#just know the entire time I’m posting about unrelated things I’m still thinking about boy meets world

[dragonloanshark]

merry boy meets christmas cory shawn topanga erifjdkbzbcndkld

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

[themarydragon]

Trouble the Water Continuation

It will be AWHILE before I have anything written, as I am still working to finish my first playthrough, I have a lot of things happening in my life, I am 75% done with the first draft of the first book of my own original world, and my only coherent thought about TOTK right now is SUFFERING 

but

Issues and contemplations below the cut. Some reference to TotK in the fifth paragraph that is spoilery. I tried not to make it explicit, but you have been warned.

First, IDK if you caught it, but the very last chunk of Chapter 2 in Born a Storm talked about sages. Let the record show, I posted that in June of 2020. I have a lot more I had planned for Born a Storm, and stopped writing it due to completely unrelated (cough cough Covid cough cough Loved and Lost) issues. Also, I realized if I was going to turn it into a complete work, like I kinda wanted to, I was either going to have to take it down, or somehow move chapters around as I went and I never actually decided how I wanted to manage that. I am still undecided, and I have to make that decision before my brain will allow me to work on totk in that universe. THE POINT, though, is I thought of a way to tie in sages (just a hundred years too early) that would be satisfying for me to write and not contradict TotK.

Second, SO FAR nothing I’ve found in TotK has completely screwed up my Trouble the Water [TtK] storyline. I’m not FINISHED yet, so that might change, but it really looks like the TotK worldstate is more or less compatible with where I left off in The Quiet River Rages [tQRR] with just a very little bit of handwaving.

Third, YOU CAN’T JUST GIVE ME THIS ANGST AND EXPECT ME NOT TO RUN WITH IT. 

Fourth, I feel like I have all the jumping-off points already loaded into the existing work. For example, tQRR, Chapter 5:  “I would have waited millennia if that’s what it took to get you back. Link, I chose-” Or Zelda’s gentle commune with the sword from Chapter 12 of CWRD.

Fifth, I want to write two parts. One is [spoilers] Zelda’s POV from-then-until-now just like Remember the Spring, and with the same flavor (and for the same reason). Again, I haven’t FINISHED it, but the Master Sword IS sentient and DOES talk to her, canonically, so it’s NOT EXACTLY ALONE and I don’t think forgetting was allowed, not entirely. The final Tear, which is NOT ancient, but rather we witness being shed, indicates possession of Sense of Self or at least Memory that I am definitely going to run with because angst. The other part is Our Boy desperately searching, finding Tears, and reflecting on how F’d up it is, given Zelda’s canonical parental history (her mother, then Rhoam). I don’t know yet exactly what I will include or exclude, but I’ve been in this place before and I know I have to write about it eventually. 

Last, if anybody expected me - ME - to see an amputee kilted tattoo’d protagonist and leave that shit alone, you got another thought coming. My husband has had some REALLY great insight into some of the cinematic moments (Link’s pause before taking Zelda’s hand for the Reverse Time ability) that I think deserve some love.

[nat-seal-well]

Time for me to assign each member of my favorite Redacted group—the DAMN crew, even though I love all of the Redacted characters very much—an allomantic ability from one of my favorite book series (Mistborn) because I am stressed and tired and I want to. And I like smashing two completely unrelated stories together to see what might happen. Putting the rest of the post under the cut so no one has to read it if they don’t want to lmao.

Keep in mind, for anyone who might be familiar with the books, that though there’s more than one type of magic, my brain is very small and I can only really keep track of one type. Which is why I’m only doing allomancy. Also, I’m always afraid of spoiling things even by accident. So like. I’m playing it safe. Well—I guess that isn’t entirely true. I have an idea for Gavin, though he won’t be an allomancer. Still no major spoilers though, I think.

(For those who don’t know, allomancy is one kind of magic from the Mistborn book series. Allomancers have the ability to swallow metals, which give them powers. Don’t eat metals at home.)

Starting off with the most obvious one—Freelancer!

With Freelancer’s canon ability to access just about every type of magic in the canon, it only makes sense that they would be not just a Misting, but a full-blown Mistborn.

