cptmedboy-blog

[sapphic-agent]

Why & How Katara is the Strongest Waterbender

The ATLA fandom is funny. Because if there's one member of the Gaang whose skills are continuously doubted, it's Katara's.

No one hesitates in saying that Toph is the strongest Earthbender in the world. Aang has always been maintained as a natural prodigy. Sokka's strategic intelligence and cleverness are never in question. Most people are positive that Zuko would have beaten Azula if she hadn't targeted Katara and hail him as a swords master.

But for some reason, it's always Katara whose proficiency is either called into question or severely downplayed.

Some are skeptical about the legitimacy of her becoming a master in a short time. Others are certain that her victories are due to plot manipulation. Both of these arguments that ATLA is a kids' show which pushed it into giving her the win.

(Funny how ATLA is the greatest piece of media ever read until it comes to anything pertaining Katara's character lmao)

So I wanted to take a minute to talk about the progression of her waterbending skills and how she became Master Katara.

Pre North Pole

The first time we really see Katara practice waterbending is in The Waterbending Scroll when she decides to show Aang her limited very skill set. She noticeably has a difficult time with her bending, whereas he seems to pick it up rather quickly.

As we know, Katara has never met another waterbender before. She has no idea what their bending is supposed to look or feel like. And that's reflected in the moves she shows Aang.

I want to draw attention to Katara's stance here. She's stiff, even a little awkward. She's standing where more like an Earthbender. We see this repeated when she's practicing the Water Whip.

Even later when she does perform the Water Whip correctly, there are still traces of this.

You know how Iroh learned to redirect lightning watching Waterbenders? Well, my assumption (at this point I'm 80% sure it's meant to canon) is that Katara learned most of her bending by watching Aang and the Earthbenders they met around the world.

It makes sense, right? They would have been the closest thing to Waterbenders she could have learned from. She even asked Aang to teach her in the first episode. So the start of her bending began with incorporating the forms of Air and Earth.

And we see the results of that in her fight with Pakku.

Fighting Pakku

Katara's fight with Pakku is a great demonstration of his visually. He's a master, so he's already proficient at "push and pull." Katara is not. She's done it before, but it's not her go-to style when she's fighting. And we can see it in this fight.

Again, her stance is firm. She either blocks his attacks or bats them away. She doesn't reinforce and redirect them like he does hers. She isn't fighting like a Waterbender, she's fighting like an Earthbender.

Not to say this is a bad thing. Pakku himself even admits that she's good even though they both know she can't beat him.

Why am I bringing this up? Because one thing about Katara that's overlooked is her adaptability. When she didn't have a waterbending teacher, she made do with observing Earthbenders. She picked up Pakku's teachings even better than Aang had. And going forward from here it really begins to shine in her bending.

She completely dominates Pakku's other students and Zuko (twice). Why? What makes her so special compared to men who have been training their whole lives?

Because water is the element of change. By being so proficient in adapting (not just in her bending, but openly embracing different things and experiences and people), Katara unknowingly embraced the mentality of her element.

(It's actually a funny twist of fate because you could make the point that the North held its other Waterbenders back by being so bound to and unflinching in their traditions. It would explain why none of Pakku's students even stood a chance against her)

If you think about it, you could draw parallel to Yue explaining the history of Waterbending to Katara to the Sun Warriors explaining fire as an element to Zuko. In both cases, you can see that they're able to see and understand their element in a new light. Although it's more of a realization moment for Katara as she already knew about pushing and pulling and it's more of a lesson for Zuko who was taught something completely different.

Katara vs Azula (Round 1)

You know how I said people attribute her wins due to plot manipulation because ATLA is a kids' show? Well it seems like Katara vs Azula is the scene they focus on the most for that.

But let's be real, this isn't a fluke. The show purposely draws attention to Katara prowess and skills during this fight.

Azula is someone who's always in control. She's someone who goes into fights with full confidence. But she is completely thrown off by Katara's abilities here.

And this is something that persists throughout the entire fight. Katara completely overpowers her. At no point during the fight did Azula have the upper hand against her.

And remember, this is Azula's fight. She's the one who imprisoned Katara and Zuko. She's the one who attacked Katara and Aang to begin with. Sure, she was probably counting on her manipulation of Zuko working and him backing her, but there was no guarantee that he would be able to get away from Aang long enough to help her.

And right after this, Aang really struggles against Azula. He doesn't own the fight nearly as well as Katara does.

So, we know it isn't a fluke. The creators intentionally made Katara outclass Azula here. She's canonically the superior bender between the two of them. And that's not a small feat by any means. Azula at this time is one of the best Firebenders alive, probably fourth (after Ozai, Iroh, and Jeong Jeong (she could possibly be above Jeong Jeong)).

So what was the reason for this? Why was Katara able to outclass Azula so effortlessly?

Well here's where Katara's mastery of the meaning of her element comes into play again. She understands and excels in the concept behind water. Always changing, always adapting. She embraces water to its fullest capabilities (which also includes incorporating other elements into it; water would actually be the best element to do this with). The entire fight, she's switching stances and forms and keeping Azula on the evade. Whatever Azula throws back is dealt with without an issue.

And as we know, Azula (and most Firebenders) misunderstand fire as an element. She uses it solely as a destructive force, but it's also energy, life, and passion. This is also part of the reason Zuko lost so easily in the Northern Water Tribe; he also had the same issue. Katara's proficiency in water as not just a weapon, but an element, gave her the advantage over Azula she needed.

Katara vs Hama

A debate that comes up a lot is who's the better bender between Katara and Amon. To that I have always said Amon was taught Bloodbending, Katara just did it.

Let me reiterate: NO ONE TAUGHT KATARA BLOODBENDING. Hama explained the concept to her, yes, but never actually taught her. In fact, she did not expect her to pick it up without guidance. In her own words, "You should've learned the technique before you turned against me."

This was a technique that took Hama decades to learn. Tarrlok and Noatak were trained relentlessly. And Katara just... Did it. No guidance and no build up. This supports that Katara's adaptability and versatility in her bending is unmatched. She's able to comprehend and perform advance concepts with no training or teaching.

Now that we got that out of the way, this fight is so comprable to Katara vs Pakku. This is the second time she's fought a master and we can see how much she's improved. So much so that she doesn't even struggle against Hama.

At this point, she's mastered "push and pull." She's able to take everything Hama throws at her and send it right back with little to no effort.

But she takes it a step further.

Instead of redirecting, Katara completely stops Hama's onslaught. This undoubtedly is something she picked up from Earthbenders. It certainly isn't a Waterbending technique, yet somehow she made it into an effective move.

Look at Hama's face. She's completely thrown off by this. This was not something she ever expected out of any Waterbender. She was completely unprepared for Katara to be able to outmatch and overpower her.

Katara completely surpassed her, solidified by using the technique she invented against her.

I was going to talk about Katara and Azula's second fight, but there isn't much to add there. I already compared the difference in their skills talking about the first fight, and the Agni Kai is an escalation of that. The outcome of the Agni Kai was already decided and confirmed in the catacombs.

And that my friends is how and why Katara is the best Waterbender in the world

[daenerysstormreborn]

Hi @lawonderlandwriter

I can’t reply because this is side blog. Question: did you read my post? Did you read the response I gave to someone’s thoughtful reply full of good information I didn’t know? Have you looked at my blog? My Daenerys themed blog that’s existed for months in which I am unabashedly a Dany fan? You may notice that I am a Jonerys shipper who hates the way their romance played out. You may notice that I don’t like Jonsa. You may notice my posts criticizing a lot of bullshit anti-Dany talking points.

This is me. Five years ago. With my $400+ costume tailored to fit me, with my $100+ lace front wig, with my $100+ custom-made 3D printed chain. I was a show only for a long time and hated the way it ended but resisted reading the books because the things that happened to Dany were so horrible and I loved her so much I didn’t want to read them in a more detailed perspective. I only changed my mind because HotD re-invigorated my interest in the series and my mental health is better now so I thought I could handle it. I loved the books so much more than the show that the I had to make a tumblr blog about it. And I chose to make it Daenerys themed.

This is also me. 6 years ago. Trying to painstakingly recreate a Daenerys-like hairstyle in my hair (which is hard when you have a normal human amount of hair and not a Hollywood wig).

Here’s me again, 4 years ago. And how about this album of images from the past few weeks that I’ve generated using an AI app of myself as Daenerys, for no reason other than that I love her and relate to her and like to see myself as her?

This is a considerable amount of devotion across many years for a fake Daenerys fan. And for what? To what end? To rile people up on tumblr dot com? Does that make sense? That I’d make tons of posts defending Daenerys and funnel hundreds of dollars into cosplay and maintain a Daenerys themed blog just …because? I am a PhD student who just finished my Master’s. I do not have time to host a performative fan blog for shits and giggles. Not did I have the foresight to start my performance offline six years ago just so I could infiltrate the ranks of Daenerys fans online.

Seriously. Read my post. Read my response to the reblog on my post. And consider that “I love this character and don’t want her to be a villain but have trouble believing that such a big change in her character could have just been an invention of the showrunners” is not a hateful stance. Someone else pointed out that the Starks and Lannisters are also called threats and if you have a look, you’ll see that I think that’s a great point and respond with gratitude and intrigue when the information is presented without hostility. If you bother to check, you’ll also see that I have walked back my stance and now find it much more believable that D&D invented villain Dany because I have been given new information. Of course, you aren’t required to check the notes of a post to see things like this before engaging. But when you’re going to accuse them of being a fake fan and meet them with hostility, you really, really should do a bit more investigation first.

When you reply to a post, you are directly engaging with another human being. If I had made a brief hateful post, things would be different and I wouldn’t have a right to be snappy about it. But you came onto a thoughtful post about the character my blog is themed after and decided to be rude instead of considering what I had to say and giving me the benefit of the doubt, and I can’t abide by that.

[mainstoryarchive]

Ensemble - 102: Caution

Mao: My report.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: Grounds

Mao: My report.

There's nothing wrong in the A ward, the grounds and the garden terrace.

It seems that the garbage is piling up a little, so we should ask the cleaning staff to clean it up.

Souma: There's nothing wrong in the B ward, the reception and the vicinity of the school, either.

As expected, it's heavy work to walk and guard around the borders of the school. I needlessly trained my legs.

Kuro: We don't have enough people, it can't be helped. Don't complain, Kanzaki. …There's nothing wrong in the C or D ward either.

Keito: Thanks for the hard work.

I'm sorry, Kanzaki, Kiryu and Isara too. For having you help me out with my student council duties.

This time almost all students… Which almost means almost all official student council members, are participating in this DreamFes with their units.

We have less people who can perform the routine tasks than we have with a normal DreamFes.

The teachers are also being made to help out, however, under the pretext of having to maintain fairness, they are involved with things such as the tallying of the votes.

It's incorrigible, but we have to do things like patrolling.

However, it's quite difficult. Imagining there will be voting each hour makes me restless.

Constructing a large amount of outdoor stages and having a great number of units perform at the same time… It's the first time we tried something like this.

There is also a large audience. The students who usually quietly watch S1s and such in their classrooms are now walking around as they please as well.

It's all as Eichi commanded, so I can't complain.

I can't respond properly at all. It's hard for a normal person to understand what Eichi is thinking. I wish he'd also consider how it feels to be in my shoes, how it feels to be swung around by him.

The DDD… It'd be nice if everything would come to an end in a harmonious manner, without anything happening.

Kuro: Well, half of the units will have to retire each hour after all.

Can't you just pick reliable guys from there and leave some of the work to them?

It'll get better as time goes on.

Souma: Hmm. If we had decided to participate in the DDD, I would try to enjoy myself as an audience member after losing.

To be honest, I wouldn't even feel like working.

The DDD is a great battle never seen before in the long history of Yumenosaki Academy, it makes my blood boil…☆

Keito: Don't swing your sword around, Kanzaki.

Well, we shouldn't expect much from other people. We will support the DDD and, while also preparing for emergencies, we will solve all problems that arise.

We are going to set the stage so that Eichi and the others can shine to their limits.

We of AKATSUKI will be the unsung heroes of the DDD.

Kuro: Don't get too worked up, Hasumi.

The high and mighty student council president has come back, isn't it fine to make him responsible and just assume an easygoing stance?

Keito: Allies whose thoughts are impossible to understand are even more incorrigible than your worst enemy. Eichi is such an ally. He makes my head ache.

He also started this whole DDD thing without telling me anything about it.

Souma: So even Hasumi-dono doesn't understand the president's true intentions.

I'm sure that is the same for everyone who's participating in the DDD too… Most of them must also not really know anything and are just being led around by the merry atmosphere.

Keito: Eichi's true intentions… Even though it may not look like it, Eichi and I are childhood friends, so I do vaguely have an idea.​

That's exactly why I will stand in the background this time. I do not want to stand in his way. That's the only thing I can do for him.

According to the rules of the DDD, if AKATSUKI where to keep winning, there's a chance we have to compete against Eichi's fine.

We won't accomplish anything if we clash with our allies. That's something I do not wish for.

If there's anything else I can do for Eichi, then that's taking care of the routine work in order for the DDD to proceed smoothly.

Souma: Right. No matter what, the fight has already begun. Even if I were to say something like 'I want to participate in the DDD', it's already no longer possible to enter.

We won't stand on the battlefield this time. We should devote ourselves to our own duties.

If it were possible I wished we of AKATSUKI could also show off our spectacular military prowess on this battlefield as a yunitto.

However, if Hasumi-dono chooses to prioritize work, then there is nothing to be done.

Hasumi-dono is our AKATSUKI's leader. We will follow Hasumi-dono whether it's alive or in death.

Luckily, AKATSUKI has members familiar with armed struggle, so patrolling the venue is one of our strong points.

Keito: …I wouldn't have minded if you had participated in the DDD without me.

Choosing not to enter us in this DreamFes and choosing to prioritize my student council duties is my selfishness. You guys shouldn't feel obligated to follow me in that.

Kuro: Don't be so distant, aren't we comrades? Comrades are people whose mistakes you wouldn't mind getting caught up in.

Isn't our AKATSUKI a unit like that?

Not much time has passed after that S1, we should let our muscles rest. It's not like we're so young that we can put out our full power each and every time.

Life isn't only about winning DreamFes.

Souma: Though, if possible I wanted to retrieve the honor we lost in that S1.

Torikkustaa is on the verge of breaking right now, it's on the verge of death. If we were to defeat them as they are now, I would not feel relieved at all.

Defeating an enemy that isn't at their best won't be anything to write home about.

Although the president seems to feel differently about that. Like 'It's fine as long as we win'… I just can't sympathize with that.

Creating a fissure in Torikkustaa and making them unable to do anything before the battle has even started is a filthy way to do things.

Dorifessu is a war between aidorus, although that most likely is just lip service.

Torikkustaa has been made much too miserable. I can't bear looking at them, it's disgraceful.

…Oh. That isn't something I should have said while you are with us, Isara-dono.

Mao: ……

[ ☆ ]

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[coolbeans32]

Echoes of Destiny: The Serpent and the Phoenix

PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader (OC)

SYNOPSIS: The memories of Genevieve and Tom back at Hogwarts. Their Third Year.

WARNINGS: Some warnings worth mentioning are some dark themes (manipulation, bullying, etc.), life of a double agent (spy), lying, academic rivalry but not explicit nor extreme. Furthermore, if any of these topics are touchy or uncomfortable, do not hesitate to leave the page or chapter. As well as, if anything pops up that is not mentioned in the warnings, let me know so I can properly add it to the warnings section!

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hehe Happy reading <333

Previous Part| Next Part

Chapter Nineteen

A Journey to The Past: Third Year

Third year at Hogwarts had brought with it a noticeable shift in dynamics for Tom Riddle and Genevieve Dumbledore. The friendship that had blossomed during their first year seemed a distant memory now, replaced by an unspoken chasm between them. Tom had distanced himself from everyone, including Genevieve.

Genevieve, once the enthusiastic and optimistic girl who believed in their shared journey, found herself increasingly left in the dust. She had tried to maintain their connection, approaching Tom with the same warm smiles and open conversations that had marked their early friendship, but his responses had grown colder and more dismissive with each passing day.

One day, Genevieve made her way through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, the echoes of her footsteps mingling with the distant murmurs of students. As she approached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, she noticed a commotion up ahead.

Peering around the corner, Genevieve's eyes narrowed as she saw Malfoy and a group of older Slytherins surrounding Tom, their voices dripping with contempt and superiority. Tom, ever composed, stood his ground, his expression a mask of icy indifference as he faced their taunts. His stance was firm, his jaw set in a stubborn line, but Genevieve could see the tension in his shoulders and the tight grip he had on his wand, a silent testament to his readiness to defend himself.

Without a moment's hesitation, Genevieve stepped forward, her wand held firmly in her hand as she cast the Flipendo spell at Abraxas Malfoy, sending him stumbling backward with a yelp of surprise. The other Slytherins recoiled in shock, their bullying tactics faltering in the face of Genevieve's unexpected intervention. Her presence commanded attention, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination that left no room for doubt about her intentions.

"What's going on here?" Genevieve's voice rang out, clear and authoritative. She stepped between Tom and the older students, her posture radiating confidence and defiance. "Last I checked, we were all supposed to be on the same side."

Malfoy, recovering from the spell, sneered at her. "This has nothing to do with you, Dumbledore. Riddle needs to learn his place."

Genevieve's eyes flashed with anger. "And you think you're the one to teach him that? By ganging up on him like cowards? Pathetic, just like your coward of a father."

Malfoy, argued back, visibly angry, “How dare you talk about my father that way!”

Genevieve smiled, “Oh did I hurt your feelings? Are you going to tell dear daddy about it?”

Abraxas, his arrogance momentarily deflated, scowled but made no move to challenge her further. The group slowly dispersed, muttering under their breaths, but none daring to meet her gaze.

Tom, though visibly taken aback by her interference, maintained his cool demeanor as he brushed himself off, his eyes betraying a hint of confusion, upset at the fact out of anyone, it was Genevieve who stopped them. "I could've handled it myself, Dumbledore," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.

Genevieve turned to him, her gaze piercing and unwavering. "I know," she replied simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. "But Slytherins protect their own. Even Malfoy should know that, Riddle."

With that, Genevieve turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding in her chest. She had acted on impulse, driven by a mix of anger and a deep-seated belief in fairness. She didn't wait to see Tom's reaction, knowing that he valued his independence and might resent her for stepping in. Yet, she couldn't ignore the sense of satisfaction that came from standing up for what she believed was right.

Tom watched her retreating figure, a sense of curiosity and admiration stirring within him, mingling with the lingering confusion of her unexpected act of solidarity. He was used to facing his battles alone, accustomed to relying solely on his own wits and abilities. Genevieve's intervention challenged that notion, introducing a new dynamic that left him both intrigued and unsettled. He was trying so hard not to associate with her, especially Dumbledore.

With a sigh, he shook his head and made his way to the library, his thoughts consumed by the enigma that was Genevieve Dumbledore. As he walked, he couldn't help but replay the scene in his mind, the way she had stood up to Malfoy and his cronies without a trace of fear. It was a rare display of courage and loyalty, qualities he hadn't expected to find in her.

Despite his initial frustration, Tom found himself reassessing his opinion of Genevieve. She was more than just a fellow Slytherin; she was someone who embodied the ideals of their house in a way that was both fierce and honorable. For the first time in a long while, Tom felt a glimmer of genuine respect for another person, a feeling he wasn't quite sure how to handle.

As he settled into a quiet corner of the library, Tom opened his book but found it difficult to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to Genevieve, her unwavering gaze and her unyielding stance. She had defied expectations, not just his but those of their housemates as well. In a world where alliances were often fleeting and self-interest reigned supreme, her actions stood out as a beacon of something different, something potentially powerful.

Tom resolved to keep a closer eye on Genevieve, to understand what drove her and what she might bring to his own ambitions. And as much as he prized his solitude, he couldn't deny the intriguing possibility that her strength and loyalty could prove valuable allies in the future.

Genevieve made her way to her father’s office, her heart heavy with questions and an underlying sense of unease. The corridors of Hogwarts seemed endless, and the familiar stone walls did little to alleviate the storm of emotions within her. She had been harboring questions about Gellert for some time, and today, she was determined to get answers.

Reaching the entrance to Albus Dumbledore's office, she whispered the password, and the stone gargoyle leapt aside to reveal the spiral staircase leading to her father's domain. She ascended quickly, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Come in, Genevieve," Albus called as she approached the door. She stepped inside to find him seated at his desk, surrounded by stacks of parchment and ancient tomes. His eyes, though kind, seemed weighed down by unseen burdens.

"Father," she began, her voice steady but edged with uncertainty. "I need to talk to you about Pops."

Albus looked up from his work, a flicker of apprehension crossing his features. "What is it, my dear?"

Genevieve hesitated for a moment before pressing on. "Why haven't I seen him? Why is he never here? He’s always been such a significant part of my life, and now... he's just gone."

Albus sighed, a deep and weary sound. "Gellert is pursuing his cause, Genevieve. His ambitions and his beliefs have taken him down a path that... I can no longer be a part of."

She frowned, confusion mingling with the sadness in her eyes. "But why? Why can't he be here with us? Why can't we be a family?"

Albus leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. "I have many responsibilities here at Hogwarts. My duty is to this school, to my students. Gellert has chosen a different path, one that I cannot follow. It's as simple as that."

Genevieve, still naive and trusting, nodded slowly. "I understand, Father. It’s just... hard to accept."

Albus reached across the desk, taking her hand in his. "I know, my dear. It's hard for me as well. But we must carry on and focus on what we can do here and now."

She offered a small, resigned smile. "Of course. I'll do my best."

"Speaking of which," Albus continued, his tone shifting slightly, "I have a favor to ask of you."

Genevieve perked up, eager to help. "What is it, Father?"

Albus's eyes grew serious. "I need you to watch someone for me. Tom Riddle... he requires special attention."

Genevieve's brow furrowed in confusion. "Watch him? Why? We don’t even talk anymore.”

"Tom is a complex individual," Albus explained. "He has immense potential, but he also harbors a darkness that concerns me. I believe that with the right guidance and companionship, he can be steered towards a better path. You are in a unique position to offer that companionship."

Genevieve considered his words, her mind racing. "You want me to spy on him?"

"Not necessarily a spy, but a watchful presence. Someone who can observe and influence him in subtle ways. It’s a delicate task, but I believe you are up to it…despite no longer being close as you once were."

She nodded slowly, the weight of the responsibility settling on her shoulders. "I'll do my best, Father. I'll watch Tom."

Albus smiled, a touch of relief in his eyes. "Thank you, Genevieve. Your help means more than you know."

As she left the office, Genevieve couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story about Gellert, but she trusted her father's judgment. And now, she had a new task to focus on—one that could shape the future in ways she couldn't yet comprehend.

In Transfiguration class, Genevieve focused intently on the lesson, her quill moving swiftly across her parchment as she took meticulous notes. Professor Dumbledore was explaining a complex spell, and Genevieve's mind raced to absorb every detail. She could feel Tom's eyes on her, and she knew he was watching, just as she was keeping an eye on him.

"Miss Dumbledore, if you would please demonstrate the Vanishing Spell," Professor Dumbledore called. She stood, her wand at the ready. With a graceful flick and a murmured incantation, she made the rabbit before her disappear. The class erupted in applause, but she barely registered it, her eyes flicking to Tom to gauge his reaction. Tom's expression remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of determination. When it was his turn, he executed the spell flawlessly, earning equal praise from the professor. He cast a sidelong glance at Genevieve, who met his gaze with a small, knowing smile.

In Potions class, the competition was even fiercer. Professor Slughorn had set a particularly challenging assignment: brewing a Draught of Peace. As the cauldrons bubbled and the scent of various ingredients filled the room, Genevieve and Tom worked in near silence, each trying to outpace the other. Genevieve added her ingredients with practiced precision, her eyes flicking occasionally to Tom's station. She noted his technique, mentally comparing it to her own. He was meticulous, almost obsessively so, and she couldn't help but admire his skill even as she plotted to surpass him.

Tom, for his part, was equally observant. He watched the way Genevieve measured and stirred, noting her methods. There was a subtle elegance to her work that he found both intriguing and infuriating. He wanted to outshine her, to prove that he was superior in every way. As they finished their potions, Professor Slughorn moved around the room, inspecting their work. When he reached Genevieve, he beamed. "Excellent work, Miss Dumbledore. A perfect Draught of Peace." Genevieve's heart swelled with pride, but she kept her expression calm, offering a polite nod in thanks. She glanced at Tom, who was next in line.

