Ahhh,” you cried out, clutching a handful of his hair. Jungkook chuckled and went at you in earnest. You were so soft and silky beneath his tongue. He met your gaze from below and came up for air. Jungkook watched you for a second before dipping his wet mouth lower again. The noises of your arousal pornographic. He saw you fist the sheets in your hands, your hips rising up off the bed when he sucked your clit into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. He added some fingers to the equation, savoring the hot, tight feel of you.

“Please,” you murmured. “More.”

So he gave you more. He gave you everything. Before he knew it, you were touching your breasts, pinching your nipples as he devoured you, and you swear you could have come from the sight of Jungkook between your legs alone. he was simply glorious. Your voice was starting to get hoarse. Getting close to the edge before Jungkook ripped his mouth away.

“No! Jungkook, please.” You’re frustrated and angry and horny that he would do that. Even if you did the same thing to him. 

He was testing you once again but the raw need in his eyes told you that you were testing him too. 

“I’ll fuck you now noona. Nice and good. You want this cock right?” He’s holding his straining erection heavily, sliding down his boxers to discard them besides his bed.

You moan out your answer, opening your legs wide in invitation.

“Just fuck me before I change my mind.”

“Yeah?” His tone is mocking. His eyes twinkling with a cheeky grin on his face. You almost get up to kiss him because he looked so fucking adorable and hot and sexy at the same time.

Thankfully - or not? - he’s pulling you to the edge of the bed and in seconds, he has pulled you close to his chest. He circles the engorged head of him in your slit before pushing in to the hilt in one thrust. The sheer girth of him has you yelping, needing to adjust to the length of him as well. But Jungkook doesn’t allow you the courtesy of that.

His legs are spread in a powerful stance as his hands grip your legs from behind the knees. And then he’s thrusting. He’s fucking into you so deep, you can feel him in your throat. You must look like a fish at this very moment with your mouth opening and closing without any real sound. He feels hot and thick, like molten lava in your veins. you’re finally finding your voice when angles his hips slightly to the left - biting a spot that has you blinking up at the ceiling full of stars. 

“Jungkook! Oh god. Oh f-fuck. You’re so good baby. S-So good.”

“Yeah? You like how deep I am in your pussy? Answer me noona.” He’s quickening his pace, snapping his hips punishingly making you release a guttural scream.

“I love it. So much.” 

You watch the sweat drip off his forehead, the dimples in his cheek now very prominent as his tongue peeks out the corner of his mouth. He’s a sight you want to imprint on the back of your eyelids. You can see his lose his resolve, the creases in his forehead slowly deepening as the pleasure becomes too much for him. 

“God you feel so wet and tight n-noona. You look so hot when you cum. I w-wanna make you squirt.”

Your eyes bulge out of your head at his admissions. It seems like he’s lost all his filter, chasing the mind numbing pleasure he felt earlier. His words are bringing you even closer to the edge and your throat now begs for relief when you  let out another yell as he pushes you up the bed while still fully seated inside you.

“I’m gunna cum noona. I j-just need to... to- I don’t. I don’t wanna h-hurt you-“ His sweet face is contorted with worry, still thrusting steadily. You finally understand his point after a few seconds. Taking you twice as long to comprehend anything with the plethora of feelings your body was feeling right now. 

Cupping his face, you told yours upwards to place a small kiss on his wet lips. “It’s okay baby. You won’t break me. Just let go.”

Jungkook’s eyes are glassy and he stares in yours for a moment too long because your heart is doing summersaults, heading straight for your mouth. Too much emotion crammed into his big eyes and you just wanted to strangely hug him close to your chest. This day has been strange enough - so you do. You Pull Jungkook close to you. His face tucks itself in the crevice of your neck, whining and moaning. His breath tickles and sends shivers down your spine. And then he circles his hips against yours. 

From the hard and deep fucking, Jungkook circles his hips into yours. Slowly at first, his pelvis rubbing against your clit in just the right way before he speeds up. His hands find their way down your back again, pushing your hips up into his own, making your centres feel everything. You can feel him in every fold of your core and it’s all too much.

“Oh god.” Your hands scratching down his back, head tilted back, legs closing around his waist tightly.

“That’s it noona. Cum for me. Please, please. ‘Wanna feel you around my cock. ‘Wanna feel y-your cunt devour me. Cum.”

You scream so loud that you can hear a ringing in your ears. Vision flashing white as the indescribable pleasure starts in the pit of your stomach and coarse through your limbs all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. It’s all consuming and breathtaking. Unexpected.

“I-I can’t hold it anymore. Can I-“ You’re unable to speak.

Still reeling from your orgasm, twitching from the sensitivity, but you nod anyway. You wanted Jungkook to let go inside of you. Wanted to give him the same pleasure he gave you. He was incredibly ethereal atop you. You wanted to see him come undone. And Jungkook was too far gone to think twice before hitching one of your legs up, the other arm grabbing the headboard as he thrust up inside you once again.

“Fuck, yes. God, you’re so good you’re so good. I could fuck you forever noona.” 

His eyes are watering, tucking his face back into your neck again before he pistons his hips against yours rhythmically. The only sounds in the room being the tacky noise of skin slapping against skin, the obscene squelch from the steady arousal leaking between you both. You’re so delirious from the mix of pleasure and the deliciously addicting pain. AT some point, you’ve stopped screaming and only whimpers leave past your lips, legs falling lax around Jungkook and hands fisting the sheets.

“Cum Jungkook. P-Please baby. Cum for n-noona.”

“‘gunna cum. Am I good noona? your good boy?”

“You’re the best Jungkookie. Cum for your noona.”

“Fuck! Y/n, f-fuck.” He’s shouting something you can’t properly hear because of the ringing in your ears from your own release.  Filling you with his hot release. The intense pressure that had been building between you has snapped the frail rubber band in your stomach again. And seems like Jungkook’s had too.

Moments pass, both of you trying to suck in air like it’s the last supply available. Then, Jungkook’s flushed face appears in front of yours with his signature cheeky smirk. He’s glowing.