Most allomancers can only ingest one kind of metal, which limits them to only one kind of magic. Mistborn are able to consume any kind, which of course, means they also have access to every type of allomancy. Either you can use one metal, or you can use them all—there isn’t really an in-between.

So: Mistborn is the clear choice.

Also, Freelancer is very much a main character. They’d be a Mistborn for sure, and a damn good one, too. They’d look cool as hell in a cloak made of tassels and wielding shiny, obsidian daggers, flying over buildings. Honestly I think it’s what they deserve.

Next, my favorite, who I’m sure absolutely no none is surprised by: Huxley :)

Huxley’s was another very clear choice to me. When I thought about this, it hit me almost immediately. The only one easier than him was Freelancer, lmao.

My favorite earthy boi is known for many things, and his physical strength is one of the big ones. He’s big. He’s strong. I love him.

Anyway, Huxley would be a pewterarm—also known as a thug. Pewterarms have the ability to burn, well, pewter. Doing so increases their physical strength, and their endurance, and lots of other abilities: balance, speed, dexterity.

He would absolutely be a pewterarm. Huxley is already naturally strong, and very aware and conscientious of it. Combine that with the abilities of a thug? I absolutely love the possibilities.

Everyone’s favorite fire boi, Damien!

This one I had to think about for a little bit, but when was I finally able to put my finger on the right one, I liked it a lot!

There are no metals that really have any relation to his canon magic abilities, but one thing I admire a lot is his firey attitude and his determination to improve the empowered world.

And so: I think he’d be a really good rioter. Rioters have the ability to burn zinc, which allows them to inflame the emotions that people around them are feeling. They can enhance any emotion, but rioters are commonly used to incite riots, which is where their name comes from.

I think I’d love to see all the things Damien would be able to do with these abilities. I love his passion—he cares, so much, about so many things. And him as a rioter, able to spur on the emotions of people around him? He’d be unstoppable.

Everyone’s very beloved, nerdy school counselor, Lasko! His turn is next!

Lasko’s ability, I chose less on the canon, and more what I can see him fitting the role of very well.

I think he would make a good tineye. Tineyes have the ability to use tin (unsurprising), which enhances all of their five senses—sight, touch, hearing, taste, smell. They make good scouts. Burning tin also allows them to process all of this heightened information much faster, which makes them invaluable on the battlefield.

Which is partially why he would make a good one. Being a counselor requires a lot of attention to detail. Lasko tends to be one of the quieter members of the DAMN crew, but speaking from someone who also doesn’t talk much—he notices a lot of little things. Also, he reminds me of a particular tineye in the books.

Lasko would be a great scout. I’d love to see him sneaking around, being all super-cool and stealthy, essentially able to see in the dark. Like an elf. It’s what he deserves.

Last but most certainly not least, Gavin! Whom I love very, very much.

Gavin’s is gonna be a little (a lot) bit different.

I don’t see him as an allomancer. Rather, leaning more towards the fact that he’s s daemon, I think he would continue to be something… supernatural.

Kandra are immortal beings. I’m not going to go into too much detail, but they’re shapeshifters, of sorts. Kandra change their appearance by consuming the bodies of the dead. (Humans, for the most part). They’re able to take on the look of those they use, and are known for their ability to mimic them down to a T.

I think Gavin would be a Kandra. For one thing, I just think it would be really, really cool. But I also adore him. I love the journey he’s gone through, learning how to just be himself. It reminds me of the Kandra’s ability to take the places of the deceased. I’d imagine it’s… unnervingly easy to start to forget yourself, living almost entirely like that.

[hurricanewithmyname]

I posted 7,387 times in 2022

That's 387 more posts than 2021!

