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nevertheless-moving · 3 years

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Unnamed Extremely Bad Plan to Defeat Darth Sideous AU - SW AU NO 9

Hopefully writing down this star wars au will help me exorcise the cringe demon that helped midwife it. Time travel au where obi-wan and Anakin come up with an extremely SPECIFIC and UNCOMFORTABLE plan to defeat Palpatine because it unfortunately, would actually work, as it capitalizes on one of Palpatine’s easiest to reach political vulnerabilities. This is not a unique plan- there are other au’s like this, but this one is mine. When searching for ways to explain exactly why this anti-sith strategy inspires such cringe and delight in myself I realized, with sinking dread, I have seen this in an Always Sunny episode...which yeah. I might be over reacting but hey, cringe is a personal phenomenon, everyone’s different.

Anyway! Uh here’s a bunch of plot that will eventually culminate in the plan.

*Too much plot, aaaah*. **All plot actually.** ***Its 1 am and this is still a draft*** ****It’s 2am**** *****This post will be just be background I guess.*****

*******STAR WARS AU NO 9 LAZILY OUTLINED CHAPTER ONE*********

Force ghosts Darth Vader and Ben Kenobi have had time to yell at one another without need for breath, and have more-or-less come to terms with the trainwreck that was their shared life. I wouldn’t call them well adjusted, but they’re more stable then they were the last decade or so of their living existence.

In haunting Luke, they end up encountering an artifact in an ancient Willis temple that offers spirits the chance to fix the mistakes they made in life. It doesn’t truly unwrite what’s been done, but it lets you create an alternate timeline. So this galaxy will still be what it is, but some alternate galaxy somewhere could at least have it better. Its almost never been used, because becoming one with the force usually lets you accept the past, but viewed objectively, Vader and Ben’s lives involved an extreme amount of yikes. They say goodbye to Luke and are flung backwards and sideways.

Anakin is holding his mother as she dies. Obi-Wan is landing on Genosis.

Vader just barely manages to avoid slaughtering the tuskens. To be honest, he doesn’t really get why he shouldn’t- his moral compass is still pretty f-ed up. He’s fairly certain the force is just torturing him, but still he controls himself (for Padme for Luke for Leia).

I’m gonna say well-adjusted!Vader sees murder in general as more of a vice than a sin- on par with having a beer. And really well adjusted Vader is willing to admit to himself that he’s an alcoholic, he seriously cannot regulate, its a problem. He really can’t let himself go, because he’ll just end up spiraling. And so he restrains himself and only seriously maims a few of the adult raiders.

Vader figures he can always come back later and slowly torture them to death if this whole ‘save the future’ thing doesn’t pan out.

Obi-wan leaves his shuttle and hides under a rock for 30 minutes. He calculates thats just enough time for him to pretend he went on an extremely effective and sneaky fact finding mission- just in case anyone checks R4′s records. Gets back in shuttle and gets the fuck out of there, much to Dooku’s chagrin, who lost sight of him after the shuttle landed and is now going to have to switch to one of his alternate start-the-war plans.

On the flight back he reports everything to the council- fallen Dooku and the separatist leaders, the trade federation and the massive droid army, Jango Fett the clone template of the republic army (?) working for the separatists. He briefly comms Anakin, but anyone hacking into their conversations would hear only a nonsensical, rambling conversation. Later, a hacker might turn over the idea that they were speaking in elaborate code, but why would Jedi invent such a thing during peacetime?

The war still starts; at this point in the timeline it was inevitable; the artifact was only designed to give them the chance to correct their own failings, not the galaxy’s. Palpatine still gets his emergency powers.

The same day the armies are discovered, separatist war ships take off to engulf Ryloth. The Jedi are instructed by the senate to lead the clone army and provide immediate relief-this will not be a repeat of the republic’s inaction on Naboo. It’s both better and worse than the first Battle of Genosis. So many more civilians are caught in the crossfire. The first titanic battle is not contained to evacuated droid factories, but rages across an entire populated world. The battle lasts for weeks.

The main reason this fight is less deadly is solely due to the fact that General Kenobi manages to maneuver his way into high command of the entire army.

“I believe assumptions were made since I was the first point of contact with Kamino, Masters,” the Knight explained apologetically to the arriving high council members. “I realize its not quite appropriate, but for right now I am the Jedi most familiar with our forces and the enemies. I would, of course, prefer to cede the role to someone else.”

The assembled Jedi can feel the truth in that statement.

“For better or for worse, advance troops were directed by the senate to land planetside and have met heavy resistance. I managed to redirect them to a more defensible position, where they can provide surface based cover fire for incoming reinforcements. The battle has already begun.” He received a grim nod of approval from Master Windu.

“I feel the need to say now, that if there’s one thing I learned from my time as a general on Melida/Dann, or in working against Death Watch on Mandalore, its that having a clear chain of command is vital for a military to succeed. I don’t need to remind some of you that leadership breakdowns were what ultimately ended both the Stark Hyperspace War and the Yinchorri Crisis,” Masters Koon and Tiin exchanged looks before deliberately sending forth a small force wave of approval, understanding where this briefing was leading.

“I believe that unnecessarily restructuring command before the battle is won here could do far more harm than good.” The reminder of Obi-wan’s unusually militaristic apprenticeship put some of the assembled knights at ease even as it inspired a twinge of guilt in the older masters.

“In command you are, General Kenobi,” Master Yoda finally acknowledged. “A Jedi Master you will be, once done this battle is. Have us do, what would you?”

The battle lasts for weeks, and when its over, the commanding Jedi and Troopers involved will openly acknowledge that had anyone else been in command, it would’ve lasted months, if not years. Facing down logistical, strategic, and tactical problems on a scale unheard of for a thousand years, High General Kenobi does not falter.

Enemy reinforcements seem unending. For all their preparation, every single trooper is new to war, and secretly concerned that should they fall, they will be replaced with cadets who hadn’t even finished their training.

Obi-Wan is putting out fires before they can start. Much to their shock, clone commanders are informed that they will, for the time being, remain in charge of their troops. With a handful of exceptions, Jedi ‘Generals’ were in fact, to be treated as a cross between highly skilled commandoes and advisors with abnormally sourced field intelligence.

“All of you have spent your lives training to lead your brothers into combat. The Jedi Masters and knights who are being assigned to your divisions have not received such training.”

General Kenobi addressed the division commanders, some in person, some over holocomm. All focused in rapt attention as their General reordered the shape of their lives using language they could understand.

“The command structure I am issuing is designed to maximize our ability to utilize our respective strategic capabilities, while minimizing potential loss of your life. It will be our great privilege to serve alongside such an army, and while I fully expect a complementary exchange of knowledge in time, for now, focus on survival.”

The Jedi received similar briefings, tailored for their broader array of combat and military experience. Some, including Jedi Master Pong Krell and Grandmaster Yoda, were pulled aside and tasked with the essential mission of infiltrating and destroying the Droid factories on Genosis. If they were to have a chance of winning this war, they they would need to cut off the seemingly unceasing flow of droid reinforcements.

An elite squadron of Arctroopers and Jedi field operatives were covertly dispatched, Grandmaster Yoda himself in command. Considering Count Dooku had yet to appear anywhere near Ryloth...the grandmaster had the best chance of bringing in the fallen separatist leader alive for questioning.

Shortly after they left, Anakin arrived, having finally turned over Padme’s protection to her regular guard. With the military creation vote past, the assassination risk was considered minimal. The real delay in his arrival came from her repeated attempts to join the Grand Army of the Republic on Ryloth with the intent of coordinating humanitarian assistance. Eventually he managed to convince her that she could do more good in the senate.

After all, he pointed out, someone would need to followup the military creation act with a bill to grant clones equal citizen rights. Otherwise, the legal grey area that cloning fell under and their non-republic origin would inadvertently make the clones slaves.

His borrowed Nabooan cruiser entered the warzone with the grace and efficiency as a small neutron bomb.

Those close enough to see its flaming descent watched in horror, realizing that the high generals own padawan would likely be a war casualty before he ever engaged in combat.

The legion nearest to soon-to-be-ground-zero, under the command of Captain Rex of the 501st, were distracted by heated combat, as the temporary barricade they had put up to defend the civilian population gave way to droidika artillery.

While reloading, several dozen troopers happened to look up to see a speck detach itself from the hull as at spiraled in the lower atmosphere. Hope spread that the Jedi had managed to activate some sort of eject hatch. A skilled shocktrooper could probably control and and survive such a fall with luck, which mean a Jedi almost certainly could.

A few tactical scouts charged with watching the skies confirmed that the speck was indeed a humanoid. No chute was visible, but even 8 days into the war, rumors had already spread about how Master Windu had passed off his chute mid-air to a troopers who had been damaged by suppressing fire, cushioning his free fall solely with the tank he crushed upon landing.

Only one trooper, stationed in the town clock tower specifically to track the Padawan’s arrival and issued with a high-resolution farscope, saw the whole thing. Fortunately for his credibility later, in its current setting, the scope automatically logged photos every 5 seconds, ensuring that for years to come Obi-Wan would have a flipbook as evidence that he was not the crazy one.

CT-3609 or Blink (as he was named after winning the division wide staring contest on Kamino two year prior) forwarded the trajectory of the vehicle to command, who confirmed his analysis that it would impact two clicks out from their makeshift fort and not present a risk to civilian or trooper lives.

As it traversed the stratosphere a figure (desperate repair droid, Blink assumed) emerged from the cockpit to perch on the nose of the ship. As it entered the troposphere, it became painfully obvious that the figure jutting out from the hull of the ship was in fact not a humanoid droid, but an unarmored human. The Jedi stood on the prow of the ship, seemingly impervious to and oblivious of:

air resistance

centrifugal force

normal space gravity

Blink’s slack-jawed bewilderment

the flames engulfing the ship below him

At this range, the smirk on the man’s face was visible (man? boy? kriff is he even through puberty?). Several miles above the surface he leaped, diving towards the ground like a bird of prey.

To the west, the ship made impact with the ground, sending a shockwave that shook the tower just enough for Blink to lose visual in the final moments of descent. Cursing, as while he was confident the Jedi would inexplicably survive, he really wanted to see how. The trooper scanned the droid-engulfed farmland to the north for a crash site, to no avail. Lingering smoke from the burnt countryside negatively impacted visibility low to the ground.

Rather than trying to articulate his report into words, he sent the 50-odd frames the farscope had saved, as well as the coordinates for the jedi’s projected radius of touchdown. A quick radio over to long range electro-ballistics ensured that his landing wouldn’t be marred by friendly fire.

He awaited follow-up questions on the absurd entry method, which, when they came, mostly consisted of variations on “...Is this for real?” and eventually “Can you set the scope to video for a little while?” and finally “Do you think that’s how he got the name Skywalker?”

There was a temporarily lull in fire from the west, likely a ripple effect from the ship’s explosion. From his vantage point Blink could see his batchmates using the opportunity to try and plug the holes in their barricade with broken droid pieces. Regardless of the itch to join them, he knew he couldn’t leave his post until the Jedi actually arrived in camp. Finally, a distant explosion and thick pillar of smoke gave the Jedi’s position away.

He tried to make out details, but the scope had a difficult time focusing through the haze. Manually trying to fine tune the scope’s settings, Blink caught a glimpse of what looked like half a hover tank sailing through the air to impact with a trade federation troop carrier in a fiery explosion. Several more explosions, flying droid artillery, and plumes of smoke were caught on record before visual contact with the source was established. He was mostly visible as a blue blur, lightsaber mowing a meandering path towards their location.

It wasn’t until Skywalker braced himself in place to punch a droidaka into pieces that Blink caught actual sight of the man. Only his eyes were visible, nose and mouth covered by layers of cloth. He blurred, then reappeared on top a massive missile launcher attached to an absurdly heavily armored vehicle. A minute or so of rapid blue flashes passed, the longest he had seen concentrated in one area. Then Skywalker was gone, movement clearly visible as he for once he moved in a straight line, plowing a rapid path away from the launcher.

Less than 30 seconds later, Blink had to wince away from the scope, as a burning white explosion temporarily overwhelmed the direct light filter. The trooper panicked for a moment, thinking he had gone both deaf and blind, but the abrupt, sucking silence ended after a moment with a deafening sonic boom. The shockwave rattled the farscope, nearly knocking it over, but Blink managed to steady it and himself in time.

A cheer emerged from pleasantly surprised vod below. The entire droid legion that had been guarding the missile launcher and apparent ordinance bay was flattened.

It took a moment for the realization to set in that the background noise of missile and and anti-missile collisions directly overhead had slowed pace. With the northern flank gone, artillery were able to redouble efforts to the east, and a second white hot shockwave ensued, signaling that the tide of battle had shifted. It was almost too easy for the republics electro-ballistics to tactically devastate the surrounding forces.

Eventually some sort of win/loss programming must have set in and all forces outside of a certain radius began retreating southward, conceding the scorched land to the republic army. It was cadets work to clean up the final suicidal droid charge.

A commotion ensued as Skywalker leapt the barricade with a mid-air flip. The vod greeted him with cheers, as they correctly assumed his appearance had something to do with the skirmish’s decisive victory.

Blink sent the video of the battle to command and quickly packed up his scope and assorted equipment. Hurrying down the battered tower, Blink thought to himself that this Anakin Skywalker was the best sort of Jedi a trooper could ask for.

uh sorry i got really sidetracked there moving on

Kenobi and Skywalker quickly become the face of the war once again

they grit their teeth a bit, but when they finally have a moment to really plan they eventually agree that to take down Sideous they have to cut off his political power in addition to everything else, and taking advantage of their public personas was the most accessible way to do so (*evil laughter*)

While Dooku wasn’t captured, Yoda heard the truth in his old student’s cryptic warnings about a Sith in the Senate, and the council begins carefully editing their release of tactical plans to the Chancellor’s office in the hopes of ferreting out the spy in their midst.

Pong Krell looses two arms in his duel with Dooku. Obi-Wan successfully hides his smug pleasure at the news. Anakin enjoys makeing comparisons between him and Grievous.

Kenobi doesn’t allow the origin of the clones to go unexamined, although he agrees that if the public were informed that they don’t actually know who ordered them it would probably cause panic.

The ‘inhibitor chips’ are ‘discovered’ early on and Anakin leads the effort to ensure that they are phased out and removed immediately. This consists of reminding every Jedi who even hesitates about how how he as a child slave had some experience with control chips and unless you want to take a leaf out of the hutts books lets start doing brain surgery chop chop mmmkay?

(This isn’t to say that Vader doesn’t still a twinge of shame at acknowledging his slave roots. But it is eclipsed by the burning guilt that he knowingly acted as slave master to his troops for decades after Sideous wiped their minds. He tried to rationalize it to himself, after all he didn’t immediately understand what Order 66 had done to the troopers. But while the morality of murder was more of an intellectual concern than a personal one, treating people as things...)

The Kamonions are a little harder to budge, referencing contracts that they refuse to allow the Jedi to see

Finally Vader snuck into the Chief Medical Scientist’s home while she was sleeping and straight-up threatened to murder her and burn down her lab. At the risk of losing her life’s work, Nala Se complied.

Vader left with the final threat that in the event that Darth Tyranus caught wind and activated Order 66 prematurely, he would kill 100 Kamonians for every Jedi felled by troopers. Shaak Ti was pleased by the cloners sudden change of heart. Tyrannus, and by extension, Sideous, are in the dark.

Obi-Wan frequently publicly confronts Palpatine about the troops citizen status, urging him make use of his emergency powers to grant them citizenship and full pay, with the option to leave the army should they so wish.

Anakin manages to play off his avoidance of the Chancellor as disappointment in his perceived lack of dedication to anti-slavery efforts

Finally Palpatine gives in- regardless of what happens next, the troops will be looked after.

With 2/3rds of the troopers dechipped, Vaderkin is eager to kill Sideous again, but after several intense screaming matches and sparring sessions, the time travelers come to the agreement that even if they succeed in their duel, with things as they were, the perception of the Jedi military coop would cause mass civil unrest. The scattered sith apprentices, while individually weak, were more than capable of magnifying that fear and anger until the galaxy breaks. Darth Sideous wanted to ensure that if he couldn’t have the galaxy, no one would.

(Vader knows this. Sideous enjoyed monologuing, and much of his plotting couldn’t be safely bragged about until after he had decisively won, leaving Vader as the unwilling receptacle for years of pent-up rants and self-satisfied gloats about the inevitability of his victory)

Continued Here

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saladejin · 3 years

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Admire | 07

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: Things are getting a lil saucier

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Whew, finally we’re up to date. I FINALLY got around to re-editing and revamping this latest chapter, but once again I’m sorry for the delay on it. Now I can start focusing on my wips :))

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The driver bid you both a chaste farewell and soon you were making your way up to house both of you had grown used to sharing. These days, it was simply your safe space, a place you’d slowly begun to warm up to, where you could live and work peacefully in the unimposing presence of your husband, who worked equally as hard for his family.

This was your place to finally belong, the stupidly large mansion that could house ten more of you plus your family with ease, but alas it was still your mansion.

Our … mansion.

You couldn’t recall the moment where you’d begun to think of it as a home rather than a house. In your mind, it wasn’t really the house itself, but rather the people who lived there that made it a place you could truly call home.

You looked over to Seokjin and suppressed a sigh of built up emotion. The man was currently bringing most of the bags inside without a hitch, making use of his broad shoulders and hauling weight as if he weren’t wielding enough hierarchical power to get it brought in for him by the driver. Watching the scene only reminded you of how much had changed during your time away.

For one, Seokjin had shocked you with how easily he’d adapted to the different atmosphere and routine. There were no complaints from him about accommodation, food, or even the over-the-top rowdiness and friendliness of the company. He’d taken it all on board with a curiosity you honestly found adorable, and even adopted some of the various mannerisms. Watching him carrying all the luggage inside was just an example of his new way of living, one you chose to call ‘like a normal person’.

You were also growing closer somehow. The usually stoic man had opened up significantly, and you were discovering new things about him just as quickly as he discovered them himself. For instance, he found an enjoyment for cooking after helping some of the uncles with their traditional barbeque, he’d shown interest in acquiring a guitar for himself as soon as he could, and he was becoming more talkative as he began relaxing his hold on the professional barrier between you.

It was as if he was finally allowing himself to live the kind of life he always wanted. No luxurious parties, no expectations, no having to save face with every public outing. You were a messy mixture of nerves, uneasiness, and excitement at the prospect of getting to know Seokjin for who he was.

He had to discover who he was first, though.

“Dinner will be delivered soon.” His voice filtered out from the kitchen area distantly, and only then you realised you’d been standing in the front entrance in a daze. Lost in your thoughts like a fool. Even so, it was hard to miss the odd note hidden deep within his tired voice.

“Why do you sound disappointed? Is it not what you wanted?” you queried while leaving your bags at the front door for someone to collect later. You made your way into the living room with probing eyes, trying to find where his voice was coming from before spotting his black mop of hair scattered on the back of the lounge.

He didn’t respond at first, only met your gaze with his own investigative ones. You sat down heavily on the other lounge with a sharp exhale. Seokjin drummed his fingers against the leather while lifting one leg to cross over the other elegantly, and you knew he was just trying to avoid talking about what was on his mind.

“You can tell me, you know.” You rolled your eyes at his silence.

He ran both hands through his hair roughly and you almost felt breathless at how messy he’d made himself, like he’d just rolled out of bed. Considering you were both still in your casual clothing from the road trip, it was a sight that made your whole body tingle with a fondness you couldn’t explain. You were just beginning to see more of his hidden personality, and that made you happy in some indescribable way.

“I don’t know, I was hoping to actually try and cook something for once. Like hyung was telling me…”

“Oh? there’s that word again,” you chuckled, trying to ignore the happy swell in your chest after hearing that he wanted to try cooking the same things from a few nights ago, “and you can get the grill out tomorrow night if you want.”

“Hmm, I’ll see how I feel. Anyway, what word?” he asked while sitting back and continuing to run his hand through his hair lazily, expression puzzled. You felt so annoyed at the longing you felt to be the one doing it for him. You had been wondering what his silky looking tresses had felt like for the longest time.

“Is it ‘hyung’?” You smiled in embarrassment, mouthing out the word carefully to try and pronounce it in an acceptable manner at least, though you could never hope to sound fluent right off the bat. Seokjin’s eyes fell to you as the word left your lips, the small lifting of his cheeks being the only hint that he was trying to suppress his amusement. The way his cocoa coloured eyes sparkled at the sound of his native tongue made your heart squirm.

“It’s a good attempt, but no it’s pronounced more like ‘hyeong’. Try it.”

“Hyung.”

“Yeah, that’s … better.”

You hid your grin with the back of your hand, eyebrows shooting up at his unsure sounding feedback. He even managed to crack a tiny smirk of his own, his full lips making him look even more model-like under the soft lighting of your living room.

“Hey, how am I meant to get it perfect straight away? Besides, I forgot what it means already,” you huffed, and brought your legs to tuck comfortably underneath you.

“It’s just a term we use to refer to older males,” he explained, letting his head fall back against the seat slowly. Seeing his eyes fluttering to a close made you wonder how tired he must’ve been feeling. After spending so much time interacting with strangers, and driving, and pretending to be your husband, you supposed.

The jarring noise of the doorbell brought you to your feet, and you went to collect your dinner from the front door as Seokjin gave a quiet nod.

Now that he’s brought it up, I think I’d prefer a home cooked meal too.

“So, am I meant to call you ‘hyung’?” You laughed inwardly while making your way back to him. You were excited to learn more about him now that he was opening up and unfurling in front of your eyes.

He had to purse his lips slightly to avoid smiling again. “No, and please don’t. It would feel way too odd to hear that from you.”