“You squirted.”

“Shut up!” Your ears must be the shade of a tomato now as you swat his back for the comment. He lays besides you, cuddling up to your side with his leg laying on top of yours. Clinging to you like a koala and it’s too damn adorable. Damn it. 

“It was hot. You’re amazing.” Your heart flutters a little too violently at that and you have to suck in another breathe, pulling the sheets off of him and completely bundling them on you.

“Hey!”

“Hm? You’re going to finish that assessment.” You grin innocently at him and try your hardest to not start howling with laughter when you can see his face fall almost in slow motion.

“Are you serious?” You just sent him a kiss before settling in his bed for maybe a 12 hour nap. Just a tiny nap.

“Noona!”

“I’ll give you head when you’re done. Be a good boy.”

With the most adorable pout you’ve ever seen on a grown man, you watch Jungkook pull up his boxers, stomping away to his study desk.

“Wake me up when you’re done Jungkookie.” Your sweet tone does little to get the pout off his face but he does smile the whole time he’s typing. 

Of course, not that he let you see that

a/n: liked it? hated it? let me know!!

[saber-of-dreams]

Lamentis - An Analysis

If we’re being honest here, there’s probably enough material to look at the entire episode in extensive detail, but that would take forever and I’ve got work tomorrow.  Funny story - I had originally put “A Brief Analysis” in the title...then I realized it wasn’t actually brief anymore.  😀

So for now, I wanted to do a quick analysis of the scenes between Loki and Sylvie once they make it onto the train, because this is where the whole dynamic between them shifts.

It’s interesting that we start out talking about Frigga - about family.  Loki’s biggest soft spot.  Especially now that he’s seen what happens to him in his original timeline, and now that he understands that his family did in fact love him.  

And we see how having them - Frigga, in particular, has affected Loki’s development.  Not just his skill in magic, but his true nature.  He becomes noticeably softer, gentler, when he talks about his adopted mother.  Whatever the circumstances, he truly loved her.  And although this Loki never made it to that point where he sent her to her death, he still knows that he would have done it.  And he still feels that regret.  This is also echoed in the first episode when he reads about the destruction of Asgard.  Family is family, regardless of your blood.

We also figure out Sylvie pretty quickly here too.  We see that she is abysmally lonely.  Jumpy.  Untrusting.  And then we find out that she never really knew her family, but that they had the decency to tell her she was adopted and allow her to process that information positively as a child.  It’s an interesting parallel for them both - Loki who grew up with the family, but didn’t know he was adopted, and Sylve who grew up knowing she was adopted, but lost her family so early.  Equal but opposite.

This is all perfectly encapsulated in that moment where Loki does the mini fireworks for her.  It’s a genuine gesture meant to do nothing but make her smile, and pull her out of the dark place she seems to have gone.  And it works.  

And then he follows it up with a genuine question about her own powers.  And you can hear the amazement, the respect, in his voice when she explains that she taught herself.  

We then move almost directly into the subject of love.  And again, we see the juxtaposition of their two lives.  Loki having relationships/lovers but no real depth and Sylvie having no real relationships at all, possibly only physical experience - the non-attached variety (in case that wasn’t obvious from the dialogue).  

The key piece of dialogue here?  Loki saying “Nothing ever...” and Sylvie supplying the word to finish the thought - “real.”

Love is kind of like a recipe.  You need a few key ingredients, in just the right measure added just the right way to create something truly spectacular.

See here’s the thing - it is so much harder to see someone as an enemy, when you know them.  Maybe you don’t know everything.  But you know enough.  You understand.  Ingredient one - compassion/understanding.  Again, we see that here.  You have to know someone.  And that requires honest engagement.  No masks.  No lies.  Just blatant, heart-wrenching truth.  Family.  Love.  

You also need respect.  Genuine, un-assuming, respect for another person.  For their abilities/skills/personality traits - doesn’t matter.  But if you don’t respect them - you don’t love them.  Now obviously it takes a while to develop true respect for someone, but again, this scene is the start of that for them.  

Loki is impressed by Sylvie’s ability to teach herself magic, and Sylvie is impressed by Loki’s obvious skill with illusion.  And given the multiple fights the two have had, I would imagine they see each other as competent fighters.  Not to mention their various plans to get them to this stage working out/working together.

Okay.  I’m going to step away from the recipe we’re crafting here for a moment so I can talk about The Song - part deux (I did a brief analysis on that yesterday).  But instead of analyzing the content of the song this time, I want to analyze the moments around it.

Now, Sylvie wakes up in the middle of it, so I sincerely doubt that Loki started singing it with any deliberate attempt to serenade her - but - when she wakes up?  And he notices?  He immediately turns to her - and sings the true centerpiece of the song (the adventurer/warrior trying to find his way back to the maiden who waits for him) directly at her.  Literally.  He turns his body to face her directly.  He sings to her.  And you know, literally dedicates the song to her when he’s done.

You know that bubbly, excited feeling you get, when you start crushing on someone?  That joy that just kinda...makes everything a little brighter?  That’s Loki here - aided by quite a bit of alcohol.  He has dropped his walls, and is trying to let Sylvie in.  He has been nothing but honest with her since they got on the train, and he’s starting to develop real feelings for her.  I think their conversation really made him see that - not that he actually consciously understands that (that doesn’t happen until next episode when Mobius has to actually spell it out for him).

Sylvie?  She thinks he’s an idiot.  Being the center of attention like that?  Actively seeking out that attention?  Completely foreign to her.  And, as she points out, someone noticed him and goes to tip off the real guards.  But the other thing here is - this dynamic also foreshadows episode 6 - Loki is focused on Sylvie, and on helping others (i.e. when he finds out the TVA agents are all varients too).  Sylvie is focused on her mission to the exclusion of all else - regardless of the feelings that she too may be developing for him.  Interestingly, I noticed a super tiny smile on Sylvie’s face when Loki said “To Sylvie, everybody!” 