1,078 posts created (15%)

6,309 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ilicitaffairs

@snowonthe

@rainsoncornelia

@reputation

@missegyptiana

I tagged 1,217 of my posts in 2022

#text - 182 posts

#he lives in queue - 158 posts

#asks - 41 posts

#met gala 2022 - 29 posts

#harry styles - 23 posts

#abortion rights - 20 posts

#laura’s listening party - 18 posts

#ask game - 11 posts

#midnights spoilers - 9 posts

#goncharov - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#it’s so much ‘hey have you heard taylor swift is fatphobic’ and without even knowing or understanding people are just going ‘omg wow she’s

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

happy taylor day to those who celebrate which apparently does not include miss swift herself

563 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

#4

as things get even worse in ukraine please remember that online posts from individuals are not the same as vetted reports. yes there are individuals posting who are going to be able to be more accurate about what’s happening because it is actually happening to them and on-the-ground reports on social media have been huge in recent years in keeping the world informed during times of turbulence but!! please remember:

people can and WILL lie to get attention esp during a crisis - someone saying “i’m from ukraine” when you have no other evidence is not a reliable source, double if their profile (blog, etc) looks relatively new or only has a few unrelated posts

people only know what they know! people can report what’s happening to them in the context that they understand it - that doesn’t give a full picture of what’s happening to an entire country or even a single city

deliberate misinformation specifically by russia is a thing

GET. MULTIPLE. SOURCES. check at least 2-3 news sources ON TOP of social media posts - whatever threads seem to be aligning across all sources are probably the closest to the truth

being informed means being responsibly informed and it’s okay if you don’t have the bandwidth (time, emotional energy, etc) to check your info in the middle of the day. better to be silent than to spread misinformation so please please check before you post

665 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

#3

706 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

#2

“tumblr is dead this” and “tiktok swifties” that idk about y’all but i never loved this site more than after it died. the people still here are the absolute diamonds in the rough of swiftie fandom and i cherish each and every one of you. i’m handing you a fresh strawberry as we speak. i’m patting your hand. i’m leaving a cup of tea for you as you pass on your way

1,015 notes - Posted July 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

not to be on my debut shit but if you weren’t there (watching cmt in 2007) you don’t remember how debut should not have worked that’s not what country music WAS then. it was just post-9/11 so new artists were all patriotism and country boys in trucks drinking and idolizing their fathers and war and occasionally being sad about a lost love and girls in short shorts looking wife-eyed and loving Jesus and occasionally being sad about a dead love. like taylor in her sparkly dresses with her big hair singing about high school and unrequited puppy love wasn’t designed to work but it DID because young women went absolutely feral over this gangly blond in prom dresses who sang about things they understood, things they felt and taylor was such a risk but she proved her mettle and then everyone proceeded to make her keep doing it for another sixteen years even though as a literal teenager she made a genre fit her not the other way around and i have to chew glass every time i think about it

1,104 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[heapster-45]

Word Find

Thanks to @bumblerhizal-art for tagging me in their word find post. The words I was tagged for are Time, Breath, Long, and Keep. All of these excerpts are from my Harry Potter Fanfiction, We Must Be Killers.

Time: From We Must Be Killers - Harry Potter

Later, when it was time to practice, Pleasant trailed around the room, watching over the students as they attempted the spell. She spent a moment with each student, correcting pronunciation and helping them envision their desks as pigs via the formula on the blackboard. Pleasant remembered how ridiculous this spell seemed to her, with no practical application, but now she understood the importance of connecting the dots between these two unlike things. 

A trio of students were whispering in the back corner as she came around. She could hear one of them say “... fought You-Know-Who…” as she inched closer.

“How’s it going back here? Having trouble with your transfiguration?” Pleasant leaned down to keep quiet. It was clear they were not attempting the spell. 

“I was just telling them that I saw you in the Prophet over the summer. That you helped Harry Potter fight You-Know-Who at the Ministry,” a dark-skinned boy said in hushed tones.

“Is that true?” the girl beside him asked. Pleasant wasn’t sure how much to say. Their expectant eyes softened her resolve to ignore their questions. She sighed.

“Yeah, I was there.” The trio gave each other excited looks.

Breath: From WMBK - Harry Potter

“First question?” Pleasant asked. Bellatrix faced her; eyes dilated. She was not playing games anymore.

“Godric Gryffindor’s sword has been in my possession. How did you get it?”

“Magic.”

“Pleasant,” Gaynore said. “It’s no time to be cheeky.”