“Oh.” Your heart cracked a little, thinking of course he wouldn’t want his foreign partner to try and so poorly imitate something such as his native language, something he considered close to his heart and home. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t think-”

“It’s okay, it’s just that Korean women don’t use ‘hyung’. If you are female and want to refer to an older male, or partner…” He seemed to hesitate, as if rethinking his decision to elaborate on the subject at all. “Then you can call m- you can use ‘oppa’.”

You swallowed a mouthful of steak before attempting to copy him. “Oppa?”

Seokjin blinked before giving you a tiny nod. Not a single second passed before he was focusing back on his food, the conversation apparently hitting a weird place for him.

“I don’t have to go around calling you that. It’s not like I’m trying to adopt another culture,” you clarified for him, noting how his shoulders seemed to relax at your gentle tone. “I only want to understand you better, Seokjin.”

His hands faltered in their movements to cut the tender steak on his plate. You didn’t catch any change in his expression, as expected, but his eyes gleamed with something you could only describe as appreciation. A few months ago, neither of you probably thought you’d end up sharing your ethnic differences with one another over dinner like this.

The house had always been so silent with just the two of you, and your mind kept thinking back to your old home where there were always maids, cooks and butlers milling about. It struck you as a little peculiar, so you decided to ask.

“Sorry to change the subject, but why is it that your mother requested there to be no live-in staff here?”

Seokjin continued to eat slowly but looked up with a thoughtful gleam in his eye. “I was confused too, but she always brushed it off. Something about family traditions requiring minimal interferences? I didn’t really get it since I’d never heard of said ‘tradition’, but I never really understood her methods anyway.”

Oh…

Your face burned as you understood what he was saying. It was almost laughable, how oblivious he was to his mother’s implications. The thought probably never crossed his mind that she could be referring to the two of you having sexual relations in some way. Well, why should the thought cross his mind?

This was never meant to be anything more than a fake relationship, an array of masks worn only to fool them into believing it was true. It was easy to understand why his mother would think accordingly. You had been trying to trick her, but perhaps you’d been just a little too convincing.

“Yeah, weird huh?” You cleared your throat, offering to take up his dish as you both finished off the meals. The case of the understaffing was forgotten as you moved back to where your husband was half sprawled on the couch, but now the quiet hum of the television accompanied the room and you were thankful to have something filling the silence. Even if it was something was simple as slightly muffled voices from the people on the big screen.

You plonked back down on the leather and felt relaxation crawl up your spine in the best way. You were slowly beginning to believe that there was almost nothing better than this. Spending a night at home with someone you cared about, watching a movie or TV show, nice and warm and comfortable.

You briefly registered that in your current position, Seokjin’s arm that’d been outstretched along the back of the seat now rested just behind your neck. You thought nothing of it, knowing he sure as hell wouldn’t, but let your imagination take the reins at all the possibilities presenting themselves.

Imagining a smile tugging at his lips as he brought his arm down to drape across your shoulders. His warm hand as it cupped your jaw, a gentle thumb drawing tiny circles into the flushing skin along your cheekbone. You imagined the feeling of your smaller hand travelling up the hardened expanse of his clothed chest, feeling the lean muscle and taut ridges underneath the flimsy barrier separating skin from skin.

You felt your face flush further in surprise when your daydream was snapped away into thin air, the cushion underneath you squeaking as he suddenly moved from his slumped position.

“I’m about ready to call it a night. The driving must’ve taken more out of me than I thought,” he said while sporting a grunt of effort, his face wincing at the pop of his joints once he stretched his long legs out. As he brought his arm inwards to follow suit, you felt the slightest brush of his fingers graze your neck. The small shudder that racked your body from the sensation was instantaneous, and you knew that your shameless imagination from earlier had made the cravings for his touch worse.

Unintentionally, your body shifted to try and follow his hand before you managed to will yourself into a stiff, unmoving statue.

Shit, what was that?

You closed your eyes and blew out your cheeks in annoyance, directed at nobody but yourself. Was it really all becoming too much for you the handle at this point? When had you become so … pathetic and needy? This wasn’t like you at all.

It was only then you realised Seokjin hadn’t moved since your loss of inhibitions. You wrenched your eyes open and glanced over to him, knowing full well that his observant gaze had seen the entire display from beginning to end. Oh God no!

“(Y/n), I’ve been thinking,” came Seokjin’s voice through the robotic sounding laughs emitting from the speakers of the television. He was holding his arm awkwardly in the air just above his own lap, as if it had been electrocuted and was no longer capable of moving.

“About what? Oh, when is our next event? I forgot to ask you earlier,” you uttered faintly, trying to cover up your reddening face with one hand. There was no way he was going to let what happened slide, you knew just by seeing the pointed look in his curious dark eyes. He lowered his arm and kept his eyes fixated on your jittery form.

“Not for ages, but anyway that’s not what I was thinking about,” he said with a lazy mumble to his voice that was honestly just a little too low, teetering on seductive but obviously unintentional.

You mentally implored him to forget your stupid reactions. It was getting out of hand and you were already trying your best to rein yourself in.

“Oh?” You raised a brow, waiting for the inevitable questioning that was surely coming your way.

In all honesty, you just wanted to go shower and sleep for the next week. During the trip you’d had so many restless nights, being too caught up on the whole sharing a bed situation. It got better as time went on, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t meant to be there in between the sheets with him. Every time, you held yourself back from the urge to touch him and shuffle closer to his side.

Rein it in. Rein-

Seokjin finally parted his lips in to respond, “It’s just that I can’t help noticing how you get lost in your thoughts lately, along with all the other odd reactions. You keep getting this look on your face, like you’re longing for something, and I can’t help but think back to what you were saying at Taehyung’s party.”

Okay, well this was a bit more than you expected. You felt shivers of humiliation travelling up your skin at the thought of him noticing your fantasizing, of all things. Were you really becoming that obvious even in a state of subconscious? Damn, things were really worse than you thought.

“What? At Tae’s party?” you murmured, trying to awkwardly laugh it off in the process. How did he manage to call you out like that with the straightest of faces? It was almost unfair that he could be so serious and not become affected by these things.

“Yeah,” Seokjin continued. “How you said you craved human touch all the time because the way you grew up left you wanting. I realised during the trip, how content you looked when you were receiving affection from your family members … and me.”

You snapped your eyes up to him, looking to see if his expression would give anything away about what he was thinking even though you knew it was futile. To your shock, his face actually wasn’t the same blank slate you were used to seeing when he pondered. For the first time, you saw him show slight apprehension as he nibbled on his plush bottom lip.

‘And me’ he’d said. You were suddenly thrown back to that one night in the motorhome, which honestly seemed like a mere fever dream, where he’d run his hands along your body and held you close for the first time. That first night you had shared the same bed, and all the dams had broken within you.

It was the night I opened up to him, and maybe that was when he decided to do the same.

“So, I want-”

He cut himself off and sat forward, looking so bewildered and lost that you were beginning to grow concerned. At the recollection of all these memories, you were already feeling vulnerable and ashamed. His vagueness was not helping you keep your shit together.

“I want you to show me what you mean. What are you asking for when you say those things?” He finished by clasping his hands together and looking up at you as hopefully as he could, which was minimal for him. You couldn’t really believe your ears at this point.

“Show you?” you repeated in disbelief. “H-how?”

“Show me what you need,” he rephrased, straightening his back slightly and fiddling with his fingers.

It was a cute little habit you’d never seen before, but your brain could barely register that when you were already reeling from what he was saying. He was close enough that you could catch the scent of his faint cologne, and it was making your head spin faster and faster. The quiet sound of the television faded out as you focused on his beautiful eyes right in front of you.

“You want me to touch you?” You tilted your head, feeling like you were having an out-of-body experience when he nodded to confirm your suspicions.

“If that’s what you want.”

It was strange, not knowing whether to feel happy or whether to feel humiliated, or relieved, or even saddened; all because of your neediness that he’d seen way too many times.

“Okay.”

Your shoulders sagged in a strange sense of defeat. This whole impasse had been your weakness from the start, and now it was finally coming to light. You were ready to help him understand things from your point of view, and maybe he would start to see why you’d been acting this way.

He’d grown up in a similar environment, even despite some stark differences. Why couldn’t there be just a small chance that he might relate somehow?

“What do you feel when you get close to another person?” you asked softly, untangling your feet from under each other and resting them squarely on the ground in front of you. It was intimidating to look up at his looming figure this boldly, yet being so close to his body heat only seemed to put you more at ease.

You wanted to fall into him and have him cradle you in his arms, but you knew that if you were going to show him the right way, you needed to take it slow.

“I don’t feel so different. It doesn’t happen often, actually,” he mused while keeping his eyes focused on you. “When I see my mother at galas or balls, I suppose it just feels like I want to get away.”

You stifled a chuckle at the thought of his mother’s smothering putting him off. It was like that for so many kids out there, but you couldn’t share that feeling when it was lucky for you to even see your mother once in a while. Seokjin’s tensed frame seem to falter slightly when you knowingly smiled up at him. Gone was the shyness, the tiptoeing, the never-ending feeling of restraint.

This was your husband in front of you, and now he was asking you to touch him.

“That’s understandable Seokjin, but I mean in other instances where it’s perhaps more welcomed, or even instigated mainly by you. Say, you see your brother after a long time, so you hug him. Yes?”

The man’s black hair bounced slightly as he nodded. You hadn’t made any moves to be closer to him yet, and you could sense his confusion, but truly it was best to go gradual for him to understand. Rather than you just throwing yourself at him in a barrage of limbs.

“How does that make you feel, compared to how you feel normally?” you tried again, your eyes wide with a curiosity that probably burned even brighter than his. A month or so ago, you never would’ve thought you’d be having such a close and intimate conversation about his relationships.

Clearly, the road trip had not only changed you both in multiple ways, but it had also changed the very dynamic tying you together. The foundations of your relationship, and what it meant to each of you. The man sitting before you now was nothing but a far cry from the man you’d once faced at the altar. As foolish as it was, you could not be prouder of him.

“I suppose I was taught to just do it in certain situations. I never thought about how it made me feel,” he offered in a low voice, brows furrowing as he tried thinking about how he could be more helpful. The slight pout to his pinkish lips had your heart beating erratically.

“Seokjin, do you care about me?” you asked, and time drew to a stop.

This was the kind of question you told yourself you would never ask him. It was almost impossible to answer considering your circumstances, and the owlish look in his eyes told you that you were right in thinking so.

“Yes.”

Your world resumed spinning, but the silence continued. Honestly, you didn’t think you would have kept it together if he’d answered no. You loved him, that much you were sure of, but before the holiday you had been confused about whether you cared for the man so strongly out of your pure desire for close friendship and companionship. You weren’t dense though. These feelings were far more than that, and you were an idiot for entertaining them.

You stared into each other’s eyes, trying to read foreign minds and figure out what it all meant. He cared about you, and you cared about him. That much was a given, but the true depth of that fact remained a constant unknown. He exhaled sharply, almost as if he couldn’t really believe he’d answered so sincerely. So quickly.

“I didn’t think I would, but since the beginning you’ve turned out to be quite different than who I thought I’d be married to. My life … changed, but it was seamless and easy compared to the complicated mess I thought I was going to have to deal with,” he explained with sad eyes. His gaze had been trained on the floor since he’d given you ‘yes’ as an answer.

You shifted closer and brought one hand up to lift his lowered jaw, angling it to face you so you could see his inquisitive eyes once more. His large hands remained clenched in his lap, unsure of what to do at this point.

“Seokjin I care about you too, so you don’t have to feel like you’re on your own here.” You laughed quietly, noticing his shoulders relax as you moved your hand up to rest on the side of his face. Your fingertips buried themselves into the shorter strands of his hair.

If only he knew the true extent of my feelings.

You cleared your throat, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts before they took over, and switched your teacher mode on quickly. “This is a … type of contact that you can kind of do anytime, and you can even play with the person’s hair, or just kind of massaging gently.”

You demonstrated by slowly bringing your hands up to run through his marvelous black locks, lips parting in amazement at the feeling of his soft hair you’d always imagined combing back with your fingers. Your other hand shaped itself to his face as you tried your best to stop yourself from leaning any further forward.

You couldn’t kiss him like this just yet. Not when it would actually mean something to him, for the first time.

“Why do you say ‘the person’s’? You know I wouldn’t have the nerve to try this with anyone else, right?” He murmured unexpectedly; his eyes somewhat nervous at what you were implying. You were quick to push your surprise away and nodded, because it was the only response you could think of.

He took a small but deep breath to regain himself, letting his stoic persona continue to melt underneath your touch. “May I?” he asked in a soft voice, and once again all you could do was nod your head.

He brought one of his hands up hesitantly and you couldn’t help a small fond smile at the way he was concentrating so intently on the movement. As soon as his hand made contact with the skin of your cheek, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into it. He watched in wonder as your eyes fluttered shut, his other hand now carding itself through your slightly messy hair.

If you’d been a cat, you were certain a distinct sound of purring would emanate from your throat.

He smoothed all your hair back until it was no longer ruffled, and then brought both hands back to cradle your face once more. You didn’t realise you’d been leaning forward and running your hands up his chest until the moment you reached his shirt collar, and your eyes zeroed in on the expanse of his neck just long enough to see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in a hard swallow.

“Um, now you can touch a bit lower if you want. Or just hold my hands if you’re more comfortable with that,” you breathed, trying to bring your thoughts to a focal point while removing your hands from him sharply. He looked so picturesque up this close. You just wanted to stay in this position for hours upon hours.

“Like this?” He voiced hoarsely. You tried to keep your breathing normal as one of his hands fell down to encompass yours, but the other traced the line of your jaw before gliding downwards and brushing against the tender skin of your neck. Just has he had in the beginning before all of this had started.

“Yeah.”

You almost whimpered at the tingling sensation, but kept it in for the sake of the exercise. This man was absolutely dangerous for your wellbeing. It wasn’t even his actions at this point, just his undivided attention and careful eyes tracing over the curve of your figure that had your insides turning to jelly.

“That’s probably enough for now. I can hear your brain working,” you spoke and let out an airy laugh when his fingers hesitated in their descent. It was as if he was trying to compute too much information at once, and somehow, the way he was trying his best was oddly charming.

He grunted. “I’m just- I’m trying to understand you.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” you responded with a genuine smile, noticing how his words mirrored your own from earlier back when you’d butchered his native tongue. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m so exhausted I could pass out.”

“Yeah, now I’m really calling it a night.” He cleared his throat with a sigh, mind clearly burning out from the overload of new experiences.

He stood from the couch so suddenly, a stiffness taking hold of his movements. Just what was going through his head at a time like this? You missed his close proximity almost immediately.

Like a robot programmed to move, you also heaved your body up from where it was beginning to sink into the cushions. This whole turn of events seemed unreal, and you could feel your heart still throbbing in your chest at the feeling of Seokjin underneath your fingertips. He had been so warm and had looked so beautiful.

You ran your fingers through your hair as the silence permeated the air, the only sounds being your husband's gentle footsteps as he packed away a few things around the house. You gathered your own bags from the front door and sluggishly traipsed towards your bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway.

I don't want to be on my own.

The invasive thought made you take a few shaky steps back. You were ready to put everything at risk and confess to him how lonely and in love you were, yet to your surprise the sound of his voice softly calling your name made you falter in your tracks.

You stood in the doorway looking outwards as he loitered in front of his own bedroom door at the opposite end, one large hand resting on the doorknob as if he'd been hesitating to open it.

"Did you hear me?"

You relaxed your stance, a sudden embarrassment beginning to settle in at how eager your movements were. "Yeah? What is it?"

Please let me stay with you. Please let me-

"Isn't it - doesn't it seem strange?" He seemed to inwardly backpedal all of a sudden, his pretty eyes falling to the floor and his slightly down-turned nose twitched in regret. "I mean, sorry if this is weird, but after sharing a bed for the entire road trip, doesn't it feel strange to suddenly go back to our own rooms?"

“Ah.” You somehow managed to suppress a hefty sigh of relief, pure ecstasy shooting through your body like some special brand of heroin. You tried to bump up his courage with a reassuring smile. "Jin yes, I still want to spend the night with you."

His eyes rose from the floor as the burden lifted from his mind, shoulders seeming to shake free the stiffness that had taken hold of them ever since the couch fiasco.

"I'm glad. Come over here then."

#seokjin x reader #seokjin scenarios #btsghostie #btsgoldnet #seokjin smut #seokjin imagines #seokjin series #jin smut #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #arranged marriage au #husband jin #bts jin #bts smut #jin angst #admire #saladejin

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wenellyb · 3 years

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hey! every now and then i've seen random posts about sebastian's comment/s on colin kap kneeling among other things, but i've never seen any source material or hard facts. do you have any posts about this or deconstruction of your own? i'd be very interested, ty!

Hey yourself😉!

So I've found the screenshot of the post (at the bottom) and just so you know he also posted an apolology but that one I couldn't find a screenshot of.

There are plenty of posts talking about this but I think most of them are old so it would take some time for me to find them.

If you want my opinion. The whole thing was f*cked up and I remember being extremely surprised and unfollowing him after that post.

And he did apologize, which is good and I do think he understands that that post was not great, but it wasn't my main issue.

When the whole story with Kaepernick happened it was a real eye opener and exposed a lot of racists even among celebrities. I'm looking at you Christopher Meloni. But not only him.

So Colin Kaepernick was to kneeling to protest against police violence and racism.

And a lot of people reacted like a lot of White people react when the topic of racism arise: deny everything and get defensive "How dare he protest blablabala" "He's so rich and he's saying White people are priviledged..." "How dare he say there is racism in this country". You know the usual.

But the thing is to me, the way he protested was the most respectful, and most peaceful way to protest and also so impactful. And some people had still a problem with it...I don't understand how ANYBODY could have a problem with it ... unless they were racist in one way or the other. That was the bar for me... I could not have respect ANYBODY who had a problem with him kneeling, because their message was clear “just sh*t up and play football”.

To me, anybody who had a problem with Colin Kaepernick taking a knee... was automatically problematic and the worst.

For other forms of protests there can always be arguments against it, lousy arguments, but arguements nevertheless: "They're blocking the streets" "There was violence during the protest",... etc... But what is your argument with having a man kneel during the National Anthem, to call out something as serious as police brutality.

To me it was clear that they just wanted Black Americans to shut up, and stay in their lane. "Sports have nothing to do with politics blablabla"

And unfortunately history proved Colin Kaepernick right, and I don't think anybody could voice bad opinions about him today, but at the time, a lot of people were criticizing him, calling him names, insulting him, and even some celebrities were talking about how disrespectful he was.

They cared more about the way he was voicing his protest, than the fact that racism was a real issue.

And because of the protests last year, I think a lot of people tend to forget about that time, but Kaepernick faced A LOT of backlash, A LOT and for what....??? Absolutely no justification. With the way some people reacted you would have thought he burned the American flag on a daily basis, or used it as toilet paper.

So having that in mind, it was really disheartening to see an actor you respect take part in that...

And just to be clear, this is my personal opinion, but I don't think Sebastian had any bad intention with that post (not like other celebrities who were outright criticizing Kaepernick, for some reason I only remember Chris Meloni lol). But the timing, and the content, even as a joke, even as a promotion tool for his movie was extremely bad. You also have to understand the context, and how there were a lot of people rooting against Kap.

Worst case scenerio Seb’s post was racist and best case scenario it was tone deaf.

I can only assume Sebastian watches the news in the US, so he must have known what the caption "take a knee" meant and still decided to post it... So maybe he wasn't ill-intentioned, but to him the topic was light enough that he could post it on his social media...

My main problem isn't even with Seb's post, it was a weird way to promote his movie, or a joke I don’t know. Artists do problematic stuff all the time, and it's up to the fans who support them to decide if they keep doing supporting him or not.

My main problem was and still is the reaction of the fandom, where White Seb stans think they know and understand racism better than anyone else. And honestly this is not me saying that Seb is racist, this is me saying that we should be allowed to voiced our opinions without being silenced or accused of trying to villainize him or cancel him blablabla .

But the Seb stans don't understand that and prefer to turn a blind eye.

I make difference between stans and fans. The Seb fans are the ones who are willing to listen, understand why some people might be offended and admit that their fav f*cked up. The stans are the annoying ones who yould rather keep their head in the sand.

And nobody is even asking to stop supporting Seb... If I cancel an actor, I will stop consuming his content, supporting him, paying to see his movies etc... But I'm not forcing anybody else to do it... But I would like to be free to voice my dislikes especially if that actor was being problematic... without the stans complaining about how "I don't know their fave"

I haven't cancelled Seb btw, I just don't feel like finding him excuses and glossing over the words and if I think that something he did was racist, I will say that it was racist, not "problematic" or "tactless" or "clumsy"...

I think that a lot of people are confused about what racism is, and think it is only White Supremacists who want to harm all non White people.

But it's not only that and in my opinion, there are many layers to racism. If you have "nothing against Blacl people" but there is a part of you that believes you or White people are better than Black people, well you are racist... If not hiw would you describe it? I have already told this story, but I have a friend who swore she wasn't racist and we even had a big debate about racism, and a few weeks later, her boyfriend told me that during a family dinner, she had talked about a common Black friend of theirs saying "She is pretty for a Black girl"... But if you ask my friend, she will say she isn't racist.

If you try to silence people calling out racism, you are contributing to it instead of fighting it.

Another example, I received a lot of "problematic" comments at work from coworkers on my hair, my origins etc, but when I talked about it to my friends and said those comments were racists.. they said that I was "overeacting" that those comments were harmless or just my colleagues being "ignorant". But one time, I was done with it and I wrote to HR about it losting all the comments I had received and the HR director called me and told me that those comments were racist full stop, he didn't try to minimize it or act like I was exagerrating.