Now, Loki’s lines about love being a dagger are very interesting.  Not only is it a great way to see how he perceives the emotion, but it’s also a really nice metaphor for the two of them.  

Love is a dagger.

It’s a weapon.  

To be wielded.

Far away - or up close

You can see yourself in it.

It’s beautiful.

Until it makes you bleed.

Okay.  Back to our recipe.

You need an intersection point - where two opposing people with two opposing ideals meet in the middle.  But.  That intersection?  It has to be mutual and it has to be consensual.  You have to be willing to meet someone else half way - to attempt to see things from their perspective, before you step forward.

You cannot force someone to see past their own blindness.

Loki and Sylvie take that next step in a few parts - and sorry folks, but I’m going to pick this up in a future post.  I just realized how late it is and I do need to be semi-functional for work tomorrow.  

Until next time.  😉

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

No, It's Definitely Funny

Prompt: Can I request a second part to "Let's Call It Funny" where Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Peter unite forces to confuse and concern all the other avengers (with at least one instance where two or all of them respond to something by pretending to jump off a building?) Love you! -Auggie

Does it count as being back on my bullshit if I never left?

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for gen z humor

Pairings: it's still found family hours

Word Count: 2259

Peter’s gonna be honest, he may or may not have some competition for the funniest person in the Tower right now.

Because let’s look at the list here:

Traumatized? Everybody and their private jet’s worth of vintage and designer baggage needs therapy.

Queer? If you think Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, or Sam Wilson is straight, you need to tell them everything they’ve ever done to make you think they’re straight so they can stop doing it immediately.

Superhero? Yeah, okay, shush, now you’re being stupid.

Neurodivergent? Have you seen the way these men behave? Definitely the model of Perfectly Normal Person™, what on earth are you talking about, absolutely 100% Normal™.

The only things he’s still got going for him that the others don’t are high-schooler and trans. That’s not a lot when it comes to the fact that hey, two of them are from the Great Depression—let’s be honest, they’re the OGs when it comes to fatalistic humor—and they’ve all got years of practice.

Sure, Peter’s got some trauma-given raw talent, but it’s not refined by years and years of throwing yourself off of buildings and out of planes to avoid having conversations about your emotions.

The day Aunt Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files on the Internet and Peter found out that Steve yeeted himself out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Nat’s prodding about getting a date was the best day of his fucking life.

“Don’t you go stealing my moves there, kid,” Steve had scolded playfully, winking over the rim of his mug.

“Try and stop me, I dare you.”

“And this is why,” Tony had sighed, looking every bit his 79 years—“Hey!”—as he watches this interaction go down, “you have a parachute built into your suit.”

“I’ll just wear my old one, don’t worry about it.”

“That heinous thing that’s just a cut-up old hoodie and goggles? Peter, no, that thing is being held together with safety pins and hope!”

“I mean, me too, so it’s fine.”

“Peter!”

“Also, like, it’s the one I almost got crushed to death in, so it’s got the emotional trauma seasoning already.”

“Wait—“ Bucky had sat up— “you almost got crushed to death by a building? Sheesh, kid, you’re really flirting with the reaper, huh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, I had training from the years and years of carrying the weight of my sins crawling on my back.”

“At least ask Death for his number next time, he’s not returning my calls.”

“Sergeant, I swear to God—“

“Actually, Death uses they/them pronouns, I asked when I met them last weekend.”

“What the fuck did you do last weekend?”

“Really? Oh cool, well, can you get their number for me? We had a date back in ’45 that they missed.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Tony, why are you screaming? Not keeping dates is a very serious matter.”

“Trust me, I speak from experience, Tony, it’s not a good habit to get into.”

“You should respect your elders and not scream while we’re talking to you, mister.”

“All of you shut the fuck up.”

See? On one hand, it’s great to have more partners in this venture of making Tony’s hair turn grey—he’s that age, it’s bound to happen any time soon now— “One more crack about my age, kid, I swear.” — but on the other hand, Peter is seriously losing his massive lead on funniest person in the Tower.

The other thing he’s worried about is Sam’s ability to make it so the others can’t actually worry about him.

Because—listen, Sam Wilson is a fucking national treasure and all you fuckers better acknowledge that. It’s no secret that the Captains take turns going out with the shield, all of them answer to ‘Captain America’ because that’s what they are, but no one—and Peter will never say this under threat of death because he does not need any more of the Steve Rogers’ Puppy Dog Eyes™, thank you very much—no one does it better than Sam.

And that means that Sam fucking Wilson can turn a fatalistic, self-deprecating joke into a motivational speech that doesn’t feel disingenuous or cliché at all and everyone is too busy processing the philosophical revelations they’re having to scold him for his, frankly, outstanding sense of humor.

It’s not fair and Peter can’t do it.

He tried. Once.

Didn’t go very well.

No, he’s not gonna talk about it, let’s just move on.

Sam has offered to catch him a couple of times when he gets himself a little too deep into the Mamma Spider™ or Iron Dad™ trap of feeeelings, and he gratefully scoots out of the way when Sam sits down next to him and just makes another joke.

Sam is also a fantastic role model for the brand of ‘I’m going to the store and only have twenty bucks, stop asking for your will to live back’ jokes.

“Hey, Pete!”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go, bodega run.”

“Can we pick up some hopes and dreams, too, all of those got scribbled out in fat red Sharpie yesterday.”

“I said bodega run, not Court of Miracles run.”

“But Sam~”

“Listen, kid, if you manage to find your hopes and dreams in this bodega, keep an eye out for your childhood innocence, that might be on the next shelf over.”

“Deal.”

“Do you two need some more therapy appointments?”

“Only got fifteen bucks, man.”

“I’m literally a billionaire!”

Peter eagerly studies under this pinnacle of humor and keeps his worries to himself.

Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and Peter’s sense of humor is wonderful, but he is a tad intimidated by the amount of variety the others have got going for them.

“You’re a fucking terror, Spider-ling, that’s what you are.”

