#it might. MIGHT. be warranted to think for a second on shared factors that might have brought u to that conclusion

[tsukihigui]

i feel like we need to address the notion that like. just bc you relate to an influencer doesn’t mean their insight is correct

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I love your insights cause you seem like you have the wisdom of an 90 year old. Do you have any advice for a 30 something yo woman that struggles with deep anxiety and sadness even in *happy* times? (I was depressed when I started dating, than I was scared when I got engaged, I was so anxious to do a wedding that I didn't do anything me and my partner skipped right to planning a honeymoon trip, the next stage is having kids and i'm so scared). I don't want to go through life being sad over things that i want and should bring joy (because I do want them. It's just every little change for some reason gives me panic and nobody around me seem to get why even my husband..I have no clue why i'm so sensitive to changes and decision making) and the circle seem to be never ending..I did therapy and talked a lot with a therapist and i'm better, but the emotions and inner sadness still there. Sorry if it's too much info..I guess i'm hoping other women/girls/guys reading this might feel similar in life and have ways of coping? I feel like i'm the only person on the planet feeling like this and i'm scared admitting it to others (I share with them..but they don't really *see* the heavy-crying-vomit-feeling every second of the day so in the end it's just me)

***

Hi Anon 💜

What I can say to you is limited by how personal your ask is, how little I know about you and the subject (I really wouldn’t call myself wise), and how public my forum is. There’s undoubtedly a lot more you’re not saying (understandably), but I’ll try not to ramble in telling you what I think.

The fact you’re asking me this here despite already seeing someone far more qualified to give you advice (your therapist), tells me this is something that’s constantly on your mind, something that weighs on you so much you’d consider a random blogger’s opinion and that of her followers.

So I guess the first question is:

Why are you afraid?

Because that’s what anxiety essentially is. In my layman, unqualified BPP language, anxiety is being in a state of fear. And there's two reasons people could be afraid:

A good reason.

A not good reason.

And you get to decide which is which for you. Personally, the events you're describing sound like life-changing events, things with pretty profound implications not just for you but for people around you. And rather than see your fear about it as a malaise, I see it as perhaps a mild overreaction to recognizing the enormity of the implications.

But there could be more to it...

A - Sometimes, people experience something that legitimately warranted that state of fear in them, a traumatic or abusive event where fear was the only right response, an event (or series of events) that left an imprint on them. And their bodies and minds are subconsciously stuck in that state, and this could be for a whole host of reasons. This is also something that can lead to a lot of behaviours, like being afraid of change, constantly seeking comfort in what’s known and familiar, and fearing the unknown. In cases like this, psychotropic medication can help; as can therapy; journaling can help your mind work through your thoughts, help you remain present and not dissociate; improving your physical health to help your body recalibrate, etc.

B - Other times, this state is triggered by a purely physiological response and this can be due to an imbalance in your baseline. Meaning, (I’m sure the medical debate is still out on this one but) I think most people have a sort of physiological baseline for things like hormone levels (dopamine mostly), that’s oftentimes tied to several factors but including, notably, genetics. As an example, it’s been observed that people from tropical countries (or with recent ancestry including people from tropical countries) have a higher chance of suffering Seasonal Affective Disorder in winter months (so obviously after moving from tropical climates) than the general population. Meaning their genetic composition has a baseline that expects higher vitamin D levels, more natural sunlight etc, than the general population, and in the absence of these things, their bodies (and mental states) struggle to adjust without supplemental help. Supplemental help can look like vitamins, adjusting your diet to gain more of those nutrients/vitamins, nature lamps, spending more time outdoors. and in more drastic cases reconfiguring your work life to be more in-line with natural sunlight cycles.

It’s one reason frequent physical exercise helps the mental states so much for most people. How picking up a sport (like running or yoga) or spending time in the gym consistently improves mental health, helps them feel more confident and assured. Aside from the beneficial facts we all know, the reality is the sedentary lifestyle most people enjoy in the 21st century is an anomaly. Our bodies have evolved over millions of years in a way that required physical endurance, strength training, and constant movement to do very basic things: from eating, to hygiene, to even sleeping in a safe environment. I mean, the very act of washing your clothes required far more physical exertion until the invention of the washing machine in the 19th century. Cooking was a far more arduous exercise than putting something in the microwave, building heights were limited by how much people could walk and climb until we had escalators and elevators in the last century doing the work for us. Most of us are living in bodies that have a collective memory of doing far more work just to survive everyday life, that’s our physiological baseline, and yet we’re living in the most sedentary societies ever. That causes a physiological imbalance, and some people are more sensitive to that imbalance than others. The anxiety could be a signal that your body and mind recognize something is wrong or out of whack. One solution here is ratcheting up your physical movement, endurance, and strength, and typically that will help your body regulate the rest so long as you’re consistent.

C - Yet another reason some people remain in a state of fear, is that rather than a physiological imbalance being the culprit, it’s an imbalance in their sense of self. This is a bit more sensitive for me to get into, given I really don’t know you and I don’t want to hurt you unduly, but you’ve listed all these things you have going on for you in your life… are they things you actually want? What is it about your current state that terrifies you? Is there something about what you tell yourself internally or privately that you struggle to live out loud? Do you feel like you should be somewhere else, doing something else, being someone else? Do you feel like you’ve actively chosen the life you have or do you feel like a passenger in your own life watching things happen to you?

Is there any consistency between your inner beliefs, values, and desires vs your outward actions and reality? Or is there dissonance? Because what dissonance can do, is trigger the signal that something is wrong and leave you paralyzed in a state of fear if you believe you have no tools to reverse course or power through. If any of these are true for you, there’s no shortcut to reaching a solution. You have to ask yourself why you feel this way. Is there another life or another person you’re comparing to? Are there societal expectations on you that are restrictive? You'll have to decide for yourself what living with personal integrity means for you, finding a way that aligns your inner beliefs (assuming its not rooted in trauma - see A) with your outward reality.

*

Like I said above, there's two reasons one could be afraid. For good reasons, it's best to honour that fear and do what is right and safe for you. And for not good reasons, the only solution is to power through that fear, over and over again. The more afraid you feel, the more you do it. You can choose to throw yourself into it, or seek support for ways to do that safely.

If perhaps you don't feel ready to have a baby you want because you feel inexperienced, lack the resources to fully care for the child, have misgivings about your partner etc, I’m going to go out on a limb here, and be prescriptive. I’m sorry in advance if this is pushing it. But I'd say these are good reasons to be afraid. I'd suggest you communicate these reasons to someone you trust (a therapist and perhaps someone you know), spend a bit more time in preparing financially because kids aren't cheap, invest in building your social support circle (this could include relatives and friends), start actively planning for your life with a new person in it, and this can include finding people who can support you even if your partner isn't in the picture for whatever reason.

If the reason you're hesitating to have a baby you want is because you fear the unknown, I'd again go out on a limb to say I don't believe this is a good reason. In this case, what you choose to do is up to you, but I suggest you embrace the adventure (after preparing as much as you can).

Recognize your fear, assess if it's for the right reasons and if so honour it, and adjust accordingly. If it's not for the right reasons, power through it to do what you actually want.

I rambled again but I wish you all the luck, Anon. 💜

[iniziare]

The scythe (and a 'brief' inclusion of the concept of 'difference'). I need this in a separate post, actually. Because Seele's scythe has always been a constant fascination of mine, not only because a scythe is an absolute kick-ass weapon, but because it really helps in setting her apart from the other members of Wildfire, and even those outside of it. Not that uniqueness is a power per say, but because all of this adds to the consistency of what they seem to want to represent with her: how being 'on your own' never really goes away. The concept of being 'unique', whether it's positive or negative, never really wavers from you as a person, it seems. And I think Seele personifies that reality from what we know of her early childhood and into her adulthood.

As an orphan with a relatively rambunctious attitude, she likely didn't endear herself to children of her age, and she caused enough ruckus for the adults to keep her at bay (Nat has the patience of a saint), and at the young age of ten, she canonically would find herself in the occasional fight with local thugs while patrolling with Oleg; she was not your usual kid.

All of this to say, that she came from 'being different' and to remaining that exact same thing to this very day, and I think that her scythe is one of the most obvious things representative of that.fact. Seele stands out today, as she stood out when she was younger— granted she grew up in the Underworld, which already makes her part of this concept of 'other', or if you look at it from an Overworlder's perspective: 'lesser'. It's funny, because I think of what I just typed, the keeping people at arm's length— and I see how imposing her scythe is, and it still plays into achieving that. It'll either warrant fascination, or it'll scare people away with how dangerously dangerous it looks. Any way, I actually got massively sidetracked, so let me try to get back on point here.

In essence, while the scythe is unique in appearance, most certainly, it was/is likely a result of a very practical way of thinking, which ultimately got meshed in with a personal preference or even a 'cool factor' wish, if you will. So, just as I did for Kafka (with results I'll share soon, I just need to do some thinking), I had a watch and listen to Seele's ultimate animation to see if there was anything else to dissect from it that could potentially be tied to any sort of explanation for the scythe, and at 0:06 seconds in, you hear the sound of a gunshot quite clearly, which got me thinking the ever obvious question: why? It's a scythe, and she has no obvious ties to any sort of gun(s), so why is there the sound of a gunshot? So, I did some searching to see if any Redditor made mention of this as well, and low and behold, I found exactly that, and some of the commenters struck gold with their comments to the OP. Let me just quote each one for ease:

— Maybe canonically it was a Silvermane Guard rifle and Seele retooled it into a scythe. — Yeah, this was my thought.Bullets might have become scarce after the Underworld was sealed off, so she converted it into a melee weapon. — This would also explain why she has a scythedespite no agriculture in the underground: she made it herself (or had someone more technically minded make it for her) out of a variety of parts (...) — A scythe is also just a really big ice pick and what is the main motif of the enemies on the planet? That’s right, ice themed. Could be done so tohelp crack their armor (...) It'd probably be pretty good against robot armor, too.

Now, we know that the Underworld became absolutely starved of resources the longer it was sealed off, so it's not exactly like they all had parts ripe for the picking, and so had to make due with what they could find, and then fashion that into what was needed. Weapons with ammunition were likely the first to be let go of, for how could you use that which needed parts that couldn't be fashioned or obtained for the longest of time? But all of those arms couldn't just be thrown away, it'd be a waste for those who are already lacking that which is needed to defend themselves with. So why not refashion it in something that's of use to you in one way or another? Especially by someone who would know their way around arms and weaponry as a whole (as come to think of it, no, I don't see Seele fashioning something like that for herself, at least not from the ground up; maintaining and adding to it as time passes, perhaps, but not from the ground up, I doubt that's what she meant by 'handicraft' in those text messages). I do think an initial draw to the weapon like a scythe is because of how imposing it is, it's so difficult to wield effectively because many of its strengths also pose you with its limitations— and yet in that lies a challenge that I think a girl like Seele thrives for, and could actually achieve. She bears a monumental source of strength (not just specifically physically, but mentally) to have survived as she has until she was taken into the orphanage, it fits the endurance that she had to have possessed as of a young age to navigate the streets as she did after she obtained food in less then morally 'good' ways, and the agility that primarily ties in with the latter. She also fits the type of person who holds the mindset to be able to turn a scythe's psychological impact to her benefit, she holds that courage and fearlessness that you need for it; and she also definitely is cocky/arrogant enough for it. I actually, the more I think on it, the more I think that she truly is quite a great fit for it, actually, even if I think her impatience would likely have been her enemy while training with it. You need a hell of a lot of patience, and I think that would've been troublesome for some time, but I think Oleg, for example, would have been a great teacher for that.

Any way, I've been rambling for a day and a half, but what I mean to say is— as much as Seele once was 'different', she remains it to this day. The scythe is unique within the arsenal of Wildfire, and even Belobog, and yet it fits perfectly with her aesthetic and her person. Everything about Seele seems incredibly messy, and it is, but it's her mess that works exceedingly well for her. Seele's scythe seems to come from a disassembled weapon (that in all ways, was the opposite of what it's now become) that might still hold some semblance of function to this day; her attire is a combination of all kinds of things and fabrics that don't go together whatsoever and yet were fashioned into something of her own (we know that she does handicraft, which includes fixing up dolls, so she knows how to sew and likely knit). There's just— it plays into the visual (and personality-wise) consistency of her character very well, and I'm just, I'm just a fan. Don't mind me, I don't know if I actually touched enough on what I wanted to say, so I'll likely make a part 2 soon, but I just needed to get thoughts out.

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None (let me know if I missed something!)

Summary: Everyone is talking about the mysterious new guy on campus

A/N: I had a ton of fun writing this extremely self-indulgent AU and I have plans to keep writing more about these two. It won’t be an actual chaptered fic, but at some point I’ll throw together a masterlist with a chronological order to things.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Introductions

The semester had only started four weeks ago and he was already a legend around campus. Almost everywhere someone could be found whispering about him. You'd even heard faculty speculating, wondering about the rumors they overheard their students sharing.

You first heard of him in your literature seminar, some of your fellow classmates discussing a recent rumor about the now fabled man. Something about a motorcycle and a child caught your ear, prompting you to interrupt and the girls in front of you who they were talking about. 

The looks you received from the pair were incredulous at best. “You mean you haven’t heard about him?”

“Heard about who?” you asked, genuinely confused. It had only been the first week of class at the time and you were too caught up with your own busy start to check in on the rumor mill.

“Mando, obviously. He’s all anyone is talking about.” From there the girls had happily filled you in on all the latest sightings and rumors. 

Mando, as they called him, was shrouded in mystery. He'd popped up on Corellia University's campus when the semester began and no one knew a thing about him. He hadn't gone to Corellia before, internet searches turned up nothing, and even the skull-like symbol on the back of his leather jacket wasn't familiar to anyone. Any information on him was conjecture at best and there was plenty to go around. Once the rest of the class caught onto what you three were discussing, theories began to fly.

People discussed how he’d been spotted downtown, beating on some guys in a back alley. He’d also been seen uptown the same night though, strolling through Basalt Park. One girl was nearly certain that she’d gone to elementary school with Mando, but he’d mysteriously disappeared one day without explanation. Someone else was confident he was just a cop trying some weird shtick to go undercover. Then one person insisted he had a kid with him sometimes while another was trying to explain that he was actually a murderer. The rumors only became more ludicrous from there.

By the end of the discussion you only ascertained two things for certain. He went by the name Mando and he wore some kind of special helmet. Information you could have gotten by watching him pick up a drink at the Java Hut. Not nearly enough to warrant this level of fervor in your opinion.

From there, hearing about Mando was inescapable. You got home that night only to have your roommate and best friend, Layla, launch into theories about him. Within the week someone set up a social media page to try and track his location around campus via DMs fellow students sent in. That had struck you as invasive and unsettling, but the messages about him kept flooding in.

By pure chance, you had yet to actually see him for yourself. There weren't even any creep shots for you to look at. People had been trying to take photos of him, but he was like a ghost. In the time it took them to pull up their cameras he'd disappear. 

There wasn't even more concrete information about him beyond what you'd learned that first day. Just more and more speculation, a good amount of it made up purely for the shock factor. Another week slipped by, the semester picking up, and Mando news became standard in your day. There was always something new going around about him and as much as you tried to avoid it and focus on your studies, you couldn’t help but wonder about him yourself.

Who was this guy? Was this all some stunt or ‘social experiment’ that would be revealed by a sociology student at the end of the semester? Or was he a legitimate peculiarity, doomed to stick out like a sore thumb? You weren’t sure if you should hate him for making a big deal out of himself or pity him for all the unwarranted attention. Either way, you were sure that whenever you met this enigmatic Mando, you’d know.