And that's how I see the reactions of Seb stans whenever something from him re-sufaces, like my friends who just act like it is nothing.

Just so you know you are not helping when you do that.

They act as if we're suppoosed to accept that because "it's not that big of a deal". Who told you that? How do you determine what is a big deal or not? Especially when you have never dealt with racism?

Fandom behaves as if people who were hurt or offended by that post were overracting. "It was a joke" "It was a long time ago" "He would never do somthing racist"

How hard is it to say " I can see that my fave did something problematic, or that what he did was racist, and I would still like to support him but I understand that people were hirt"??? How hard is it to continue to stan your fave WITHOUT trying to silence people who call out the behavior.

And also the way they refuse to use the words is annoying... it's always "I'm sorry if anybody was offended", never "What I did/wrote was racist and I know better now". If no one wants to admit it when they do racist stuff... nobody will never get anywhere... Like my friend who is convinced that she isn't racist but goes around thinking that White Women are more beautiful than Black Women, and even says it when surrounded by her family.

And people act like the people who were hurt have no reason to be hurt because he apologized, but I hope those people realize that it doesn’t work that way. An apology is great of course, but it doesn’t take out the hurt, or the feeling that if he was comfortable enough sharing this on social media, what is he comfortable doing in the safety of his close circle?, or remove the idea that maybe an actor you adored, and respected doesn’t view Black people struggles as a serious matter.

I personally don't hate Seb, far from it. And the reason why I have so many posts about him, calling him out or not, is that he is one of the very few White actors I'm interested in. I don't know him personally, but I enjoy his interviews with Anthony and enjoy his movies. But I'm not about to act like he is perfect like some of his stan do and also I have absolutely no issue with people who have "cancelled" him because of his past behavior, because I understand them and it's their choice, it's what works best for them... I don't want to force them to root for someone who maybe wouldn't root for us.

Last point, that I won't elaborate because I have already written way to much. There's a difference between people actively trying to be racist, and people who are racist and maybe don't realize it, or people who have prejudice but are working on it...

I hate it when White people act like the worst thing in the world is being accused of racism when the actual worst thing in the world is being racist. Because it shifts the conversation from... "Oh how can I improve myself and stop this racist thing I'm doing, or how can I work on this prejudice I have?" to "How dare you call me racist!!! I would never" all the while they continue doing the racist thing they do.

TL:DR: His Instagram post was f*cked up, and he apologized. And it's up to each person to decide if they still want to support him or not, but it would be great if thise who still support him stopped pretending that those whose don't are overreacting or had no reason of being offended.

#sebastian stan #asks #anti christopher meloni #I wrote too much ... I'll finish later lol #long post #I need to stop making long posts #at some point #I just have to stop wrtining #Also a lot of people think that I hate Seb because I call him out a lot.... But he's actually one of the few White actors I consider....#All of the other ones mean literally nothing to me #.... They don't even exist outside of the movies they play in

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oldfritz · 3 years

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I'm genuinely curious and don't want to start something! Just wanted to ask what you make of the 'Old Fritz might've been asexual' take, I don't know much about him and I feel you're one of the best people to ask esp since you lean towards 'he was probably queer in some way' too

Hey there! So, first off, don’t ever worry about me interpreting you asking me a question as starting something. As much as I love making dumb jokes about the guy, I love nothing more than doing this kind of stuff and defending or explaining my points. There’s two degrees I want to get over the next decade: first my JD and then my MA in Prussian history. I live for this stuff! Always have! Second off, I’m very sorry for not getting to this sooner. Things have been incredibly stressful for me for a variety of different reasons which have made answering your question, until now, rather difficult. Putting this under a cut because, holy shit, it got long!

My personal reasoning for why I think he’s bi (which, correct me if I’m wrong, I’m assuming is what you meant instead of ace and could be a different post entirely since some historians have tried to argue that) stems more to do with some of my lingering questions about the nature of his relationships with certain woman, rather than that of his relationships with men. To me and my modern, queer eye, Fritz’s relationships with men like Hans Hermann von Katte, Francisco Algarotti, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf, and (much to my personal vexation) one Monsieur Voltaire are either outright homosexual/homoerotic in nature or very, very easily lend themselves to that interpretation rather than strictly romantic friendships (which Wikipedia does a fairly good overview of and, if you’re coming to me from AmRev perspective, uses Hamilton and Laurens’ relationship as a familiar example). While I’m avoiding those relationships in this ask, I’d be more than happy to elaborate upon one/all of them in a different one.

Before I go into the big pauses that Fritz’s relationships with Madame von Wreech and Countess Orzelska give me, I want to deny the use of Fritz’s wife as an example of Fritz’s attraction to woman. While this, admittedly, may sound odd, we have ample evidence of how turned off and repulsed Fritz found Elisabeth Christine. Before he had even met her, Fritz was complaining about how she was ‘not very pretty, speaks but little, and acts like a blockhead’ (Asprey, 87) and, later, admitted to Grumbkow his plan to ‘keep my word,...get married, but afterwards it will be a case of that is that, and goodbye, Madame, and fare thee well’ (Jones, 52). For Christ’s sake, the man pitied her knowing how his treatment would leave her as ‘one more unhappy princess in the world’! Which is little consolation when you remember he also referred to her with such romantic terms as ‘this unpleasant creature,’ ‘the abominable object of my desires,’ ‘the person,’ and claimed to have preferred to marry ‘the biggest whore in Berlin’ (Asprey, 87). And while we (fortunately? unfortunately?) know quite a bit about their sex life, Fritz largely regarded it as just another duty - to quote him, ‘I will only have the duty to fuck’ (Ibid, 87). And while Seckendorf heard - first, presumably from Count von der Schulenburg and, later on, Count Friedrich von Wartensleben, a close and intimate friend of the then-crown prince - that Fritz would ‘fuck and refuck’ Elisabeth Christine and that said act occurred in the afternoon, it still was out of a sense of obligation (Bely, 481-2). When reminded that if he wanted more money for frivolities, he’d need to produce an heir, Fritz bemoaned that he ‘cannot sleep with my wife out of desire, and when I do sleep with her, I do it out of duty rather than inclination’ (Clark, 50). All this in accumulation, as well as the myriad of other quotes and incidents I’ve left out, makes one wonder why his relationship with Elisabeth Christine is sometimes used by historians to prove any sort of heterosexual impulse in the man when she’s the woman with the weakest supports for that argument.

That being said, now we get to the women with a more muddled places in his romantic escapades, if you will. What exactly happened between Orzelska and Fritz during his trip with his father to Dresden in 1728? The main source for everything that occurred during this trip is Wilhelmina, who didn’t attend and without anything about this specific incident coming from Fritz or Friedrich Wilhelm I, make it rather hard to use as concrete, irrefutable proof. Now, if her recollections were contemporaneous - like coming from a diary or journal she kept at the time - that would be one thing. But it comes from her memoirs which, while a delightful read 10/10 recommend, are written decades after this trip took place and, memory being a finicky thing, can’t be taken to the bank. All those disclaimers, here’s the story as told by her:

‘One evening...,the King of Poland [note: Augustus II] insensibly led the King of Prussia to a very richly decorated room...The King of Prussia, delighted with what he saw, stopped to contemplate all its beauties, when [all of] a sudden a tapestry was rolled up, which procured him a very novel sight. It was a lovely female in a state of nudity [note: Countess Orzelska, the Polish king’s daughter], carelessly reclined on a couch. Her beauty excelled that of the finest pictures of Venus and the Graces; her body seemed of ivory, whiter than snow, and better shaped than that of the Venus de Medicis at Florence.

...Scarcely had the King cast his eyes on the fair one, than he turned about with indignation; and seeing my brother behind him, he rudely pushed him out of the room, and left it immediately after in a violent irritation against the trickery they had attempted to practice on him. ...In spite of the King’s vigilance, [Frederick] had had time to contemplate the Venus of the closet, who did not cause him so much horror as she had done to his father. (Wilhelmina’s Memoirs, vol. 1, 107-6)

Wilhelmina then goes on to claim Fritz had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Orzelska and that the illness Fritz experienced upon returning home was simply being lovesick. Pinning the accuracy of this story is incredibly difficult because, again, we have only one source relayed decades after the fact and from two volumes of memoirs known to have inaccuracies. While I, personally, would love if he had had a tryst with Orzelska (who is such a badass in her own right and deserves more recognition than as a footnote in this guy’s story), there’s no one way to say with more than 30% confidence. I am inclined to believe something along these lines happened because if someone told me a story like this, lord knows I wouldn’t forget it for the rest of my life. And, with Wilhelmina being so close with her brother, it lends a bit more credence but as to the actual emotional or physical response Fritz had to it, well, without my time machine, I can’t and don’t want to say.

With Madame Eleonore-Louise von Wreech, things are a little more concrete. For starters, Fritz actually talked about her! In written correspondence that survived! We even have seven letters between the two of them that survived, which is a bigger win! As Blanning says, they’re ‘ardent but light in tone, ironic, almost flippant, and highly stylized’ (Blanning, 58). Their relationship was known to those close with Fritz at the time that Schulenberg felt compelled to visit and warn the crown prince against devoting himself to women because ‘the slight pleasures gained cause a million displeasures.’ Fritz’s response? To tell the poor guy that he may have ‘the gift of continence, but I assure you that I do not’ (Asprey, 83-4). Firtz even went so far as to send a letter to her mother, waxing poetic about Louise’s ‘beauty, her majestic air, her bearing, and her entire department.’ It’s worth noting that Louise eventually broke off the affair due to being bored by how he ‘loved [her] too much and often annoyed [her] with his clumsy love’ (Ibid, 84). Contemporaries, including Friedrich Wilhelm, believed Fritz had impregnated her with a daughter who her ‘cuckolded husband would refuse to recognize’ (Blanning, 58). Blanning is the only source I’ve seen dispute this due to this news coming from Seckendorf, who didn’t reveal how he came about this information; that Fritz and Madame von Wreech’s correspondence doesn’t indicate a physical relationship; and on the fact that she was not pregnant. I haven’t been able to find the birth dates or any sort of records for Louise’s two daughters to figure out where their conception could’ve been in the timeline and if it matches with the likely dates for the affair, but I also don’t have the resources Cambridge would afford Blanning. Either way, while the physical nature of the affair is in dispute, the emotional aspect certainly was there. Especially when taking into consideration the fact that she’s the woman Fritz was likely referring to in the 16 August 1737 letter to Voltaire where he claimed she had taught him how to love (and also inspired him to write poetry, which we shouldn’t be thankful for). Specifically, all these years later, he stated how ‘this little miracle of nature possessed every possible charm, together with good taste and delicacy. She sought to transfer these qualities to me. I succeeded well in love but poorly in poetry. Since that time I have very often been in love and have always been a poet’ (Fritz’s Oeuvres, vol. 21, 96).

All this to say, there’s a bit too much evidence of some degree of opposite-gender attraction in Fritz to completely write off the possibility that he could’ve been bisexual. While it’s undeniable he held a preference for men and that’s whose company he typically enjoyed, I still do find it interesting the two exceptions (one potential and the other with a fair degree of certainty) to this. And, while I would never want his attraction to men be minimized in favor of that to women, it still remains important to note to get the most comprehensive picture of the man.

#frederick the great #elisabeth christine #countess orzelska #madame von wreech #asks #anonymous

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triviareads · 3 years

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I say this as a white person; the only reason the western came up with the notion that less is better is because we don't know how to dress/stylish ourselves and we look back as soon as we try to combine more than two accesories. So, yeah, give everyone lots of jewels. We are drawn to Bridgerton because of the luxurous aesthetic!

omg! I mean, I think minimalism can be lovely as well, if done right (I'm mostly thinking about it in the red carpet sense, like, a well-cut gown can do wonders), but I just really want more for Bridgerton S2's main female characters, unlike the last season.

There's this thing I've noticed across western media- historical and modern (YA, romance, etc.)- but how ornately you dress is somehow tied to your morals, like, the main girl will be dressed simply (but she's a natural beauty and doesn't know it, and everyone is drawn to her anyway, etc. etc.), but the characters we're supposed to dislike (because they're evil, vapid, dumb, whatever) dress super over-the-top.

Case in point, that outfit Daphne wears to a ball make the duke jealous- she has this grand entrance and everyone is like gasp and omg and she's so hot but like, it's objectively boring, mildly dowdy, the hair is oddly done, she lacks in good jewelry (too tiny), and the feather situation (both on the fan and on her head) are downright ugly. Like, look at this:

I genuinely think most of Daphne's style could be classified as her outfits being ugly and boring (and screams VIRGIN- like, we get it Bridgerton), but Phoebe Dynevor is a pretty white woman, so we think most things will look good on her. Honestly, all the Featherington girls, as well as Cressida (including those elaborate headpieces she would wear) were meant to be seen as ugly (inside and/or out) but they still served better looks than Daphne 90% of the time.

And yeah, maybe it's a cultural thing. There's a reason my mother believes it's an insult to stand in front of our gods without at least a pair of earrings (and a bindi, but that's different), if not a necklace and bangles as well (preferably in gold). But as a brown girl, I do hope they do better with Kate and Edwina this season, if not Eloise as well.

#bridgerton #kate sharma #daphne bridgerton #edwina sharma #ask

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marvels-writings · 4 years

Text

Love is Trust

Maria Hill Masterlist

Requested by Anon: 22, 34, 35 with Maria hill. Preferably from hills POV where r breaks up with her. maybe a few time skips in there. heavy angst

22: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m never going to do this again!”

34: “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

35:“Our time here is over.”

Word Count: 2,559 (long and angsty)

A/N: I could have written a simple, 1k word fic for this. But no, my imagination had to go wild and make me spend an entire two days writing this, was it worth it? Of course.

Daydreaming is an almost thing. You never know what different reality you might imagine. For Maria, a reality she was imagining was better than the one she was living in. Being distracted from that reality almost made her angry until she noticed who had brought her out of the daydream.

Natasha ran her thumb over the back of her palm as it rested on the coffee table. Green eyes scanned her features sympathetically. The brunette had no doubt she could see the exhaustion and hurt written on her face.

The sunlight from the windows in the kitchen hit her back, keeping her warm. But she still shivered, feeling cold all the time. Chest heavy, almost like she was carrying it around like a weight.

“What’s going on?” Natasha asked, pulling over a chair and sitting down in front of her, elbows leaning on the table. The redhead’s hand had slipped out of hers, waiting for her to speak.

“As if you don’t know.” Maria scoffed, leaning back in her chair, the hoodie sleeves over her hands. The hoodie she wore, navy blue and oversized, still smelled like you. It was almost the last thing she had left to remind her of you, except for the ring in the hoodie pocket.

“I only know what you’ve told me,” Natasha stated, watching the brunette and sighing. Maria didn’t respond, staring into the space ahead of her blankly.

“Which is that you and Y/n decided to end your relationship after almost 3 years.”

Three years, three years often sounded like a long time. It was a long time for most people, but it felt so short. The three years of happiness and being with you all over. Maybe if she could turn back time, it would be easier than trying to make things right.

“Natasha, this isn’t your business,” Maria said, inhaling sharply and beginning to get up, the rin gin her pocket heavier than ever. The redhead glared at Maria, gesturing to the seat, the brunette sat back down.

“As your chosen family, it is.” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“What happened?” Natasha asked, waiting for the story to spill from Maria.

To Maria, it didn’t feel like a story anymore. It was like a dream, a nightmare almost. Her worst fears playing into her reality and destroying her life. How she wished it was a bad dream, and she could wake up in your arms, safe and loved. It was a hope she was past having.

————

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Maria said, running her hands through her hair, leaning back against the couch in your shared apartment. You sighed and propped your elbows against the kitchen counter, leveling your girlfriend with a glare.

“You think I do?” You spat, watching the brunette wince at your harsh tone. It wasn’t a tone you used often, it was the kind of tone you used when you were annoyed with someone or you hated them. Maria was neither of them, but it was starting to seem like it.

“Where do you keep going?” Maria asked, forcing her eyes to stay open.

Exhaustion was creeping into her, but she refused to fall asleep. It was well past one in the morning, Maria had started asking you where you had been almost all night. But you refused to tell her, making her even more adamant and irritated.

“What, what do you mean?” You stuttered when you noticed her say ‘keep’. Maria was surprised you hadn’t expected her to see you take your car and head out into the city, almost every week. The way you hid your phone and kept a few more secrets from her.

“I mean, where do you keep going once a week without telling anyone?” Maria asked, stepping forwards and meeting your gaze in front of the kitchen counter. Your eyes left hers, darting nervously around the kitchen as you stepped back.

“It’s not important.” You waved her off, licking your lips.

“It is if you don’t tell me,” Maria said, watching you from the front of the kitchen counter. The first time she had asked you about this, you had easily distracted her from it. But she needed to know, your hidden secret was always in the back of her mind, feeding off of her insecurities.

“Maria,” You sighed, walking back to the counter and taking her hands in yours. “it’s not important.”

Your touch distracted her almost instantly, your warm fingers dancing along hers intoxicating her. Maria knew far too well what you were trying to do, you were trying to distract her from this, again. Her insecurities threatened to spill forth, maybe it was time she told you why she was so scared.

“Are you,” Maria licked her lips, pulling away from you. “are you cheating on me?”

“NO!” You shouted, voice loud and eyes wide in shock.

The way you denied it made her almost believe you. There could be other reasons you kept sneaking away, none came to mind. The most obvious one was that she wasn’t enough for you. There was something in her hoping that was the case, so it wouldn’t be entirely her fault you left eventually.

“God, no, I couldn’t.” You ran your hand through your hair in disbelief before moving forwards to take her hands. Maria slid away, watching you carefully.

“You know I could never do that.” You said, pleading for her to believe you. One hand remained in your trouser pocket, fidgeting with a small box. Maria assumed it was a small gift for her since you’d been gone too much, she didn’t think much of it.

“Do I know?” Maria asked, almost lying through her teeth. Of course, she knew you would never cheat on her. Her insecurities had gotten the best of her.

“Why are you doubting me?” You asked, tilting your head to the side slightly.

Maria’s eyes widened minimally as she stepped back, stuttering over her reply. She tried to compose herself. To try to get any sort of semblance to lie to you. It wasn’t working, you were seeing right through her.

“Maria,” You caught her attention, blue eyes barely meeting your gaze. “what aren’t you telling me?”

The brunette fidgeted under your scrutiny, deciding her biggest regret might not be her mistake, it might be telling you. At least she could be happy about being honest, even if there was nothing else to be happy about.

“About 2 weeks ago, I thought you were cheating on me.” Maria began, sighing as the events ran through her mind, wincing as her regrets flashed through her. “I went to a bar by myself.”

Shutting her eyes tightly, willing the memories away, wishing they weren’t true. More than anything she wanted her worst regret to be wrong, maybe a bad dream, anything else but a reality. There was nothing she could do to undo this, to undo her worst regret.

“I got drunk, too drunk,” Maria said, eyes flitting up to you. Your eyes watched her intently, betraying no emotion. “I wanted you to feel how I was feeling.”

Maria went quiet, fear filling her, eyes boring into yours. Her eyes were somewhere you could easily get lost, they were familiar and known. Now, they felt strange, unknown, almost as if they were betraying you.

“What did you do?” You asked, fear dripping into your voice.

“I cheated on you,” Maria confessed, almost like an apology. An apology for betraying your trust and doubting you. Though, she doubted anything she said could make you feel better.

If anything, she remembered the long nights you spent talking together about your worst fears. She had confessed she was terrified she was going to die alone, you had easily assured her that would never happen if she trusted you. You had confessed your worst fear was not being enough for someone, your worst fear was that the person you trusted most decided you weren’t enough for them.

Maria expected you to yell at her, throw things, cry, anything but what happened next. Eyes wide and teary, you chuckled and pulled the box you had been fidgeting with out of your pocket. The box was navy blue and velvet, her name engraved in an elaborate cursive font on the front.

You chuckled, there was no humor in you anymore. It was pained, breaking you to make any sort of reaction. Maria wanted to rush forwards to apologize, to try to fix what she had broken. But you didn’t give her a chance as you fidgeted with the box.

You had been planning to propose to her, her insecurity about being cheated on was because you’d been trying to surprise her by proposing, by putting her worst fears to rest. Instead, Maria had made your worst fear come true.

“And here I was,” You set the box down on the counter, a single tear falling from your cheek onto the box. “wanting to spend the rest of my life with the woman I wasn’t enough for.”

Pain filled your words, enveloping Maria and suffocating her, weighing down on her chest like weights.

“I’m sorry,” Maria whispered, rushing over to your side of the counter.

You backed away from her quietly as she reached out for you. Tears continued to slip out of your eyes as you made no motion to stop them. Every single tear showing how badly you were hurt, how badly Maria had hurt you.

“I’m sorry!” She shouted, almost begging for you to forgive her. But she knew there was nothing she could do to make you forgive her.

“I’m never going to do this again!”

“You never should have in the first place.” You murmured, still backing away from her. Your back hit the countertop as you cowered into yourself even further. Maria winced and backed away, trying to give you some space.

“Y/n, I never would have if I didn’t think you were cheating on me,” Maria said, trying to make an excuse, say anything to try to make less of her mistake.

“This is my fault now?” You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. Wiping the tears away from your face in vain as more tears began to slip down.

“No,” Maria sighed, reaching forwards to take hold of your hands, to bring your comforting touch back. “that’s not what I meant.”

You pulled away, hurt as you shuffled to the other side of the kitchen. Feeling less cornered, your tone rose angrily. Your face hardened, despite the tears clinging to your skin like oil, you looked furious.

