#and thought identical would be same dye lot/same appearance

[craftycoola]

important question: what do you call two skeins of hand-dyed yarn that are the same colorway, but come from different dye lots? like... sibling skeins?

[eggnogtoast]

unserious p30 chris au doodles, and the duo that'd come of that. some thoughts about the au below the cut!

while jill's hair color changed because of the reaction her post-vaccine body had to the p30, i do think that it was still a considerable factor in how wesker stripped her of her identity; hair means a lot to a lot of people, so forcibly changing something so crucial to someone's appearance/identity definitely messes with their mind.

in the au, chris' hair is blond because i don't think it's too far of a reach to assume wesker would take it upon himself to strip chris of his identity the same way he did with jill.

there's also the fact of dyeing his hair being kind of an intimate act in a way? i see it the same way as shaving another person with a straight razor, or helping them tie something behind their back that they can't reach. there's a sort of trust and reliance that comes with acts like that, despite them not being very intense or heavy acts.

so i think that wesker making chris let him bleach his hair kind of follows that pattern; wesker's creating a situation where he makes himself seem selfless and caring by doing something for chris' "benefit," which leaves chris in a position of feeling like he needs to be grateful, both bc he's being looked out for and bc wesker must care for him if he's doing him this favor—even if he doesn't know why. it furthers his dependency on wesker, in a more subtle way.

anyway, i could go on, because i think there's a lot of nuance and stuff to this au, but i'll end it there for now :)

[lara-prism-light]

Redesign(and rewrite) of Alya and Rena Rouge for my Miraculous rewrite.

The original design was too generic for me and didn't look like a girl who has a blog. I know a Ladybug themed t-shirt that she would start wearing after the heroes' popularity kicked in, She wears a plaid jacket, jeans and boots. I chose this style because I thought it suited her a lot, and yes, I made her hair curlier, and a thousand apologies if it turned out bad, I'm still trying to learn how to draw curly hair TwT

As you can see I also moved the mole a little above her eyebrow, the original position would be covered with her hair. And yes, I decided to dye her hair orange at the ends, I don't know, I thought it would look cool, let me know what you think.

Alya is still Marinette's classmate, and in the beginning she has a very empty blog with very few followers (who would be her closest friends) but before the Ladyblog she would talk about heroes about heroes from other countries, since at the moment Paris would not have heroes yet. She takes a liking to Marinette after helping and defending her from Chloe and showing off the rest of the school (in this rewrite Marinette is a new student at the school as well as Adrian).

She and Nino are very close and she likes superheroes a lot and wants to be a journalist when she grows up. As soon as Ladybug and Chat Noir arrive, she begins to document everything about them, to the point of becoming an obsession of hers that ends up consuming part of her life. Her family and friends, especially Marinette would try to bring her back to reality but she would be trapped in her obsession of discovering who her beloved heroes were.

That was the perfect motivation for Hawkmoth to send an akuma to her, turning her into lady wi-fi, which would go after the heroes looking for their dear answers. She would be defeated and Ladybug would explain how important their identities were, which Alya, after learning that her best friend Marinette was very dejected by her selfish actions, realizes how wrong she was, almost giving up on her dream but being motivated by ladybug to keep dreaming, and that one day she would be an amazing journalist.

Even more inspired by Ladybug, and even more affected by her amortization, Alya begins to change her investigation focus, she no longer wanted to know the identity of the heroes, but that of the villain. She would start balancing her normal life with her little investigations into where the villains came from and who was behind them, and seeing her family, friends and boyfriend being akumatized, She grew to hate Hawkmoth, and wanting to bring justice to those he hurt and manipulated. This attracted the attention of the curious and treacherous Trixx, who felt curious about the number of times he saw her close to danger looking for clues, but he could also feel a desire for justice coming from Her. And then one night, during an akuma attack, she got tired of being useless and tried to help, even though she knew it would be dangerous, but was told to stay out by Ladybug and Chat Noir. Trixx appeared to her and gave her the Miraculous of Illusion, so that she could help her idols and protect her beloved city as Rena Rouge!

I didn't change much in the design, out of all the designs on the show this is one of my favorites but I still added road details. She now has an orange jacket, her knees have white diamonds, and her wrists and heels have fur. The ears are now like a bow for her ponytail, and the cream colored part of the ear contains a dark tone in the middle. Other than that, everything else is the same, just with some additions of different shades of orange.

Trixx gets a tuft of hair too, I thought it would look cute :3

Her flute still has the power to create illusions, mirage is still her main and strongest power, but now she needs to focus on the illusion to keep it as realistic as possible. Her illusions are now much more realistic, when using her illusions she can almost warp reality enough to make her illusions semi-physical(like the phantom ruby ​​from Sonic forces) The more intense the illusion the more she needs to maintain focus.

She can also use camouflage, it's practically the ability to become invisible, but for that she would need to hold her breath. I based it on the fact that foxes are known to be sneaky, and with that Rena would be able to sneak past enemies without being noticed.

Like ladybug and Chat Noir, it also contains a special effect, this effect would be the hallucination effect, With that effect she would play a melody on her flute that would cause a mental confusion in the akumatized that would make them hallucinate for a few minutes until the music stopped. It's more of a distraction but depending on the akumatized it could very well be dangerous. More additions to powers can be added, like a Ktsune-based power or something like that. Tell me what other powers she could have.

As a character, Rena Rouge would be the type to play pranks on other heroes in her spare time such as on patrols and important meetings. She would be close to Ladybug and Chat Noir and would follow any of their orders, but at the same time respect their privacy when she could. She would always go out at night to investigate Hawkmoth alone, but would start to be accompanied by Chat Noir who would also go out at night to patrol alone.

She was always going to interrogate the akumatized about their conversations with Hawkmoth but didn't get much out of them. That is, until a whole group of villains appeared who seemed to be much stronger and had a greater connection to Hawkmoth, filling her with even more questions and leaving her exhausted from investigating.to the point that she couldn't even post anything on the blog, seeing it as something not very important anymore.

Much more is yet to be rewritten about Alya and Rena Rouge, stay tuned!

[sorrowful-hyacinth]

Back to Random Sorrow Thoughts and Shenanigans. I’ve been thinking about getting my hair dyed lately and I’ve never done it before. I know it’s a lot of maintenance and work to keep it up and if you don’t then eventually it fades out. You thought this was going to be a normal conversation about dyed hair? Yah no. This blog doesn’t do that 😌.

Hair changes your appearance a lot. Whether it’s dying it a new color, getting a hair cut, or some professional service. So imagine a Whumpee with anything like that. Like some flashy rainbow kind of dye or even just going from brunette to blonde. Maybe getting a perm, getting corn rows, braids in general. Just anything that disguises your original, natural hair color, shape, and texture.

Then, think about Whumper only ever seeing Whumpee in that appearance. So gradually throughout captivity Whumper starts to notice changes in their hair. The dye fading out, their hair growing longer, their perm relaxing, their braids starting to loosen or grow out. What do you think their reaction would be?

They could get a little obsessed with seeing whumpee’s original hair. Maybe going on about how it’s way better than what they did with their hair before. It might make them look more attractive and whumper might even want to start taking care of their hair just so that they can have another part of Whumpee to control.

Maybe they’re a little upset about not having Whumpee in the perfect image they saw them in the very first time they saw them. It’s the reason they chose them after all so they should look the way they want them to. So they could take them to the salon to get their hair re-dyed, cut, altered in whatever way it was before. This could even be the only time Whumpee is allowed in public where they’re treated like a normal person by a nice stylist.

Hair could also be a sore spot for Whumpee. Maybe they had some trauma with having long hair being tugged on, so they keep it short. Maybe they died it as a symbol of independence from controlling people in their lives. Maybe it’s a cultural/ identity thing. Whumper finds out, and out of good old whumper sadistic pleasure, they exploit it. Forcing them to grow their hair out, maybe shaving their hair off, putting too much bleach in their hair to purposefully burn it off so it doesn’t grow back the same for a long time.

I didn’t realize there was so much to talk about on this topic, but I really think hair is important to everyone. It holds memories and feelings. It’s fun to play with in story telling, and it’s a hell of a lot of fun for whumper to use against Whumpee.

- 🪻

Date: August 4, 2024

[miraculous-magicalconnections]

Gabriel Agreste/Monarque and Nathalie Sancoeur/Paon Aimant Redesign

For Gabriel's redesign, I wanted to really play into the character that he slowly became by the end of season 5, a deranged man who wants nothing more than to take down Ladybug and Chat Noir while simultaneously keeping the character he was at the start, a man who wants to save his wife no matter what

The outfit itself is identical to the one he wears in canon, however the colors have been changed to represent a Death's-head hawkmoth, because of this his brooch is now yellow while camouflaged to better fit into his outfit

He also dyes his hair, something I found funny while also further showing how he's holding onto the past and trying to make himself appear younger

He's French, Italian, and Japanese

Hawk Moth's redesign, now known as Monarque throughout the entire series, is something I actually really enjoy

Blue represents royalty in France, and given Gabriel sees himself as right, as good, as a ruler, a monarch, his costume is reminiscent of a blue butterfly to show off the "I'm in the right" mentality that he has

He mask looks similar to that of canon, but I specifically made it more angular, sharper, because Gabriel doesn't just encourage people's negative emotions, he MAKES them (this is seen a couple times in canon like in Jubilation but this is more true in my rewrite)

Gabriel is a great manipulator, one that knows how to make his word the truth, so I further made sure that his costume was sharp, but also smooth in it's patterns

The front of his costume is inspired partially by his Monarch design in canon that had the stained glass look to it, and the tail coat is inspired by post-rings Monarch's tailcoat

Another thing that's very apparent is that he has an actual mask, whereas the canon outfits head either a full head covering or a mask + a skin tone change, this was just because most fans didn't like it too much (especially Monarch when season 5 first aired) so I took a design element from Hawk Moth I really liked (the akuma mask imprint) and made it more apparent (by literally making it his mask)

To also clarify: Monarque's (and subsequently any Butterfly/Peafowl user) mask when Akumatizing or Kamikotizing people looks like that because of 1. who he is and 2. his intentions behind using the powers, for example if he were good, the mask would probably look how it does during seasons 1-3, so if Nathalie were to use the Butterfly Miraculous, her's would look different (same goes for if he used the Peafowl)

When it came to Nathalie's redesign, I put myself under a couple of limitations so it's not my favorite, but I still love how she came out

The first thing is that she has a cane, if you read her backstory you'll know she has chronic exhaustion but due to that she's typically in a wheelchair, on good days she's able to walk around with a cane

Her outfit I wanted to read as business but comfortable as (despite how insane he is) Gabriel isn't going to force Nathalie to be uncomfortable while working, so she's permitted to wear less formal clothes though she still likes to dress up

She is a lesbian because fuck the idea she does that out of love for GABRIEL and not Emilie, because as much as I love Gabenath, Nathalie has and always was in love with Emilie which is why she wants to help Gabriel

For Mayura's redesign, now known as Paon Aimant (loving peacock in French), I wanted to get rid of all the blue, so I made her leggings and boots a green-blue shade, I also kept her skin tone the same

Her mask is the first to not be a domino mask because I thought Nathalie wouldn't WANT to have one, so instead she has a one that covers her lower face (keep in mind, the Miraculous magic protects her identity regardless so this wouldn't make it any easier to figure out who she is)

I also made her hair short and blonde because it makes her look a lot like Emilie, the person she's doing this for, and I found it extremely fitting

On top of that, she's also taller than Gabriel and Monarque, this is because she wants that sense of power, and despite not having the height advantage when Nathalie, she has it as Paon Aimant

Her mask is very fluid, not only because she isn't anywhere near as harsh and manipulative as Gabriel/Monarque but also to further prove she's not doing this because she wants, but because this is the path she's been giving and she's (pun intended) flowing with it

[s1llydr3amscape]

Gonna be rambling abt Vanessa headcanons because I've been feeling unwell mentally. Sorry if it is nonsensical I just love rambling lol. :

-I headcanon Vanessa as wasain tbh. I just like him a lot so I made her half malay. It mainly speaks english and can somewhat speak malay. This is mostly because I feel like she'd be in online spaces a lot. Which significantly improve their english but made her malay worse (relatable).

-Her full name would have been like Vanessa Aaminah binti *dad's full name* but like they'd go by their nickname or just write it's name as Vanessa A. because people kept mispronouncing her full name and because she hates her dad. I chose the name specifically cuz in the iterations I know it means safe one/someone who is protected from all that causes fear. And I just feel like it fits her character especially when we got the protect posters.

-It's hair isn't naturally blonde. She bleaches it often because he likes to dye it cuz it's the most easiest way to do it if you got black hair. She has given herself a buzzcut before on multiple occasions. I feel like their the type to have different colored hair every week and if he ends up not liking it snip snip off you go. Don't lie and tell me she won't wear extensions. She does have an undercut tho because it likes to scratch it as like a stim.

-A lot of people are weird about family headcanons for some reason especially if they sleep on the same bed? Because I thought it was commonplace to sleep together in the same bed with family. Then I found out people got their own rooms when they're children which shocked me cuz I only got to sleep in my own bed at like 16. But Vanessa and Gregory shared a bed and snuggled together the first few months they live together. Eventually they managed to afford Gregory his own bed but he sometimes he still goes to sleep with Vanessa when he gets nightmares.

-Idk I love Vanny a lot I keep giving her the same pronouns and identity as me lol. A lot of her own experiences with both the games and the movie is to relatable. It uses like all pronouns and a few neos. He is bigender to me and a lesbian!!!! Also trans!!!! This bitch kisses girls!!!! I mold Vanny's gender and let it fluctuate and change because man I just love Vanny and enjoy giving multiple different interpretations for my other AU's also me myself is just also confused about my own gender. Sometimes I just wanna make Vanessa just use it/it's forever

-I remember when we first got the security breach gameplay and people said Vanessa was to mean because she got mad at Freddy for not being on lockdown. But like as the older sibling who has seen their lil bro get grounded and break the rules. I know damn well she got mad because she's overworked and two they both will get in trouble if this shit keeps up. I just feel like Vanessa unintentionally takes the older sibling role often due to her growing up too fast. Like it has to mask it's interests to appear normal. To fit in. Eventually though he gets to unwind and be childish again. Once Greggy comes into the picture Ness just gets to be silly and annoy him with cringe humor to Gregory's dismay.

-There is more but I feel like if I wanna talk about it properly I need to explain malay culture and rn i'm lazy and don't want ppl to get the wrong idea

[dogfags]

i think my life would be better if I didn't mind they/them being used on me but it quite honestly feels like an insult sometimes when people assume those are my pronouns or they think I look weird and androgynous so they default to those. I know I am weird and androgynous but it's just annoying to have to be like no I'm just.. a man. when I have put so much effort into passing and going stealth. and for sure even tho I'm just a man I have some weird nonbinary feelings as well. bc I'm trans and being "binary trans" doesn't mean u don't have a complicated relationship with gender or experience a bit of gender queerness. I mean I identified and lived as a lesbian for several years of my life so ofc a part of that is ingrained in me. idk, I kind of wish more people would look at gender as something you do rather than something you innately are. I don't think I innately am anything. I think I used to live as a girl and now I live as a man. maybe that makes me nonbinary or maybe that just makes me a normal person. idk. a lot of the trans narratives that have been popularized by the media are just so unrelatable to me I almost don't consider myself the same thing as them. I don't think I transitioned bc I was a boy born into a girl's body I think I transitioned bc I'd just rather live as a man and so I am. of course I also have debilitating dysphoria but yk. I don't think I was "born this way" and I didn't show any signs as a child or even give my gender a second thought until I was older. I got a taste of female puberty and was like nah I'd rather opt out of this whole woman thing. so I did. and now I'm a man. it's that simple to me idk.

but yeah if I liked he/they I think it would make my life better bc then I wouldn't be like. dysphoric and offended when ppl would default to they for me simply bc I have green hair. I don't even dress femininely almost ever it's just the hair I think lmao. or bc my name is gender neutral. I guess I am androgynous in the face also. I do not have a chiseled jawline although I do have a mustache and it is pretty dark now. idkkkkk man

I've lived so many lives already in just this one that idk how to classify myself anymore. I've been every letter of the LGBT and dated/fucked someone of every gender and sexuality lmao. but I still think it's kinda annoying when ppl deny my masculinity or maleness upon seeing me and default to they/them when I Try So Hard to pass. obviously it's not their fault, they've been told it's rude to assume anyone's pronouns and I am fully self aware of the way I look and come off. I almost feel like I can't even correct people when they call me they bc I know they're just trying to be.. nice or something. like how would I even go about correcting that, "thanks for the consideration but I am in fact just a man" ???

I think in terms of gender identity I can get behind the vibes of he/they being used for me in theory, but in practice it makes me feel like a freak. it's like a glaring neon sign that's like, you look WEIRD and idk what you are bc you're WEIRD. I know this shit wouldn't happen if I was cis and presented exactly the same as I do now. I feel extremely vulnerable and almost outed when people call me they. like it tells everyone in the room that I'm Different. and despite the fact I dye my hair crazy colors and have 7 facial piercings and stretched ears I actually do not want to stick out. I just love the alternative look. but I don't want attention drawn to me. I don't want people to look at or talk to me. it's a struggle I've had my entire life. id much rather blend in than stand out but literally everybody knows who I am and my name bc I just have an appearance that is so jarring. ugh.

I even had my instructor for some reason "correct" himself on my pronouns, he literally got it right the first time then went "er, they-" like ??? come on man. when have I ever told anyone I want to go by they here??? is the mustache not enough?? do I have to grow out my patchy ass stubble as well??? for a split second sometimes I think about going by he/they and then I am called they in real life and cringe so hard. rahhh.

[behind-xemnas]

Headcanon that Lissa, Viren’s Exwife and mother of Soren and Claudia is royalty.

There are only few things we know about Lissa. She was married to Viren. She is Soren’s and Claudia’s mother. She left Viren because he used a morally questionable dark magic spell to save Soren’s life. She originates from Del Bar. She moved back to her family after the divorce.

Of the few things we know I always was curious about the fact that one of the things we learned is, that she isn’t from Katolis. Because it seemes to be not really important. It seems to add not much to the narrative. Except it might actually be important?

We don’t know what Lissa looks like, but there are many people, myself included, thinking she might look similar to Soren (or to be more precice, that he takes after his mother). Claudia and Viren both have dark hair, while Soren is blond. People thought he might just dye his hair, but it’s confirmed in the short story “Rise Again” that his hair was already blond when he was a child (and I doubt Viren and/or Lissa would let a child around the age of 10 bleach his hair).

So, with that thought in mind: Soren takes after his mother Lissa, has blond hair, blue eyes, and her mother is from Del Bar. I had to think about the only other person we know from Del Bar. King Florian. And well...

Not gonna say they have almost the same hair and eye colour as well as similar facial structures when it comes to cheek bones, but... Of course they are not identical, Soren also has a lot of things he got from Viren, like the eyebrows, but I still think it’s interesting. He could very well be Lissa’s brother for example, which would make him Soren’s and Claudia’s uncle.

One would now wonder, why would Lissa leave Del Bar if she was it’s princess. According to Tales of Xadia, the next in line is not necessarily determined by blood, but by a Gladiatorial Moot. People interested in the throne will engange in combat. Which means, being the Kings brother, or the daughter of the former King (who knows), does not necessarily make her have the responsibilties of a princess, so she would be free to just leave if she so desires. But what is also interesting, that she returned to her family in Del Bar after the devorce. Which means she was there when King Florian was assassinated by Viren’s dust moonshadow elves, which makes me wonder how she feels about Xadia and Elves and what her role could be if she is to appear in future seasons (if she will even appear, which I desperatly hope, because I’d love to know more about her relationship to Viren, Claudia and Soren)

[blog-4-english-class]

Americanah first talk ._.

Alright, so first post (kinda) and I’m reading this book for my English class called Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and Ifemelu(mc) has a blog in the talking about everything, from race to just the little details of her life, and y’know what. I’m starting a blog too!

So, while reading I noticed the author’s use of having people care about Ifemelu’s hair. It's used as a sign of identity and her hair changes throughout the book, and it becomes more a focus the longer she’s lived in America.  In the beginning of the book, it talks about how in Nigeria her hair would always be braided, that was normal. (Hell, I thought it was normal and professional) but once in America she learns her hair needs to be relaxed and like white people's hair. straight and it’s either blonde or brown. I really feel like part of her dies when her natural hair dyes. But while she feels shame for her hair, her current partner in the book Curt loves her hair, she mentions that she is the first black woman that he’s ever been with and loves all of her; her stomach, her hips, her breasts, he sees her as beautiful, something she never even said for herself. She comments on him especially loving her hair, and how after she burns her scalp from trying to straighten it he soothes her. her hair is either seen as normal or a burden so far and to have him care is new for her and the reader,

 The symbol and importance of hair reminds me a lot of how Native American people have such a strong relationship with hair. (I’m using Navajo traditions as an example).  we all do but theirs is more spiritual and deeply connected with themselves and the world around them. It's an extension of the soul and should only be cut once after a first birthday. but once Europeans came and started to head west the trend of scalping became much more of an issue. and with residential schools’ children had to “look English” and dismiss their indigenous ancestry by keeping their hair short. The ideas of hair holding meaning is seen through every culture imaginable, and for some reason with American culture it’s to have everyone be condemned to the European standard when people should do what Court did in the book and comfort each other or themselves for the changes they feel they have to fake it to “fit in” or adhere to norms.

it feels wrong to comment on others’ cultures and traditions when I’ve only read a few articles and know what I know from this book, but I think that in Americanah there are so many minute details like Curt being some of the only positive re enforced on her appearance (same with Obinze but it’s not in the same context)  this is SO analytical it’s insane that I can’t make this more like a conversation but i just noticed how profound the similarities are in indigenous culture with hair and how america stripped it away from them and the same for Ifemelu and other black people in america having to conform to the same ideas, all this metaphorical shit about hair.

anyways guys I’ll see you soon for another little post That’ll hopefully get graded well :) -Lyd 

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IV

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.6k

Warning: a big helping of abandonment/daddy issues, lots of feelings, explicit sexual content A/N: y’all are gonna be so soft and then so mad lmao. 