Slughorn examined Tom's potion, his expression one of mild surprise. "Another excellent brew, Mr. Riddle. Well done." Tom's lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. He met Genevieve's gaze across the room, and for a moment, there was a flicker of mutual respect between them. Outside of class, the rivalry continued. Genevieve often found herself watching Tom, trying to decipher his intentions. He was brilliant but distant, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something. She began to discreetly follow him, noting his movements and the people he spoke to.

Tom, meanwhile, was equally intrigued by Genevieve. She was talented, of that there was no doubt, but there was a lightness to her that he couldn't understand. She seemed genuinely kind, something he found perplexing in a Slytherin. He kept a close eye on her, trying to understand what drove her.

One evening, as Genevieve was leaving the library, she noticed Tom slipping into a hidden alcove. Curiosity piqued, she followed quietly, peering around the corner to see him poring over an ancient, leather-bound book. The intensity in his eyes was palpable, and she knew he was delving into something significant. She made a note to find out what that book was, her determination to uncover Tom's secrets growing stronger. She turned and walked away, careful not to make a sound.

Tom, sensing he was being watched, glanced up just in time to see Genevieve's retreating figure. He frowned, wondering how much she had seen. He knew she was curious about him, just as he was about her, and the thought both unnerved and excited him. The days turned into weeks, and their competition continued unabated. They pushed each other to excel, each silently spurring the other on to greater heights. And through it all, they remained locked in a dance of rivalry and intrigue, each determined to uncover the other's intentions while guarding their own.

Taglist: @wheenerrr @jillian2003 @secretkittydreamland

Tom Riddle Masterlist

© coolbeans32 2024

[toytulini]

[image description:] 3 anonymous asks:

"That humans, especially young humans, shouldn't be forced to carry the burden of wars and shouldn't be carrying weapons of mass destruction either"

"That when you've been through trauma the lines between real and not real become blurred. That when you've been through trauma the lines between right and wrong become blurred."

"That war fucks you up. That soldiers shouldn't be used by the gov for war propaganda. That soldiers and war are not to be glorified and that horrible things happen, both to them and both by them" [end image description]

presumably a response to This Post

ok. maybe it should be required reading for like. the ppl in charge of starting wars then

[damianosismyking]

Roommate

READ IT ON AO3.

Damen and Laurent first met when Laurent was sixteen years old.

He arrived at Damen's apartment too late for it to be considered appropriate or polite on any day, but the fact it was Sunday made everything worse.

Damen had been announcing his vacant room for the best part of the past three months since Nikandros moved out to live with his girlfriend but the response he’s gotten so far was underwhelming, to say the least. It made sense to him: his apartment was too far away from the university for it to be comfortable or spark real interest among tired, overloaded, low-income students with huge debts and likely no car. He had thought, though, that it would spark some interest. It was a constant theme in the conversations he had with Nikandros these days – which always ended up with Nikandros telling him he should just learn how to live with himself anyway, and Damen telling him there was no way he’d do it.

Still, Damen was less than thrilled to be surprised after a long day of sitting in front of thousands of books and twice as many academic papers gathering the ‘solid foundation’ his thesis lacked – in Professor Haemon’s words – by an unsolicited visitor. Damen’s eyes burned, his head pounded, and he longed for nothing more than to open a beer and mindlessly watch the documentary about whales that was on. A call to his intercom had different plans.

It felt like his brain had melted down his ears for when the doorman informed him that his friend, Laurent, whom he never met, had come to talk to him about his rental room, Damen allowed said guy up without a thought to the risks it entailed until after the call was cut.

Damen was left to hope there wasn’t a gun involved and whoever the man was, Damen could take him on a hand-to-hand fight if it came to it.

A kid showed up. Pink across the face, the only uncovered part of him. A few strands of blond hair escaped his beany, moving along the puff of his breath. He strutted inside uninvited the second Damen saw to the door, with the highest nose Damen has ever seen and scorn that did not match his angelic features.

Lazily, the kid – Laurent, his name – said, “I saw you need a new roommate.”

“And you are?”

“Your new roommate.”

“I meant –” Laurent went ahead and took off his coat, as well as his beany, that he tossed over Damen’s diner table. His blond hair shoulder-length and seemingly soft directly under the light, framed his face in waves. It gave him an almost feminine quality, if not for the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw. “I meant have we met before?”

“No. But we have now. I’m Laurent.” He held out his hand. Damen shook it. “And you are Damianos. I go to U.M., you go to U.M. You have a room to rent, I have interest in renting a room. See? We are practically best friends already.”

He sported a young prince demeanor with long, pale fingers laced in front of his body. It was fitting, like the thought of such person being raised in a castle surrounded by luxury and used to having his way his whole life simply made sense. As for his expression: there was none. Laurent’s eyes were a rich blue but carried no warmth in them, unyielding. His gaze never averted Damen’s. It felt like staring at a blank wall.

Damen crossed his arms over his chest, unsure what to do with his hands and everything that currently unfolded in front of him. The carelessness in Laurent’s composure, or maybe the sheer audacity of him, rubbed Damen the wrong way. Under the incisive glare, Damen resisted a shiver.

Damen said, “You notice it’s almost 11 P.M. on a Sunday, don’t you, best friend?”

Laurent leaned against the dining table as though it belonged to him. Would it be acceptable to bodily drag Laurent out of the apartment after being the one to give him the pass to come up in the first place? Laurent appeared painfully young too, so that might be aggravating.

“You put on your flyer you were open to visitation anytime,” Laurent retorted. It started to bother Damen how rarely he blinked. Blank wall.

“I also put on my flyer my contact info to prevent strangers from appearing unannounced at my doorstep,” Damen paused. “On a Sunday. At night.”

“And yet here I am. Your security is horrible by the way, you should probably complain about that to the apartment manager,” Laurent drawled. That alone disqualified him to the vacancy, let aside the fact he passed for a spoiled high schooler with no hint of courtesy.

“So? Aren’t you going to interview me? I make a terrific roommate. I know how to cook and keep a house clean; I stay out of everyone’s business and in change expect everyone out of mine. I’m the most pleasant company you can get around that campus, I guarantee.”

Laurent waited and as he did so, he grabbed one of the decorative glass balls from a bowl on the table and rolled it between his hands mindlessly. When Damen gave no response, he continued, “I’m a bit of a genius, so that might interest you in case you need help with schoolwork or anything else.”

Damen stared at him. It was impossible the kid wouldn’t take the hint. All he had to do was look around, at the scattered materials, Damen’s sleeping clothes, the beer sweating the couch’s fabric, the clock marking 11 p.m. Laurent made a show of standing spitefully where he wasn’t welcomed and it either didn’t bother him or he purposefully ignored it.

“I’m also a good fuck. In case that might interest you.”

It startled Damen out of his enraged disbelief. Not that he magically came up with something to say. “I’m – I – don’t… You’re missing the point.”

“And what is that?”

“I have no idea who the fuck you are, and honestly, you’re not causing a great impression so far.”

“That comes with time.” Laurent waved him off. He wandered around the living room, accessing the quality of his surroundings. Ran a hand over Damen’s TV stand, grabbed portraits to analyze from up close, shuffled through a stack of magazines, opened the window to take a look at the view, and finally settled on the couch where he bounced, testing. Grabbed the remote, shifted through channels. Damen let it unfold only partially out of astonishment – part of him also wondered how far Laurent would go.

“It’s your turn,” Laurent said eerily, like haunted wind coming through the window.

“My turn to what?”

“Introduce yourself, of course. How am I supposed to know you’re not a pervert?” he added, plainly. “Already have enough of those in my life.”

Damen was baffled. It took him a second to find his voice. “I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Laurent turned to him, pale brows arched. “But you didn’t interview me yet.”

“I don’t intend to. Please leave. Now.” Damen marched to the door to hold it open.

“But –” Laurent stood. Damen could almost see the engines in his mind turning. “Look. I can offer you a blowjob to change your mind. Anything more than that only if you promise I can stay.”

“What are – I do not want to have sex with you,” Damen said, exasperated. Why was this happening to him? Was this what he got after working so hard?

“Why not?” Laurent spoke as if something was out of sorts. “Let me guess, you are straight. I promise you won’t note the difference, it’s like any girl’s mouth when it’s on your cock. I’m highly skilled.”

Damen opened the door wider and gestured. “Out.”

Laurent crossed his arms and made no motion to leave. Very deliberately he leaned against the armrest. “I don’t have a gag reflex, I can take you all the way in,” he spoke with an empty face, “and I swallow, don’t spit.” At the end, he smirked mildly.

Damen flinched. “I will call security.”

“No? Okay.” Laurent leaned on his hands, propping his shoulders up. “Money’s no issue. I can offer you two months of rent in advance.”

“I need you to get the hell out before I make you,” Damen spelled out.

“Fine. Three. But this is my final offer, you have to give me something to work with here.” For how playful Laurent’s words rang, he maintained his monotone. His face couldn’t be more uninterested, without the slightest semblant of shyness.

Damen didn’t respond. Again, he gestured the outside.

Laurent sighed, as if it was Damen tiring him, not the other way around. Perhaps the biggest absurd among all others. Damen might be virtually opposed to hitting kids, but Laurent just might be the exception.

Laurent did not pick up any of his belongings, as required. Rather, he walked to Damen confidently, if slightly bored. The sway of his hips seemed very deliberate as he tied his hair on a ponytail, eyes never dropping Damen’s. His eyes carried deeper richness to the blue of his irises from this close, but somehow were even colder. He stopped few inches away from Damen. If they were the same height, their noses would bump, but as Damen had at least one foot of advantage to him, Laurent’s breath tickled his collar bone.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, Laurent dropped to his knees, reaching for the ties on Damen’s sweatpants.

“What the fuck.” Damen slapped Laurent’s hands away. Laurent swayed taken aback and retreated, confused. “Stand up,” Damen demanded, “Stand!” at the verge of yelling.

Damen’s stomach had sunk to his feet. Other than the cameras in the corridor, there were no witnesses to what happened. Laurent remained where he was, sitting back on his heels and giving Damen huge icy eyes, through obscenely long lashes as blond as his hair, blooming cheeks, and beautifully plump pink lips. “Please, get up and leave. I won’t ask again.”

Laurent felt the wall behind him to help himself up. “I want to stay.” His voice was no longer a drawl then. It had a hint of raw desperation that had not been there before.

Damen shook his head. “That’s too bad kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he barked, words lacking the previous indifference. “Let me stay.”

“No.”

“Please.”

A beat passed. A long ‘hear-the-ticks-on-the-clock-slow-down’ kind of beat. Laurent’s stance remained mighty and unshakable, searching Damen’s face.

“How old are you?” Damen asked and again when Laurent refused to respond.

As Damen pressed further, he finally said, through gritted teeth, “Sixteen.” In spite of the aversion for the word, Laurent expression was challenging, daring Damen to say anything about it.

Damen did. “Sixteen. You can’t just get to a stranger’s house, impose on them, and expect to be welcomed,” he said, “that’s not how these things work. Kid.”

Laurent went paler a shade, previously rosy cheeks suddenly drawn out of color. His feet kicked the carpet, and his sole focus was on that. “Do you understand? You can’t walk into strangers’ houses, period. And if you wanted a real shot at getting the room you should have called me and scheduled a date to come and talk to me at a normal hour on a normal day like everyone else. And probably have your parents to call me too, considering. Now, please get out of my apartment.”

It took him a minute, but Laurent finally listened to reason and gathered his stuff. On his way out, though, as Damen already breathed relieved that this unnerving event was over (and began to formulate in mind the text he was going to send Nikandros), Laurent stopped again, white as a sheet, barely a foot away from the door Damen had been holding open for too long.

“Let me stay.”

Neither Laurent’s voice nor his posture were anything of what they had been. It was like watching him come undone. His shoulders tensed and his feet were dragging rather than pacing. “I have the money. You won’t even know I’m here. Please.” Damen shook his head sluggishly. Laurent looked out the door and then slowly cast his eyes back to Damen. “Tonight then. I can pay you for the stay and I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

Damen’s resolve faltered, then cracked, then crumbled. It finally occurred to him, “Why did you come here?”

Laurent frowned. “Your flyer…”

“No.” Laurent knew what Damen really asked.

Laurent bit his bottom lip for a long time, then straightened up. “I have nowhere else to go.” His face, though he attempted to remain composed, betrayed him. His bottom lip trembled discreetly.

“You were kicked out?” No response. Damen ran a hand over his face. His grip on the door slacked. “Damn you. Don’t you have… friends? Any family you can run to? Come to a stranger’s apartment… do you have any idea what could happen to you? You’re sixteen.” Laurent stared at him, silent. For a moment, he seemed about to speak but words died on his lips. “How do I know you aren't here to rob me? Or jump me when I’m asleep? Are your cronies waiting for you sign downstairs?”

Laurent said nothing. He balled his fists and waited as if he knew that Damen already changed his mind. It was not like Damen could do anything else anyway. It’s not like he would be able to cast out a homeless kid. Even a kid like Laurent.

Damen scratched his head and slammed the door behind him, eyes closed with a long, heavy sigh. He cursed under his breath. “Just tonight,” Damen said, though he knew he was lying. “You will have to find someplace else tomorrow.”

“Right. Thank you,” Laurent said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Damen, awkward with arms crossed over his chest and Laurent twirling his beany in his hands. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well then. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor, there are clean towels in the cabinet, and other stuff you might need.” Another awkward moment passed. “Let me show you to your room. The room. Not your room. Where you’ll stay tonight.”

Again, in a low voice, Laurent thanked him.

[mack3030]

Things the Sims 4 Community Can Do About Paywalls...A Post...

[This is going to be a bit long, so you may want to save it and read it when you have time, or just...you know, buckle in.]

I thought I would ring in the new year by talking about something that I feel we as a community need to finally decide on. (It’s been debated since 2017 or so, and it’s now 2021...) I’d like, if possible, to try to suggest some real solutions and choices that we can make that will hopefully create a better and more honest community out of all of us.  Now I would like to start by making some postulates. In geometry, postulates are facts that do not need proven with a mathematical proof. They are assumed to be true. Thomas Jefferson and the founding fathers would call these “Self-Evident Truths”. I would like to use these as a bit of a basis for my arguments. 

Truth: The Sims 4 has been enough of a cash cow for EA.  If you buy the base game ($40) plus all expansion packs (40 each x 10) + all game packs (20 each x 9) + all stuff packs (10 each x 17) you would come to a total of seven hundred and 90 dollars ($790) plus tax. This is of course, without sales, bundling, etc, which many people DO take advantage of, but STILL. That is a TON of money for EA’s pockets.  EA makes a majority of its money on the fact that the Sims 4 is an “incomplete game”. It “completes” the game further and further by adding more “expansions” to the game to the point that it seems almost useless to buy the base game alone without adding to it. 

Even with sales and other things, it’s easy to spend over $500 dollars on the sims 4 game + expansions. Still a lot of cash for a game that is years old. This is just money that is spent on the game that goes to EA. This does not account for:  * Money spent to buy a new computer because your old one wouldn’t run the sims.  * Money spent supporting CC artists who have donations open or early access.  * Money spent on access to sites that have ads/paywalls/exclusive sims 4 CC such as Leosims, etc. (Which are the problem, frankly)

We should be able to respect the fact that a majority of us paid a hefty amount for this game. It is unfair, and frankly greedy to REQUIRE people to pay MORE just to unlock or gain access to specific user created content. 

I am not talking about a VOLUNTARY support or donation because they like what you offer. I am talking about FORCING people to pay if they want to ever be able to use the CC or mod you offer. 

Now, the typical defense for this is “Well, I’m an artist! I spend time/effort/etc working hard on these meshes, the code, etc to make this content!”  Which leads me to point #2. 

Truth: Mods, CC, and other content for the Sims 4 are useless without the game. Once they are created/uploaded to the game, all copyright to those objects IMMEDIATELY transfers to EA. 

I teach art in a Missouri public school. Our state standards dictate that when art students are in middle school grades, they have to learn about copyright, fair use, and creative commons. While I am not a copyright lawyer, I have had to learn enough about this subject to teach it. So allow me to break down a few facts about copyright: 

First, when ya make it, ya own it. There’s not a process to apply for a copyright. The moment you create something that is 100% your own work, you hold the copyright to it. 

Second, when you make something that is created based off of or USING someone else’s intellectual property as a reference or resource it is a fan creation. In art, we call this “fanart”. It is not 100% your own work. Someone else’s intellectual property is involved. 

Fan creations always have tread a very thin and shadowy line when it comes to different companies and the legality of them. You can easily search google for various articles explaining it, but to summarize it in a short method: 

Most companies do not actively go after those who create fan creations unless they are making profits that could instead be going to the creators of the intellectual property. If the fan creation is discovered to be making profits and/or taking the intellectual property in a direction the creator does not approve of, they have legal options to pursue (court, cease and desist letters, etc). 

Third, Copyright can be transferred from person to person. In most cases this is done through a written document that both parties sign, however there IS an exception to this that EA uses to allow itself to transfer your copyrights to your content to them: 

EA’s agreement with you is non-exclusive, meaning that the moment you hit “agree” on the sims 4 terms and conditions, you have handed over your rights to any CC you create for the game. 

If you want to maintain full creative rights over the mesh/mods/etc you make then, you have to not make that content for the sims 4 and make your own platform to host it on. This is way easier said than done. 

Truth: There have been various examples in the past of CC creators who have stolen meshes, bases, bits/pieces of work, or “inspiration” for CC from other sites/companies, who have been called on it publicly. 

The most recent event concerning this was drama concerning itsbrandysims and their use of meshes from imvu/secondlife (you can see my opinion on the subject HERE), but there have been other documented cases. Leosims, for example, has been listed as an example of someone taking meshes from secondlife creators and reuploading them (when it was told to me, I was shown THIS thread as evidence). Another well known creator was accused by a former sims 4 cc creator (who now makes content from second life), and was called out in THIS post in 2019. 

The horrible part of this? Many of these creators are charging people (often at not so great rates as well), for STOLEN content. Content they don’t even own, that they ripped from another place. This should not be accepted by a community that loves a game as much as the Sims 4 community.  Truth: EA has provided a way for people to make money while not hiding content behind paywalls entirely, and the INTENT of this was to OFFSET COSTS.  Almost every post about content locked behind paywalls features this post found on the Sims Forum from 2017. In it, SimGuruDrake, who was the community manager at the time (she has since left the Sims 4 team for another job).  Most of you who have seen this discussion topic before know this post by heart, but I’d like to highlight one important aspect of it: 

One thing that is always important about communication is the intent behind it. The intent for people to be allowed to make patreons and allow early access wasn’t so people could just make money for themselves, the idea was to offset costs to buy programs to make the content. For example, a yearly subscription to Adobe Creative Cloud (which has photoshop, illustrator, etc) costs a couple hundred dollars US a year. If someone was using photoshop to help them create their CC in addition to blender or other free programs, EA/Maxis wanted to allow the creator to not have to pay for making the CC out of pocket.  Can EA/Maxis control what people spend the money they make off of patreon on? No. But it should be noted that the intent of this action was to help people pay for supplies for their hobby more than to make a business out of it. 

Onto the next truth! Truth: There is an image that disputes this post above, however the authenticity of it and timing of it are very disputed. 

This image is often thrown around by people who lock content behind paywalls, but I would like to take a second and try to provide an honest assessment of it.  First of all, I have a bit of a problem with the fact that the original person who “messaged” SimGuruDrake this question has not been identified. This image was not posted on the tumblr of a CC creator who claimed “Hey I reached out to a sims guru and this is the answer I got!” The main pages that have this image are either tweets from CC creators using it to defend their stance on paywalls (ex: here), or tumblrs/tweets “debunking it” (ex: here, here).  I even reverse image searched this image using google, and another platform and could not figure out where this originated from. Of course, I’m not an expert, but...still. 

The fact that the origin of this picture is unknown casts doubt on it. If it were a well known CC maker who is known for being honest, that’s one thing. But the fact that we don’t exactly know where it came from is suspicious. Because frankly, anyone with some decent editing ability could photoshop this. 

Here’s my imperfect edit, but I’m just a self-taught graphics nerd and I am not as dedicated at faking screenshots as some. (And the crap photo quality didn’t help.) Another common issue is that at the supposed “time” that this question was being asked, some state that SimsGuruDrake had already left the Sims 4 team. I will admit, this photo is within the correct timeline, as SimsGuruDrake did not officially depart the sims 4 team until February 2018. (There is a post on the sims forums that has a timestamp that confirms this.) But, if you were in the process of leaving your job within the next month (as a two week/30 day notice is common when leaving a job), would you REALLY be answering questions in DMs on twitter, or be focusing on packing up, and training your successor?  The last thing that really makes me doubt the validity of this picture is the fact that it’s not really easy to message the sims gurus on Twitter. This appears to be twitter from the screenshot (although there are some things that are a little out of place from the current UI): But when I attempt to direct message a sims guru I get this message: 

I even tried seeing if I could reach out via DM to Drake herself, (who now posts under a different twitter) to see if it was possible: 

Could the policies have changed since 2018? Possibly, but I feel that opening up direct messages is just asking for Sims 4 team members to get angry messages, so this could very well be a long running EA policy. I have also reached out to her via a twitter tag (as of 1/2/21), and will update y’all if I get a reply:

Okay, so now that we’ve gone through all of this, let’s talk about the last truth that’s really important:  Truth: Putting content behind paywalls has generally been considered disgusting by many in the sims 4 community, and TAKES AWAY the choice of people to support CC creators they love/appreciate WILLINGLY.  A few notable posts sharing the disgust with this practice can be found: HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE, HERE & HERE). And these are just what I can find from a simple precursory search.

Okay, Brainiac. So what can we do to solve this problem? 

Well, there’s a few methods we can employ, and sadly, it’s going to take a bit of a commitment and concentrated effort from the community. 

Step #1: Make the COMMUNITY the VICTIM instead of EA. 

Now when I say this, I don’t mean we’re actually victims, but mean that instead of constantly saying things like “WHEN YOU DO THIS YOU VIOLATE EA’S TOU!”, thus making EA the “victim” of the crime. We change the dialog to saying “When you lock stuff behind paywalls, you cheat the sims 4 community and disrespect their choice to support you or not.”  Because let’s be honest. Maxis/EA really doesn’t give much of a care about if people aren’t following this rule. You can report people to the team, but as far as most people have seen, it doesn’t get anywhere. But if we make it where the community is the party being “wronged” it is much harder for those who have paywalls to not be scared. Because the community, in the end, has to be with them.  DepthofPixels had a really amazing post about this HERE. 

Step 2: Decide to not support anyone who puts their content behind exclusive paywalls and do not hesitate to spread the word about why you choose not to do so. 

By that, I mean

not paying any patreon accounts that don’t offer either their content 100% for free, or offer early access.

And sharing about why you choose to do that on your social media. Something I might suggest would be to make it a bit personal and share something like:

Instead of spending $15 a month to get exclusive content from Leosims (or any other patreon/paywall creator here) I’m spending that $15 supporting creator x, creator y, and creator z, who don’t put their work behind paywalls! 

Link their patrons, share why you like their content, and why you take the stance to make the community better. Make it a positive thing, praising the people who are doing RIGHT by the community. 

Yes, you may not get their content for a while (although there are some different places (

x

,

x

) to find them *cough*. But in the end, is it worth supporting someone’s content when they’re treating the community badly? 

Step 3: Report creators who actively steal content from IMVU/secondlife to those respective companies, and all others to EA. (Even though nothing may happen.)

Here’s the deal. When people steal from either of those sites, they are infringing on someone’s copyright, as well as Imvu/secondlife’s copyright as well. It’s not okay, and they should be held accountable for it. Here’s the LINK for submitting a ticket to Secondlife. I haven’t been able to find one for IMVU, but maybe someone else will find one. Let those companies know and allow them to handle those specific creators.  As to the other creators, EA may not handle them at the moment. But IF (and this is a wishful thinking “if”) there were suddenly a flood of messages about certain creators...? I think they might have to pay attention to some of those messages. There is an official report form, but it might even be worth tweeting to SleddingGuruFrost, who is the current community manager asking about their stance on paywalls.  And last but not least: 

Step 4: Make sure that those who are doing the right thing and not putting their work behind paywalls feel appreciated. Show them some love via a tumblr ask, or by tagging them on twitter, or by going up a tier on their patreon (or pledging for the first time). Celebrate these heroes who are creating content and not forcing it on us. 