“I don’t care what you meant Maria.” You hissed, voice beginning to rise. It was almost as if the gravity of the situation came back to you when the brunette looked at you. Your voice softened and more tears fell.

“I gave you everything I had and I still wasn’t enough for you.” You said, shutting your eyes and turning to face away from her, steadying your breathing. The truth in your tone hitting Maria in the chest, pain flooding her, washing away any hope of reconciliation she had.

“You might as well take the ring,” You reached forwards and took her hand, slamming the velvet box into it. Your hand slipped away from hers, maybe for the last time. Confusion was clouding your features like you didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore.

“my life was something I was willing to give to you.” You stated, moving towards the door and grabbing your coat. The apartment was yours, yet Maria was the reason you were leaving.

“Y/n, no,” Maria reached forwards to take your hand, but you were already out the door and running into the rain outside. You turned around, a sliver of hope-filled Maria, maybe you would let her apologize and bring you inside.

The rain-soaked your clothes and hair as Maria still stood in the doorway, unsure if you wanted her close. The water mingled with your tears, washing them away, making you wish it could wash your pain away too.

“Our time here is over.” You stated, sniffling as you turned on your heel and went towards your car. Shoulders drooped as rain-soaked your clothes, half expecting Maria to chase after you.

Which she did, the brunette ran after you, she still wasn’t fast enough to catch you. By the time she finally caught up to you, you were in your car and driving off. Maria was left, the rain drenching her clothes, mixing with the tears that were starting to slip down her face.

You left her because of what she had done. The mistakes she had made caused you to leave, you were ready to spend the rest of your life with her. If only you would come back, she could tell you that the answer would have been yes, it would always be yes.

Walking inside, she picked up the ring set down on the kitchen counter and picked it up, examining it. The velvet was soft to the touch, the engraving perfect and elaborate. She opened the box to reveal a silver ring with a sapphire stone in the center, surrounded by smaller sapphires weaved into it.

The light glinted off awkwardly from the inside of the band, causing her to pick it up and look on the inside. There was a small engraving, it read

“Love is trust, I love you”

Her mind betrayed her, showing her the memories of when you’d asked her what love meant to her, just before she told you. To Maria, love had always been trust, to trust the person with every single part of you and trust them not to leave.

She loved you, more than anyone she had ever loved before. Now, after breaking your trust in her, she wasn’t sure if you loved her anymore.

————

“What are you planning to do now?” Natasha asked, watching the brunette play with the box in front of her. She hadn’t opened it after that, hoping she could find you and make things right again. But it was as if you’d disappeared, no one could find you. Not even her, and she had spent days trying.

Almost a week had passed since she had last seen you, felt your touch dancing across her skin like a flame. The warmth she missed, more than anything, it always felt too cold now. Even when she was in your shared bed, comforted by all the blankets around her, she felt vulnerable and cold.

“I don’t know,” Maria said, clenching her jaw as her fingers ran over the engraving again.

“Do you want her back?” Natasha asked, knowing the answer before the question left her lips.

“More than anything,” Maria answered instantly, she sighed and put her hands around the ring box, her hands getting warmer the more she held the box, she hadn’t let go of it even after you left.

“But I broke her trust.” She mumbled, opening the box as a tear slipped down her cheek. A small gasp left Natasha at the sight of the ring.

The brunette pulled it out, playing with it, running her fingers over the smooth stones resembling her eyes. Marriage is a promise to spend the rest of your life with someone, it must have been terrifying for you to get this ring made knowing she might say no.

“But love is trust,” Maria read the inscription with a sigh, fingers turning cold as more tears fell. “she doesn’t trust me anymore.”

A/N: Please don’t let my sanity go to waste and comment/reblog/send me an ask!

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @wlw-imaginesss , @hcartbyheart , @summergeezburr , @imnotasuperhero , @a-stressedstudent , @aaron-despair , @rooskaya-yelena , @thewitchandtheassassin , @wannabe-fic-reader , @izalesbean, @higherfurther-romanova let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

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imthepunchlord · 3 years

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hello odd question but do you have any tips on expanding characters who have minimal scenes? You do it so well with lfm!

That's nice of you to say, as I don't have it perfected, looking over at MC's Amber who I had to cut because I couldn't figure out what to do with her; and Luka who I largely don't know what to do with.

Biggest thing I can think of to say is, watch them intent when they're in the background, try to pick up any details that you can find, and you can use those details to elaborate on them and expand on them.

That's what I did for Felix when I was writing Grumpy Cat; I was staring at his concept art so intently that I noticed that there's only one piece of work that he's being mean to Marinette. This lead me to conclude he's not an actively malicious character like Chloe, he's only mean when you push his buttons like concept Marinette did (constantly invaded his space and ignored his clear rejection to keep pursuing him). And all pictures of him had him alone, I concluded he's a loner by choice/preference; though you can work off canon's suggestion that he's not a loner by choice and struggles with friendship.

Another factor is that you just make this one character entirely your own as they're as blank as can be, like Jean Duparc. I took the one and only detail of Jean that we had and rolled with it: his akuma was him as a magician. That tells me he likes magic, he's good at misdirection, and could be a mischief maker or at least like to have fun and put on a show/likes attention. Not to say that applies to all who likes performance magic, but that's the first thing that came to mind with Jean and I rolled with it.

I will say, this won't work with every character. Sometimes you just don't know what to do with them. Like Luka for me is a struggle and that's why he hasn't been in a lot of my fics; nor is he really planned to be in a lot of them or be a very major player if he is. He doesn't involve himself and waits for activity to come to him, he doesn't have any wants that he will actively pursue, and in terms of growth I'm at a loss in what he can learn or improve. A lot of what I can think of are debatable issues with him, like waiting/leaving it all for Marinette to decide if they get together or not. That could've happened sooner if he initiated more, but that's technically not a bad thing to leave it up to her, and he's going to be ok if she doesn't be with him romantically.

At least for me, he's too calm and too well put together. And thanks to how they went about including him, I find him to be incredibly removed from everything. To a point that its not easy to include him cause he's largely on that boat and he waits for characters to come to him. And it doesn't help that character interactions are at a minimal. Its nearly exclusively Marinette he interacts with, with Juleka being at least once. And we've yet to see him work off Rose and Ivan. Or even see him interact with his own mom. And what about his own friends? We don't see him at Francoise Dupont so he goes elsewhere. Or is he a drop out?

Anyway... Luka's a character I don't entirely know what to do with and most ideas I think of, he's not there in them as I don't see a point in including him or a clear means to do so. And that's just me.

It'll vary person to person; but it can be done to expand on characters. Pay close attention and try to find little details to work off of, and you can work off headcanons and ideas that come to you. It's not going to work with every character but it can be done.

#ask Punchie #writing tip #my apologies to Lukanette fans #I like it #but more for Marinette's support than actively really liking these two characters and wanting to see them work off each other #Luka himself just doesn't draw me in a lot #and I'm hoping every ep with him would have more #but nope most were about flipping Adrien #so canon wise #Luka's that character I just don't know what to do with #there's not enough meat there #and as one anon had pointed out #I find his role very easily filled by others #like Nino could've filled his role and I kinda would've preferred that #we could've gotten more on Nino and DJWifi could be better set up if they have to be a thing #and more wholesome Ninette

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shorkbrian · 4 years

Text

You’ll learn to love me back

Prelude - Yooo mayhaps I’ll do a thirst post soon for daddyzawa. This man is an absolute control freak but he’s also logical and so so soft. Reader may seem stupid and like they’re accepting the situation but like?? If someone kidnapped me I’d be like so scared. Bros I am so trusting a villian could be like ‘Yo there’s a dog down that dark alley, you just have to pass those two burly dudes with the chloroform.” And i’d be trotting on down looking for the puppy.

https://youtu.be/eCCtiK7KlSo This is the vibe

Prompt - “I’m taking care of you now. That’s why you’re here”

Warnings - SFW until the very end. Mild groping and an intense build up to off scene NSFW.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He knows it’s wrong. You know he knows that everything he is doing and has done to you is wrong. Problem is, he doesn’t care.

It had been hard to adjust at first. You thought the underground hero could be trusted, despite his ragged appearance and few words. Even though he mainly stayed in the shadows, not preferring the spotlight and the praise his counterparts received, everyone knew his trademark black hero outfit and yellow goggles. Plus, you had seen him a couple times around at work. So when the man dropped out of nowhere, rushing you to “come with him”, you immediately complied. Who were you to disobey a hero?

Confusion grew as it seemed like he was leading you to a slightly run-down apartment complex, the outside paint fading, the elevator out-of-order. But he was a hero, there was no reason for you not to trust him. There would be no reason for him to hurt or trick you, you were an upstanding citizen and did your job diligently. You worked at UA as a nighttime janitor, trying to supplement your meagre income that you earned working during the day at a nearby grocery store. Prices were insane these days and you always felt like you were barely scraping by.

Looking back, if you could give any advice to your past self it’d be to run away screaming. It would be futile, of course; the erasure hero was quick and efficient at immobilizing fleeing villains, so capturing a simple civilian would be a piece of cake for the man. He refused to answer your questions as the two of you climbed the stairs of the apartment complex, urging that there was “no time” and the two of you needed to hurry. Who were you to argue?

It only started to register that something was wrong after he steered you through one of the doors on the seventh floor, immediately turning and fiddling with something on the door the second you were through. “Mr. Eraserhead?” You had tried, his back still turned as you timidly continued. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?” The man had faced you then, an off-putting smile dancing along his features. Your stomach filled with butterflies; something was wrong.

You tried to stay calm, I mean, that’s what they tell you to do in scary, bad situations right? But as he began talking, your heart felt like something was squeezing it, your limbs numb with cold. You were going to stay there now, he explained, and you weren’t going to leave. It was for your protection and safety, and the pro-hero would accept no arguments on the matter. There was water in the kitchen and the bathroom was in the back, next to the bedroom.

You had smiled uneasily, thinking it was some sort of joke. Heros did that sometimes, right? For TV commercials or elaborate pranks on celebrities. There were probably cameras hidden somewhere, and a man ready to jump out with a wide smile claiming you had won something or passed a test or something. There was no way that Mr. Eraserhead was serious about this. But as the seconds ticked on, your anxiety grew. The man in front you shouldered past with a “Make yourself comfortable”, and promptly disappeared into one of the rooms down the hall. You were left in silence, confused, scared……. Should you still wait for the cameramen to jump out?

There were no cameramen.

It hadn’t seemed bad at first, technically, temporarily staying with Eraserhead. He preferred you to call him Shouta, but he also preferred you to not try and escape the clean, minimal apartment. There was something on the door that thwarted your attempts, and the windows were useless because you were seven feet off the ground. There was no fire escape, and there was no escape for you.

He treated you well enough, considering you were a prisoner in his home. You had learned that it was his apartment the first night when he had offered you the chance to sleep in his bed, which you shakily refused. The apartment matched the man; simple, practical, and quiet. The first three or so days you had been in shock, sitting numbly on the black leather couch, staring blankly at the equally-blank wall as you waited for Erase-Shouta to come and tell you it was all a cruel joke.

He hardly said a word to you.

Shouta was a relatively silent man, but when he did deign to speak it was practical, to-the-point, and his voice was soft and low, as if he was talking to a scared animal ready to bolt. In some way, you guess that’s what he saw you as, trembling nervously all the time, your eyes filled with fear as you continuously tried to take up as little space as possible. For the most part he left you alone, aside from asking what foods you preferred or if you wanted water at mealtimes. There was a TV in the living room, but it stayed off. The only form of entertainment you could find was the small bookcase near one of the windows, filled with classics.

If Shouta wasn’t sleeping, he was hovering nearby, sipping coffee while he tapped away on his phone or worked on his laptop. Whenever you glanced at him you were unsettled to find his eyes already trained on you. You would glance away as quickly as possible and return your focus to the book in your hand, heart thudding away beneath your ribcage.

A problem had arisen the fourth night, when you were getting ready to fall asleep on the couch, since you refused to go anywhere near Shouta and his bed. You didn’t know what the mans intentions with you were, but you didn’t want to take any chances or make things easier for him. He had come to the door of his bedroom, leaning against it lazily as he crossed his arms, that studious gaze never seeming to leave you. He had suggested you take a shower and change, and that he had clothes and towels and anything else you might need.

You shook your head.

He had tried again, his voice just as soft as he reasoned with you. The man was logical for sure, but you had a queasy feeling in your stomach as he tried to convince you to change out of the same clothes you had been in since he lured you to his apartment. Yes, personal hygiene was important, but how could you be sure Shouta would leave you alone while you were vulnerable? The only bathroom in the place didn’t have a lock.

Shouta had sighed when you remained silent, only shaking you head. He had pushed himself away from the door, treading silently until he could crouch down and meet your gaze glued to the floor in front of you. Immediately you shifted your eyes to your hands clasped nervously together in your lap. You felt clammy and sweaty and cold and hot and it was all too much. Mostly you just felt like crying. This was such a bizarre situation and you didn’t know what was going on. The man had tilted his head to try and catch your eye again, before giving up and sighing. “You can either shower by yourself, and then change into new clothes, or I’ll have to force you. The latter will not be as pleasant as the former.”

You had quickly chosen the former.

The clothes he provided were obviously his. They smelled like him, and he smelled like the shampoo nestled on one of the alcoves in the shower. He probably used the same brand for laundry detergent. You were grateful that he had provided you a toothbrush, slotted next to his own. Admittedly, you did feel better after cleaning up, but that feeling was quickly dashed after Shouta took your old clothes after you had exited the bathroom. He didn’t say anything as he dumped them in the trash. You distantly hoped it was because they smelled bad.

After a week of sleeping on his couch, Shouta had appeared in his hero outfit. He had to go back to work as a hero, and there were going to be rules from now on. They were simple and practical, like eating at mealtimes, taking care of your hygiene, and obviously, no trying to escape. Otherwise there would be consequences. You didn’t want to find out what those were.

The two of you fell into an easy routine. He worked mainly in the early morning, from 2-8, sometimes 9. While he was home with you, you would read or work on the crossword book he had let you mark in. He would go to bed around eight in the evening, and when he he left at 1:30 you would crawl into his empty bed. It had felt so nice the first night you had dared to do so. You usually tried to wake up and vacate his bedroom before the man returned, but on the days you didn’t Shouta said nothing. He didn’t seem to mind you using his space.

By the third week of living with him, you were bored to the point of tears. There was nothing for you to do; there was seemingly no remote for the TV, you didn’t feel like re-reading books you already knew, and you had completed the crossword book. Shouta seemed to pick up on your distress and had shown up one day with a tiny kitten and a giant bag filled with more reading material and activity books. You tried to ignore him as you cuddled the kitten in your arms, but you still heard his fond admission that you deserved a gift for being so good.

You tried your best to hide your shiver.

When you confronted him (timidly and with the kitten clutched to your chest like a shield) about why he was keeping you locked up in his apartment, Shouta had turned his eyes from his phone, blinking slowly as you fidgeted uneasily under his gaze.

“If I had been anyone else, you would’ve been dead the moment I got you away from the main streets. You’re too trusting. Furthermore,” Here he set down his phone, standing up from the small table and looming over you in a show of dominance. “You’re a complete pushover and your personality is so meek and submissive that I’m frankly surprised no one has taken advantage of you yet.”

Shouta took a step forward, and you took a step back.

“I’m keeping you safe.”

Another step forward, and you stepped back again.

“I’m protecting you.”

Another step. Your back hit a wall.

“Do you remember when you first started working at UA? You had let that senior janitor boss you around, making you do stupid things that had nothing to do with your job. Did you really think he needed you to bend over to pick up the supplies he dropped, or that holding your waist as you cleaned the top windows was necessary?”

Shouta slammed his hand into the wall next to your head, and you felt the vibrations in the back of your skull. Your breathed hitched, and your knees felt like buckling as you tightened your grip around the kitten. You wouldn’t be surprised if you passed out. Yes, the man who you worked with at UA had made you feel immensely uncomfortable, but you needed the job. As much as it disgusted you, the paycheck was worth the discomfort.

“You never wondered why he disappeared? Why you suddenly got promoted?”

Shouta was still talking in that soft, low voice, but that did nothing to quell your fear.

“I took care of you then, and I’m taking care of you now. That’s why you’re here.”

His eyes held your gaze for another second, before the flickered away, down towards your lips. The waver in his attention was so brief that it was possible you imagined it, before the kitten in your arms mewed weakly. Shouta tore himself away from you, and began to move towards his bedroom. Your mouth felt dry and your eyes were watering. Was Shouta implying that he had killed the man? Surely not, he had only fired him, or threatened him, or…. something. You didn’t want to think about it. You had never exactly seen the pro-heros that worked at UA, but that’s because you had worked the night shift. But that didn’t mean it was impossible for Shouta to have been there, and it would explain the signs that someone was working late, like the coffee machine brewing in the break room.

Hot tears spilled over your cheeks.

Had he been watching you?

Why you?

You voiced your last thought out loud. Your voice was barely above a whisper but Shouta stopped dead in his tracks, and you knew he had heard your question.

Silence.

Then he stormed into his room and shut the door.

You tried your best to avoid him after that conversation, feeling even worse whenever you caught him looking at you while you played with the kitten or read a book. It creeped you out to no end to know that the man had been watching you, stalking you. You couldn’t, didn’t want to think about what any of it meant, instead choosing to busy yourself with getting lost in fictional worlds.

You tried not to jump as the front door slammed, Shouta returning from a double shift. He had grime all over his face and his hair was a tangled mess, and you could sense something was off by the way he stomped into the bathroom to shower. When he re-emerged, the man was shirtless as usual after a shower. You were uncomfortable with the amount of naked skin, but at least he had pants on this time, usually opting to wrap a towel around his waist as he sauntered back to his room to get dressed.

Barely sparing you a glance, Shouta grabbed your arm in his tight grip, ignoring your choked gasp as you dropped your book and tumbled off the couch as he pulled you after him.

“Shouta? What-what….. Hold on-“

His grip was unrelenting as he tugged you into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you two before the kitten could follow. The plaintive mews held the same confusion you felt in your mind, but quickly turned to cold, drenching fear as the muscular man shoved you onto the bed. You twisted onto your side, scrambling to your knees as Shouta advanced menacingly, his eyes flickering with an emotion that you had seen simmering beneath the surface ever since the day he locked you in his home.

“Shouta, wait please I don’t wanna….. you’re scaring me!” You sprang to your feet and dashed towards the door, only to feel his strong arms wrap around your waist and lock you against his body.

“I know you’re shy, but I’ll be as gentle as possible.” He grunted, trying to contain your panicked thrashing as he set you on the bed again. He forced you onto your back, kneeling over your waist and sitting on your hips to immobilize you. He reached forward and grabbed your wrists, despite your failing attempts to push him off of you. Who were you kidding; the man was fully grown and his career was capturing and detaining bad guys. Out of nowhere he produced a length of his capture weapon, and swiftly started looping it around your hands, tying you to the headboard. Where had he gotten his capture weapon from? Your mind was racing so fast you lost the thought as soon as it entered, immediately moving on to the next desperate thought as you tried to rationalize what was happening.

“Shouta please, please! What are you doing-I don’t wan-mmfpgh!”

Wrists now effectively trapped, the man pressed a hand gently to your mouth, smoothing the other over your hair as he softly stroked your head.

“Shhhhh…… it’s okay, I would never hurt you.” You wanted to scream, bite his hand and spit in his face. You felt so small and afraid, knots in your stomach and tears building up behind your eyes.

“You asked “why you?”” The hand that wasn’t on your mouth moved to gently caress your chest before moving to the zipper on his pants. The tears in you eyes spilled over. You felt like vomiting.

“I’ve been wanting you since I first saw you…. So gentle, and weak, and submissive.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Something was on your chest, trapping you, holding you down and suffocating you slowly as Shouta talked while he unfastened his pants. Instead of taking them off, his hand moved to your (his) shirt, rubbing the fabric before pulling it up over your chest to bunch around your armpits. You screamed behind his hand.

“I tried to let you settle.” He was breathing heavily now, his calloused hand rubbing at your chest as you sobbed behind his other hand. “But you’re such a timid little thing, I realized it was pointless to let you make the decisions. We’ve lived your way-“ You tried to kick him, but your legs were in such a position that all your did was wriggle underneath him. “-now it’s time to do it my way.” At your anguished muffled screech, his eyes flicked from where he was focused on squeezing your chest up to your face.

“Shhh, shhhhh. This’ll feel good……. I’m doing this because I love you.” He paused, watching you shake your head, face puffy and red from all the tears.

“You’ll learn to love me back.”

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morimakesfanart · 3 years

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Sindria's Prophet #08

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [AO3]

** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.

#sindria's prophet #magi prophet fanfic #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbad magi #sinbad x oc #sinbadxoc

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 4, chapter 6

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Content warnings: recounting past trauma

Blaise and Tyrael were still gone. Apparently the destruction of this soulstone was more complicated somehow. Morgan had moved from the work bench to one of the cots in the next room, propped up by pillows in a way that didn't trouble his injury too much, practically swimming in a light cotton tunic that Halbu had provided to replace his own ruined shirt. He was still feeling a little unsteady from the whole ordeal - not the battle, which had gone surprisingly well. What had happened afterward was what troubled him. The nightmares were one thing, to be expected. He barely even remembered having them sometimes. But to be pulled into one while waking was something else entirely, and it was concerning. He was trying to believe it was just a side effect of Diablo's influence. That was the most likely explanation, but he couldn't shake the nagging doubt. What if it wasn't? What if it could happen again at any time? He would have to pursue additional training, just to be sure of himself. Priests had to hold themselves to higher standards than what he'd been achieving recently.