“Not true! I was ‘a pleasure to have in class.’”

“Oh, is that why you’re taking ‘Little Shit’ lessons from Barnes and Rogers?”

“And Sam! Don’t forget Captain Wilson, he is an invaluable part of this team. I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Pete—no, that’s not—“

“I’m ashamed for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Listen here you little shit—“

Anyway…

Steve and Bucky have a habit of telling these like, really awful jokes that have Peter in stitches for half an hour. It’s not fair and he doesn’t get why they’re so funny because they aren’t, and yet here he is, laughing anyway.

It’s probably some combination of Steve’s perfected innocent face that he wears when he has to do interviews and Bucky’s habit of not giving a single solitary fuck. But they’re able to make the worst jokes with completely serious expressions and it’s not fair.

“Hey, can you guys come help me with something?”

“Sure, Peter,” Steve says instantly, bounding over with his 95-year-old Golden Retriever energy as Bucky trails behind him like a cat that’s sitting in your lap because he wants to, not because he likes you or anything, “what’s up?”

“I have a history project on WWII due tomorrow and I haven’t started it yet.”

Bucky snorts, taking a swig of coffee and sitting down on the floor. Which, same. “You got your eulogy planned?”

“Drafted, sighed, notarized, but Aunt May said no so I gotta do this.”

“Well, if Aunt May says no then I guess that’s that.”

Tony, from far away in another part of the Tower, has a sickening feeling that May Parker has once again proven that she is the most powerful parent and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I, um,” Peter mumbles, fidgeting with his pen, “I want to be respectful of your boundaries, and if you don’t want to talk about anything then—“

Because it’s one thing for someone to make jokes about their trauma and another for someone else to go poking and prodding at it.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts softly, nudging him with his knee, “first off, thank you for saying that and we appreciate your respect, but we got you. You worry about enough, sweetheart, let us take care of ourselves.”

Peter gives him a look.

“When it comes to this,” Steve amends, having the decency to look a little sheepish, “we’ll take care of ourselves.”

Bucky scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

“We will, Buck.”

“My therapist will be real happy to hear that.” He looks up at Peter and winks. “Besides, what good is our trauma if we don’t pin it up and display it for good grades?”

Peter huffs, the joke undercut a little by the way Bucky knocks his foot against Peter’s and Steve’s arm stretches over the couch behind him.

Peter has to resist the urge to lean his head onto Steve’s shoulder, because then Steve’s hand will come up and ruffle his hair and Peter’s eyes will droop slowly closed as he loses himself in the warmth and safety of Steve’s embrace and then Steve will lean down to press a kiss to his temple and—

Right. Homework.

“What’s it on specifically,” Bucky asks, clearly spotting the temptation on Peter’s end, “home front? Overseas? Time period?”

“Uh, it’s an analysis of total war.”

“Like, how much of the country was devoted to the war effort?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s talking about how the Nazi War Machine made their war total and how that extends to a lot of other countries, but also about the reasons why the war was fought—“

They delve into a conversation about total war, Peter pointing out how Italy’s motivation for territory keeps it from being a total war on their part, Bucky speaking to how the different dynamics worked in various countries and the fallout, Steve bringing up how much of the home front was devoted to bringing attention to the war being fought overseas. Then, of course, as is inevitable, they devolve into storytelling.

Peter’s notebook—with notes! He did his job!—is set aside as he gives in to the need to let Steve cuddle him on the couch. Come on, the man is warm and big and gives good hugs, how is he supposed to not? Bucky sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he smiles fondly.

“You know,” he remarks casually, “I fought a Nazi in my pajamas once.”

Peter blinks sleepily. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, though how he got in my pajamas, I have no idea.”

Peter snorts. Then he giggles. Then he’s collapsing into Steve’s side, positively sobbing with laughter.

It’s not funny.

It’s really not that funny.

But here he is, fucking dying, and he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to welcome the sweet embrace of oblivion.

“Okay, note to self,” Bucky murmurs when he’s calmed down a little, wiping away tears, “sleepy spider likes corny jokes.”

“Just don’t break our baby spider, Buck, Momma Spider would kill you in cold blood.”

“Listen, if Natasha Romanoff kills me, don’t prosecute. That’s on me.”

Peter can’t do corny jokes. He really can’t. He just sounds like he’s a recording so old it’s unintelligible and it’s bad. He has a reputation to maintain here!

However, there is one sense of humor that Peter is very eager to learn and adopt, and hey, it might actually be Iron Dad™ Approved!

It’s a rookie mistake, asking Bucky Barnes for a hand, but in his defense, Peter was left unsupervised and was distracted.

“Hey, Bucky, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Something nudges his arm and he looks down. It’s Bucky’s metal arm, bumping up against his elbow.

It’s a cheap joke. It’s bad. It does not deserve Peter’s laughter.

He snorts anyway.

“That’s on me,” he says after a second, “you know what, that’s my fault.”

“What, is this not what you meant?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Peter scruffs a hand through his hair. He looks down at the prosthetic again. “Well, that’s disarming.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “You gotta hand it to me, though, it’s a good joke.”

Oh, it’s on.

“No, no, of course, I understand. You really can’t let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers.”

Steve chokes on his next sip of coffee. “Stop making the kid shoulder the burden of making puns with you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t palm this off on someone else, Steve, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs. “You just gotta knuckle-down and find the right one.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to reach for puns?” Bucky hefts his arm.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say a lot.”

“Jeez, Pete, good one.”

“What, are you not finding them humerus?”

Sam’s gone, Steve shortly after. Bucky just grins proudly at him.

Then there’s a massive thunk from behind them. Peter turns around to see Tony slamming his forehead into the counter.

“You are all going to kill me,” he mutters, glaring up at them, “all three of you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark, Captain Barnes would never hurt you.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“After all,” Peter grins, gesturing to Bucky who is doing a very good innocent face—he must’ve been taking notes from Steve— “look at him, he’s completely armless.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker—“

Okay, so maybe it’s not Iron Dad™ Approved.