×××××

You grumble looking at the submission form. The name and student ID information is blank again. You told Todd last week those fields needed to be made mandatory. How else were you supposed to know who to email when you end up with a no-show for the hour?

Looking further down you're pleased to note that they're at least a grad student. Despite the unfinished form, graduates almost never skip sessions like these. You're thrilled to have the opportunity to discuss something other than freshman composition for once. It's fun helping the wide-eyed freshies, but you can only go over basic comma rules so many times before you start to lose it a little.

There's a knock at the study room door and you look up only to be rendered speechless. It's him. Mando. With a kid on his hip. So Alissandra hadn’t been lying when she told you about the toddler she saw with him. Interesting. Continuing to take him in, you can’t help but focus on the obvious - the only thing you knew about him other than his supposed name, the helmet. 

It’s unlike anything you've seen before. You're fairly certain it's a motorcycle helmet, but it's been modified. Rather than the typical rounded shape, his is all sharp angles and flat at the front. It’s colored a sleek, shining chrome that gleams under the washed out fluorescent lighting. Most arresting is the way he's changed the face of the helmet. The cheeks dip inward at a sharp angle, creating deep, curved contours. His visor is a T of black glass in the center, entirely impossible to see through. It's intimidating and… kinda hot?

The little boy he's holding starts to wiggle in his grasp, physically demanding to be set down in the study room. Once his feet touch the floor, he immediately runs over and climbs into the chair next to you. He's a welcome distraction from his father’s? brother's? guardian's? commanding presence in the room.

The boy can't be older than three, smiling up at you with a wide toothy grin. His hair is covered by a green beanie with large floppy ears sewn onto it and he's wearing a little brown jacket with a sherpa collar. Maybe a bit too heavy for the early autumnal weather, but if the rumor that the kid rides on a motorcycle with Mando is true, it’s perfect. His eyes are large and brown, shining up at you with a slightly mischievous glint.

"Hello, what's your name?" you ask, smiling back at the child.

"Grogu," comes the reply, not from the kid, but from Mando.

You arch an eyebrow at him. He can't be serious with that name. "Grogu?" you ask.

He shrugs, placing his bag on the table. "I came home one day and he told his babysitter that was his name now. He won't respond to anything else. So, Grogu."

You look back to the bouncing toddler. He's still grinning, nodding along with what's been said about his name. They must not be lying then. Either that, or it was some elaborate prank between them and you would never be in on the joke. 

"Well okay, Grogu it is." 

You extend your hand out to Mando, offering your name alongside it. He offers a leather clad hand in return, giving you a firm handshake. You're pleased when he only gives your hand a gentle squeeze, not crushing it like so many other students have done. His gloves are unique as well, black with orange fingers, the leather well worn in. It's warm to the touch, his body heat radiating through the thick fabric. 

"Mando," he says, officially introducing himself as he takes the seat on your other side, across from Grogu.

"Mando," you repeat, cementing it as a truth from the rumor mill. "Got any other names?" You hope that comes across as casual and not intrusive. He hasn't even gone to remove his helmet, telling you he isn't a man who cares much for people prying into his business.

"No. Why?" Mando cocks his head slightly as he asks, the helmet adding an exaggerated look to the movement. He reaches into his bag, pulls out some crayons and a pad of paper, pushing them over to Grogu.

You shrug, trying not to think about how you heard his name might be David from someone in your composition course. "Just thought I'd ask. One hears many things around campus and it's hard to tell what's true or not."

"What do you mean?"

That question makes you pause. Surely he knows. Part of you is still convinced he’s doing this act on purpose, trying to gain notoriety for some reason. The way he asked though, something about it tells you that the poor man is clueless about the buzz he's caused.

"Mando, you're like the talk of the town right now. We only just met but I've heard plenty about you," you explain. It's hard to tell with the helmet on, but you're fairly sure he's shocked underneath. Grogu ignores you both, excitedly scribbling away on his paper.

"I'm fairly sure most of it's just rumor and speculation, but still. You're like a thing around campus," you add.

He's quiet for a moment, his laptop only half out of his bag. "Oh," he finally says. "I didn't know."

Grogu gives a happy shriek not a second later, breaking the awkward tension that had begun to creep into the room. He's beaming, holding up his crayola masterpiece. On the paper there is what appears to be a hastily drawn frog using every color in the box.

Mando returns to himself, pulling his laptop the rest of the way and continues to get set up. "Great job, kid. It looks good."

Most people would have said that dismissively, a platitude to get their child to stop bothering them. When Mando says it though, the authenticity is palpable. He said six words and you can hear the pride lacing them all together. It’s sweet, the obvious affection this clearly private man has for the toddler. 

You can’t help but wonder what his connection to Grogu actually is. The way he spoke just then, if you had to put your money on it, you’d say father. The kicker then though is if he’s biological or not. And if not, then how else does a grad student get strapped with a three year old? Thinking about all the potential scenarios is enough to make your head hurt.

You’re also left wondering where all the more violent rumors about him are coming from. His tenderness is so readily on display that it’s hard to imagine the man before you choking someone because they cut him in line at the local froyo shop. He’s mysterious and gives off a vaguely dangerous vibe, sure, but less than five minutes around him and the kid and it’s obvious he’s no threat to you. He’s just a guy trying to get his assignments done for class, same as everyone else.

Your stomach still catches in your throat as Mando starts unexpectedly tugging off his gloves. From what you’d heard, he never takes anything off: not his jacket, not his gloves, and certainly not his helmet. All anyone knows of his true appearance on campus is that he’s obviously male with rumors flying around about everything else including simple attributes, like the color of his skin. Now, here he is, casually revealing this groundbreaking information to you.

His hands move fluidly, pulling off each glove in just a few easy tugs. His skin matches the heat you felt from them just minutes ago, a warm golden tan, with a few faded lines of scars worn in. Watching him type, pulling his paper up for you to discuss, you feel a deep and sudden ache to have his hands touch you again. A simple handshake is no longer enough. Every stroke of the keys is measured, deliberate, and leaves you wondering how he would use those fingers on you.

“This is what I have so far.”

His voice snaps you back to reality, a quick wave of shame washing over you. Where did all of that come from? It was just a man’s hands for heaven’s sake, certainly not something you should be horny about at two in the afternoon. Not to mention that he came in here looking for your help, not wanting you to start fantasizing about his hands expertly working you over.

You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the offending appendages. “Great, let me just read the introduction here so I can get an idea for what you’re writing about.”

You settle into working with him easily. His paper is already well-written, just needing tweaks here and there to bring it to the next level. It’s nice working with him. He’s attentive, clearly listening to everything you have to say and taking it into account. He doesn’t even try to challenge you as some of the more macho male students are wont to do. By the end of the session, you can’t help but wish all of your time as a tutor was that easy.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, tucking his laptop away. “You really helped.”

You smile at him, thrilled with his genuine complement. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”

He finishes packing up his and Grogu’s things, with you silently lamenting as his gloves slide back on. It still feels like a ridiculous thought, but he really does have beautiful hands. There’s a small tap on your arm and you look to your left to see Grogu patiently waiting. He’s offering something to you, paper outstretched in his little hands.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet from him. You look at it to see a frog carefully drawn on the page. It’s not the same as the first one he showed you and Mando, this one more deliberate and thoughtful. The colors are still just as varied, but it’s obvious he took more time to think about where he was using each one. You can’t help but smile at his small masterpiece.

“It looks great, buddy. I’ll keep it forever,” you tell him. Grogu beams at your praise, excitedly looking over to Mando. 

Mando nods at the kid. “Yeah kid, I heard her too.” He turns his head towards you. “Thank you again. I’d take good care of that drawing. He’ll never forgive you if he finds out you got rid of it.”

“Does that mean I’ll be seeing you again?” Your own boldness takes you by surprise. You have no idea where that came from, how those words spilled without a second thought. Part of you is already cringing at Mando’s potential reaction.

He surprises you once again though, holding a hand out for Grogu to take. Shouldering his backpack, you hear an amused huff of air from under the helmet. “Yeah, mesh’la, I’ll see you around.”

There isn’t a chance to reply as Mando turns, escorting his tiny charge out of the room with him. You’re a little dumbstruck, now equally surprised with him as you had been with yourself. 

And what was that name he just called you? Mesh’la? You don’t even know what language that could have been, much less the meaning. Something about his tone when he said it tells you it’s a good thing though, that he’s not secretly calling you rude names in some unknown language. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever get to find out.

.

.

.

taglist: @honestly-shite

[punkpresentmic]

Traitor Aizawa AU Pt. 4 — 1, 2, 3

cw for implied sexual content, but nothing that warrants a mature rating

Hizashi digs back into his husband’s case, & it's clear investigators still don’t particularly WANT him to—partially for distrust, partially for the still-secret letters, he's sure. But he does what he can to show them that he wants this mess cleaned up. They reluctantly give him what they have to chew on: not much—a vague lead, an unreliable source. It puts Hizashi no closer to the letters or why they were taken.

The investigators only keep an eye on him until they get bored &/or annoyed, judging him airheaded or harmless. Once he’s away from prying eyes, he sets off on his own; Hizashi is already in deep with less-than-legal activities lately. He sneaks into their evidence archives.

The letters aren’t there.

Hizashi skips out of the police station before he’s discovered sticking his nose where it shouldn’t be. He has to get back to school anyway. After teaching English & having a shitty, lonely lunch, an idea occurs to him. If it was Nezu who suggested the letters be taken… would Nezu have kept the letters?

So Hizashi sets out about a new kind of heist. Nezu is in a meeting & the principal’s office is locked, but Hizashi as a tenured faculty member has access to anywhere in UA. Of course it’ll record that he entered, but that’s not Hizashi’s concern right now. He goes through every file in Nezu’s cabinet. Nothing. His heart sinks. Then he notices Nezu’s desk drawer has a simple lock on it. As a last ditch effort, he picks it with a bobby pin. There’s a bowl of candy inside. It’s the only idea he has left to pick it up & see if there’s anything underneath &.... Sure enough, just like in a bad movie the drawer has a false bottom. Under it, there’s a neat stack of letters bound with a rubber band.

They’ve all been opened.

Hizashi immediately seeks out the one marked with his name, tugs it out, skims it. It’s everything Shouta said it was. It ends with I love you. The script is shaky. Hizashi’s heart is in his throat. Oh, Shou…

Nezu coughs; Hizashi nearly jumps out of his skin. “You know,” Nezu says, “a locked drawer in a secure area might also be reasonably assumed to be alarmed.”

Hizashi meets his eyes, lets the letter fall to the desk. “Care to explain what these are?”

Nezu is impossible to read. “They are exactly what they appear to be: letters left behind by Aizawa Shouta, confiscated at the time of their discovery.”

“He left me a letter,” Hizashi repeats, careful to reign in his voice as he shakes his head. “He left his students letters. We all thought he left without even saying goodbye.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Nezu notes, tone even and gentle. “You are aware he left a clear & concise description of his crimes. I do believe that’s going to be important to remember going forward.”

Hizashi grinds his teeth at that. “Why wasn’t I made aware of this?”

Nezu backs down with a sigh. He climbs into his desk chair, Hizashi moving to stand on the other side of the desk. Nezu gazes sadly down at the pile of letters. “There were two main factors we had to consider. Firstly, at the earliest stages of the investigation, it was unclear if you or any of the students had secret involvement—the letters could have held nefarious communications.” Nezu took a breath. “We no longer believe that after thorough analysis. Though perhaps this should not come as a surprise—if there was anything we knew about our Eraserhead, it was his steadfast aversion to extraneous details or wasting time.”

Hizashi’s heart throbs painfully in his chest.

“As for the second reason: the emotional & psychological impact that these letters could have on our community. Our hero students with their steadfast trust in their instructor were particularly vulnerable. & you, Yamada, are not an exception to a similar emotional vulnerability. In the interest of damage control, in doing my best to hold the UA community together & keep it from further collapse, the letters were confiscated promptly & without notification of their existence.”

Hizashi’s fingernails dig into his palm, fists clenched to stop his hands shaking. “I’m an adult. & a pro. I don’t need the same protection as 15 year-olds. We’re talking about my husband. I think I’m entitled to some transparency.”

“I never said you weren’t,” Nezu placates. “But I wanted you to receive this information once we had a better understanding of the situation. & once you had emotionally stabilized from what I’m sure is an unforgivable betrayal.”

‘Unforgivable.’ That wording was purposeful, Hizashi knew. It almost begged him to dispute it.

Hizashi spread his hands. “So you don’t think I’m emotionally stable? & you let me keep watching over the next generation?” His laugh was intended to be dry at most, but it comes out nearly hysterical.

Nezu sighs again. “Yamada, you were hurting. & you refused the counselling we recommended. You chose to work through your pain. We were not going to deny you that.”

“Principal, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m not really buying that you’d have shown me these letters even if I had gone to counselling.”

Nezu hummed. “What do you know about Eraserhead’s motivations, Yamada?”

He forces a smile through gritted teeth. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, almost sunny. “Beyond the fact that he has them.”

“Indeed. I’d hoped you & this community would have time to heal. & I’d hoped in the meantime the investigation could provide further insight into why this happened. The rhetoric with which these letters were written is not something that can be overlooked.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any secret messages.”

“Codes & clandestine communications, no. Ulterior motives & further lies & attempted manipulation, on the other hand…” Nezu meets his eyes. “There’s a level of cunning with which these crimes were committed right under our noses, a level of plotting that got past even me. You must understand I am only trying to do what I can to protect my students & staff from any further harm or puppeteering at the hands of villains.”

Hizashi has to look away. He monitors his breathing, lets his head hang when it doesn’t come back under his control. Fists and teeth and heart clenched against all of this. Too much. It’s too much.

There’s a paw on his arm, then. “I’m sorry, Yamada. This was not an action intended to be harmful. You’re hurting. Of course you are. But you are also strong & intelligent. Meet with a counsellor. Talk to someone. Kayama is worried for you; that much is clear. There are people who care & want to help you through this. Please, Yamada. Don’t shoulder this alone.”

Hizashi does try seeing the counsellor. He leaves within fifteen minutes.

The next time Shouta arrives, as he said he would, he’s still absolutely ragged. But it doesn’t seem like he’s gotten worse. Aside from the smell. Hizashi has him take a shower. Shouta stepping into the room towel-drying his unruly hair in Hizashi’s fluffy robe is somewhere between endearing & heartbreaking. Hizashi pats the spot on the bed beside him. Shouta sits.

He tries asking again about the why, about the what caused you to do this. Again, Shouta can’t talk about it. Maybe soon, Shouta says noncommittally.

Hizashi relays the story about finding the letters, about reading his, about the confrontation with Nezu. Shouta looks concerned. Hizashi shakes his head, reiterates that he doesn’t quite have it in him to believe that Shouta is a villain here. But he can’t believe this blindly after all that’s happened. He needs information. Because this doesn’t make sense for the man he knows. Shouta nods. “I know.”

“Then why can’t you give me something to work with here?” Hizashi whispers, & they’re close.

“Two reasons,” Shouta breathes between them. “The first being that it would put me in danger of not being able to do what I need to do.” Then he gives Hizashi a small, shitty smile. “& the second is that if I tell you, you might try to come with me.”

Hizashi hums, drinking this in. “If I did, maybe you’d have someone to make sure you had your eye drops.”

It startles a snort out of Shouta, & his husband laughing in his bed is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in months, & Hizashi knows he’s already too far gone, & Hizashi doesn't hesitate when he kisses him this time.