Us asking for people to give us a choice to support them isn’t being greedy, or disrespecting their time. We just want transparency, and respect from those who create content for the game we love so much versus them treating us like we’re just a source of income. I know it might seem a bit hard to do this for some of you, and for some it may seem like I’m preaching to the choir, but we have to decide where we stand on this issue and stop letting those who abuse this system keep doing it. We can make a difference if we decide as a COMMUNITY to work together.

With commitment,  ~Sunny

[drarrymybeloved]

Supersonic

“Good afternoon, good afternoon,” Harry greets his waiting students as he quickly makes his way to the front of the Room of Requirement where the Duelling Club meets once a week. Draco’s already there. He smiles in greeting when Harry catches his eye, sending a pleasant ripple through Harry.

“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting,” Harry apologises, an automatic smile curving his lips. 

“It’s alright, we haven’t been waiting long. I haven’t spoiled the surprise, don’t worry.” Draco winks at him, sending Harry’s imagination to inappropriate places. 

Shaking himself, Harry nods in gratitude and turns towards the students, waiting for them to fall silent.

“Hi everyone, sorry I’m late. But I hope what we're working on today will make up for my tardiness,” he begins. “You’ve all been practicing your defensive spells for long enough now – I think you’re ready to start practicing actual duelling.” 

A shiver of excitement passes through the room as students turn to their friends and start whispering to one another. 

“Now, before I pair you off, I want you all to witness proper duelling etiquette and technique. Spellwork is just one part of what makes a good dueller. Professor Malfoy,” Harry indicates to his right as Draco takes a step forward, “will be helping me out with that.”

Harry glances towards Draco at the same time that Draco looks at him. Their eyes meet, sparking something heated in Harry’s gut. Tearing his eyes away, he busies himself with erecting a small magical barrier between the duelling mat and the students. It’s not really necessary, but as far as his students’ safety is concerned, Harry would like to err on the side of caution.

Once finished, Harry takes his stance in front of Draco. 

“Scared, Potter?” Draco murmurs, grey eyes shining with amusement. The effect is instantaneous – adrenaline surges through Harry. He grins. “You wish, Malfoy.”

And then they’re stalking off to their respective ends of the mat, whirling back around to face each other. Draco smirks at him as they bow. Refusing to get distracted, Harry wastes no time in sending a Jelly-Legs jinx Draco’s way, which he dodges neatly while shooting off a Tarantallegra that catches Harry’s left leg.

Wobbling slightly as his leg valiantly attempts to dance the salsa, Harry aims a Tickling charm at Draco that hits him square in the chest, making him double over with laughter. 

“Expelliarmus,” Harry shouts triumphantly, knocking Draco’s wand out of his hand. Applause bursts out from where the students are standing.

Draco straightens, hands on his hips and gasping slightly. As Harry walks up to him to return his wand, he smiles crookedly. “Not bad, Professor Potter.”

Smiling back at him, Harry hands Draco’s wand back. “Not bad yourself, Professor Malfoy,” he murmurs. He holds Draco’s gaze for a touch longer than necessary before he remembers he’s supposed to be teaching children how to duel.

Snapping out of it, he turns to address the awed faces around him. “Right, so, that is what a duel looks like. I hope you noted our movements – the way Professor Malfoy dodged my first spell for instance,” he instructs. “Please make your way to the duelling mats with your partners, and let's get started.”

For the next hour, Harry circles the room, correcting stances and incantations. He’s constantly aware of Draco’s presence, but he’s determined to stay on task, so he keeps his eyes and attention firmly on his students. Tries to, at least.

It’s the most distracted Harry has been while teaching, but no major mishaps happen and by the end of the hour, the students are tumbling out of the Room of Requirement, tired but still full of exuberance at having gotten a taste of hands-on defensive magic.

Satisfied, Harry starts rolling up the mats and putting away the training dummies. Draco joins him, and they work together in companionable silence – even if it is stretched taut with a tension Harry has gotten used to over months of working together.

As they put away the last of the mats, Draco turns to face Harry. “I was wondering,” he starts, maintaining eye contact but distractedly fiddling with his sleeves (which have been rolled up to his elbows at some point, revealing pale, corded forearms that Harry definitely has not been sneaking glances at), “if you would like to go on a date with me?”

Shocked surprise leaves Harry gaping at Draco in silence. He tries to find words, any words, but all his mind has to offer is an astoundingly articulate “uhhhhhh.”

“It’s just, I have asked you before, or at least I thought I had, what with the invitations to drinks and dinner, but I don’t think I was clear enough,” Draco barrels on in an attempt to fill the silence. “So, I’m uh, being clear now. I hope.” He coughs, cheeks steadily pinking.

“You’re gay?” Harry blurts out without thinking, and of course, that has to be what comes out first. 

Draco’s eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. “Yes, Harry, I am indeed gay. Something that literally every student and professor at Hogwarts knows,” he says slowly, before looking around in bemusement. “What on Earth–” 

And that’s when Harry realises the Room of Requirement is echoing with It's Raining Men.

Oh, no. Cheeks burning, Harry quickly reins in his rogue magic. “The Room can be weird at times,” he fibs, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding all eye contact.

“Right...” Draco drags out skeptically. Visibly moving past it, he asks, “So, dinner?”

Excitement frizzes through Harry’s veins, crackling in his stomach. “Dinner sounds good,” he agrees, trying to temper his grin. 

Draco smiles, his shoulders relaxing, eyes warm and pleased. Harry thinks he could get lost in those mercurial depths. 

But then confusion, followed by realisation, and finally, amusement steals into Draco’s gaze. His shoulders start to shake with mirth. Baffled, Harry pulls himself out of his thoughts to ask what’s so funny, when his ears are assaulted with Celine Dion singing her lungs out.

“The Room acting out again?” Draco asks, all faux innocence, barely able to contain his laughter.

Horrified, Harry buries his face – now beetroot red – into his hands and fervently wishes for the sweet release of death.

He hears Draco chuckle and then feels gentle fingers prying his hands away from his face. Cringing, he meets Draco’s bright gaze. “So, my magic reacts oddly sometimes,” he offers weakly. 

“I noticed,” Draco informs him, and closes the inches between them to press his lips to Harry’s. 

Harry freezes in surprise for a second before he’s moving, tilting his head and interlacing their fingers. He can feel Draco smiling into the kiss and he’s alight with it.

In the background, Freddy Mercury croons, I’m trav’ling at the speed of light.

for @vukovich who, among other things, said they like magical hijinks and oblivious harry. also for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: parallel. i tried to inject some of Vuk’s energy into this re: weirdness, but i’m not sure how successful i was 😂 i hope you like it Vuk!

thank you to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for the beta!

read on ao3

[andypantsx3]

if i could keep cool | 4

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

There was no other word for it. Todoroki was a menace.

Though his schedule seemed to return to something approximating normal, he was still in the apartment often enough that you began to anticipate him being there. Even when he wasn’t, however, he made life difficult enough for you by leaving behind gifts, with progressively more disappointed notes if you didn’t take them. You didn’t know how it was possible to convey that flat tone in the shape of his letters, but you could practically hear it as you read them over.

Worse, he seemed to know exactly which of your weak points to exploit to get you to want the gifts--leaving you several more books, a bag of the really nice coffee beans from the coffee shop you’d told him about, and a sinfully soft scarf as the weather turned colder. When you continued to ignore the insane amount of money he seemed to think passed for a tip, fresh vegetables started cropping up on the countertops with notes that said things like I’m not going to eat these, if you don’t take them they will be wasted to guilt you into compliance.

A month into it, an entire grocery order started showing up every Thursday shift. My refrigerator is full so don’t try to stuff any of this in there, his note commanded.

He was a master of manipulation, it seemed, and to what end you didn’t know. You made mental notes to not mention any further likes during your conversations, but when he was there, Todoroki’s conversation was so easy and so natural, he continued to pull all the details out of you with ease.

So things you really, really liked kept turning up. And as you talked to him, Todoroki was turning into a thing that you really, really liked as well.

It was overwhelming.

The final straw was a Friday afternoon when you hit up the fancy coffee shop just outside campus. You walked in with the extra money you’d saved up not buying your own groceries, and the vague idea that you would get a head start on an upcoming paper. And then, the barista very obviously glanced between you and a sheet of paper taped to a corner of the register, and refused to let you pay for your order.

“Your order is free!” she chirped cheerfully.

You stared. “What?”

“It’s already taken care of!” she said, and immediately, a cloud of suspicion settled over you.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked.

She smiled. “The occasion is someone already paid for you!”

You glanced around the coffee shop, but you could find nothing but a few unfamiliar students purusing books or churning out work on their respective laptops. You turned back to her.

“And if I were to walk into this coffee shop tomorrow, would the occasion also be that someone already paid for me?”

She nodded. “Yes! All your future orders are paid for, please come as often as you like!”

You gaped at her, and she cheerfully stuffed your coffee into your hands. Then you glared down at the white paper cup accusingly, and it stared back at you, looking like one half of a certain menace’s hair color.

Oh, he was in for it.

You stalked over to a table and whipped out your cell phone, shooting off a message so fast your fingers practically burned.

todoroki what the hell

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.

It’s Shouto.

Like hell it was.

first names are for friends, not psychopaths. did you really pay for all of my future orders at the coffee shop?

Is this your first time there this month? he answered. Where do you usually go?

You stared at your phone. He’d done this a month ago? Also, no way you were telling him your budget spot where you picked up lukewarm bean water when you couldn’t afford four dollar americanos. The last thing you needed was for him to buy them out, too.

You got to your feet, marching back over to the barista.

She smiled. “Back for something else?”

“Yeah, how do I cancel the all my orders are paid for thing?” you asked. “Can you just delete whatever info he left you and charge me from now on?”

She looked you up and down. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She stared, then leaned in to whisper. “You do know who paid for all your orders, right? Are you actually sure you want to cancel?”

A migraine started in your temples. Had Todoroki actually come in here himself to give his information? Was he trying to get you caught up in the secret lover bullshit that was still swirling in the media?

“I’m extra sure,” you smiled, then went back to your table, satisfied.

No sooner than you had dug out your laptop, though, when your phone buzzed. You looked down at the name on the screen and paled. Todoroki was way easier to deal with via text when you couldn’t hear that low, smooth tone directly in your ear. His face and his voice were absolutely fucking mind-melting, and it would be hard to maintain your stubborn stance even in the face of just one.

Still, though, this was the last straw.

“How many times do I have to tell you that friendship is free?” you hissed quietly as you picked up.

“They told me you tried to cancel,” he said flatly, and your head whipped up to glare at the barista accusingly. She smiled.

“Todoroki--”

“Shouto,” he said.

“Fine, Shouto,” you said, “It’s been a month and maybe I let you get the wrong idea by accepting all of the vegetables and everything, but this ends here. I told you that it doesn’t cost anything to be friends with me, and you had better stop apologizing. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but--”

“Then do,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Then just appreciate it,” he answered. His voice was somehow even lower on the phone and a shiver went down your spine, despite your frustration with him. “Just accept them. Why is it so bad if a friend gives you things?”

God, he was such a rich boy, wasn’t he?

“Shouto, I do appreciate it,” you said. “But I don’t need any of that. And I know that you know this isn’t necessary--I highly doubt that you are buying Midoriya all of his weekly coffees or draping Bakugou in soft scarves. All you need to be friends with me is to just hang out, the same way you do them.”

Shouto was quiet a moment. “Hang out,” he finally said, slowly, like he was tasting the words in his mouth. Then, “Are you free right now?”

“W-what?” you managed.

“You don’t have class right now, right? Your last lecture just let out.”

You were surprised that he remembered your class schedule. Just how much had you told him?

“Uh, yeah?” you asked.

“Good, stay where you are. We’re hanging out,” he pronounced the words like they were foreign on his tongue, then hung up.

You stared down at your phone in shock. He wanted to hang out with you? Like, outside of his apartment?

There was no arguing the two of you got along relatively well, now that the threat of your crazy fandom and the weight of his mistake no longer hung over your relationship. You talked easily enough the one or two times you saw him during any given week. But so far your interactions had been somewhat limited, confined to the familiar space of his apartment and limited to the time that you had to be there. You texted a little outside of that, but you’d never just casually hung out.

Then the weight of his words really hit you. He was coming here? To the coffee shop? In full view of your entire campus? Was he insane?

You ran through a mental checklist of things in your bag that could be used to disguise him but came up short. You didn’t know exactly what he planned to look like when he put in an appearance here, but you were not interested in fanning the flames of the secret lover garbage that was still all over twitter and splashed across the glossy pages of the magazines at the grocery store.

You shot to your feet and threw your bag over your shoulder, then ran out the door, dashing for the campus shop that sat just outside the student center. You blew through the door and dove straight for the apparel section, grabbing the least heinous hat that looked like it would cover most of Shouto’s distinctive hairstyle while also drawing the least amount of attention to its wearer. You also helped yourself to a plain pair of sunglasses that would probably be kind of inappropriate in the fall weather, but would go a long way in hiding his eyes and that scar.

Why did he insist on having so many distinguishing features? Would it kill him to have dark hair and dark eyes like most of the rest of the earth’s population?

You threw the items and a wad of bills down on the register counter, then paused. A few small, slightly-wilted looking bouquets of flowers sprouted from buckets just beside the register in the colors of your university. You didn’t know what the colors or type of the flowers were supposed to mean, and they probably didn’t give off exactly the message you wanted to send, but Shouto had gotten you flowers as the first gift he’d ever given you…

You grabbed the least wilted looking bunch and threw them on top of the other items.

The cashier rang you up with all the urgency of a sloth, and you tapped your foot nervously as you waited. How was Shouto getting here? How long would it take him? Would he be at the coffee shop already?

You stuffed the flowers into your bag, then launched yourself out of the campus shop like a rocket, catching that mop of red and white hair just outside the entrance to the coffee shop. You put on a burst of speed and managed to jam the baseball cap down over his head before he pulled open the door. He turned to you in surprise.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Yes, hi, hello,” you managed while also trying to ram the sunglasses onto his face.

He let out a small huff of amusement. “What are you doing?”

“What you should have done before coming here, you absolute wackjob,” you said, finally managing to slip the shades over his high-bridged nose without poking his eyes out.

Shouto let you manhandle him to your liking, until his face and hair were mostly hidden under your university merchandise.

“Okay, you should be good now,” you said, looking him over. He still stood out, honestly, too tall and outrageously handsome, even covered up as he was. The sweater and well-fitting jeans he’d chosen would still draw anyone’s gaze straight to his trim figure, but it would have to do.

“We can’t go inside, though, you’ll look too shady with the cap and glasses,” you said. “We need to go somewhere outdoors.”

He stared down at you, one eyebrow lifted over the top of his sunglasses. “It’s fall.”

You thought for a moment.

“How do you feel about izakaya?” you asked. “There’s a street-side one not far from here that’s mostly outdoors. They’re good, and I think they’re still open.”

He nodded. “Do you go there often?”

You eyed him. “Oh no. If I tell you places I go, you apparently buy them out. The whole point of you being here is to prove that buying me things is stupid when we can just hang out.”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he was being told a joke you couldn’t hear. “Lead the way, then,” he said evenly.

You pulled him down a few blocks, expertly navigating your way through the winding city streets. You would never admit as much to him, but this place was one of your faves for good beer and cheap yakitori, and you could probably easily find your way both blindfolded and drunk. Shouto followed you easily, a tall, silent warmth at your back.

There were few people at the izakaya when you arrived, considering it was still a little early for dinner, and no one gave the two of you a second glance when you pulled back the curtains and helped yourselves to pair of stools in the corner of the stall.

“Okay, you have to get a beer and yakitori first," you said. "You can do whatever you want after, but the first round has to be that. Just trust me.”

“No vegetables?” Shouto asked.

You laughed. “I know that’s my brand. And there are good veggie side dishes. But there is nothing like fresh, warm, cheap yakitori and a really good beer, especially on a cool fall day like this. I know what I’m talking about.”

A soft smile pulled at his mouth. “So you do come here often.”

You stared up at him accusingly. “If you dare throw a single dollar at them, you’re in huge trouble. I know where you live.”

He smiled down at you. It was easier to notice how boyish his grin was when the rest of his face was hidden by his sunglasses, and heat flared in your cheeks. He was just so damn good looking.

It suddenly dawned on you how forward you’d been with him, sending him sassy texts and putting your hands all over him when you were attempting to stuff him into your university swag. Your relationship had progressed somewhat since that first book he’d bribed you with, but honestly, this was completely new ground for you.

Your face burned hotter. You’d been so, so inexcusably forward. Had you lost your mind?

Shouto seemed to be thinking about the hat as well. “So, do I look like a student at your university?”

You looked him up and down. Aside from your school’s name emblazoned across his baseball cap, he looked nothing like a student, too put together in his dark sweater and jeans that probably cost more than your monthly rent. You wondered if he’d even been within ten feet of an instant ramen cup in his entire life.

“Uh, no,” you said. “You look like someone forced you to wear a hat they panic purchased and it just so happened to be the least horrible one available.”

A smile played about his mouth again. “What were the other options?”

You grinned. “It was this one or a proud dad of a college grad cap.”

He let out a small huff of amusement. You smiled, then leaned forward as the man at the counter came over to take your order, making sure to cut Shouto off before he could attempt any rich boy tricks. You put in an order for two beers and what was probably a concerning amount of yakitori, then turned back to Shouto and almost fell off your stool when he was much closer than you’d expected.

“Do you have a teleportation quirk I don’t know about?” you asked, internally panicking at his proximity. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of him and catch the scent of his cologne, light and fresh and disturbingly good.

He smiled that boyish smile again and your heart suddenly forgot how to do its job, freezing in your chest. “It’s cold.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have a fire quirk.”

You felt the air grow a little warmer around the two of you. “I meant for you,” he said.

You were torn between relaxing into the sudden warmth and freezing up in embarrassment. It was beginning to dawn on you just how attentive and thoughtful he always was, and you wondered vaguely if the gift giving was actually just a really extreme manifestation of that personality trait. Maybe being an awkward rich boy with a weird way of making friends was just part of the issue.

Your heartbeat suddenly kicked into overdrive. He was already so overwhelming to look at, incredibly brave, such a good listener, and way too easy to talk to. You did not need to pile on other endearing qualities to the frankly alarming number of things feeding into what was quickly becoming the fattest crush of your lifetime. Did he have to be so good all the time?

A hand suddenly reached out, pulling you closer so that you were practically fused to his left side. You stiffened, resisting the urge to curl into the warmth pouring off of him in thick waves.

Not good, this was so not good.

“Uh, you don’t have to do that,” you said, tongue thick, like you were speaking through a mouthful of applesauce. “I’m wearing the scarf you got me.”

Shouto tilted his head, and though you couldn’t see his expression behind the sunglasses, something like satisfaction curled the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said in his deep tone, “but this will help too.”

“Really, you’re my friend not my personal space heater,” you insisted, trying to squirm away from him. “You don’t need to do this.”

He flared hotter, and a strong arm went around the back of your chair, halting your escape. “I don’t mind,” he said.

God it was like he didn’t even know what effect he had on people. People, of course, being cleaning ladies with twitters full of zoomed in pictures of his abs. It was not good for your health to be this close to him, couldn’t he just let you sit ten thousand miles away from him where both of you would be a little safer?

The izakaya owner interrupted this train of thought, pushing two beers and a plateful of yakitori between the two of you.

You instantly seized on the distraction, bringing a beer to your mouth to give you a couple moments for your brain to turn on again. It was refreshingly cold, and the flavor was nostalgic, tasting like breaks after class with friends and late nights stumbling back after several rounds of karaoke and drinking. You wondered now if, in the future, you would taste it and think back to the one time you’d hung out with Shouto Todoroki.

“It’s good,” Shouto said, looking at you over the rim of his own beer.

You smiled. “I told you.”

Then you shoved a stick of yakitori at him. “Now eat this and tell me I was right about it too.”

His fingers slid along yours as he took the stick from you, calloused and warm. “...You were right about this too,” he said after managing a bite.

You felt yourself puff up. “Of course I was.”

He smiled and helped himself to the rest. With the food and drink absorbing some of your attention, you were able to calm down somewhat, and the conversation returned to normal, you doing your best to forget about the sinfully warm arm curled around your back.

Here, too, Shouto was absurdly easy to talk to, the new venue doing nothing to dull his charm or the easy way that he pulled information out of you with a few, short, well-placed questions. Over the course of a few hours, you worked your way through a few beers and several more side dishes, the conversation never letting up. Shouto was just as intelligent and thoughtful as ever, and he made you laugh with a couple of unexpectedly short tempered comments. Even the discovery that he was not as princely as he usually seemed just fanned the flames of your crush.

It was only when the people around you began to shuffle off of their stools and pack up that you realized how late it had grown, and that you’d spent the entire evening hanging out and talking.

Shouto helped you off your stool when you stumbled a little, the number of beers you’d consumed suddenly making themselves known. “You’re more of a lightweight than I would have guessed by the conversation,” he teased.

You looked up into his face, realizing that he’d shed the sunglasses at some point during your conversation and you hadn’t noticed. Had anyone else noticed? No one had come over asking for an autograph. Maybe he was so unexpected at a place like this that the hat had been enough of a disguise.

You blinked, realized you’d been staring. “Nonsense, I’m a pro. I’ve put in many more beers at this place.”

Then your eyes narrowed at the slow movement his hand was making along the counter, what looked suspiciously like a stack of bills underneath. That little shit.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you demanded, grabbing his hand and stuffing the money back into it. “This is on me. I haven’t paid for groceries in weeks, thanks to somebody.”

Shouto smirked, looking strangely pleased with himself. His hand curled around yours, and his other came up to take your free hand. It was only when he’d transferred both of your wrists into one large palm that you realized what he was doing, plopping down a handful of bills on the counter quickly with his free hand, then pulling your backpack over your shoulder and tugging you away from the izakaya before you could make a scene. You’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, steering you back out into the street. “Give me your address.”

“Shouto,” you whined, “this whole evening was supposed to be about proving you don’t need to spend money to be my friend. We were supposed to hang out.”

“We did hang out,” he pointed out, looking down at you from under the rim of that ridiculous baseball cap. “Your point was very much made.”

It was a testament to how tipsy you were, probably, that this warmed you. You forgot your annoyance with him almost immediately. “Really?”

He huffed a laugh. “Really. Now give me your address so I can take you home.”

You did and he plugged it into his phone. Then he led you along with one hand curled around yours. You spent the whole walk musing on how warm his fingers were in yours, how much larger his hands seemed than yours. Why was even his stupid hand so nice?

It was only as Shouto walked you to the door of your apartment that you remembered the last thing you’d gotten for him in the campus store. You quickly unzipped your backpack, shoving the bouquet of flowers at him.

“For you,” you said, pressing them into his chest. “You got me those flowers. These ones aren’t as nice, but I thought that you should have some too.”

He stared down at you, something strange glinting in his eyes. “You got me flowers.”

“Do you not like them?” you asked nervously. Was it weird to give a guy flowers? It was probably weird…

“I like them,” he declared, and a genuine smile flickered across his mouth. His eyes looked a little brighter, and his gaze was growing more intent by the second. “Now, you should probably get inside before I forget my manners.”

Forget his manners? You stared up at him in confusion.

He looked down at you for a long moment, and then he was suddenly very close, his face dipping down to yours.

“Get inside,” he said quietly, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “Please.”

You nodded, swallowing. You had just enough presence of mind to turn and unlock your door. Shouto guided you gently inside with a hand on your back, and then stepped back outside, smiling.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

You waved. “See you on Tuesday.”

You watched him make his way back down the street, only closing your door when you saw him turn the corner and disappear out of sight. Then you sank down against the door frame, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest.

Shouto was the most overwhelming man on this earth. You were in such big trouble.

[cybernaght]

Guardian rewatch: episode 7

The world’s most amicable mugging continues in this episode, as Shen Wei waits for Zhao Yunlan to spring into his defence as his personal knight in shining armour. Or, as the official subtitle of the episode states:

I kid you not. Here’s the original with the alternate translation.

I am once more very much not mad at it. 

I say that Shen Wei’s mugging is amicable, but that is of course is before one of the “gangsters” tries to grab at his Pendant of Pining. “It’s not something that you people can touch”, he states, easily restraining the man’s wrist. He’s not losing his composure just yet, but his warrior’s stance is showing, and he comes pretty close to breaking cover.