Halbu had begun working on a new armour piece for him. A brigandine this time, more flexible and puncture-resistant than the leather cuirass had been, but likely to be heavier. He'd insisted, despite Morgan's protests, and was whistling as he worked. The whistling and the hammering echoed through the fortress, breathing a sense of life into the otherwise still halls. Morgan supposed Halbu had good enough reason to be cheerful, given their victory over Diablo. Cain was busying himself with a small pile of books he'd borrowed from Jamella's collection while she processed some ingredients with a mortar and pestle at an auxiliary work table. She seemed annoyed to be working in this atypical setup, given that the bulk of her equipment was in the other room, but she was insistent about keeping an eye on Morgan.

She had been glancing over at him frequently, frowning. Something seemed to be bothering her. She finally broke her silence when she caught him looking back. "I didn't expect you to have such a resistance to my potion," she said. He still appreciated her straightforwardness, though he didn't care much for the direction of the conversation. "I've never seen it have so little effect. How exactly did your tolerance get so high?"

Morgan didn't really want to talk about it, but she was an emissary of the Light. He was duty-bound to assist her in every way possible, at least while the Balance was still compromised. And Baal was still unaccounted for.

"I was tortured. By a sect of claw vipers. Acolytes of Duriel."

"Oh? Kindly elaborate."

"They pushed me to the brink of death, then pulled me back with healing potion to do it again." Morgan hoped that level of detail would suffice. It was not at all pleasant to reflect on, especially not after whatever that lapse had been. "Based on the taste, I would guess their formulation was very close to yours."

"You don't build a tolerance like that from a little torture. Have you ever used it recreationally, outside of that experience? Afterwards, perhaps? It's not uncommon. I'm not here to pass judgment, I just want to know. So I can treat other champions accordingly if they have a similar issue."

"No, never like that." He couldn't imagine ever wanting to consume it on purpose. He'd already explained that the tolerance had been caused by - oh, perhaps he hadn't been quite explicit enough. "It was dozens. Of times. Not just the once."

Jamella's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really? Dozens."

Morgan rubbed his face. He wished this conversation could be over, but he couldn't just end it. In case future champions should have a similar issue. He hoped, for their sake, they did not.

"Yes. You've seen the state of my skin. The scarring is all from that experience."

"Two dozen? More?"

"More. I was not keeping a precise tally," he added, hoping to stem this particular branch of inquiry. He wanted to think about anything else.

Jamella gave him a cool stare. "Why so much? I know Duriel's chosen find torture to be entertaining, but that seems excessive even for them."

Morgan laced his fingers together in his lap. "Blaise and I fought Andariel, before that. I was injured during that battle, and it never fully healed. They were... fascinated by that injury."

"You were marked by Andariel? Well, that would explain it. Her surviving victims experience a permanent amplification of pain that would make you an attractive target for her brother's flock." Jamella tipped her head thoughtfully. "Her venom is physically aggressive as well - that's what was wrong with your arm, isn't it? The damage you mentioned you couldn't repair?"

Morgan nodded, the heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He'd been able to avoid discussing the lingering effects of Andariel's venom until now, but of course Jamella would be knowledgeable in these things. It was a small mercy Blaise wasn't there to hear him admit just how weak he really was, how he struggled constantly next to her effortless strength.

"I see. And how much of their potion did they give you at a time?"

"For the first... while, it was, ah. Just. Cupfuls." The words weren't coming easily. "Less than... what you gave me earlier. About a ghyll. I think."

"They worked up to larger amounts, then?"

"No, not... worked up." Morgan ran a hand through his hair. Why was this so difficult? It was just something that had happened, a set of facts he could relay. "I tried to... refuse. The potion. After a time. They... began drowning me in it, then. To prevent that." Tears blurred his vision. He wiped at his eyes, frustrated. It wasn't always easy to manage his emotions, but it was usually easier than this. "I don't know how many, how much-" The lump in his throat prevented him from saying any more.

Jamella opened her mouth to continue her questioning, but Cain had come over to lay a hand on her shoulder. "I think that's enough for now. We aren't going anywhere, are we?" He smiled disarmingly. She grunted, turning back to her work. Cain approached Morgan, seating himself by the bedside. Morgan avoided the other man's gaze. He hated losing his composure like this. It was bad enough being so physically feeble, he didn't need anyone to witness his emotional weakness on top of it. Some of the most basic training for priests of Rathma was for emotional control, and he just couldn't stop failing at it. At least he would have time to revisit that training yet again as he waited for his body to heal.

"You've been through quite a lot, young man." Cain's voice was reassuring, kindly. It didn't help. Morgan wasn't looking for sympathy or pity, he just wanted to be able to close the wounds in his mind. Talking about them, even just thinking about them, only served to pick at the scabs.

"We all have," he replied. The deflection was almost automatic. "The first thing I did when we met was to bury seven of your friends."

"I still think perhaps you've suffered the worst out of us, my friend."

"Personal suffering is inconsequential in service to the Balance," Morgan recited. Of course the suffering of others should be minimized where possible, but priests of Rathma had to hold themselves to a different standard. All this time, and he still couldn't do his Order justice. It was pathetic.

"Ah, is that why you rarely speak of what troubles you? I don't believe I've heard you complain even once since we began traveling together."

Morgan looked over at Cain. The old man's face was somehow both concerned and blandly interested, no indication that he was judging or mocking. Morgan looked away again. "I prefer not to dwell on those things," he said carefully. There was no need to bother anyone else with his... difficulties. What if they found it to be too much trouble to deal with? No, he absolutely could not take that risk.

That was the thing Diablo had discovered when he'd reached into his mind to pluck out his deepest fear. What the demon ought to have found was the tipping of the Balance, the destruction that would be done to humanity by either side seizing control, the thing his Order was charged with preventing. And that would be a terrible thing, to be sure, but it was not what Diablo had scented out as his worst fear. No, the demon lord had pried out something much smaller, more personal. What he had unearthed was the idea - the knowledge - that these friendships Morgan had managed to cultivate somehow, so rare and precious, could easily be destroyed if he were to say or do the wrong thing at the wrong time. The thought was unbearable, the danger ever-present. He knew in his heart that he was a burden, so he had to make that burden as light as possible for them to bear.

"Some burdens," Cain said as though reading his thoughts, "are easier to carry when their weight is shared."

"It is not easy to bear the weight of another. I can carry my own well enough."

"So you can, friend. So you can. Just remember, you don't always have to."

He was wrong, of course, but the sentiment was well-intentioned. "Thank you." Morgan waited a beat to see if Cain would say anything further on the matter. He did not, which meant it was time to change the subject. "What is it you've been studying?"

Cain brightened. "What do you know of the crusaders of Zakarum?"

"Little enough. They call themselves Paladins, do they not?"

"Ah, yes, actually, they are two distinctly different orders sprung from the same root." Cain spoke at length of the differences and similarities between the two sects, and Morgan did his best to pay attention. But soon enough he found his eyelids growing heavy, and Cain very kindly helped him back into a more horizontal position. Exhaustion caught up with him quickly, and he slept.

#my writing #story: unbidden #emotional whump #trauma tw #drowning mention tw

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

On Track

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Minho

Genre: Married Life AU, Romance

Warnings: Smut and Language

Word Count: 11K

Summary: Despite her reputation, Y/N is considered one of the very best agents in the music industry. Of course, it doesn’t help that she married one of her clients---notoriously stubborn and arrogant Lee Minho AKA the extremely talented Lee Know whose silky voice and amazing choreographies appeal to an enormous fan-base. A pop singer who prefers to work alone, Y/N usually obliges Minho’s preferences...until her boss demands that he collaborate with the up-and-coming and multi-talented trio, 3racha.

Well, nobody ever said that married life is easy.

For: @hwngjn

There’s a certain decorum involved with the management of arrogant pop singers who think the entire world revolves around their singular existence. In my experience, if you want to tame these wild inclinations, then it’s best to do one of the three things: 1) leave the company ASAP with a two-week notice and a heartfelt plea for a good recommendation, 2) tolerate the existence of this pop singer and hope that he matures with age, or 3) marry this pop singer because you fell in love without understanding the fraternization clause of your contract.

Allow me to elaborate: options one and two will leave you with enough room to continue rising through the ranks without much conflict with upper management. You see, I have firsthand knowledge because I lived through the ensuing outcomes, leaving my first job at the tender age of 23 with very little knowledge and then arduously suffering at my next position with a female artist who insisted on testing my patience. But then again, if you choose to skip options one and two and pursue option three, then you better learn to live with the consequences because it will bring the most long-term effects.

Let me start from here because, for the most part, the consequences for me were fairly minimal. The record company was, of course, incensed when they found out about my unauthorized affair. Unfortunately, Minho liked to brag about the things he cherished, and he made no secret of our relationship outside of the company. I knew it was only a matter of time before the issue was brought to the attention of Mr. Park, the company’s CEO and head producer.

I can still remember sitting in his big office, ignoring the lingering smell of smoke, while Mr. Park shoved my management contract in my face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, to which I had no response other than my weakness for Minho’s cunning smile. “You’re done here,” he announced and my heart broke in my chest.

Fortunately, before I could finish packing my belongings on the same afternoon, Minho had appeared at my desk with a very unhappy Mr. Park trailing behind him with an intense scowl. “Tell her,” Minho growled.

“Y/N,” he sighed. “You’ve been reinstated. Mr. Lee made a convincing argument on your behalf. Apparently, he can’t possibly work here and renew his contract without you as his manager.”

I remember glaring at Minho for his intervention, since our impromptu marriage was entirely his fault. “Thank you, sir.”

Thereafter, I was determined to do the best job I could as famed singer Lee Know’s manager, even if it meant facing scrutiny from jealous fans or bowing my head when I faced another agent in the hallways. I suppose I could deal with their scrutiny because it was better than the alternative of finding myself lounging away in Minho’s expensive condo unemployed and ruined because of my reputation. Even so, I was walking on thin glass everyday, and Minho continued to make things hard by insisting that he didn’t need to follow the rules, especially since he insisted on some one-sided feud with Mr. Park.

For example, today Minho was scheduled for an interview with a very distinguished magazine, but my husband had decided to prioritize his never ceasing libido over regular responsibilities. “Hold still,” Minho said, smirking against the side of my neck while his hands made quick work of my skirt and panties, shoving them harshly down my legs to make room for his greedy touches. Inhibited access to the heat between my legs, presented to him in just the way he liked, meant that his fingers were currently teasing the swollen folds of my labia while I fell apart at the seams.

I could tell that Minho wanted to take his time, but one glance at my wristwatch told me that we weren’t allowed such liberties today. “No, sir,” I said, reaching behind me to scratch my nails along his forearm. “You have an interview in ten minutes!”

“Relax,” he said, kissing delicately down the individual knobs of my spine. “I missed you today.”

“How romantic,” I deadpanned. “Can you hurry before the agency sends someone to look for us?”

As I said before, Minho was never the type to follow clear instructions, and he didn’t like the fact that his agency was rather strict when it came to scheduling. He liked to spite the men upstairs whenever an opportunity arose, such as prolonging needless foreplay when I was already dripping down my thighs because of his ministrations. I reached behind me for his belt, attempting to undo the zipper and release the erection straining the material.

“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” he purred, knocking away my hand.

“My job as your manager,” I returned, fervently trying to hasten our unexpected intimacy.

“Well, as your favorite client, I suggest you bend over for me so I can fuck this little pussy.”

His words went straight to the tight coil offering no resistance the longer Minho continued to speak dirty words into my ears. “Did you lock the door?”

“Why? Are you expecting someone?”

I frowned, ready to offer a snarky retort before the words were wiped clean from my head when I felt the tip of his cock sink into my awaiting heat. “What was that, sweetheart?” he asked and I moaned loudly because he was suddenly intense with his movements, leaving no room to gather my bearings before he was fucking at a harsh pace.

Actually, in hindsight, I should’ve seen this coming when I met Minho in my office for the very first time. He walked in wearing a loose-fitting tank top and tight skinny jeans like he was attending a fraternity party instead of a company meeting. Minho’s steps were completely assured, sunglasses framing his face perfectly and standing out against the smooth tone of his skin. “Y/N?” he asked with a smirk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “The agency assigned you to my care.”

“Really?” Minho asked, cocksure and smiling bright as he made himself comfortable on my futon without permission. “Miss, you say?”

“We go by professional titles, Mr. Lee,” I said, glaring at him from behind my computer screen.

“Sure,” he dismissed, reaching for the flower vase on my coffee table. “How does this work exactly? You do whatever I ask, right?”

“Put the vase down and pay attention.”

Minho’s smile vanished at my tone. “What did you say?”

“Mr. Lee, the agency forewarned me about your...behavior. I must assure you that it won’t be tolerated because my job is to make sure that you do everything outlined in your contract. I’m sure you didn’t bother taking the time to read it, but there are certain things the company expects of you other than posting to your Twitter at 3:00 AM in the morning.”

I took a deep breath, satisfied that he appeared to be listening. “For example, the company expects your first album release this October. It’s my job to make sure you attend all recording sessions. Furthermore, promotions will be anticipated leading to the album’s delivery to applicable streaming platforms. That means interviews, photoshoots, award shows, and radio performances. Please understand that I’m one of the very best this agency has to offer, which means my clients demonstrate respect and high aptitude for their work and how it reflects on the company. From the moment you first stepped through that door, I knew that you lacked both of those capabilities.”

I stood up from my desk, walking around to the front to regard the man who suddenly found it difficult to look at me. “Here’s a warning, Mr. Lee. If you fail to adhere to my standards, then I won’t hesitate to ask the company to find you a new manager, understand?”

Minho scoffed, snatching his sunglasses away before nodding his head. “Fine.”

Satisfied, I reached behind me for the manila folder I prepared for his arrival. “Now, let’s review your schedule.”

Of course, that was two years ago and despite the whirlwind of mischievousness that encapsulated Minho, including several scandals, an endless barrage of paparazzi, and several intense arguments with upper management, I wouldn’t trade our relationship for anything else in the world. You see, I never counted on falling in love with an idol singer, but he managed to charm his way into my good graces with an irresistible smile and warm personality masked beneath his arrogant facade of indifference. He always brought a smile to my face, even in the midst of an intense orgasm bent over my desk as his cock hit deep inside.

He fingers wrapped around my wrist, dragging my watch into his line of vision. “Two minutes, Y/N.”

I groaned in complaint, wondering how someone who graduated college with a flawless 4.0 GPA continuously broke company rules on a daily basis.

The following morning, I found myself crushed between several executives for an undisclosed company meeting. “Everyone!” Mr. Park announced. “I have exciting news for this year’s Christmas theme.”

A chorus of groans greeted his words. “Sir, I thought we were leaving the decision for the talent?” another agent spoke up.

“Yes, but I think this will work better for our core demographics,” Mr. Park said. “Y/N!”

I sat up straighter, attempting to look more alert than I felt inside. Unfortunately, Minho had kept me up all night in the small recording studio he built in our shared condo, asking me for continuous feedback on his latest project. “Sir?”

“Mr. Lee gave us a very interesting demo last week for a recent project.”

“Oh?”

“I’d like to make it a collaboration effort with our talent,” Mr. Park said and my heart seized in my chest because I knew firsthand just how much Minho despised working with other people. “3racha have landed their first platinum album. We need to capitalize on their success!”

“You want a collaboration between 3racha and Minho?” I asked, swallowing hard at the idea of telling my husband.

“Exactly,” Mr. Park said with a smile. “For the music video, I was thinking we could also invite Hwang Hyunjin and Lee Felix to choreograph something for the project.”

“How...exciting?” I offered, cringing at my tone. Thankfully, Mr. Park was already addressing 3racha’s manager while I stared at my empty coffee mug and wondering if I would need more caffeine to survive.

Afterwards, Mr. Park adjourned our meeting and I returned to my office to find Minho waiting for me perched on the edge of my desk. “Sweetheart,” he greeted me, pulling me in by my waist to press a welcoming kiss to my pout. “You seem worried?”

I leaned back enough to meet his gaze. “You better promise me that you won’t get upset and scream.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done that?”

A million scenarios filtered through my mind before I decided to leave those memories in the past. “I just finished a company meeting.”

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, playing with the necklace resting against my collarbone. “What happened?”

I took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Mr. Park had an... interesting suggestion.”

Minho glanced up and narrowed his eyes. “This doesn’t sound good.”

“He wants a collaboration,” I said, deciding to go for the killing blow before I could lose any more of my fading confidence. “The new demo you played for the company. He wants you to work with 3racha.”

Minho was quiet for a moment before he chuckled. “Really? Well, I don’t think so, sweetheart. You know how I feel about those things.”

I released an unsteady exhale. “It might be an opportunity?”

He shook his head. “You just march your cute little ass back into Park’s office and tell him I’m not interested.”

I groaned, pulling out of Minho’s arms to walk around my desk. “I have no power to tell Mr. Park anything.”

“Why not? You’re my manager!”

“Yeah, but he’s the head producer and owner,” I remarked, offering him an unimpressed look as I sat down to unlock my computer. “Besides, I think it’s a cool idea for the fans.”

Minho frowned. “Fuck, if I’m collaborating with anyone, then it’s gonna be Sam Smith or Post Malone.”

“As likely as that sounds,” I started with a dramatic sigh, “I think you should start small and work your way to the top.”

“But 3racha?” Minho grimaced. “Those fucking guys think they’re the absolute shit around here.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Not funny,” Minho grumbled. “It’s my demo. I should be able to choose who I work with.”

“I think you’ve forgotten the fine print in your contract,” I said, reaching across the desk to offer his hand a gentle squeeze. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this. Can’t you make an exception...for me?”

Minho sighed, and I offered my absolute best pout in return.

“You’re lucky that I love you.”

Later that afternoon, I was surprised to meet Mr. Kim in the elevator on my way to the lobby. It was heavily rumored around the office that 3racha’s manager was notorious for locking himself away in the studio with his favorite clients. “Y/N,” he greeted me. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” I said, holding up a folder. “I was bringing some files to Mr. Park.”

“Leave them with his secretary,” Mr. Kim insisted. “I thought it might be a good idea for you to meet my clients since we’ll be working together.”

“Minho is busy with an interview right now.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Mr Kim said. “Maybe it’s better if you talk to them first?”

I considered his offer, noting the disheveled appearance of his suit. “How long have you been trying to find me?”

“Does right now work for you?” he continued, pointedly ignoring my question.

“If you must insist,” I grumbled. “But they’ll have to meet at some point.”

“Yes, but I think we can delay the inevitable,” Mr. Kim said with a pointed look which I knew was directed at my husband.

“Fine.”

My easy agreement was met with a satisfied smirk to which I resisted the urge to remind Mr. Kim that I was only meeting his clients to make things easier for everyone involved in the collaboration. Of course, I had no room to talk down to my superiors and Mr. Kim’s credentials were practically golden compared to the minimal mark I had left on the company and its prolific talent. Instead, I let out a shaky exhale, wondering if it was too late to reconsider the fight I endured on a regular basis to keep my position with the company.

“Here we are,” Mr. Kim grinned. The elevator stopped on the top floor with a resounding alarm. “I think you’ll find my clients to be satisfactory.”

“In comparison to Minho, you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as Mr. Kim urged me to follow him down a narrow hallway. I vaguely recognized our destination, but I usually never lingered around the studios.

“Did I say that?”

“It was implied,” I sighed, crossing my arms.

“Well, that wasn’t my intention, Y/N. You, of course, understand that nothing between us is personal?”

“We’re colleagues, Mr. Kim,” I replied. “That defines our relationship.”

“In that case...” he trailed off, pausing outside one of the doors. “I’m excited to work together.”

I rolled my eyes when he turned his back, but held my tongue as he reached for my hand to drag me inside the room. Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the plethora of monitors and screens dragging the walls of the entertainment studio. It reminded me of my early time as an intern during college, overwhelmed by the inner workings of the record company I was privileged to support, learning everything about the business. There was also a time, however briefly, when I first entered my current company as nothing more than an executive assistant for Mr. Kim who enjoyed reminding me of the fact, especially when his clients continued to eclipse mine in popularity. And that included the three men who offered us polite smiles when we interrupted their session.

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim said, dragging me further into the room. “I thought it might be nice to formally offer introductions. I’d like you to meet Bang Chan, Han Jisung, and Seo Changbin.”

“I’m very excited,” I said, taking on a professional tone as I extended my hand to Chan. “My client is looking forward to your future collaboration.”

Chan accepted my outstretched hand, curling his fingers around mine. “Likewise.”

I withdrew my hand slowly, offering Jisung and Changbin a courteous nod. “Mr. Kim insisted that we meet today.”

“Yes,” Chan nodded. “But your client is noticeably absent.”

I swallowed hard as I met his gaze. “Minho is busy with an interview.”

“I see,” Chan remarked, taking a step back. “Well, 3racha is working until this evening. Perhaps Minho could join us here after his meeting.”

I turned around to look at Mr. Kim who only shrugged in response as if it hadn’t been his idea to keep Minho as far away as possible until necessary. I rolled my shoulders, schooling my expression as I gave Chan an airy laugh. “That only makes sense, doesn’t it? Let me send him a message.”

“In the meantime,” Changbin sighed from behind us. “We can continue with the recording.”

“Keep us updated, Y/N,” Chan said, returning to his work while I started on drafting a message for Minho.

To Minho: Tell me when your interview ends

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim cleared his throat. “I hope Minho’s schedule is cleared for tomorrow?

I raised one eyebrow in question. “Tomorrow?”

“We’d like to start the first recording session,” Chan replied. “Mr. Park played us some of Minho’s demo and we have some ideas for the track.”

“Oh,” I responded, completely out of my element when it came to the actual creation of music despite the many nights I spent with Minho in our home studio. “I’m sure we can make it work.”