Oh, well.

[propshophannah]

umm i think ppl are over reacting,, az was not being toxic or possesive, he's been pining for elain for 3 years and he now knows she feels the same way for him,, and to the ppl that said that him being turned on was creepy,, wait till we see elains pov bc im pretty sure she was thinking the same. pls it's okay to not like scenes and characters and ships but cmon,, some eluciens are butchering him

Hi Nonnie! I heard that the fandom was getting crazy so I’ve been avoiding looking at posts and stuff. If Az came off creepy it wasn’t because he was turned on. LMFAO. Elain was turned on, too. SHE ALSO INITIATED THE ENTIRE SCENE! We don’t even need her POV to tell us what she wanted either—Maas straight up tells us this in that scene. LOL to everyone who skipped that part and those lines. I mean… it wasn’t even subtext. It was literally written on the page. (I’m writing an analysis of that scene, stay tuned!)

If he came off creepy, it was because he articulated a sense in entitlement—which given the situation wasn’t entirely out of line! Sorry, it just wasn’t. 

And here’s why: We’ve all had moments where we are so fucking mad—and everything around us seemed to be going in everyone else’s favor BUT ours—so we got angry. And vengeful. And we got a little lost in those feelings, some of us drowned in them, and we did things and said things and we came off like a fucking asshole. FACTS.

If some people think that’s never happened to them, then they’re either lying to themselves or not paying attention to themselves. It’s as simple as that, Nonnie. 

We all do dumb, potentially toxic things when we’re mad or upset. That’s the law of the land and not one single person in the fandom, or the world, is above that. Not. One. 

And LETS. BE. REAL. Elain is NOT above reproach for the role she *actively* plays in this cluster fuck. She is just as guilty of stringing Lucien and Az along in that she hasn’t made a decision on whether to accept or reject the mating bond. Or in just saying “Look, Lucy, babe, I don’t like this. It’s stressing me out. Please leave me alone for the next 2.5 years or until I say ‘when’ before you come around again. Thanks!” She doesn’t even need to say it to Lucien. THAT’S THE KICKER. She could tell Feyre. Tell one of the Shadows to tell Feyre or Rhys or Mor and Nesta OR ANYONE with the power to say “Hey, we can’t invite Lucy to Solstice because Elain doesn’t want it.” This is a situation where getting other people to play the bad guy for you, is 100% socially acceptable. 

Hell, LUCIEN could be the one to initiate this. To pick up on what Elain IS NOT THROWING OUT and say, “Hey, Rhys, babe. Thanks for the Solstice invite, but I don’t think Elain appreciates my presence, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. How about I send you her gift from me, then I, like, check in every now and then and you can find a way to let her know I’m in town and if you invite me to dinner, I’ll take that as a sign that she’s okay with me being there for dinner and nothing more. No expectations.” It’s not hard. 

(We could argue that Lucien continuing to come around IS JUST AS WEIRD/CREEPY. READ THE ROOM DUDE.)

Now I WILL say that there is an argument to be made that Elain *may* not grasp the gravity of a mating bond because she was born in a different culture. That’s totally fair. BUT she’s had plenty of time to learn what that means having spent so much time around Feyre and Rhys and the others. 

So the idea that Azriel is the only one who deserves to be vilified is nonsensical. 

ALSO, and this is something I will be including in the analysis I’m working on and will hopefully finish tomorrow (I’m going to break that Az POV down so that everyone and their third cousin, twice removed, can understand), is that AZRIEL’S WHOLE SHTICK IS WAITING.  He looooves to wait. Fucking LOVES it. It’s his whole job y’all. It’s weird, and related to his daddy issues when you apply it to females, but it’s his life. He LITERALLY tells us this in ACOSF. Remember at the end when Cassian is complaining about how he HATES spying because he has no patience? 

Az is like “It seems you’ve forgotten how much of spying is waiting for the right moment. People don’t engage in their evil deeds when it’s convenient to you.” 

Cassian explains why he stopped spying because it “...bored him to death. I don’t know how you put up with this all the time.” 

Az says, “It suits me.”

 BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

MF BOOOOOM.

Az likes to play the long game. Not saying it’s healthy, but that suits him. He’s good at waiting. He HAD TO BE. HE WAS LOCKED AWAY FOR YEARS AND HAD TO WAIT FOR THE CHANCE TO SEE HIS MOTHER. And the sun. And his hateful brothers. He doesn’t know any better/how else to be. And there is a lot of trauma and conflicting feelings tangled in this. 

It’s only creepy when you fail to grasp the nuance. But if you stand too close to a painting, you can’t see the whole thing. Back up, people. Back up.

Az has spent his whole life waiting. It’s how he learned to be. And now that his brothers are all happily mated he’s looking back on all his waiting—on his entire life—and he’s having a crisis. Or a crisis is looming. What has his waiting gotten him? Why has his patience not been rewarded? Why not him?

You combine that thinking with anger and you’ve got a recipe for momentary entitlement. For rage so thick and consuming that you want to punch a wall and work yourself to death because at least when you’re working you can compartmentalize and not deal with the reality that YOUR ENTIRE LIFE MODEL hasn’t worked for you. That you got left behind somewhere and it was your fault.

Az is headed for a mid-life crisis or an emotional breakdown—or some big horrific moment where he realizes he can’t keep doing what he’s been doing, that his entire world is built on a foundation that’s crumbling. And if you’ve never ever had that happen to you, then I’m jealous. And I’m happy for you. Because it’s terrifying. Bloody awful fucking terrifying.

[surfalldaybaby]

”A Very Long and Comprehensive Analysis of Feyre’s Experience w/ Trauma and Abuse

- This is not a kind analysis of Nesta but please still read it if you want. It’s not in the wrong tags tho so please don’t rant about how much you love Nesta. I love that for you. Personally, I hate her. :)

Also- I use many of the quotes that @feysandlover and @dont-rattle-aelin used to prove her point that Nesta is abusive because she pulled many of the really jarring ones. 