Thankfully, this is when Zhao Yunlan shows up to intervene. Hearing him approach, Shen Wei’s first priority is hiding the Pendant of Pining. His second priority is straightening his collar and tightening his tie. Shen Wei may be in a middle of an attempted mugging, but he’d be damned if he allows Zhao Yunlan to see him dishevelled. Come to think of it, it’s kind of hilarious that Shen Wei’s attempt at pretending to be a poor helpless human includes being completely nonplussed by being attacked. Surely freaking out a little would be an infinitely less suspicious choice. 

Yunlan politely but firmly pushes the professor aside, and Shen Wei waits patiently next to the wall, neatly folding his hands the same way he did at the unpleasant councillor meeting in the previous episode. 

Here we finally see that Zhao Yunlan is pretty impressive in hand to hand combat. This man may not have a sword, but he can easily knock two dudes out with three moves. Again, this is a very short, but pretty damn flawless little piece of choreography. Zhao Yunlan’s fighting prowess is even more accentuated with a gleeful adrenaline-filled grin he breaks into after he’s done. I understand Shen Wei’s endless desire to protect the man he’s devoted to, but, honestly, it’s nice to see Zhao Yunlan not really needing protection - not against simple street crime at least. 

Shen Wei proceeds to calmly dust off his discarded briefcase. Zhao Yunlan proceeds to retrieve the other man’s watch from the ground and then passes it on. With physical contact. Should I be obsessing over how their fingers linger together for a second? Maybe not. I am doing it anyway. 

“What a coincidence”, deadpans Shen Wei, who knows for the fact that the other man is tailing him, and causes a delightful burst of faux outrage in response. 

“What are you implying?”, Zhao Yunlan asks innocently, deflecting further by inquiring whether Shen Wei thinks he staged this little rescue mission. He follows it with “Only you’re allowed to be here this time of night?”, which I choose to read as, “Really, Shen Wei. Why do you think you should have a monopoly on stalking in this relationship?”

As the two are distracted by the low key flirting, one of the muggers makes an opportunity attack on Zhao Yunlan. Shen Wei is alarming Yunlan to this with genuine worry, but does not lose his composure enough to intervene.  

We are treated to another excellent three moves, which are block-break-backfist. Well mixed sound helps, but Bai Yu does look very good as well. The footage does not appear sped up at all, but his movements are fast and crisp, he’s engaging his whole body, everything lands well angle-wise, it’s appropriately safe... Again, I cannot fault this at all. Bai Yu is not physically strong, and this just goes to show that you don’t need a lot of muscle to look like you can be an effective fighter. I don’t want to go into long detail on western media’s obsession with unrealistic physical standards in action media, but suffice it to say that it’s an unhealthy and pointless aesthetic choice which has nothing to do with reality of combat performance - as this scene clearly illustrates. (Look. As I said, stage violence is one of my jobs, and I’m a curvy woman who spends a lot of her time with insecure young actors and drama students. I have opinions.)

Having fended off the attack, Zhao Yunlan exaggerates the situation with the proverb “talking too much will get you killed.” Shen Wei is obviously distressed over his choice of words, but he looks down to hide it. 

At this point the two decide to go home instead of getting the street criminals off the street. 

Zhao Yunlan follows Shen Wei into his flat, pretending very loudly that he has not seen this place before. He is trying way too hard. And there is a touch of a naughtily feline glimmer in his eyes, because he is probably still on that adrenaline rush: his heart would be pounding, senses elevated, brain basking in a pleasant sharpness akin to a sugar rush, when everything is a little bit too saturated. And an attractive mysterious man he just saved is asking him to stay. Zhao Yunlan’s going to have even less brain to mouth filter here than he usually does. 

Shen Wei is getting a first aid to kit to treat Zhao Yunlan’s injuries. It’s anyone’s guess why the self-healing Envoy needs a first aid kit at all - it lives in a Tupperware box as well, suggesting that it’s been assembled and organised by hand rather than store bought. 

Sitting down, and tucking his tie in (because neatness is everything), Shen Wei prepares to administer a mysterious ointment to Zhao Yunlan’s bruise, and states that this is him giving Chief Zhao an opportunity for interrogation. I bet he has got a lie prepared for any question, because this situation has definitely been pre-planned. 

Instead of probing the other man, Zhao Yunlan offers him a job. Shen Wei’s answer is a firm no, which he utters without even a second hesitation. To Zhao Yunlan, this clearly reads as a rejection, as his face crumbles. 

He livens up however, when Shen Wei hurries to add that this is not a denial of help or cooperation. Zhao Yunlan is right to ask why he would take the job then case; this is an entirely reasonable question. I’m guessing, Shen Wei’s reluctance comes from his unwillingness to compromise Hei Pao Shi’s position, rather than an attempt to prevent Zhao Yunlan from getting involved in the cosmic shitstorm which is currently brewing: as the Lord Guardian, he’s gonna get right in the middle of said storm either way. 

“You just move in and didn’t invite your neighbour over for some fun?”, Zhao Yunlan asks.

Laying it on really thick, I see. 

Shen Wei blinks disbelievingly, as if to say “did he just…?” then recovers enough to huff out a laugh.

“My mistake. Next time, I’ll properly invite you.”

Zhao Yunlan snaps his fingers in delight, visibly vibrating with joy. In his head this is Yunlan - 1: Xiao Wei - 0. 

As Shen Wei starts to apply the mysterious ointment, Zhao Yunlan flinches, and Shen Wei is genuinely taken aback by an idea that he might hurt this man. He is so preciously startled for a second, shedding ten thousand years in an instant. I am never going to not be impressed by Zhu Yilong’s ability to switch into Baby Shen Wei mode in a matter of seconds. 

“I didn’t expect you to have such skilful hands.”

Zhao Yunlan’s charm attack truly is unrelenting, and Shen Wei looks up with such a fragile hope in his eyes. He has lived a long time now, and he has learned to maintain thick walls around himself, but he is still incredibly affected by Kunlun’s shameless flirting. 

Continuing his charm offensive, Zhao Yunlan gets so distracted by trying to further impress Shen Wei, he unwittingly reveals that he knows the layout of this flat. And realises what he said. And hopes that the other man had not noticed, adorably brushing his nose in embarrassment. 

He dug this one out for himself, and Shen Wei is far from mortified: he is pleased to have caught the other man out. Zhao Yunlan flails, and Shen Wei quite literally is failing to wipe a smug smile off his own face. 

He’s not even really waiting for an explanation. He’s just happy to win this round. There is even a little “yeah sure let’s pretend I believe you” tilt of the eyebrow, when Yunlan finally comes up with something that sounds as a reasonable excuse. 

After his massive blunder, Zhao Yunlan tries to leave again. Shen Wei stops him, again, and there is no limit to how slyly Zhao Yunlan turns around, followed by a hind of disappointment when all he gets is an ointment, and not, you know, an opportunity to have a good look around Shen Wei’s bedroom. 

Shen Wei is left alone in his flat in a state of utter emotional overload, stroking the Pendant under his shirt. 

Let’s disregard for a second the fluctuating length of the chord the Pendant hangs on (is it between his collar bones or in front of his breastbone? Pick one!), and just appreciate the pining. Shen Wei is going through a lot of feelings since his Kunlun’s returned into his life, and sometimes computing is not an option. 

In the next scene, the muggers are discussing Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan, calling them both too formidable to even attempt an act of revenge against them. Definitely a wise idea. Unfortunately for them, they immediately get attacked by�� something.

Spoiler alert: no, it’s not a bear.

It’s the White Shirt Day at the SID. Chu Shuzhi is the only one not participating. In this scene, we discover that Lin Jing likes a horror web novelist called Lai Su - which will be very convenient for the case at hand. During their conversation, Wang Zheng alerts he team to the new case, asking for the whereabouts of their boss. Zhu Hong’s reply is that who knows which old pal the man is hang out with. As we never see him having any friends outside of his job, I choose to believe that he is probably hanging out with Shen Wei; quite possibly exploring the layout of his bedroom. Especially considering how good his mood is as he strolls into the office announcing that he is going to buy a feast for everyone.

Unfortunately, the feast has to wait. Zhao Yunlan, Chu Shuzhi and Xiao Guo head towards the crime scene, which is the very same alley the mugging took place the night before. 

“Based on my experience, he died from freezing.” 

There has never been a more apt reason to use the phrase “no shit Sherlock”. 

Apparently, there is a cctv camera trained right on this very particular dark alley. Which implies that the muggers were even less professional than they appeared to be at the beginning of the episode. Mysteriously, the footage fails to show the actual monster who attacked the poor unfortunate street criminals. It did, on the other hand, capture Zhao Yunlan’s dashing rescue of Professor Shen.

Zhao Yunlan can’t exactly stop his team from rewinding the footage, so he is just left squirming as those around him gape at him spending time with Shen Wei in the middle of the night. 

“You... and Shen Wei? This late at night?”

Chu Shuzhi’s transition from disbelief to a knowing “ah” via a mischievous smirk is particularly amusing. 

The following afternoon, Zhu Hong appears in Shen Wei’s office, laptop in hand. She is quietly furious at being given this task; as I imagine it is very awkward indeed to be a laptop carrier for your crush’s crush. The entire scene she will be alternating between glaring, rolling her eyes, pursing her lips, and glaring with even more venom. 

After Shen Wei gets over his initial bafflement at technology, he realises that Zhao Yunlan is video calling him in order to ask for his expertise on the current case. For the most of this scene the call looks like some sort of fake generic video conference software, apart from some shots on the SID side which very obviously show a pre-recorded footage being played: with a pause button, and a time stamp, and everything.

Shen Wei is in full trolling mode when he educates the SID team on all the types of bears that could have attacked the victim. He tasted this feeling of outsmarting Yunlan the night before and it’s too sweet to let go. Judging by the fact that Da Qing, who is by Zhao Yunlan’s side, is falling asleep during this conversation, we can guess that it’s been going on for a while. 

Zhao Yunlan knows that Shen Wei is trying to prove a point here - he will not be bullied into being a consultant. So, Zhao Yunlan changes tactics, and asks Shen Wei for clues as a friend. Shen Wei assures Zhao Yunlan in turn that he would never hide anything important from. The magnitude of this particular lie is immeasurable, unless Shen Wei considers turning himself into a literal suicide bomb inconsequential. Which, to be fair, he might do. 

Finally, Da Qing wakes up and suggests that the suspect is a Youchu (translated in subs a “secluded beast”). He is not correct, but it is important that we know what those are, because we’ll see them in a couple of episodes - so it actually makes sense to write them in here. 

Shen Wei instantly comes forward, fishes a relevant file out of his drawer, and educates the team on that particular monster. Zhao Yunlan relates that he is familiar with those, and that he knows Hei Pao Shi fought them before in nearby cities. 

Existence of aforementioned nearby cities will remain a beautiful enigma, which will never be explained. Seastar will remain very much a Little Prince-sized planet. 

At this point Zhao Yunlan gets a call about the other mugger being found, and Shen Wei tells him in a rush that he does not think those two men possess Undergrounder qualities. 

When asked however what those qualities are, he does not elaborate, and, after a thick silence, Zhao Yunlan sighs in resignation and finally lets Shen Wei off the hook, assuring him that he knows not all Undergrounders are monsters. He knows - of course he knows - that Shen Wei is hiding stuff. He knows the other man is somehow invested in the Undergounders, and is probably is one himself.  Once again he chooses to trust him absolutely. I know it feels like I say those words every single episode, but this is also the choice Zhao Yunlan makes, deliberately, every single episode. This conversation will leave Zhao Yunlan very cranky for the remainder for the case, but his willingness to keep giving Shen Wei concessions is actually really sweet. 

Shen Wei asks, perhaps, impulsively, that Yunlan shares his findings with him, because he is curious who the culprit is. It makes, as ever, little sense for him to do so considering that he would find it out anyway as Hei Pao Shi.

After completing her mission, Zhu Hong leaves in a huff. She did not say hello and she does not say goodbye either. Shen Wei tries to wave amicably, but aborts the gesture.

He does not yet know - and will not find out for quite some time - why Zhu Hong feels so antagonistic towards him. 

Next stop: the hospital ward with a now insane criminal. Portrayal of mental health issues on this show is... interesting, by which I mean terribly stigmatising. I would have understood if this was a magic-induced psychosis, but I don’t think that’s the case at all. 

Lin Jing realises that the case sounds very much like the web horror novel he likes. It sounds insane, but Yunlan hears him out. The scientist goes into great detail over the author, revealing that he was a leader of his fan club at some point, and detailing several murders from his recent novel that appeared to have have happened in reality.

The team moves on to scout the author’s - Lai Su’s - house, with Zhao Yunlan being the one to approach it. He then proceeds to summon his team via a non-existent radio. 

Look. There is no mouth piece on this jacket. There is no earpiece in his ear. There are no wires. None of the team have radios. None of them even look like they are listening to radios. (Trust me, the “please shut up for a second, someone is speaking into my ear” is a recognisable look). Guardian’s writers/directors. Mah dudes. If you can’t afford radios, just make him do a non-verbal signal, seriously. Same effect, with much less silliness, and no continuity issues. 

Before the team enters the house, we see Ya Qing in crow form for the first time. Even without the benefit of hindsight, it’s easy to recognise that the crow will become narratively significant because she is animated, and this show would not waste its very scarce and rapidly depleting CGI budget in vein. 

We also know that the crow is a Yashou because Lin Jing starts talking about Zhu Hong at that exactly moment. Guardian is many wonderful things - it’s dramatic, breathtaking, heart-wrenching, and poignant - but subtle it is not.

Inside the house, they discover a secret room, which Lai Su is hiding in, and we finally get to meet our unfortunate culprit. 

It is very peculiar how mean-spirited this episode seems to be. The web novelist in question is shown in an unequivocally negative light. He is a coward hiding behind a blanket, a weirdo living in a secret room, a glutton stuffing his face with snacks and drinking wine. He is shown as too vain to stop chasing clout even when he suspects that his novel is leading to people dying. He writes for attention and money rather than out of genuine artistic expression. He is a whimpering mess, begging Lin Jing on his knees to speak to the Chief on his behalf. Even if we consider that moral of the story (as stated later in Guo Changcheng’s diary note) is “internet bad”, this insistence of making Lai Su so unmistakably despicable is baffling. The series is based on the web novel. What kind of message is this sending about its origins?  

On the bright side, I suppose it is nice that part of this episode not revolving around Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei’s relationship is actually rather Lin Jing-centric. So far, he was mostly there for occasional tech support and countless shots of him of screaming at a computer, but here we get to know more about him, and he goes on a little emotional journey of his own - meeting his idol and being distraught by the author not living up to expectations. It is always so disappointing to see creators you admire being imperfect, or downright unpleasant, and it’s easy to sympathise with Lin Jing’s discontent. 

Zhao Yunlan’s modus operandi has always been intuition. Looking at the author, he knows that he must be responsible for the murders, and also knows that he could not possibly have been. For once it is actually Xiao Guo who suggests the solution: multiple personality disorder. Or, magical multiple personality disorder, as it is the case. We see this click with the Chief, and he genuinely praises the young man. 

Back at the house, Lai Su is deciding to stop the murder spree by writing the demise of the homicidal protagonist of his novel. This is his ultimate redemption, which also leads to his untimely death by the hands of the monster who lives within him and is manifested through his writing. 

The team asks Zhao Yunlan what was going on with this strange case. They won’t get an explanation; but Shen Wei will. 

Zhao Yunlan, as promised, drops by Shen Wei’s office late at night to tell him all about the case. He concludes that Lai Su must have had Undergrounder blood in him, with his power not manifesting until now. Zhao Yunlan sounds rather remorseful as he stipulates that the writer could have lived a long happy life despite his origin and abilities, had he not started unknowingly abusing his powers. This Zhao Yunlan is miles removed from the man who vowed to catch every Undergrounder, and we can see Shen Wei infinitely moved by this man’s empathy. 

This, I think, is the very moment Shen Wei starts to fall in love - not with the man who was Kunlun, or the man who will be Kunlun, or the man who resembles Kunlun - with Zhao Yunlan, Lord Guardian, Chief of Special Investigations Department, with all his incessant flirting, and sharp edges, and pointed questions, and endless understanding. 

In the final moments of this episode Zhao Yunlan shares a dark premonition that something truly terrible will happen in their city. 

He has no idea how right he is. 

Next up: Episode 8: The Morning Porridge 

——

This conversation happened with my partner as I was working on this recap:

Me: … I am two scenes in and this is how much I’ve typed up already. 

My partner: Honey! I know you’re Russian, but War and Peace has already been written. 

[iamdunn]

Miraculous Flash Forward Part 15: Twinning 

A Miraculous Fan-Fic

Written By 

AJ Dunn

Adrien shook the door knob to his bedroom. It was late and he was tired from the day’s activities. Kung Fu lessons, two which the girls were now a part of, plus tutoring them. It had been a long day and he wasn’t in the mood for this, again.

“Plagg.” with no answer. “Plagg, open this door will yeah, I swear I will go buy you some Camembert even if I have to fly to Paris tomorrow to get it.” Still no response.

“What’s wrong?” Marinette yawned out her bedroom door. Adrien shook the door knob again with a scowl. “Again?” She sighed. “No wonder Plagg decided to spend the night in the box.” 

“Great, it’s one thing they locked me out last time, now they are teaming up with the Kwami’s.” Adrien sighed and turned for the stairs.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Marinette called, “It’s too late at night to get a key here.” She stepped back into her room holding her hand out to him. His heart skipped a beat at the invitation but hesitated. It was so exhausting and the couch wasn’t as inviting as her bed. He could hear giggling coming from their room as he stepped into Marinette’s room and closed the door behind him. It’s not the first time they had shared a bed, it was however the first time in her bed. Which somehow made it more alluring. 

“Do you think this was their scheme all along?” He asked as he pulled the blankets over them. “Do teenage girls actually do stuff like this?” He couldn’t see very well in the dark of the room but as the moon cast it’s glow over her face he could see how red it was. 

“You have no idea.” She giggled. 

“Oh, so did you pull pranks on your parents too.” He asked filled with curiosity despite his weariness. 

“Not… my parents but someone else… and it wasn’t like…” She began to stammer as she had as a teenager.

“What did you do?” he asked. “Other than sneak into the pool to see me in my speedo.” She buried her face in her pillow. He pulled her onto him as he rolled to his back. She covered her face with her hands as she sat up on his waist. 

“There’s a lot of things.” she said. “Like the letter I was supposed to give you instead of the prescription. The various random run-ins around town during your photo shoot…” He laughed.

“I take it they weren’t by chance.” He pulled her hands away from her face, holding them to his chest. “You really had it that bad for me?” she nodded still flushed red. “You didn’t help the girls with this scheme, did you?”

“NO.” she said, more flushed than before. 

“Because if you wanted me to sleep with you all you had to do was say something.’ He pulled her face down to his as he pressed his lips to hers. His heart raced inside his chest as her hands slid from his chest to his hair. Her kiss was more passionate and hungry than it had been before. He rolled her over until he was on top of her. He trailed his kisses to her cheek then to her neck. She squealed quietly as his lips parted gently biting her neck before he sucked on it gently. Her legs tightened around his waist as he let up and rolled off of her. She was frozen in that position until he rolled her on her side back facing him and pulled her closer to him.

“Think about that the next time you want to scheme about getting me into bed with you,” he teased.

“I didn’t…” she whimpered but didn’t argue anymore. 

The girls were sitting on the stairs whispering to themselves when Adrien left Marinette’s bedroom. He crossed his arms as he gave them a ‘seriously?’ expression. They laughed at him. His face softened as he smiled at them then gave them a thumbs up before going into the bathroom. 

“Keep laughing like that and you’ll wake Marinette then she’ll make you try on more outfits.” He said as he closed the door. The girls followed him downstairs.

“What are you going to do with the rings?” Stasia asked. 

“Well that’s up to Marinette.” Adrien said as he scooped pancakes and eggs onto their plates. They were seated around the table in the dining room next to the kitchen. 

“But she’s not even a Graham De Vanily.” Anna complained. 

“Not yet.” Adrien looked up at them. “And Technically neither are you.” 

“Well, I mean, now we are right?” Stasia spoke up. 

“Only because I changed my name and the paperwork isn’t finished yet, Gabriel has to sign over his rights first.” Adrien scowled at the thought, wondering if his father would actually sign them over. He saw their faces go south. He could feel the tension in their air between them. He didn’t know the same father they did, they had described him as loving and caring he had adored them, but ignored him. 

“Smells good.” Marinette said coming into the dining room. The sun shone brightly through the wall length windows. The patio outside of the dining room held many flower planters and several lounge chairs. Marinette and the girls would spend hours enjoying themselves reading books and just hanging out there. It was the only window not covered with the electric blinds, also the only place the Kwami’s didn’t go unless they were hidden. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up.” Adrien said as he sat down to Marinette’s right. “But Ladybug is our leader, and we all trust her to know the right thing to do.” 

“What’s this?” Marinette asked. 

“We were just asking about our family's rings.” Anna told her. 

“Well, they will stay in your family of course,” Marinette started. “As soon as I know you won’t be using them to pull pranks and stuff.” she gave them a wink as they laughed at her. 

“We have NO idea what youre talking about.” They said in sync. 

“Plagg already told us everything.” Adrien scolded. “By the way, where did you guys find Camembert?” the girls laughed. 

“Uncle Cheng ordered it for us.” they said together.

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me.” Marinette said with a chuckle. They worked on their breakfast and began to get ready for their day of kung fu and tutoring. The twins had been out of society for so long that, even though it only felt like days to them, it had been years and society moved on leaving them in the cold. There was a lot for them to catch up on. 

Adrien was glad he had Marinette to handle the more feminine side of things as he was socially hindered to begin with, trying to understand teenage girls was a challenge he was not prepared to face. Not to mention, his older sisters who were now younger than him. A dynamic that was hard enough to explain let alone live with . The girls hadn’t mastered Mandarin so it wasn’t going to be possible to enrol them in school here in China. 

Adrien arrived at the temple and found the first class of students were ready for their lessons. The girls took their places giggling to themselves as if Adrien had a kick me sign on his back. He had to check casually just in case. He walked around calling out stances and watching the youth change their stances moving in sync with one another. He monitored their movements making them hold their position until he was sure everyone was ready to move on. 

Occasionally, he would have to form the stance himself to demonstrate but otherwise he simply walked around. After the initial exercises he moved on to demonstrate a few new techniques. Each new technique would be added to each day's drills. Until the movements were memorized by their muscles so they wouldn’t even have to think about them before performing them. 

The first class was over and the kids ran off to school, while Adrien took the girls into the temple for their lessons in Mandarin and history. Before he could get started with their lessons his phone ran. It was from Paris, from the Paris branch of the G brand. 

“This is Adrien.” he said, assuming it was Felix as he hadn’t heard from him since the battle with Tempest. 

“Adrien, it’s Margaritte, I am Felix’s assistant and I was wondering…” She paused with a worried sound in her voice. “If you knew where he was?” 

“Wait, so he’s not there?” Adrien said confused. 

“We haven't seen him in awhile now. And I am afraid the board is afraid…”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, try to hold the board until I get there.” Adrien said. He really didn’t want the company but he couldn’t let the board take over his company because his brother went MIA, he would rather give the company to Marinette. He hung up the phone and looked at the girls, how had that idea never occurred to him? She wanted a job based solely off her skills not because she was dating the owner of the company. 

“Girls, we’ll put your studies on hold for a little while, go outside and spar.” The girls ran outside pushing each other playfully. Adrien dialed up a Shanghai number, one he only used in an emergency. 

“Fei. I need your help.” Fei had become like family to Marinette after the first time she visited Shanghai and got lost. She had no family so Wang Cheng took her in, though her passion and her primary job was protecting Shanghai with her own Miraculous powers. “I have to leave town and I need someone to stand in for me with my students,” he told her. 

“I would be honored Xiongdi. ”She said “I will be over in a few hours.” 

“See you then.” He hung up the phone then watched the girls spar. His mind was far too preoccupied with the now confirmed disappearance of his brother to even think about tutoring his sisters. His phone rang again.

“Mr. Agreste would like to meet with you to discuss the petition of guardianship.” the voice spoke before Adrien could respond. It was Gabriel’s lawyer. “He also demands visitation with his daughters.” 

“Funny, he never asked for a visit with me.” Adrien said coldly. “I don’t think that is going to happen.”