They sink deeply into it immediately. It’s been so long. Too long. Hizashi makes a move to take it further—it’s been too long—& Shouta pulls back to start on the ‘I haven’t proven myself to you, I’ve done nothing to deserve your trust, etc etc’ spiel. Hizashi wants none of it. & frankly he’s a little sick of people making decisions ‘for his own good.’

& he sure as hell isn’t going to let his husband get away without knowing that he’s wanted here, that he’s missed, desired too. Hizashi tells him as much.

Ultimately they fall together easily, if not guiltlessly. There’s a heaviness between them even as they press desperately close, a weight to their actions. It’s a certain relief—this shared knowledge that they’re still them, or at least willing to try. ‘Deserved’ or not, to Hizashi it’s like catching a glimpse of the Sun after days trapped underground—too bright to look at directly, yet simultaneously the most sublime relief.

Hizashi is naked in Shouta’s lap, Shouta’s face buried in his chest. When Hizashi comes down from basking in the afterglow, it’s to realize that Shouta isn’t just trembling under him. Shouta's eyes are too dry these days to make actual tears, but the shuddering & quiet, hiccupping sobs are unmistakable.

Hizashi shushes him gently, kisses his eyes, whispers about not straining them more, about how he’s got him, how he’s here, how he’s not going away, how he loves him. How they’re going to get through this together. Hizashi lays them down, holding him near, stroking his hair. This time, it’s Shouta who falls asleep in his arms.

He’s still gone by morning.

(pt. 5)

[kabane52]

Luke and Romans

A reasonable argument can be made for the idea that each of the four gospels was written intentionally as part of a canonical set of books known to us as the New Testament- and that each of the four gospels has a partner epistle.

Matthew is clearly connected with the letter of James, which quotes teachings of Jesus in Matthew according to Matthew's transcription.

Mark is the witness of the Apostle Peter and so is connected, in my view, with 1 Peter and was published together with it as Matthew was with James.

John's Gospel and letters are so obviously connected it hardly needs comment.

That leaves Luke. Luke's connection with Paul is well-known. Might one point to a specific work of Paul's that could have been published together with Luke as 1 Peter was with Mark and James with Matthew?*

I've suggested elsewhere (and am not the first to do so- David Trobisch provides evidence for the publication of the New Testament as a single text, meaning it was meant to be read as a collection with a specific order- Trobisch puts this in the mid second century, I just roll it back to the Apostle John) that the books of the New Testament are apostolically ordered with intentionality to link in coherent ways with the Tanach (in its tripartite construction calling attention to central themes at compositional seams) and with itself. That Revelation ends with a reference to the whole company of the prophets, John's collegiality with them, and with the "neither add nor subtract" command** at the very least warrants consideration of an apostolic unity to the New Testament as hypothesis.

Romans makes most sense as the letter of Paul co-published with Luke and circulated together with it. As above, the evidence is reasonable but does not compel one to this conclusion. Several reasons:

-Romans is the first letter in the Pauline corpus and is not an occasional letter, despite attempts to read it as such. On the contrary, Paul presents it as an ordered explanation of his preaching, since he has not personally visited the Romans. Its position after Acts (in the Majority Text- I don't want to get into this trail in the comments but in certain manuscripts the Catholic Epistles precede the Pauline Epistles) makes great sense. Acts begins in Jerusalem and ends in Rome with Paul proclaiming the gospel. Romans presents the content of this proclamation. It begins with Rome- Paul's express wish to visit the church in Rome- and ends with Jerusalem, completing the circuit we see in Acts- the gospel radiates out from Jerusalem and returns to Jerusalem in successively greater distances. It ends without a return journey to Jerusalem, but Paul describes exactly such an intent in the letter (he will "reap some harvest" in Rome and then in 15:16 will present that harvest as "tribute" to God- fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah 66, remembering that the tribute offering is of bread and thus the result of what is harvested).***

-Luke addresses his Gospel to "Theophilus" and describes that which was transmitted by designated "witnesses" who were "from the beginning" ministers of the word. Acts makes it explicit that these "witnesses" played a formal role in verifying the risen kingship of Jesus as the heart of their apostolic calling. Romans 1:6 is addressed to those who are "loved by God" - the only letter of Paul with this kind of address- which is what "Theophilus" means.**** Moreover, Paul begins Romans by directly citing his unique apostolic call to bear witness to the risen kingship of Jesus in 1:5. Like the address to those "loved by God", this is a feature which differs from every other of Paul's epistolary introductions but which is *shared* with the Prologue of Luke. In terms of an inductive argument, that double-relationship is probably the strongest.

-Finally, the leading words of Romans very closely connect with Jesus' closing words in Luke. Compare:

(Romans 1:1-5)  Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God, which he promised beforehand through his prophets in the holy Scriptures, concerning his Son, who was descended from David according to the flesh and was declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord, through whom we have received grace and apostleship to bring about the obedience of faith for the sake of his name among all the nations,

(Luke 24:44-49)  Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled." Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And behold, I am sending the promise of my Father upon you. But stay in the city until you are clothed with power from on high."

1. "Promised beforehand through his prophets" comes from Jesus' "Everything written about me" in law, prophets, and writings "must be fulfilled." The participial "promised" here is the verbal cognate of the noun "promise" in Luke 24 ("promise of my Father").

2. Reference to Davidic descent in Romans matches Jesus' identification of His prophesied mission as that of "the Messiah." To say "Son of David" is to say "King Messiah." (That Jesus speaks of the "promise of my Father" likewise underscores His identity as Son of God and could be construed, in light of other factors, as an implicit connection between the two texts)

3. That Jesus would "rise from the dead on the third day" is constitutive of His messianic vocation as in Romans: "declared to be the Son of God in power...by His resurrection from the dead."

4. The apostolic call enjoined is to proclaim the reign of Jesus "all the nations" in both Luke 24 and Romans 1. Jesus says this is done for "in His [the Messiah's] Name" and Paul says "for the sake of His Name."

5. Jesus instructs the eleven to wait until the coming of the Spirit clothes them with "power" and enables them to carry out their appointed mission as apostolic witnesses. Paul says that the Spirit constituted the Son of God "in power" (unless otherwise noted here, verbal links are made on the basis of identical or immediately cognate Greek words) and is the one "through whom" he fulfills his apostolic witness for "all the nations" and the "Name" of Jesus.

To sum up:

-There is a pattern of epistolary correspondence with a Gospel. James quotes Matthew directly, Peter's witness is the basis for Mark, 1 John and the Gospel of John are obviously intimately bound up. And Luke is the companion of Paul..

-With Romans being the most "theological" and by far least occasional of the letters- not to mention standing at the head of the collection- it is the most likely candidate for a matched letter to begin with.

-Romans 1:1-5 has divergences from every other of Paul's epistolary introductions which converge with Luke's Prologue.

-There are a series of closely connected verbal and thematic links between the apostolic commission of Jesus in Luke 24 and Paul's description of his own commission in Romans 1:1-5.

Finally, I will note that in 1 Timothy 3:16 there is a very strong parallel to Romans 1:1-5:

(1 Timothy 3:16)  Great indeed, we confess, is the mystery of godliness: He was manifested in the flesh, vindicated by the Spirit, seen by angels, proclaimed among the nations, believed on in the world, taken up in glory.

Yet on further consideration, this isn't a reference to Romans 1:1-5. This is a reference to Luke 24. "Seen by angels" has no parallel in Romans 1:1-5 but it makes perfect sense as a reference to Luke's narration of two angels at the tomb of Jesus. The word for "proclaimed" here in 1 Timothy is the very word used by Jesus in Luke 24 in "proclaimed to all nations." And while Romans 1:1-5 lacks a reference to the ascension, there *is* such a reference in Luke 24. Finally, the word for "taken up" is "analambanw" in 1 Timothy 3:16- almost identical (the prepositional prefix is the only difference- the angels' reference to Jesus' being "taken" up is completely identical) to Luke's narration of the ascension in Acts which uses "upolambanw." Specifically, it is a *cloud* which is said to have "taken" Jesus from their sight. Such a cloud is the *glory-cloud* of the Old Testament, the cloudlike presence of God which went with Israel and dwelt in the tabernacle and temple. And so in 1 Timothy 3:16 it is "in glory" that Jesus is taken up.

Add into the mix the fact that Romans 16 ends by recalling 1:1-5- identifying it as a "mystery", which is the very word used to introduce 1 Timothy 3:16 AND the fact that 1 Timothy 5 quotes Luke's Gospel *directly* and one has a very powerful case- at the very least- for the idea that Paul in Romans 1:1-5 is intentionally echoing the specific words of Jesus written down in Luke's Gospel. But my argument goes further and suggests that the four gospels- which have compositional links to each other- each have a corresponding letter with which they were first circulated. They are:

Matthew-James Mark- 1 Peter Luke- Romans John- 1 John

*If one rolls with that- and while there is reason to think it is true, it's clearly not enough to intellectually *compel* one in the strict sense)

**The "prophecy of this book" should be read in light of immediate context. We have just heard of "your brothers the prophets" whom the Spirit inspired. In Revelation 10 we are told that Revelation describes the fulfillment of that which was amounts to God's "servants the prophets", so it makes sense to take this as a reference to the biblical authors (this is the usage of 2 Peter as well). It's a little too perfect to have the last book of the Bible conclude with on the nose references to Genesis 1-3 and a final injunction to preserve the given text as is if Revelation was meant to be taken as a standalone work alongside the Tanach with no relation to its order.

***Obviously Acts is written after Romans. I take Luke to have been written in the mid to late 50s with the intent to publish the Acts when appropriate. That time comes in 62- on this hypothesis, Romans is the epistolary partner of Luke. Acts is written intentionally to precede Romans and the two are joined in that way rather than Paul beginning his letter to follow Acts. See links on the relationship among the four gospels.

****Obviously "Theophilus" is from "philia" and not "agape" as is used in Romans 1:6. But "philia" and "agape" were often interchanged with one another and I am not aware of a personal name meaning "loved by God" rooted in "agape"- though there may be one out there. In case it's not clear, I suspect that "Theophilus", like John's "elect lady" is a way of designating the church as beloved of God.

[jade4813]

Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 2

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Her invitation was bold and far more provocative than society would have deemed proper. She should by all rights be embarrassed by her behavior, and she inwardly allowed that she would be. When she returned home and was alone in the privacy of her bedroom, she would undoubtedly replay the events of this evening on an endless loop and curse herself for her foolishness. However, even that realization was not enough to compel her to leave.

“Margaret,” he murmured, the sound of her name once again sending a shiver of longing down her spine, and his hand shifted, fingers stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. In his eyes, she could see his internal battle between propriety and desire, and she was not too proud to take advantage of his momentary indecision. Cupping his face in her hands, she stroked the corners of his mouth with her thumbs.

Faint stubble scraped at her palm, and she marveled at the texture, so different from her own smooth skin. Giving in even further to temptation, she slid the pad of one thumb along the curve of his lower lip, memorizing the arc of it even as her eyes soaked in his face. As eager as she was to ignore the consequences of her behavior, she knew this idyllic interlude could not last forever. Nor could it ever be repeated. This was her one chance to touch him as she wished, to allow her eyes to drink their fill of his fine features, and she would take full advantage of the moment.

For his part, he seemed equally captivated by her, his eyes not leaving her for a single second. His voice was a growl of desire when he said her name again. “Margaret.” At last, it seemed the victor of his internal war had been declared, as he slid his hand even further up her thigh and bent to kiss her once more. She tilted her head back, lips parted, eagerly anticipating the warmth of his embrace, but a sound outside the window drew his attention at the last moment. She felt his breath caress her skin as he froze, his eyes darting to the window, and then he straightened and pulled away.

Margaret let out a soft moan of protest when she felt him leave her, but one look at his face and she knew she had lost more than his physical presence. His features had resumed a smooth mask of politeness, refusing to betray even the slightest hint of the man who had kissed her so passionately mere moments before.

“You shouldn’t be here, Miss Hale,” he said firmly, tucking his hands to his sides as though they were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather. “If we were caught together, the damage to your reputation would be irrecoverable. Allow me to take you home.”

With a wild shake of her head, she scrambled to return to her feet, needing to brace herself against his desk for a moment as she regained her senses. Her legs trembled from thwarted desire and embarrassment, and her eyes fell once again to that unassuming top button below his missing cravat. “N-no,” she gulped, attempting to feign the composure that eluded her. “As you said. We cannot afford to be seen together.”

“It’s too dangerous to go alone,” he protested.

“I managed to find my way here without incident. I’m sure I can return home just as safely.” Lifting her hands to try to smooth her unruly hair back into place, she tried to lift her eyes to his, but she couldn’t quite manage it. It seemed the top button of his shirt would continue to receive her addresses, and she threw it what she hoped was a polite smile. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Good evening.”

As though her body had a will of its own, independent of her mind, she felt her arm extend to shake his hand. He stared at it, perplexed, and her cheeks heated when she realized the peril her invitation posed. After what they had just shared, it seemed dangerous to touch him again, too tempting to tuck her hand into his and pull him closer, so she could draw him into another kiss. At the realization, she snatched her hand back, pressing it to her chest to ensure it could not cause any further trouble.

Oh, what a mess she’d made of things. He was standing between her and the door, and she had no idea how she could gracefully extricate herself from this situation. At times like this – not that she’d ever experienced such times before, but she assumed at times like this – the only thing to be done was to gather one’s dignity and pray that social conventions of etiquette would carry one through. Lifting her chin, she gathered as much poise as she could muster and brushed past him, like a queen walking among her subjects. Before leaving, she paused and threw him a quick nod over her shoulder. “Mr Thornton.”

Her self-possession carried her to the door of the mill, where she hesitated long enough to check for prying eyes. It appeared that the streets were empty, and so she ducked her chin and hurried towards home, praying her good fortune would extend over the course of her journey. From shadow to shadow she darted, only breathing in a sigh of relief when she had once again made it safely through her front door and up the stairs, taking refuge in the privacy of her bedchamber.

It was only then that she realized that her scarf had not accompanied her on her return journey. In her haste to escape, she had seemingly left it behind at the mill. She did not even remember discarding it, though she assuredly must have done so at some point during her shameless display of impropriety.

It was a problem for another day. Giving her head a firm shake, she tried not to think of John – of Mr Thornton – as she undressed and prepared for bed. But before she could reach for her nightgown, she hesitated, throwing a quick, surreptitious glance to her thigh. It still burned from his touch, aching to feel the warmth of his hand once more, and she saw a faint streak of what was perhaps grease marring the pale smoothness of her skin. With one finger, she traced the line of it, her breath coming in short gasps at the realization that it had undoubtedly been left behind by John’s hand. Thrust under her skirts like…well, like the shameless hoyden he believed her to be.

How could she have been so utterly without sense? Yet even as her mind railed against her behavior, her body yearned for him. Closing her eyes, she pressed her own palm against the spot where his had been, but it was a poor substitute to his touch.

With a soft sob of frustration, she scrambled under the covers and pulled them up to her chin, as though they could serve as armor against her own thoughts. And still, in the cool evening air, her lips stung from the memory of his kiss. Sucking in a deep breath, she pressed two fingers against her lower lip, trying to sooth the mild ache. Meanwhile, her mind ran in circles, unable even to decide which self-recrimination was most deserving of her attention.

How John – Mr Thornton, she reminded herself severely – must hate her now! If he had thought her an amoral lightskirt before, she had surely only cemented his poor opinion of her!

Oh, why had she kissed him? She didn’t even like him. True, she had come to appreciate some finer points to his character over time, no longer imagining him quite the monster she had believed him to be upon their first meeting. But regardless of how much she might have come to respect and even admire him, surely her feelings did not extend to love. Love couldn’t possibly feel like this, could it? When it came to him, her emotions were too complicated to be easily discerned, but surely love didn’t factor into the equation. He made her want to smile and scream and laugh and…and kiss. That couldn’t be love. That had to be… “Lunacy,” she muttered into the darkness.