The plan was to go to Mike's house then back to campus. You said you didn't have anything to do at your mom's, that a long phone call would suffice, which is why Mike is confused when you ask him if you can stop by before going back. It's an hour out of the way, but it's not like he has anything better to do, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about your humble beginnings. 

 The house is in a decent-looking neighborhood, small, nearly identical one-story homes surrounded by cracked sidewalks. He has to be careful not to trip as you make your way to the front porch, pots of dead or dying plants along the edges of it. You shove your key into the lock, twist and open, then motion for Mike to follow. 

 The den is dimly lit, ceiling fan above with only one working bulb. A crime show is playing on the TV but there's no one watching. There is, however, another light pouring from a back room, and as soon as you drop your bag on the couch, a head pokes out from the doorway. 

 "Baby girl!" A shrill voice cries, and Mike sees you grimace. "I thought you weren't coming by!" 

 A woman walks into the den wearing long, cotton shorts and an old tie-dye shirt then pulls you into a hug so tight that it makes you cough. 

 "Mom," you take a deep breath as if to refill your lungs with all the air that was pushed from them. "This is Mike."

 He holds out a hand and smiles, but all your mother does is stare with round eyes and blurt, "Oh, he's a big boy." 

 "My fucking god." You don't yell or whine, just pinch the bridge of your nose and mumble, "Just shake his hand please." 

 "Sorry, I'm sorry, just was not expecting… You didn't tell me how tall he was."

 "'Cause it doesn't matter. Why would I—nevermind," you cut yourself off, face falling flat just like your voice. 

 Mike isn't sure if he should be flattered or offended or embarrassed, so he just ignores the comment entirely and says, "Nice to meet you." 

 You make your escape to the back, dragging Mike with you before shutting your bedroom door and leaning against it. 

 "Mom is a little weird, but you'll always know where you stand with her," you tell him. "Also, sorry about the house. She’s a teacher, so she’s usually pretty beat at the end of the day. Not enough energy to do a lotta cleaning."

 "Didn't even notice," he reassures you. 

 Mike unpacks his bag next to you, and you gather the dirty clothes from both yours and his, balling them up and taking them with you out to the garage to throw into the washing machine. Mike should have done it at his parents', but as you were packing up that morning, his mother got all teary eyed and his dad just kept shaking your tiny hands and telling you to come back, so it just didn’t happen. 

 Back in the living room, your mom is sitting in an old rocking chair, and Mike thinks you'll take a seat on the adjacent couch, but instead you ask, "You need help with anything? Dishes or vacuuming or somethin'?"

 She looks up at you, fly-away hairs sticking out around her temples and forehead and responds, "It'd be nice if you could do the dishes. I just haven't gotten around to it."

 "Can do," you nod and walk into the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and making a displeased noise at the dirty plates and bowls inside. There's room for a few more, but once it's full and running, you just clean what's left in the sink by hand. Mike finds a towel, stands next to you, and holds his hand out for every scrubbed dish, drying it and placing it in the rack to hopefully be put up later. 

 "You hungry?" You ask when you're done and drying your hands. "It's almost one."

 "Uh, yeah. I could eat." 

 Truthfully, he's starving having only had a small breakfast at his parents'. He doesn't want to say that, though, doesn't want you making a big meal for him or apologizing for anything. 

 "Sandwiches okay?" 

 Something in your tone has him on edge. Your voice is too quiet, deflecting downward as if you're forcing each word from your mouth. 

 "Yeah," he nods. "If you get the stuff, I can make 'em." Mostly so that you can relax but also because there's no way he's gonna let you make him a fucking sandwich. 

 You shrug your shoulders, grab bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and condiments, then say, "You can make ours. I'll make mom's."

 He knows he's missing something, but he doesn't know what, and right now he's too afraid to ask. 

 He eats next to you on the couch, you and your mom watching TV as Mike tries to subtly glance around. Mounted shelves are decorated with dusty, mismatched figurines, cracks opening at the corners where the walls meet the roof. The brick fireplace is stacked high with plastic tubs and books, probably from your mother’s classroom, and the carpet has seen better days. 

 Mike isn't judging—not in the least—but he has a feeling he knows why being here puts you in a sour mood. The house feels lived in, cluttered and cozy and worn around the edges, but it's still empty somehow. 

 After the three of you are finished eating, you take the paper plates and dispose of them, then tell your mom that you'll be in your room. She gives you a soft smile that you struggle to return.

 It's a little more you in the bedroom, blue walls covered in old posters and collages, a quilt similar to the one in your dorm folded at the bottom of your bed. Your pillow cases are faded and covered in an old flower design that matches your sheets, and there's a small nightstand next to the headboard that's bare on top with wrinkled papers poking out of the bottom drawer. 

 "It's not much, but if you wanna snoop around like I always do, feel free." 

 Mike doesn't really want to, especially since you already seem so uncomfortable in what should be a safe space for you. The only thing he feels okay investigating is the old bookshelf next to your closet—mostly YA novels, some poetry books, an old set of The Lord of the Rings series, a textbook over rocks and minerals and another over volcanoes. Tucked away in the bottom shelf is a tiny booklet that looks like a photo album, and Mike has to fight the urge to pull it from its place and flip through the plastic pages. Anything to get to know you better. 

 You lay in bed, eyes locked on the ceiling, and Mike doesn't know what to do. There's a very small TV sitting on your dresser, an old DVD player next to it, so he figures he'll save both you and himself from talking by picking out a movie. 

 He fingers through them, not that there's a lot, just skims the spines until he pulls out a copy of Space Jam. You only glance at the screen when the intro starts, and Mike immediately zeroes in on the way your jaw sets and your brows furrow. 

 "I can pick something else," he tells you quietly. 

 You take a deep breath and shake your head. Slowly but surely your features begin to soften. 

 "'S'fine."

 "Are you sure?" 

 "Yeah. My, uh…" You swallow loud enough from Mike to hear, neck bobbing with the motion. "My dad and I used to watch it all the time."

 He doesn't know what to make of it or how to respond. In the months he's known you, Mike has never heard you mention your father a single time, and he's never asked in fear of what your response might be. 

 He moves your quilt to sit on the very edge of the bed, a little too tense as he heavily contemplates ignoring what you'd said and still switching movies. 

 "You can lay down, you know," you mumble. "I'm not gonna bite you."

 "You have before," he tries to act casual, but it comes out too stiffly.

 You laugh through your nose— "Suit yourself—" then get more comfortable on the mattress. 

 Michael Jordan gets pulled into a golf hole and the Loony Toons journey to retrieve his shoes from the real world. Mike is barely paying attention, more focused on the way your breathing evens out until it becomes slow and deep. 

 That's good. You could use a nap. 

 He watches you for a while, the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks and your lips part. You're all curled up on yourself, hands tucked under your chin, knees to your stomach, and Mike wants to slip behind you so badly, to pull you to his chest and lay with you until his heartbeat syncs with yours. 

 But first. 

 As carefully as he can, Mike stands from the bed and glides to the bookcase. He lowers himself in front of it, quickly finding what he's looking for and pulls it from the shelf. 

 It's a small little album, full of polaroids and old pictures cut in half. The first page sets the tone for the rest of the booklet, a photo of a very small you outside eating a popsicle next to a man that is most definitely your dad. You've got a similar facial structure as well as his coloring. Not to mention the expression he's wearing is one Mike has seen you make many times before. 

 The next picture is the two of you dressed up for an event. He's in a striped Polo and slacks while you're in a little checkered dress, a rose corsage on your tiny wrist. Some kind of father-daughter dance, Mike guesses. 

 Sitting on his lap at a fair, a chubby little boy a few years older than you standing close with a stuffed snake around his neck. A party where you're posed with an honestly frightening costume character. You in a bright, mesh jersey standing back to back with your dad, arms crossed, looking at the camera with your chins tilted upward. 

 They all look like good memories. The little boy in the fair picture appears several more times, and as he loses his baby fat, Mike sees the resemblance he shares with you and your father. It's too close to be a cousin—your eyes and mouths shaped the same—so he must be your brother. 

 Mike doesn't know how to feel about that because again, you've never uttered a word. As far as he knew, you were an only child, so why…

 He gets lost in the pages, watching you grow and pose mostly next to your dad. Smiles and laughs and silly faces with your tongues sticking out. Your mom is in some, brother in others, and then, you're in a cap and gown, grinning widely next to your dad who's beginning to gray at the temples. His own smile is barely there now, a ghost of what was seen in the previous photos. It's forced, it's sad, and it's the last picture in the book. 

 Mike's chest hurts. He wonders what happened, when exactly you'd lost him. Was it a quick goodbye, or had it been drawn out and painful? Had he been sick for a long time? He'd looked perfectly healthy in all the shots. Maybe a car accident that took both him and your brother…

 He flips to check for one last photo on the back of the page, but it's empty. However, tucked in a tiny, paper pocket is a folded up note that Mike stares at for a few solid minutes, debating the pros and cons of reading it. He knows he's already violated your privacy by looking through the album, and fuck, he's only been in your house for a couple hours at most—how has he already managed to tumble down such a humongous rabbit hole? 

 Your tiny snores reach his ears, and Mike gently pulls the note out, biting his lip as he unfolds it as quietly as possible. It's soft, like it's been read too many times, and the letters scribbled in all caps are beginning to fade, but the words are still legible. 

 It starts with your name, and then it's all apologies—sorry I can't stay, I have to leave, you don't understand how much this hurts me and so on. 

 Mike's eyebrows pull together the further he reads, blood pounding against the walls of his arteries, pulse picking up because he understands now.

 Your father wasn't in any sort of accident; he just left. 

 The letter ends with a gut-wrenching, You'll always be my little girl, and Mike nearly crumples the paper up to throw away. He resists somehow, simply folds it with shaky hands and slips it back into the pocket at the back of the album. 

 He's never been so mad at a stranger in his life. This must be it. This must be why you are—

 "Should've known you'd go straight for the photo album." 

 Your voice makes Mike's body jolt, his face heating as he turns to look at you with wide eyes. 

 "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

 You wave him off and prop yourself up on an elbow. "It's whatever."

 But, it's not. It's this huge part of you that still affects you to this day. Mike is no psychologist, but he has a pretty good feeling this is the main reason you hold everyone at arm's length. 

 "Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

 "What's there to tell?" 

 Sitting up fully, your gaze moves to the screen just in time to see Michael Jordan step off of the spaceship and onto the baseball field. I Believe I Can Fly is playing, and you're gritting your teeth. 

 "It's not anything that comes up in normal conversation anyway. I wasn't just gonna hit you with it outta nowhere. Also," you look back to Mike, eyes still sleepy, lips pulling downward in a frown. "I'm not the only one who hid stuff about my family."

 Mike sighs and quietly tells you, "That's different," as he closes the album and slides it back into the row of books. 

 "Is it, though? Is it really?" 

 "I..." 

 Mike shuts his mouth and actually thinks on it. He wasn't trying to lie to you about his home life or his heritage. He's only half Greek on his mom's side, after all, and he's only been to the country to visit family a couple of times—once when he was a child and once right before college. The culture is a little different over there, but it all seems so natural to him, especially after being raised to speak the language. 

 Honestly, he didn't ever tell you because he didn't think to, but Mike can understand the shock of walking into his childhood home and getting thrown through that loop. It must have been jarring for you. 

 It's a positive aspect of his life, though. It's not something that's damaged him or made him cold toward others. And, he hates describing you in such a way, but it's true.

 At least it makes sense now. 

 "I guess not," he shrugs. He's not about to fight you on it. 

 You stare at him for a while, waking up a bit more as you rub your eyes and stretch. 

 Then, you flop back down on your pillows. 

 "So. Any questions, Zacharias?" 

 He's surprised that you're asking, and though he doesn't want to twist the metaphorical knife in your gut, he still replies honestly: "Too many."

 A long exhale through your nose, and then you're patting the mattress next to you and grumbling, "Fine, I'll do my best, but you gotta come up here."

 "Why? You gonna need to cuddle afterward?" He can't help but tease. 

 "Fuckin' maybe, dude! We're about to get into my god damn trauma so—"

 Mike is up on his feet and flying toward the bed. He isn't about to sabotage the one fucking moment you're opening yourself up. 

 "Alright, what first?" You ask, trying to look bored, but Mike can clearly see that you're nervous. 

 "He left." 

 "Yeah."

 And then he gets the full story. 

 Your dad was pretty perfect during your younger years—a bit of a workaholic but still good. He took you to dances like the one you'd both dressed for in the photograph. You'd spend days at amusement parks where he'd carry you on his shoulders. He coached the basketball team you'd played on as a child.

 "Not saying he played favorites, but I was definitely closer to him than my brother was."

 The brother who developed a drug problem at fourteen, who was always either out with his little addict friends or at home where he would just scream at you and your mom. 

 "He went to rehab a couple times, but it didn't stick." 

 He left home at seventeen and hasn't gotten in touch with you or your parents since. 

 "I keep thinking one day we'll get a call from the police saying they found his wallet on a fucking corpse, but who knows. Maybe he got clean. Maybe he started a family somewhere else. He'd be twenty-five now."

 "Were you ever close with him?"

 You shrug. "We spent a lot of time together when we were really little, but even back then he was kinda a mean kid."

 It very quickly circles back to your father. Mike still doesn't feel like he has all the answers, so he asks through the skin of his lip, "Why'd he leave?"

 At this point, you've got your head in his lap as he sits against the wall. He smooths your hair back from your face every once in a while, something his mom used to do to him when he was very young that always soothed him. 

 He hopes it's having the same effect on you, thinks it might be considering you've had your eyes closed for a while now, humming now and then as you talk. 

 "Honestly, I don't really know. I don't think he and my mom were ever in love. Like, they just kinda settled for each other," you sigh. "They didn't have a lot in common. They had different upbringings. But, they didn't fight or anything—not in front of us. They were good at hiding the hard times from me and my brother. They just didn't… click."

 Mike bites his tongue, wonders if that was hard to watch or if you'd been too naive to notice. 

 Then, there's his second train of thought that's really just the voice in his head screaming, we click, though! You and I work! But he keeps it to himself. This isn't about you and him. 

 "I think maybe dad had, like, a 'stay together for the kids' mentality 'cause as soon as I graduated, he was fuckin' gone. And, I mean gone. We went to a graduation party the next weekend that lasted a few hours—just me and mom—and when we got back his truck wasn't in the driveway and his drawers were empty. He left that note you read on my desk."

 Mike breathes. Just breathes. He tries to make sense of it, how someone could just do that without a real reason. There hadn't been any explanation in the letter, only apologies. 

 "Have you seen him since?" 

 You open your eyes and reply, "Nope," popping the 'p'. "I don't know where he is, and he hasn't reached out. Mom made the drive to my grandma's—his mom—but she said she didn't know where he was either. Pretty sure she was covering for him, though. She was always kind of a bitch. You know, save for the whole paying for my college and all."

 Mike snorts at this, not that there's anything funny about the situation. It's just his first reaction. 

 You ignore it, moving on with an, "Anyway."

 "Anyway," he mimics. 

 "I don't know if you've noticed in the short time you've been here, but my mom is a little… off. Not super good at taking care of herself."

 "Is this why?" 

 "Clever boy," you show a bitter smile. "I didn't really understand since they weren't, like, in love or whatever, but… I think it was the betrayal more than anything. Like, it came outta nowhere, a big ol' slap in the face."

 "Plus, he left you behind," Mike adds, as if you don't already know. 

 Looking up at him, you raise your eyebrows and smirk. "And, now you know about my abandonment issues." The last part comes out in high-pitched, melodic syllables, a little song that would be funny if Mike didn't know it was a coping mechanism. It most definitely is, though. He can tell that you're the type to mask every issue with humor and sarcasm. It's how you've been dealing with him for the last several months. 

 "So, that's my story," you conclude on an exhale. "Now you know all my dirty secrets."

 "For some reason I don't think that's all of them," Mike pets your hair again. "But, probably the important ones."

 "Mm. I guess."

 The rest of the day is really just spent killing time. You cook an easy dinner that you refuse to let Mike help with, then sit in the den with your mom just like you did at lunch. A medical show is playing. Then a reality show. Then a game show. None of you say much of anything, and it's painfully awkward for Mike now that he knows what happened, but he can power through a few days of this if it makes you feel better. 

 Hours pass until you can retreat, and moonlight shines through your bedroom window, not that Mike needs it. He's memorized your body at this point, knows where to touch without even seeing. He makes sure to be gentle, to suckle and blow on your pebbled nipples as you card fingers through his hair and breathe faster and faster. 

 Leaving love bites down your chest and stomach, he sucks on your skin, gently grazing his teeth over every bruise. Mike wants you to see them all the next day—not a staked claim, just something you can't ignore when you look in the mirror, evidence of his feelings in every mark. 

 When you're finally nice and relaxed, he spreads your legs and licks into you, trying not to be too rough with his beard, but a few swipes of it over your clit leave you shaking in his grasp. You whisper his name, the common one that everyone knows him by, but then, rolling off your tongue like a prayer, you call him, "Miche," and he can't help the rumble that rises in his chest. 

 It should be strange. That's the name only his family uses, the one he was born with. He only simplified it so that kids in school wouldn't ask questions or make fun of him, and after that, it just sort of stuck. But, here and now, falling from your lips, it's so soft. So intimate. 

 You whimper when he sucks on your folds, making them swell, making them sensitive. And then, he's pushing his tongue inside of you and humming happily at the taste. His nose is bumping against your clit, and Christ, you even smell good to him—that ripe, tangy aroma that has Mike going a little crazy. He has to make sure he doesn't get too carried away. You can't make very much noise even with the rattling of the air conditioner, but as he slowly slides a finger into your pussy, he hears you moan around the fist you're holding to your mouth. 

 He stretches you just enough to get you ready, then he holds himself over you and pushes into your wet cunt. Your eyes are open, locked with Mike's as your brow raises and your jaw drops. It's erotic, something you've never done with him before. You typically either gaze somewhere other than his face or keep your eyes squeezed shut. 

 Tonight, though, you've been vulnerable and apparently want to stay that way for a little while longer. 

 He bends to catch you in a kiss, lips and tongues moving just as slowly as his hips, and when you reach to tug at Mike's hair, he pants into your mouth. 

 Those words are there again, stuck in his throat but slowly crawling upward until they're just there, pouring from his tongue, "I lo—"

 Until you cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

 He makes a noise of frustration, wants to protest because he's so deep inside of you, and you're holding onto him like you want him—truly want him, but you mutter once more against his lips, "Don't say it, Miche."

 So, he doesn't. He bottles the confession up and keeps it locked away, hoping like hell that one day you'll let him tell you. 

 After you climax and coat his cock in slick and cream, he gives a few more thrusts and comes inside of you, filling you with himself and wondering why you're so willing to accept him in that way but not in any other. 

 He's hurting again, like he did at his parents' as you walked around like you belonged there. Except it's worse now. 

 If you don't want him to say it, that means you don't want to say it back. 

 He stays with you for a few more minutes before pulling out. You leave to clean up, and while you're gone, Mike sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he tries to get it all out of his system, whispering it out loud to himself: 

 I love you. I love you, I love you.  

 You still let him hold you as you fall asleep, gripping his hand until you can't anymore, and as Mike drifts off behind you, he has one last thought—Just let me.

* There’s only three weeks left of the semester when you head back to campus, and you intend to make the most of every passing day. 

 You pay better attention in class. You study harder in the library to prepare for final exams. You go to a few more Pi Alpha Kappa parties, making sure not to burn yourself out. And, you let Mike fuck your brains out every few days. Sometimes it’s late at night after those parties. Sometimes you're too tired after the nights of drinking and end up just going to bed only to wake up in the morning and have slow, sleepy sex. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the afternoon when you both have breaks between classes.

 Neither of you bring up anything that happened over the break—meeting families, details about your childhoods, how much you learned about one another in general.

 Most importantly, neither of you address that first night at your mom’s, the way Mike had basically worshiped your body, how he’d come so close to uttering the three words you least want to hear. 