“Considering he still maintains his parental rights, you don’t have a choice but to comply.” the lawyer said

“You can discuss that with my lawyers, from now on, you contact them not me.” Adrien said then hung up. ‘FUCK’ he mutted to himself. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on but it sounds like you could use some cheese.” Plagg offered him a chunk of Manchego. Adrien waved him away placing his hands on his hips. He looked back out the window to find the girls were gone. He rushed out to search for them. He searched all over the grounds with no sign of them. 

He heard giggling coming from a room in the basement of the temple. He headed for the stairs then heard another giggle coming from outside. 

“Plagg, head downstairs, I’m going outside.” Adrien said. 

“It’s not like I can throw her over my shoulder.” Plagg said. Adrien scowled then through his hands into the air slapping them hard against his sides in exasperation. 

“What’s wrong?” A voice came from the doorway. It was Fei.

“Great you're here, help me find my sisters please?” Fei laughed at him.

“Their playing hide & seek.” She leaned against the door frame folding her arms over her chest. “I already found one and froze her to stone.” She laughed. Adrien’s mouth twisted into shock as he rushed past her. How could she use her powers on his little sister. He saw her in the front courtyard standing still. He sighed when he realized she wasn’t frozen just standing in a running away pose. 

“It’s part of the game.” eie laughed at him. “Shall I go find the other one?” Adrien nodded. He was in over his head with these two. Stasia tried to hold her pose, but gravity gave in and she collapsed to the ground laughing. Adrien smiled as he allowed his body to relax, crossing his ankles and dropping into a seated position on the deck. A few minutes later Fei retired with Anna over her shoulders pretending to be petrified. 

“I have to go back to Paris, and I think it will be more of a permanent situation.” Adrien said as Fei sat down next to him. 

“Does this have anything to do with them?” She whispered nodding towards the two girls who were now sparring. Their actions moved in sync as they faced each other. Their movements timed just right as they dodge and kicked, punch and swerved into a martial arts dance. 

“Partially.” He said. “I have to talk to Marinette, I have uprooted her once already to bring her here.” 

“I’m sure she would be happy to return home.” Fei said. 

“I called her, she’ll be here for lunch.” He looked at his watch. “Any minute now.” He felt anxiety rise up in him as he recalled how she had always been late as a teenager and she must be really busy, but he needed her right now. Adrien got up and walked over to the girls. He needed a distraction. 

“Now for your punishment of locking me out of my room.” He said taking a defensive stance. They knew exactly what to do. They both jumped on him tackling him to the ground then began to tickle him as he tried to fight them off. He could hear Fei laughing at him. 

“Well, I think I should be recording this.” Marinette said from the gate as she walked in carrying a bag with the Thousand Delights logo on it. 

“Adrien pulled himself up with the girls still attached to him as he ran to her pulling her into a hug. The girls hung off his back like monkeys trying in vain to defeat him. 

“I think we should have those growths on your back checked, we may need to have them surgically removed.” Fei teased coming up behind them to tickle the girls into letting go of Adrien. Marinette frowned as she watched Fei. Was it jealousy?

“Fei, what are you doing here?” Marinette said with an obviously forced smile. 

“Adrien was just telling me he needed my help with the girls.” Fei decided not to tell her the whole reason he had called her over. This seemed to make Marinette’s face tighten more as her face blossomed into hues of red. 

“We need to talk to Marinette.” Fei can you watch the girls for a minute while I take her inside to tell her. Marinette stiffened. She looked up at Adrien, his clenched jaw now a look of horror as she allowed him to lead her inside. He took a seat at the table he used for the tutoring sessions and motioned for her to sit too. She just set the bag on the table and crossed her arms. Adrien looked down at his hands folded together in his lap. 

“Marinette, we have to…” 

“Don’t…” Marinette interrupted. He looked up at her, tears began to stream down her face. 

“What.” he got up moving around the table to grasp her arms. He turned her to face him but she looked away. He lifted her face to meet his eyes. “I was just going to say, we have to go back to Paris.” Her face changed to a look of surprise as she reached up, wiping her tears from her eyes. “Why are you crying?” He was dumbfounded. What did she think he needed to talk to her about. Her eyes darted to the window looking out over the front courtyard as Fei sparred with the girls. 

Adrien pulled her into a hug, suddenly realizing how this might look to Marinette, she had been so sensitive about their relationship for so long of course she expected him to leave her for someone else. He sat her down and explained the phone calls he got and what he was thinking would now require them to move back to Paris. 

“Marinette, you were the first girl I ever loved, and the second all rolled into one.” He kissed her lips. I loved you for the amazing woman you are, you're a superheroine with or without a mask, and I couldn’t replace you with anyone else.” He said. 

“She is too, and she has more powers.” Marinette choked back more tears. He watched her eyes look out the window again. 

“She also stole from a girl I love, left her stranded in a foreign country where she didn’t speak the language, and played her for a fool.” Adrien said. “I could never abide in someone who could lie and be deceitful for the sake of her own gain.” 

“I’ve lied.” She whimpered.

“Not to hurt someone.” He said. She sighed. 

“I guess the only way to save you from this fear of losing me is to just simply do it.” He said sliding out of his seat to his knee. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, will you Marry me?”

[sly-merlin]

Killing Me - 1 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre :    angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au , smut

warnings : mention of weapons, use of weapons, character death and smut is a warning in itself

summary :

“life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

                                                  or

                             curiosity got the cat hitched

K.M MASTERLIST

next

taglist:: (repeating for only first chapter for the notification, otherwise i’ll tag only those who told me specifically. its not polite to tag everyone who hv read the chapters previously. normal tagging would be continued from chapter 10! @kpop-choco​ @moon-yuta​ @kawaiiayasan​ @btm-taeyong​ @lanadreamie​ @theworld-accordingtocasey​ @exfolitae​ @cheersskznct​ @hyuckiesgf​

note :: daily updates from today till chapter 9!

Who would’ve thought a lifetime opportunity would come knocking at your door  at midnight! Well, not at your door but a trashcan instead. But that was least of your worries right now. Your phone camera captured enough photos to be admissible as an evidence in a court. Feeling content with your accomplishment you sprinted towards the nearest police station, breathing only when you entered the premises of the said building. You thanked the heavens for leaving that place without them finding out. Once your breathing was controlled enough, you made your way towards the desk of the station in charge. He was...snoring. You placed your hand on the desk and banged the hardwood loudly to catch the attention of a sleepy public officer. He jolted awake at the sound and squinted his eyes only to give you a nasty look. After coming to his senses, he motioned you to sit down. You sat on one of the chairs in front of him and without wasting your time, shoved your phone in his face. The shock on his face became evident as soon as his vision focused on the photos. He kept scrolling through the images, zooming in and out and after a few minutes, placed it back on the table.

“From where did you get these miss…

“Y/n. y/n l/n. I was walking home after hanging out with my friends in the club at the 67th street when I heard some gagging noise. They were coming from an alley. I didn’t want to get in trouble so I peeked a little and there were two men, one was short and the other was...um...quite big. The big one was choking the shorter one and then he suddenly threw him at the trashcan or whatever it was. I captured everything that happened after that on my phone. as you saw , that man had a gun and he was trying to kill the shorter man and when the big one pulled up a silencer to put on the gun , I walked out of there as quietly as possible and ran.” you speedily worded everything you witnessed. Earlier you hadn’t realised but now that you just recited everything to the man, you prayed you were not calling trouble on yourself.

The officer looked at you as if he was finding some flaws in your story. He straightened his back and asked “what about that man, who was at the other end of the gun?” he questioned in an interrogatory voice.

“I don’t know, sir. I told you I ran off.” you tried your best to sound confident.

“And why didn’t you try to save him? .” this time you couldn’t hide the fear his voice filled you with. “When a person is dying, you are supposed to save him, aren’t you” his voice turned more hostile with every word he spoke.

You gulped at his question. You were afraid but he doesn’t have to know it right! You composed yourself before deciding that telling him the truth would be the best option for you.

“I could’ve done nothing there. That man had a gun. He was a shooter, there was no one near that place except for some drunken bastards. I was of no help rather I would’ve gotten myself killed as well. That’s why I’m here. You can go and look and maybe save him” you replied timidly.

“Very well miss. We’ll surely look but I can’t say if your photos are of any help. If that man is alive and doesn’t file a complaint, then these are clearly useless”

“But if he is dead, then this is circumstantial evidence. You can arrest the big man for murder.” he looked surprised at your use of words particular to their field. Before he could reply, you continued-

“I’m a law student.” he chose to be unresponsive for a few seconds. Then, he suddenly placed his hands on the table and hurriedly grabbed your phone.

“Let me talk to my superiors then. I’m not the one who decides the rules here so you have to wait.” you nodded as he walked off into a small room.

But he left you with an empty feeling inside. ‘You could’ve saved him’. The question echoed in your head. You eyed the glass of water on the table and gulped it in one go. After a few minutes, your thoughts got cleared of any doubt. You did what you could for that man. There was no way to save him. Earlier you saw it as an opportunity to do something great but now it was altered into your sense of justice. This was the right thing to do.

The officer came back from the room after 15 minutes.

“My superior is coming. Wait for 30 minutes. The search party is gone already. After copying the data, you can have your phone back and there is possibility that you would be an eye witness, if the said man is dead! You won’t have any problem with that right? You won’t be able to back out once you are in.” he queried.

“I know what I’m getting into, sir” you maintained your confident stance and slumped down. Your stomach growled but she could wait. You had other things to worry about right now. Like how to spent 30 minutes without your phone!

Officer’s pov. [In the room ]

“Hello, can I talk to taeyong. We have got a situation here.

note:: before i left, i answered an ask from a law student. i dont know whether they saw it or not, but if you didnt i apologise and i would love to answer again. if u see this contact me thru anon or dm ! 

[ddaenggtan]

Half-Baked Holiday | ksj | M

Granny Park’s Gossip:

That Seokjin, don’t get me started on him. He’s worked hard to open and run that bakery of his, you know, and I’m so proud that it’s so successful now. Wish he would find a nice person to settle down with, though, he deserves it, as long as he’s been on his own. Well, I guess you can’t really call it alone when he’s got that grump of a best friend always hanging around him. He really should be paying her, what with all the time she spends at the bakery with him. She’s always waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but she’s not so bad when she brings me some of those cookies of his, or just around Seokjin in general, if I’m honest. Too distracted by staring at that pretty face of his, I suppose, though who can blame her?

pairing } seokjin x reader

word count } 12.6K { also on ao3

genre } friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, bakery au, fluff, smut, literally the slightest bit of angst

warnings } fluff, fluff, fluff; jin is an idiot and so is the MC, like they’re genuinely both dumbasses but in different ways; pining; misunderstandings; masturbation, spanking, unprotected sex, oral sex - male receiving, exhibitionism a little, rolling pins are used in ways they are not intended to be used; several mentions of jins squeaky laugh and also his red ears bc they’re my favorite things in the world

{ The Snowball Effect Series Masterlist } 

a/n } whaddup i finally finished this thing barely on time so yEET i yet again maintain my status as queen of last minute deadlines!!!! HBH is my Baby, I love it, it’s my perfect shiny garbage baby, and if you like it, you should DEF check out the others!! They can be read as standalones, but it’s really really really really really really highly recommended that you read them all in order, as they all end up in the same place and there are a ton of little easter eggs and references and shoutouts woven into the entire series!!! Extra special shoutout to the authors of all the other stories, @fortunexkookie (ryn), @taehyungforreal (ashley), @stutterfly​ (kristi, who also made the incredible banners!!!) 

You're a good person. You pride yourself on being kind and giving. Every year you make donations to several charities. You help organize summer fundraisers so kids can eat. You buy the most ethically-sourced groceries possible. You leave your change in case someone else can use it. You always tip at least 20% when you go out to eat. Out of everything, though, of all the good deeds you try to do in your life, there's one thing that makes you a truly outstanding human being. 

You don't lose your fucking mind every time the urge hits you. 

"But how many calories are in the Holiday Donut?" The lady in front of you asks. You can feel your eye twitching and even the young guy behind the register is starting to falter in his bright grin. 

"Um, I'm not-"

"Look lady," You cut in. "You have heard about nearly every thing on the fucking menu. It's a donut, stuffed with strawberry creme and coated in colored frosting and sprinkles. How many calories do you think are in it? Just order the banana nut muffin like you always do, get your coffee, and leave, so the rest of us aren't stuck in a line for another hour." 

The lady looks scandalized as she turns to glare at you, but all it takes is a single cocked eyebrow to send her huffing out the door. She mutters a few choice words under her breath as she goes, but you pay them no mind. 

"Your usual is almost ready, Pumpkin." You level Jin with an unamused glare as he pushes his way through the kitchen doors with a steaming tray of scones in hand. 

"You know I hate that name, Spice," You remind him dryly. 

"You know I hate it when you run my customers off with that dark cloud you call a personality, and yet here we both are," he responds. He just smiles at your eyeroll and you do your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. Instead you make yourself comfortable on one of the barstools at the counter. 

Seokjin's bakery is as busy as it ever is; several of the tables are taken, either by students on their nth espresso or families doing holiday shopping or people just looking for a place to relax amidst the bustle of the streets. There's someone perched on the stool at the opposite end, close to the register, but you pay them no mind. You're too focused on the mug Jin slides in front of you - green and chipped on the handle, it's your favorite - and the steam wafting up from the cocoa inside. There's a thick layer of marshmallow on the top and a candy cane sticking out, just like you like it, and a Holiday Bagel on a small plate next to it. 

"Thanks. You're still an ass, though." He has the decency to look offended at your words, and you grit your teeth against the smile that threatens to split your face. He always looks so cute when he's huffy. 

"One of these days I'm going to make you start paying for your food like everyone else, and then you'll start treating me right."

"Sure," You agree in a monotone as you pull your phone out and start tapping away on it. "That'll be the same day that you stop asking me to do your books for you because you can't be bothered."

The sigh that expels itself from his lungs is almost as dramatic as the play he dragged you to the week before. 

"I am perfectly capable of doing my books myself, thank you. I let you do it to keep you busy."

"Mhm, sure, I believe that," You tell him. He scoffs again and you barely register the hand he shoots forward to steal your bagel before you're slapping it away. "You don't even like strawberries and kiwi, Seokjin, and you will lose a hand."

You don't look up from the emails you're sorting through on your phone, but you don't have to in order to know that he's got both elbows braced on either side of you. You've known him long enough to know that this is his Pout Stance, and you dare not look up because there's no denying him when he looks like that. 

"You're so mean to me, Pumpkin. All I do is spoil you with good food and perfect company," he whines, "And what do I get for it? Insults and mockery. You could at least give me a kiss every now and then."

You choke on your cocoa. It burns your nose as it starts to come up that way, and the dark liquid dances across your phone screen as it molds to every crack and crevice. 

"Goddamn it, Seokjin," You sputter. He's already holding a cloth out to you, apology written on his face even as you glare at him. You pat your phone dry as best you can before resigning yourself to the fact that it's just going to smell like warm chocolate and peppermint until the next time your best friend flusters you. 

"To be fair, I didn't expect you to be so opposed to the idea," Seokjin mutters. He continues under his breath as you wave off his attempt to help again, something about him being handsome enough, but you aren't listening. Because that's the only real problem between the two of you. 

You aren't opposed to the idea. It's all you can think about most days; in work meetings, while you're doing paperwork, in team briefings, while you watch TV, when you're asleep. What his pillow lips would feel like against your own occupies nearly every waking thought you have. The others are torn between fantasies of what being his would be like and memories of him in general, neither of which you're lacking in.

You've known Seokjin for years. You don't even know how long since you insist you met when you were twelve and Jin is just as insistent that you met when you were nine. All you remember is being alone on the side of a playground playing hopscotch by yourself and then giggling at something the nice boy had said and then the two of you were inseparable. You aren't even sure how long you've felt like this towards him. It could've been high school, when he was one of the most sought after boys in school and yet still made time to comfort you every time a boy rejected you. Maybe it was college, though, when he was further away than he'd ever been and yet always answered your calls and responded to your texts and you'd cancel dates because he had randomly driven up to see you. Maybe it was after, watching him run his own bakery and do what he loves every day with the brightest grin you've ever seen on his face. 

You can't be sure. All you know is one day you were washing dishes in the back after being his guinea pig for some new creation, and he told some dumb joke, and when you turned around to mock his squeaky laugh like usual, you couldn't. Because he had flour on his cheek and chocolate on his lip and you'd never wanted to kiss someone so bad in your life. 

And then it just devolved from there and now the butterflies in your stomach have just set up camp. It's been too long, but you can't risk your friendship with him over some stupid crush. He means too much to you. 

Your eyes don't leave his back as he disappears back into the kitchen, still complaining about something under his breath, and you suppress a sigh. 

Shopping is the worst. You aren't really sure why you're here, because you hate shopping and you hate crowds and you especially hate holiday shopping because it's like Satan himself smashed the two together. You get all your gifts online or early in the year, you don't go anywhere near a mall from October to March, and it works for you. You don't have to deal with holiday crowds. Ever. So why are you on hour five at the largest mall in driving distance with no breakfast, sore feet, and full bags hanging from every possible place they can?

"Does that really seem like something Taehyung would like, though? I got that jacket for him already, I know, but this seems so much more fitting. What do you think, Pumpkin?"

Oh. Right. Seokjin had showed up at Too Damn Early For A Saturday O'Clock and demanded you accompany him for his holiday shopping. 

"I think that if I don't eat something in the next ten minutes, I'm ripping your head off and eating that instead. And for dessert I'll demolish those fancy chocolates you got for Jimin." A passing mother gives you a horrified glance as she ushers her toddler along and you almost wish you gave a shit. It's the mall, she can't control what other people say in this hellhole. You probably could’ve done without the emphasis on Jimin, though; Jin knows how much you worship those chocolates, you’ve said countless times that they’re better than orgasms, and still, he got some for Jimin and not you. 

You aren’t bitter. Or petty. No. You’re an adult, and you’re not going to pout just because your crush got your mutual friends some sweets instead of you.

"If you touch those chocolates, you're going to march your ass right back to that store and replace them while I return all your gifts," Seokjin quips back. You glance over at him and wrinkle your nose at the two berets he has in each hand. 

"What the fuck are you doing, Spice?"

“Wondering when you’re going to listen when I talk to you,” He responds. He holds both of the berets up for you to view more clearly. “Now, which of these is more ‘Tae’ to you?” He doesn’t react to the blank glare you give him, long since immune to your powers of pessimism, and instead just wiggles the berets in each hand so you actually look at them. 

Neither are to your personal taste; one is diamond-encrusted in some kind of quilted pattern, with some kind of alternating animal print as well. The other is more understated, if you can call it that, with a faux-fur trim, a feathered poof in the center, and a truly obscene pink houndstooth pattern to it. You can’t help the wrinkled nose that the two options cause in you, and you ignore Seokjin’s huff of irritation in favor of looking past him to the rest of the options. You only have to look for a minute to find something better suited, which mostly means Jin wanted to give Tae something truly gaudy on purpose. 

“Here,” You say, stuffing the hat into his hands. He stops mid-rant - something about how you should be helping him more, though you aren’t sure why because he’s the one that dragged you here and is lucky you haven’t bailed yet - and focuses on what you’ve just given him. It’s not a pretty beret, by any means, and is by far the cheapest one there, but it’s got some kind of artful splatter across it in greyscale tones, with a pop of red around the rim to accent it. Seokjin just stares at it for a second before turning his gaze on you, and you shift uncomfortably. 

“What?” You eventually ask. 

“Nothing,” He says airily. “Just surprised.” 

“At what?”

“You paying attention to people and being able to buy good gifts.” He puts the other two back into place and heads towards the registers, ignoring your indignant squawk. 

“I get you perfect gifts every year!” You don’t miss his eyeroll, and it makes you want to strangle him a little. 

“I don’t count,” He tells you as he settles in behind some grandmother buying entirely too many things that have to be for her grandkid. “You know me better than anyone, and you have access to my Amazon wishlist.”

“Yeah, except none of that is on your fucking wishlist,” You mutter. He turns, eyebrow arched and ready to get more backtalk, but you just make a face at him. 

He drags you to five more stores after that and abandons you in the middle of Williams Sonoma. You’re on your third lap of the store, ready to disassemble the fancy grill they’ve got on display to see if he’s somehow in there, when he appears, probably from the ether or some shit. You’re still trying to figure out how he managed to phase through time and space and the massive shelf of Martha Stewart Collection Cookware without you noticing, and in the meantime he takes the massive amount of bags from your hands and deposits something in your palms instead. 

It takes you a minute to register the warmth, but the smell hits instantly and makes your stomach grumble loudly. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking hungry. 

“Eat,” Seokjin commands. “We’ve got more shopping to do for the bakery.”

You can’t even argue because your mouth is stuffed full of pizza pretzel bites - the only real reason to come to the mall, in your opinion. You’ve inhaled one serving in record time, and Jin doesn’t even react when you bust into the second one in the middle of some tech store. Instead, he just holds out a hand and waits for you to plop a pretzel bite in his palm. 

It’s hours later, long after you’ve helped Seokjin drop off all the bakery supplies at the shop and carted the presents up to his apartment, that you realize you’re still holding on to the bag from the pretzel place. You’re about to toss it into your garbage when it registers that there’s too much weight for just garbage; curious, you open the bag up and dump the content onto your kitchen counter. 

Inside is a small box of chocolates, the same kind you’d threatened to eat earlier in the day, your favorite flavor and everything, with a small note atop it. 

These were supposed to be part of your gift, but you looked put out when you thought I wasn’t getting you any. Thanks for today. xxSpice

You resist the urge to smile; it’s only right that he give you sweets after the frankly absurd amount of time he’d made you spend at the mall. Still, you can’t deny your lip twitches along with your heart at the knowledge that he’d been planning on including them in your gift. 

And you might tuck the note away behind a postcard on your fridge, but you’re never going to admit to that. 

The next day when you get to the bakery, Seokjin doesn't hesitate to shove you into his small office and push you into his desk chair before he disappears back into the kitchen. The usually cluttered space is empty, devoid of the usual invoices and order forms and whatever the fuck else your best friend keeps on his desk. Even the picture frames have been moved, placed haphazardly atop a filing cabinet. Something flutters in your chest when you notice the one directly facing his chair is one of the two of you.

Taken years and years ago, back when you were first moving into your college dorm, when you were both tired from carrying boxes up the seven flights of stairs to your room. You still remember how irritated you had been when Jin's parents insisted they get a picture of the two of you in your matching university hoodies. You don't remember what it was, but you remember Seokjin cracked some dumb joke or said something ridiculous. He must have, because in the picture, you're looking at him with a softness in your face that isn't present any other time.

Seokjin reappears with a steaming mug and a hand behind his back. The familiar scent of warm chocolate and peppermint hits you, followed closely by the warm-butter sharp-mint honey-glaze smell that you remember taste-testing for him so many times that you're almost positive it’s going to linger on your gravestone.

"That's mistledough." You narrow your eyes, and he rolls his own. His hand pulls out from behind his back to reveal the treat he'd concocted in college and perfected not long after. Shaped like a sprig of mistletoe and a warm honey brown color, the mistledough is easily the best selling product that Seokjin has.

And it's only on sale from Black Friday to the first day of January.

You don't even know what's in it. He's never told you, hasn't let you watch him make it; he'd just show up randomly and shove a weird-shaped treat under your nose and tell you to eat it. And of course you did, because you've been whipped for him since the first day he made you smile on that playground.

It's not important, really. What's important is that he's brought you cocoa and mistledough, which means he's bribing you for something important.

"No," You tell him.

"Please," He pouts. "You don't even know what it is yet." You huff and look anywhere else. His pout is dangerous for you and you know it, and you refuse to be bought for some cocoa and bread.

In an attempt to avoid the puppy dog eyes he no doubt is wearing, your eyes flit around the room. They eventually settle on the mass of shopping bags to your right. You turn, seeing the collection of various wrapping papers on the left and the collection of tape beside them.

"No," You repeat, turning your glare on him. "Wrap your own damn presents, Spice, I'm not doing it for you this year."

"But you do it so much better than I do!" He steps forward, setting his bribes in front of you so the scent wafts towards you that much more. "Your corners are always perfect, Pumpkin, and the edges are so well matched, and you get the pattern to line up perfectly, and-"

"No, Jin," You tell him, already standing. "I told you last year that it was the last time I'd be doing it for you, and that was only because you left it to the day before - again - and had to be in the bakery. I already wrapped all my presents, I'm not doing yours too."