Had he truly enjoyed her kiss – she winced - kisses? He seemed to have done, but she wasn’t ignorant to her own inexperience. For the sake of her dignity and reputation, she knew she should hope that he would soon forget their illicit embrace, but her pride rebelled at the idea. His kiss, she suspected, would always haunt her. She could only hope she had acquitted herself in return with at least enough finesse to warrant some measure of remembrance.

“Foolish girl,” she chastised herself, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head into the pillow. Preferring to chase after the sleep that eluded her, rather than continue to dwell on such thoughts.

Across town, the Master of Marlborough Mills was suffering from a similarly sleepless night, one arm tucked under his head as he stared moodily at the shadows on his bedroom ceiling. What had Margaret been thinking, to come to him as she had? And why, for heaven’s sake, had she kissed him?

He suffered no illusions that the events of this evening betrayed a decided shift in her attitude toward him. Whatever her purpose in kissing him, he wasn’t such a fool that he could come to believe a woman like her could ever love a man like him. Had she not made that point abundantly clear in the past? She didn’t just find his feelings for her distasteful or unwelcome; they were downright offensive to her.

And yet, even in the face of her rejection, he had continued to love her. He still loved her, beyond the jealousy that ate away at his soul every time he remembered the embrace she’d exchanged with her lover on the train platform.

Who was that man, and how could he have left her as he had, to suffer the injury to her reputation alone? Whoever he was, he was the worst sort of blackguard, tarnishing her character and abandoning her to her lot. A man of honor would have returned and offered her the protection of his name, if she would have him. John knew well enough that it was not his name that she sought.

“I hate you. I do.” No, he didn’t believe she hated him – she would have cared little for his opinion of her if she did, and she certainly wouldn’t have kissed him. But she didn’t love him, either, and she never would. God, he couldn’t help but love her.

When he closed her eyes, her face haunted him, and his body heated at the memory of her pressed against his own. He felt himself grow hard and bit back a moan, clenching his hands into fists to fight the temptation to take himself in hand and resolve the problem. However she had lowered herself with her secret lover, it felt a degradation to her to use her as merely an instrument of his own release.

But what had she been thinking, risking further damage to her reputation by coming to him alone and at night? And why had she kissed him as she had?

Although Mr Thornton tried to call on her the next day, inventing a pretext about wishing to borrow a book to justify his presence, a full fortnight passed before Margaret saw him again. This was less by accident than by design. Though she knew she could not hide from him forever, she wasn’t eager to face the inevitable interview. She certainly wasn’t eager to determine if her behavior had caused her to fall even further in his estimation.

But, of course, she couldn’t avoid him forever, not when he was such a particular friend of her father’s. It was inevitable that, eventually, she would try to concoct an excuse to leave the house before Mr Thornton’s arrival, and her father would ask her to stay. She just wished it hadn’t happened so soon. She didn’t feel strong enough to face him, still unable to explain her behavior that evening.

Well before she was comfortable doing so, her father asked her to stay to greet their guest. Unable to readily concoct an excuse to decline, she acquiesced. She tried and failed to resist the urge to check her reflection in the looking glass, hoping to make herself look presentable without appearing as though she had dressed with him in mind. Which she certainly had not done, she assured herself. It was a coincidence that she was dressed in her finest everyday dress, the one that showed her off to her best advantage. It was similarly coincidental that she had happed to wear that exact outfit on each of the prior days that she knew he was scheduled to arrive at the house.

She was not trying to look her best for him. She did not care what he thought of her, and she was certainly not trying to attract his attention. Regardless of what her earlier behavior might imply.

As much as she tried to convince her heart of its own indifference to him, it ignored her efforts and began to race at the sound of a loud rap against the door. Pressing her hand to her stomach, she wished she could dart into the kitchen and hide until he took his leave. Unfortunately, she’d already been asked to greet him upon his arrival, as Dixon was otherwise occupied.

There was nothing to be done for it but to get it over with, and perhaps that was for the best. She couldn’t possibly avoid him forever, and the sooner they agreed to put the whole incident behind them, the sooner life could get back to normal. Her hand remained pressed against her stomach, and she forced a tight smile on her face as she pulled open the door to greet him.

In defiance of her resolution to behave normally in his presence, she felt her breath catch when her eyes met his, and she froze, her body blocking the entrance. “Miss Hale,” he finally greeted her, his voice breaking her free of her temporary paralysis.

She almost tripped over her skirt as she scrambled backward to allow him inside. She intended to direct him immediately up the stairs to join her father, but, unable to tear her eyes from his, the words simply wouldn’t come. The two of them stood together in the hall, his body far too close to hers for comfort.

Overcome by nerves, Margaret wet her lips with a quick flick of her tongue and felt her heart race even faster when his gaze dropped to her mouth. She remembered the press of his body against hers, the warmth of his skin, the taste of his kiss. Oh, this was dreadful. How were they ever to get back on equal footing when the memory of that evening tormented her so?

“Mr Thornton,” she began, her voice unsteady. “I…that is…” Her voice trailed off in the absence of any intelligible conclusion to that sentence, and she threw him a desperate look. “My-my father is upstairs,” she finally managed in a tortured whisper.

He hesitated and looked as though he might speak, but he divested himself of his hat and coat and headed upstairs in silence. The greeting he exchanged with her father drifted down to her from the upper landing, and she sighed, leaning back against the wall to gather both her thoughts and her breath.

She had missed him. Even as she’d avoided him, she’d missed him. Missed his company and conversation. Missed the sound of his voice. When had his deep, Northern burr become so familiar, so desired, that its absence had been felt keenly? How long had it been since her ears had come to prefer the harsher accents of the people of the North to the softer, gentler tones of her Southern brethren?

Or was it just his voice she preferred so much? No, surely not.

Giving her head a quick shake, Margaret leapt away from the wall and headed toward the kitchen to retrieve their tea. Such thoughts would do her no good, not when her whole purpose was to avoid dwelling upon the man upstairs.

With that first, awkward meeting behind them, she reassured herself that they would once again be able to carry on as indifferent acquaintances. True, they hadn’t spoken of that scene in his office, and she was certain there were things he would wish to say to her about it. But for her part, she was content to put it behind them both without a word. The sooner it was forgotten, the better.

Her reassurances turned out to be fruitless, however, as she discovered immediately upon joining the men already deep in epistemological conversation. She had barely taken her first step across the threshold into the room when Mr Thornton turned to look at her, and she almost fumbled the tray in her hands. Tearing her gaze away from his, she tried to calm her racing heart with mundane domesticity, setting out the tray of biscuits and pouring out the tea.

Once poured, however, she threw the drink in her hand a perplexed glower, wondering how she could pass it over to their guest without having to move closer to him. She knew well enough the havoc proximity to him played on her nerves, and she was afraid she might slip and create a scene. However, in defiance of her glare, the cup refused to dematerialize and appear before him. He was there, it was here, and her duties as hostess demanded that she breach the distance between them to bring the two together.

Throwing herself a soft, irritated huff, she stepped toward him, holding out the saucer for him to take. When he wrapped his fingers around the delicate china, his fingers brushed against hers, the edge of his forefinger brushing against hers in an act that felt too deliberate to be accidental. The cup bobbed, tea nearly spilling over the side, as she snatched her hand away and took a quick step back.

Her father’s voice stopped her retreat a moment later as he broke off mid-sentence to call out her name. “Please. Join us,” he invited her eagerly, and Margaret had to bite back a groan as she nodded at him in capitulation. Still, she tried not to draw attention to herself as she took her seat, hoping that the two men would forget her presence soon enough.

If only she could forget Mr Thornton’s presence so easily. It was rude to stare, and so she pretended her attention was captured by other objects, even as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Every time he raised his cup to take a sip, she yearned for his kiss. When he gestured with his hand, she found herself enthralled, her body responding to the memory of those long, elegant fingers against her bare skin. She burned for him, and the place between her thighs that remained a mystery even to her began to throb.

It took all her willpower to feign casual indifference, to measure her breathing and still the nervous fluttering of her hands. She made regrettably poor company that evening, she feared, as every question put to her was answered with shortness of tone and as much economy of words as she could manage.

Finally – mercifully – the lesson came to an end, and Margaret prepared to flee to the sanctuary of her room. Once again, her father thwarted her, asking her to show their guest out, and she was of course too well-bred to refuse. However, while manners dictated that she escort him downstairs, they did not demand that the two converse while she did so, and so she bit the inside of her cheek and carried herself down the stairs in silence.

It was a temporary stay of execution, however, as she could hardly shove him out onto the front step without a word. Unable to meet his eyes, she forced a smile as she said politely, “Mr Thornton. Thank you for coming this evening.” Eager for him to depart and dreading it in equal measure, she retrieved his hat and held it out to him, hoping she could convey with her perfunctory goodbye her unwillingness to discuss the topic that loomed between them.

His hand closed over hers where she clasped the brim of his hat, trapping it in place, and her eyes shot to his in surprise. “Miss Hale. We must discuss what happened at our last meeting.”

“No!” she blurted desperately before quickly lowering her voice to avoid being overheard. Her eyes fell once again to his shirtfront to address the buttons there. “That is…I don’t see any need to dwell upon…it was a momentary lapse of judgment. I see no reason why we should discuss it! I am sure we are both in agreement that it cannot – that it will not – happen again.”

For a long, horrible moment, she thought he wouldn’t reply. Or, worse, that he would but only to argue the point. When he did speak, his voice was subdued. “I agree.”

“Very well, then,” she said with a sigh of…surely it was relief and not regret. “I can see no reason why we shouldn’t put the whole matter behind us.”

His hand still trapped hers in its grasp, firm and unyielding, and she felt the brush of his finger as it stroked the soft skin at the base of her thumb. “Can’t you?”

Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she meant to utter an unequivocal no, but as they always did, his eyes caught her. Trapped her. Pinned her in place, as surely as his hand over hers. “No?” she attempted, the upward lilt of the word betraying her own indecision.

And then – heavens, how did that happen? – her free hand curled around his neck, and she drew his mouth down to hers. If her previous actions presented a threat to her reputation, this kiss was downright suicidal. They were standing in the hallway to her own house, where her father or Dixon might interrupt them at any time. Yet even that wasn’t enough to return her presence of mind, as she pushed him back against the wall and deepened the kiss, determined to acquit herself with more finesse this time than she had the last.

She had missed him. The sound of his voice, and the strength of his presence, and the intelligence of his conversation. And this. She had missed this. His mouth swallowed her soft moan, and she heard the faint clatter of pins falling to the floor when he thrust his hand into her hair. If her kiss was hungry, his was ravenous as he scraped his teeth along her lower lip, chuckling deep in his throat when she gasped in pleasure.

Margaret’s head fell back, exposing her neck, and he accepted the silent offer to explore the line of her jaw with his mouth, kissing a path down the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. At the touch of his tongue against her fevered skin, she shuddered, pressing closer to him, longing for the feel of his arms wrapped around her. “John,” she begged, although she could not have explained what she was requesting of him if he’d asked.

Breaking off the kiss, he swept his thumb along her lower lip. His voice, thick with desire sunk into her heart, until the words penetrated her consciousness. “Did he kiss you like this, your other lover?”

Who? Frederick! His meaning washed over her like a splash of cold water, the shock clearing her mind and sweeping away the lust that had clouded her thoughts. Pressing her hand against his chest, she shoved as hard as she could, though, with the wall behind him, he had nowhere to go. Instead, she succeeded in propelling herself backward, out of his embrace, yanking her hand out from under his as she did so.

“No,” she said. In answer to his question, or in response to the situation in which they had once again found themselves? “No.”

How could she have forgotten his accusations against her character? Worse, why did she seem so determined to reinforce his low opinion of her? It didn’t matter that he kissed her; she had lost the full measure of his esteem the moment he misconstrued the scene on the train platform. He might desire her, but that didn’t change the fact that he also hated her now. She felt the sudden sting of tears, but she refused to let them fall as she yanked open the door and threw him her haughtiest glare. “Good night, Mr Thornton.”

He said nothing in response, merely glowering at her for a long moment before replacing his hat on his head and storming out into the dark and the cold. It was all she could do not to slam the door behind him, and she forced herself to ascend the stairs with steady, measured footsteps. It wouldn’t do to reveal her distress to the other occupants of the household, inviting questions she couldn’t begin to answer.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself firmly. Let him detest you, if he chooses. You hate him anyway. You hate him!

So why did it feel like her heart was breaking?

[itsallavengers]

Never meet your heroes

Alright. They’d gotten through the first introduction, he’d managed to make it through the lobby and up the elevator without incident, so Steve was going to say that it had gone well so far.

Now, he thought, came the tricky bit. And that was actually introducing their new colleague to the team.

He took a deep breath, hoping that no one was naked as the doors slid open.

“Okay. So seeing as you’re going to be operating as new SHIELD liaison, you’re probably gonna be seeing a lot of the inside of the tower,” Steve stepped out of the elevator with the new woman SHIELD had sent beside him, silently thankful there was no immediate chaos to be seen, and as they returned their gazes to one another Steve held up three fingers. “This means you’re gonna have to follow three important rules, for the sake of your sanity and ours.”

Her brow creased, and it wasn’t for the first time that day that Steve wondered whether Fury was making the correct decision with this woman. She seemed... easily disapproving. And serious. Steve got that, he did, especially on your first day when you were wanting to establish boundaries, but still-- he hoped that there was a bit more steel to her. 

She pursed her mouth. “Captain Rogers, with all due respect, this is going to be a partnership, not a leadership.”

“I understand that, Ma’am,” he made sure to keep his voice polite as he walked her into the kitchen, “if it’d make you feel better, you can consider them more like guidelines. But I swear, they’re in your best interest.”

“Oh, are we giving grumpy-pants the house rules?” Steve ground his teeth as he turned to Clint, who’d become visible on the kitchen counter once they turned the corner. He grinned with a mouthful of cheerios. “Is this her face before or after rule one? Because it doesn’t spell good things if it’s--”

“Please ignore the homeless man who’s taken residence in our tower,” Steve said loudly, talking over Clint and blocking him from sight with his sizeable body, “he just showed up one day and refused to leave.”

“SHIELD liaison woman, don’t you think that’s workplace harassment?” Clint leaned sideways and looked at her with a deep frown, and Steve felt a Cheerio bounce off the back of his head. He made a mental note to buy nothing other than sugar-free granola from now on.

Mary Collins, said SHIELD liaison woman in question with 14 years’ worth of experience under her belt that she seemed determined to put to good use here, simply raised her eyebrow at Steve. “I think it’s warranted,” she informed him evenly, and then let herself sigh as she raised her hands. “Alright then. Give me the rules, Captain.”

Okay, that seemed like a joke of sorts. Steve could work with that. At least she wasn’t a complete buzzkill. “Alright, rule number one. No shop-talk at breakfast or dinner. We take food very seriously, and Thor starts breaking things if he gets interrupted too many times. For Tony’s bank’s sake, it’s best if you could just schedule your meetings around that.” Bruce walked through the kitchen at that point, looking like he was leaving somewhere, but he stopped to shake Mary’s hand before he left, giving her a smile and a short ‘good luck’. Steve marched ahead. 

“Rule number two-- sometimes we have fights. And sometimes they get physical.  I know that this might be considered unhealthy on any other working unit or team, but please consider the fact that we are all incredibly dysfunctional and emotionally maladapted.” When Mary’s eyebrows lifted again, Steve held out his hands and resisted the urge to sigh. This was the fifth Liaison they’d gotten through in the last year. Most of them barely even lasted a month before they ran. “It never results in long-lasting injury, and we tend to leave Tony out of it, but there may be occasional scraps that break out while you’re in our company. Just let us work it out of our systems and don’t get involved.”