 Thinking about it still makes your chest tighten, your heart beat faster. Sometimes when you’re sharing his bed with him, back pressed to his chest, large arm slung over your waist, you think about why it is you’re so vehemently against it. The two of you already act like a couple most of the time. You walk with each other to class when you can. You stick to each other’s sides at parties. You fuck like rabbits and don’t care who knows about it. 

 And, though you’re hesitant to admit it even to yourself, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him. Mike is your best friend at this point. He’s insanely hot. He’s goofy. He’s kind. Yeah, the frat boy persona he puts on around his friends is annoying, but you understand it a little better now. Plus, he always takes off the mask when he’s alone with you, giving both you and himself a break from it.

 You know your time with him is quickly coming to an end—for about two months, at least—and whenever you think too hard about it, it makes you pout and huff. You’re not looking forward to your summer classes without him, but he promises on several occasions that you can call him while he’s at his parents’ if you ever need help with the material.

 It’s impressive, the way he’s able to act like nothing happened. You know it must be troubling him, but it’s not like you can do anything to soothe him. If he was really upset with you, he would have stopped spending time with you, but he hasn’t. He just bottles it up, keeps smiling at you all crookedly, and keeps satisfying you in the bedroom (more than satisfying honestly. There’s really not a word to describe what he does).

 He’s back to getting along with everyone in the Pike house, everyone being Erwin. It’s a relief just because you don’t have to put up with the tension between them, but it’s also awkward. And, a little frightening. 

 The brothers have Smash Brothers tournaments and movie nights, a few date parties here and there, and it never fails that at some point during the evenings, you find your neck prickling as it always does when you feel someone staring at you. You always hope it’s Mike. Fuck, you wish it was him. But, when you glance up and around, it’s Erwin. Every time. His deep blue eyes are trained on you, the corner of his mouth twitching upward on one side. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone or if he’s got Maddie or some other girl sitting in his lap. He's fucking shameless, and it makes your stomach hurt.

 You keep your mouth shut for the sake of the friendship but also for the sake of Erwin’s pretty face. If he and Mike ever got into an actual fight, Erwin would probably be able to get a good few punches in, but you’re nearly positive Mike would end up destroying him in the long run. That could get him kicked out of school. That could get him thrown in jail. 

 Finals roll around, and you manage to pass all of them without issue, even getting grades above the class average. You feel fantastic, like your long term goals might actually be attainable. You have a long road ahead of you, but your GPA at the end of the year is more than enough to raise your confidence. 

 Mike asks you to come back to his house for the couple weeks between the end of the semester and the start of your summer courses, but you turn him down, too scared of what might happen while you’re there. Acting like a couple in front of his parents will only exacerbate his feelings as well as yours, and you’d like to avoid that as best you can. 

 Even now as you’re standing outside by the Jeep, he tries to persuade you one last time, almost pleading, “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

 “Miche, I’m sure,” you tell him, trying to stay stern, but it’s hard when his sea glass eyes light up at the sound of his real name. It’s a habit you’ve gotten into, a bad one considering how much he likes it. How much you like it. “I already told you I wanna spend the free time I have at mom’s. I need to check up on her and… Probably clean, honestly.”

 He lets out a little grunt of disappointment, then nods. “Yeah, I get it.”

 “You saw what she’s like,” you remind him. “Someone needs to drop in every once in a while to make sure she isn’t, like, wasting away or something.”

 “Makes sense. I’ll be bummed, though.”

 “Be bummed all you want,” you smile. “I’ll probably still bother you over break. A lot.”

 He sounds terribly sincere when he mumbles, “You never bother me.” It makes your stomach flip in the way you do not enjoy.

 Mike sighs, taking in one of those deep breaths that makes his broad chest rise then fall, calling attention to it and making you bite your bottom lip. 

 “Alright, I should get going,” he concedes, bending down to kiss you too deeply for simple friends with benefits. It doesn’t stop you from humming into his mouth and smiling against him. You hold him by the back of his neck as he pulls your body close to his, his voice muffled when he tells you mischievously, “Don’t forget to send pictures.”

 It makes you laugh, and you lean back to swipe your tongue over his lips so that he groans and chases after you. 

 “I promise I will. Perv.” The beating sun is nothing in comparison to the way your body heats at the thought. You’ve sent him nudes before, but the idea of him looking at them from hours away, fisting his cock as he admires your body through his phone… It makes seeing him off even harder.

 After a couple more softer kisses, Mike swings into the Wrangler and pulls out of the lot. You stand in his parking space and watch him until he’s out of sight, then walk back to your dorm, dragging your feet the whole way. 

 You only stay at your mom’s house for a week, and just like you predicted, you spend most of it cleaning. She thanks you the whole time but makes excuses in between. You just reassure her that you don’t mind even though you do. She really should see a therapist and sort out the depression she’s been stuck in for a few years now, but telling someone they need professional help is easier said than done. 

 Sleeping in your old bed is much harder this time around. You're all too aware of the weight that isn't behind you, and most nights you lay awake for at least a couple of hours trying to imagine it. 

 Like you’d promised, you send him a few pictures, some of them just lewd selfies with your tits pouring out of the cups of your bra, but others are of your naked body in the bathtub, sometimes a shot of you with your hand between your legs. It feels wrong to touch yourself in your childhood home, but it’s necessary, especially when Mike sends you a few pictures of his own—one with his torso on display, defined abs absolutely mouthwatering and the V of his hips suggestively leading into mesh shorts. Another is of him in the gray joggers he wears all the time, the ones that always show off his cock. 

 He’s so fucking hot it atually hurts, makes your pussy throb as you crave his touch. It’s an awful feeling honestly, but even worse than that is the way you miss him. You aren’t supposed to miss him. You’re just supposed to be friends who have sex. Nothing more than that.

 It's why you’re glad to go back to school. Your classes will distract you, keep you from thinking about him too much. The semester is shorter during the summer, so you have to work even harder than you do during fall and spring. You don’t really think it’ll be a problem since you’re trying to cram your brain full of anything other than Mike which is great motivation for studying. 

 Nothing is gonna get you off track, you tell yourself. Nothing will interfere with your studies. That’s the plan.

 Then, you meet Zeke Jaeger. 

* You're studying in the library. It seems like you spend most of your time here, nice and quiet and empty. The campus isn't nearly as busy in the summer as it is during the rest of the school year. No parties, no sporting events, just you alone with your books. 

 It's nice. Most of the time. A little boring but mostly nice. 

 Your eyes are getting tired, and when you check your phone, you realize why. It's almost eleven PM, meaning you've been studying for about six hours. You've had longer nights, usually spent on the phone getting quizzed on the information you're learning with a few breaks in between, but that wasn't the case tonight as Mike had to spend the day with family from out of town. 

 It's okay. You're supposed to be distancing yourself anyway. 

 Taking a deep breath, you pack up your books and slide your laptop into your bag, then stand and swing it over your shoulder. 

 The strap is too long. The bag swings too hard, and your heart sinks when you hear a little grunt followed by a, "Agh, hot!" 

 Turning with wide eyes, you immediately start apologizing, "I'm so sorry, oh my god, fuck, I'm so sorry!"

 A head of light blond hair looks up from the brown stain on his white t-shirt, icy blue eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses, but when he sees the mortification on your face, his own expression softens, and he chuckles. 

 "It's fine. You can calm down."

 You're still breathing heavily, guilt making your hands shake, but he really doesn't look angry. In fact, he's grinning now, eyebrows raised like he's amused. 

 The longer you stare at him, the more familiar he looks. You're pretty sure you've seen him before. Many times before, actually, and then it clicks that this guy is on the front page of the school website. You see him every fucking time you log in, looking much more stern than he does now. Baseball hat and jersey, mitt on one hand as he hides his other in it, and yeah, you know him. 

 "You're Zeke Jaeger."

 He makes a face, scrunching his nose up and squinting. "Yeeeeah, I guess I am."

 Best pitcher in the college league despite being a sophomore like you. He's beaten the records of some major league players. 

 You don't give a fuck about baseball, have never even been to any of the school's games, but you've been hearing about Zeke since the last season. You've learned to tune it out because, again, no shits given (and also you're much more partial to lacrosse now), but he's hard to ignore when he's staring you right in the face. 

 "Well, uh," you try to act casual. It's something you're pretty good at these days. "Cool."

 He snorts, picking his shirt off his chest to air it out like it'll help, then says, "I don't know your name, though."

 You run your tongue over your teeth, wondering why he cares, then introduce yourself. 

 "Oh, you're Zacharias' little girlfriend, aren't you?"

 Your stomach flips at the mention of him. 

 "We're not dating."

 Zeke cocks his head to the side. "No?"

 "No. Just friends."

 He hums but doesn't say anything, and your eyes are once again drawn to his chest as he fans over the stain. 

 "Okay, let me get you a new shirt or something," you try. 

 He laughs again. "I highly doubt you've got a men's shirt tucked in that bag of yours, sweetheart."

 "I—" you pout for a second, mumble, "Okay, yeah, fair point."

 "Another coffee, though," he muses out loud. "Wouldn't be the worst thing."

 You shoot him a finger gun and smack your lips. "On it. Where do you get coffee at eleven o'clock?"

 "I'll walk with you," he states more than offers. 

 Then, you're both leaving the library, leaving campus, and going to a little 24 hour cafe where you blow on lattes and cover the basics about each other—philosophy major, valedictorian of his high school class, playing baseball since age seven, etc. You should sleep. You should get ready for another long day of studying.  

 But it's hard to make good decisions when Zeke Jaeger is smirking at you from across the table like you're the most interesting thing he's ever seen. 

* Zeke gets your number that night. You're not exactly sure how, but he does. 

 Then he doesn’t text you for three days. It doesn’t bother you that much. You figure he has other things to focus on. He’s on campus to take a couple courses and practice for the upcoming season, so he’s probably just busy. If that night had just been a one-off, it’s fine with you. It was cool to talk to him, but your heart isn’t broken.

 These are all the thoughts and justifications running through your head when you’re in class on Tuesday and your phone lights up during the PowerPoint lecture. You glance down, expecting Mike or Hitch, but it’s an unknown number instead. Eyes flicking from the projection screen to your much tinier one, you slide to open the message and chew on your lip. 

 Hey, it’s Zeke. You have classes this afternoon?

 You do not. And, you are too quick to tell him that.

 He takes you to a little Mom and Pop restaurant, too far to walk so you end up riding in the black Bronco he drives, trying to convince yourself that it definitely does not make him any more attractive to you. Because you aren’t attracted to him in the first place. Right?

 You sit at a table for two eating paninis and fruit. Zeke asks how classes are going, you ask about practice, and as you talk, he gets that look in his eyes again, like you amuse him or interest him or something.

 It confuses you, and for a moment, you’re taken back to last fall at that first Pi Kappa Alpha party, the one you met Mike at when he tried to get you to shotgun a beer. God, he had been so obnoxious back then, always following you around and flirting and—

 “You listening, sweetheart?”

 Your eyes refocus on the man in front of you, his raised eyebrows and little smirk. “Looks like you’re a million miles away. Sorry if I’m boring you.”

 “No, no,” you try to defend. “I just zoned out for a second. Realized I, uh, got an answer wrong on the quiz I took today.”

 “That sucks,” he hums. “Anyway, I can stop talking about baseball.”

 “It’s okay. Just go over the last, like, ten seconds,” you say with a laugh, hoping your cheeks will stop burning sooner rather than later.

 Zeke chuckles and does just that, doesn’t seem irritated or put out. He tells you about how he has a new trainer this year to warm him up and make sure his throwing arm is in top shape. “I hope he’s as good as my last. Colt was always on it, knew exactly how hot to make the warm compresses and how cold to make the ice packs. Stuff like that. He learned my needs.”

 You both laugh, and if it was anyone else, you’d have an innuendo sliding off your tongue, but for some reason, you don’t think Zeke would want to hear it, like he’d be unimpressed with your vulgar humor. 

 Back at the college, he drives you to your dorm, explaining that he lives in the apartments on the other side of campus and wouldn’t want to make you walk that far. Then, as you slide out of the Bronco, he stops you with a smooth, “Hey,” that makes you look over your shoulder at him. “Make sure you save my number in your phone, okay? I’ll text you soon.”

 The way your stomach flips is worrisome, a feeling you’re only used to when you’re with…

 “Yeah, okay.”

 He grins widely and nods, then waits for you to get a good distance away from the car before driving off.

 No distractions, you’d said. It’ll be good for your focus, you’d said. 

 What a fucking joke. 

*

Mike has to help you with some homework that weekend. You can hear his smile through the phone, snort when he makes his little nerd jokes, then sigh when he gets to the actual subject and explains it to you without a problem. His brain is incredible, and when you think about it too hard, it makes you warm inside. 

 “You’re so fucking smart. Why don’t you let people know?”

 “Maybe I just want you to know,” he chuckles. “You think I wanna spend my days tutoring every idiot who needs help?”

 “Miche, did you just call me an idiot?”

 You hear another breathy laugh followed by a sigh. “I have many, many names for you, but ‘idiot’ isn’t one of them.”

 “Oh yeah?” You play. “And, what might those other names be?”

 He lists a few, all of them making your face flush and your body tingle, and before you know it, you’ve got your pants off and your fingers between your legs. You can hear Mike’s heavy breathing on the other end, the wet sound of his hand stroking his lubricated cock, and when you reach your climax, you moan out your usual, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Miche.” 

 He tumbles down right behind you, panting and telling you in a voice of disbelief, “Jesus, it just keeps coming.” It makes the pulses of your orgasm even stronger, remembrance of all the times he’s painted you in white, and God, you are so ready for him to get back to the school.

 Then, there’s the voice in the back of your head that makes you think maybe it’s better that he’s gone for now, that he might not be too pleased that you’re spending time with another guy. But, it’s not like things with Zeke are going anywhere. You wouldn’t even call him a friend. You text on and off, have brunch or lunch or coffee depending on the time of day. 

 And, yeah, he calls you pet names, tells you that you look nice even when you’re just in leggings and a t-shirt, talks about his family and…

 Okay, it could potentially lead to something more, but it’s only been a week, and considering his golden boy status, he could have anyone he wants, so why would he even be interested in you in any way, shape, or form?

 Naturally, your thoughts circle back to Mike and the way he could have any girl on his arm, but he still chooses to spend time with you. To fuck you. To nearly confess his feelings to you. You have to wonder if you’re emitting some kind of scent or beacon, if there’s a sign hanging above your head with an arrow pointing down. Sports gods, come get a piece. 

 If only you’d never gone to that party. If you had just kept your head down like you had freshman year. Your life would be so much easier now.

 But now you’re in Zeke’s apartment listening to him rant about some philosopher you’ve never even heard of. He’s gesturing with his hands, flipping curling, blond bangs from his face, and whenever he pauses to think, he scratches his beard. He’s very fond of the white t-shirts and jeans get-up, sometimes switches it up and wears a button down under a sweater vest. Both looks are becoming of him no matter how much you try to deny it, but when he drops down onto the couch next to you and peers into your god damn soul with those piercing, blue eyes, you have to choke back a dreamy sigh.

 What is happening to you?

 “So, what do you think about it?” He asks, looking hopeful that you might have some insight on this matter.

 But, you simply laugh and shake your head. “Zeke,” you start. “I’m gonna be real honest with you here. I didn’t understand a fucking thing you just said.”

 You assume he’ll be disappointed, maybe tire of you since you can’t be as intellectually stimulating as he’d like you to, but Zeke exhales in a lighthearted sort of way, shows one of those amused smiles, and tells you, “You’re cute.”

 Anyone else and you would have snapped back, something along the lines of, don’t fucking patronize me, but with Zeke, all you can do is stare at him and let your lips part, silently asking for something you won’t speak out loud.

 His gaze moves to your mouth for a split second. That soft smile turns into one of his famous smirks. Then, he’s back on his feet and asking, “You wanna go to dinner?”

 You are more than relieved at the shift in atmosphere, but your heart is still beating too hard as you follow him downstairs and to his car. 

* Summer is passing quickly. Too quickly. The eleven week classes are kicking your ass, or are close to kicking your ass. Lucky for you, you have your own private tutor just a call or text away. Mike helps you, and you laugh and goof around, shoot off innuendo after innuendo, but the phone sex slows to a halt eventually. You tell him that you’re tired, and you are. It isn’t a lie. But, it also isn’t the full truth.

 Between classes when you could be resting, you’re eating out with Zeke. Or, watching him and the rest of the baseball team practice for the upcoming season. Or, sitting in his apartment, watching movies and chatting about all manner of things. Nothing important, of course—there’s no diving deep into your life story like you had done with Mike over Spring Break, but Zeke still learns the little things about you. Why you’re majoring in geosciences and how you became good friends with some of the Pike guys. You don’t give him the full details on that one—that you got blackout drunk and fucked Mike and just couldn’t stop. You don’t think Zeke would be interested in hearing about it anyway.

 You learn a bit about his dad and stepmom, the latter of whom he isn’t very fond of. He also has a little brother who’ll be attending the college starting this fall, and he’s interested in the Greek life. Naturally, you build PKA up. Even if there are some… Problematic people in the house, there are also a lot of really good guys. 

 “I’ll make sure to pass it along to him,” Zeke tells you one evening as you’re both sprawled on the couch, backs against the armrests as you face each other. It’s how he seems to prefer to sit when the TV isn’t on. When you asked him why, he had told you, “Just like looking at you,” and you didn’t know how to respond. You still don’t know how to respond.

 “Eren thinkin’ about joining any sports?” You ask now. “Does baseball run in the family or anything?”

 Zeke snorts. “Kid couldn’t hit a baseball even if it was on one of the t-ball stands.”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

 “I would say he’s more academically inclined, but,” Zeke sighs. “That would be a lie.”

 You can never tell if he actually likes his brother. Most of the time he complains about him, but every once in a while he’ll bring up something cute Eren did as a little boy, and you see a fond glimmer in his light eyes. 

 “Anyway,” Zeke waves off the subject and transitions to a new one—one that makes your stomach drop. “Are you gonna tell Zacharias about us?”

 You choke on your own spit, leaning forward to cough a couple times, then challenge him with a nervous laugh, “I wasn’t aware there was anything to tell him.”

 Zeke tilts his head, mouth pulling up as he raises his eyebrows. “Come on,” he chuckles.

 “Come on, what?” You frown. If you were with Mike, you both would have died at that. Come on my face, you can hear him say, and you have to fight a smile because there’s absolutely no way you could explain that to the man in front of you.

 “You don’t have to play coy, sweetheart. We both know there’s something going on between us.” He says it with such confidence that even if he wasn’t right you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. The assumption should annoy you, should make you scoff and leave, but instead you sit there staring, caught up in his gaze and cocky grin.

 “I—”

 “It’s okay, you know. Not like you’re alone in this.”

 Those questions swim through your mind again, all the insecurities that you’ve been sorting through with Mike, but now that voice is louder because that sense of trust hasn’t formed yet. You’ve only connected with Zeke over meals and movies. It sounds domestic, but despite your apparently obvious attraction to him, you still don’t feel like you really know him. 

 But, he draws you in, like a moth to a flame. You can’t help it. There’s just something about him that makes you want him to like you, like you want to impress him, like you want to be good for him. You’ve been trying to ignore those thoughts, but they’re much harder to fight now that you’re sitting in front of him, taking in his wavy hair and pale blue eyes, that ever present smirk on his face, the curve of his neck that disappears into his shirt.

 He could just want sex. He could just want a fling. Wait for everyone to get back on campus and drop you for another girl. You tell yourself you wouldn’t care; you’re good at keeping things casual.

 Wouldn’t it be fun to be his arm candy for a while, though? Let people look at you and whisper louder than they did when they’d see you and Mike together? You don’t care about status, about being in the spotlight. It’s more for the experience, dating someone who could teach you things.

 Mike teaches you things, that voice pops up again. He’s been helping you with your work for almost a year now. You can’t just overlook that. 

 “What, are you weighing the pros and cons over there or something?”

 You snort. “Maybe. We still don’t really know each other all that well, Zeke.”

 “Might I remind you that we’ve been hanging out all summer? Did you honestly think it wouldn’t lead to anything more?”

 “Honestly,” you mimic, “I never thought you’d be interested.”

 “Why wouldn’t I be?” His brow furrows like he’s genuinely confused. “You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cute.” 

 God, you can’t even count how many times he’s called you ‘cute’, how many times it’s made you blush over the last several weeks, just like it does now.

 Then, he pushes, “Do you not find me at—”

 “Of course I do,” you cut him off. “I don’t know who doesn’t, which is exactly why I don’t know where this is coming from.”

 Zeke sighs like he’s annoyed, then turns the hand on his thigh palm up and beckons you with two fingers. “Come here.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Your blood pressure spikes, breaths coming in little puffs that have no way of getting to your brain. It’s probably why you obey, rolling to your knees and clumsily crawling over to him. You stop short, right between his bent knees, but Zeke sits up, straightens his legs, and pulls you into his lap.

 More of that precious air leaves your lungs as you exhale too sharply, staring at him with huge eyes. You don’t know what’s happening, can’t believe it’s happening. It doesn’t feel real even as you rest your hands on his shoulders, even when he holds your hips and pulls you so that your full weight is on him, but fuck, you can’t say anything. You can’t make a sound. All you can do is wait for him to make his next move.