He doesn't even say anything. He just widens his eyes a little and looks down at the scuffed tile floor, kicking his shoe dejectedly against the foot of the desk. There's utter silence in the room, only broken by the muffled chatter of customers and the beep of one of the ovens every few minutes.

You last for a solid ten minutes. You know because the smell of more mistledough fills the air, and you know Seokjin wouldn't try to bribe you with anything that wasn't the freshest batch.

"Why can't you do it?" You grumble, already sitting back down and picking through the wrapping paper.

"I've got like a hundred orders to fill today. That's not even really an exaggeration, either. Soobin's been on cake duty all day so that I can get to work on the mistledough orders and still have time to finish Tae's cake before we leave." You sigh and turn to look at him.

He looks stressed; that's not unusual for this time of year, but it still makes your chest clench. You want to pull him close, run your hands along the furrow between his brows until it's smooth again. Smother him with kisses until he's giggling and happy and remembers that he's a badass culinary god and that he can handle this and that you love him.

"I wish you would tell people no sometimes," You say instead. You slide one of the biodegradable rolls onto the desk and start looking through the drawers for the massive ruler you know is tucked away somewhere. "You can't fill every order. Let people pine for their fancy bread, they don't deserve it anyway."

"You know I can't do that, Pumpkin," He says, breaking off a piece of your bribe and leaning against the tattered desk. "We only just got to where we're steadily in the black, and the seasonal stuff brings in a lot of money. I've got to milk that for as much as I can."

"Yes, because you being overworked and stressed like this is a much better alternative. I'm pretty sure your eyebags have eyebags." You wait for the dramatic gasp, but it doesn't come.

Instead when you look up at him from where you're digging through presents, he's staring at the picture of the two of you. Whatever he's seeing is beyond that, though, invisible to anyone but himself. It's not rare that he gets introspective and quiet; it's actually fairly common when it's just the two of you. You don't know why. You don't want to know why. You just take the moments when they come and wait for him to say whatever he's going to say.

"You're my best friend," is what he eventually says. Your hand stutters where it's slicing paper, mimicking the pang of heartbreak that shoots through your veins. You love being his best friend.

You just wish you were more than that.

"Yeah," You say offhandedly, "No one else wanted the gig, so I guess I'm stuck here." You can feel his eyeroll, but he pats your shoulder as he heads back into the kitchen. When he reappears a while later with fresh cocoa and a bagel, you pretend to be mad that he steals a bite of it until he laughs at your grumbling.

When you leave his smile feels lighter, and you tell yourself you're imagining his eyes lingering on your back as you go.

You’re gonna kill him. You really are. You’re going to absolutely skin him alive, you don’t give a fuck how cute his face is or how hard he makes your heart beat. There’s not a single fucking thing he could say or do that would make up for this. 

Maybe if you hadn’t been out here waiting for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe if your phone showed that he had even opened the last six texts you had sent him. Maybe if it wasn’t Seokjin who insisted on leaving at like ten in the morning to being with, even though you had plenty of time to get there because you didn’t even need to run by the bakery because he’d already put Soobin and Yeonjun through what probably counted as actual military training in order to prepare them for today. Frankly, it’s a miracle Seokjin is even leaving them on their own today, considering how hectic it gets. You’re entirely sure that it’s only because Soobin has worked there since the bakery opened and Yeonjun joined not long after so they both know the ropes as well as they possibly can. And because Seokjin was likely up until an ungodly hour preparing and baking an enormous amount of mistledough for today.

In fact, he’s probably still passed out up there, you decide as you climb out of your truck and head into your best friend’s apartment building. You’re cursing under your breath the entire way, paying no mind to the scandalized elderly gentleman that shoots you a Look. You really are gonna kill him, you decide as you shove the key he made you into the lock and jiggle the handle slightly so it’ll actually turn. You’re going to drag him out of his stupidly comfortable bed and probably try to shove him down the garbage disposal or something. His shoulders may present a challenge, but you are up for it. 

Your mind is so made up that you don’t even register the bags he’s got ready by the door, or the coolers full of groceries that are packed and ready beside them. You just sidestep it all entirely and head down the hall. You don’t even register the faint sounds, muffled by the door to his room, and by the time it all finally reaches your brain, it’s too late. You’ve already thrown the door open as wide as it will go, which means you get a perfect, unobstructed view, even as Seokjin startles and yelps. 

Because of course - of course - he isn’t sleeping or showering or packing. No, instead he’s got his fist wrapped around his cock and is thrusting shallowly into the warmth of his palm. The universe loves to torment you entirely too much, clearly. Why else would it offer you such an unhindered look at the love of your life’s dick?

It’s a nice dick, too. Long and the perfect thickness, a pretty dusky pink head. You can’t lie and say you’ve never imagined what Seokjin’s dick looks like - you basically grew up with him and the others, and young boys talk about their dicks. A lot. Plus, you’ve had a crush on him for several years now. 

You just never could have imagined that it’s so absolutely gorgeous that you can feel your mouth water. It’s impossible to tear your eyes away from it, in fact, until Seokjin gets over his initial shock and shoves his blanket over his lap. 

“What, uh,” He starts, throat rough. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh...you asked me to pick you up, remember? Because your car doesn’t have four wheel drive like the truck.” You learned a long time ago how to avoid being embarrassed around Seokjin, but even that can’t stop the burn in your cheeks as you force yourself to make eye contact with your best friend. It’s a struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the planes of his naked chest, broad and tanned despite the winter weather, but you manage. 

Barely. 

“Right, yeah, but...uh, weren’t you supposed to call? And aren’t you early?” The tips of his ears are as red as your face feels. The contrast between the current situation and his obvious shyness is so endearingly distracting, it takes you a full minute to focus back in on what he’s saying. “--at this point, I mean, I know that we apparently aren’t there yet, but really, I don’t mind-”

“Wait,” You interrupt, “I’m still stuck on how I called you four times, both before I left and en route and once I got here, waited another ten minutes since I got here early because I know you like to be early, and yet somehow this is my fault.”

“Well...you should have knocked! Why wouldn’t you knock when coming into someone else’s apartment or bedroom?”

“Why didn’t you hear me coming? The floor in your hallway is a million years old, it squeaks constantly, how did you miss that?”

“Well, I was a little preoccupied.”

“Clearly.”

“You still should have knocked.”

“Why did you give me a key if you wanted me to knock? And when have you ever knocked on my door when you show up randomly? Besides, I figured you were asleep and didn’t want to wake you up while I took all your shit out to the truck.” His face softens a little, and a shy smile teases at his lips. 

“Thanks, Pumpkin,” he says quietly. Your stomach flips violently at the look on his face and you roll your eyes at it. 

“Yeah, whatever.” You pick up the clothes he already has laid out and throw them at his chest. “Get dressed, you’re buying me breakfast on the way to the cabin.”

He doesn’t protest as you leave him and gather his bags up, balancing them atop the coolers of groceries and snacks he’s no doubt made for everyone. It only takes a little finagling, but you manage to get it all downstairs and into the backseat of your truck. Fat white flakes are falling from the grey sky by the time you’re finished, and Seokjin’s nose and ears are still pink when he eventually gets in as well. You turn the heat up, just in case it’s not residual embarrassment heating his face. 

He doesn’t even say anything except a muffled thanks. After a few minutes, you’ve almost resigned yourself to an awkwardly silent car ride. 

“So…” Seokjin eventually says in a too-casual tone. “About earlier-”

“No,” You hiss before he can continue. “No we are absolutely not talking about what happened.”

“Oh, come on,” He implores as you turn into the first drive-through you can find. “It was bound to happen eventually, considering-”

“We really don’t need to talk about it,” you insist. 

“I’m just saying that I know you aren’t really one for...y’know, sexual activity,” He ignores your open-mouthed gape and continues, “But I have my own needs, and self-satisfaction is the best balance between the two that I’ve found. That said, I’m sorry you had to see it, I know it probably made you uncomfortable. Because. Y’know. Dicks.”

You’re still gawking as he finishes his spiel, and you feel a little like a fish. You surely must look like one, with your mouth hanging open in shock, your eyes as wide as saucers, and the general air of befuddlement that surrounds you. There are so many things you want to say, questions you have, all of them colliding in your brain.

“I like sexual activity just fine!” is what makes it out, just as the speaker beside your window crackles to life. There’s a long, pregnant pause in which you and Seokjin just stare at each other. 

“So...what can I get for you today?” The worker says through the speaker. You want to die, just a little, as you rattle off your order and Seokjin’s to him; the universe hates you, obviously, that’s the only real explanation here. 

“We are not talking about this,” You tell Seokjin firmly as you pull away from the speaker. Your face is still burning, but you refuse to acknowledge it. “You are paying and then we are heading to the cabin and we are not ever speaking of this again.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. You almost believe that he’s dropped the subject, but unfortunately you know him too well for that. Which is why you shoot him a warning look as you pull up to the window and he starts to say something. 

“All I was going to say is that my parents asked about you the other day. They’re mad that you haven’t been by lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” You say as you hand Seokjin’s card to the kid in the window. “I haven’t had time to visit.”

“You visit Jimin’s grandma like twice a week.”

“Yeah, well, Granny Park and I are friends. Not to mention I still have to unseat her as the reigning go champion.” You don’t mention that you’re sneaking her mistledough and cookies so that she won’t blab about the fact that you’re in love with Seokjin. Or that every time you go to his parents’ house, they end up talking about weddings and asking when you’re getting married. You can’t deal with that, not when you factor in your feelings for their son. 

“I’m just saying. You’re like a daughter to them. They miss you. I’m going by there after we get back from the cabin, and I think they’d like it if you tagged along.”

All you give him is a noncommittal grunt and several bags of fast food. You love his parents, you really do. You just wish they didn’t come with the constant reminder that Jin only sees you as a sister.

He lets you eat in silence, though, content to munch on your fries and pretend most of the morning never happened. He sings along to every song that plays on the radio, and it isn’t until you’re about thirty minutes away from the city and doing your best to navigate the roads in the worsening snow that you get suspicious. 

“When you say you like sexual activity just fine-"

“I thought we dropped this!” He sends you a look that just says ‘really?’ and continues. 

“I just want to know what you mean. Because obviously we’re on two different pages.”

“I mean that I like it just fine. I enjoy it, it’s fun, I would like to continue having it in the future. What of that is strange to you?”

“No, I just...I was under the impression that you weren’t interested in that. You never really talk about it, and you’ve never mentioned any...partners, or anything so…”

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to inform you of every person I’ve ever slept with.” You glance over at him, astounded, and are shocked to see that his lips are pursed in a frown and his brows are drawn together. You resist the urge to reach out and smooth the lines on his face. “Wait, are you actually upset about this?”

“It’s just...I’ve told you about every person I’ve slept with.” You wince a little because he’s right. You’ve heard about every single one of his sexual encounters, some of them in great detail, and you do your best not to think about them. “If I had known that you were interested, then-”

“What? You would’ve set me up with one of your friends?”

“Who was the last person?”

“What?”

“Who was the last person you had sex with?”

You look at him again, a quick glance to try to figure out if he’s being serious or not. His face is hard, an emotion you can’t place clear in the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure there’s an actual blizzard starting around us, and you want to know who I fucked recently?”

“Yeah, I do. Fair’s fair, Pumpkin.” Something in his voice raises alarms in your head. You could insist that you don’t want to talk about it; he’d respect it if you were really serious, you know he would. There’s an edge to him right now, though, one you haven’t seen in a very long time, and you don’t like it. You want to smooth it out, sand it back into the gentle lilt you love.

“Fuck, Spice, I don’t know. That guy from the bar that one night?”

“What night? What bar?”

“I don’t fucking remember, okay? It was like...fuck, years ago, I don’t even remember what he looked like, let alone his name or what bar it was. Are you happy now? For fuck’s sake, I didn’t think I had to report to you every time I wanted to get laid. You’re my best friend, not my keeper. I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch; between the sound of the heater going full blast and the Christmas carols he’s got blaring through your truck’s sound system, it’s hard to hear anything. Still, when you glance over at him again, something dark sits in his expression, and you’ve got a gut feeling it’s your fault. 

Things remain tense even after you arrive at the cabin. Seokjin doesn’t wait for you to help him, just loads all of his stuff into his arms and wobbles his way inside while you’re still slinging your overnight bag over your shoulder. The door slams behind you as you enter, caught by the wind of the growing storm outside, and you send what you hope is an apologetic wave to where Taehyung and Star - his girlfriend of forever and one of your closest friends - sit in the den. 

You immediately make your way to the kitchen, swiping a tin of cookies and making hot chocolate, all while ignoring the overly aggressive chopping your best friend is doing behind you. You’re sure Star and Tae aren’t surprised when you flee to the room that you’ve unofficially claimed over the years. 

You stay there for most of the day. The door stays open, just in case someone actually wants to come talk to you; you have no doubt that everyone can hear you cursing at the dog show you’re watching, and at one point you’re pretty sure you hear Namjoon’s voice steer someone away, but you can’t be sure. You don’t even want to be sure. All you really want is to know what the fuck you did to piss your best friend off and get him back to normal. 

You can’t just ask him, though, because he’ll no doubt get even angrier that you don’t already know, despite the fact that you have no way of knowing unless he actually tells you. 

Frustrated, you pick up your phone and flip uselessly through the chat you have with him, trying to find literally any explanation for how he’s acting. The group chat with all the boys plus Star and Cat has been quiet most of the day, only the offhanded comment about someone leaving now or going to be a little late. 

Your chat with just Cat and Star is almost as quiet. There’s a featured video of Seokjin blowing up at Jeongguk a bit too harshly considering the younger had just nabbed some kimchi before dinner, but that’s essentially it. You’re tempted to ask Star to get Seokjin to tell her what’s going on, but not only do you not want to drag her into whatever this is, you also know better. He wouldn’t tell her anything. She isn’t his best friend. 

As much as you’re looking forward to the rest of the night, there’s a sense of dread deep in your bones when you eventually emerge from your room. You only do so because you’re out of hot chocolate and you know that you’ll be dinner if you’re late to eat. 

You wave off Star’s curious look when she sees you; you don’t need her worrying about you, not when she’s got so much else to focus on, if the crutches leaned nearby are any indication. Hobi and Cat haven’t arrived yet, which only adds to the sinking feeling in your gut, but you brush it off. They would call if they had trouble. You know they would. Besides, Cat said they’d probably be leaving late. 

Seokjin doesn’t even look at you as you pass him to get to the dining table, and that hurts more than you’d like to admit. The real sucker punch comes once you sit down, however, when you see a mug of hot cocoa with your signature candy cane placed just to the right of your plate, only to realize that Seokjin’s mug of special coffee he loves so much is placed at the other end of the table. 

Away from you. 

Air catches in your lungs, and it sounds silly that you’re tearing up over your best friend not sitting beside you, but he always sits beside you. Always. No matter what the two of you have been fighting about, he’s always sat beside you because he likes to laugh at the faces you make about the conversations going on, and he feeds you the best bits of meat while you act annoyed about it but secretly love it. 

You knew Seokjin was upset, but you hadn’t realized he was this upset. 

Jimin sits beside you and introduces you to his neighbor, but you don’t even catch her name, just that he keeps calling her Snow and she looks at him like he’s the meal and that there’s a massive purple bruise along Jimin’s neck that you have a sneaking suspicion is her handiwork. She looks vaguely familiar, but you can’t be bothered to place her, not when Seokjin is laughing about something Star is saying and looks entirely too at home down there. 

On your other side, Namjoon and his roommate are talking about a science something or other that they’ve been working on. They’re both so invested in the conversation that neither notice Namjoon dumping the extra spicy sauce over his rice instead of the mild that he prefers. You can’t even bear to listen as he starts complaining to Seokjin that he made the food too spicy and the resulting tirade from the eldest. 

If anyone notices your sour mood, they don’t say anything. It’s not surprising, when you think about it; you’ve long been established as the grump of the group, and you don’t expect that to change, even with the girl Jeongguk brought along that seems torn between whether she actually likes him or not. 

Yoongi catches your eye at one point and you just cock a brow at him. 

“Where’s Jisoo?” You mouth at him across the table. He looks to Peaches, the girlfriend of his that you’ve only ever met once in passing, and looks back at you. You way your eyebrows at him halfheartedly and Yoongi rolls his eyes. It’s disappointing that Jisoo isn’t here. She always provides some sort of entertainment.

If nothing else, she usually provides some semblance of distraction. 

By the time dinner ends, you’re fairly positive no one knows about your spat with Seokjin, or the strange tension between the two of you. You’re sure no one noticed how you didn’t eat much of anything; everyone was too wrapped up in their own conversations and relationships to pay much attention to little old you. 

You really should know better by now.

Jimin doesn’t move from his spot beside you, even as the others begin gathering dishes and your best friend disappears into the kitchen with the promise of cookies and chocolate-covered treats in an hour or two. Snow disappears, no doubt after a silent conversation between her and Jimin, and you roll your eyes at how he watches her disappear into the room they’ve claimed. 

The two of you sit in silence; it’s a game of wits, almost. You know he knows something is up, but you also know that he knows you aren’t one to just offer up your thoughts. But he knows that you know that, and he knows you know he isn’t going to let it go because he can tell something is actually bothering you this time. 

“So are we going to talk about why Seokjin has been so pissy all day and how there’s been a notable lack of Pumpkin by his side, or are we going to continue to pretend that everything’s fine like we did through dinner?”

You wish you were better able to resist him. Maybe your time with his grandmother has weakened you to him, and maybe you should work on being less transparent with him, but either way, you slump in your chair and set your empty mug of hot chocolate down with a thump. You still send him a glare that he smiles through and make a mental note to tell Granny Park that there’s a reason for his sudden need for scarves that she should ask him about. 

“We had a fight.” You eventually grumble, eyes darting to where Seokjin stands over in the kitchen, dipping marshmallows, pretzels, and other treats into melted chocolate. “I think.”

“You think?”

It doesn’t take very long for you to recount the day’s events to him. You even tell him about The Incident from that morning that you walked in on, because once you start talking you can’t seem to stop until he knows it all. 

“And now he’s pissed, I think at me, but I can’t figure out why. I mean, it wasn’t any of his business, but you know how I am with him, so it’s not like I could just not tell him, but I don’t understand why it pissed him off.” You huff a little. The frustration with everything that rolls in your stomach collides with the hurt you feel over Seokjin snubbing you, and it’s so distracting that you almost miss Jimin’s careful whisper of your name. 

“Have you ever considered just asking him?” Jimin says softly. “I’m pretty sure having an actual conversation with him would fix this whole thing.”

“But…” You hesitate, twisting a stray thread from your sweater between your fingers. “Jimin, what if he hates me?” 

There’s a vulnerability to your voice that you hate, one that only Seokjin, Jimin, and Granny Park have ever seen. It’s rare, mostly because you hate feeling vulnerable, but it makes Jimin’s eyes soften ever so slightly even as he bursts into a fit of giggles so powerful that he almost falls out of his chair. 

“This is not helping!” You hiss, shooting a look at where Seokjin is rolling out chocolate chip cookie dough. He doesn’t look up at Jimin’s outburst, but his lips twitch ever so slightly into a frown and the crease between his brows deepens. 

You know that look, too well. It’s his ‘I Do Not Care Even Though I Actually Do But I Don’t Want You To Know I Care” look. You saw it frequently when he first went off to college, when he was constantly worrying about all the boys he left behind in that little cul-de-sac. You really hoped it wouldn’t ever come back. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says eventually, wiping a tear away from one eye. “I really am, I promise, I’m just. Oh, I think I might lose a bet.”

“What? How is that helpful, Jimin? Y’know what, where’s that dumb dog thing Yoongi made you, I need to smush its face until I feel better--”

“What you need,” Jimin says as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to sit you back down in your chair, “Is to stop abusing my lovingly crafted plushies and actually talk to Seokjin.”

“I can’t tell him how I feel, you know this Chim-”

“Did I say confess?” Jimin asks as he stands, eyes flickering to where his neighbor-slash-girlfriend(?) is in their room. “Just talk to him. I mean really talk to him, okay, about why he’s upset. I think you’ll be surprised.”

Jimin doesn’t give you a chance to protest; he’s gone and disappeared down the hallway before you can blink, and you don’t want to know what’s happening in that room. 

Eventually you meander over to where Seokjin is sliding cookies out of the oven, each perfectly placed to allow for the perfect bake. You putter around for a minute or two, opening and closing cabinet doors at random. You aren’t finding anything interesting, certainly not the strength to have this conversation, which is why you’re startled when someone says, “It’s all the way to the left.”

You turn, and Seokjin is absently stirring leftover melted chocolate. When you fail to move, too busy staring at him in confusion, he turns and points to a cabinet beside you. “The cocoa,” He says, “It’s all the way to the left.”

“Thanks,” You mumble as you move toward it. Inside is a box of candy canes and a weathered tin that you recognize from Seokjin’s apartment. Its twin sits in the bakery, right beside the register so that it’s close at hand for when you inevitably come thundering in with a storm cloud above your head. Each holds the special cocoa recipe that Seokjin learned from his grandfather, who learned it from his grandfather. 

You chance a glance at your best friend; he knows how much you love that cocoa. The people in this cabin right now are the only people he’ll make it for - save for Hoseok and Cat, who still haven’t arrived. Seokjin’s ears are burning red, and a weaker person - or at least one less accustomed to him - may have cooed at the sight. But you’ve spent too long building up the walls so that he’ll never find out just what you keep tucked away in your heart. 

“I’m-”

“Sorry.” He finishes for you. “I know you are. And...I forgive you.” You nod at his words; you couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what had actually upset him, but you’re glad he’s forgiven you for it. Still, it nags at you, because what if it happens again? Unlikely, considering you haven’t been able to get laid in actual years because you’re too smitten with the man standing across from you, but still. 

“Are you going to tell me why you were upset, or are you just going to play with chocolate all night?” You eventually ask. He sighs, heavy and long, and turn to lean back on the counter beside you. He’s wearing his ridiculous alpaca apron that you got him for his birthday, and that only makes him more beautiful as he considers what he wants to say. 

Your heart lurches painfully in your chest. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost feels like he’s close enough to touch, but you just can’t seem to let your hand reach out to do so. You think if you could, you might be able to grab him and hold on forever, but something deep in your gut stills you. 

The fear of losing him, of losing everything that you have with him right now - late nights at the bakery, shopping for birthday presents, the quiet moments in a chaotic world where you find peace in each other. As much as it hurts to love him, as hard as it is to speak around the words that strangle in your throat that speak truth to every feeling you’ve ever locked in the recesses of your heart, you can’t risk telling him. Because this pining and loving and eventually watching him grow old with someone he loves?

That’s enough for you. 

“I just got jealous, I suppose,” Seokjin eventually says. “I always thought that you weren’t interested in sex, y’know? You mentioned it once in college that you’d tried it, but your little half-frown was there, so I knew you didn’t like it, because you get the same one every time you eat gingerbread because you hate it but you don’t want me to get disappointed that you aren’t eating the houses I make. I just thought it wasn’t something you wanted in life.”

“Um.”

“Which is obviously fine, sex isn’t for everyone, asexual people exist and are valid, as are those that are sex-repulsed, y’know? And I decided a long time ago when I first looked into it all that I didn’t care about sex in a relationship. That’s not the important thing to being partners with someone. But apparently sex is a thing for you, and I just wish I had known that because all this time I could’ve-”

“What, set me up with your friends?” 

“No, definitely not. It’s just that we...I could have...it just hurts to know that you’ll have sex with other people but not with me, even though I respect that it’s your decision to make.”

“What.”

“But I just...I know I’m not entitled to an explanation, but I can’t lie, I would really appreciate one if you can give it. I mean...I dunno, I know that I had sex with other people, but we had that whole conversation in college about it, and you seemed alright with it, so I did. And I always told you about them, because communication and openness is important, and I wanted you to know that I was respecting your boundaries with that while also satisfying my own needs. But it really did feel weird, because...y’know, so I stopped. And I guess I assumed that if you weren’t fucking me, you weren’t fucking anyone.”

“What.”

“I just really care about you, Pumpkin, and I know I know don’t really say it a lot because I’m more of a ‘showing it’ kind of guy, but...I just would have appreciated knowing that. Especially since I’ve always been more than willing to love you like that.”