“That’s...” Mary seemed a little lost for words. “Have you considered therapy? One-on-one and group, perhaps?”

For the sake of avoiding a long and rather awkward conversation, Steve tactfully chose to ignore the question. “Rule three- possibly the most important one- is to never, ever enter Tony or Bucky’s room without giving warning. Ever. And also, just...” oh God, this was a conversation that one of those two men should be having with their new colleague, not him-- he really hated being team leader sometimes. “Get used to PDA,” he muttered eventually, “lots of it. I’d just avoid them when they’re together, honestly. And don’t get threatening with one of them when the other is present. Oh, and although the team is allowed to tease them, you’re very much not.” He turned to her, suddenly serious, because he wanted her to know this, more than any of the other rules. “I mean it. They’re happy. SHIELD don’t have any business commenting on that. We’re their friends, so we’re okay. Until you reach that status, you will politely refrain from passing comment.”

By this point, poor Mary Collins seemed utterly bewildered. Which was fair enough; outside of the tower, no one knew that Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark were an item. Bucky was still adjusting to everything, most of all himself, and so for now they were keeping it quiet. The liaison would have to know due to the simple fact that she would be spending time in their safe space at the tower, but Pepper had already drawn up enough contracts and NDAs to drown the woman as soon as she left for SHIELD again. 

Steve had to hand it Mary though. She held her ground, even as Captain America glared at her. “I take it this means Barnes and Stark are a couple,” she said eventually, having processed all the information, “which I doubt will affect my job much. I, uh, will take note of the room thing, though.” She gave the smallest of flinches. “I’ve had enough trauma from sharing a dorm with my sister.”

That was a story Steve would definitely be extracting from her when she inevitably joined in on one of their team drinking sessions, and he stored the nugget away for later use. At that point, they’d entered the communal living room, where Nat was sprawled on the couch flicking through the TV, Thor was sat idly scrolling through his twitter feed, and Bucky & Tony were both sat snuggled into the loveseat in the corner of the room. Naturally, Mary’s eyes went straight for them; they’d only just finished talking about the two of them, after all. 

And of course, they were being all romantic. What else was new? Tony was curled up in Bucky’s lap, the two of them talking quietly as Tony scraped his fingers through Bucky’s long hair and twisted it up at the back, tying it out of the way for him. They were almost nose to nose, lips moving in conversation that Steve couldn’t pick up on, and a moment later they watched from afar as Bucky started stroking his metal hand teasingly over Tony’s thigh, sneaking under the fabric of his dressing gown. Steve did not doubt that that was the only item of clothing that Tony was currently sporting. 

He coughed loudly. “This is Mary,” he declared, and Bucky paused the feeling-up of his boyfriend in order to twist his head over to Steve, “she is our new SHIELD liaison. She does not need to see Tony’s junk during our first meeting, Buck.”

Tony pouted, as if the request was unreasonable, and it was only when Steve gave him a sharp glare that he moved; giving Bucky one last peck on the mouth before sliding off the man’s lap. He managed to save his modesty with a well-placed hand, and Steve could only silently apologise to this SHIELD agent. She had her work cut out from here on in. “I suppose I can save my junk for one man,” he agreed, turning back to Bucky for a second as he wandered over. Steve watched Bucky smile at him from the love-seat, such a soft thing. 

Even when they were insufferably touchy-feely with one another, it was hard for Steve to get annoyed by it. They just made each other too damn happy, and Steve was too damn pleased for them. They deserved it, he supposed. 

“Miss Collins,” Tony extended a hand and beamed at her, lax and loose and not fake at all. Steve eyed the marks on Tony’s neck, and figured there was probably a very obvious reason as to Tony’s uncharacteristically positive early-morning attitude. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

There was a dubious look given to Tony’s hand, and Steve couldn’t blame her. They had just seen Bucky a second away from giving Tony a handie, so God knows where Tony’s own had been. But it seemed she braved the contact anyway, because she took it firmly and inclined her head. “I’ve already been given the house rules,” she said with the smallest of smiles, and Tony chuckled, clasping his spare hand over hers.

“And you will also be given a very lengthy and watertight NDA that prohibits you from saying a word about mine and Mr Barnes’ relationship,” he added on, voice cheerful as he continued to shake her hand, “were you to break any of the clauses within or make my boyfriend’s face sad in any way, I will sue you for everything you own. Just so we’re clear.”

“Tony!” Steve glared at him, but Tony just smiled back, carefree-- although Steve knew him too well not to miss the smallest hint of steel in his eyes, and also be very acutely aware that Tony meant every word. He was fiercely protective of Bucky and his mental wellbeing. It had been what had driven off the last three SHIELD agents who’d rocked up to try and take Mary’s position. And Bucky had been responsible for the other two, for largely the same reason (although Clint accidentally pushing him off the roof of the tower might have been a contributing factor in one of them, Steve wasn’t too sure).

Mary eyed Tony for a second, before stepping away. “I see what you mean about avoiding the two of them” She told Steve drily, and Steve couldn’t help but grin as he gave Tony a light shove and sent him back over to Bucky, who was waiting on the loveseat. “Message received though. If I were less professional than I am, I might have been shitting my pants out of fear right about now.” Her mouth pursed again and she adjusted her glasses on her face. “Luckily, I’m a little too caught up on the fact that the God of Thunder apparently runs a stan twitter for Ariana Grande to care about being threatened by Iron Man.”

Steve followed her gaze to where she was looking over the couch. Thor appeared to be in the process of making a tweet about the injustice of ‘his queen’s’ new song not making #1 spot on Itunes. It was followed by a gif of kermit appearing to commit suicide. “He also has one for politics,” Steve attempted weakly, “I... it’s Asgardian politics, mind you, but quite informative nonetheless.”

She nodded, eyes somewhat glassy for a moment. Steve understood. You walked in the door of the Avengers Tower expecting... uh... something other than what you got, most of the time. If you caught them while they were mid-training session, you’d definitely be impressed! But- ah- any other occasion, and this was what you were more likely to get. 

Iron Man and the Winter Solider canoodling on some piece of furniture, Hawkeye eating food without cutlery, Thor starting arguments with twitter stans, and Black Widow refusing to change out of her pyjamas until after midday. 

Steve had accepted the fact he would never have any respect to his name ever again. Actually, he’d accepted that back in 2013 when Tony had drunkenly convinced Steve to buy several golden retrievers and then pose with them on social media. Without clothes on. The dogs had artistically covered his private parts, sure, but his image had never quite been the same. 

“I’m just going to apologise in advance,” Steve told her resignedly, “you’re going to be seeing some shit. You may leave here with more trauma than you started with.”

He watched Mary adjust her bag and cock her head at him. “It takes quite a lot to shake me,” she informed him, but Steve just held out his hands to the room. 

“We’re very shaky people.”

“Oh, believe me, you haven’t met my sister.” Mary’s eyes rolled and then focused on something behind Steve’s shoulder. He turned just in time to watch Bucky drape himself over Steve’s left side, fingers pinching his cheek playfully.

“Is he telling you how delinquent we all are?” Bucky asked, “is he making it out like he’s the only sensible one here?”

“Of course he is.” Oh, and now apparently Tony had joined at Steve’s other side, “although I’m betting he’s choosing not to mention that time with the Trans-Tower Long Jump Dare and the skinny-dipping incident in Central P--”

“ALRIGHT!” Steve held up his hands and clamped both of them around each friend’s mouth rapidly, feeling his cheeks flush. Mary was staring at him blankly, but Steve did not doubt that she knew where that sentence had been headed. “Alright, I think that’s enough for the introductions. Bucky, kiss Tony so that neither of you speak again.”

“Happily,” Bucky grinned and then ducked around Steve’s side, his hand curling around Tony’s waist easily. They both giggled, Tony pausing to add a final hurried “the skinny dipping was what broke the last SHIELD liaison, so good luck to you” before Bucky stuck his tongue in Tony’s mouth and silenced him. They wandered off somewhere, probably for more enthusiastic sex or whatever-- Steve had learned not to ask. Mary was just nodding to herself, over and over and over again. She seemed to be in mild shock. Steve didn’t know what to think about the fact that it was the stories of Steve’s own... less than stellar behaviour that appeared to have been a sticking point for her. Thor ran an Ariana Grande fan account, for fuck’s sake, but it was Steve doing some harmless dares that shocked her?

“I think I might have jumped into this job a little too quickly,” she stated in the end, looking at Steve and then looking down at Steve’s crotch. “I may need some time to think this over.”

“That’s fine. You’ve lasted longer than the second guy. He walked in, saw Thor and Bruce fighting naked, and then walked out again.”

A long, heavy silence followed. Then a loud splutter. “Wh... why are you always naked when these incidents occur?”

Steve just looked at her. Again, he was sure he’d used to own more self-respect than this. “If I knew, I would tell you.”

Mary didn’t speak for a while. Steve sighed. Mary copied. “I can see Mr Stark grabbing the Winter Soldier’s ass out of the corner of my eye,” she commented dazedly.

“Yeah, they do that a lot.”

“Right.” Mary blinked. “I’m going to go home and have a drink.”

“That’s understandable.”

“A big drink.”

“Again, I get it.”

A long pause. A small cough. Then, “I suppose... I’ll be in touch.”

Oh. Okay, well-- that was better than Steve had been expecting. He’d thought she might just hightail it straight out of there. With a nod, he led her back over to the elevator they’d arrived in, once more spotting Clint, still eating from the cereal box. It truly was a miracle he was as ripped as he was. That shouldn’t be possible considering the vast amounts of sugar that constantly ran through the man’s blood. “Be quiet and eat your breakfast,” he declared sharply, before the man had even opened his mouth. They did not need to regale Miss Collins with any more stories this morning. 

Clint threw another Cheerio at him, but Steve saw that one, and he plucked it out of the air and popped it into his mouth without looking. Mary was still staring. “This house is a fucking nightmare.”

“I...” Steve tried to think of a way to defend his team. “Yeah,” he admitted, when nothing sprang to mind. He pressed the button for the lobby and then stepped out, giving her his best smile. He noticed her hands were clutching very tightly to her bag, which held nothing other than the file on SHIELD regulations and protocols that she had been supposed to get the team together and go through before leaving. 

Steve figured they weren’t quite ready for that yet, though. Her rules could not help her here. 

“Have a safe journey!” He called out to her as the doors slid shut, waving cheerily. She didn’t respond, but her hand tightened around the bag, and as soon as she was gone from sight Steve took the time to groan. Loudly. “I hate all of you!”

“You just hate the fact you haven’t got any sense of shame any more, Captain,” Clint informed him, pointing the cereal box in his direction as Steve walked through. He sulkily snatched a handful of Cheerios from the box and shoved them into his mouth, choosing to ignore Clint’s words. He was headed for the living room, but at that moment Nat and Thor traipsed out of it, looking equally as sulky as they too went for the Cheerios and grabbed handfuls. 

“Don’t go in there,” Nat said mutinously, “they’ve started canoodling again.”

“Loudly,” Thor added.

Steve looked between them all, and then leaned back against the fridge. They fought monsters on a biweekly basis. They’d been through hell together- survived torture, mind control, death and everything in between. They were Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, in every sense of the word, and there was nothing that they would not do for each other. 

“If they get bodily fluids on the couch, I’m throwing them both off the tower without hesitation,” Steve ground out, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Larry Erikson-style!” Clint whooped, and Nat smacked him over the head instantly. 

“You said that was an accident.”

“It was! Mostly. I mean-- it wasn’t my fault that he was trying to get me to sign documents while I was in the middle of playing water-tennis with Thor. I won’t do it to Mary though, she seems nice.”

Steve listened to the three of them being to argue over the merits of throwing a liaison off the tower once they got annoying, and he didn’t bother trying to tell them that was a bad idea. He just ducked down into the bottom cupboard and grabbed Thor’s Asgardian mead, pouring a generous serving into his cup of tea.

If Mary got to drink after being around the Avengers for five minutes, Steve figured he’d earned this, considering he’d been around them for five years at this point. He was fairly sure he’d lost a good 80% of his sanity in that time. 

Ah, well, he thought as he watched Thor clap him on the back and tell him that his butt looked terrific in the new sweatpants he was wearing-- you win some, you lose some. And he thought he might have won more than he’d lost. 

Just about.

--

Kofi

[bngtanah]

The Difference Between Boys & Girls | o7

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss.

pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park) feat. Park Jimin (Brian Yi)  x Named OC characters: meet the cast.

genre: angst, smut, fluff word count: 3k chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14 warning: boyfriend!hoseok, jealous!hoseok, painter!jimin, friends to lovers trope, college au, angst, sexual themes, slow burn, arguing, pining

a/n: this ones a bit short, sorry!

Sammy stopped waiting for Erin to return long after the sun had set and the plates of food he'd set out for both of them grew cold and inedible. His intentions for the night were simple; treat Erin to a highly deserved meal prepared by someone who was not him, commend her for how hard she had been working lately in order to do as well as she could on her few remaining final exam and somehow during the night offhandedly mention the fact that he was in love with her and probably has been since the first time they met. Just to gauge her reaction. It was a simple plan that didn't require any extra factors to be accomplished but it definitely did require Erin to be present, which she was not.

A frown turned down the corners of Samuel's lips and created an expression that was rarely seen on his naturally bright and cheery face.  With one final glance down at his cell phone that had been quiet all night, Sam huffed and pushed himself back from the coffee table then stood up. It was well after 12 and Erin hadn't called, texted or left any indication of where she might have been and what was taking her so long to come back home. He thought about calling her as he blew out the single candle that was placed in the middle of the coffee table, Samuel argued with himself the entire time he put away the extra food and ultimately decided that he shouldn't. He was worried about her but that didn't really give him ample reason to treat her like a child breaking curfew, especially since he had a vague idea of where could be at this hour.

Samuel knew that Erin wasn't exactly a party-going socialite so she couldn't have been out dancing; if she was staying late at the library or work she would have texted him or left a note for him somewhere when she came home. He had also taken note of the aftermath of clothing and makeup left behind by hurricane Erin all over her room which meant she went someplace where she wanted to look her best and there was only one reason Erin really dressed up these days. 

Brian.

The image of that orange-haired punk putting his hands on Erin made Sammy grit his teeth and fling his body back against the couch. He was letting his imagination get the better of him but just thought of anyone but him comforting Erin after a long day at work, touching her or anything else made Samuel's blood boil. His feelings were irrational and childish and even if Samuel recognised that it wouldn't have stopped the anger that found root in his heart or the ache that pinged him after he allowed his agitation to settle down.

Erin was no longer just his.

She was content in finding happiness elsewhere and Samuel had to find a way to accept that. They were getting older and even though he would have loved to, Sam supposed they couldn't continue to simply play house for the rest of their lives. Eventually, they had to grow up and maybe that meant growing apart too.

Brian was normally a late riser. It was never unusual for him to still be in a deep sleep well after 12 in the afternoon but today was different. Today he was up with the sun and the scent of lingering arousal and a familiar gentle aroma of woman’s perfume filled his nose. The first thing he felt was something against his face, warm, soft brown and ticklish. A yawn forced his jaw to go slack as the sunlight shone through the window, brightening up his bedroom. A nest of brown hair rested below his nose, belonging to the naked feminine body that was cuddled up against him. 