 “Why do you look scared?” His voice is just above a whisper, but at this proximity you can hear him without a problem. 

 “I don’t have a lot of experience sitting in men’s laps,” you manage, trying to keep your usual careless tone, but you doubt it works.

 “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

 You rear back, actually offended. “Excuse m—”

 That ire, however, melts away as quickly as it arose. Zeke slides fingers up your waist, all the way to the back of your neck to bring your face to his—your lips to his. 

 He feels different, not at all what you’re used to. His kiss is more demanding, hungry, and God, you still can’t breathe, can’t think straight because his tongue is moving past your lips, and you’re letting it, letting him taste you as your fingertips dig into the flesh of his shoulders. You lift yourself from him just a little only for Zeke to pull you back down with the hand still gripping your hip. He makes sure you feel him when he grinds up into you, the zipper of his jeans rubbing you through your little shorts so that you gasp into his mouth. 

 You both stay like that for what feels like a fucking eternity, biting and sucking on lips, stroking over each others’ tongues until you absolutely have to break apart. You’re panting now, body still tense on top of his, and Zeke stares at you with half-lidded eyes and shows the ghost of a smile.

 “Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

 The statement sets you on fire, so much so that all you can do is whimper quietly and lean in for more. 

  And, as you get lost in Zeke Jaeger, you decide for yourself.

I need to tell Mike

[ next ]

[une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir]

random thoughts about aegon vi and septa lemore

Apparently, it’s Aegon’s week. i don’t think i ever paticipated in these events for any character or pairing, but @agentrouka-blog​’s theory that septa Lemore is Ashara Dayne and that the baby switch was between Aegon and her rumoured child (instead of random kid) showed up on my dash today.

Lemore being Ashara Dayne and there having been baby switch like theorised would be fantastic, because she’d know a lot of stuff that is otherwise impossible to know. She knows who dishonoured her at Harrenhal (we all know Brandon, not Ned). She knows about Wylla, a wetnurse from the Dayne Household, who Eddard Stark and Edric Dayne both say is Jon’s mother (we all know Jon is Lyanna’s, so this apparent lie version being told by two different people who have nothing to do with one another seems to suggest a combined lie between Ned and the Daynes). She knows about Jon because Ned went to Starfall with him and (if baby switch theory is true), she can confirm Aegon VI is real.

There’s also the suspicious narrative choice of a “Targ” (not even, she has dark hair, not silver hair, even if she has purple eyes) getting with an impetuous Stark at Harrenhal and a secret child never really going anywhere. What’s the point of that besides shading Rhaegar plus Lyanna equals Jon? This I always thought was suspicious, but this theory would *poof* make it make sense.

TYRION III ~ ADWD

This is the chapter where Aegon VI Targaryen is first introduced. The whole chapter is like a “perigrination” to find him. I am of the opinion that Aegon VI is the real thing for a long time now and there’s evidence that might be the case in this very chapter where he’s introduced.

"How fares our lad?" asked Illyrio as the chests were being secured. Tyrion counted six, oaken chests with iron hasps. Duck shifted them easily enough, hoisting them on one shoulder.

This is shortly after the chapter starts. Not only Illyrio asks about Aegon, there’s also the imagery of six chests about. If Aegon is crowned king of Westeros, he’ll be Aegon VI Targaryen.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

"There is a gift for the boy in one of the chests. Some candied ginger. He was always fond of it." Illyrio sounded oddly sad.

This is often used as a clue that Aegon VI is fake. Illyrio is expressing some sentimental attachment, so there are theories that he could be the father and the mother would be some Valyrian looking wife he has. it has its merits.

On the other hand, Aegon VI is on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes his hair another colour, but most importantly in this passage, is Aegon’s fond of a specific sweet that what we would at first mistake for a father for the reasons pointed above gifts him with.

This is 1:1 what’s going on with Sansa, she’s on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes her hair another colour, she’s fond of a specific sweet (lemoncakes) and Littlefinger, who’s pretending to be her father and is very... emotionally invested... in her, gifts her with some (well, in parternship with her cousin, but the cousin is another matter).

By parallel, Aegon is real.++

Tyrion craned his head to one side, and saw a boy standing on the roof of a low wooden building, waving a wide-brimmed straw hat. He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of dark blue hair.

Aegon is inrroduced standing above the rest, literally high-standing.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

An older couple with a Rhoynish cast to their features stood close beside the tiller, whilst a handsome septa in a soft white robe stepped through the cabin door and pushed a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes.

This is actually what I came for, Lemore.

Why a septa would be described as “handsome” when that should have no relevance since she’s supposed to be chaste (I know, it’s Tyrion, but still)? Ashara Dayne is described by many as being beautiful, arrestingly so. If Lemore is Ashara, “handsome” is a good way to describe her beauty still.

Lemore has dark brown hair. Ashara is described as having long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders. More importantly, Lemore's first actions is push her hair from her eyes. Like, pay attention to this woman’s eyes, even though they’re not described ever (not even their colour).

TYRION IV ~ ADWD

Tyrion had drunk himself blind his first night on the Shy Maid. The next day he awoke with dragons fighting in his skull.

So yes, the night after Tyrion meets Aegon and his party for the first time, he dreams of dragons fighting. Take note these are dragons, not a fake dragon in whatever way and a dragon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

The clouds in the sky were aglow: pink and purple, maroon and gold, pearl and saffron. One looked like a dragon. Once a man has seen a dragon in flight, let him stay at home and tend his garden in content, someone had written once, for this wide world has no greater wonder. Tyrion scratched at his scar and tried to recall the author's name. Dragons had been much in his thoughts of late.

One of those clouds looks like a dragon. There’s no dragons with these colours BUT Targs have purple eyes and Viseryion, a dragon I believe is a narrative stand-in for Aegon VI, is described as cream and gold, so one colour here. Honestly, the important here is that Tyrion is associating dragons around Aegon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

Holy shit.

“Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes.

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

"A wicked dream, no doubt. You are a wicked man. Will you pray with me and ask forgiveness for your sins?"

Only if we pray in the fashion of the Summer Isles. "No, but do give the Maiden a long, sweet kiss for me."

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning.

"Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

Yeah, it’s Tyrion, who’d sexualise a rock, but this is a septa who deserves respect. Yet, this is how the writer “paints” the reader’s first interaction with this new character. These are always the most striking moments when establishing a character and sex imagery is what the writer decided to do.

Also Lemore not only knows that Tyrion’s fantasising about having sex with her and doesn’t give a shit, she laughs instead, gets naked to bathe, and doesn’t give a shit if others look at her naked body. This doesn’t feel like a septa. I mean, I remember Mordane and the zealots at King’s Landing who screwed with Cersei. They have nothing on this.

The way she puts why she has no problems with naked bodies and the like also suggest some kind of “free spirit” which goes well with the (disgusting, but there) dornish wanton woman trope and being dishonoured by Brandon at Harrenhal.

Another thing to note, is that Tyrion also clearly says the “Shy Maid” wasn’t named after Lemore, which suggests she’s neither shy nor a maid. This is confirmed by her actions and by...

The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

Lemore was pregnant at one point!

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. Being randy is the next best thing to being drunk, he decided. It made him feel as if he was still alive. "Did you see the turtle, Hugor?" the septa asked him, wringing water from her hair. "The big ridgeback?"

This disparity of behaviour between septa Lemore and any other septa in ASOIAF is VERY suspicious.  Note how Lemore has two mysteries about her already, she’s characterised nothing like any septa in ASOIAF (more like the tasteless “dornish wanton woman” sterotype instead) and a mystery child. What’s the point of that, if she’s irrelevant.

Compare how he Yandry and Ysilla couple is treated, where there are no bizarre things taking place that I noticed. Also Yandry and Ysilla are specifically said to be a pair of Dornish orphans. Why is the image of Dornish people here, along with Lemore? Suspicious, suspicious.

Lemore is “past fourty”. The asoiaf wiki lists Ashara Dayne as being born between 260AC and 269AC, which means that she’d be around this age if she had lived.

The imagery of a (false, but still) maidtaking a bath while men watch is the same as Florian and Jonquil song, an event that legend says happened at Maidenpool (close to... yes, that’s right, Harrenhal, where Ashara met Brandon).

"The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells.

"Septa Lemore laughed. Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

That’s not the behaviour of a septa and note the narrative acknowledgement that Lemore has secrets. She’s also called Lady instead of septa at some point in the narrative.

If this is Ashara, then Brandon met his match at Harrenhal. The waste, I can’t. What a sexy couple.

This chapter also contains Targ history as well as some Dorne (mother Rhoyne and whatnot). It goes well with Aegon is the real deal. But what really cinches it is the ending...

"It was him," cried Yandry. "The Old Man of the River."And why not?

Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

The Old Man of the River is a lesser god, the son of Mother Rhoyne. These gods are all associated with Dorne.

Aegon is real.++.

Tyrion VI ~ ADWD

"Even the bravest of your forebears kept his Kingsguard close about him in times of peril." Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa?

Who is she, really... indeed... Lemore’s identity clearly is important.

She turned back to Prince Aegon. "You are not the only one who must needs hide."

Why does Lemore need to hide? :)

[freddyfreebat]

Jack Dylan Grazer Discovers Who He Is in Luca Guadagnino's “We Are Who We Are”

After supporting roles in the It and Shazam!, the young actor shifts gears with his turn as a capricious army brat in the Call Me By Your Name director's new HBO series.

by Iana Murray / Photography by Nik Antonio  —  September 14, 2020

A few years ago, Jack Dylan Grazer took a trip to the movie theater. He was in Toronto and it was one of his days off from filming Shazam!, the DC comedy in which he plays the shape-shifting hero’s foster brother. He decided to watch Call Me By Your Name, and he immediately fell for it. Grazer took note of the director’s name that appeared in the credits—Luca Guadagnino—and turned to his mother.

“I want to work with him,” he told her. With eerie prescience, she assured him: “You will.”

Whether Grazer, now 17, has a knack for manifestation, or it was all just happenstance, his wish came true in the form of We Are Who We Are, Guadagnino’s coming of age drama which follows a group of army brats living on an American military base in Italy. Thematically, the show is something of a spiritual successor to Call Me By Your Name: Grazer plays Fraser, a tempestuous 14-year-old with a pair of headphones constantly plugged in his ears. He’s the new arrival at the base with his mothers (Chloë Sevigny and Alice Braga), and quickly forms a deep bond with his neighbour, Caitlin (Jordan Kristine Seamon), as they both wrestle with their sexuality and identity in the midst of domestic troubles and teenage debauchery.

“He’s an enigma to himself,” Grazer says of his character. “He doesn’t really understand a lot of the things he does but he’s so forthright so he convinces himself that he knows everything. He feels like other people don’t deserve his intelligence. But he’s also very volatile and aggressive at times, and not because he’s coming from an angry place but because he’s constantly questioning who he is.”

If Fraser is just beginning his coming of age when we first meet him, Grazer is inching closer to the end. Starring in enormous blockbusters including IT, he became the Loser Club’s resident hypochondriac at age 12 and a superhero’s sidekick by 15. His films have grossed a combined total of over $1.5 billion. Suddenly the stakes are multiplied tenfold during what are ostensibly, and horrifyingly, the most awkward years of your life. Every misstep is now being monitored, examined through a microscope of millions. (See: His 3.8 million fans on Instagram, to say nothing of the countless stan accounts.) Child fame is a disarming transaction like that: a stable career and all the other perks of being a celebrity, but at the cost of normalcy. That unalleviating pressure forces a kid to mature fast.

Grazer is acutely aware of this fact, admitting outright that he’s “not a normal person.” But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I became 70 when I was 7!” he laughs. “I don’t know if I really had much of a childhood. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to grow up really fast.”

Nevertheless, he’s still 17. When we meet over Zoom, his shoulder length curls are damp and disheveled (he just got out of the shower), his black painted fingernails contrast with his brightly-lit, white bedroom as he rests his face on his hand. It’s a Saturday morning and he looks tired: It’s his first week back at school, which has traded classrooms for hours of video calls reminiscent of the one we’re currently on. “It feels like the days are shorter because the teachers don’t want to torture their students by keeping them on a computer for six hours a day,” he tells me. “You do miss the social aspect of being at school.”

If you were to judge Grazer by what’s out there on the internet, you’d expect an anarchic and relentless bundle of energy. A quick YouTube search brings up results like “jack dylan grazer being a drama queen” and “jack dylan grazer being chaotic in interviews for 4 and a half minutes straight.” He trolled a YouTube gamer on Instagram Live. His TikToks are inscrutable.

But here, he’s incredibly earnest, as he excitedly talks about his skateboarding hobby (a skill he picked up after auditioning for Mid90s) and his attempts to learn the flute (“I need to learn how to read sheet music, but it’s like reading Hebrew!”). He’s calm and thoughtful, as if this project we’re discussing requires a shift in sensibility.

For Grazer, acting had always simply been fun. While other kids might take up a sport or get hooked on video games, he performed in musical theater with the Adderley School because he “just wanted to play.” His roles so far have been reflective of his carefree approach to the job: Up until now, he’s portrayed best friends with biting one-liners, or the younger version of the protagonist in a flashback. IT is a prime example of both. In the horror franchise, Grazer plays a neurotic germaphobe running from a fear-eating clown, but in reality, the film felt like “summer camp.” Both films never felt like work; he just learned his lines and got to hang out on extravagant sets with his best friends. Likewise, school amounted to being pulled off set by a teacher in between takes to cram in the mandatory hours.

But with We Are Who We Are, he steps into his first leading role, one that required him to convey longing and confusion through Elio-like physicality and subtext. It’s abnormal to talk about the show as a turning point for an actor who isn’t even a legal adult yet, but Grazer explains that the show required him to radically change his approach to acting. He spent six months in Italy (“It felt like I was in Call Me By Your Name.”) and built up the character beyond what was on the page in collaboration with Guadagnino. “His philosophy is that we know our characters better than anyone else—even the writers—because we are the characters essentially,” he explains.

In many ways, Grazer absorbed that philosophy entirely. He describes the experience less as a performance and more like a “rebirth”—perhaps even an attempt at method acting. Over those months in Italy, the distinctions between actor and character gradually became indistinguishable. “I had no other choice but to act and surrender to Fraser entirely and throw Jack Dylan Grazer out the window,” he says. “I would go out and get a coffee as Fraser and walk like Fraser. That was just me trying to get into [character], but then I slipped at some point and just became Fraser.”

One day on set, he looked at himself in the mirror, and the hardened kid standing there with a bleach-blond dye job and oversized shorts was unrecognizable to him. He could only see Fraser. While talking about his character, he seems to unintentionally switch pronouns, from “he” to “I”, as if the two still remain one and the same.

The process was so transformative that it forced him to re-evaluate himself entirely. “I never really struggled with identity before,” Grazer tells me. “But I think the show opened up my eyes to question myself. Being Fraser forced me to question what I wanted and what I stood for and what I believed in. At some points, the show bled into reality.”

When asked how he has changed, he takes a pause and a pensive swivel in his armchair, unsure of how to answer. “I think I was more ignorant before I did the show,” he says, and he leaves it at that.

Coming of agers are a particularly well-trodden genre, but there’s a naturalistic, raw energy to We Are Who We Are that is distinctive from what we’ve seen before. Each character quietly struggles with their own problems and growing pains—for Fraser, it’s his sexuality. Caught in a fraught relationship with his lesbian mother and an infatuation with another man, his story doesn’t tick off the familiar beats. His personal discovery is instead internal and intimate. "I think every single person born as a boy has this guard. It’s this guard that they don’t even realize they have, where they’re initially like, ‘Being gay? I could never.’ But we’re all born as humans who are attracted to whatever we’re attracted to," he says. "I think that’s how Fraser interprets it as well. Yes, he’s reserved and nervous about it in the beginning because he’s unlocking this new idea for himself. He’s figuring it out, and that’s what you see in the show: him coming to terms with this idea."

As our conversation winds to a close, I ask him if Martin Scorsese ever visited the set—his daughter, Francesca, plays the confident cool girl of the show’s teen cohort—and his eyes widen. “That was actually a really stressful day,” he divulges. Still, he revels in the memory, speaking so fast it’s like someone has put him on 2.5x speed as he shows off his impersonation of Guadagnino. The director was so nervous about Scorsese’s presence that production halted that day.

“Luca was like, ‘I cannot do this today because Martin Scorsese is on my set. I don’t know what to do, this is not good for me. I will have a panic attack before the day ends,’” Grazer says in his best Italian accent. “It’s like if you’re a painter and Van Gogh shows up.” 

Admittedly, Grazer is also a self-proclaimed superfan of the Wolf of Wall Street director, and afterwards, he got to spend several days with his idol, as they went on lavish restaurant outings in Italy and talked about anything and everything.

He takes a second to compose himself. A giddy, Cheshire cat smile spreads across his face. The kid in him comes flooding back.

“...Oh my god!” he yells. “I met Martin Scorsese!”

[babaleshy]

I'm Autistic

Because this will likely be a lengthy, wordy post about my self-diagnosis as Autistic as well as all of my experiences regarding Autistic traits, I'm going to leave a "read more" link so that you're not scrolling for ages just to catch up on your feed.

Ah, I see you've clicked "keep reading" or "read more" or whatever this site has it labeled as, now. You don't get to be mad at how long this is or how much of a waste of time reading this may be to you because you consciously clicked on the link. Therefore, I am exempt from taking responsibilities of eating up any bit of your time, including the time you've wasted reading this disclaimer.

So... Yes. I am. And it's a self-diagnosis right now.

You're probably thinking that I saw a Tik Tok clip, checked out a page on WebMD, and decided that I'm Autistic (this is in reference to a Tik Tok I saw last night that nearly made me spit out my drink because of how painfully accurate the "what people think self-diagnosis is vs reality" clip was). That is, of course, not the case.

A few years ago (likely 2018), I don't recall what it was I read online, but it made me go, "Oh wow, that makes so much sense to me," in regards to a neurodivergent trait. However, this was then I thought I had ADHD. My husband has ADHD, was diagnosed with it as a child, and because his dad forced the doctor (this was like, in the late 90s, early 2000s I think) to put him on Adderall and Ritalin, my husband does not remember 3 years of his life because he was a drooling, zombified mess. Why did his dad do this? Because his grades were bad. Did this help with his grades? No. Did his dad take him off the meds because he didn't get the desired result? Also no. My husband wasn't even informed on what ADHD was. He was simply told he had it and to take these pills. It wasn't until he (my husband) read the label saying that it could increase the risk of heart issues that he cussed his dad out and flushed all the pills down the toilet. Up until very recently, he wasn't sure if he actually had ADHD until he saw a YouTuber who was actually diagnosed with it display the exact traits he had.

But he didn't see this YouTuber when I thought I had ADHD, so my husband couldn't exactly relate, plus I didn't want to trigger anything with him on the subject.

But the more I researched, the more I realized I could be on the spectrum. It wasn't until 2019 that I was printing out articles, trait lists, etc. to highlight and put into a folder (which is thick and nearly bursting with what I've printed out to have a hardcopy of records highlighting the traits that I have, including traits my husband and my mom see in me) that I realized "I could have Asperger's."

Of course, I no longer use that term after finding out it was named after a n*zi, and I began to embrace the term "Autistic" instead.

But the thing that triggered me into going, "Wait, so it's not ADHD that I think I have, it's Asperger's?" was, like my husband, seeing a YouTuber talk about their traits and experiences. I had identical struggles, myself. (Through this same YouTuber, I also found out I'm greysexual, too! There's a name to describe my experience with sexual attraction! Yay!)

There are a lot of VERY SPECIFIC TRAITS Autistic people experience that aren't mentioned by the YouTuber or in anything that I've printed out and highlighted that I have found through various Tik Toks that I have personally experienced that simply further solidifies the fact that I'm definitely on the spectrum. When I showed the Tik Tok I mentioned earlier (I don't remember their name) to my husband last night, he was wide-eyed because the description of how that individual self-diagnosed themselves WAS EXACTLY WHAT I DID WORD FOR WORD HOLY SHIT.

I was already convinced I am Autistic, but each time I read Twitter threads of people's experiences with their Autistic traits, each time I watch Tik Toks or certain YouTubers share their experiences, it further solidifies that yep, I'm Autistic.

What's amazing is that my husband is very supportive. I'm extremely lucky to have married him. I've been a terrible masker but he loves me anyways. He never gave me shit for my meltdowns and tried to help me out, thinking I was just horribly overly stressed. Now that he knows why I've had the few outwardly noticeable meltdowns that I've had throughout our years together, he knows how to help me more, now. And while he's figured out my traits and what issues I have, knowing that I'm on the spectrum helps him make sense of why I'm like this, and he can help me accordingly whether it's to prepare for something in advance, help me calm down, etc.

(I should also add here real quick that there's a high chance I have OCD as well, but less of the compulsive actions and more of the obsessive thoughts, but I'm not entirely sure just yet if this is the case. I'm actually hoping to see someone about this but with the pandemic, I don't know when that will be.)

Now... onto the traits and experiences.