“Perfect,” Mr. Kim declared, pulling out his cellphone with a grin. “I’ll make the arrangements on my end.”

Mr. Kim stepped out into the hallway, leaving me alone with his clients who were all watching me with barely concealed curiosity. “You know,” Chan started, “I’ve listened to Minho’s albums. He doesn’t seem like the type of person to write love songs.”

“He likes to experiment,” I said, blushing when I recalled the way he had intimately explained the meaning behind his new demo, but there was no way I was telling anyone that the song was about me.

“Is he...open to criticism?” Jisung asked hesitantly.

“Why? Is there something wrong with the demo?”

“Of course not!” Jisung immediately corrected. “I just thought I’d ask because we have some cool suggestions to improve the overall quality. But I don’t know if Minho would listen.”

It was highly unlikely. “I’m sure he’s open for improvement,” I lied, wincing when I felt my phone vibrate from inside my pocket.

Minho: Call me.

“One second, gentlemen,” I said, cringing at my tone before escaping into the hallway. I held up my cell phone reluctantly, tapping on Minho’s contact name to place the call. He answered almost immediately. “Minho?”

“Sweetheart,” came his voice from the other end. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah,” I said with a heavy exhale. “I’m with 3racha.”

He was silent on the other end for an uncomfortable duration. “Why?”

“Mr. Kim caught me on the way to Mr. Park’s office,” I said. “He insisted we meet.”

“Really? Are you having fun?”

I inwardly groaned at Minho’s tone, recognizing it as the same one he reserved when he was feeling particularly annoyed. “They want to meet you too.”

I was met with another long silence and then- “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I paced outside the studio entrance, wondering if Minho had suddenly had a change of heart in the brief amount of time he had been notified of the collaboration project. After all, everything would be a lot easier if my husband wasn’t so stubborn, a perfectionist in every sense of the word who had trouble delegating work to other people, especially when he didn’t trust them. But for this to be successful, Minho would need to respect 3racha as capable artists who knew what they were doing when it came to creating hit singles.

“This feels more like an intervention,” Minho suddenly announced, trudging down the hallway and pulling me out of my foreboding thoughts.

“Then don’t give me a reason to be nervous,” I said, accepting his brief kiss before reaching out for the door handle. “Promise me you’ll behave?”

“I’ll try,” Minho grumbled, and that was the only confirmation I received before letting the literal beast into the jungle..

Chan was the first to realize Minho’s arrival, standing up from the couch to greet Minho with a professional smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Minho glared at Chan’s outstretched hand. “I’m not thrilled about this collaboration.”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to grab Minho’s hand and force him to feign politeness for once in his life. “Oh,” Chan said, retracting his arm. “I just thought we should get along since we’re working together.”

“A temporary arrangement,” Minho said, clicking his tongue as he turned around to look at me. “Y/N can handle the PR stuff.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I quipped, trying to lighten the air even though Minho had more or less successfully generated enough tension to last a lifetime.

“Mr. Lee, my clients were hoping to schedule a session tomorrow,” Mr. Kim said. “We’d like to start on the collaboration as soon as possible.”

“Sure,” Minho said, jaw clenching to betray that he wasn’t entirely happy. “I’d like to work quickly.”

A long, insufferable silence ensued while Minho took his time studying the three artists he was expected to share his newest creation. Finally, Mr. Kim interrupted the never-ending staring contest, flashing a forced smile. “Bring the demo with you, Mr. Lee, and anything else you’ve been working on.”

Minho nodded. “I’ve already finished most of the song.” I took a deep breath, waiting until Minho turned around to look at me. “I have something to do, so I’ll see you at home.”

I bowed my head, holding my tongue until the sound of the door closing broke whatever spell Minho had cast over our sullen group. “Pleasant isn’t he?” Changbin snorted.

“He’s just busy,” I tried to excuse, but the sentiment fell short and I suddenly had the desire to run down the hall with my arms flailing above my head.

I guess we can consider day one a complete and total failure.

Despite the awkward tension of Minho’s first meeting with 3racha, I was determined that the remainder of the collaboration would endure no further obstacles. Accordingly, I woke up early the next morning with every intention of playing the part of the mediator, which meant doing everything possible to improve Minho’s mood. For example, my husband was notorious for being intimidating at work, but he was nothing short of soft at home and I took advantage of his early-morning clinginess by surprising him with breakfast in bed and open arms without worrying about rushing through our usual routine.

“You want something,” Minho said, one arm pulling me close to his chest while his other hand made busy work of his breakfast.

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“In general? Maybe it’s the fact that we’re already twenty minutes behind schedule and you aren’t losing your shit.”

I opened one eye, watching him as he swallowed down the remainder of his orange juice. “I’m comfortable.”

“Really?” Minho snickered, looking down with a knowing glance. “Sweetheart, you’re usually pushing me out the door right about now.”

“Well, things have been hectic at the company, so I thought it might be nice to treat ourselves.”

“I assume you’re talking about my required collaboration with the three idiots,” Minho said.

“I’m concerned,” I continued. “Minho, you hate working with the other artists, but this isn’t something we can just walk away from.”

“I understand,” Minho sighed. “I don’t want you to worry about me or the collaboration. I promise to be a good boy.”

I rolled my eyes at his tone. “That’s a great way to instill confidence.”

“They’re irritating,” Minho continued. “My inbox is full of messages and I hate email.”

“Welcome to the 21st century.”

“Are you sure Mr. Park wanted this?”

“Minho,” I said, slowly pulling myself out of his arms. “Stop thinking about the project like it’s some sort of punishment. Consider it an opportunity instead.”

“Please feel free to elaborate.”

“3racha are incredibly famous and they have a considerable fanbase,” I said. “When those fans hear your voice on the record, they might start paying more attention to your music.”

Minho exhaled, chest falling beneath my hands. “I see your point, but I don’t like it.”

“Nobody said you had to like it,” I reminded him. “Be nice to them.”

“What are you asking me to do?” my husband groaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

I quickly straddled his waist, working my fingers into the tense muscles of his shoulders. “I know you don’t like the collaboration, but it won’t last forever and then you can go back to working on your solo projects.”

“I guess, but only if you come to all the recording sessions.”

I grinned triumphantly, even if it was only one victory in a long history of tedious arguments with my stubborn husband.

Mr. Kim was a very impatient man, and I was only somewhat surprised to see him standing by the main entrance when we finally arrived at the company. “Minho, you needed to be in the recording studio...” he trailed off, glancing at his wristwatch with a frown. “Ten minutes ago.”

My husband scoffed. “I don’t work on your time, Mr. Kim.”

“We had a late start,” I intervened. “I’ll make sure he gets there soon, Mr. Kim.”

The older man grunted, clearly displeased with Minho’s behavior. Thankfully, Minho had the decency to wait until he was well out of hearing range before further disparaging Mr. Kim’s character. “Sweetheart, I’m doing this for you,” Minho said, glaring over my shoulder at Mr. Kim’s retreating form. “But I don’t appreciate being told what to do.”

“That’s how he is,” I said. “I used to work for him as an assistant. He was always keeping everyone busy. Time wasted is money lost.”

Minho snickered at my poor imitation of Mr. Kim’s accent. “I’d kick his skinny ass if I was any less patient.”

I resisted the urge to laugh at Minho’s “restraint” because my husband was notorious for acting without consideration for the consequences. “Don’t be late for your first recording session.”

Minho pouted, looking down at me with wide, brown eyes. “You aren’t coming?”

“I’ll be there soon,” I promised him with a quick kiss. “I have something to do first.”

Minho was hesitant to leave me behind, but I offered him another encouraging kiss before retreating in the opposite direction to my office. It seemed that I would need reinforcements for this particular occasion, and I knew there were only two men who I could force to help me. As such, I found Jeongin and Seungmin loitering around their desks, passing back and forth what appeared to be a paper airplane. “I wasn’t aware I made any prior aviation requests.”

Jeongin let out a small whine, quickly disposing of the distraction in the bin next to his desk. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Look, I’m actually in a hurry today and there’s too much going on for me to handle your hijinks,” I said, beckoning the interns to follow me into my office. “I have an important assignment for you.”

“Of course!” Seungmin agreed, walking ahead to grab the door. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee.”

“It’s about Minho.”

“Lee Minho?”

I turned around to glare at Jeongin. “Who else? Or did I receive notice of another client with the same name?”

Jeongin shook his head furiously. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lee. It’s just...”

“Minho has a history with interns,” Seungmin finished. “And maybe people in general.”

I laughed at their suggestions. “You’ll be with me the entire time, alright?”

They both visibly relaxed. “So we don’t have to help him?”

“Not directly,” I affirmed, moving around my desk. “Sit down, boys.” They both complied quickly, looking up at me with wide and innocent eyes that reminded me of my days in university. “Minho and 3racha have a recording session scheduled for this afternoon.”

Jeongin squealed from his chair. “The 3racha! I love their music! Oh, do you think it’d be too much to ask for an autograph?”

Upon seeing my glare, Jeongin quickly apologized. “Would it be too much to resist that urge, Mr. Yang?”

The younger boy sighed. “Sorry, Mrs. Lee.”

“Anyway,” I continued, ignoring their antics. “I have your assignments.”

Seungmin leaned forward expectantly. “Whatever you need, Mrs. Lee!”

“Your job,” I said, glancing back and forth between Jeongin and Seungmin, “is to make sure that Minho doesn’t piss off 3racha.”

“How?” Jeongin asked with sad eyes that almost forced me to change my mind on the spot.

“Just make sure you’re at their recording sessions with me,” I said. “Intervene whenever it seems like they might argue.”

“Intervene?”

I sighed impatiently. “I don’t know, improvise or something, but nothing bad needs to happen or Mr. Park will chew my ass out for disrupting a perfectly good collaboration opportunity.”

Seungmin and Jeongin looked at each other before sighing in defeat. “Does this mean we’ll be getting a raise?”

Here’s the thing about my job: despite Minho’s insistence, he was not the only client I represented. For example, I was also currently working on the debut of a new boy group who were incredibly talented and highly charismatic. They were also obedient and respectful, doing whatever they could to make my job easier even though I never asked them to sacrifice their free-time to practice their dancing and singing. When I worked with their leader, I couldn’t help but think that my job was considerably easier in comparison to the extra effort sometimes required to fix Minho’s mistakes, like the time he showed up an hour late for an interview because I forgot to set the alarm in our bedroom. Nonetheless, it always seemed like I was doing something extra to remedy Minho’s abrasive nature, which explains why I was prepared to sacrifice two of the company’s interns for the betterment of the future.

“Are you ready?” I asked the younger boys, lingering by the doorway to the studio.

Seungmin managed a nod while Jeongin murmured something that I decided to interpret as his approval. I knocked on the door expectantly, slightly relieved when Minho greeted me on the other side. “There you are,” he said. “We couldn’t possibly start without you.”

I rolled my eyes, but followed him inside with my interns hot on my heels. Minho retired to the couch, hunched over his laptop as he worked with a frown. Meanwhile, Chan, Jisung, and Changbin were busy adjusting the sound equipment while Mr. Kim watched his clients with eager eyes.

“Stay here,” I said to my nervous interns before joining Minho on the couch. “Do you actually plan to help them?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N,” Minho said. “I’m not actually procrastinating...just putting the finishing touches on the initial demo.”

He lifted one of the earbuds, offering it to me with a grin. “Are you trying to ask me something?”

Minho scoffed. “Will you please listen to my finished demo?”

I snatched the earbud from him in response, plugging my right ear and blocking out the lingering noise from the studio. The soft cadence of the piano started to play from the computer, shortly followed by Minho’s familiar breathy vocals that never ceased to amaze me. My husband was gifted with a profoundly gorgeous voice that could reach high notes that even I would struggle to obtain.

“My voice sounds angelic, wouldn’t you agree?” Minho asked.

“I see your ego has somehow managed to grow overnight.”

Minho chuckled, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “Don’t worry, I don't intend to sabotage the collaboration...I worked too hard on this demo.”

“I guess we can start then,” I said, stretching my arms high above my head as I waited for Minho to eject his flash drive. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Jisung approaching the two of us with a hesitant smile. “Good morning, Jisung,” I said, nudging Minho when he continued to remain silent.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, holding up the flashdrive. “I prepared most of the song.”

“Really?” Jisung questioned, accepting the device from Minho. “I’d like to listen.”

Jisung returned to the sound booth and Chan accepted the flash drive with a brief glance over his shoulder at Minho. My husband remained silent while Chan opened the corresponding file on the computer and everyone listened with admirable concentration while Minho’s sweet music and tender voice filled the empty studio space.

“It’s good,” Changbin acknowledged at the end, even though his tone was somewhat reluctant.

“Good enough on its own,” Minho muttered and I shot him a warning look. “Fine,” he begrudged. “I have some ideas on the arrangements.”

“Sure,” Chan nodded, leaning back against the sound booth.

“We can split up the parts,” Minho continued. “I’ll handle the chorus.”

“I see,” Chan acknowledged. “I guess that means you want us to take the verses?”

“Logical, isn’t it?” Minho snarked. “I suppose you can add a rap verse or two since that’s your...thing.”

“I could try and sing as well,” Jisung offered. “We could harmonize over the final chorus.”

“You sing?” Minho snorted. “I thought you were a rap group.”

“Does that automatically disqualify us from being singers?” Changbin asked gruffly.

“Of course not!” I interfered, inserting myself effectively between Minho and Changbin. “I’ve heard some of your vocal work and it’s absolutely beautiful.”

Minho grumbled something indecipherable under his breath from behind me, but I ignored him and continued to do my absolute best to ensure the recording session progressed as smoothly as possible. “I hope you don’t mind, but my interns will also be joining us today for their field work.”

“That’s fine with me,” Chan spoke up from his position behind the sound station. “Should we start with finalizing arrangements?”

I ushered Minho forward whose expression revealed his reluctance. However, since he was on his best behavior, Minho started conversing with Chan and the others about arranging the vocals and rap verses for the song. In return, I sat down on the couch with my interns since I wasn’t skilled enough to comprehend their impressive knowledge of song production. I knew Mr. Kim was also quite unfamiliar with their vernacular, but the proud man continued to linger around the artists as if he could possibly offer something beneficial to the professionals.

I scoffed at the idea, turning to look at Seungmin who was busy playing some sort of application on his phone. “Is this your way of doing a good job?”

He jumped at the sound of my voice, closing out of his game before shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I’m paying attention!”

From my other side, Jeongin sighed happily. “Han has the best voice.”

I tried not to laugh at Jeongin’s starstruck expression, especially since Han Jisung was a very impressive vocalist, singing Minho’s lyrics like they had come from his own imagination. “He’s quite talented,” I agreed, studying my husband to try and determine if he also shared the same opinion.

But Minho was difficult to read when he was focused on his music. He never spoke during Han’s performance, waiting until the younger boy was finished before addressing him expectantly from the recording booth. Minho sighed, pressing the button to allow him to speak directly to Jisung. “It was alright for a rapper.”

I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall as Jisung glowered at Minho. “I’m not just a rapper.”

“The tone isn’t right,” Minho carried on as if Jisung hadn’t spoken, “we need tighter vocals.”

“My vocals are fine!” Jisung bristled and I shoved at Jeongin’s arm who immediately jumped into action. The younger intern stood up abruptly, the unexpected action commanding the attention of the entire studio...

“Who wants coffee!”

I sighed at his dramatics, but it was a decent distraction. “Why not?” Chan asked, reclining back in his chair. “It seems like we have a lot of work to do.”

Sadly, truer words had never been spoken.

Graciously, Minho managed to keep his more radical opinions to himself for the remainder of our scheduled recording sessions with 3racha. Of course, my husband always had his ways of insinuating an insult through carefully chosen words. Nonetheless, I think all parties involved knew it would be to everyone’s benefit if we finished recording the new song without arguing about Minho’s dismissive comments.

In any case, Mr. Park was thrilled with the final result, inviting me and Mr. Kim to his office after listening to the finished product. “This is exactly what I envisioned,” he said with a bright smile. “The fans will love this!”

“It was a process, sir,” I admitted, sheepishly offering Mr. Kim what I hoped was a sincere apology.

“I’ve scheduled a shooting day for the music video,” Mr. Park said. “I have the perfect concept for the song!”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant, sir,” Mr. Kim added.

“Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin have agreed to choreograph the track,” Mr. Park said. “They have some very interesting ideas for your clients.”

It was only then when I remembered that Minho liked to arrange his own dances, but since we were already this far into the collaboration, he might reluctantly agree once more. “We’ll be there,” I reassured my boss.

Unfortunately, I knew it would be a horrible shooting day when I walked outside with Minho and saw a gray sky and light misting of rain. “This is already a mess,” I said, dragging my still sleepy husband to the car.

“How long will this take?” Minho grumbled.

“If you’re willing to cooperate,” I said, fixing him with a stern glance, “then I’d imagine we can finish by this evening.”

Minho yawned. “I hate music video shoots.”

“You poor thing,” I sighed. “Whenever you finally decide to become a director, then I’m certain you’ll insist on controlling that aspect of music production as well.”

“I feel like you understand my vision, Y/N,” Minho said with an airy laugh. “I’m too tired to argue today.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief, hoping that he was being honest. “Mr. Park invited the company’s best choreographers. Please don’t insist on doing your own performance.”

“As long as they won’t have me doing anything less than artistic,” Minho said. “We should be fine.”

I chose not to take my husband’s words to heart as we drove to the shooting sight together in silence. It had started to steadily rain the longer we drove, and I had a feeling that the sky itself was foreshadowing the impending breakdown threatening to destroy all the progress we made. But I was also an optimist, and Minho was usually the least abrasive when it came to shooting music videos.

I parked my car next to the company’s van, watching a few regular staff members unload equipment from the back. “Y/N, it’s not too late for us to drive to that adorable little breakfast restaurant we like so much,” Minho reminded me.

“Shoot the video and I’ll treat you to a gourmet dinner,” I said, reaching across the console to squeeze my husband’s hand.

He was still reluctant, but I was proud when he reached into the backseat for our umbrella. We stood close together, Minho’s hand firm around my waist. In the distance, I easily found Mr. Kim talking with his clients as they fought to stay dry under one of the company’s tents.

Mr. Kim saw me first, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Y/N, you’ve decided to keep us waiting again.”

“Blame it on the weather,” I said, closing the umbrella as Minho wandered over to talk with one of the directors.

“Oh! You mean the rain pushing us into a delay? I guess I didn’t notice,” Mr. Kim returned, rolling his eyes as he led me further into the crowd of people. I faintly recognized the younger men dressed in gorgeous outfits, recalling their appearance in various music videos from some of the company’s most distinguished artists. “Y/N,” Mr. Kim smiled. “I’d like you to meet Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin. They have some excellent suggestions for the music video.”

“The honor is mine,” I said, bowing respectfully to Felix and Hyunjin. “Minho is eager to work with you.”

Felix smirked. “You don’t have to lie to us, Mrs. Lee. We know your husband prefers to work alone.”

“Ah,” I murmured. “His reputation precedes him.”

“I hope he can appreciate our efforts,” Hyunjin added. “Felix and I have been working on some new choreography for the track.”

“He’s being compliant today,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“There isn’t much of a choice,” Mr. Kim said, startling when the director attempted to speak over the white-noise of the tent’s occupants.

“Attention! We’re starting inside the school for the first scene.”

I met Minho’s eyes over the crowd of moving staff, nodding for him to obey the director’s command. “What’s the concept, Mr. Kim?”

“Friends-to-lovers?” Mr. Kim shrugged. “Your pretty husband is the main character, which I’m sure will please him greatly.”

“It’s a high school setting?”

“Yes, and he has a crush on a school girl,” Mr. Kim said. “You should know this very well, Mrs. Lee, didn’t he seduce you in the same way?”

I ignored his jab. “And 3racha?”

“Protective friends, I guess,” Mr. Kim said. “The director assured me that it wouldn’t take long to film.”

“I hope not,” I said. “The less Minho has to be here, the better.”

“Cut!” the director growled. “Mr. Lee, this is not the same choreography that we discussed with Felix and Hyunjin.”

“I tried to improvise,” my husband defended himself.

There were less than two scenes left to film and I was very close to dragging Minho away from the film shooting and knocking some sense into him. “Follow the script we discussed,” the director said. “Let’s take five.”

Chan glared at Minho as he snatched a bottle of water from the snack table. “Is it too much to ask you to cooperate, Minho?”

My husband ignored Chan, pausing in front of me to bring his forehead against mine. “I’m tired.”

I shot Chan an apologetic smile as I smoothed my hands through Minho’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled back to look at Chan who was engrossed in conversation with Jisung and Changbin. “He’s impossible to work with.”

“What’s wrong now?” I sighed, feeling another impending headache courtesy of Minho’s behavior.

“I hate Bang Chan,” Minho said. “He keeps looking at your ass.”

“Who cares?” I nearly shouted, attracting the attention of a few camera workers. “Minho, the shooting is almost over. Please, for the sake of my mental sanity, can you try to listen to the director?”

Minho’s eyes betrayed his exhaustion. “I want greasy food for dinner and a cheesy movie when I get home.”

I laughed, amused by Minho’s behavior. “Whatever you want.”

“Minho!” the director yelled. “We need you back on set.”

Minho closed his eyes and sighed. “He’s lucky I’m a professional.”

I was lingering by the snack table, picking my way through the bowl of skittles because I only liked the red kind, when I heard the unexpected sound of yelling from somewhere inside the school. My husband’s voice was easy to detect about the noise, and I stuffed a handful of candies into my mouth before deciding to investigate. As much as I’d like to imagine that the yelling was a part of the music video, common sense told me that my husband had likely gotten into another confrontation with the director.