I was looking through the Rhysand tag and for some reason someone posted something comparing Nesta and Feyre in terms of their trauma, and they said that Nesta had experienced way more trauma than Feyre and I-

That’s disgusting.

First - don’t compare trauma

Second- they were wrong and lacked critical thinking skills that left out Feyre’s full experience with abuse

Nesta was sexually assaulted ( which nobody talks about enough) and her family’s fortune flipped making them poor overnight. Because of this she fostered anger towards her father. I get that. I sympathize with that. She is then taken away from her life and forcefully changed into fae. I cannot imagine what that felt like for her. It must have been devastating. Her whole identity was shifted in one day and she went from hating fae to being fae. Confusing and overwhelming. She then goes into war and develops PTSD and depression from her experiences. She sees her father die and is unable to reconcile her anger and his death. It’s horrible and I cannot even begin to understand the depth of her emotions here. I have zero issue saying that about Nesta because it’s true she has gone through extaordinary trauma and I cannot imagine how she fully feels. She deals with this trauma in unhealthy ways because they only exacerbate her feelings of worthlessness. Not her fault. However, she also treats Mor and Feyre and Rhys in disrespectful ways and Cassian and her have an unhealthy dynamic where they insult each other. Her and Amren have a shaky and partner like relationship but it is by no means a sturdy one. Az and Nesta don’t seem to have a relationship at all. She has no true healthy relationship with anyone but Elain, and you could argue even that is not truly healthy.

Much of Nesta’s trauma is due to extraneous factors and a multitude or variables. It’s valid and it matters just as much as Feyres. They are both real. However the amount of traumatic experiences she has gone through does not come close to rivaling that of Feyre’s and to even try and compare them is disgusting. Trauma should never be compared but I want to show Feyre’s experience in a broader light to show her development from a scared girl to high lady

Feyre was never an active abuser in any relationship she was always the one being abused. Nesta was abused and she was also the abuser. It is important to point that out because it heavily impacts Feyre’s story.

Also, I believe the reason Feyre became so accustomed and slipped so easily into being a victim to Tamlins abuse is because Feyre was already the victim of emotional abuse from her sisters. We see this everyday, research shows that victims of abuse go back to abusive relationship and form new relationships that center around abuse because they are used to it and find it comforting. This is an extraneous point that you can agree with or can argue against it’s just a personal connection I made. However, it is very evident how Nesta and Elains treatment of Feyre affects her. She has no self confidence, she remains illiterate and with no real knowledge of polite manners ( something important in the real world, something that holds her back from being able to assimilate into the real world), her spirit is broken down at home because she knows  that verbal attacks are going to come and Nesta is going to lash out and say horrible disgusting things to her if she asks her to do something or holds her accountable for her lack of work. She is constantly degraded for everything that she does and it has a pronoucned effect on her psyche throughout the trilogy and novella. 

Like Nesta, Feyre also had to go through her family losing their fortune, she also had to bear the weight of her promise to her mother, she had to support her sisters financially going into the forest alone to hunt animals just as big as herself at 14. She never had money for herself because her sisters took it from her. Like they literally took all her money to buy things they did not need, leaving Feyre with basically nothing.

“I’d love a new cloak,” Elain said at last with a sigh, at the same moment Nesta rose and declared: “I need a new pair of boots.””“I kept quiet, knowing better than to get in the middle of one of their arguments, but I glanced at Nesta’s still-shiny pair by the door. Beside hers, my too-small boots were falling apart at the seams, held together only by fraying laces... I drowned them out as they began quarreling over who would get the money the hide would fetch tomorrow…”

 And Nesta complains and whines and doesn’t stop gaslighting Feyre because of her lack of hard work. But, she doesn’t want to do work herself because she thinks it’s beneath her. 

“I thought you were going to chop wood today. Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters. She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. Of all of us, Nesta looked the most like our mother—especially when she wanted something. “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.” My jaw clenched. “Please,” I asked, calming my breathing, knowing an argument was the last thing I needed or wanted. “Please get up at dawn to chop that wood.” I unbuttoned the top of my tunic. “Or we’ll be eating a cold breakfast.” Her brows narrowed. “I will do no such thing!”

She doesn’t care about Feyre or the fact that starving is their new reality. Poverty is what they live in. We all know if Feyre didn’t go hunting Nesta would be furious at Feyre and belittle her and make her feel small and responsible for their hunger.

“Take those disgusting clothes off.” 

“Any bit of praise for anyone—me, Elain, other villagers—usually resulted in her dismissal.”

“Is there a problem, Feyre?” She flung my name like an insult, and my jaw ached from clenching it so hard.”

“You stink like a pig covered in its own filth. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?”c“Take those disgusting clothes off.” 

“What do you know?” Nesta breathed. “You’re just a half-wild beast with the nerve to bark orders at all hours of the day and night. Keep it up, and someday—someday, Feyre, you’ll have no one left to remember you, or to care that you ever existed.” She stormed off, Elain darting after her, cooing her sympathy. 

Then Tamlim comes and kidnaps her. More trauma. She falls in love with him, I think partly because of Stockholm Syndrome and also because he shows her a level of kindness that she was not given at home, and then he disappears so she has to go back to her life with her sisters. Her sisters have all the benefits of her being stolen away bcs Feyre was able to provide their old house and wealth back through Tamlin’s gift. Her sisters literally never did anything to provide for themselves or help their father or sister. If you really think about that situation as a whole it’s devastating. Then she goes to save Tamlin and finds that her home and her loved one was basically destroyed. She goes to save him.

While under the mountain Amarantha humiliates and tortures her for fun. She makes her run around trying to get away from a monster, her illiteracy is exploited for amusement while she is under pressure of death by fire, she is forced to kill fae in order to save her love, and she has to suffer with her injuries in a basement where everyone is rooting against her.

Then she fucking dies. And like Nesta she is forced to become fae in order to survive. Like she can’t catch a break. Her whole life has really just been horrible and so traumatic. A series of abuses.