My Traits (that stand out with neon lights)(Will copy word-for-word a trait my mom or husband see in me and it will be typed in a different color.)

Having a folder that has all of my research I've obsessively looked up, printed out, highlighted what I saw in myself with one color (yellow) while highlighting what my mom and my husband see with another color (pink). I'm also using this folder to make this list as a reference because I sometimes forget certain traits I do have are because I'm Autistic. (I'm 32 as I write this, so when so much of what you think, do, and experience that you see is normal for you turns out to be an Autistic trait, it takes a while to get used to it and thus remember that because you haven't had a label for it your whole life.)

Despite being goth/punk, I dress as comfortably as I can. Textures aren't a very big issue for me, but what feels like strangulation of my body tends to be a problem. I cannot handle having the cross seams of pants feeling like I have a chopstick slowly impaling my vulva, or I can't stand how tight some shorts are that they pinch my hip joints.

I've NEVER spent much time grooming my own hair. It's either tiring, I"m impatient and want it done NOW, or both. This is why I have a Tank Girl haircut (all buzzed except for bangs), where I can basically "wash and go." (Husband does my haircuts and dyes and he's kickass at it.)

Eccentric personality; may be reflected in appearance.

Is youthful for age, in looks, dress, behavior, and tastes.

Usually a little more expressive in the face and gesture than male counterparts.

"May not have strong sense of identity and can be very chameleon like before diagnosis." (This resonates with me in the form that I never saw myself in ANY fictional character other than Tank Girl. My husband agrees with this opinion, but he also says he also sees a lot of me in Caulifla from Dragonball Super.)

I enjoy reading and films as a retreat, often sci-fi, fantasy, children's (sometimes), can have favorites which are a refuge.

Uses control as a stress management (like routines, rules, rigid certain habits, etc.)

Usually happiest at home or in other controlled environment.

I've been seen as "sensitive" by some, and mocked for crying a lot by others.

I struggled with social aspects of college and have 2 partial degrees.

Often have trouble holding a job and finds employment very daunting.

Slow at comprehending at times due to sensory and cognitive processing issues.

DOES NOT DO WELL WITH VERBAL INSTRUCTIONS; MUST BE WRITTEN DOWN

Special interests (I'll get into these later).

Emotionally immature and emotionally sensitive.

Anxiety and fear are predominant emotions (some of which might be due to possible OCD).

I do have some sensory issues such as visual processing issues at times, certain sounds, certain smells, food I think, and issues with sunlight and my goddamn retinas.

Moody and prone to bouts of depression. Both of my parents as well as my husband have described my personality as reminding them of a cat.

Mild to severe gastro-intestinal difficulties (some of which could be due to endometriosis, btw).

I stim a little such as leg-bouncing, foot-waggling, some hand-flapping, some bouncing, the "spine-shimmy," joint-cracking, or playing with my ears.

Prone to temper or crying meltdowns, sometimes over seemingly small things due to sensory or emotional overload.

Hates injustice and hates being misunderstood, which incites anger and rage.

Prone to mutism when stressed or upset, especially after a meltdown, likely to stutter and may have a raspy voice.

Words and actions often misunderstood by others.

Perceived to be cold-natured and self-centered; unfriendly.

Very outspoken at times, may get very fired up when talking about passionate/obsessive interests.

Will shutdown in social situations once overloaded but generally better at socializing in small doses. May even give the appearance of skilled, but it is a "performance."

Doesn't go out much; will prefer to go out with partner only (aka my husband).

Will not do "girly" things like shopping.

Takes relationships seriously.

There's a bit on this chart (some of you probably already know by know what chart I'm using here) that says due to sensory issues, one would either really enjoy sex or strongly dislike it. I'm in the former camp complete with a pretty high libido.

Often prefers the company of animals.

So there are the traits that REALLY stick out like a sore thumb. These come from a site regarding female Asperger traits or however it's labeled as. I have plenty more from two other articles I printed out with lots of highlighting, but the chart actually sums a lot of the definitive shit quite nicely. At some point in this list, I could tell I went "fuck it" and copied many things word for word anyways since I'll be talking about experiences later in this post.

But it was this chart that I'd discovered that I started to realize that I really am on the spectrum, and to triple check, I asked my mom and my husband if they saw any of this in me. The traits typed in green are ones I wasn't sure of and had to ask them if they saw it. I'm not always aware of how I am, who I am at times, etc. I also didn't want to lie about it, so I had to get second and third opinions.

Despite all of this, only very few people that know me IRL know about me being Autistic. This is because I was heavily bullied growing up and since I haven't exactly left my hometown, I really don't want whoever stayed in the area as well to either have more fuel and re-enter my life that way, or try really hard to relieve their guilty conscience and demand that I forgive them or some shit. I also don't want "Autism Mommies" to come at my ass either asking that I help their kid (I'm not fond of children so that's not happening, plus ableism is what fucks a lot of Autistic people over regarding of age but they won't take that for an answer) or that because they---a neurotypical person---have a child who's Autistic, then that means they know all about it and because I'm not exactly like their child then I can't possibly be Autistic. It's just a whole mountain of shit I don't wanna get into.

This next bit will be split into 2 parts. One will be my special interests, and the other will be my experiences from my past that are prime examples of being Autistic long before anyone in the common public knew what Autism actually was.

My Special Interests (Both Forever & Temporary)

The following list will have my special interests but with indicators in parentheses as to whether they are forever-interests (as in, I never lost interest in the thing) or temporary (meaning, it was short-lived be it by weeks, months, or a few years). This will be in chronological order, meaning: the order of which these have appeared throughout my life.

Barney (temporary; helped me skip preschool and become honor roll student in kindergarten though)

Halloween (forever)

the color orange (forever)

dinosaurs (forever)

Donkey Kong Country esp. for SNES (forever)

animals (forever)

Godzilla movies (forever)

monster movies (forever)

Pokemon (temporary; I still like Pokemon, but it's not as hyperfocused as it used to be)

Digimon (temporary; same situation as with Pokemon)

Dragonball Z (forever)

Sailor Moon (on-and-off)

Ultimate Muscle (Kinnikuman Nisei) (forever)

Freddy vs Jason movie (still like, but the hyperfocus was temporary)

horror movies (forever)

Transformers (temporary)

Dark Knight movie (temporary)

Harley Quinn (temporary)

Lobo (temporary)

X-Men (forever, but only certain universes, mainly the 90s cartoon, and the character is always Hank McCoy)

neon-colored stuff (temporary; kind of some sort of semi-rave/techno phase)

books (forever; this was when I discovered it's "legal" to enjoy books if you "aren't smart"; I may explain this logic I had later in the post)

sex/sexuality/sexology (forever on the first two, temporary on the last one)

BDSM (on-and-off)

feminism (temporary in regards to doing research and educating myself; I still hold the views I've developed as a result, just not obsessively researching this topic anymore)

anarchism (forever)

ecology (forever)

Pleistocene epoch (forever)

goth and punk stuff (forever after discovering what these things are all about for real compared to when I was in high school and had no idea how to ask, who to ask, or where to look this stuff up at in rural Ohio)

Hellblazer (temporary)

Serbian heritage (on-and-off)

bats (temporary)

arachnids (forever)

teratophilia (forever; finally have a word to describe this damn kink)

gardening (current; unsure)

Russian language (current; unsure)

DIY things (forever)

Towards the end, it may not be in the proper order thanks to slowly losing my damn mind being cooped up mostly in my room on this farm since moving back here in 2014. The two that are "current;unsure" are ones I have a hyperfocus in right now, but I don't know if this will be temporary or not. I certainly hope not, especially considering how useful these things will be. And while I have gardening as one of them, I haven't properly begun yet because I get empty promises from my parents where they claim they'd help me, not to worry about it, then get irritated when I ask where the help is and they suddenly can't give me the help when I told them I needed it.

I should also note that I don't exactly have an encyclopedic knowledge in a whole lot of these interests that are forever-interests because I'm normally exhausted just trying to exist with minimal trouble from people. I'm hoping this will change. The things I know I have an almost encyclopedic knowledge in would be Dragonball Z, animals/ecology, and... a-and that's it. That's really it. That's all I've got because Dragonball Z was so profoundly different compared to other cartoons I've watched in the 90s that it was a wonderful escape, and I grew up around animals, taking care of animals, and watching nature documentaries. The stress I went through growing up has caused my memory of some of that wonderful animal knowledge to be lost and what could be re-gained may be easily forgotten again, hence why I need to narrow my focus for what I'd like to be an ecologist for. While I love paleontology, I want to help the living world's ecosystems and environments, too. I'd love to go back to school for this stuff now that I'm more informed of who I am and what I want in life (as opposed to being forced to pick a college major while still in high school while I'm just trying to survive the concept of existence).

In terms of collecting things pertaining to my interests, a common pattern you'll see me have is a very slowly growing Hank McCoy collection. This is largely because there isn't too much stuff made regarding this character. (There also isn't much stuff I can find that involves Piccolo, Cyndaquil, Donkey Kong, giant ground sloths, etc. that isn't already snatched up by other fans.)

Now, I'm going to get into the list of experiences. Some of which will talk about my special interests, but I also really want to talk about my struggles, too.

Experiences That Screamed "I'm Autistic"

In gradeschool, I was friends with someone who probably wasn't actually a friend and her mom made her hang out with me since I didn't really have any friends. She has told me several times that she didn't want to be my friend anymore with some kind of hostile catty smile, but I just.. I wasn't getting it. Because there was a smile. Why say that with a smile? After all we've been through? Then she's back to being my friend the next week. She really wanted to hang out with the popular girls (yes, there were cliques in 90s American gradeschool) and has done countless things to sabotage our friendship such as telling me Barney is a fake, Donkey Kong was a real gorilla who hung himself, etc. And I believed all this shit, too, in an attempt to still be an acceptable friend. She even told me that I couldn't be a witch because I liked toads so much (toads were the only wildlife I excitedly interacted with in my back yard on a regular basis).

I love Halloween for many reasons, but one of them (aside from my favorite color being involved) was the fact that it was acceptable to wear a mask. I love (and still do) the idea of covering my face because I feel less "naked" to the world. So this pandemic had a small plus for me in the form of mask-wearing outside of Halloween has become somewhat more acceptable.

In 5th grade, another classmate who had more obvious Autistic traits and was diagnosed with Asperger's at the time was an asshole to me. They would constantly give me shit and bully me for whatever reason. When I finally took a stand, the teachers on duty at recess called me to the bottom of the hill, forcing me to look at them WITHOUT allowing me to have my hands up to block the sunlight that hurt my eyes, and were able to manipulate me into "admitting picking on so-and-so for no reason" because I chased them around the playground where a group of girls (the same cliquey assholes the former "friend" wanted to mingle with) had to group-carry me away. They're the ones who snitched and they gave me those same hostile smiles. That's when I learned that not all smiles meant good things. I was 10.

I sometimes "lose the ability" to ask for help long before the "help" I ever got in any circumstance was just me being met with frustration by whoever is trying to "help" me or I'm met with "sorry, can't help you there. (The former being with homework or school work, the latter being with going to authorities about bullies.)

Growing up, I was never girly (or girly enough) and I've tried to, but I failed miserably. My special interests would roar through and because it was too odd or different or annoying, it gave other girls fuel for bullying me with.

Regarding the lack of being girly enough, I was at a pool party with the former "friend" mentioned earlier and she started this "game" where she and the other girls would leap into the pool saying, "I love you, Leonardo!" This was in 4th grade and in reference to the Titanic movie, which at that point, I'd never heard of, because I was too pumped for the latest Land Before Time sequel. So when I leapt into the pool, I said, "I love you, Raphael." All the girls were confused, asked who that was. I then asked, "Aren't we playing Ninja Turtles?" Because the only Leonardo I knew of was a fucking Ninja Turtle, goddamnit. Who let you brats watch that shitty romance film anyways? Boring as fuck.

Aside from the occasional weekend visits or sleepovers at the former "friend's" house, I didn't get to socialize much, so I would spend most of my days (especially in the summer) watching what was on TV or watching from our very large VHS collection. During which I would make mental notes on how certain characters acted or what they said and try to remember that to mimic them in a social setting, which would be out of place because I'd be so focused on mainly the dialogue that once it prompts me to say the thing, they don't respond how I expect them to and then I'm at a loss.

I was very ignorant of music and didn't even know the concept of independent or underground bands existed. Plus, rural Ohio is a cultural wasteland. Otherwise, I would've gotten into metal, goth, and punk way earlier in life. So I thought that bands that existed were because television said so.

Speaking of an odd logic... If it was taboo or bad to talk about, I thought it was illegal. Thus, I thought any knowledge about sex was illegal and that it was supposed to happen "naturally."

I also thought that, because I wasn't considered as smart by my peers, some teachers, and even as such in the form of an insult from my parents from time to time (despite what they claim NOW), that also meant I wasn't allowed to enjoy books, because only smart people are allowed to enjoy reading. So therefore, it would be illegal for me, a not-smart person, to enjoy reading a book. So I had to focus on the pictures because if I enjoyed reading, somehow everyone would know and then I'd get into trouble.

I also thought it was illegal to talk about periods.

I socially struggled BADLY when I got to middle school because my brain was like... 4 years behind? How the fuck do people know all these bigger words? Or complex issues? This was also when I had to start suppressing ALL urges to cry because at that age, I'm not "supposed" to cry over everything. So I still, to this day, suppress it to the point of guaranteeing inducing a headache. Because I've always caught shit for crying.

Middle school was when I met an oppressive "friend" who was obsessed with me because she had a crush on me and was rather controlling of who I could and couldn't talk to and got pissy if I got close to making a new friend. Because I was desperate for a friend that wasn't like the former "friend," I allowed this abuse into my life.

High school was me just trying to survive. By the time I got home, I was too mentally exhausted to enjoy anything short of watching TV or whatever was rented from Blockbuster.

My brain was still feeling like it was years behind, and I struggled to keep up with whatever was supposed to be something I knew about, including the concept of masturbation.

Like I said earlier, anything sex-related might've been illegal to talk about, and because masturbation was still kinda taboo, I feared I'd get in trouble, but my teenage hormones compelled me to do it a LOT. It consumed my free time almost like an escape, a form of stimming, but I was shameful of it to the point of suicidal thoughts.

The former bullet was due to being raised in a christian household. My parents didn't have such views on sex like this, but I was afraid of being in trouble for asking, took to the internet, and caught some misinfo about how immoral it was. I mourned I'd be going to hell.

Speaking of religion, I thought it was illegal to change your religious beliefs, and there was only Judiasm, Muslim, and Buddhism outside of christianity (I'm Pagan, now).

While I was excited to get away from my parents presumably for good after high school, college was a new form of hell. The sudden, dramatic change in environment and lack of ANY preparation for living like an adult on my own caused me to mentally/socially/emotionally malfunction. I had outbursts I desperately tried to suppress, I felt stupid because everybody sounded smarter than me, I didn't actually want to go to art school but wasn't smart enough for anything else and never really bothered to better my artistic skills and thus felt like I shouldn't be there anyways, I struggled to fit in better, I had no idea how to function that certain habits such as neglect of my own dishes on my desk developed because I LITERALLY COULD NOT SEE MY OWN MESSES DUE TO THE STRESS I WAS EXPERIENCING. This was 3 or 4 long YEARS of this.

Attending art classes mostly run by very demanding (and demeaning) teachers while my art skills weren't up to par added to this stress on top of me not actually wanting to be THERE in the first place, just away from my parents.

I nearly ruined a friendship with a roommate because of my struggles. I'm not even sure if she is aware of my Autism because I'm afraid to approach her about it for some reason.

Plenty of times throughout my life where I'm loud and don't even realize it.

I've info-dumped on my parents, but right now they half or completely ignore me.

I've tried making eye contact, but it's like staring in the sun not in the sense of pain, but in the sense of by natural reaction looking away. When I force myself to make eye contact, I'm spending so much focus and effort into doing that to the point where I am unable to pay attention to what the person is saying. Instead, I stare at the mouth so I make sure I hear correctly the words they're telling me.

Each time someone is mad at me and gives me the silent treatment, and I inquire what I did to piss them off, they get madder because I'm somehow supposed to immediately know when I fucking don't. Then, half the time, they continue not telling me and I have to hear it from someone else. This further confuses me as to why they don't just simply fucking tell me.

I've annoyed people to listening to the same one or few songs over and over again. A lot (currently obsessed with the Sunset Overdrive and Tank Girl movie soundtracks).

I can "smell" the heat outside on a summer day.

I can smell other people's unique scents sometimes (especially when in someone's house; also experienced this in other people's dorms).

I can't remember what grade this was, but in high school, we went to some kind of space camp facility thing, and our class was split into two groups: one group was the group who was on Mars and ready to come home, the other was on Earth and can't wait to go to Mars. I was in the former group. My job in this little fun display interactive room thing was to examine the isotopes and report... uh.. I can't remember.. Report something that was off. Everyone else was dicking around with what they're supposed to do, and I was actually doing my job, and then said something, like I was supposed to, if I found something that was off (I don't remember the specifics). When the scientist who worked at the facility praised me on "saving the crew," I caught this look from the entire class a look I can't quite describe other than they didn't seem to like the fact that I did a good thing and was being praised for it instead of any of them (or they were shocked that a "dumb girl" like me could achieve this and get praise for it, I don't know.. hard to tell). This was a science class field trip, but despite this, I didn't have an interest in space, and still didn't feel I was smart. (Come to think of it, I think this was actually an 8th grade field trip, I can't remember.)

Just discovered this today: I'm actually very easily overwhelmed that could trigger a meltdown when I wake up. I don't know for how long until that point passes, either. But this could also be explained with how I've reacted to certain alarm clocks (the ones with the bells just induce pure rage in me). Either I will be on the verge of a meltdown or I'll have a fucking headache all day. Normally, I just wanna drink my coffee and either read or practice a little on Duolingo.

I don't always have enough room for a lot of info in my head for things that I like, so I have to carefully narrow shit down. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what to do about my urge to get my hands on some monster movies while making sure nothing else I've retained info for wanes. Not sure if this is due to stress or what. But apparently I have designated compartments for certain categories in my brain. If I get into monster movies, continue to work on my knwoledge on ecology and paleontology, and gain more knowledge about arachnids, that shouldn't impede on the "language" category, so whatever I learn in Russian will remain safe.

Interest "Webs."

I have what I'd like to call an "interest web." My special interests in one thing can lead me to having an interest in another. I care about nature, and I also care about paleontology. Paleoecology is something I'd like to dip my toes into. But because this all involves nature, I have an interest in botany (though it's still intimidating so I'm sticking with local native trees) and arachnids (after conquering my fears and learning more about them). So the web stops at arachnids there (no pun intended).

Back to ecology and paleoecology...

I have a major interest in the Pleistocene because it was just before we humans started writing shit down. Hints of that era echoes within our current environment, from the pronghorn being "unnecessarily" fast (due to miracynonyx, the "American cheetah," which is now an extinct cat) to avocados not seeding like they should without human assistance as well as the yucca trees (Joshua trees) going into retreat thanks to the absence of giant ground sloths.

But the planet is warming, and we could use all the help from plants that we get, especially when it comes to making sure that permafrost stays frozen. So there's this "Pleistocene Park" project taking place in Russia, and one day, if I get into the field of paleontology, I may want to chat with those involved in that project, but one can't expect every other country to know English.

There's also FROZEN PLEISTOCENE MEGAFAUNA CARCASSES BEING FOUND IN PERMAFROST, too.

On top of all of this, Russia's northern lands will become habitable for humans if shit hits the fan and the planet's mostly fucked, so it's still nice to know the language.

See how all of these interests intertwine? (It also helps that since I am of Serbian heritage but can't find accessible resources to learn the language and I wanna know a Slavic language that Russian is kind of accessible. It also seems to be the only Slavic language "commonly" found in colleges when it comes to foreign language courses.) This is why I call them "interest webs." Not sure if other Autistic people have them, but it's something that I have.

The second one could simply involve Halloween, punk, goth, monsters, and teratophilia with Halloween being the gateway because my favorite color is orange.

Just thought this would be a fun thing to touch on real quick.

My Sensory Traits

I do experience some sensory traits, but they're not intense like some people would assume (unless I'm simply not noticing how intense they can be).

I can "smell" the summer heat, which was something I thought everybody else experienced but I'm wrong.

My retinas hurt in bright sunlight despite not looking anywhere near the sun, which I also thought everybody else experienced.

Drinks taste different or off in some way if they're not in a particular mug, glass, etc. that the drink is supposed to be in. (I have certain mugs that I enjoy my coffee in, but the other mugs? They taste off. I can't explain why. I have ONLY TWO acceptable little tumbler glasses for orange juice.)

Breakfast food does not taste like breakfast food unless it's on this one specific plate from my childhood.

Dinner can be iffy on certain plates, but the safest go-to is the knock-off blue willow plates.

Lunch is acceptable on anything, but if I'm having simply a sandwich, it must be on a small plate.

I have specific forks I'd prefer to use because of how they feel in my hand, how the food-part feels in my mouth, and how the fork itself tastes.

Gotta have cinnamon in my coffee. I just do. It's not coffee without it.