However, the last thing I expected to see was Minho marching through the open doors of the school with Chan following him with clear annoyance. “I’m telling you it’s not good enough,” Chan said, frowning when Minho stopped by my side.

“I don’t want to film it again,” Minho said. “Besides, your reaction was genuine. The best ‘acting’ you’ve done all day.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” Minho said, glaring at Chan as he reached for my hand. “The collaboration required a song and we have a finished copy and a music video. I’ve done my part, so if you’ll kindly excuse my wife and I...”

Chan shook his head. “Do whatever you want, Minho. I don’t care anymore.... But the sad part in all of this is how much I was sincerely excited to work with you, despite your reputation.”

Minho seemed at a loss for words, glancing back and forth between me and Chan. “I can’t share your sentiment, Chan,” he finally said. “I think it’s best if we make this a one time thing.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Chan agreed with a disappointed sigh.

I could only helplessly stand aside as the two bickered, wondering if it was too late to formally retire.

Sunday was the only day of the week where I could actually enjoy myself without having to worry about the company or the never-ending demands of my clients, with the exception of my husband. “Y/N,” Minho slurred from next to me in our bed.

I made a vague noise of recognition, pulling the blankets closer to my chin because it was too cold in the apartment. “What?”

“Your phone is vibrating,” Minho said, and I managed to crane my head back just enough to realize that he was right.

I reached out my hand to feel for the stupid thing on the nightstand, pulling it close enough to read the message displayed across the screen:

From Mr. Kim: Mr. Park planned some sort of elaborate interview/performance for the new collaboration. Make sure Minho is at the company tomorrow by noon.

“Who is it?” Minho asked, using one arm to drag me closer to his welcoming heat.

“Mr. Kim,” I murmured in return.

“Why?” Minho growled.

“Apparently, you have an interview with 3racha tomorrow. Mr. Park wants a live performance for the debut of the collaboration.”

“I thought I was done with them,” Minho said with a tone that suggested he was anything but pleased with the news.

“It’s just one performance,” I argued. “And you promised me that you would finish all your responsibilities.”

“You keep adding more things,” Minho gruffed.

I smirked, rolling onto my side to face my husband. “I think it’s a great idea to let the fans hear it live on the same day it starts streaming.”

“Can’t they just play the recording of my parts?”

“It won’t be the same,” I said, leaning in closer to brush my lips across the seam of his pout. “I’ll be the loudest fan screaming your name from the back.”

He chuckled, allowing one hand to pull me in closer. “Aren’t you always my biggest fan?”

“Lee Know, will you sign my albums?”

“You’re a good negotiator, sweetheart,” he said, diving in for a passionate kiss that reminded me of when we first started dating and Minho was always eager to shower me with affection.

“Minho,” I gasped, barely restraining a moan when he suddenly moved between my thighs.

“I’m sorry I’ve made things difficult,” he said, pressing sweet kisses to the skin around my calves. Tender moments like this reminded me of the person I fell in love with, slowly learning that there was more to Minho than his arrogant stage persona.

“Please,” I whispered, helping him remove my sweatpants before weaving my fingers through his hair.

“Anything for you,” Minho said, breath hot against my sensitive skin. He stuck out his tongue, tasting the heat between my legs with languid strokes that promised the best wake-up call to start the day. Not that Minho and I did anything substantial on Sundays since we preferred to watch movies and indulge in the glorious high of junk food.

More often than not, we always ended up in this position with my husband doing his best to please me. And I had no room to complain because Minho was awfully talented with his tongue, and he had me writhing against the mattress like a complete mess. “You’re too good at this,” I complained halfheartedly.

His nails dug into my hips, holding me in place while he continued to drive me over the edge. “Are you going to cum for me?”

I always broke at his husky tone, lying spent in my post-orgasmic haze as Minho feathered light kisses across my legs. In moments like this, it was impossible to think about the negative aspects of working for the company, or the drama of the collaboration. Besides, it was only one more day and Minho never broke his promises.

I found a strange, but calming quality to pacing back and forth when I came across a problem that was incredibly difficult to solve. For example, arriving at the office early to prepare last minute forms while fully expecting my husband to show up to his scheduled interview and performance without my intervention. Yet, despite my expectations, I was currently backstage with Mr. Kim and his clients while we listened to a crowd of eager fans waiting to hear the new collaboration. Unfortunately, my husband was nowhere to be seen, and that meant our schedule was in jeopardy.

“Where’s Minho?” Mr. Kim nearly screeched, raking his hands through his balding hair while remaining heavily engrossed in his phone screen.

The performance was supposed to start ten minutes ago and the fans were clearly confused. A distinct murmuring of intermingled voices echoing throughout the soundless concert hall. “Y/N?”

I turned around, using every last ounce of strength I could muster to meet Chan’s gaze. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Is that so?” Chan asked, and the anger in his eyes was enough to nearly give me a premature heart attack.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, desperately ringing Minho’s number once again only to be met by the familiar greeting of his voicemail inbox.

“I knew that bastard would ruin this,” Changbin said. “He was determined from the start to see this fail.”

“It was one performance,” Jisung bemoaned, and I could only feel absolutely miserable listening to their shared complaints. But, in the words of my formidable boss, the show must go on and I couldn’t bear to disappoint the eager fans waiting to hear the song they loved.

Speaking of which, I reached out a hand to support myself against the wall when I saw Mr. Park walk backstage with his assistants. Our eyes met from across the room. “Mr. Park,” I managed, but my throat was suddenly dry despite the three empty bottles of water I had consumed.

“Y/N,” Mr. Park sighed, eliminating the distance between us. “Tell them to have 3racha perform without Minho. Our phone conversation today has certainly changed my mind about the viability of his collaboration.”

“You talked to him?” I growled, feeling nothing short of betrayed since my husband had repeatedly ignored my phone calls.

“We’ve reached an impasse,” Mr. Park explained solemnly. “Please tell Mr. Kim about the change.”

“But sir!” I tried to protest because I was extremely confused and had no idea what we needed to tell the fans.

However, Mr. Park was already focused on a new task and instead of delaying the inevitable, I found Mr. Kim talking urgently to a stage hand next to the curtain. “Introduce 3racha,” I said. “Tell them that Minho had an unexpected emergency.”

Mr. Kim, if it was even possible, grew even redder to the point where I hesitated to call for help backstage. “This is an outrage!” he finally growled, crowding me against the wall. “If this goes wrong, then I hope you know that it’s entirely your husband’s fault and his mistakes reflect poorly on your performance.

I bowed my head, because I knew that part of the blame rested on my shoulders as Minho’s manager, especially in regard to the mysterious phone call he shared with Mr. Park. In the meantime, I could hear the crowd cheer for the arrival of 3racha who performed to the best of their ability without my husband. Still, it broke my heart to know that he had somehow been excused from the performance after promising to complete the remainder of his responsibilities.

But I still wanted to give Minho the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps something happened when I left for the company and he was forced to call Mr. Park? Still, my optimism didn’t stop my hands from shaking from my grip around the steering wheel, pulling into my usual parking spot with a heavy sigh. Before our marriage, there were plenty of times when Minho tested my patience. For example, on multiple occasions I had come very close to handing in my request to have him transferred to someone else because he was sometimes impossible to handle. However, each time I would threaten to leave, Minho always convinced me to stay, turning his entire attitude around and doing his best to make up for his mistakes. He was usually successful, but today’s mishap forced me to question whether or not he was capable of recovering from this unexpected slight. And it wouldn’t just jeopardize my relationship with him as his manager, but also the close intimacy I shared with him as his wife.

I paused at the door to our apartment, trying to listen for any sound of movement from inside. “He’ll have a good excuse,” I attempted to justify, unlocking the door before dragging my feet into the entryway. “Minho?” I called out, greeting nothing but silence before I walked downstairs to his studio where Minho often liked to escape when he wanted to be alone.

I was surprised to see him inside, working on his computer as if today was just another ordinary session. “Minho,” I snapped, opening the door without bothering to knock. “We need to talk.”

Minho sighed, glancing away from his computer screen. “I know Mr. Park cancelled my performance.”

“Yeah? And you don’t think that there’s something wrong!”

“Y/N, don’t worry about the interview,” he replied. “Park called me earlier and told me he would take care of everything.”

I slowly exhaled. “I know he called you, but I don’t understand why it happened.”

“He said it wouldn’t be the last time I was involved with marketing,” Minho continued. “I told him I was under the impression that today would be the last performance. We argued for a while and he told me that I shouldn’t bother showing up today if I wasn’t committed to the project.”

I blinked twice, trying to process his words. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, barely restraining the anger. “I called you several times before Mr. Park showed up backstage.”

“I knew you’d be disappointed,” Minho said with a vulnerable tone I could hardly tolerate. “It’s not a big deal. Park knows about everything, and tomorrow we can forget about the collaboration.”

He looked at me like he was expecting me to just agree with him, but I was beyond words. Instead, I turned my back to him and retreated upstairs to our bedroom. I had fought with my husband before, but this was an entirely new level of anger and frustration.

I could hear Minho following me, but I refused to acknowledge his attempts to gain my attention. “You’re an asshole sometimes,” I growled, storming around the bedroom to find a spare set of sheets in the closet. “Let me know when you’re done being the world’s biggest jerk.”

“What are you doing?” Minho asked, blocking my path to the doorway. “We’re not done talking about this if you’re upset.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m done and you don’t always get your way,” I snapped, pushing past my husband into the living room.

“Y/N,” Minho said, reaching for my arm despite my attempts to ignore him. “I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t,” I said, spinning around on my heel to confront him. “If you were sorry, then you’d try to make things right, but your ego has grown to such a monumental size that you can’t even accept the added weight of another mistake.”

“What are you saying?”

“You can’t make this right,” I said, tears obscuring the vision of my husband. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, expression transforming completely when he realized I was truly on the verge of a breakdown. “You know I’m not mad at you! Park knows everything, he was the one who told me not to show up!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cried. “I asked you to do something that’s surprisingly simple for most people. Not because I wanted to punish you, but because I saw an opportunity to help Lee Know! But after the stunt you pulled today, I don’t think I’d bother helping you anymore.”

The single tear that fell from Minho’s eye would have normally been enough for me to recognize his guilt, but I wasn’t in the mood to fall back into the tedious cycle of forgiving him only to deal with another mishap in the future. “Y/N,” he said softly. “Please don’t leave me.”

I shook my head. “I need some time to think about things.”

“What do you mean?” he asked with a desperate tone. “We should talk about this, I can make it better!”

“Just let me sleep,” I begged him and he broke even more, releasing my hand with an uncharacteristic whine.

I tossed my blanket onto the couch, attempting to find a comfortable position on the leather. It was a far cry from the mattress in our bedroom, but I desperately needed space away from Minho. For now, I didn’t want to deal with the reality of our situation, which is why I was more than willing to drown myself in the familiar darkness of sleep.

The smell of bacon was surprisingly overwhelming when I woke up the next morning with lower back pain. I groaned, attempting to sit up despite the near constant throbbing. Apparently, leather sofas were built for style instead of comfort.

I opened my eyes slowly, feeling my heart jump inside my chest when I saw Minho holding a plate in my direction. “Y/N, are you okay?”

I swiped a hand across my face, remembering my argument with Minho from the previous evening. “I’m fine.”

“You should eat,” he insisted so I accepted the plate from him, shaking my head when I realized the toast was burnt, but Minho had never been a great cook. “I want to talk about last night,” Minho said. “Because you’re obviously hurt and that’s the last thing I wanted.”

“What did you expect?” I asked. “You weren’t there for the performance, you ignored my calls, and then my boss tells me that one of his artists decided he was done promoting his new single?”

Minho winced at my tone. “It’s all my fault because I decided to take everything personally. He forced me to do the collaboration when I didn’t want to participate, and it felt like he was taunting me...like I had no control over my music and he could do whatever he wanted.”

“He can, Minho,” I said. “You signed a contract with the company.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I keep forgetting that part, and it’s really stupid how much I let it affect me, but I hate it when things are out of my control.”

“But that’s no reason to take it on the people who were only trying to do their job,” I snapped. “Or refuse to tell your own wife!”

“I understand,” Minho nodded. “I was too caught up in my problems to realize that everyone was suffering because of my decisions.”

“What are you going to do about it?” I asked, holding my breath because I was dreading his answer.

“I’ll apologize to them,” Minho said, hanging his head in shame. “I need you to know that I’m sorry for everything.”

My heart broke at the sorrowful expression he wore, completely uncharacteristic of my husband...as was his decision to apologize since I halfway expected Minho to threaten his leave from the company. However, I also sometimes forgot that Minho was more than the way he acted around other people, and his sincerity was perfectly evident for me to recognize. “I know you are, but sometimes you do things without thinking about the consequences.”

“I’m aware,” he chuckled. “And I usually don’t really care, but that’s selfish...especially when it hurts you.”

“It is selfish,” I agreed. “How do I know you won’t do this again in the future?”

“Because I’ll remind myself of this moment,” he said. “I’ll remember what happened last night and do whatever I can to prevent it from happening again.”

I was stunned by his determination. “Are you really going to apologize to everyone?”

“I am,” he nodded. “Of course, your forgiveness matters the most.”

I took a deep breath, processing his words and the steady way he continued to hold my gaze. “You know I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against my lips. “I need you more than anything else in the world.”

My heart warmed at his declaration. “I wonder what everyone at the company would think if they saw how cheesy you are.”

“Are you going to tell on me?”

“Not as long as you behave,” I returned, laughing at the way he held me tighter, feeling nothing short of safe and secure in his familiar embrace.

Mr. Kim was surprisingly calm when I requested a meeting between our clients. In fact, I was shocked that he even accommodated my request considering our bad relations. However, I recognized an opening, walking down the hallway next to Minho who was clearly nervous as he hugged the bottle of champagne we brought as an apology gift.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Mr. Kim greeted us upon our arrival, sparing Minho a grimace before inviting us inside the studio.

Chan and Jisung were sitting together on the couch, glancing up only when Minho paused in front of them. Meanwhile, Changbin stood against the wall, watching my husband with narrowed eyes. Minho held tightly to the bottle of champagne in his hands, glancing between the three men who all wore similar expressions of disdain. “I’m sorry for the interview,” he said. “It was really selfish and immature.”

Chan arched one eyebrow, glancing between me and Minho. “Really?”

I quietly offered Minho a small push against his lower back, encouraging him to continue. “I rehearsed this,” Minho chuckled, “but it’s hard to swallow my pride.”

“Take your time,” I whispered to him softly.

“Well, let me start by saying that I was wrong about the whole collaboration thing,” he said. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be and you guys did everything to help us succeed.”

Changbin scoffed. “You certainly made it more difficult.”

Jisung nodded furiously in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this much trouble with promotion.”

“I know,” Minho agreed. “I was just upset because I have this stupid thing with Park and he knows that I have...problems working with other people.”

“That’s an understatement,” Changbin said, glowering at my husband with obvious disapproval.

“Honestly,” Minho said, swallowing hard. “The song is one of my favorites. I wouldn’t mind collaborating again in the future.”

“Well-” Jising broke off, staring at Mino with something akin to shock. “Huh?”

Chan frowned. “You really made us look bad on stage.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Minho sighed. “I was being an enormous jerk, trying to stick it to the man or something ridiculous and it played out better in my head.”

I reached out a comforting hand, squeezing Minho’s shoulder for support. “I think he knows his decision was wrong.”

Minho nodded. “You might be upset with me and I understand. I’m sorry for everything that happened, and if you decide I don’t deserve to be taken seriously, then I won’t blame you.”

Minho ended his speech with a nervous cough, thrusting out the bottle of champagne in Jisung’s direction who accepted the bottle hesitantly. “Minho,” Chan said, closing his laptop with a sigh. “I know about your history when it comes to working with other artists.”

“It’s not exactly a glowing resume,” Minho admitted.

“No, but that’s the only reason why I know that your apology was sincere,” Chan said. “If you’re really serious, then I think we can move past this.”

Changbin nodded his agreement. “Mr. Park also explained some of the...politics behind the interview fiasco.”

“I guess it’s hard for you,” Chan shrugged. “I’m glad you came here to make things right.”

“And the champagne is nice,” Jisung added quickly to which Minho managed a smile.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

“Well, if you were serious about collaborating again, we can start with line distributions,” Changbin said, leaning in with a smirk. “I want to sing next time.”

Minho laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“In that case, we have cause for celebration,” Jisung cheered. “Mr. Kim, do we have spare glasses?”

In the meantime, I took a step back to allow the four men space to talk together, distributing several glasses of champagne before laughing at Jisung’s failed attempt not to spill anything on the carpet. It was certainly admirable, and I found myself simply watching Minho from across the room. This was nothing short of substantial progress, and I cherished the moment because it promised very good things for the future.

And at one point, Minho snuck away from his new collaborators to join me at the sound booth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’ve always been at my side.”

I reached out for his hand, watching Chan, Changbin, and Jisung hold up their champagne glasses in our direction. “You know? I’m really excited about your next project.”

Minho grinned, leaning his forehead against mine. “I think I could get used to this...as long as you’ll be there.”

I sighed happily, closing my eyes to remember this moment. “That will never change.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids requests #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids scenarios #skz oneshot #stray kids lee know #skz lee know #lee minho #lee know fanfic #lee know smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids minho #stray kids minho fanfic

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

Text

“You’re just confused. Make up your mind!”

“You’re going through a phase. You’re on your way to being lesbian/gay.”

“You can’t be happy with me, you’ll cheat on me with a man/woman.”

“You’re only saying you’re bisexual to appear cool.”

Have you heard these comments before? These are statements some bisexual people may hear from both straight people or gay people. These are examples of biphobia, discriminatory and/or derogatory remarks, attitudes, or actions toward bisexuality and bisexual people as a group. Biphobia can be seen in overt discrimination or seemingly harmless jokes or statements.

There are many articles out there that talk about the myths and stigmas around bisexuality. This post will not elaborate on that topic, but takes this a step further to briefly explain bisexuality and ways you can be an ally to a bisexual person.

To start, Merriam-Webster defines bisexuality as being sexually attracted to both men and women. This particular definition, in and of itself, is often too limited to encompass the full scope of bisexuality. With the increase of gender expression, our society has started to acknowledge gender is on a spectrum and cannot be contain to a binary (man or woman).

This is why I appreciate Robyn Ochs’ (a bisexual activist) definition becuase it acknowledges the difference between sexual and romantic attraction (or lack thereof) and the gender spectrum. She says:

“I call myself bisexual because I acknowledge that I have in myself the potential to be attracted – romantically and/or sexually – to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree.”

Pansexuality is sometimes used interchangeably or alongside the term bisexual, as it implies someone who is romantically and/or sexually attracted to people independent of biological sex or gender identity/expression. It doesn’t meant the same thing, however.

So why do bisexual people need allies? Because the pervasiveness of bisexual invisibility and biphobia still exists, both within the straight community and the LGBTQ+ community. Despite making up almost 50% of the LGBTQ+ community, there continues to be minimal visibility, research, and support specifically for bisexual individuals. Many bisexuals report they don’t feel like they belong in either the straight or gay/lesbian community.

It is coming to light bisexuals may be more impacted by minority stress (the experience of chronic stress faced by minority groups) than their lesbian and gay-identified counterparts. Some studies around LGBTQ+ mental health show higher suicide rate in bisexual people than gay/lesbian people. (It should be noted that transgender individuals show the highest suicide rate within the LGBTQ+ community.)

There are also different definitions for an ally (and also differing views on the role of allies, as well). Some may view an ally as someone who is part of the majority community who advocates for those of a marginalized population. (However, you don’t have to be part of the majority group to be an ally). I want to emphasize that simply being sensitive to someone else’s identity is a great foundation to be an ally. You don’t have to go out on a Pride March (although if you do, that’s great!) in order to start fostering a mindset of curiosity, acceptance, and humility about those different from you.

There are three ways to start being an ally to people in the bisexual/pansexual community:

1) Don’t make assumptions

As stated earlier, perhaps the greatest challenge for the bisexual community is bisexual invisibility or bisexual erasure. Western culture is very much built upon mono-sexuality (you’re either gay or straight) and grasping sexuality on a spectrum can be hard. Additionally, Western culture often assumes the lens of monogamy when looking at romantic partnerships. Even if someone is polyamorous and has partners of different genders, there is still an assumption you are with one partner and your identity is based on whichever partner is most salient. (It’s worth clarifying that while polyamory appears more present in the LGBTQ+ community, bisexuals are no more likely to be polyamorous than gay or straight people.)

Bottom line: don’t judge a book (bisexual) by its cover (their partner or behaviors). Do not make assumptions about identify. If someone discloses the gender of their partner and it is either different or the same as their own, do not assume they are either gay or straight. Which leads to our next suggestion…

2) Ask about their identity

This can feel like an awkward thing to bring up, but I can tell you – it is better to clumsily ask how someone identifies than to make assumptions, which may result in discomfort, or further feelings of invisibility or alienation. Most people in the LGBTQ+ community will appreciate you asking how they identify (assuming it’s the appropriate forum for such discussion and you are not outing them without their consent). Your question can be as casual and simple as: “You mentioned having a girlfriend/boyfriend – do you identify as gay/lesbian/bisexual or something else?” Even just the simple act of asking this question shows you are curious about someone’s identity and want to learn about them.

3) Avoid asking questions you would not ask a straight person

There are a lot myths and stigmas out there about bisexuals. (This is a post for another day), but often the best way to avoid asking something offensive is to apply it to the majority.

For example, I’m fairly certain every openly bisexual person as been asked: “So which do you prefer? Men or Women?” (Please don’t do this!)