“Spice,” You say slowly, being careful to keep your face blank. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Seokjin blinks at you owlishly. “What do you mean ‘what am I talking about,’ I thought I was pretty clear. I mean...yeah, I’d love it if you would have sex with me, but that’s your decision, and I’m curious as to your reasoning and logic. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, which is why I forgave you, because as much as it stings, it’s your choice. And I love you, as you know, so-”

“How would I possibly know that?” Your voice catches a little on the words, probably because you’re having a little trouble actually breathing. Everything is fuzzy and the words ‘I’d love it if you would have sex with me’ and ‘I love you’ are playing on a loop in your brain. Your entire world has just shifted on its axis, and yet Seokjin looks completely unbothered. 

“Maybe because I’ve put up with you so long?” He teases with a fond smile. “I mean, I know we aren’t the type to say the words very often, but c’mon Pumpkin. We’ve been dating since you were twelve, not many would last that long without even a kiss.”

“We haven’t been together since I was twelve, though.” He raises a brow at your confused tone. 

“Okay, thirteen, then.” He says. The confusion on your face must be apparent, because it begins to bleed into his, the beautiful features morphing to mirror your own. 

“Seokjin, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t dating.”

His expression only gets more confused. 

“Uh, yes we are?”

“Uh, no we aren’t? When the fuck did that happen?”

“When you were twelve, as I said. I asked you to be my girlfriend.”

“I feel like I would have remembered that happening.”

“Then you should go to a doctor, because it definitely did. It was the best day of my life. We were sitting on the playground, it was recess, you were upset.”

“I remember none of that.”

“You cannot possibly have forgotten this!” Seokjin exclaims. “I cheered you up and offered you my cookie, which you ate in like two bites even though I had made it with salt instead of sugar and it had to be disgusting, because some girl had knocked your cupcake into the dirt-”

“Park Sooyoung, that bitch, I remember that-”

“And then,” Seokjin continues, ignoring your outburst, “I was so deeply honored that you ate that disgusting thing that I offered you the equal honor of being my girlfriend. And you nodded and I kissed your cheek and then you punched me in the arm - which hurt, I might add, for days - and then I watched you play Pokemon Sapphire on your Gameboy Advance.”

The memory rushes in, though not exactly how he remembers it. Park Sooyoung had knocked your cupcake out of your hands and into the dirt, and you had been so mad about it that you’d started to cry. Seokjin found you, curled under a tree away from everyone else, and when he eventually learned what upset you, he’d told Sooyoung off like no one had ever seen. And then he’d handed you the best cookie you’ve ever eaten.

You think maybe that was when you first started falling for Seokjin. With the salty cookie that masked the taste of your own tears, and the angry tirade he had gone on despite the two of you not having known each other for very long, with the wide smile and squeaky laugh and ears so red and cute that you couldn’t focus on whatever he was saying and just nodded along to it. 

“Well...why didn’t you say anything since then?” A thought crosses your mind, and it so horror-filled that you have to ask. “Do the guys know?”

“If they do, it’s not because I told them,” Seokjin answers easily. “When you introduced yourself as my friend, I figured you were just a very private person and didn’t want to rub it in their faces or something.”

“Is that why you always drag me along when you, Hobi, Tae, Cat, and Star go out for karaoke?”

“Obviously,” He scoffs. “What could be better than a triple date with your two best friends?”

“Literally anything! Hobi and Cat sing each other the most raunchy things I’ve ever heard, and Tae does all those weepy ballads or indie songs nobody recognizes, and Star’s got those dopey love eyes all night, it’s revolting.”

“You mean like those faces you make at me when you think I won’t notice?”

“I-” You huff, at a loss. “Well what about the other day, with that girl at Mistledough you were flirting with, who was flirting back and-” Realization hits you. “And she’s Jimin’s neighbor girlfriend lady!”

“Pumpkin. Are you serious right now?” He gives you a dry look, but there’s amusement written all over it. “You’ve heard my sales pitch a hundred times. You’ve given my sales pitch a hundred times, albeit with a little more of a monotone and general ‘I’ll kill you’ vibe to it. It was just so she’d buy all the treats I could possibly sell her.”

You make a small ‘hmph’ noise that you aren’t exactly proud of, but makes Seokjin laugh. He pulls you into a warm hug, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you there. It’s a little awkward, because your arms are still crossed over your chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind and despite all the muttered complaints you give him, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. 

“So…” Jin says in a too-casual tone after a few minutes. You muffle a groan into his chest, already preparing for the worst. “What kind of sex are you into?”

“Oh my god,” You mumble.

“Wait, you’re right, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He clears his throat and stands to his full height. When he looks at you again, his eyes are full of something you can’t place exactly, but it makes your heart skip nonetheless when he says your full name. “Will you do me the honor of officially becoming my girlfriend? Again?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and nod. The grin takes over his face is blinding, worth all the trouble from the day, as is the soft kiss he presses to your cheek. You can’t help but huff when he pulls away from it, even, and he raises an amused brow at it. 

“Does this mean I can finally kiss you the way I’ve been dreaming of forever?” 

You do roll your eyes this time, but you let your fingers dance over his jaw and pull him into a gentle kiss. His lips are softer than they look, which you truly didn’t think was possible, and the way they mold and move with yours is warm and tender. You don’t even know how long you spend kissing Seokjin. Time isn’t real, not now, not with him pulling you closer and pressing warm against you like every single daydream you’ve let yourself have. 

Years of repressed urges and desire come out before you can stop them, though. Your hands move down to rest on Seokjin’s impossibly tiny waist, slipping behind his apron to tease at the waistband of his slacks. Why he insists everyone wear nice clothes to dinner, you couldn’t possibly say, but they make his ass look phenomenal so you never complain. 

The kisses become more heated, his tongue dipping out to taste your lips for a moment. Hands find their way to your ass and palm it greedily, and he tugs you flush against him. A hard length is pressing into you, and you don’t have to guess to know it's not the rolling pin. 

Images - memories - flash through your mind of that morning. Your mouth waters and you pull back from Seokjin. Panting, lips swollen from kisses, and half-lidded eyes, he's never looked better. 

"Can I suck your dick?"

He groans low in his throat and his eyes fall closed. "Fuck, Pumpkin, right here? Anyone could walk by." You drop to your knees as your hands undo the clasp on the pants. 

"Doubtful, they're probably having that post-dinner nap, or playing some game." Anxiety pools in your gut; you know quite a bit about what Seokjin likes in bed, but you've never been sure if exhibitionism is on that list. "Does it make you uncomfortable? I don't have to. I've just been thinking about it all day." 

Seokjin barks out a quick laugh and shakes his head. "No," He says, "I definitely would love for you to suck my dick in this kitchen if you want to."

"Good." You flip his apron to the side and tug his cock out of its confines. You don't bother dropping his pants all the way; there's no time, you're too impatient. "Let me know if anyone shows up." 

Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by a sharp intake of breath as you warp your lips around the head of him. One of his hands moves to grip the counter behind him and the other rests lightly on your crown; he doesn't pull or tug, just keeps his hand as a gentle pressure as you sink him deeper into your mouth.

As much as you've never been one for sucking dick, you're in heaven. There's no other explanation for why it feels this good to have him sitting heavy against your tongue as he hits the back of your throat. There are still two inches left so you wrap your hand around it and hollow your cheeks as you pull back. 

A strangled moan escapes him, and his fingers tighten ever so slightly in your hair. Heat floods to your core and you kick yourself internally because you could have been doing this for years. Your tongue darts out to slide teasingly along the underside of his cock and he reflexively thrusts into your mouth. 

You cough a little and pull back, wiping spit from your lips as you catch your breath, and Seokjin is already spewing apologies. 

“I’m fine,” You say as you sit back against the cabinet, tugging him to stand in front of you. His back is to most of the kitchen and your head rests against the hard wood behind you while you eye the hard wood in front of you. “I can take a little bit of roughness, Spice, don’t worry.”

He looks hesitant so you ghost your fingers along his length to tease him. His jaw clenches at the same time his eyes close and you resist the urge to smile. Tension bleeds out of his shoulders and when he opens his eyes again, he quirks a brow in a silent question and you nod. 

In seconds, he’s in your throat once more, thrusting himself in and out at a slow pace that makes you clench with the desire to feel it elsewhere. You hollow your cheeks and suck properly as he fucks your throat, and he muffles another moan.

“Fuck, Pumpkin, please don’t stop,” Seokjin whines quietly. You smile, just a little, and take him back into your throat for a few seconds before pulling back and repeating the process. Each time he hits the back of your throat, he lets out a muffled groan that only makes you wetter. His cock is thick and your jaw aches and you’re struggling to breathe just a little bit, but the fucked out expression on his face is more than worth it. 

Something clatters in the hallway and you freeze, Seokjin’s cock sheathed to the hilt in your throat. His ears turn red and he starts to pull back, but you stop him with a hand on his thigh. He looks down at you, surprised, and you chance a wink that makes him chuckle. 

Footsteps make their way past, giggles following close behind, and you hear the door leading to the hot tub open and close. After a few seconds of silence, Seokjin relaxes, pulling out of your throat. You take a few deep breaths and glance over to the door, curious. 

“Jimin and Snow,” He tells you, one hand absently stroking along your cheek. “We probably shouldn’t use the hot tub tonight.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “Why would I want to anyway? Have you heard Namjoon’s lecture on what could potentially grow in a hot tub if it isn’t sanitized regularly? It’s not a fun lecture.” Seokjin laughs, squeaky and adorable, and helps you to your feet. He doesn’t hesitate to pepper kisses along your cheeks, and you wrinkle your nose even as tilt your head so he can get the places he missed. 

“Now when you said that you can handle a little roughness…” Seokjin says, voice a soft murmur in your ear. You make a small hum of affirmation, encouraging him to continue. “Does that mean I can spank you for not finishing blowing me, or is that something you’d rather not do?”

“Fuck, Seokjin,” You hiss, rubbing your thighs together. “Now you have to do it.”

He’s got you turned around in an instant, your fancy dress pants on the ground a few seconds later. His hands mold to your ass, cupping the flesh briefly through your underwear before letting his hands fall away. 

It’s methodical and slow and torturous, how he peels away that last layer keeping him from your wetness. You know that the fabric is soaked through, it has been since you first got his dick in your mouth, and Seokjin groans at the sight. 

“Even better than I imagined,” He mutters. Your cheeks heat in a rare blush, and you drop your head down between where your forearms are braced against the countertop. His hand smacks against your ass, lightly, and you choke back a laugh. Is that really what he thinks a spank is?

Another slap hits you, no real force behind it, and you scoff under your breath. 

“What?” Seokjin asks. When you look back at him, he’s expectant, like he knows what you’re about to say. 

“Is that what you call a slap?” You ask. He rolls his eyes and pulls his hand back for another. It already looks unsatisfying, and you can’t help but push him a little further. “I always wondered why your dough doesn’t rise high enough. Guess I know now.”

His eyes darken and a chill comes over you. 

“Oh, is that how this is gonna be?” He asks. He gestures for you to face forward again and you do, curious as to the dark look in his eyes. 

Something hard and cold smacks into your ass, and you yelp in surprise. There’s a little more force behind it, enough to sting pleasantly but not enough to hurt. 

“Is that better, Pumpkin?” He asks. There’s a mocking tone to his voice, but when you look back, you can see the slant of his lips and tension in his jaw that shows he’s concerned. The rolling pin from earlier rests in his hands, and it flares something in your gut. 

“Much,” You tell him as you turn back around. He spanks you with it again, and again, and again, and it isn’t until you feel something wet drip down the back of your leg that you remember the chocolate he was fucking around with earlier. 

“If you get that on my nice clothes, I will destroy you,” You warn him. He laughs a little and there’s a thump as the rolling pin hits the countertop. 

“Is that code for get me naked?” He asks, a laugh in his voice. 

“No, that’s code for lick it up and then fuck my brains out.” 

The laugh in his throat quickly becomes a growl and he sets to work doing just that. His tongue runs over your skin, gently lapping at the chocolate there, and several times he gets distracted leaving purple marks in his wake. He even slides tongue along your slit, long and thorough and quick, and you almost come just from the obscene moan he lets out. 

"Fuck, please, I need you," You gasp out. Seokjin slides a hand under your shirt, massaging the muscles in your back as he does, and stands to his full height.

"Let me know if it hurts," He says softly. His voice is a whisper against your ear and it's never sounded quite so wrecked or beautiful. "I'll stop, okay?"

"If you don't get inside me in the next five seconds, I will go ask Jimin and Snow if I can join them in their kinky hot tub," you growl. 

He curses quietly and thrusts his length inside you. Neither of you are quite prepared for what it feels like, and the moment he gets buried to the hilt, he stills. 

"Shit, Pumpkin, I'm not gonna last long," He mutters. You can't even manage words. The stretch is absolutely blissful, just on the right side of painful when paired with the sting of your still-tender ass. He's the perfect height for this, too; perfectly lined up without either of you having to try very hard. 

He pulls almost entirely out, leaving just the dusty pink head you remember inside. There's not even a chance to whine at the loss, because before you know it, he's slamming back in. 

Seokjin's pace is erratic and harried; there's no smooth strokes here. You're both in too much of a rush, too drunk on the pleasure to want anything but release. 

Hands move along your skin, one lifting your shirt so he can pepper kisses along your spine while the other reaches down to gently tweak your clit. 

It takes three swipes of his finger to have your knees shaking with the power of your orgasm. You clench around him and he stills. You can't think, your brain is absolutely fried at this point; all you know is the feeling of him inside you and the disappointing emptiness when he pulls out. 

Warmth hits your back and Seokjin's moans echo in your ears. You're almost afraid to turn around, afraid this is some hyper-realistic dream.

"Shit, hold on, let me clean this up," he says, panting. You can hear him moving through the kitchen and when he comes back, something cold and wet slides along your back. 

You wait patiently as he cleans you up. He wipes away every instance of cum and chocolate from your skin - though he looks a little disappointed to be doing so, which you file away for later. 

"God, that's so much fucking cum," You say, wrinkling your nose at the mass of wet wipes he tosses in the trash while you fasten your pants once more. 

It's just in time, too, as Jimin and Snow come in from the hot tub, smiling and giggly with each other. 

"Ah," Jimin says, looking between you and Seokjin. "I did lose a bet. Damn, she's gonna be so pleased with herself."

You glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. The two of them disappear to get dressed in actual clothes, and you and Seokjin set to work plating the cookies and treats he'd made. 

You can't stop the fond look at the rolling pin every few minutes. 

Later, after you discover Cat and Hobi have arrived safely and you make sure they actually eat the plates set aside for them, you're on the hunt for Seokjin. He's disappeared somewhere and it's almost time for the countdown. 

You finally find him - where else - in the kitchen, making a horrified face at Namjoon. 

"What? It was good," Namjoon says with a frown. Seokjin just waves him off and Namjoon shrugs, grabbing a couple glasses of champagne and heading back to Slick. 

You sidle up to him as close as you can get and he wraps an arm around your waist like it's second nature. It's surreal, that the man you love is pressing a kiss to your temple and handing you a mug of cocoa. 

"I'm glad we talked," He says eventually. You hum your agreement; you aren't looking at him, just staring down into your cocoa as you absently stir it with a candy cane, but you do lean into him ever so slightly. "Remind me to bake Jimin a cake."

"Why? What's he done to deserve a cake?"

"He helped me out earlier, while I was cooking dinner. Helped me figure out how to say what I needed to, that sort of thing."

Your face shoots up as your heart clenches in your chest. "Jimin," You echo. "Jimin is why you decided to talk about your feelings." Seokjin just nods, eyes wide and not understanding why you have murder in your eyes. 

"I'm gonna kill him so hard-" You say, already setting your mug down and turning to go find that short gremlin and skin him alive. You don't get two steps before a hand comes to rest on your shoulder, heavy but gentle. 

Seokjin pulls you closer to him, a smile playing on his lips as he does. "Why would you want to kill Jimin for that, Pumpkin?"

"Because!" You exclaim. "Jimin's the only one that knows that I-"

The words tangle in your throat, cloying together into a ball you can't seem to unwind. You're too used to choking it down. You don't know how to say it. 

"That you love me?" Seokjin finishes. You can't bear to look at him, huffing slightly as you turn to stare out the kitchen window at the snow-covered trees beyond. 

Seokjin's hand glides down your arm to wrap around your own, tangling his fingers with yours. With a grace you tend to forget he has, he brings them both upwards until he can press a soft kiss in the center of your palm. 

"Jimin isn't the only one that knows that, Pumpkin," He says quietly. You can feel your ears burning, a pleasant contrast from how it's usually him embarrassed and red. 

"Whatever," you grumble, giving up on your mission to brutally murder one of your best friends. Seokjin laughs, loud and squeaky and wonderful, and pulls you into another hug. 

"I love you too," He whispers. "Now, let's go join the others. I believe you owe me several years of kisses."

"You wish," You mutter half-heartedly. He hands you your cocoa and pats your still-sore ass with a wink.

"That's a great move."

"Really?"

"Yes." There's a pause as she waits for you to remove your fingers from the piece. "If you want to lose."

You offer her a weak glare that she ignores as she studies the board. 

"I'm glad that you and Seokjinnie finally got things figured out. It was very cute to watch, but it was getting a little ridiculous, you know." 

She moves a piece, and you squint to try to help you figure out her strategy. 

"Right, it had nothing to do with your bet with Jimin," You say sarcastically as you move another piece. You eye her, one finger still remaining on it, to try to figure out if it's what she expected. 

"Of course not," She says as you remove your hand. "That was merely a bonus." She immediately lays a piece, gaining even more of an advantage than she already had. 

"Well then," You start as you lay another piece, "I'm sure you know all about Jimin and his neighbor, and Star and Tae I don't need to tell you anything about Yoongi or Cat or Jeongguk, either, probably." 

Her fingers hesitate over the piece she's picking up, and her eyes narrow at you. 

"Ah, don't be so cruel. You're supposed to respect your elders, you know."

"Alright, Granny Park," You say with a rare grin as you glance to where Seokjin is baking a ‘sorry we fucked in your kitchen’ cake and decoration some sugar-free cookies for her. "What exactly do you want to know?

[porta-decumana]

Zadnor & Bozja’s Ending

I know it’s been the bandwagon to hate on Werlyt and I’ve been critical of that plotline in the past as well.  But Bozja may have just taken the cake for unsatisfactory storytelling, in my opinion, while also skirting into the same realm of “we’re gonna give imperialism a pass because maybe the Empire isn’t that bad uwu”.  Obvious spoilers for rank 25 quests, the Dalriada raid, and Bozja’s story ending under the cut along with screenshots.

This is a pretty critical look at Zadnor specifically so if you don’t wanna read that then feel free to bypass this post.

Bajsaljen’s Constitution was probably the first part that really made me scratch my head and question the entire plot.  I was convinced at first I was too sleepy to process what Bajsaljen was saying but then I went back and... yeah, he really did say that.

To which, Marsak calls him out on, a fact that I appreciate because my response was pretty much the same level of “wtf” as him and the nameless/dialogue-less NPCs in the room.

If you haven’t played Bozja in its entirety yet, you may not understand why I felt like this dialogue was incredibly appalling.  The instances are filled with horrific encounters, some of which are:

Dabog, a former Resistance soldier who was experimented on in order to become an expert warmachina pilot and later shows back up in Zadnor as a model swap for the final boss of Gyr Abania.  In other words, mutated beyond recognition.

Lorvo, another former member of the Resistance, who was tempered by the Queen.  You fight alongside his student, who is trying to save him.

Shemhazai, a death spirit summoned with auracite and the sacrifices of Garlean soldiers.

Delubrum Reginae’s 2nd boss (I believe?) are a group of former Blades who have been tempered and their bodies have mutated.  These are former comrades you, as the WoL, personally fought alongside in the early parts of the Southern Front.  Named characters with backstories.

Fabineau quo Soranus - a brutal commander that is known to torment his subordinates and use men and animals both as test subjects.  

And this is just a fraction of what I can think of off the top of my head.  So understand that when I saw Bajsaljen say the above parts, I was questioning what parts of the Empire he was talking about.  And I know he tries to use Misija as his reason for this but it still just doesn’t quite sit right with the literal everything else that happened fighting for Bozja.  Because you can make the argument that Misija saw the Imperial way of life better but also you can make the argument that she was enacting a revenge plan that transcended multiple generations.  Misija’s issue with Bozjan society was the mistreatment of her and her family as well as the murder of her ancestor-- classism.  And while her hatred of Bozja and its high society (the Blades) might be understandable, I think it does little to excuse the rampant death and cruelty the IVth legion goes on to do.

I think what Bajsaljen is trying to say is that he does not want to create another society that would create more Misijas. But in doing so, it feels like he’s giving the IVth legion a pass after all the atrocities they’ve done (even calling the occupation “peace” and that... hnghhh is it peace when people are being used as experiments, Bajsaljen?  And they’re being oppressed?) and it just feels really, really tone-deaf.  Especially given that Bajsaljen’s top soldiers were all, for the most part, tempered and then put to death.  That just adds an extra ouch factor.

I don’t wanna spend too long talking about this bit so I’m gonna move onto the next offender, which is Gabranth, or more specifically, what happens to Gabranth (or... how it happens, rather).  Honestly, I was uncomfortable with the Bajsaljen stuff but the Gabranth field notes absolutely floored me.  It feels as though there was either scrapped content here or... the team decided they could not continue the plotline with Gabranth any longer and decided to write him out in a note that only a handful of the playerbase will probably read because otherwise, there’s no indicator that Gabranth’s tale is over.  Here are the bits of the field note in question:

And you might go, “Wow, that’s a wild way to end the Bozja tale” to which I would agree and remind you that none of this is shown in-game, it’s all just in a field note that could be easily skipped over.  Yes.  That’s right.  Dalmasca’s freedom, Gabranth’s fate, Lyon going full mutiny... it’s all in a field note.  The ending Bozja cutscenes actually have dialogue like this:

In another scene, with Lyon and Gabranth in Valnain, Dalmasca.

Note: this is an allusion to Noah having the same terminal illness as his father.

The scene ends with Lyon looking surprised at the weapons and Sicinius and Gabranth go to discuss the findings.  The scene then cuts to this photo and the questline ends.

So to put it mildly... I’m mad.  Why are we supposed to find out the fate of Dalmasca-- something that’s been in and out of the story since Stormblood-- through a field note?  Why is Lyon’s betrayal also found out this way?  And Gabranth’s alleged demise?  I’m incredibly iffy on the choice to do this in the plot but I would be considerably less mad if any of this was indicated in the cutscenes.  I happen to really like Gabranth’s XII’s iteration and the fact that we got a field note on him made me excited.  I only found out about Dalmasca being freed, Lyon’s treachery, Gabranth’s death because of that.  And that was incredibly jarring to read given the cutscenes I had just watched.  There’s no indication that any of that would happen and I can’t help but feel as though that is a bit of lore that is often going to be overlooked by players who simply don’t think to check the field notes for important lore bombs.

I want to reiterate: I'm not specifically mad at the story decision to kill Gabranth (even if it’s a fake death), I’m mad at how this was all revealed to the players.  Particularly the bit about Dalmasca.  It discards the age-old rule of storytelling-- “show, don’t tell”.  I could forgive them for having to cut certain bits of Bozja’s story because of the pandemic severely hampering development but... there had to have been a better way than this.  Maybe redo some of the cutscene dialogue?  Maybe add in a little bit more to the final scene?  I was excited to face off against Gabranth.  I was excited to go help liberate Dalmasca, especially after the Return to Ivalice plot really set us up for that in the future.  This... just feels incredibly unfulfilling.  And I hope that this is not how they decide to end things with this section of the story.  The build from Return to Ivalice and the continuation of those plot threads in Bozja were great!  Having it unceremoniously ended in a field note?  Not so great.  

Two honorable mention things that I don’t have the energy to talk about at large

Mikoto’s visions don’t feel significant enough to the story.  This is particularly egregious in Zadnor’s arc, where she has a vision where she falls off an airship and then tells the WoL to not say anything because she “doesn’t want people to worry” instead of, idk, trying to find a way to save herself.  She only sees herself fall, she doesn’t see herself land.  But she insists there’s “nothing we can do about it anyways”.  It... felt like they didn’t really matter in the end?  Fran ends up deus ex machina-ing a rescue anyways so like... what was the point?

Misija's “redemption through death”, a tired trope that is even more tired in FFXIV.  I know there’s two different endings to this quest but Misija being executed after being mortally wounded by the Diablos Armament is the ending I received.

Going to harken back to the criticisms of Werlyt.  I’ll maintain my stance that I still think Werlyt had some glaring issues with it... but I will give it this.  It didn’t kill off characters from a side plot that had been going on since Stormblood in a field note.  And it didn’t involve the Werlytians being like “Hey let’s base our new constitution off of the VIIth legion... that is a great idea.”