I cannot fucking handle hair snippets of any size for any reason on my body. This is why there is a rigid procedure to where my husband must buzz my hair over a paper-towel-covered sink (to avoid clogging the drain) while wearing a particular tanktop Harley Quinn night shirt, and then I must shower immediately afterwards. During the haircut, my skin itches like mad like I'm being poked by the hairs directly even in places where hair snippets have never, ever gone.

I'm overly sensitive to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes.

Also cannot brush teeth with cold water because it's so painful (this was LONG before I had dental issues and persists to this day). Even my tongue hurts from it.

I'm picky as fuck with candy. Trick-or-treating was sometimes difficult because all I cared about was either orange-flavored stuff, or chocolate. Only specific chocolates, too (Krackle, Mr. Goodbar, Crunch, Butterfinger, Reese's, that was it.) Skittles were okay, but a lot of the baggies I got had a LOT the red ones and the red ones suck. Can't stand the other candies. (But my tastes have changed since then, and I opt for European chocolate from Aldi's as they are far superior, especially Moser Roth's 70% dark chocolate and Choceur's coffee and cream chocolate.)

Speaking of candy, the Whopper's Robin's Eggs tasted better than regular Whoppers and I will never be able to explain why.

Despite loving orange flavored stuff, I have trust issues when I see an unlabeled orange candy because there's the dangerous chance it could be fucking peach flavored. *gag* (I like real peaches, but the artificial flavored ones suck balls.) Due to my dental situation, I cannot enjoy very much in a way of candy, and the only artificial orange flavoring I CAN enjoy is through Vitamin D gummies... And even then, EVEN THEN I have to worry about the fucking peach flavors if I have to go with a different brand because we can't get our hands on a bottle from Simple Truth.

Artificial cherry flavoring is death.

The ONLY flavored medicine that was acceptable to me was orange (of course) and those dissolving strips that were grape-flavored that they don't fucking make anymore because fuck me that's why. Everything else was peer-pressured to do shots kiddie edition.

The different colored coatings on M&M's taste different from one another and I cannot explain why. It's very subtle, hardly noticeable, BUT I CAN TELL.

Peanutbutter is fucking amazing.

The smell of peanutbutter is fucking not.

There are these frozen meals my husband gets for days he doesn't have energy to cook and one of them (all from the same brand) smells like fucking hell.

My husband's Nissan Cup Noodle ramen overpowers my incense despite what other household members say.

I love incense, especially dragonsblood, "coffee time," pumpkin spice, raven, and rain.

All of the autumn scents or scents associated with autumn are orgasmic to me.

The smell of artificial cherry is death.

I would love to have perfume or body spray of Play-Doh.

I can compare smells of some places to others, such as the library branch I frequent smells like my gradeschool, as do SOME of their books' pages, and when my husband and I walked through this hall-like tunnel-like storefront in downtown Pittsburgh, I said it smelled like my grandma's basement, and he thought the same, so we're in aggreeance that all grandma's basements smell the same. Except for my Baba and Deda's. Their basement smelled like they actually still enjoy life and had their shit together.

Speaking of gradeschool smells, my gradeschool had two directions of classrooms, one led towards the gym, but the hall off to the side was carpeted, had some nice colors, and held 2 kindergarten classes and 2 first grade classes. That section of the building had its distinctive smells. The other direction led to the office, the cafeteria, and the hall with the 2 classes of grades 2 through 5 plus the preschool and the art/music class was. The smell was different in all classes EXCEPT for the music/art class, and I never went to preschool so I wouldn't know what that smells like.

ALL PRINCIPLE OFFICES SMELL THE SAME. HOW.

I could smell when my husband accidentally put in cinnamon when he thought he grabbed paprika in a dish that I liked. He was terrified of telling me. That was a happy accident and it became a permanent ingredient. He was mortified and shocked that I could smell his whoopsie in my dinner he made me.

I can also smell the cinnamon they use in Little Caeser's pizza crust. Yes. They use cinnamon. But I was the only one to notice.

Honey is like peanutbutter: it tastes amazing. But holy shit fuck that smell.

Gas stations smell like death, sadness, and questioning life's choices.

No two people's car interiors smell alike.

I can smell when it will rain soon, especially if it's about to storm.

I'm the one who noticed that hairy white oldfield asters smell like cake batter.

Dominant yellow filling my entire vision can be sometimes painful.

I used to be able to "hear" the color yellow in my head so much I thought yellow actually made a noise. It was a particular shade of yellow, and it made this Playskool toy-like clicking bell ringing noise, but really obnoxiously, almost painfully. I don't know how to describe the shade other than "cloudy pastel lemon?" It looked like the fucking lemon-flavored medicine I had to take as a kid.

My parents tried mixing in this cherry flavored death medicine in with my orange soda thinking I wouldn't know the difference but I did, so I dumped it down the drain and opened a new can because that can of Big K orange was fucking ruined.

Orange is wonderful to my eyes. But it's a hard color for me to find when it comes to getting things in a particular color. My back-up colors are red, green, and purple.

The sunlight hurts my retinas, even when I'm not looking at the sky at all, but the pain intensity increases the further I look up on a sunny summer day. This has been like this since childhood. Prescriptive sunglasses shouldn't be fucking expensive and should be covered by healthcare insurance.

I have to try really FUCKING hard not to stare at someone's muscles in person because ugh... Good thing I rarely see anybody who's well-built. (No really, this isn't even really a sexual thing, I'm so fucking fascinated and once I realize "oh, so that particular muscle looks like that from that angle", I get a glimmer of hope that I MIGHT be able to draw something humanoid since I suck at drawing people.)

Orange trees as so pleasing to the eye, and these are much more socially acceptable to stare at, lest I'm in person and the property owner might think I'm plotting to steal some (luckily I've never been anywhere near a place that grows orange trees).

Neon lights are amazing and I want them to come the fuck back. I swear, stores were so much more enjoyable of an environment when they were common. Such lights improve my mood in a way I cannot describe. I'm no longer in a hurry to get home if I am in the presence of neon lights.

Sunny days during winter are painful because the sunlight reflects off the snow. I'm painfully blinded if I look outside or go anywhere.

I cannot handle the sight of someone having boogers/snot hanging from their nose, not the sight of someone vomiting, nor the sight of an syringe needle piercing flesh.

I cannot handle the sound of alarm clock bells. I have woken up in a rage and been in a bad mood I try so hard to suppress for a good portion of the day. If I hear an alarm clock bell now these days, I wanna take it and chuck it across the room regardless the time of day or if I'm already awake. It's not so bad if I hear it from a video. In person? That's starting a war with me.

Children crying or screaming (especially babies) are almost painful to me and triggers my fight-or-flight response.

The reason why I was the loudest mellophone player in marching band was to drown out hearing the fucking trumpets. And I did; I was louder than the trumpets. (I quit marching band my sophomore year but for different reasons.)

Much of the music from the 80s that gave it that sound that definitely said it's from the 80s is very pleasing to my ears.

I love punk music for its messages, lyrics, and energy, but goth always puts me into a headspace where I feel like I'm at home; I'm at peace and want to cuddle the monster under my bed.

However, some punk songs can hit deep or strong and live rent-free in my head, such as Anti-Flag's "Racist," Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl," and Skarpretter's "Nazi Scum."

One particular artist's voice I cannot get over because his is the first voice of any kind that makes me wanna fan myself is Peter Steele of Type O Negative. My favorite song, however, is "All Hallow's Eve" because his voice, the subject, and the lyrical content.

I'm able to hear something off in the oscillating fan my husband likes to use before he notices it.

I'm the one who can hear coyotes at night (doesn't help my mom wants to blast westerns to drown out the world and I'm back here in my room away from that shit though).

I can hear the branches scraping against the house, gently making creepy noises before I realize what the fuck it is, BUT NOBODY ELSE HEARS IT.

I can recognize the call of a robin because we had so many at the house I grew up in, and nobody else in this family fucking noticed.

I tend to notice the sound of the rain over all the house noise first.

I don't like tight clothing, which is why I prefer bralettes because my tits hurt.

If I could, I'd go without the bra because the band can sometimes suddenly feel tighter than it actually is, but because I have large nipples, I kinda need that bra for a bit of protection.

Shorts can be tight around the crotch, hip joins, and lower belly region, and that's a big no-no for me.

I'd prefer baggy pants, honestly.

Can't have tight footwear. No.

The seam at the top of socks or tights hurt my pinky toes if the whole sock/tights shift that way.

I already covered the hair snippet thing so since this is the sense of touch, another body hair thing is I kinda don't wanna shave my pits anymore because they are extremely itchy when they grow back. HAVE to shave my crotch because if I don't it gets horribly itchy, and my thick, fast-growing hair weaves into underwear, gets caught in pads, etc.

Ah yes. Pads. I hate them, but they're far more acceptable than a tampon or a cup because I have vaginismus.

Certain fabric textures are itchy as hell. There's a black shirt I have whose collar and cuffs are gorgeous but I have to wear something underneath to avoid feeling itchy.

Winter is hell for me here in the midwest, as I am very susceptible to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes. I become very slow, too. I feel like I can't get warm enough most of the time.

Air conditioned places in the summer feel almost similar, so I don't always wear shorts if I'm expected to go into, say, a Walmart with my husband to pick up everything. I'll shiver.

(We're gonna get into TMI territory here.) Can't masturbate by hand unless I've got a nitrile glove on because my brain only focuses on what my fingers are touching more than what my cunt feels.

Can't have any sex with my husband without anything brighter than low-light because things can be visually distracting in the room, or lights can suddenly feel way too bright to me. (Halloween string lights or those LED rope lights with adjustable brightness features and colors are excellent for this situation.)

In Conclusion

This is all that I've figured out so far. None of this hit me at once as a realization when I figured out that I'm Autistic. This took a while to realize it, and the realizations were mostly at random times through examples of other people experiencing it on the internet or through me going, "Huh, is that an Autistic trait?"

There may be even more that I'm currently unaware of or have forgotten to type here.

I apologize for how extremely lengthy this was. This took all day to type because of having to get up and do other things that needed to be done. One of the reasons why I really wanted to type this is because it's much easier to organize this on a computer, and I am absolutely shit at organizing files on my computer.

Unfortunately, while my husband is wonderful in supporting me, my parents aren't exactly all that great at it. Especially my dad, who is either vaguely dismissive or outright "forgets" that I'm Autistic (he honestly just... doesn't care, and tries to make things convenient for him at the expense of others most of the time). My mom... I'm not real sure. There are times where she seems to remember and others where she doesn't. I'm honestly wondering if they don't like knowing that I'm Autistic because that means my brother would have been as his traits were far more obvious than mine.

I hope that whoever is questioning whether or not they're Autistic has found this helpful at least in the sense that it would point you in the right direction on where to go next, but I would highly recommend checking out online Autistic communities, as that's where I've discovered that I'm on the spectrum.

[ichigo-daifuku]

To Dye For

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Relationships: Dabi | Todoroki Toya & Todoroki Natsuo, Todoroki Family Genre: Gen, Angst, Canon Compliant, Random Encounters, Character Study Word Count: 1.6k | AO3 Link

Synopsis: Natsuo encounters a mysterious man in the hair care products aisle at the grocery store.

Warning: The following contains mild spoilers for the Endeavor Agency Arc and the Paranormal Liberation War Arc.

Natsuo stared at his reflection in the mirror and frowned.

As a college student, hustle and bustle filled his everyday life. He attended classes, studied diligently, moved from one deadline to another, and participated in extracurricular activities. It was a lot to get used to at first, but the newfound freedom he had was nothing short of amazing. He could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Natsuo had spare time, he would usually spend it going on dates with his girlfriend or visiting Rei at the hospital together with Fuyumi. As of late, however, he had little time to do either. School activities had caused his schedule to become more hectic. The upcoming final exams would signal the end of the academic year, and Natsuo had a lot of tasks to accomplish in preparation for them.

He had been so preoccupied with his responsibilities that before he knew it, the streaks at the sides of his hair had grown crimson.

Growing up, Natsuo detested the crimson strands on his head. He didn’t mind how they stood out against his predominantly white hair at first, but as his hatred for his father grew, the sentiment spread to the biological traits he inherited from him. He loathed how those crimson streaks were the same shade as his father’s. In time, Natsuo despised how their resemblance was uncanny. People had always pointed out how his face and frame looked like a younger version of Enji. It was one of his pet peeves.

Natsuo would never forget how, for a long while, he was prohibited from visiting his mother at the hospital because she couldn’t bear to see him. He reminded her too much of Enji, even though his father was as good as a stranger to him. Natsuo wasn’t like him at all, but even if that was the truth, his physical appearance alone was an undeniable indication that he was his son.

When he was in his early teens, he started bleaching and dyeing the six streaks of his hair white. He had a way to lessen his likeness to his father, and he took the opportunity to do so. Now, truth be told, Natsuo had come to the point where he was unused to seeing his crimson hair. It was an odd feeling, but he had learned to live with it.

In retrospect, he should’ve requested a touch-up last week when he went for a haircut at the barbershop, but he had been in a rush. He disliked freeloaders and didn’t want to be one, so he prioritized attending the group meeting he had instead. With a sigh, he shook his head but didn’t regret his choice. He considered dropping by the barbershop again but thought otherwise. He could do it by himself. It had been a while since he had done the bleaching process on his own, but it was simple enough. He could do it.

Natsuo slipped his navy blue coat on and went on his way to the grocery store near his dormitory. The winter chill felt soothing and nice against his skin. It eased his mind and relieved the stress he was under, and he felt glad he decided to go out today.

At the grocery store, he proceeded to the aisle of hair care products and grabbed his favorite brand of hair bleach kit. He hummed to the tune of the music playing through the speakers and looked around, wondering if the hair bleach kit would suffice since he had the other products he needed in the dormitory. Now that he thought about it, he could do some grocery shopping as well. He should get a shopping cart.

A fellow customer entered the area he was standing on. The lanky man wore a hooded jacket that covered the majority of his face. He had his hands inside his pockets as he browsed the shelves.

The man seemed to be someone around Natsuo’s age, more or less. Natsuo was taller than him but granted, he was taller and burlier than most of his peers. He wondered if he was also a college student like him and, if so, if he attended the same institution he did. Natsuo attempted to catch a glimpse of the man’s face but failed. The stranger wore sunglasses, obscuring his features even further, except for the ebony hair hanging across his forehead. Although uncertain, Natsuo considered the possibility of this stranger’s covered-up attire being connected to his Quirk.

With a gloved hand, the man picked up a box of black hair dye and read the description on the packaging.

Oh, no, Natsuo thought, Anything but that one.

“Hey, man,” Natsuo called, approaching the stranger in a friendly manner. “I wouldn’t recommend that brand. The quality isn’t very good.”

The man stiffened but, nevertheless, replied, “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I used that brand when I dyed my hair blond when I was younger, and it completely faded after a few washes.”

“Why?”

“Well, as I said, the quality is—”

“Not that,” the man interjected, not bothering to face Natsuo fully, “Why would you dye your hair blond?”

“Ah, well… to piss my old man off,” Natsuo admitted.

“Why?”

“He has this… rivalry with a certain blond man, so he hates him. I thought it would irritate him.”

Natsuo was oversharing, and he knew it. His hand came up to rub the nape of his neck as he chuckled in mild embarrassment. He had nothing to be embarrassed about when he was just answering the man’s question, right?

To his surprise, the man probed, curious about his story, “And? Did it do the trick?”

“Nah.” Natsuo shook his head. “He just glared at me for a bit and went back to pretending I don’t exist.”

The man let out a humorless chuckle. “Figures.”

Looking back, Natsuo realized how petty of a prank that was. Of course, the man would think so, too. “Yeah.”

There was a lull in the conversation. The man shifted his head to look at Natsuo.

Natsuo was unable to see the man’s face due to his sunglasses, but he could feel his eyes as they traveled from the hair bleach kit in his hand and then to his hair.

The stranger’s shoulders shook as he stifled a laugh. He turned away and placed the low-quality hair dye back on the shelf.

Natsuo scanned the items near him and pointed to a certain section. “If you’d like a really good hair dye, this is the brand I’d recommend.”

“There’s no need.” At a leisurely pace, the man turned around and made his way to the shelf across them, grabbing a medium-sized bottle.

Hair dye remover, Natsuo noted, which made no sense to him. Wasn’t he looking for hair dye?

The man inspected the item in his hand and put it inside his pocket.

Natsuo’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him. “Hey, what do you think you’re—”

Ignoring his question, the man stepped closer to Natsuo, and with amusement laced in his voice, spoke, “Make sure to watch the news, okay?”

Natsuo froze. Why did this person seem almost… familiar?

“See you around,” the man said and walked away, “Todoroki Natsuo.”

Alarm bells rang inside Natsuo’s head. This stranger called him by his full name. He had never introduced himself nor was he wearing anything that would give away his identity.

The second Natsuo was able to collect his thoughts and get over his initial panic, he ran after the man to question him, but he was nowhere to be found. The security alarms didn’t go off despite the man stealing something from the grocery store, his escape successful.

Natsuo reported the shoplifting incident to a staff member. Since the man’s physical appearance was too obscured, the authorities had very little clue to his identity. They recorded the theft but could do nothing much about it, ultimately deciding to watch out for similar incidents from now on. When they asked Natsuo if there was anything else he had to say, Natsuo contemplated it but chose not to inform the authorities of the fact that the man knew his identity and was, most likely, after him.

On his way back to the dormitory, Natsuo clutched the handle of the paper bag of hair products in his fist, wary of his surroundings. He couldn’t help it. Having been targeted and attacked by a villain in the past, he had to stay vigilant. Moreover, why did that person tell him to watch the news? The crime he committed was theft—a petty one at that—and would hardly be worth a headline.

Still, it worried Natsuo. He sent Fuyumi a message subtly informing her of his whereabouts in case something happens to him. Not wanting to cause her unnecessary panic, he decided to leave out the details of the encounter he had at the grocery store. He’d tell her later, but for now, he reminded her to take care of herself. Shoto was at U.A., at least, he would be fine there. Rei would be safe at the hospital while Endeavor could handle himself.

Natsuo boarded the train and sat down. He set his elbows on his knees and shut his eyes, the pads of the fingertips of his right hand gently touching their counterparts on his left as he leaned forward and bowed his head, lost in thought.

Who was that man?

The question plagued his mind for a long time but held no answer.

Notes: This was supposed to be a humorous fic… but here we are.

When I was writing this story, I thought a lot about that panel in Chapter 302 where Rei said she “started seeing hints of [Enji] in the children’s faces,” and while Shoto’s left side was shown, Natsuo’s entire face was beside him.

I hope you’re all enjoying Season 5 so far. Thank you for reading! ♡

BNHA Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[thdorkmagnet]

The Queen of Hearts

Hey everyone! Happy Valentines!!! I hope you all are having a great day today! Since it’s the holiday all about love I had to do something Starco to celebrate the day! I’m pretty happy with the result too!! I made it as cute and fluffy as I could but with my typical splash of drama because I like it haha!! I really hope you all enjoy!! and a great big thank you to my very dear friend @kikithefox231 who actually helped me finish this fic up so I could get it out on time!! It was really fun to collab on the end and it makes it even more special to me knowing I got to make it with someone I care about! I may not have anyone romantic in my life to celebrate this day with but I got tons of friends, family, and fans who really help make this day special to me!! So yeah lots of love to you all!! Thanks for keeping me going!!

Star was insecure about her cheeks. At first Marco would have thought that was ridiculous, after all Star wasn't the insecure type. He was the self conscious one, Star was strong and confident and was never shy about her appearance.

But lately Marco had noticed a change in her demeanor, a crack in her confident armor. She had seemed to despise her cheeks. At first it wasn't obvious, just little things like shying away from cameras or not looking directly in mirrors. But then it started to progress. During winter Star had had a large rainbow scarf which she always kept wrapped around her face, muffling her voice and most importantly hiding her cheeks. Even when the weather didn't demand it she would insist she was cold and needed.

Obviously this had tipped Marco off something was wrong. And thus began trying to piece together what was upsetting his loving girlfriend. He played close attention to her behavior and noticed her tendency to cover her cheeks when out in public. If someone mentioned anything having to do with her appearance, no matter what it was, Star's hands would instinctively move to her cheeks. To anyone else it would look like Star was merely flustered, but Marco knew better. She was hiding. 

But the one that hurt the most was whenever Marco would try and kiss her on the cheek. Everytime Star would flinch as soon as his lips touched her skin. It was for only a second and she always covered it up with a bright smile and playful banter afterwards but it was still there. It still hurt. At first Marco had thought he was being paranoid but with all the rest of Star’s strange behavior that didn’t seem likely. He tried not to take it personally but… it was hard not to.

And then there was Star’s clothes. Her outfits, while always cute and adorable, had begun incorporating hearts into their design. Marco was almost impressed with the many, many ways his girlfriend had found to decorate her cute outfits in hearts. Dresses, skirts, bracelets, hairclips, boots, sometimes it was subtle, sometimes it was obvious, but there was always some kind of heart design on her person at all times. Luckily, this last clue had helped Marco finally figure out what was going on with his sweet bestie. 

Star missed her cheekmarks. 