This is like asking a straight person “So which of the past partners do you prefer?” or “Do you prefer blond or brunettes?” It reduces bisexual people down to their dating choices, which is one aspect of someone’s identity and doesn’t encompass who they are as a person or what their sexuality may mean to them. Bisexual people may show a pattern of dating more of one gender than the other, but chances are, if someone identifies as bisexual they may not have a strong enough preference for one gender in order to feel that either “straight” or “gay” fits them. It feeds into the myth that bisexual people can’t choose or are confused.

Some bisexuals have been labeled as ‘going through a phase’ or ‘indecisive’. Flip this on it’s head – Would you ask a straight person, “Are you sure you’re straight? Have you tried something else? Are you just experimenting?”

Using this measurement (“Would I make this assumption about a straight person?”) is a good way to tell if you are asking something that could be seen as oppressive or offensive.

By taking the time to be curious and go outside your comfort zone, you have started to take steps towards being an ally to bisexual people. While this post is tailored around the bisexual community, these concepts and questions can be tweaked to apply to all types of sexual orientation, gender expression and relationship status to help you be more sensitive and understanding to those within the LGBTQ+ community.

If you are seeking a therapist who is knowledgeable and passionate about working with the LGBTQ+ community please reach out to me at 970-403-4173 for a free consultation. I work with individuals within the LGBTQ+ community and also support those who have loved ones/family within the LGBTQ+ community.

***

Arianna Smith Counseling LLC

970-403-4173

[email protected]

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losthomunculus · 3 years

Text

Chihiro Fujisaki and Gender Identity

Ok before I get started because I don’t want to get fucking barked at for attempted analysis and interpretation let’s run through disclaimers.

I’m posting this purely as an exploration piece; I am not telling you how to interpret Chihiro. I am telling you about how my exploration of her character and how it led to further understanding of gender in Japanese media.

I am American and monolingual. Despite my efforts to understand gender identity in Japan, I lack firsthand experience and have limited access to translated resources. So there’s cultural gap, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The game changed in localization, it makes sense the interpretation does too. Let’s observe that.

Also I will be using she/her pronouns for Chihiro but really this piece is less about Chihiro and more about gender and social science.

Tws: slurs (censored on this post, uncensored in linked articles), additional trigger warnings throughout

Introduction

About a month previous to the time of writing this, I saw someone say that labeling Chihiro Fujisaki as a transwoman was white washing her identity by forcing Western gender ideals on her. So of course I thought “well now that’s not good” so I set out to broaden my understanding of transgenderism in Japan to see how it interacts with my mainly American view of gender (that I am actively working to deconstruct and decolonize).

A Rundown

Gender nonconformity and transgender identity in Japan is.. rough. It’s heavily controlled by doctors and really the only way to get anywhere even in social transition is to get diagnosed with Gender Identity Disorder (GID)*. So even if trans people in Japan don’t view their identity as a disorder, to exist in the system it is preferable to label it as such in many cases.

[*tw for forced sterilization]

The history of genderqueer identities is also a bit muddy, which isn’t surprising considering the same holds up in America. Oftentimes cross dressers are lumped in with trans people, because well we do associate with each other historically (see: drag culture in America*). There’s a history of homosexuality, cross dressing, and even (although minimal) lesbianism, which is often excluded from a lot of queer history because y’know, misogyny.

[*tw transmisogyny]

There’s also been a significant influence from the West in gender identity, as many modern terms originate from English. But other than that the culture is very different, such conflict being observed here. The social climate is not kind* to any sexual orientation or identity minorities.

[*tw suicide, non-consensual outing]

So there’s two ways someone could interpret Chihiro. First is well, as a “tr%nny” to put it accurately (albeit unfortunately) to the connotation of the term. This is the, while offensive, quite common translation of “nyūhāfu” (new-half) which was is now considered more of a job title than an identity. It’s falling out of use with younger people as it’s commonly associated with sex work and night life. Note the word also means “lady-boy”, which will be relevant in a moment. This term is still fairly common in reference to transgender people, but “toransujendā” (transgender) is steadily rising in popularity.

You can read more about LGBTQ+ terminology in Japan here and here.

The more common understanding of Chihiro is as “otokonoko“ which has a few different translations but the one you’re probably most familiar with is “tr%p”. Like nyūhāfu, it can translate to the similar “male daughter”. There’s some wordplay involved that is elaborated on in this article which may help, and it also elaborates more on otokonoko as a trope and it’s role in Japanese media.

Nyūhāfu or Otokonoko

THH was released in 2010 in Japan, and new terms for sexual identity and sexual orientation weren't added to Kojien dictionary, the most respected Japanese dictionary in the country, until 2018. So comprehensive transgender representation is likely out of the question.

There’s also the fact that most Japanese media (at least television) portrays LGBTQ+ individuals as a gag, which we’ll circle back to when we talk a little more about otokonoko and interpretation of the subculture.

Otokonoko originated in the early 2000s as an internet culture, but also links back to earlier male crossdressing in Japanese history. With limited information beyond the trope, it’s unclear if people who participate[d] in otokonoko actually had any overlap with genderqueer people.

There’s more information and a longer article, but it’s all in Japanese. From what I was able to understand though, otokonoko can overlap with transgender people and by some is even seen as connected to trans culture, but it is not inherently transgender. When portrayed in fiction, they are usually not transgender. In real life transgender people can be grouped with otokonoko though its unclear if that’s purely due to misconception or if it’s fluidity in identity.

So... Are Otokonoko Trans?

In a literal sense (regarding fiction), no. In interpretation and theoretically... yes? Maybe? Sometimes?

Otokonoko does hold as it’s own trope and identity, but whether or not it’s meant to associate with transgender people in origin is unclear. By that I mean is it’s possible the trope first occurred as a way to make fun of transgender people or to display them in a way that is vulgar enough to be acceptable for mainstream entertainment. From what I can tell though, it doesn’t currently hold direct association with trans identity in Japan, but the same is said of other gender performers [see previous article].

Before I Go - One Other Side Note

So I’ve run into the problem before where insecure trans people get pissed at me for associating crossdressing with trans culture because they think validity is a finite resource that I’m trying to steal, so here’s some sources talking about their tied history <3

Also, no, I am not implying being trans is the same as being a crossdresser nor am I saying trans queens are crossdressers (unless they identify as such).

https://jmellison.net/if-we-knew-trans-history/ru-please-trans-women-have-been-a-part-of-drag-for-decades/

https://www.them.us/story/how-drag-queens-turned-against-the-trans-community

Also Fuck You RuPaul.

If that’s not enough for you, I can also personally attest to crossdressing being a safe space for me to sort out my gender. And I still am a crossdresser. So yeah. The experiences aren’t mutually exclusive.

Conclusion

So whether or not you headcanon otokonoko characters as trans probably doesn’t matter, because one could argue that someone could be both. Otokono are mainly observed in fiction as trope, so there’s a lack of information (in English at least) about how otokono would interact/mesh with transgender identities in real life Japanese culture. Otokono has it’s own rules that usually involve cis people and comedy, but that’s just surface level information that could experience various potential contradictions and nuances based on individual cases.

There are three complex topics converging here, which is what makes this conversation so messy.

Cultural differences between America and Japan.

Gender identity (bonus points for it’s relationship with crossdressing subcultures to make it even more complex).

Those two aspects combined will create a completely different understanding of a character for the audience.

Wait Wait I Feel Like We Skipped Something- So Chihiro IS an Otokonoko?

Yeah. I mean, technically speaking yeah. From a formalist lens she is not trans. But that doesn’t mean reader interpretation can’t view her otherwise.

Chihiro Fujisaki will mean something different depending on the lens of the viewer. And that’s NOT A BAD THING. It’s just something to be aware of.

This thread here has a great discussion about Chihiro, justifying the role she plays as an otokono in the game. I highly suggest expanding each response because they make important points.

And this blog post here *provides a great insight on why many trans players from America relate to Chihiro as a transgender character (and have strong opinions about it).

[*tw violent transmisogyny]

I think these two views can coexist and you get the most out of Danganronpa’s portrayal of gender identity by understanding the different effect Chihiro Fujisaki had on different audiences.

I used to be a pretty diehard transwoman Chihiro fan, and while I still like the headcanon and am slightly uncomfortable with he/him being used for Chihiro (see: previously linked article about Chihiro and American trans perception), this research has helped a lot in understanding the variety of headcanons that exist for her! It’s definitely also made me a lot less critical of different interpretations of her character and other otokonoko characters.

This project ended up being a lot less about Chihiro herself, and more about gender identity and performance and the roles they play in society, but I’m not mad about it. I hope this also gets you thinking.

#chihiro fujisaki #trans #Danganronpa #trigger happy havoc #transgender #gender identity #gender performance #think piece #character analysis #pocket long posts #literary theory #queer literary theory #i wrote this before I actually got to literary theory in school sorry #I might revamp it another time now that I have a more organized idea of what im talking about #den's chatter #dr crockpot

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

Text

Magnificent Scoundrels- Seat of the Citadel

One last faction intro story, in which Shepard finally tells the Council what every Mass Effect player has ever wanted to tell them. Unless someone specifically requests otherwise, or it is needed later, I won’t have any more “faction intros” as I’ve been writing them. Next up is the meeting of the different governments. As usual, I own none of these characters. Enjoy the story.

(A note on timelines: This takes place slightly more than halfway through the events of Mass Effect 2)

Mass Effect Galaxy

The Citadel, Capital of the Citadel Council

The Citadel. The beating heart of galactic power. A glimmering jewel of elegance and culture. An utterly massive 45 kilometer long space station, constructed by the long-extinct and highly advanced Prothean race, it was the capital of the aptly named Citadel Council, the galaxy spanning federation that ruled most of explored space.

Discovered by the Asari in the human year 580 B.C.E., it had since remained the center of galactic power. Open, airy, and utterly magnificent, it was a menagerie of elegant futuristic-style architecture and open water features. Its beauty was unmatched by any other place in the galaxy; not the often conflicting human architecture of Earth, nor the sweeping elegance of Thessia, nor the simplistic, yet sturdy nature of the Turian or Salarian homeworlds. Truly, it was a place unlike any other.

Commander John Shepard sat in an elaborate waiting room at the base of the Citadel Tower, the large structure that housed the chambers of the Council itself. Above was an artificial sky of brilliant blue. Blossoming cherry trees were dotted around the large room in large pots, their blossoms adding to the Beautiful fountains trickled slowly, the sound of running water meant to calm and soothe visitors. Shepard was anything but calm. In fact, he was, to put it rather mildly, pissed off.

The Council had done absolutely nothing in the two years while he had been dead. He warned them of the coming of the genocidal synthetic race known as the Reapers, but, no, they apparently preferred the illusion of safety and calm instead of shoring up defenses and preparing for a war that was almost certainly coming. Goddamn bureaucrats.

Now, it was even worse. There were nine new galaxies out there, and all of them had it together. He shuddered as he remembered reading the briefings and documents provided by his various new colleagues. Council will probably want to ignore that, too. Goddamn bureaucrats, he repeated to himself. And what did the Council do? Invited them all over as if they were all newly discovered species. As if they were peoples who newly discovered space flight, expected to be cowed by the might of the Council, instead of pan-galactic empires.

Goddamn bureaucrats.

“John. God to see you.” Shepard looked up sharply as someone called his name. He visibly relaxed when he saw who it was.

Captain, now Councillor, David Anderson walked towards Shepard, a smile on his face. Dark skin, a flat nose, and short cut hair highlighted an elegant but simple suit; the clothing of a Councillor. Anderson was Shepard’s mentor, old captain, and still older friend. Still more, he was the only of four Councillors that Shepard fully trusted.

“It’s good to see you too, Anderson,” said Shepard, rising from his seat to shake his hand. Anderson made a ‘follow me’ gesture, and the two started to walk through the extensive lobby.

“The information you sent me was quite helpful,” remarked Anderson. Shepard rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he’d picked up from somewhere.

“Ah. Yes. Well, my new colleagues are a bit… bizarre,” Wasn’t that the understatement of the century? Really weird and slightly insane would probably be better. “But, they are quite helpful.” Especially if you want something very, very dead. Anderson nodded in response.

“I’m sure.” He glanced around the room, noting several Salarians hovering near a doorway. “But the walls here have ears. All part of the political game,” he sighed. “Let’s take this conversation to my office.” Shepard couldn’t agree more.

Anderson’s office was, again, simple yet elegant, as a Councillor’s office should be. Smooth walls and a large window, overlooking the Presidium, highlighted a maple desk. Sitting on top of the desk, next to endless reports, was a single picture of Anderson wearing dress blues on his naval graduation day. Anderson slid into the chair (with wheels, of course; humans in this galaxy weren't savages) and gestured for Shepard to take a seat opposite him.

“Some of this data is, to put it bluntly, quite concerning,” opened Anderson without preamble. He touched a button on his desk, and a hologram sprang to life, displaying three symbols: a blue triangle with a minimalized rocket taking off on it, a black and white six-spoked circle, and a double-headed golden eagle. Of course we’d start with those three. “These three in particular. Tell me about them.” He glanced at a data pad. “The, uh, Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, who sound a lot like if the Alliance was ruled by Cerberus, and the Galactic Empire and Imperium of Man, who,” this was accompanied by a slightly incredulous chuckle, “Sound like some nightmare governments from a bad movie.” Shepard rubbed the back of his neck again.

“...yeah. Sure. I… how should I even start,” he rubbed his neck again, “The IMC is what you think would happen if a super-corporation gained enough power to rule humanity, the Galactic Empire took power after a Galactic Republic kinda lost a horrible war.” He still wasn’t 100% sure about the politics from that particular galaxy. He shrugged, then continued. “But, uh, both of those governments are on the decline. Their opposite, more freedom-loving numbers have recently beat them back. It’s the third one that’s the problem.” Anderson shot him a look that clearly said ‘explain’. “You see… well, how should I put this…” He frowned as he considered what to say. “The Imperium of Man makes Terra Firma look violently pro-alien.” Terra Firma was the System Alliance's resident human supremacist group. Often compared to the Nazis of old, they were uncouth, brutal, and, above all, close minded. Anderson’s eyebrows shot up at this comment. Shepard rubbed his neck once more. “Yeah. No slurs or racial barbs for these guys.” Shepard leaned in closer to Anderson to get his point across. “One of their mottos is, and I quote, ‘Suffer not the alien to live’.” Anderson cradled his head in his arms.

“Oh, God. And we invited them to the upcoming first contact talks.”

“Yep!” replied Shepard with slightly more relish than was actually necessary. It would be a real shame if xenocidal zealots murdered the Council (maybe), but perhaps it would be a good thing if they shook things up a little. Certainly, if Cain was anything to go by, they weren’t all bad.

“How are the other three going to react to all of this?” moaned Anderson, head still in his arms.

“Not quite sure,” replied Shepard, “Although, this time, it’s all politics, so the illustrious Commander Shepard isn’t going to be able to save their collective asses, like I’ve done the last five or six times.” His face took on a pensive look. “Although, maybe this will actually get them to listen about the Reapers…” Anderson and Shepard’s thoughts were broken by a blue-skinned Asari, who politely knocked.

“Excuse me, Councillor Anderson. The Council is ready to see Commander Shepard,” said the Asari. Anderson sighed and slowly shook his head.

“Well, duty calls. This ought to be interesting.”

The Council chambers were much like the rest of the Citadel: utterly beautiful with a simple and refined elegance. Too bad such a wonderful room was squandered on the walking wastes of oxygen that were the Council. At least, that was Shepard’s opinion. He didn’t have much liking for politicians, and most definitely had no liking for these three in particular. He looked up at the podium where the Councillors stood. At least they bothered to meet in person this time.

There were three Councillors, excluding Anderson, each from a different species. The Asari, a graceful, elegant monogendered race of blue-skinned women, the Salarians, a short lived but extremely intelligent race of amphibians, and the Turians, a militaristic race descended from avians. Humanity was the most recent addition to the Council, a move that many seem to resent, but thanks to Commander John Shepard saving the Citadel and the Council it housed, a move that no one could oppose.

“Commander Shepard,” began Sparatus, the Turian Councillor. “While we appreciate being given information about these new galaxies,” this was inflicted by a measure of sarcasm, “Some of this seems quite hard to believe.” ‘Just like the Reapers’ remained unsaid, but everyone was thinking it. Shepard sighed inwardly. It’s going to be one of these meetings.

“Yes. You went off on your own, chasing some message, and just sent this data back. Explain yourself,” said Tevos, the Asari Councillor. Anderson looked like he was about to intervene on Shepard’s behalf, but was interrupted.

“Some of this seems highly unlikely. First you come up with Reapers, a race of immortal sentient machines hell-bent on killing us all, now this!” intoned Valern, the Salarian Councillor. Shepard struggled to keep a straight face.

Calm down! said one part of his mind. Explain to them what’s happening out there! Tell them what you’ve seen. Getting angry will get you nowhere.

Or will it? asked another part. They didn’t listen about the Reapers, despite being attacked by one, they didn’t listen about your involvement with Cerberus, preferring to label you a terrorist. They haven’t listened to you about anything. Maybe anger will help you! Besides, continued to voice, it's not like you couldn’t find similar employment elsewhere. The Scoundrels trust you more than these idiots ever have. I’m sure there are plenty of people who would pay top dollar for someone like you.

“You know what? I’m sick of this bullshit,” said Shepard. “I am goddamn sick and tired of this bullshit. You can believe whatever you want to believe, despite evidence to the contrary. I have never lied to you. I saved your lives. I saved the Citadel. I died for you!” he thundered. The Councillors seemed rather taken aback. “Yes, still, you don’t heed my warnings! You don’t follow my advice, even though I have not once lied to any of you. You sit, on your comfy chairs, trying to keep a peace that will most definitely be shattered. You do nothing because it is simply more convenient to ignore reality,” he hissed, words dripping with venom. Spartacus bristled.

“How dare you-” Shepard whirled around to face him.

“Shut. The fuck up, Sparatus.” The calm in Shepard’s voice was deadly. The Councilors blanched. No one’s ever talked to them like that before, I’d guess. He would have laughed if he wasn’t in mid-rant. “Apparently, what I gave you was good enough to invite all of these governments over for peace talks. All of them. You also apparently trusted myself and my new colleagues enough to give them these invitations, instead of contacting these governments directly.” Which was probably a wise move, in the long run, considering some of the reactions would have been ‘piss off and die’ if the invitations weren’t hand delivered by galaxy wide heroes. Were they invitations? Or… treaties? What was a document inviting someone to a peace talk called? Shepard shook himself out of his tangent and continued.

“Also, it seems you trust eight unknown people more than you trust the Spectre who has never lied, saved your lives, and died for you. Have I missed anything?” he spun around to the room, arms outstretched theatrically.

“Fine then, Shepard,” said Valern. “You are dismissed. Apparently,” he threw the word back in Shperad’s face, “Our top intelligence gatherer isn’t loyal to us anymore. Other Spectres or the STG can take care of finding out what we need to know.” Tevos and Sparatus looked apprehensive at their colleagues's dismissal. While they might have been bureaucrats, they knew Shepard was one of the best Spectres and intelligence agents they had. Shepard gave a laugh; a full throated hearty laugh.

“Oh, yeah. Have fun with that. Have fucking fun with that. Have fucking fun sending the STG or some lone-wolf Spectre against people who have entire armies of super-soldiers at their disposal and who can legally destroy planets*. Have fucking fun.” He sneered. “This is now the intelligence game you’re playing. You aren’t in complete control anymore.” Shepard crossed his arms and looked up at the Council. “So, only one question remains: do you want my help or not? ‘Cause if you don’t, there isn’t much point in me staying, is there?” There it was: the ultimatum was out. Would they back down and realize that Shepard was their best shot, or would they allow their emotions to get in the way? Honestly, it could probably go either way. Spartacus shot a look at Anderson. Anderson replied with a ‘hey, not my problem’ stare. Tevos cleared her throat.

“It seems we have been remiss, Spectre Shepard.” Shepard let out a breath he had been silently holding. While he would have made good on his threat, this was his home galaxy, and he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted to be working for someone like Crossgrow or the Inquisition. “As you are the only one who has had contact with these people, please give us your opinion on how we should handle this situation.” Shepard was sure it had probably physically hurt the Council to say that. He dismissed the thought and returned to his duty.

“First thing first: you have to present a united front. You can’t disagree with each other. Second, all of the species’ representatives should be here.” Before anyone could make an objection, he continued. “All of them. Definitely the client races.” The Council had four races as members, but many more that were under their jurisdiction and not full members. Many of those races were trying (and, for the most part, failing) to get a seat on the Council itself. It wouldn’t do if the more open minded government, such as the Federation or GA, came to the Citadel, then saw the Council treating other races as less than equals. “Even some of the other races who aren’t officially part of the Council, if you think you can control them.” Shepard paced the floor.

“In addition, you should probably beef up the Citadel fleet. Send in more ships. Turian, Asari, Alliance, I don’t care. We need as much security as possible, and some of these governments will be impressed by shows of force.”

“Yes… we shall think about this,” replied Tevos. “Your input will be helpful. Please stay on the station during the talks.” Shepard nodded, then came to a realization. Oh, hell. The first meeting of all of these governments is only slightly more than a week away. This was going to be interesting. Or deadly. One of the two.

*ONI can call on Spartans, ISB has Death troopers, and the Inquisition has the Grey Knights and the Deathwatch. In addition, ISB helped to create the Death Star and has sway over Imperial Navy battlegroups, enough to bombard a planet into uninhabitable-ness, and the Inquisition can enact Exterminatus. Shepard and the rest of the Scoundrels would know about all of this, except for the Grey Knights.

#magnificent scoundrels #stroy #my story #writing #my writing #crossover #fanfic #mass effect #mass effect 2

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