He swept a few strands of her hair away from Erin's slumbering face as a small, tender smile crept upon his lips. Her current expression was in such contrast to the one she was wearing just a few hours ago when she crying out with pleasure beneath him. Now she was so quiet. So calm. Brian wasn't sure which one he liked better. He pressed a kiss on her earlobe, then traveled down to her neck and brushed his lips gently against her skin until she stirred slightly and turned to her side, muttering something that sounded like 'Quit playing Sammy', but Brian couldn't be sure.

He ignored the doubt and peeled himself away from Erin's body, the cold air of his loft attacking his body the second he was no longer covered by the plush comforters. Brian pulled a pair of joggers on his lower body and decided that he might as well pick up the rest of the clothing that had randomly landed around the floor of his bedroom while he was at it. In a careful and lazy manner he retrieved most of Erin's clothes and placed them on the edge of the bed near where she lay, he grinned again when Erin rolled onto her back and spread her arms out at her side. Her jacket was in his hand and he was about to place on the bed with the rest of her clothes but something fell out of the pocket and gave him pause. 

Brian knew the easy thing to do would have been to put the folded up sheet of paper back into the jacket pocket since it wasn't his and he didn't really have a reason to read it, but he was curious and figured it was probably just some leftover fax from work that Erin had forgotten to send out. It wouldn't hurt to read it.

So Brian unfolded the sheet of paper and instead of seeing figures and numbers or a schedule of some sort like he expected Brian found himself reading a handwritten note from Erin's roommate. There was nothing scandalous written, and it definitely seemed like a friendly gesture between friends but something about the way Samuel wrote 'Love, Sammy' with a silly little heart in place of the 'o' and the general tone of the note rubbed Brian the wrong way. It was all just so.... intimate. An innocent kind of intimacy but still an intimacy that Brain often didn't feel when he was alone with Erin. The paper crumpled in Brian's fist and he shoved it back into the pocket where it fell from and tossed the jacket onto the bed before swiftly moving out of the room.

It took another few minutes for Erin to wake up and realise that she was alone in bed in a bedroom that did not belong to her. The initial panic within her subsided when she remembered that she was still in Brian's loft and her arms stretched far above her head as she sat up and glanced around the empty room. Everything looked so different bathed in sunlight but Erin didn't allow herself to linger for too long, she was out of bed and dressed in a matter of seconds and quickly went to search for her boyfriend. 

Erin smiled widely when she caught sight of him in the kitchen fumbling around with something she couldn't see. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind and buried her face into the space between his shoulder blades, pressing her plush lips against his warm bare skin. 

"You let me wake up alone, rude" She giggled and hardly noticed the way he tensed up when her lips made contact with his body.

"Sorry," Brian muttered in response but didn't turn around.

Erin was slightly put off by his curt response and her eyes squinted downward for a moment but she pushed on regardless, concluding that Brian just may not have been a morning person.

"So um, I was thinking that since I have my final final in a few hours and I can't really stay for too long today maybe we could meet up this afternoon? You promised to take me back that speakeasy pub last month and we still haven't been back."

Brian shrugged and gave Erin a halfhearted 'maybe' in response but when he stopped washing dishes and moved from the sink to the refrigerator like she wasn't even holding him his actions left her confused and honestly a little hurt. She didn't understand why he was acting like his, especially after last night. 

"Are you okay Brian?" She asked gently, still hovering around the sink.

"I'm fine" he replied with his head hidden behind the door of the fridge.

Erin shuffled on the heels of her feet and bit down on her lip, he definitely didn't sound fine.

"Are you sure because you seem a little...upset? Is this about last night? Do you think we're moving too fast or something?" Erin paused and laced her fingers together "Do you regret sleeping with me?"

Her last question made Brian shut the door and look directly at her for the first time that morning, his expression soft and apologetic.

"What? No, of course I don't" he said in a whisper as he reached forward to pull her against his chest.

"Then why are you acting so weird?"

Brian pressed his lips together and rested his cheek against Erin's temple. 

"It's silly..."

"I still wanna hear it"

"...fine. I found something this morning that made me a little upset that's all"

"Upset? With me?" Erin asked and pulled her head back to look up at her boyfriend.

"Yeah. I came across the little note that your roommate left you when I was picking up your clothes and I didn't like it."

"Wait a minute, you were snooping through my pockets while I slept? Do distrust me that much?"

Erin completely detached herself from Brian's body and put an ample amount of space between them. She could understand if he was upset about something that actually warranted a reaction but there was nothing written there to explain this kind of reaction.

"I wasn't snooping, it fell out!"

"That doesn't matter who are you to be rifling through my personal effects? That note wasn't addressed to you so you had no business reading it, and what the hell could have made you so damn vexed? Is no one else allowed to hope I have a good day but you?"

Brian exhaled deeply and girded his hips, he was doing his best to keep a level head but with Erin's voice raising slightly the more she spoke it was becoming harder for him to remain docile. 

"It's not what was written on the paper but the tone of it all that bothered me."

"Because you can judge tone just by reading something?"

"No, but I can judge it based on past experience, I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not paying attention Erin. You've said that there's nothing going on between you two I not so convinced of that. I mean we can barely get through one date without you mentioning his name at least five times, trust me I've counted."

Erin gasped, her fingers raking through the front of her hair as she turned away from him for a few moments before turning back to face him with her features shrouded in anger.

"Are you fucking kidding me? If this has been bothering you for so long why are you just now bringing it up, you've had so many opportunities to ask me about this?"

"I didn't think it would be a problem before now, and look I don't want to keep bringing this up but can you honestly tell me that he doesn't feel anything for you? I'm not saying he's got to be in love with you but you can't live with someone and not-"

"Of course, we love each other!" Erin bellowed before Brian had a chance to finish his sentence, her gaze wild with anger as she stepped toward Brian who looked startled. 

"We've known each other for over half the duration of our lives, we have shared every major moment in life since middle school. I know that Sammy loves me with every part of him that is capable of giving love but there is a difference between loving someone and being in love with them. He's not in love with me." Erin noticed the slight tremble in her voice when she spoke, the part of her that still wished Sammy felt some other way was still alive and ached when the reality of her words hit her.

"I-i'm sorry, I shouldn't have overreacted..." Brian stuttered and attempted to reach for her shoulder but Erin side stepped him and shook her head.

"I'm going to be late for my test."

It's well into the afternoon when Erin finally returns to her apartment and finds Sammy bundled up on his pullout bed watching something on Netflix that she didn't recognize. Silently she kicked off her shoes, dropped her bag and made a beeline straight for her roommate, forcing her way into his lap which made him sit up rigidly and peer down at her.

"Can you hold me?" were her only words and Samuel was quick to oblige her by wrapping his arms tightly around her body and holding Erin tight to his chest. He recognized the pained expression on her face and knew that she would probably need a minute before she felt like telling him what was wrong. So they both sat in a comfortable silence, the background noise from the television filling the void until Samuel finally looked down at Erin and ticked up one of his eyebrows.

"What's wrong, noona?"

Erin took a deep breath and relayed her entire day to Sam, the fight with Brian, her race to her university, the fact that she nearly missed her opportunity to take her final exam and the fact that she was so distracted from her argument with Brian she may have bombed her final. She was on the verge of tears by the time she was done speaking but Samuel calmed her in a way that only he could by pressing his soft lips against her temple and gently stroking the length of her hair, muttering gentle compliments against her skin the entire time.

"I am 100% sure you didn't fail that final, I've heard you reciting literary nonsense in your sleep for the past two weeks. Even if you were distracted there's no way you could have failed."

Erin pouted, she was glad for the reassurance but her gut was telling her otherwise.

"And about your fight with...your boyfriend," 

Erin clamped up the moment he mentioned the fight. In her haste to tell him what was bothering her she had completely forgotten to censor herself, she didn't mean to mention that he was the cause of their fight.

"You know he's wrong, right? I mean I love you, you know I do but...I-....you're family it'd be weird to think of you in any other way." Sammy managed to crack a playful smile even though he was dead inside, those words pained him to say more than he thought but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. He didn't want to sway her heart, not like this when she was vulnerable and troubled. Erin sniffled and nodded quickly, pretending to be relieved when he said the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear.

"That's what I told him," She said softly and pulled back from and made and effort to get off his lap, "Sorry for bombarding you like this, I just needed a hug." Erin chuckled and stood to her feet.

"I'll always be here to give you one" Sam replied and then neither of them spoke for a few seconds, staring each other down and holding their gaze like they both wanted to say something but in the end no one spoke up and Erin found herself awkwardly waving and walking away.

She slumped to the ground the second she closed the door behind her and Erin buried head between her knees, she had been trying to hold in the tears since Samuel held her but hearing him admit what she already feared was the final straw to break the dam of her tears. What started as a gentle stream soon evolved into a silent sob as Erin pressed her head backwards against the door in a shallow attempt to stop herself from violently weeping like a teenager. She already had suspicions that Sammy didn't feel the same way so why did this hurt so much? A part of her wanted to go back out to the living room, grab her roommate by the collar of his thin white t-shirt and explain to him that she believed that they were soul mates and they belonged together she didn't care if he saw it or not. But what would that prove? It would shake the foundations of their friendship and Erin wasn't so sure their relationship could handle such a blow.

Instead of mustering up courage Erin dragged her body towards her bed and pushed herself underneath the mess of clothes and blankets, hoping that tomorrow would be a better day.

[taraknowless]

listen, I want the DCEU and women led/directed/written films to succeed as much as the next person does but please strop spreading straight up misinformation about BOP’s box office numbers, it’s getting exhausting

“They made their entire film budget in one weekend & they’re calling it a flop? See they’re just trying to sabotage this project”

or

“at this point i really think white men are sabotaging bop’s run and make it seem like it’s not actually successful when it clearly is”

is something I’ve read a bunch of times in the last few days and statements like these are getting thousands of notes/retweets. I feel like y’all need a basic lesson in how box office/distribution works so listen up peeps

Money at the box office does not equal profit. Yes, BOP roughly made its production budget at opening weekend but WB isn’t getting that money. A movie needs to make approx. 2-3 times the amount of its budget to break even. We’re not even talking about big profits here, just to break even.

BOP cost ~$85M to make but it’s believed to be closer to $100M due to reshoots. Industry numbers estimate that marketing can roughly be half of that on top of the budget (I’m being generous here, some sites report that marketing these days can cost up to the same as production). We’re at $150M now and 2-3/2.5 is a popular factor to estimate how much a movie needs to make to break even. Why is it that high you might ask? Well, movie studios only get a certain share of money made at the box office. Distributors and theatres wanna have their fair share as well. Another important thing to remember is that the studio makes less oversees, that’s why the domestic box office always matters more. 

Using the above mentioned factor (and because I’m being nice, I’m using 2x), BOP will need to make at least $300M at the box office to break even, which it probably will. This movie isn’t going to flop and lose money. But will it make much profit? Hard to tell, because it’d need to make at least $350M for that and I don’t see that happening at all.

Now about the opening weekend: in the past couple of years, it became a thing that a movie needs to make most of its money back on opening weekend. Now, predictions originally put BOP at $50M-$55M - on the same level as Shazam (budget of $100M). However, Shazam was only expected to make $45M. In the end, it overperformed on opening weekend and made $53M domestic/ $102M global. That being said, Shazam’s total numbers aren’t a smash hit either. $365M worldwide. Slightly enough to make a bit of profit and warrant a sequel (which I believe is only gonna happen because of Black Adam but that’s another story). In theory, BOP should make at least Shazam money, right? Harley’s an established character after all. But do I see BOP making $365M worldwide? Not at all. BOP made $33M domestic / $46M global = $80M worldwide . This is simply not good, no matter how you twist it. It is the lowest opening for the DCEU. 

Now you might say it’s unfair to compare it to Shazam since BOP is R-rated while Shazam isn’t, which is true. Still, it’s not impossible to drive home good box office numbers with a R-rating. “bUt sHaZaM iSn’T fEmAlE lEaD!!” That is true as well, but should we really start comparing female lead superhero movies (Wonder Woman, Captain Marvel) to BOP because it’s not gonna be pretty either. 

The bottom line is that it needs an extremely low second weekend drop and very good legs in the next couple of weeks to be called a success.

There are number of reasons why BOP isn’t doing well (which warrants its own post tbh) and yes, female movies do have it harder at the box office, but they can and are doing well so please stop acting like the media has some kind of weird anti-feminist agenda against this movie. You’ve not been here for the BvS slender - that was truly bad. News outlets are simply accurately reporting the box office numbers and what those mean in relation to the production budget and marketing costs.

[arsnovacadenza]

Lan Wangji, Sir, I’m Sorry

So, today my friend ranted about the changes in NCT Dream and how she feared that SM Entertainment might end up letting go of her favorite Chinese member to the Chinese management forever. It leads to us talking about weird marketing directions and the resulting alienation of the non-Chinese fans. 

In the middle of that conversation, I found myself coming back to that time when I criticized the danmei’s characterization of Lan Wangji and his romantic plot with WWX up to chp. 59. Needless to say, the reactions I got were rather…..curious to say the least (more on that later). 

After that painful trip down the memory lane, I decided to sit down and put into words what was it that made me stray away from Lan Wangji as a character and eventually the MDZS fandom as a whole. Now after some thought and seeing the matter through new perspectives, I’m ready to put this case to rest.

After some time away from the fandom, I began to watch the first season of the donghua, which, surprisingly endeared me to Lan Wangji’s character. It shows that, on his own, Lan Wangji actually has the potential to be a solid, complex, and relatable character (which, in my opinon, was in no small part thanks to the animation team, the show’s writers, and his outstanding voice actor). Therefore, I conclude that my troubled impression of Lan Wangji of the novels may have stemmed from factors related to the writing style (since the POV is exclusively Wang Wuxian’s) and other stuff lost in translation (although Exiled Rebels Scans’ translation was nothing but excellent), and me just being more interested in Wei Wuxian’s platonic relationships with other characters.

In any case, I understand that other fans find Lan Wangji (in any incarnation) an appealing character and a good romantic lead for Wei Wuxian. I respect their opinions because everybody deserves to be part of the fandom despite having different opinions.

But marketing-approved fandoms are where opinions and healthy discussions go to die. Especially if the producers or creators make demographic-pandering decisions that alienate portions of their fanbase. Especially if said creators micromanage what their own fans can and cannot produce (even ships, apparently). 

And everything is made worse when the majority endorses their behavior and overtakes nearly the entire fandom by driving away other camps that voice objections to those decisions. Meanwhile, the creators continue to shower fans with loads of fanservice dedicated to the remaining demographic. What results is a symbiosis that not only alienates part of their audience but also ensures that newcomers from different demographics will never feel comfortable within the fandom.

That, my friends, is my impression of the MDZS fandom —now entirely converted to WangXian hell. And my plunge into the SVSS fandom further confirms that.

You see, I’ve been following SVSS fan artists on Instagram and while they do make MDZS art once in a while, I never follow artists or artwork-stealing fan accounts that exclusively post MDZS content. Still, this doesn’t keep Instagram algorithms from flooding my explore tab with WangXian pictures and nothing else, aside from the occasional Jiang Cheng or Jing Lin fanart. Thankfully, the whole thing died down a bit once the donghua’s second season and The Untamed drama came out  (not gonna lie, I’m thankful for C-Drama and x nine fans suddenly getting involved in the fandom and making Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo content).

Last year, out of curiosity, I looked around Youtube for MDZS video essays and came back empty-handed. While there are plenty of review videos, the most views they can get is at 95K. Needless to say, I don’t recall ever seeing big-name reviewers specializing in animated series (Gigguk, Mother’s Basement, Saberspark, etc.) pick up the donghua.  Which in my opinion is baffling since it made quite a scene among the Japanese BL fandom. And then I realized something.