Marco couldn’t blame her for that. After all, they had been a part of her for such a long time, most of her life, in fact. Losing them had to be hard, like she had lost part of her identity. Marco knew if he was to lose his hoodie he’d feel the same way. He loved Star no matter what, heart cheekmarks or no, but it was obvious losing them had started to affect her attitude towards herself. And that simply couldn’t stand.

Marco would not sit back and let his loving girlfriend hate something about herself. Not while he was around! She had helped him so many times grow more confident in his own skin, her mere presence filling him with pride and self-worth unlike anything he had ever known before he met her. It was time he returned the favor. 

And so Marco began hatching a plan, one that would help Star face and overcome this insecurity once and for all! It had taken a while for him to come up with the perfect idea and in the meantime he had been careful to not give anything away to his girlfriend. He didn’t want her to know he was aware of her self-doubt, not until the moment was right. And luckily for him, the perfect day to put his plan into action just happened to be close at hand. This year Marco was gonna give Star a Valentine’s Day she would never forget!

…

Marco made sure to wake up early in the morning so he could be up before Star. His bestie tended to be the first to rise, usually waking him up in the most loud but adorable way possible. But not today. Today Marco needed to be the one waking her. He got up before dawn, making himself a cup of delicious cinnamon tea before getting to work. He had a lot of preparations still to make and he had to have them done before Star got up around 7. It took some work but he managed to have everything done around 6:50. Time to wake up Star. He threw on his outfit for the day before heading upstairs to greet his girlfriend. 

Marco slowly creaked open the door and peeked his head into Star’s room. His girlfriend looked like a sleeping angel and he couldn’t help but stare at her peaceful face for a minute or so. However, he started realizing he was bordering on being a creep and so crept towards his girlfriend as quietly as he could. He tiptoed over to her, making sure to avoid the several bear traps she had set up around her room, before leaning over the bed so his face was close to hers. He grinned at the little drool mark running from her mouth all the way down her cheek and her almost non-existent snoring. He was tempted to kiss her awake but he had learned the hard way that it was better to wake Star up gently. Otherwise, she was likely to instinctively punch the nearest object. Marco really didn’t want another black eye. 

"Sttaaaaarrr," Marco greeted his girlfriend in a sing song voice. The blonde grumbled and rolled over on her side, muttering something about ‘taco cats’ and ‘needing more ice cream sandwiches’. Marco chuckled softly at his girlfriend, she was just too cute sometimes. Or all the time really.  

He tried again to wake her up, pushing gently on her shoulder, not enough to hurt but enough to her attention. Star mumbled something incoherent again but this time she actually sat up, rubbing an eye with the back of her hand. Marco could still see her eyes were clouded over with fog and she blinked at him a few times in confusion. "Marco," she slurred, her head lulling slightly to the side. "What time is it?"

"It's a little after 7," Marco explained, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

Star nodded and stretched letting out a loud tired yawn. "What are you doing up so early?" she asked before pausing, finally getting a good look at her boyfriend. Her mouth dropped open and she looked like she wasn't sure if she should laugh or be worried for her besties' sanity and Marco wouldn't blame her for either.

He was fully aware how ridiculous he looked. He had swapped out his old red hoodie for the day and replaced it with a bright pink one, covered in hearts of many shapes and colors. His jeans were a dark red and his shoes were the same except he had tied the laces into a heart. But it was his hair that seemed to be the most surprising to Star as she stared at it in disbelief. At first Marco had planned on dyeing the whole thing pink but thought better of it and just settled for a few streaks of pink that actually worked surprisingly well with his brown hair.

 And to top it all off he had painted pink hearts on his cheeks to match the ones Star had lost. He noticed her eyes lingering on those for a few seconds before she looked away. She seemed a little uncomfortable now, picking at a loose strand on her nightgown and when Star did look in his direction again. She seemed to be avoiding staring directly at his cheeks.

Then came the question Marco had been waiting for. “Marco, what are you wearing?”

Marco just shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “Just getting into the Valentines day spirit.”

Star’s eyes darted over his outfit again, confusion pinching her brow. “So is this a normal way to celebrate Valentines?” she asked, her tone light and curious which Marco took as a good sign.  “Cause I don’t remember any other Earth holidays making you dress up like this.” She gestured to his ridiculous outfit.

Marco gave her a fake hurt expression, putting a hand on his chest, right over where his actual heart would be. “What are you saying you don’t like it? And after I put in all this work for you!”

Star rolled her eyes, clearly seeing through his act. “Well I never asked you to do this, y’know” She put her hands on her hips but her grin had returned which made Marco’s heart swell with joy. It was working. “But yes, I do like it. It was very sweet of you to go all out for me.” Then, to Marco’s immense excitement Star leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He gently gripped her side in a protective and loving hold, returning the hug by placing his head over hers. “Even if you do look ridiculous,” Star added playfully.

“Hey, aren’t you always the one saying pink is my color,” Marco retorted. 

“Touche, Diaz,” the blonde said, gently gripping the front of his pink hoodie before pulling him closer to her. Their lips met and instantly it was like a firecracker had just gone off between them. Even if everyone claimed there was no magic left on Earth-ni, Marco knew this was false because kissing Star could only be described as magical. The way her lips fit against his perfectly, the tiniest of movements that sent electricity coursing down his spine, the way his stomach flipped and his brain turned to mush, all of it was too amazing to describe. Marco wanted the sweet feeling to last forever but allowed his girlfriend to pull away regardless. There would be plenty of time for kisses later.

 Besides, he still had a plan to carry out. This was only phase one, he couldn’t afford to get distracted by kisses, no matter how amazing they were. Getting back on track, Marco slyly hinted to his girlfriend, “Sooooo, I may have a tiny surprise for you, y’know, for Valentines Day and everything.”

Star’s eyes sparkled as she squealed in delight, any discomfort she had shown early was completely gone, replaced instead with the adorable, hyperactive energy she seemed to radiate. “Ohhhh what is it?! Tell me, tell me, tell me!” she asked, bouncing up and down on the bed, causing the whole thing to sway and nearly knocking Marco off the mattress. 

The hooded teen couldn’t help but chuckle as he fought to keep himself steady. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, princess.” Star instantly stopped bouncing and shot him a glare.

“Marco,” she hissed in a warning tone.

“Oh right, sorry, don’t use the ‘P’ word, I forgot,” he apologized, giving Star a sheepish grin.

And just like that, the smile was back on Star’s face as she gleefully exclaimed, “It’s okay! You can just make it up to me by telling me what your surprise is!”

Marco laughed and shook his head. “If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise then,” he pointed out obviously.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise,” Star said, while shooting him the most innocent grin she could muster, which was just too cute for words and made Marco’s cheeks heat up instantly.

The temptation to give in came a second later but Marco stayed firm, shaking his head and declaring, “No way! You’ll just have to wait and see it.” 

Star frowned and let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine,” she mumbled and crossed her arms in a pouting manner.

Marco held back a chuckle from the cute display, but still wanting to appease his bestie, he offered, “But if you really want to see it so badly, we can go right now.”

“Yes!” Star cheered, clutching onto his arm in a tight grip. Marco tried not to cringe but if she squeezed any tighter she might break his bone. Not that he minded, losing his arm to Star’s death grip was a small price to pay for the excited smile on her face. Her eyes were like little gemstones, their brilliant glow would put literal diamonds to shame and he could stare into them forever. Her smile was so wide now that it had caused her cheeks to puff out in that cute way only Star could do and if that wasn’t enough than the slight rosey tinge to her cheeks made Marco’s heart hammer so hard he briefly wondered if it was trying to escape his chest so it could show love and affection to Star itself. 

The young Latino had to clear his throat to regain use of his voice so he could add, “Okay but before we do, you need to get dressed.”

“Well, duh,” Star scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t exactly planning on going out in my nightgown.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I mean,” Marco said, a sly smile starting to spread across his lips.

Star was confused now, giving him a curious and slightly alarmed expression, “Then what did you mean?”

“I mean, I took the liberty of setting you up with an outfit of your own to wear.” 

“You what?!” Star exclaimed, gasping in surprise.

“Yep!” Marco grabbed Star’s hand pulling her up from the bed with him. “So come on, let’s go get you ready!”

“But wait! Marco!” Star shouted as he dragged her out of her room. She followed along but looked completely lost on what was happening to her. Marco noticed this and turned to her with an honest smile, hoping to convey his good intentions.

“Trust me on this, Star. You're gonna wanna dressed up for what I have planned.”

…

Marco led Star towards Britta’s Tacos keeping a firm grip on her hand since he had insisted she be blindfolded for the unveiling of the surprise. He was surprised Star hadn’t protested but clearly she was too excited to care, a bright smile on her face as she allowed her boyfriend to lead her through the streets of their home, putting her complete trust in him to keep her safe. However, his inquisitive girlfriend hadn’t stopped asking where they were going since leaving the house. “Where are we going? Is it the mall? Are you gonna buy me those cat earrings I was looking at last week? No wait, I bet you hid my present at Janna’s didn’t you? Very sneaky, knowing I would search your room for a present beforehand.” 

This was always greeted with the same response from Marco, a small chuckle followed by, “You’ll see.” Then Star would huff and pout for a few seconds before asking him again. Cycle, repeat. Not that Marco minded, he knew patience wasn’t a virtue for Star and he honestly found it beyond adorable. She was like a little kid and he loved seeing this side of her again. It felt like it had been a while to see her so relaxed and at ease. 

He took a quick sideways glance over his shoulder taking in Star’s new attire. He had spent quite a few hours picking everything out, trying to find the perfect outfit for his high-standards girlfriend, imagining how she would look in it but nothing had quite prepared himself for the pure beauty that he beheld. Marco was already well aware she could make anything look good, but… this new look might be her best yet. She was wearing a pure white top and a red, ruffled skirt, connected together with bright red suspenders that each had a tiny pink heart on them. They criss-crossed behind her back with another heart charm but that was unnoticeable from this angle. Her leggings were a light cream color covered in small star patterns with a pair of bright red boots over them. Her sunglow hair was as radiant as ever with a cute tiny heart hairclip placed delicately in her swept bangs. She had a bracelet on each wrist one red, one white, that helped to tie the look together perfectly. She bounced up and down excitedly causing her skirt to flutter in the wind and her hair to sway with her movements which somehow made her even more adorable. 

Marco had to look away to avoid being blinded by her cuteness, his cheeks now lightly tinged pink. His focus back up ahead though he smiled as he saw they had arrived at Britta’s while he was distracted. He could see the gathered crowd and colorful decorations he and the others had spent hours putting up and felt his heart soar. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for for weeks on end. He waved to everyone, before signaling them to stay quiet and they nodded in return. Marco sucked in a deep breath for courage before turning to face his girlfriend, trying to ignore her adorable outfit. 

Star noticed they had stopped and excitedly gasped. “Are we here? Is it time for the surprise?!” she asked, jumping up and down in place. 

Marco laughed and replied enthusiastically, “Yep, it’s time for your surprise!”

Star was thrilled to hear this, squealing and shaking her fists in the cutest way possible. He smiled at her animated response and slowly moved behind her to take off the blindfold, struggling to undo the knot since his girlfriend didn’t seem capable of standing still. Finally, he pulled the blindfold away from her eyes, shouting joyfully, “Alright, herrrre weeee goooo!” 

As the cloth fell away from Star’s bright blue, a cheerful yell filled the area, everyone screaming, “Surprise!” Marco could tell just by looking at Star’s flabbergasted face she didn’t know how to react. Not that he blamed her. The fast food stand had been redone for the holiday thanks to his and others’s hard work. The tables were now draped in bright pink tablecloths and the old, worn umbrellas that rested over them replaced with new more festive ones, each one covered in hearts and roses. The building itself had been painted a bright red, with tiny heart designs stenciled meticulously over the fresh coat. So fresh in fact, it still  hadn’t yet dried, causing the building to have a shimmering glow in the early morning light. And on top of that there were heart banners and confetti thrown about the place, seemingly at random, although in actuality it had all been very intentional since Marco’s organised mind had been the one overseeing everything. 

And then there were the people who filled the large space, possibly half the town gathered to celebrate. All of Star’s friends and family were present, Mewman, human, Monster, and everything inbetween, all there to help the blonde royal finally face her insecurity. Marco smiled gratefully as he saw everyone was following his plan perfectly, the entire crowd dressed head in toe in pinks and reds. And most importantly... each one with twin hearts painted on their cheeks. 

Star looked around at her loved ones, gawking awkwardly, caught in a rare moment of complete speechlessness. Marco couldn’t tell if it was from the shock of seeing her home and friends consumed by such a girly color or from all the cheekmarks but either way, it was obvious he had caught his bestie completely off-guard. The hooded teen could see the gears turning in his girlfriend’s head as Star slowly turned to him and asked in a startled tone, “Marco? What is all this?” 

Marco shrugged. “Just celebrating Valentine’s Day with my girlfriend at our favorite fast food place,” the hooded teen replied innocently. 

Star huffed, her cheeks puffing up cutely. “You know what I mean,” she murmured in annoyance. She gave a sideways glance at everyone. “I know you said it was a surprise but I was not expecting this.”

“Well that’s what makes it a good surprise,” Marco retorted, sliding his hands in his pockets. 

“If it helps, Star. None of us saw this coming either,” Janna spoke up from the crowd, surprisingly at ease despite wearing a pink dress. 

“Yeah, a head’s up would have been nice,” Tom grumbled from beside his girlfriend, looking quite uncomfortable in the fuzzy, pink bunny suit Janna had forced him to wear, his cheeks the darkest shade of red Marco had ever seen on his best guy friend. 

“Hey, don’t complain,” Marco scolded, wagging a finger in the air. “You all agreed to help out, remember?”

The only reply he received were some noisy grumblings and a few audible sighs from the crowd. 

“Plus, you look cute, Tom,” Janna cooed, giving her boyfriend a playful nudge with her elbow.

Tom just buried his head in his hand, sighing and grumbling about how stupid this whole thing was and how Janna had tricked him and many other things that were unintelligible.

“Wait, help with what?” Star asked, bringing them back on topic while giving Marco a questioning look. 

“Well, I was gonna try and bring this up more subtly but…. I know you’ve been self-conscious about losing your cheekmarks.”

Star’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by the accusation and he could see the fear already forming behind those sky blue irises but she quickly hid it behind a false smile. She scoffed, waving what was supposed to be a nonchalant hand in the air. “Wwwwwwhat? No I’m not,” Star nervously lied, trying to pass it off with a playful, albit nervous smile. Marco saw through it in a heartbeat but didn’t comment on it. He needed to be gentle about this. 

“Star,” he said in soft tone, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t have to hide it anyone.” 

Star chuckled nervously, her eyes flicking left and right as she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “Hide what? There's nothing to hide,” her voice was now noticeably shaking and she seemed to be struggling to keep up the charade, her armor finally cracking and her true feelings showing through. 

“Star,” Marco said again, a bit firmer but still gentle and reassuring. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted so desperately for her to open up to him and tell him everything. 

Finally, Star gave up the act, her mask slipping from her face as she stared down at her feet shamefully, biting her lip as she admitted, “Okay, fine. You’re right.” 

Marco hid the smile on his face, excited to hear Star actually admitting it. He had thought it would take a bit more convincing but they were making progress. His plan was working! He waited patiently for her to continue, knowing it was important for her to open up in her own time. 

The blonde royal looked over at the crowd of people watching them all closely and blushed, before whispering softly to her boyfriend, “Uhhh, do you think we can continue this without everyone… watching.” She gave a subtle incline of her head in the crowd's direction, before lowering her head where no one could see her blushing cheeks. 

Marco quickly took charge, turning to the crowd and saying in a loud tone, “Okay everyone! Can you give us some privacy? Me and Star need to talk alone for a bit.”

Most of the crowd parted after that, leaving the young couple to work through their problems in privacy. All but one hadn’t moved from his spot, the tiny bird man  wearing a dress scarily similar to Star’s glaring at the two in annoyance. 

“What about the tacos?” Ludo squeaked out. “You promised us we’d all get tacos!”

Marco let out a long sigh before pulling out 650 dollars in cash, handing it to the small bird Monster. “Here, knock yourself out,” the hooded teen grumbled. “Now leave us alone, please.” Ludo ran off laughing to himself, while Dennis followed tiredly behind him, shooting the two an apologetic look. 

Now that the two had their privacy, Marco turned his full attention back on his girlfriend, Star still looking uncomfortable but had at least stopped blushing and hiding her face. The hooded teen waited for her to say something but soon realized she wasn’t going to open up to him on her own and so helpfully supplied, “Soooooo, do you want to-”

“How long have you known?” Star muttered, interrupting him. 

Marco paused, before admitting sheepishly. “Awhile. I mean, I’m your best friend and boyfriend, Star. I know you better than anyone.” 

Star nodded and let out a long breath. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” She crossed her arms tentatively in front of her chest. “Just thought I was better at hiding it then I actually was.” A quick glance back at the decorations before, adding, “So what is all this stuff anyways?”

Marco shrugged, trying not to take offense to the slight bitterness in her tone. “I figured since you were missing your cheekmarks I’d make you feel more comfortable.”

“By showing me what I’m missing?” she asked, her voice still bitter.

Marco’s eyes widened. “No, no!” Marco shouted, realizing his mistake too late. “Not at all! I-I was gonna say I’d paint on new ones for you and you wouldn’t have to feel weird about it cause… everyone else would have it too, see?” He took a deep breathe, trying to calm his nerves, speaking in a soft murmur again, “I just want you to feel comfortable with yourself again. And if giving you back your cheekmarks helps then-”

Star took in a sharp inhale, “I don’t deserve them, Marco.” Her tone was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife as Marco flinched, his eyebrows creasing with concern. “Wha-What do you mean?” he asked, placing his hand on her’s, feeling her hands trembling in his own.

She tried to keep it all in, she squeezed her eyes shut and gathered the swirling thoughts in her head once again. “I don’t deserve them Marco, I-” she paused tentatively, biting her lip. “...I destroyed the magic and...it’s not fair Marco! It’s not fair that after everything I’ve done, after all the issues I’ve caused, after...everything....it’s not fair to miss some stupid old cheekmarks.” She felt something wet on her hands, she reached and touched her cheeks, surprised when she found her cheeks completely dry. “...Marco?!” she quickly met his eyes, a piercing pain shooting through her heart as she saw his eyes stained with dripping tears. She slowly let her hand caress his cheek, wiping a few of the tears off of his cheek. “Star…” he started, his voice getting choked up as he tried to form his own words. “You...You don’t have to feel like you deserve anything. You’ve already done so much for others and sacrificed so much of yourself to fix what you think is your burden...I know how it feels, to want to have a reason to deserve something...someone.” He gave her hands a small squeeze, the small gesture comforting the both of them. Star smiled, even with her own tears trembling down her cheeks. “You’re amazing Star, you’ve already done so much for others, and you don’t need to feel like you owe everyone this. You feel what you feel Star, it’s okay to miss them, it’s okay to feel like that part of you is missing.” Star let out a shaky sigh, “But...I’ve already caused so many issues for so many creatures and people, this isn’t as important as them.”

“Starrrr,” Marco cooed, gently pressing his forehead to Star’s forcing their eyes to connect, the couple's tears blending together into a puddle at their feet. “I want to pay attention to what I’m about to say, okay. Because what I’m about to tell you is the truth and nothing in my eyes will ever change it, understand?” The hooded teen waited for the small nod from his bestie before continuing. “None of that was your fault. None of it! You were just doing what you thought was right. And in my eyes, you're a hero! You saved everyone! Even if they don’t want to accept it, it’s true.” 

The boy pulled away and gestured to their friends and family stating, “Look around you! Everyone’s happy and safe thanks to you.” 

Star did take a long, hard look at the people in her life, the many, happy smiling faces that were all around her. She saw Jackie and Chloe sharing spicy tacos together while smiling and crying from the pain. She saw Tom wolfing down his own pile of tacos while Janna was busy taking bets from several gullible teens including Ferguson and Alfonso. She saw Pony flirting with some poor young man just trying to enjoy his breakfast, doing his best to ignore the annoying horse face.She saw Rafael and Angie playing with baby Mariposa, trying to get her to take her first steps using a taco as motivation to get her chubby legs in motion. She saw her own parents spending time with Eclipsa and her family, the two ladies watching while their husbands wrestled on the ground, Meteora clapping for her dad from her high chair. She saw Buff Frog and his kids enjoying their meal, she saw Oskar lazily handing out tacos to hungry Monsters, she saw Ludo stuffing down $650 worth of tacos much to his younger brother’s horror and dismay. 

And she couldn’t help but smile, Marco’s words finally sinking into her guilt-ridden brain. She had helped make all this possible. How had she forgotten that?

Marco noticed the joyful expression on his girlfriend’s face and continued his praise, saying, “So, you see Star, you aren’t the villain of this story, you’re the hero.” He gently turned her so they were face to face again, giving her a heartfelt smile. “And you deserve to be happy.” 

Star didn’t know how to respond to that, wiping away at her tears with the back of her arm. Marco’s hand was now on her side, giving it a very light squeeze. “And I want to make you happy, Star. Will you please let me help you feel like you again?”