That’s not even all! She goes home and is deeply depressed and struggling with PTSD and Tamlin, who she literally was tortured and died to save, takes advantage of her sexually because he is too scared to acknowledge that she is struggling. He uses her body for his pleasure while she throws up every night after he leaves her bedroom due to the nightmares she gets from saving hundreds of fae. She is also forced to fit into a box that she doesn’t want- wearing dresses, pretending to be happy, becoming a figurehead as Tamlins bride knowing that it means she will have to be submissive and have children. Lucien emotionally abused her and ignores her obvious depression because of his own fear of what Tamlin would say. He is a bystander. She is so broken that she stops caring about everything, even painting, the one thing she always loved. Then he traps her in his house which is traumatizing again because she was just trapped under the mountain! Even the people she loved, the people she trusted, continually can’t stop abusing her.

She finds happiness and stability later on after intensive work on herself, and months of building healthy relationships, but she is still troubled because of the guilt she feels from the townsfolks anger and their sense of righteousness for her actions even though she did the best she could in every circumstance. When she goes to try and save those townspeople it becomes clear that Nesta still hates her. She shows Feyre no kindness. The only reason she is allowed to use the house, the one that Feyre got for them, was because of Elain. Even after that Nesta insults her repeatedly for being fae. Those statments from the first book that I quoted higher up in this post are just a small part of how she speaks to Feyre in the following three books after she finds out that she is fae. Even after Feyre saves her and supports her she continues abusing and blaming Feyre. She continues to insult. degrade, shame, and humiliate her to uplift her own lack of self worth. Its a technique to stop her own insecurity and depression but it is in no way excusable. It’s no wonder Rhysand hates her. She abused his mate for years- something that he experienced under the mountain (shame, gaslighting, and humiliation). That is her life. She goes on to see her father murdered. She suffered so much in such a short amount of time is a wonder she wasn’t more broken.

Don’t come to me saying Nesta experienced more trauma to prove your point that Nesta is a good person and not responsible for her actions because she “feels to much” and is a woman that is cruel, and prideful, and unapologetic “bcs that’s who she is.” She has to be held accountable for her actions, her attitude, and her lack of words and apologies to everyone she wronged- especially her sister.

Feyre sacrifices her childhood, her body, her mental health, and her life in order to provide the stability that her sisters felt was their norm. They are inherently priviledged because of that sacrifice. They felt and still feel entitled to her money, and her loyalty, and that of her friends and mate. They survive because of Feyre. And Feyre never once called them out on their behavior, not even when they continually disrespected her after she provided them with a place to live and money to live off of. This was due to her feelings of guilt and the trauma that she had continually been victim to as a child and in Tamlins court.

Some of y’all use the excuse that they never asked Feyre to do any of that and I’m genuinely appalled that that is even a response to her genuine sacrifice. Her mother asked her to take care of them. Nobody was stepping up. Nesta was not going to go into the forest and neither was Elain, both for different but equally disappointing reasons. They both would have let the family starve. Also, Nesta and Elain were both older than her. Elain and Nesta as Feyre’s old sisters should have, and had a responsibility, to ensure that Feyre didn’t have to do what she did. Their apathy and ungrateful attitude is disgusting. Disgusting and unforgivable. Sure, Feyre may have been able to do it but she never should have had to. The three of them should have figured out a plan of equal work to give and take and survive. Y’all saying that Feyre never had to do that I- ... do you not have a family? Do you not have loved ones? You don’t have to do something to help your family, but you do it anyway because you love them and you hate to see them suffer. It’s just that usually you aren’t being exploited and taken advantage of at 14, for years on end, because the sentiment is usually reciprocated.

Perhaps if they had taken better care of their younger sister she would not have been in the woods and killed the fae. Perhaps all three of them would have bore the brunt of their fathers injury together and made a family. Perhaps if she hadn’t killed the fae in the forest when she was starving due to her sisters laziness, Elain and Nesta would never have been forced into being fae.

They neglected Feyre. They aren’t as responsible for her as their father ofc but they actively neglected her and Nesta even slut shamed her for her consensual sexual relationship with Isaac. The one thing she had that her sisters couldn’t take and Nesta called her filthy and disgusting for it.

“At least I don’t have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal.” 

Nesta remains unapologetic and to me she is not a feminist character. Sarah J Mass tried to use her as that trope to fulfill her idea of a “powerful woman” icon but she’s just a cruel and traumatized woman who people let off the hook. She gets away with it because she gaslights other characters while taking no responsibility for herself. She was abused and traumatized herself but that’s never an excuse for her in turn abusing someone else.

Now I don’t mean to say that Nesta or Elain are irredeemable. Frankly I think they both have potential to be good characters if they just apologized to Feyre in the next book, and really put those sentiments into actions. I do think Nesta is a bad person right now, I think she’s an abuser. And I think it’s hard for abusers to change their pattern of abuse. Elain is less of an outright abuser and more complicit in the abuse. I don’t know if either of them can change, but they definitely won’t if people keep letting them off the hook for their disgusting behavior. I am not impressed or charmed by either of them. Until they show a hint of gratitude and remorse to their sister because as y’all can tell she went through hell to make sure they were taken care of. Not to say that they didn’t do anything for Feyre. They both  had important roles to play in the war, and they do have their moments of kindness and bravery and showed they cared for Feyre but abusers can be kind and considerate and brave one minute and then switch up just as fast. It’s about showing a consistent pattern of respect and love. 

Just because Feyre took care of Elain and Nesta their whole damn life does not mean she has to be responsible for them as high lady. Also she is not responsible for knowing how to deal with their trauma. Her own abuse, and lack of real world experience- because Nesta and Elain never taught her to read, and Nesta continually degraded and made cruel remarks to Feyre about her lack of manners “ disgusting pig, take off your clothes didn’t anyone teach you ...” (manners she didn’t develop because she was in the forest)- means she is not perfect at confronting Nestas PTSD or depression. Feyre’s intention was always good, whereas you can’t tell me that Nestas was good and pure. She is not exempt from being respectful and kind because she is hurt and has mental illnesses. She is not exempt from apologizing because she “feels to much.”