To sum up what I feel about the MDZS donghua’s marketing as a foreigner: it’s a BL work made for MXTX’s loyal fujo fanbase. Not the Chinese-speaking or BL fans, mind you, just MXTX’s fujo fanbase.

The post I made (which mostly addressed my problems with LWJ’s characterization up to chapter 59) led to an interesting exchange with a Vietnamese fan who attempted to refute my opinions but couldn’t because of potential spoilers. I should probably chalk it up to the misfortune of reading slow-burn romance novels (which MDZS supposedly is) with untranslated chapters, but all direct responses to my post were all from people who share the same ideas, among them a fan who has read the novel from start to finish. 

To date, no one has ever approached me directly via DMs or reblogs in the defense of Lan Wang Ji’s characterization. It could be that my post is just too irrelevant to warrant replies or reblogs by other fans, but it sure didn’t stop people from making passive-aggressive posts that in no way address the points made by me or other LWJ critics directly.  

See, this is where the author-endorsed hive mind mentality rears its ugly head. As someone who didn’t immediately buy Lan Wangji’s setup as the romantic lead found it baffling at how quickly the English-speaking fans embraced him as the perfect Seme without question. It doesn’t help that we get bombarded by promotional pictures that fans quickly translate as Wangxian fanservice.

To be fair, the English fandom is directly influenced by English and Vietnamese speaking fandoms and the official materials they translate. However, I can’t accuse them of deliberately concealing information and refusing to translate promotional materials unrelated to Wangxian, because there are little to none, apparently. Which brings us to the bigger problem at hand.

Now, I don’t know if the donghua on its own has exploded outside of Weibo or Twitter (do tell me if you know), but it certainly doesn’t circulate well enough to be picked up by foreign audiences with no prior interest in BL, which is strange because the Donghua itself doesn’t contain the same amount of homoerotic elements, unlike the novels. It could be that Tencent is trying to protect its reputation to avoid association with a novel that is sure to put them in trouble with the Chinese government. 

But why wouldn’t it garner a cult following outside of China, especially with more and more people embracing same-sex relationships in media regardless of whether or not they’re hardcore BL fans? While I understand that Western fans may have trouble accepting some aspects of MXTX’s depiction of same-sex relationships, I think that everyone can still have a good time and make great content together while respecting each person’s preferences and values—

Oh. 

Well, my friend, to quote Anita Sarkeesian:

In case you mistake me didn’t get my point, the problem is not about the acceptability of MXTX’s depiction of her couples by Western fans, it’s her fans (Western, Eastern, what have you) that’s censoring discussions brought up by other fans and then deeming said fans unfit to stay in the fandom. 

Funnily enough, people in the SVSS fandom do frequently point out things they don’t like with the main pairing or the characters themselves without facing repercussions from fellow SVSS fans. I also never hear anything about TGCF fans being banned from shipping non-canon pairings. CMIIW though.

So, to sum things up, I find the MDZS fandom uncomfortable due to MXTX and her fans acting like inquisitors whenever somebody critiques her work or simply pointing out things they simply don’t sit well with.  

Cry all you want about me not being able to comprehend MXTX Chinese values and writing style, but I’ll have you know that I’m part of the SVSS fandom where everybody acknowledges that some parts aren’t for everyone due to language barriers and cultural dissonance and that’s FINE.

Ex-MDZS enthusiast signing out.

[mikami]

Death Note Audio Drama 01

Disk 1: Pattern Recognition - a summary / partial translation

The Death Note audio drama is a German audiobook production that is officially licensed, but has been written and produced without any further involvement from the Japanese copyright holders. A Japanese release is, as such, not planned. An English release was announced in 2017 and has since never received any more news nor a release date announcement.

The audio drama starts of pretty benign as a retelling of the manga with some changed facts and dialogues.... and eventually full-on diverges from the plot and leads to a completely alternative ending. It’s pretty wild for officially licensed media. Wild enough to absolutely warrant being shared with the English-speaking fandom at large.

Since the whole drama is 12 hours in total in 12 disks (covering roughly one manga volume each), I won’t be able to provide a full translation and instead will summarize the less juicy bits while doing a full translation of anything funny or interesting. 

All future episodes will be found in this tag on my blog.

Without further ado, let’s begin.

We open to the sound of someone typing.

LIGHT: Something is rotten. Post-modern. Post-truth. Post-Justice. Day in day out, the same lies in endless repetition. Killers get away with murder. Drug dealers sell poison to children. The world is drowning in its own filth. The world is infected with corruption. I am the cure. I am the--

A knocking sound.

SACHIKO (muffled): Dinner is ready, dear!

LIGHT (groans, but then goes on): I am the surgeon who cuts out the cancer, I am the--

More knocking.

SACHIKO: It’s your favourite dish!

LIGHT: One second, mom! 

SACHIKO: Are you talking to your friends online again?

LIGHT: It’s fine, mom, I’m coming!

SACHIKO: Hurry up, it’s getting cold.

______

We cut to a scene of the task force entering the school in which Kuroh Otoharada has taken children hostage. The scene is fairly simple. Someone (I think Matsuda?) is pretty violently insistent on shooting Otoharada if necessary. They find Otoharada dead in the bathroom. 

______

Ryuk, who has a voice like a friendly fat little man narrating fairytales, tells us the rules of the Death Note. We cut to Light coming home and giving Sachiko his test results. They cut out the whole ‘number one in the nation’ and simply changed it to top grades in a nation-wide test exam. Probably because Germany doesn’t have ranking lists like that at all.

_______

A TV report about Otoharada is playing. A lady named Noriko Takai is trying to interview Matsuda about the incident. Matsuda refers her to the upcoming pref-conference, but admits that Otoharada died of a heart attack.

_______

Typing noises again.

LIGHT: To all those who are interested... If you are reading this text, something went wrong. If you are reading this, I might even be dead. In that case, dear me, dear Light Yagami. This is your younger self. In case you’ve forgotten everything, this story may be hard to believe, yet every word is true. Yeah... You found a notebook on the school grounds. Yeah... It claimed to have the power of bringing death to anyone you name in it. And yeah... you laughed about it. You were thinking of a prank. However... you couldn’t resist, am I right? You wrote the name of this guy from the school hostage taking and he died. But it could have been a coincidence. So you tried again. And what you saw, scared you. But in the same moment, you understood the power you had. So you ran home into your room and the confirmation was already waiting for you. With his claws, and glowing devil’s eyes.

________

Ryuk is indeed in Light’s bedroom. The meeting dialogue is largely very similar to the manga. However, this snippet happens....

LIGHT: I didn’t expect something so---

RYUK: Something so demonic? I’m hurt. I’m quite the catch for a denizen of the netherworld. I could be a sex god, if I wasn’t so good with death.

Ryuk elaborates that the notebook now belongs to Light, that nobody can see him, that he wasn’t chosen, that the shinigami world is boring... yadda yadda, we know this from the anime already. Light says his famous “if someone dies, does that make me a murderer?” line and Ryuk just says “of course it does.” Another funny Ryuk line: “You killed someone else too? Awww, you’re my man.”

________

In a flashback Light walks Shinjuku. Takuo Shibuimaru shows up and Light kills him, hurray. 

Back in the present:

RYUK: Fantastic. You killed this guy for flirting with a woman?

LIGHT: She wanted to be left alone.

RYUK: Alllright, social justice warrior. But isn’t that a little... strict?

Light launches into a speech about his ambitions. Ryuk keeps pointing out that he is afraid. Light gets annoyed at being condescended, since Ryuk is the one who gave him the weapon in the first place. However, he also admits to being scared. But still, someone needs to do it. But who else could do it, if not him? Etc, etc, etc. HE WILL MAKE A BETTER WORLD.

_______

A TV segment about the early Kira deaths. The chief prosecutor is under fire for treating prisoners badly, since people assume the prisoners died of bad food in prison. Other people deny that this is how it is, because they assume that bad food would have more than 3 victims. Someone else assumes it is the will of God. Some other guy is praising whoever does the killing in a flippant and humorous tone. The interviewer criticizes him for these views.

________

L: Come in, Watari, come in. 

WATARI: I thought you might already be in bed, Mr. L. It’s fairly late.

L: No sleep, no, not sleeping. Can’t sleep. 

WATARI: How much coffee did you...

L: There’s a killer on the loose, Watari!

WATARI: That is always the case, Mr. L.

L: No, this time it’s different. Different, you understand? I looked at the data, check it out. Heart attacks going through the roof.

WATARI: The deaths among criminals? Wasn’t that about the food?

L: No, it can’t be the food, when it’s taking place so hand-picked and world-wide. These people can’t all have been poisoned by the same dose. What do the deaths have in common...? The only connection really appears to be that all of them are criminals...

WATARI: You are a master in pattern recognition, L. You’re famous for it. 

L (laughs): Famous, yeah. We have to contact interpol. I looked at the data. Someone is killing criminals by the dozens. We need to talk to interpol.

WATARI: They had a conference announced for later today anyway. Well... tomorrow. In their time.

L: Time? Time zones, of course! 

WATARI: Mr. L...? 

L: Let’s look back at the data for a moment. 

_______

Ryuk is impressed by how many people Light killed. Light admits to getting nightmares due to it, but he also is determined about his mission. He explains his idea of heart attacks leading to recognition of the pattern. Ryuk is pretty flippant about Light’s plan, saying he is the only danger to mankind.

_______

Nature noises.

WATARI: Are we working in the park now, Mr. L?

L: I need to stay on the move. Change wifi hotspots.

WATARI: Isn’t that a little... paranoid?

L: In the face of a killer who can kill from a distance? No, it’s only appropriate. Completely appropriate. Watari... You need to create a filter. Something to distort my voice over the phone. 

WATARI: That’ll be done in no time, Mr. L.

L now explains his initial idea of how to catch the killer. He asks WHEN someone would use their power to kill and concludes that they’d do it after work before bed, in free time timeframes. L assumes someone would likely kill between 4pm and 2am, but which timezone? 78% of people die in that timeframe, in GMT-10. Thus L narrows it down to countries in that timezone for a start. And he also wants to factor in weekends, holidays, other free time events... for all those countries, to narrow it down with reference to the 32% of killings done at other times. 

_______

The interpol meeting is in session. The French representative argues that if the assumption is that this is black magic or something, then it isn’t under their jurisdiction. After all there are no laws about magic or cursing people. The US representative and meeting leader explains that there weren’t any laws about cyber crimes (or even a concept of cyber crimes) either before there were computers. Thus she argues in favor of investigating. 

________

RYUK: I mean, I love it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a god of death and you are basically my dedicated intern.

LIGHT: Can’t you just---

RYUK: I will just do what I feel like. You can’t write my name into my own book. I am practically the only living being on this planet that is pretty much safe from you. And that’s exactly why I’m asking: when is it over? I look at you, putting on airs full of significance, how you’re killing the killers, the rapists, the serial killers.... You declared yourself the highest arbiter. 

LIGHT: Someone has to do it. Someone has to tidy up!

RYUK: And what happens when you’re done with murderers? Tax evaders? Jaywalkers? Two hairdressers having a brawl at a bar? Where do you draw the line after which the world is cleansed? Let me tell you something. This world has always been a cesspit. 

LIGHT: I’ll know it when it happens.

RYUK: Or when someone stops you.

LIGHT: Oh come on, who’s supposed to find me?

______

Back at Interpol, they’re debating the need for an international task force. Soichiro suggests bringing in L. French representative is just like “oooh, you’re calling a mystery to solve a mystery?”. Who L is gets explained.

Watari comes in and explains that L is already on the case. L’s message is played. He wants cooperation from the police.

______

A TV report about further killings. A different channel, a religious speaker claims the final days have come. A different channel again, a stand-up comedian talks about the Kira case and jokes that if all killers gets killed nobody would be left to run the government. Says he’d love to do it, but he smoked weed as a college student, so he’s probably on the list too....

Yet another channel recalls that the most popular theory about the killing has religious qualities and that people online are talking of “Kira, the saviour”. 

Light turns off the audio on the TV and Ryuk complains.

RYUK: They assume Kira is male... How sexist.

Light is currently busy googling ‘Kira’. Light complains that people don’t manage to spell ‘Killer’ correctly, if that is what they mean to say. Ryuk is the one who brings up how ‘you Japanese’ swap L and R and thus explains the name.

Then the Lind L. Tailor broadcast happens and Ryuk tells Light to put the audio back on.  

______

The Task Force is discussing the broadcast. Matsuda thought L would be more self-assured and less... reading his text off flash cards. He then realizes the name sounds familiar to him and looks it up. 

______

Light talks to Ryuk about writing Tailor’s name and does so. He dies.

LIGHT: Oopsiedaisy, heart attack.

L’s voice picks right back up. Light is confused and angry. L explains the scheme. The taunt proceeds as in the manga.

_____

Matsuda is just like ‘I tried to tell you, boss. Tailor was on death row’.

______

There is actually noises of Light breaking things in his room as he gets mad about this. Ryuk tells him to calm down. L disconnects on TV.

RYUK: Mic drop. Rock ‘n’ Roll.

LIGHT: Shut up.

______

Matsuda and Soichiro have their conversation about L’s stunt and also Kira lowering crime rate while Soichiro is rushing to catch the train home.

______

SAYU: Oh no, not curry again....

SACHIKO: Sayu, you love curry, you---

SAYU: That was when I was 6, mom! It makes you fat.

SACHIKO: Don’t be silly, dearie.

LIGHT: Everything makes you fat, if you eat too much of it.

SACHIKO: Thanks, Light. At least one person in this family uses his brain. You get that from your dad.

As if on cue, Soichiro comes home. He is delighted about the curry. Talks about the Kira case. He also brings up the idea of Kira being a teenager. Light chokes on his curry quite lengthily at that. 

______

Ryuk expresses his surprise at Soichiro leading the investigation. Light comes up with his plan to change the time of death.

______

L calls Soichiro and Soichiro gives him the news that Kira now kills hourly. L declares people connected to the investigators to be suspects.

______

The US Interpol representative and Watari are meeting for coffee, though Watari does not get coffee because it messes with his heart-rate. Watari requests the FBI to supervise in Japan. Specifically the FBI because the CIA might include a mole. The FBI meanwhile is meant for inland and thus not yet related to the case and can function as external. The representative is pretty shocked and initially refuses, based on the rules for the FBI. 

______

Three detectives leave the case because they don’t want to risk their lives by fighting Kira. 

______

Watari informs L that the FBI has agreed to investigate. L has already looked into the suspect pool via social media. Related to investigators, 16-24, only in the Kanto region.... 

______

Ryuk informs Light of someone tailing him. It’s a lengthy dialogue but very canon-close and not super interesting.

LIGHT: If this is the police....

RYUK: You’ll put up your hands and surrender?

LIGHT: I’m going to have to kill them. All of them.

RYUK: Yeah, that’s what I thought.

[sweeneyxlaura]

I'm really late to the party but have just finished American Gods and jumped on to the madwife ship big time! There's one thing I noticed during 2x07 and wanted to point out (it probably has already been mentioned and if so, perhaps you can enlighten me some more on theories) but the parallels between Eorann calling Sweeney "husband", her taking the form of Laura and Sweeney having called Laura from the start (dead) "wife" have me practically screaming

Yay, welcome aboard the ship! Glad you’re with us! :)

Girl, you’re definitely not the only one noticing the “they’re married!” interplay happening; every time he calls her “dead wife”, my mind’s working overtime imagining Sweeney, as an ancient Gaelic man/husband, loudly grumbling in annoyance to the things she does.