Star nodded, too overcome for words.

Marco didn’t waste a second, quickly pulling out a small vial of face paint, the color bright pink and a perfect match for her lost cheekmarks. “Alright then, hold still, okay.” The blonde did just that, staying as perfectly still while her boyfriend worked on restoring what she lost. She could feel the small brush moving across her cheek, the cold liquid slowly drying against her skin. She could still feel some deep part of her screaming in panic, that this was wrong and that she was unworthy but she pushed it down. Marco thought she was worthy. And if he believed that, then she did too. She didn’t have to trust herself just yet but she knew she could trust Marco. And that was really all that mattered. 

She felt the brush pull away before moving to the next cheek, Star watching Marco closely as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and he stuck his tongue out in the most adorable way possible. She resisted the urge to smile, knowing it might mess up the design but she did feel her heart flutter in her chest from how cute her Marco was. And for the first time in months, she felt like she deserved him. 

“Okay, done,” Marco said, Star feeling the brush lower away from her cheek as her boyfriend finished applying the make-up. The hooded teen took a step back to admire his work before nodding once in approval. He pulled out a small mirror from his pocket and held it up so Star could see her reflection.

Star gasped as she stared at herself. She hadn’t looked in a mirror in- well, she didn’t know how long actually. She had started to hate the way she looked in them, her bare cheeks only serving as a painful reminder of what she had lost and whenever she would start to miss them that was when the guilt kicked back in. So she had made a habit of avoiding them. But now, she was staring at herself again, this time with the familiar pink, heart-shaped markings standing out brightly against her skin. They looked just like she had remembered them, the familiarity of it making her heart ache. Star looked complete. Star felt complete.

 Star was finally herself again. 

And she owed it all to Marco.

 “See, you look adorable, just like always,” said bestie stated, giving her a wide, loving grin and Star’s heart felt like it might burst from the rush of emotions that look was giving her. 

“Thanks, Marco,” Star choked out, her eyes still fresh with tears as she threw her arms around Marco’s neck pulling him into a warm hug. The hooded teen wrapped comforting arms around his blonde bestie, holding her tightly and running his hands through her long hair. “I love you,” she whispered into his chest, meaning every word.

“I love you, too,” he replied, placing a tender kiss on the top of her head. The two stayed like that for a minute, neither wanting to release their tight hold as they clung to each other like a lifeline. Their hugs always went on longer since getting together but this had to be a new record. They could have stayed in that moment till the end of time, wrapped in each other’s love and warmth, if Marco’s stomach hadn’t interrupted the moment, rumbling loudly in protest to being empty. 

The two pulled away quickly in surprise, the boy’s cheeks blushing in embarrassment. “Uh sorry, my bad,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Star just giggled and said, “Guess you worked up an appetite spoiling me so much.” She winked at him.

Marco laughed and replied, “Well now that you mention it, heartfelt speeches do make me hungry.” 

“Are you too hungry for me to give you my gift now?” Star asked, giving him a flirty look.

Marco’s heart thumped in his chest. “Uhhh no, I can wait,” he said in a nervous tone, ignoring the loud growling of his stomach. 

“Well if you're sure,” the blonde said, pretending to think it over, before finally moving in for a kiss. Marco, who had been waiting for this moment all morning, closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling as Star’s lips captured his. Once again, it was magic. No other words could do it justice. The way her lips moved expertly against his own, the way she tasted, the way her hands gently drifted up the front of his hoodie, all of it was too amazing to describe, and the warm feelings made his head spin. When Star did pull away, Marco couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat. It was too short, he wanted more now that his plan was over. Forget his hungry stomach, his heart was hungry for love and affection and that was more important.

Star smiled at him, her eyes full of tenderness and devotion and with her heart cheekmarks back on her blushing, he really couldn’t think of a time when she had ever been more adorable. “Don’t worry, Diaz,” she teased, giving him a tiny kiss on the nose. “That was only part one of my gift. We have all day for me to give you the rest of it.”

“The rest of it?” he asked in a squeak. 

Star giggled. “Yep. I got more kisses where that came from,” she said with a flirting look... which instantly turned into a child-like beam as she loudly shouted, “But first, I need me some Valentine’s tacos!! This princess is hungry for more than just love today!”

With a loud cheer she ran towards the counter, drawing the attention of everyone around her. Marco paused to admire his girlfriend for a moment, taking in the twinkle in her eye and the lightness in her smile and knew he finally had his old Star back. The whole Star. It wasn’t just the cheekmarks that had been missing from her after all, he thought. 

“Come on, Marco!” Star shouted, growing impatient. “You need to come pay the man! You did promise everyone free tacos, remember?”

And with that Marco smiled and went over to join his girlfriend, ready to enjoy the rest of this special holiday with the love of his life and whatever wonderful, weird craziness that came with her.

[spicykoreantatertots]

Camp Blue Side - Part Two

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Summer Camp AU, Non Idol AU

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Swearing, angst, (more in future parts)

Summary: Last summer, sparks flew between you and Hoseok. He had an unforgettable smile, and you were putty in his hands. By the end of the summer, promises were made and you shared your phone number. But he never called. This summer, you're back at camp with a vengeance. Ghosted or not, you're ready for some friendly competition. He may be a Camp Blue Side veteran, but you won't back down.

Notes: This fic has been updated and is now part of the Summer of Love Collab! Please join us as we finish summer strong with seven summer themed fics!

Summer of Love Masterlist

Beta Readers: @thesoftsoobin

Banner: @sunshinejunghoseokie​

Camp Blue Side - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

~~~~~~~

The staff parking lot is filled with cars and this year’s counselors are celebrating each other’s arrival. Each time a new car pulls up, usually honking loudly, the group cheers. Just about everyone has arrived already, Namjoon is fiddling with his clipboard and pen. Everyone should have been here by now.

Hoseok arrived about ten minutes ago. His beat up old mazda pulled up and you did your best not to look in his direction, only stealing a glance as he exited the car. The only way to describe that man is bright. Neon green shoes, rainbow tye-dye shirt, and his dazzling heart-shaped smile. 

Somehow, he was even more beautiful than you remembered. You had spent the past school year hating him, but now he’s here, in the flesh, and you just want to feel his arms around you. You tore your eyes away from Hoseok, and you felt Seokjin’s hand on your shoulder. It grounded you back in reality.

As the final car, holding Jimin and Jungkook, pulls up, half-hearted cheers ring through the crowd. Not that you aren’t all excited to see Jimin and Jungkook, but no one likes to see an angry Namjoon. 

“Hey! It’s Jimin’s fault, okay? I even got to his place early!” Jungkook jumps out of the car, hands held defensively in front of his body. Jimin, screaming his rebuttal from inside the car, is cut off by Namjoon’s announcement. 

“Now that everyone is finally here, we will give cabin assignments and you can all get settled in before dinner.” Seokjin, standing a good two feet away from Namjoon, produces a clipboard from his backpack and begins listing off the cabin assignments. Two counselors of the same gender identity per cabin. 

Of course, you already know who your cabin mate will be this year. You’ve learned a lot of privileged information by arriving early with Seokjin. 

“Margo! Hey! We’re paired up this year in Cabin 2.” You whisper, not wanting to speak over your friend. 

“Oh hey, that’s awesome! Let’s go!” Margo picks up one of her bags and you reach to grab the other. The two of you walk off to Cabin 2, making casual small talk about the past year away from Camp. 

You were stoked to see a familiar name next to yours on the cabin list. Although you and Margo barely kept up with each other over the summer, you had gotten to know her quite well the year before. She was a first year counselor, and you were only a second year. You knew what it was like to feel alone, so you tried to take her under your wing and show her the ropes. 

She ended up being a great person to talk to about your crush on Hoseok, and well now you have a lot of tea to spill. 

“And he just... never called? Or texted?” Margo asks, eyes wide in disbelief. 

“Nope.” 

“But he’s here now.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re going to be competing against him in team competitions.” 

“Exactly.” You share a devious smile.

“This is going to be an interesting summer, isn’t it?” Your cabin mate asks with a sigh.

“You bet your ass it is.”

~~~~~~~

After Margo got her belongings unpacked and stowed away, the two of you head to the Mess Hall for dinner and to catch up with your fellow counselors. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous to see Hoseok and to have to explain to everyone why the two of you weren’t... together. 

But it appears that Hoseok may already be handling that himself. A group of male counselors are sitting at a table where he is recounting some tale, and they are all listening intently. 

You can’t quite make out what he is saying, but you spot Seokjin sitting at a different table with Yoongi and a young guy you don’t recognize. Must be Yeonjun, the new JC who will be co-leading Team One with Hoseok. You’ll be keeping an eye on him. Seokjin waves you over and Margo follows you. 

“What has he been telling everyone?” You hiss at the guys when you sit. 

“Well...” Seokjin starts and your heart begins to sink. You know that tone.

“He’s got a new girlfriend.” Yoongi says, ripping the bandaid off in one swift motion. It stings. “He’s been bragging about her to all the guys. She’s hot and they met at work, or something like that.” He adds. 

“Ah.” You try to breathe through the feeling of your stomach dropping out, and Margo pats your bag gently. You spent the past year hoping he would call, processing the fact that he wasn’t going to, and burning with righteous fury. And now... you just want to cry. 

But you can’t let anyone see you cry. Especially not here and not now. Hoseok may have hurt you, but you can’t let him know you’re in pain. 

“Alright everyone, while we’re waiting on our dinner, let’s pair up in our activity groups and get to know each other a little better!” Namjoon announces and the room begins to buzz as everyone finds the people they would be working with this summer. 

You look around for Margo’s twin brother, Mack. He is going to be your co-leader for Team Two this year. 

“Hey Y/N!” Mack says, extending his hand for a fist bump. 

“What’s up! You excited to crush Team Two and Team Three this year?” You may be over-enthusing to make sure you don’t seem... sad. 

“Yeah! I’m sure you are too. Especially to beat Hoseok’s team.” Gulp.

“I do love some friendly competition, haha.” You reply dryly. 

“Well aren’t you guys together?”

“Uh...” you pause, color draining from your face.

“Oh god. I’m so sorry. He was talking about some awesome girl he’s been dating. I only caught part of the conversation, I thought he was talking about you.” Mack, looking mortified, tries to explain himself.

“No, it’s okay. He ghosted me. I haven't heard from him since last summer.” You clarify. Mack looks so sorry he mentioned it.

“Well I guess we really do have to beat his team now, don’t we?” He says with a smirk.

While Mack makes some more small talk about the plan for the coming weeks, your eyes scan the room. Everyone is paired off in their little teams. Yoongi is with Xavier, his Music co-leader, Taehyung with his Arts & Crafts co-leader, but his eyes are across the room on the Lead Counselor in Training who is chatting with Namjoon and taking notes on her clipboard. You spot Hoseok all the way on the furthest side of the Mess Hall from you. He’s talking to Yeonjun, facing away from you and that feels intentional. 

When the cook, Heather, steps out of the kitchen with a large sheet pan full of pizza, the counselors cheer. Then they immediately run to get in line, but before they can be served, Heather goes back into the kitchen. 

“How are you doing?” Seokjin asks, lining up behind you.

“Fine, Jin. Just fine.” 

“So, not fine, then?” He quips, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

“He’s gotten ahead of the narrative.” You reply, but he gives you a puzzled look. “He’s already told everyone about a girl and now I just look... pathetic.” 

“You’re not pathetic, Y/N.” Seokjin replies, giving your shoulder a pat. 

Heather returns from the kitchen with a tray of side salads and a tray of desserts, a choice between a sugar cookie and chocolate pudding. 

Unsurprisingly, you can see that Hoseok has secured a spot at the front of the line. Against your will, you watch him closely. He grabs his pizza, two slices, grabs a side salad, and reaches for a pudding cup. Something in your stomach twists, and you just want to get out of there. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Seokjin asks, but you’re already out the door. 

You try to hold back tears as you walk toward your cabin. 

He used to give you his chocolate puddings. Who is he going to give it to now? Why would he pick it up if he doesn’t even like them. 

When you make it back to the cabin, you throw yourself onto your bunk and let the tears flow into the pillow. Seeing Hoseok has been harder than you anticipated. 

~~~~~~~

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Margo asks, tiptoeing into the cabin.

“Yeah, you should head back, isn’t everyone still hanging out?” You ask, bring your head up from the pillow. It’s dark outside already.

“Well, no. It’s kind of late. Did you eat anything?” She asks.

“Yeah, I had a protein bar.” You reply, but your stomach growls, as if to say, that wasn’t enough. Margo reaches into her bag and pulls out a package of oreos, holding it in your direction. 

You cave, holding your palm open for a handful of the cookies. Your nearly empty stomach accepts the sweet treat and settles. 

“Did everyone notice I left, they must think I’m so pathetic.” You pout. 

“You wanna know what everyone noticed?” You nod in response to Margo’s question. “Everyone noticed that Hoseok left as soon as he realized you were gone.”

~~~~~~~

CPR training is a vital part of the yearly annual counselor training. Everyone needs to know how to resuscitate and potentially save the lives of the campers. Though it is a very serious topic, it’s hard to take the CPR dummies seriously. The faceless, limbless, lifeless dolls look very much like... blow up dolls. 

“If I hear one more moan out of you guys I will dock your pay!” Namjoon shouts over the chorus of immaturity. Very suddenly, the room goes quiet, “I thought that might get your attention, now Seokjin, please continue with the demonstration.” 

“Yes sir.” Seokjin replies, holding back a smirk.

He begins pumping the inanimate heart to the beat of a song and your eyes wander to Hoseok across the room. He’s giggling and whispering something to Yeonjun. Those boys will be fierce competition. 

It’s something you thought about this morning on your run. As you were jogging on the wooded trail, you realized Mack was right, you have to do everything in your power to take Team One down. The fire of competition will get you through the sadness of Hoseok’s betrayal. And tonight, you’ll get your first shot at beating them in the game of glow in the dark capture the flag.

Standing from his kneeling position, Seokjin asks, “Alright, who is up next?”

~~~~~~~

The sun has set and the teams have been divided for a game of capture the flag. Hoseok ended up on Seokjin’s team, and although you wish you were on your friend’s team, you’re relieved you didn’t end up on Hoseok’s. 

“Okay, Y/N, you’re a runner, I want you and Ryujin to be in charge of trying to get their flag. The rest of us will try to distract their team and protect our flag.” Namjoon orders in the huddle. The huddle breaks and everyone waits for the final ray of sunlight to fall behind the horizon. 

“I’m nervous.” Ryujin whispers to you while you stretch your calves.

“Ah yeah, you probably should be.” You joke. “Listen, all you need to worry about is getting tagged. Just don’t let anyone touch you and do your best to stay hidden. If you get your hands on the flag, just sprint back to our base.”

“You make it sound easy.” She laughs.

Seokjin’s whistle sounds and you take off. Ryujin, poor girl, runs straight for the field between the two bases. A rookie mistake. You, however, have played this game before. You run to the trees on the side of the field to take cover and watch the game unfold. 

It’s hard to see, but you can just make out Ryujin’s form running around the field dodging other bodies. It looks like so far your team is doing a good job of keeping the flag safe. Namjoon tackles a member of the other team and you decide to make a run for the other team’s base while everyone is distracted. 

You can hear your heart beating in your ear as the blood rushes to your legs. You’ve almost run the whole distance of the field behind the trees when you hear something. Suddenly a pair of neon green shoes catches your eyes. Hoseok. 

Holding your breath, you take cover, crouching behind a tree and hope to god that he doesn’t come over here. If he knew it was you, maybe he would spare you both the confrontation. You count to 60, slowly, and when he doesn’t come, you decide to stand up, intending to run for their base in a hail mary attempt to win. 

But you’re cut short. Just a few feet away, Hoseok is standing, waiting. He doesn’t move at first, but after a few breaths, he takes a step, and another. You can finally make out his eyes in the darkness. It’s the first eye contact you’ve made so far.

There are no words shared between you. At this moment your mind is blank. Having your old summer fling within arms reach is overwhelming. You feel the pull to reach out to him. He’s eyes are looking directly into yours and for a moment it looks like he’s going to speak. But he stops himself, his brows furrow for a moment, and then, he runs.

~~~~~~~

After a long week of training, morning runs, avoiding Hoseok, and trying to figure out what happened between you and him during the capture the flag game, you are really looking forward to lake day. A day off from training before final camp preparations take place. The campers will be arriving in just two days. 

You are one of the first ones to show up at the beach after lunch. You wasted no time changing into your bathing suit and slapping on some sunscreen. Jungkook and Jimin, the aquatic leaders, had already arrived as well. 

Other counselors trickle in and you get to watch their interactions. It’s only been a few days, but everyone is already back into the Camp Blue Side swing of things. 

The JCs all tend to head straight for the lake, while the older counselor’s chill on the beach. You’ve opted to sunbathe for a while before cooling off in the lake. You expect Seokjin will take a spot next to you when he arrives. 

The LCT has found a spot on the sand with Yoongi and Taehyung, no surprises there. She’s delicately rubbing sunscreen on Taehyung’s back. When she finishes, Taehyung’s Arts & Crafts co leader calls him over and he puts sunscreen on her back. You’re pretty sure you can see steaming coming out of the LCT’s ears. 

Someone lets out a joyful shout as they run from the edge of the beach all the way down the dock and jump into the lake. Hoseok.

“He really is still a camper at heart, isn’t he?” Seokjin asks as he sets his towel out next to yours. 

“If you mean to say he’s a child, then I can agree with that.” You roll your eyes. He is horsing around in the water with the JCs, no wonder they all look up to him. Yeonjun, his co-leader, is trying to pull his head underwater, but Hoseok isn’t budging. 

He hasn’t changed much and it takes you back to last summer. The campers would climb all over him during lake days, and he would let them. Once the two of you had become... a thing, you would always notice that he didn’t rub in the sunscreen on his nose. It became your responsibility to make sure the lotion was rubbed in all the way. 

“Y/N, Jin! We need one more for volleyball!” Jimin’s invitation brings you back to reality. Seokjin consults you before claiming the spot. You follow him over to the net to watch the game. Hoseok is playing. 

At first, you try not to watch him, but when the game gets going, Hoseok steps up his game. He serves, he sets, he dives, it’s hard not to watch him. You notice, toward the end of the game, that Hoseok has his signature white streak across his nose. He catches you looking, but instead of looking away, you point to your nose. 

Hoseok, still looking at you, misses a ball that lands right next to him, losing the game for his team. 

“Hoseok! What the hell man?” Jimin shouts, frustrated by Hoseok’s lack of attention. 

“Sorry, sorry. I got... distracted.” Hoseok replies, picking up the volleyball. “Round two anyone?”

~~~~~~~

“All right campers, let’s give a big round of applause to Heather for cooking our dinner tonight!” Seokjin announces over the microphone. The children, hyped up on carbs from dinner, cheer loudly for the Camp chef. They all arrived just a few hours ago, descending on camp like a swarm of buzzing bees. 

You’re a bit of a nervous wreck. For some god forsaken reason, you decided that you could volunteer to give a presentation at the camper orientation, and now you’re about to have to do that. Your notecards are organized and you rehearsed your talking points with Margo twice, but it doesn’t feel like enough when there are close to one hundred people in the audience. 

“Okay, now that we’ve gone over the basic camp rules, let’s give it up for Y/N, the Team Two leader who will be discussing the team games!” Seokjin says cheerfully, stepping off the stage and handing the microphone over to you. This is it. 

“Hey everyone! Who’s excited for the team games this year?” You ask, a big smile across your face. Of course everyone, counselor’s included, cheer loudly. 

“Yeah, that's great to hear. I am also very excited. As you can tell I took a lot of notes to make sure I give you all the important info.” You joke, but there’s only a few scattered laughs. You have to tuck the microphone into your arm awkwardly so you can flip your note card over to find the right page.

“Oh well they’re out of order, so I guess...” You look out into the crowd of expectant faces. Some of the campers are already not paying attention, you’ve lost them. As always, Hoseok catches your eye. He can see you’re floundering already, and he smirks. He fucking smirks. “I’ll have to wing it.” You finish your thought and toss the notecards to the side.

You manage to get through it, even working a few jokes in here and there. And it seems like the kids are really pumped for the team activities and the competition. 

“Okay, I think next up is Jungkook with some information about water activities and lake day!” The kids cheer, the girls squeal, all too excited for Jungkook to be on stage. 

“Hey, that was pretty good Y/N!” Seokjin whispers as you step back down from the stage.

“You missed a few talking points though-” Namjoon’s critique is cut short.

“You were GREAT!” Seokjin reaffirms. 

~~~~~~~

Hushed whispers can be heard in the cabin, but it’s the first night and you’re not going to try to enforce lights out. You would probably be struggling to fall asleep either way. 

Your interactions with Hoseok thus far have been quite puzzling. He has been confusing, rude, and annoying, but what does it mean? You keep thinking about the look in his eye that night during capture the flag. You could feel a spark between you, but he almost looked pained. But he’s the one who caused your pain. 

Maybe he’s just trying to get under your skin to make sure his team wins. Well tomorrow is day one of camp, and you’ll be damned if you let him win.

~~~~~~~​