This applies to all of the IC as well. They are all healing. They all experienced trauma that rivals what Feyre went through. It’s no wonder they built a family from that shared bond. They are healing together- not healed. Nesta is not entitled to Feyre’s care or her friends kindness. She is not entitled to be added into the group painting or their secret jokes or parties because she continues to push them all away. Then she insults them and disrespects them. The inner circle has already suffered so much they are not exactly going to be open to accepting Nesta knowing her history and her current actions and remarks, and the history of the IC. Do y’all not remember Mors family nailing a stake into her body for losing her virginity? Or Cassian, Az, and Rhys being forced to bond together to survive, being called bastards, and being ganged up on by all their peers? Rhys being sexually abused for 50 years and seeing his parents murdered? Az being stuck in a basement so long he became the shadows and his hands being burned so badly they were hard to look at? Or Amren being in the wrong body for centuries and still she and all of the IC remain a family because they try to understand each other and their experiences. Nesta was not only rude to them she was cruel and spiteful, especially to their high lady, and they don’t need an excuse, but especially as victims of abuse, they are not perfect, and they sure as hell are not obligated to embrace Nesta into their family. The IC and Feyre deserve better.

A lot of people have posed the argument that if Nesta was male everyone would love her but I disagree. If an older brother let his sister go hunting alone in the woods for years while sitting on his ass, slut shamed her and called her dirty and disgusting, blamed her for her family’s poverty and spoke to her like she was trash for years and years, verbally and emotionally belittled her, felt entitled to her possessions and her kindness while they were both struggling to heal from abuse, predisposes his sister to accepting abuse as a form of relationship, and then rather than apologize “steels [her] back” and says nothing-not even an apology or a thank you for saving their life tenfold- he would never even have gotten a redemption story, or a mate, let alone a 700 page book. He would be the most hated character in the series but because it’s Nesta and she’s a woman and y’all pose her as this feminist it’s okay that shes abusive all throughout the series.

[multifandomfanfiction]

You Are My Sunshine Chapter 2

TITLE: You Are My Sunshine Chapter 2 PAIRING: Marcus/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: 2/? SUMMARY: The FBI is setting up a task force to deal with international art theft and they’re in need of an analyst. Willow Reid, younger sister of the BAU’s resident genius, applies for the job and gets it. She and her new boss, Agent Marcus Pike, get off on the wrong foot due to her overly friendly personality. What will the BAU do when they realize that he’s taken their sunshine away?

Willow pranced into the new International Art Theft Unit ready for her first day on the job. She wondered if they had a case yet or if it would be quiet for a few days, but her money was on a busy day. When she started with the White Collar Crimes Unit, she was thrown in head first on her first day.

“You must be the analyst,” a dark, smooth voice said.

She turned and saw her new boss.

Agent Marcus Pike.

“Yes! I’m Willow Reid.”

Reid. That was a name he’d heard around Quantico.

“The genius?” Marcus asked her.

Willow laughed. “That would be my brother Spencer. He’s upstairs in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. But it’s an easy mistake to make. Oh! I brought you coffee. Wasn’t sure how you liked it, so it’s black.” She handed him a coffee cup from her and Spencer’s favorite coffee shop.

They had stopped there on the way into work. Spencer had also given her a ten-minute pep-talk before they entered the building.

“Thank you. I actually prefer it black, so this is perfect.”

“Great! Um, could you show me where my office is?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s just this way. Follow me.”

Willow followed Marcus towards the back into a room filled with computers.

“Here it is.”

“It’s perfect!” Willow walked over to her chair and immediately started to pull out pictures and trinkets to decorate.

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Is there a case yet?”

Marcus laughed. “That eager to get to work?”

Willow blushed in embarrassment. “It’s just…I’ve never known the FBI to be quiet.”

“Be patient.”

Willow nodded. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Yeah.” Marcus left her office and Willow plopped down in her seat.

She immediately called Penelope.

“What’s going on, Sweet Pea?” Penelope asked.

“He’s so cute!”

Penelope giggled. “Down girl. He’s your boss.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.”

“So do you know when you’re going to get your first case?”

Willow shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “Marcus said to be patient. But I have a feeling if it’s not today, it’ll be tomorrow.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Willow was right. Her first case came on her second day at work. She put together the files and presented the case to the team, just like Penelope did for the BAU.

Most of her job was spent researching paintings and sculptures and learning to spot the real ones from the fakes. Spencer even took her to the art museum to get her more comfortable with certain artists’ techniques and signature styles.

Willow’s first month in the International Art Theft Unit went well. She came in every morning with a smile on her face and two coffees in her hand.

One for herself and one for Marcus.

She also made sure he ate lunch and went home at a decent hour. Her co-workers teased her and said she was sweet on Marcus, but it was no different from her bringing Hotch or Rossi coffee in the mornings. “Good morning, Marcus!” she sang, placing the coffee on his desk.

Marcus hated how much he liked the way she said his name in her sweet tone of voice.

She turned to leave when Marcus called her name.

“Willow?”

She turned back to him. “Yes, Marcus?”

“As much as I appreciate you bringing me coffee every morning…” Marcus trailed off, not sure how to break it to her. “Look, I did the whole office romance thing once and it didn’t turn out so well. So if you could just stop. Please.” Marcus hated how he saw the sadness creep into her eyes.

“Oh. Okay. Of course. No more coffee anymore. I understand.” She gave him a smile, but he could tell it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll…um…I’ll be in my office if you need me.” Willow brushed past her co-workers and ran for her office. She shut the door and dissolved into tears. She didn’t understand what she did wrong.

It was just coffee!

She didn’t mean for it to come off as flirty. She was just being friendly. She liked pleasing people. Clearly he’d been hurt in the past, but that was no reason to take it out on her. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a mistake.