“Well, you’re not taking it anywhere, (dead) wife, not without me…”

“All my luck is yours, (dead) wife.”

[Also, I have no historical knowledge that husbands back in those days called their wives, “wife”, except from what I’ve just seen in movies. But I always find there’s that burly warrior-clan type man who goes around complaining, “Ye be the death of me, wife!” when she tries to give him a bowl of stew or something.]

He also calls her “love” a few times - the first time he calls her that, it’s laced with sarcasm, but then the second time? It’s more matter-of-fact, like he’s been using that pet name with her for years. GAH! Let’s hope the next time he calls her “love”, it’s with all the intent and weightiness behind that word, eh?

As for thoughts on the Eorann/Laura and even Essie proxy stuff happening, there are posts here, here and here. :)

Also, when I read your ask, I did think about the ways in which they might seem like a married couple, and two points kinda stuck…

There’s definitely something about the way things transition from “Muninn” to “Ways of the Dead” that suggests, to me, that they missed each other during their brief separation. If you’ll recall, they kinda had an argument in Cairo before Laura went off with Wednesday. Then, when they meet back up again, they’re alot nicer to each other? Laura’s way more smiley, the argument they had is pretty much forgotten, and most strikingly, Sweeney swings for the fences in trying to suss out how Laura might feel about him romantically and it totally works (even if Sweeney doesn’t actually witness it).

And I feel like this is a case of “absence makes the heart grow fonder”, right? I think with married couples or couples that live together (as an example), I think this is acutely felt when your spouse or partner is gone, even for a day, and things feel different or off. You’re just so used to them being around, even when they’re being annoying, that the moment that they’re not there, you miss them. And it’s in their absence that you realize how much that person means to you. I think the same thing basically happens with Sweeney/Laura, and alot of it due to the fact that they’ve got shared experiences, compassion for each other when it counts, and shared vulnerabilities under their belt by the time they hit New Orleans. That their attachment has gone beyond the connection with the coin - there’s an emotional attachment there now, even if all they’re ever really talking about is that coin.

But I think it’s also the fact that conflicts and how you deal with them together is a big factor, too, especially in any meaningful relationship. I really dig how there’s an acknowledgement that Laura has indeed come running back to Sweeney, but it’s not done spitefully or with a ton of fanfare…like they’re at this point where they know the difference between a petty argument and an honest-to-God fight. Maybe at one point in time, Sweeney would’ve delighted in rubbing it in her face, but their dynamic has become way more complicated (in a good way) because of the emotional attachment I mentioned, but then they cranked that bitch up to 11 when they went and had sex that actually felt right and meaningful.

And it’s not surprising to see Laura being the one handling it poorly because she’s spent most of her adult life spinning her wheels without the need to adapt or force change. It’s like she told Shadow, “We’re like a history book, we’re established fact. We don’t change. We live in the same town that I grew up in, in my grandmother’s shitty house.” There just haven’t been many circumstances in Laura’s life that ever really warranted her to step out of the humdrum and really grow from actual, impactful conflicts. It’s only when she’s dead does she encounter a whole slew of them, including how to deal with these messy feelings of love and vulnerability. And isn’t it great that Laura, by carrying Dead Sweeney off into the sunset, is choosing to commit to that complicated and messy life because, deep down, she knows her connection and feelings for Sweeney are realer than anything else that has eluded her in life so far?

Ok, this digressed quite badly! Sorry, anon, but there are some thoughts! :)

[bi-lullaby]

Jafael :)

You’re evil but also I love you for asking!

• when or if I started shipping it: I guess there was a time I did, when they got back together for the second time, after Michael’s death. Their best look. Sadly, very short-lived.• my thoughts: (this one might warrant a ‘read more’ by itself but yo asked so buckle up) Had potential, sure have chemistry, I can see why the fans go buck wild for them… But they don’t appeal for me. Their theme is all about keeping together an idealized version of a nuclear, biological family because… It’s an idealized, nuclear, biological family, and it does nothing for me. I genuinely adored the storyline of Michael as Mateo’s stepdad and how much he loved him, because found family >>>> And it goes so… Against the other themes of the show? Petra and the twins and her late-blooming into bisexuality after figuring out her idealized relationship with Raf was not so ideal, the convulated Villanueva-De La Vega-Factor family and how they fit and work with each other, the “my parents are not meant to be together” speech Jane delivers… • What makes me happy about them: Jane. Ok jk but she is my favorite character while Rafael is… Very much not. But I appreaciate the whole “He supports Jane’s writting!” motive (although as a side note: so does pretty much everyone else in the show, pretty much. Ro and Xo and Alba and Michael and Petra and…) and I think Justin and Gina have a lot of chemistry and their cute, good moments are hella cute and hella good.• What makes me sad about them: That they share no interests outside of sex, Mateo and arguing. That their relationship dims out Jane’s light. That they had such sweet things and moments and growth and then all that was chucked out of the window to prove a point that Jafael was superior to Cordueva… And didn’t even manage to do so.  • things done in art/fic that annoys me: Claiming Raf is a man of color to justify shipping it against Michael’s “whiteness”. Like, they’re equally white. Justin is just tan. (Ofc, nothing wrong with headcanoning a character as X race or with recasting him, just that particular brand of acting like that’s true FOR THE SPECIFIC PURPOSE of maing shipping Jafael seem ‘woke’ gets on my nerves).• things I look for in art/fic: I don’t go looking for Jafael content, usually, but if I did I’d want Raf’s flaws to be aknowledged and actually dealt with, not ust Jane’s. Also their dynamic with Petra to be aknowledged bc it’s precious.• Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Jane - Petra or Michael. Raf - Therapy.• My happily ever after for them: Happily co-parenting Mateo and the twins bc Jane’s their new momma after marrying Petra. Raf gets to go to therapy and be mothered by Xo. The kids are happy. Everyone is happy.• what is their favorite non-sexual activity? Talking about Mateo. That’s canon.

send me a ship, and i will tell you

[rxgersrxmanxff]

On Romanogers and Steve and Natasha’s endings in Endgame:

******SPOILERS BELOW******

I enjoyed Endgame as a whole.  But all in all, I’m disappointed.

Romanogers: Going into Endgame, I really was not expecting much.  After all, Steve and Natasha didn’t even exchange any lines in IW.  As much as I could hope and dream about my two favorite characters and my #1 OTP getting together in the end, I knew it wasn’t happening and was/am fine with that.  Their interactions in the beginning of the movie definitely make the closeness of their friendship highly palpable.  Even if they were not speaking to each other, they were always standing or sitting next to each other in the same frame.  I’m really glad that we got another trademark deep Steve and Natasha talk.  What I’m not so glad about is the closure that this complex friendship got.  When they get their missions to retrieve the stones, they all think they’re going to make it back, I know.  Even then, ceasing all interactions between Steve and Natasha with one little “See you in a minute” from her does not cut it.  They grow so close over the span of, at this point in the movie, over ten years.  The depth of their relationship has been explored so many times throughout the movies from the “I would now” scene in CA:TWS, to the “I didn’t want you to be alone” scene in CA:CW, to them going on the run together between CA:CW and IW.  They became each other’s rocks, gaining shared life experience, and yet, we only see Steve shedding one tear for her and hardly talking about her within the span of maybe a two minute scene following her death so devoid of emotion (from all parties), let alone the rest of the movie.  Clint and Natasha got their closure. Tony’s character got his closure with everyone he loved in a long scene with a poignant voice-over.  With the movie barely making time for an emotional goodbye for the ending of this deep friendship that spanned over a decade, it is not what the characters who have grown so much in each other’s company and in their shared experiences deserve.

Natasha’s ending: In a logical and pragmatic sense, I understand why Nat is the one to make the sacrifice.  She felt that it was her duty to “wipe out the red in her ledger” and make up for her past, though Clint felt the same way for what he did as Ronin. While she did view the Avengers as her family, Clint has a wife and children. This factor, one could argue, makes Nat the more expendable of the two.  So yes, it makes sense that she was the one to go.  What came after does not sit well with me.  After Clint comes back alone, only a very brief grieving scene is shown for a woman who willingly gave up her life for the sake of her friends and the world, which barely even allows time for audiences to soak it in as well.  There's no time for funerals in war; I understand that. Yet, when peace finally came, there was still hardly a mention of her. Furthermore, as part of the O6, her character deserved to be at the final battle.  She deserved to be right there when Steve finally says “Avengers assemble” on screen and during the team-up of all the female heroes. She only got 33 minutes of screen time, while her other core teammates, Steve and Tony, whose character arcs also end in this movie, got over an hour.  I’ve seen arguments that say the movie didn’t give her a formal or long goodbye because they might try to bring her back or that she’ll get more time in her own upcoming movie, but still.  Nat’s character has never been explored in depth in her own solo movies prior to Endgame, nor has it been a main focus of any other movies.  The pacing of her death in the movie warrants such disrespect toward her character, a character who always supported her team, a character who wanted her team to stay together no matter what, a character who has made great waves in pop culture. Though her death makes sense for the flow of the movie, there was definitely not ample time granted toward her exit.

Steve’s ending: [Note: I am not trying to hate on St*ggy in any way. I love that ship. That scene at the end actually made me cry. I’ll just be talking about how this ending just doesn’t make sense.] There’s two theories that I will be addressing here, so please bear with me and my potential lack of knowledge about Endgame’s time travel rules. 1)Steve goes back in time within the same main MCU timeline. My initial understanding was that this was what occurred because putting back the stones restores the main timeline, but then you have all the questions of how does this not significantly alter history, the the whole franchise’s stories, etc, which leads me to the other theory I came across. 2)Steve goes back in time and his staying in the 40s and living out his days with Peggy creates an branch timeline that runs as a close parallel to the main MCU timeline, with the branch timeline ultimately converging with the main one when we see Steve as an old man at the end of the movie.

Now this is the confusing part. With both theories, even for the second as it supposedly runs as a close parallel, historically would not make sense. So Steve goes back in time, marries Peggy (for all my Romanogers shippers, I know there’s hope out there that he married Nat somehow since he never said who he married but this is a whole other interpretation I won’t be diving into in this post) without altering the main timeline of the first theory??? And even if it was the closely running branch timeline of the second theory then doesn’t that mean his staying in the 40s significantly veers that timeline away from the main one then???

Time travel workings aside (this hurts my brain), Steve’s decision to stay in the past is insanely out of character. It is a contradiction to his arc that Markus and McFeely (screenplay writers of all the Cap movies, T:TDW, and IW) have built ever since CA:TFA. Many of the movies have focused on Steve attempting to adapt to a foreign modern world. They touch upon his struggle to move on from his past and his eventual acceptance of his situation. And that was his character growth through the years–a man out of time eventually finding friends, family, and most of all a home in the Avengers.

His action, I believe, goes against his morals. By staying in the past with Peggy in either timeline, he knows he is erasing her relationship with her husband and the existence of her children, who may have affected history in a sizable manner for all we know.  And I don’t think Steve is one who can sit idly by throughout the course of history without taking action (this relates more to the first theory, but if the second theory states it is a close branch to the main timeline, then not much should change either right?) and truly living a quiet life when he knows that suffering, pain, political unrest, and oppression will occur.  This implies that he is going to live through the Cold War, the Vietnam War, the whole Civil Rights Movement, and much more and not contribute anything significant to the alteration of history.  Simply the thought of him not telling Peggy about HYDRA already being in SHIELD is hard to grapple with, along with how much he could have changed the development of SHIELD. And then there’s also all of Bucky’s missions and assassinations though the years.  Don’t even get me started on 2011 onward when they find and unfreeze an alternate Steve.  There’s so many unanswered questions, and my thoughts probably only scratch the surface of the logistics.

I get it. Steve deserves a happy ending and a restful life. They all do. The end scene was beautiful and poetic with “It’s Been a Long, Long, Time” and the long-overdue dance and the ever-cliche kiss.  Yet this end scene felt somewhat too dreamlike, bordering on fan fiction-like.  I have such a love-hate opinion of this scene. I mean, I guess I would say that this reveals the biases of Markus and McFeely for St*ggy and how they believed Steve and Peggy were always the only ones meant for each other.  However, I think that it is truly a regression for Steve’s character development as Peggy was the one who urged him to move on with his life as she had lived a full one herself. They demonstrated in previous movies that Steve was finished clinging so tightly to the past, yet they make a 180 and go straight back to his mentality from 10+ years ago.

I, personally, cannot think of another decently satisfying end for Steve that isn’t just him dying, so I have no suggestions.  While the ending was sweet, it just doesn’t make sense.

[define-is-to-limit]

In a Dusty Old Music Store (Peter Maximoff x Reader)

If you were being completely honest, you only applied to the dusty old music store where you now worked because you wanted an employee discount. It definitely wasn’t because you liked sneezing and coughing for the first hour of your shift until you adjusted.

That was your first thought. The benefits of working at the music shop now added up to your employee discount, your favorite restaurant next door, and the silver-haired boy you’ve seen come in multiple times now.

He seems to be a regular. You’ve only worked at the shop for a week but he might as well take your job from you. Others must have noticed his frequent presence because, despite your nametag, hardly anyone asked you for help while everyone gravitated to him for questions about placement or music taste. It was a little insulting.

Were they drawn to him because of his silver jacket that seemed to match the retro theme of the store, or was it the Walkman he constantly had playing at his hip. At least, these were two of the factors that were attracting you.

He browsed almost every music genre of the store which meant he must have a good share of music knowledge. It was enough to intimidate you a bit because you worked here, whereas he didn’t. Oh well, you’d just spend your off time coughing behind the counter.

Today, however, a mother and her daughter came into the store and, while the mother looked away for a second, the pig-tailed little girl managed to knock down three cd displays. At least it gave you something to do.

The silver-haired boy heard the noise and the both of you made your way to mess at the same time. You found that you couldn’t be upset because the girl immediately started wailing in fear of being reprimanded and the mother was apologetic about the accident.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it up again, no problem,” you smiled and the mother tried to calm her daughter while leading her out of the store.

As you crouched down to pick up the CDs, the boy knelt right in front of you so that the two of you were face to face.

“Yikes,” he laughed, two perfect dimples emerging in each cheek. “Do you need help with that?”

You were struck silent for a second before you realized that his question warranted a response. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Regardless, he picked up the CDs and restacked them in the display with you. He was quick and picked them up at a much faster rate than you. You blamed it on the fact that you were tired, unaware that he was irregularly fast.

When the display had been put back, you thanked him for his help which left the two of you standing in the aisle. Neither of you said anything for a few moments, unsure of what to put in the space between you two.

“If you want to buy something I can give you a discount?” You figured it would be a nice thank you for a customer helping an employee with their job.

“As a way of thanks?”

“Yeah. Yeah, something like that. Or…” Across from you, he bounced on the balls of his feet, suddenly excited. “Or you could just take one if you want. For your help?”

“Or maybe,” he prompted, his dimples evident, “Could I possibly get your number instead?”

It was a surprise to hear the words come out of his mouth. The two of you had acknowledged the other’s existence in his previous visits but hardly more than a customary store greeting.

“Oh. Yes.” It was sad, and it haunts you until this day, but through your shock, this was the only response you could manage.

“Really? Nice,” the two of you made your way to the front counter for a pen.

“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to do that for a while,” he said. “I usually come here a lot but suddenly it was the best music store in the city along with a pretty cashier behind the counter.”

“I’ve noticed you too,” you blushed, “I thought you were better at my job than me.”

“Oh, totally. No doubt,” he joked as you slid an old receipt with your number to him across the counter. “My name’s Peter.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N. I hope to see more of you real soon.”

The only thing you could manage to do was to smile and think, will those dimples bring me to my knees every time?

****

Requests are open!