Anyways, I still recommend doing Bozja if only because the Dalriada is a good instance with a very good final boss theme.  I did enjoy aspects of the questline but the ending really soured my opinion of it.  

[missorgana]

lucky accidents

pairing: geralt/jaskier

fandom: the witcher (tv)

rating: teen and up

word count: 2408

warning: swearing, alcohol

summary: Jaskier's dog runs away. He might have to sneak into a random house to get her. Needless to say, it's going to be an interesting night. (modern au, teacher jaskier, single dad geralt)

(a ridiculous meet-cute(slash ugly??) and geraskier being chaotic as a very late birthday present for the queen Sabrina / @poirot my love!!! really really hope you like this fic babeee 💖 and thank you my ride or die Cat / @inafaithforgotten for beta reading for me, saved my ass once more MWAH 💕✨ enjoy!!)

read on ao3

Out of all the ridiculously stupid and awfully humiliating things Jaskier’s done in his life, this has got to take the cake.

Granted it isn’t completely his fault. Promise.

It’s rather Buttercup’s fault, his darling beloved cocker spaniel, who’s decided to pay a visit to a random house’s garden, and house, right in the middle of their perfectly fine 2am walk, thank you very much.

Curse her loveable face. He supposes she gets her curiosity and recklessness from himself, really.

And in the end, what can Jaskier do other than try to find a way in?

It’s taken him three months to get her rid of that habit of eating just about everything dropped on the floor (his local vet probably hates him), so he’d be damned if he’s gonna lose his baby to a stranger.

Maybe he’s way past sleep deprived right now. Maybe he’s had a couple of rums in his coffee. Maybe he has no fucking idea what he’s doing.

But, oh, what a perfect time for an adventure!

Okay, if he was in his right state of mind at this point, he’d probably stopped in his tracks and realised there’s a perfectly sensible way of solving this problem, involving a fucking door bell.

Alas, as mentioned earlier,  embarrassing.

Whether it’s the daunting scenario of disturbing someone’s beauty sleep or the judgement a stranger might lay upon him from having a dog who doesn’t listen to him that scares him the most, Jaskier isn’t really sure.

So, here he is.

It took a little less than an hour for him to decide his plan of action, after about ten minutes of frantic searching, ten minutes of dawning realisation, and the rest a frantic panic staring at the god forsaken house.

Ultimately, Jaskier climbs over what he assumes is the gate to the backyard. Remember, definitely not sober right now.

It’s moments like these that leave him wondering how he ever landed his teaching job, but he  prays  to whatever gods might be up there that this doesn’t end up with him losing it. He’s too fucking passionate about that school and those kids to let it go.

But fuck! He wants his dog back!

Jaskier lands in the backyard, right to his assumption, and well, now that he’s officially trespassing on private property, he can’t really chicken out. 

Luckily, a window is propped open for his convenience. It’s an extremely hot summer night, as the last two weeks proved, so he’s in no way surprised.

And a plastic chair and table-set to jump from, wonderful!

Don’t think about the illegality of all this too much. Jaskier’s trying his best.

At least, he proves that to himself climbing in, surprising himself in how quiet he can be. Even dodging a potted plant on the window sill, he sets his foot on wooden floor, huh, those years of ballet did pay off after all.

And, yes, he took his shoes off beforehand, duh, he’s not an idiot.

But soon enough, well… uh, let’s say that’s as far as Jaskier’s plan went. Now he’s officially  breaking into a home , and he’s standing as if glued in place, staring at the living room that looks stuck in a forgotten century.

Focus!

He ponders on calling her name, or rather, whispering, but Buttercup’s familiar, frantic running footsteps get ahead of him.

“Buttercup!” he whispers, willing his voice as stern as possible for the troublemaker, “Come on, girl!”

Shakes are heard, more padding of feet, and his baby comes running along from what looks like the kitchen. He’s, like, 50% sure, it’s dark and the rum is making the world a little crooked.

Thank heavens she hasn’t broken anything.

And thank heavens he’s in time to shush her before the inevitable bark comes. She looks so clueless, but so happy with her big twinkling eyes, it’s a bit annoying.

She’s in deep,  deep  trouble for this. Can’t get out of this that easy. Nope.

Jaskier’s gonna scold her anyway, but right now, relief washes over him more than anything else. Entry succeeded, goal obtained, now it’s time for his exit.

To be honest, not really something he planned, either. But surely the way in works the other way around too, right?

See, that’s the funny thing, because it’s not his happy pup smashing anything in her spontaneous adventure, no, it’s when he heads back for the window the crash happens. Or, well, he thinks it’s the way for the window, the general direction at least, but Jaskier’s hip meets with a table, and he’s pretty sure a lamp’s involved in the fall.

That really hurt, thanks for asking.

But instead of fleeing the scene even faster, like any sensible person would do, he’s frozen half-standing, half-leaning against the windowsill, as light switches on in a room down the hall, and a voice calls, “Dad?”

Shit . Why is Jaskier drunk doing this? Why is he doing this at all?

Buttercup tilts her head at him and he’s none the wiser. He really does try to move, but then she’s running off  again  and he can’t even get to chase after her before a high pitched scream meets his eardrums.

He’s caught. 

Yep, he’s so caught, because he’s an idiot who didn’t jump out the window when he should, and soon enough he’s being hit over the head with a slipper. Best night ever.

Jaskier becomes a bit of a flailing mess of limbs, attempting to dodge without much success while Buttercup starts barking excitedly somewhere in the other room. He even throws out a couple of “Ow!”s, because, seriously, that slipper hurts, what the fuck?

He can’t exactly blame his attacker, of course. In fact, very much the reaction he’d have himself. Still, he’s rather glad the hits come to a halt when the room is suddenly illuminated, the lamp he pushed over staring at him in offense.

The gruff voice from the hallway surprises him, when it says, “Princess?”

However, he’s a little more than shocked right now, because once Jaskier blinks himself to clear vision, he sees a young girl in front of him he in no way expected to meet today. Tonight. Whatever.

Ciri, one of his students, is clutching a blue slipper, used as a weapon only seconds ago, to her chest while staring at him with teacup wide eyes.

Well, this just got a hell of a lot more embarrassing.

And when Jaskier averts his eyes from the blonde girl, a giant blonde man who he can only assume is Ciri’s father, with arms that he’s pretty sure could snap him in half like a twig, is staring with a similar shocked expression, face twisted to a frown.

Why, oh, why in the name of all that is sacred and good, is the first thought jumping into Jaskier’s mind how he’d let those arms do  all sorts of things  to him.

You absolute goddamn clown. His brain’s too busy scolding him to say anything, but turns out he doesn’t need to since his pup jumps his student happily, because she doesn’t understand the situation at all and just found new friends in her post-midnight scavenger hunt.

He thinks he might’ve hit a new low at this point.

However, Ciri frees him of her father’s scrutinizing eyes for a minute, as she giggles in excitement, and now looks up at Jaskier with such a huge grin her cheeks are bound to hurt, “Mr. Jaskier!”

Okay. Okay, out of all the homes he could’ve possibly intruded in, this definitely isn’t a worse case scenario. Luck, maybe?

Not that he feels particularly lucky looking back at the man watching the scene, looking rather, uh, furious, which is understandable.

“You know this man?” he questions his daughter before Jaskier even gets time to consider his options, and the young girl looks back with an eager nod.

He himself is pretty much frozen in place.

Kind of fearing the brick wall of a man will murder him on the spot if he even moves an inch. Practically already killing him with his eyes only. Embarrassingly enough, he finds that even more attractive. Think with your  head , idiot.

Meanwhile, Ciri’s face is painted with brief confusion, “My music teacher, dad! Didn’t you listen when I told you? Mr. Jaskier’s classes are my favorite.”

The girl seats herself on the floor and scratches Buttercup behind the ears, who seems to finally have used up all her energy for the day.

Ciri maintains her excitement, though, while looking painfully disappointed at her father. The man instantly reacts, it seems, because the glare vanishes into thin air, his stance less volatile, his expression almost… soft? 

That word doesn’t exactly fit the blonde man, but it makes Jaskier feel a lot of ways. Man, is he drunk or just horny at this point?

“Of course I did.” his student’s father tells her, still eyeing him warily while apologising, “That doesn’t explain what your teacher is doing in our house, princess. At night.”

Jaskier wants to fucking die.

He tries to stammer something out, it takes, uh, a while, only landing on, “My dog.”

The blonde man frowns again.

Ciri still has zero judgement in her eyes, God bless her, and he laughs nervously in the attempt to elaborate, “Buttercup here, she, uh, ran away from me. In here. Didn’t wanna wake ya. Sorry.”

And Jaskier shakes his head at himself like it’s second nature. Well, sort of is. If you knew all the stupid shit he accidently gets himself into, you wouldn’t be surprised.

Luckily, his (favorite) student just giggles when Buttercup licks her hand, and her father seems degrees less inclined to call the cops, so that’s good. Ciri even asks him if she can give the pup a treat, and Jaskier can’t exactly say no to that, can he?

Buttercup’s clearly in love with her now, it’s adorable.

Which is why it makes him feel like a bit of an asshole when he clears his throat and tells the duo it’s probably time for him to make his exit. Ciri’s heart might as well have just shattered in pieces in front of him.

But he’s just still pretty terrified of her father’s rather menacing figure. Note to self to not be present at that parent-teacher conference.

The eye candy, though.

Focus  on not getting arrested, Jaskier!

Ultimately, she looks to her dad and stands up hesitantly, her and the pup looking at each other like they’re being torn apart for eternity, and then directs her pleading eyes back to him, “Could I walk her sometime, Mr. Jaskier?  Please ?”

His student drags out the word almost to the point where she loses her breath, and Jaskier can’t help his chuckle. Thankfully, her dad gives him a look of approval.

“Sure thing, kid.”

In return, he gets his second scare of the day when Ciri screeches again, only for a few seconds when she probably remembers it’s the dead of the night, and jumps for a hug. Bless her heart, but he can’t help still feeling utterly embarrassed. 

Jaskier pats her back before she lets go and her father ushers her to her room, and the yell “Goodnight!” is way too endearing, although it was most likely more directed to his pup than himself, fair enough.

Well, then. He finds himself standing around awkwardly, nervously still not moving until said giant of a man crosses his arms and gets Jaskier out of his own head.

“Ah, well, that’ll be my leave then.” he says, looking everywhere else than the person in front of him, scratching his neck.

It’s almost obvious he’s getting a cold shoulder until the deep voice speaks again, “Make sure to use the door this time.”

Yup, he deserves that.

To be honest, Jaskier can’t quite believe he’s… uh, survived this. Better not jinx it, though.

“I, sir, uh,” he starts, holding out a hand for Buttercup to follow along, “I cannot stress how sorry I am for this. Seriously. If you tell my superiors about this, I’ll understand, uhm, I guess I just want to let you know I thoroughly enjoyed teaching your daughter.”

And the blonde is frighteningly silent once more, though he lifts one eyebrow, whatever the hell that means.

At last, a sigh.

“Well, I hope you’ll continue.” are the words coming next, shocking enough, Jaskier almost thinks he’s sound-hallucinating, or something, “Apology accepted. Nobody’s hurt, and Cirilla seems to like you quite a lot.”

He honestly can’t help but smile, in relief more than anything else. Buttercup barks once, and the man glances down. “And your dog, too.”

Is- is that a smile? Jaskier can’t really tell, because it looks oddly out of place with, well, everything else about him. Not that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing.

The not-so-scary-anymore man even opens the door for him, gosh, he does like his men with good manners!

Maybe, possibly, he really needs to sober up. Or eat something, now that he thinks about it.

“Then, adieu!” he offers with a little flourish of his hand, but while the pup’s already running eagerly out into the rose bushes, the blonde man stops him in his tracks with, “I suppose you’d like my number.”

There’s that familiar awkwardness again! Jaskier realises this when all he can do is gape like a moron, but honestly, those might be the most surprising out of this whole evening. That says a lot.

He finds himself stammering, “Uhm, uh, pardon?”

The giant’s already writing it down on a fucking post-it note. “So you don’t have to use the window when Ciri’s going to walk her new friend over there.”

Jaskier blinks, “Ah!” Of course, what else? He’s bordering on a thin line to delusion, truly, “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” he repeats back, and Jaskier pockets the note hilariously quickly himself.

Good, good, don’t humiliate yourself even more now. He guesses he can be thankful he’s just sober enough to not try one of those… horrendous pick-up lines of his. 

Guess the eye candy will be enough.

He gives the blonde a nod at last, taking his final leave after a way too strange night, but not before the man forms that almost-smile,  pretty sure it’s a smile, again (good God, did he just check out his ass, or has Jaskier officially lost it?) and says, “Name’s Geralt, by the way.”

Jaskier nearly chokes on his own breath.

[lupinsx]

Petty Rivals

masterlist

Request: Hii💓 I absolutely adore your writing! Could you maybe write one where the reader is a slytherin and she’s on the quidditch team, and she has a sort of rivalry with Draco (on and off the pitch lol) and she gets severely injured during one of the matches and Draco is surprisingly really worried about her because she got really hurt? Sorry about my english haha :) Thank you!!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: You and Draco hate each other, always competing in sports and academics. An injury to your head might just be enough for him to put aside their petty rivalry.

Word Count: 2.4k

part two

a/n — Thank you for the request! I apologize for how long this took, it's been a busy week for me. I hope you enjoy it! (UPDATE: Part two is up! Click the link above to read Hopeless Romantics).

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"Hey Y/N, quick question, are Chasers usually this slow?"

You stopped in your tracks and whipped your head towards the direction of the voice. Draco Malfoy stood arrogantly next to his broomstick, arms crossed with a smirk on his face making your blood boil.

You were on the stands, approaching your water bottle as the rest of the team took a break. It's been an hour of practice, and so far, all Draco did was catch the Golden Snitch a couple times before resuming his observations. You knew such boredom would lead to him over analyzing your every move, but you had underestimated to which extent.

Rolling your eyes in irritation, you responded with a sneer, "I don't know, are Seekers usually this useless?"

There was a chorus of groans coming from the seats where the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team sat. They were sick of you two arguing every chance you could — admittedly, everyone was.

Ignoring the annoyed glares coming from the team, Draco strided towards you with a mocking chuckle. "Very funny, but you're gonna have to keep up with the rest if you want to stay on the team."

"I don't see Flint trying to kick me out anytime soon."

"Don't be too sure about that, Y/N."

"Why you insolent little git!"

You and Draco stood inches apart, ears tuned out to the comments from your teammates. He was only slightly taller than you, making him tilt his chin up to hold an intimidating stance. You merely held his glare with an equally harsh look.

After a moment of silence and thick tension, Marcus Flint stood up and held your collars back to separate you two. While Draco sent you a sly smirk, you kept your glare directed at him.

"As amusing as this petty rivalry is, it's getting quite annoying. Bring this attitude to the pitch on Saturday and I'll have no trouble bringing in substitutes."

"You heard him, Y/N, don't be annoying," Draco teased, making you reach your arm to slap the back of his head. As he hissed in pain, Flint glared daggers at you two, releasing his grip as he walked away in defeat. It seemed like nobody could get you two to stop.

"Practice dismissed, I'm done with you guys," Flint announced in exasperation. The rest of the team was quick to follow after.

Rolling your eyes, you walked to the railing and picked up your broom. "You can leave now, I'm going to stay to practice."

"No, I'm staying to practice!"

Neither of you ended up staying to practice that day.

~~~

"The cuts are supposed to be diagonal, not vertical!"

"I'm sorry Draco, I'm trying."

"Try harder then."

You let out a frustrated groan and rolled your eyes in annoyance. It was hard enough that you were paired with Draco for Potions, but he couldn't make it any more bearable.

Taking a deep breath to calm your anger, you resumed cutting, this time trying to abide by his directions. Though, it didn't take long before he snatched the knife from your grip and began cutting it himself.

"It's this simple. Seriously, how have you managed to survive in this class?" he asked with a condescending sneer. It took all of your might not to hex him into oblivion at that moment.

Your hands balled into tight fists as you looked up at him in irritation. Jaw clenched and teeth gritted, you muttered, "I've managed quite fine, thank you very much."

"Hmph, I doubt it," Draco said very cockily while he added the cut fluxweed into the cauldron. You hated people looking down on you, talking as if they were your superior. You had enough of that throughout your lifetime; you didn't need Draco to put you down further.

When it came to Quidditch, you were able to withstand the constant teasing and give a couple insults yourself. You were already assured and confident in your skill, so the meaningless comments never got to you. But when it came to Potions, you were never the best at it. It was one of your weakest subjects, so you felt hurt when the best student in the class spoke so lowly of your abilities.

Without regard to the furious expression on your face, he continued in a mockingly high-pitched tone, speaking as if you were a child, "Now, would you like me to cut the knotgrass for you too or do you think you can handle it yourself?"

It was at this moment when your thinning patience broke.

Slamming your fist onto the table, you glared at him with all your strength. He looked shocked for a moment while the rest of your classmates suddenly tuned in to the commotion.

"Stop treating me like a baby! It was a small mistake, I'm sorry. But I don't need you acting like an condescending asshole because of it."

It was a relief that Professor Snape wasn't present to witness your outburst, but it wouldn't have mattered to you anyways. Grabbing your bag, you stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door on your way out.

Draco avoided the gaze of his classmates and continued working on the potion, but he couldn't ignore the sharp pang of guilt he felt in his heart.

~~~

For the rest of the week, you were adamant on ignoring Draco. He would often look up and prepare to approach you whenever you'd enter a shared class, but you were skillful in avoiding him. Too many teachers walked in at just the right moment for it to be a mere coincidence.

Once Saturday rolled in, you were quick to enter the Great Hall. You timed your morning so that you'd be done your breakfast by the time the rest of the Slytherins arrived. Thankfully, your plan worked accordingly, as you were just finishing up your plate when the dining hall began getting populated.

Upon noticing Draco alongside the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team arrive through the door, you got up and prepared to leave.

"Y/N! Gone so soon?" Pansy Parkinson asked, jogging to your side. You gave her a shrug and an apologetic smile as your pushed open the exit.

"Sorry, need to clear my head before the game," you said, not feeling as sorry for lying. She nodded and flashed you an encouraging smile, one that you returned kindly before leaving the Great Hall.

You immediately headed towards the pitch, wanting to begin warming up on your own before the team arrives. Walking through the soft grass, you closed your eyes and simply took in the sunlight. It was a beautiful day, and you were fortunate to be able to spend it playing Quidditch.

You loved the sport, ever since you were seven years old. When your dad bought you a mini broomstick that levitates two feet off the floor, you absolutely hated having to get off it at the end of the day. Once you were finally able to get your hands on a real one at age ten, you felt as though you finally found your true calling. It was a sweet moment, and you found yourself smiling softly at the thought.

As you listened to the birds chirp in the distance and relied on your muscle memory to bring you to the pitch, you suddenly felt a hand grab your wrist and lightly jerk you back. Your eyes flew open in shock, only to be met with a pair of stormy grey ones staring back at you.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, keeping his grip on your wrist. You fought the urge to suddenly accept his apology, reminding yourself of how he was acting earlier into the week.

You rolled your eyes and slipped your wrist out of his enclosed palm. "Yeah, and?"

He blinked at you for a moment, not expecting your icy response. Then, Draco's face twisted into an annoyed expression, diverting his eyes from yours. "Well fine then, can't say I didn't try to apologize."

"You're unbelievable!"

"And you're insanely entitled!"

"You—" you suddenly paused you sentence, noticing your teammates coming out through the doors. Remembering what Flint said last practice, you bit your tongue back and simply stormed off with a glare. You didn't want to sit out the game for the sake of a mere barb.

The locker room felt tense for you two after that. You refused to glance at him while the team captain gave his brief speech. When you all huddled in for a cheer, you relocated upon seeing him by your side. It was a relief you didnt have to work with Draco on the pitch; otherwise, you would have gladly accepted a substitute.

With your brooms mounted and teams in position, you all flew into the air, ready for the game to commence. As the whistle blew, you immediately rushed into action.

It was a relatively successful game so far. Slytherin maintained a lead by a couple points, but the opponents, Ravenclaw, was always quick to catch up. Though you were able to score quite a bit for the team, you were beginning to feel a little tired.

"Y/N, keep up with them!" you heard being shouted from afar. Briefly glancing to the voice, you weren't surprised to see it was Draco who called out to you.

Of course, at a time like this he still wouldn't quit.

You continued flying alongside the other Chasers, staying in the formation that was planned. You managed to gain a few more points through this, but it still wasn't a very sizable difference.

"90-70! Slytherin is in the lead, Ravenclaw close behind."

"Won't be leading for long if you keep flying at this pace," Draco said, swooping down lower to meet your level. He left before you could respond, but you chose not to react and instead focus on the game in front of you.

Eventually, you noticed Ravenclaw gain possession of the Quaffle, grabbing your attention. You immediately flew to the Chaser, merely a little over an arm's length away from reaching for the ball.

You extended your arm as far as you could. Flew as fast as your broom could handle. You were so close to grabbing the Quaffle. So painfully close.

"Y/N!"

Draco's voice took you out of your zone. He was shouting for you once again, most likely to insult you as he has been throughout the game. You snapped your head towards him in fury, only to see him rapidly pointing behind you with wide eyes.

What does that even mean?

You soon found out when a large Bludger came hurling towards your head, knocking you off your broom. A chorus of gasps was heard from the audience as you began free-falling down to the field.

It was terrifying. It felt like gravity had a tight grip on your entire body as it pulled you down seemingly faster than the speed of light. Your eyes were squeezed shut in fear, head pounding from the hit, body laid limp and nearly unconscious. Death itself seemed a mere moment away.

Until suddenly, a broomstick came swooping down, attempting to reach you fast enough to prevent a harsh landing. Draco's eyebrows were furrowed in determination as he extended his arm towards your figure.

And just as you were about to share a less than pleasant kiss with the grass, Draco caught you by your collar, before grabbing the back of your knees to hold you bridal style. He then landed on his feet, still carrying your semi-unconscious body in his arms.

"Pause the game! Someone bring Madam Pomfrey!" shouted Madam Hooch, exiting her position in the stands to go over to you guys.

The Slytherin Quidditch team flew lower to see what's going on, along with a couple curious Ravenclaw players. It was a relief to them that you didn't hit the ground, but the impact from the Bludger was enough to knock you out.

As Madam Pomfrey came rushing onto the pitch, Draco refused to let go of your body. He was visibly shaking, worry evident in his eyes and uneven breath. He was so close to losing you, and the mere thought of that scared him.

"Mr. Malfoy, you may let her go now. I'm going to take her to do some examinations in the hospital wing," the witch said calmly, giving Draco a reassuring smile. "Don't worry; she's in good hands."

Draco still looked hesitant, keeping a tight grip on your body. "I'll carry her there."

Without hearing his suggestion, Marcus Flint flew down to the grass to approach him. He glanced at your unconscious body with a concerned expression before looking back up to Draco.

"Draco, come back up. We need our Seeker. For now, we'll bring in a substitute for Y/N," Flint said, giving him a small pat on his upper back. Draco immediately shook his head in refusal.

"No, I'm taking her to the hospital wing."

"Whoa, where did this change of attitude come from?" Draco merely rolled his eyes in response, walking away with you in his arms. Madam Pomfrey was quick to follow after, keeping a close eye on your condition.

He carried you all the way into the castle, and towards the hospital wing. Upon arriving at the bed, he laid you down gently, careful not to cause any further pain. You remained asleep throughout the entire process.

"Will she be alright?" Draco asked impatiently, his gaze directed to your still figure. His hand made his way to your forehead, delicately caressing the area you got hit.

Sending another grin his way, Madam Pomfrey nodded in assurance. Draco stepped away for a couple minutes for her to properly treat you. It was painful for him, watching how your eyes would squeeze tighter every once in a while despite being unconscious. He wanted to take away your pain away, to have prevented your injury earlier. But he couldn't. And it killed him inside.

"You look awfully worried," Madam Pomfrey said jokingly as she turned around to grab a vial. Her words broke Draco out of his brief trance. Looking down, a small blush appeared in his cheeks.

"Of course I am, I'm her—" he suddenly cut himself off. I'm her what? Friend? Enemy? Petty rival?

He didn't know what he was. All he knew was that he desperately wanted you to be okay.

Petty rivals it is, then.

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a/n — Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or reblog to give feedback or show support! Requests are open, so feel free to send what you'd like to see written to my inbox!