“I think she needs some persuasion,” Bellatrix continued. She cast a curse. Pleasant felt her lungs constricting; she gasped in an attempt to draw in air. “You stole it from my vault at Gringotts!” The curse did not end. Pleasant’s vision began to blur, her head began to scream for oxygen. “What else did you take?!”

“Mother.”

Air rushed back into Pleasant’s lungs. Tears stung her eyes as she gasped for breath.

Long: From WMBK - Harry Potter

Pleasant sat in the back of her uncle’s car. Though her face was stoic, she gripped the strap of the backpack in her lap so strongly her tanned knuckles were white. The swelling in her cheek had yet to go down, but she was grateful for no longer tasting blood. Neither Pleasant nor he had eaten lunch yet, and Mr. Granger was trying to hide how angry he was. 

“You’re lucky I had an open afternoon, Pleasant. My patients wait three months for an appointment with me.”

She didn’t respond, trying not to acknowledge that she was the reason he had to take off work. 

“Alice and I will be having a serious talk with you before dinner,” he continued. He was holding back from raising his voice, but the fervor of his tone gave him away. 

Pleasant watched a playground full of small children screeching with laughter as they drove by. The rest of the area was residential.

“They are threatening to expel you, Pleasant. Do you understand the gravity of what you’ve done?” 

She saw his brown eyes look at her grimly in the rear view mirror with her peripheral vision.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I dunno what’ll happen if I do,” she replied. 

Keep: From WMBK - Harry Potter

“So… maybe Gaynore being a painter is innocuous, or maybe it’s a ploy. Could be diplomacy work,” Pleasant continued.

“And it wouldn’t be the first time,” Hermione said.

“But what about Erasmus?” Harry asked.

“I’m not entirely sure what his specialty is, but we do know that he’s ruthless. Unrelenting,” Pleasant said.

“He’s the most dangerous person in this school,” Harry agreed. “We should definitely be keeping an eye on him. But I’m still wary of Draco. And Snape.”

At the mention of his name, Pleasant looked over to the staff table, but the slimy bastard was nowhere to be found. Another cursory glance proved that Dumbledore was also gone.

“Pleasant?” Hermione asked, snapping her back to attention.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think the Apprentices could be planning?”

Pleasant wasn’t sure if it was worth alarming the others with what she really thought. Their mission could range from kidnappings and interrogations all the way to a solidified takeover of the school or the ministry. From what she’d heard during her time at the manor, the Death Eaters had detailed plans at least ten years ago, something she didn’t quite grasp at the time. From what she could recall at that moment, it seemed like a full plan of action to take over the European wizarding world within fifteen years. And they’d already had a whole year of unfettered activity.

Pleasant took the middle ground, making an educated guess in light of what Draco had revealed to her a mere hour ago. “I don’t want to scare anyone, but I think it’s very likely they might be gearing up for assassination.”

[mxsmwndr]

ALL HONESTY I DIDN'T KNOW IF YOU WANTED PRE ZOM-Bz OR POST ZOM-Bz SO I DID BOTH LOL @theratunderthesea

—

PRE APOCALYPSE:

ETHAN'S LITTLE SISTER IS AMAZING AND SHE LOVES YOU!!!! Please let me have this because I'm in love with olderbrother!Ethan ok thx

Like lil sis will take your hand and drag you upstairs almost as soon as you step foot into the household

and Ethan gets JEALOUS but he refuses to show/acknowledge it because he loves his lil sis too much to be upset and it is precious

But basically you'll just spend the entire day upstairs with her on accident playing dress up and yea party and shit

Ethan pouts after, of course

But y'all quickly make up because he literally cannot stay mad at anyone especially you

And also his family loves you

And of course your fam loves him too

your dad/paternal figure tried so hard not too, but it was impossible because Ethan is literally PERFECT and had zero flaws and he’s so sweet and precious

But like back to school and all, you go to ALL of Ethan’s baseball games

Literally all of them, no exception

And if you can't make a game you'll make an excuse, like "I have a doctor's note, leT ME GO!!!" only to have teacher respond with "(Y/n) we've been over this, you cannot write yourself a pass to leave class early because you're 'Ethan's emotional support s/o'" "BUT MR/S TEACHERRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!

Oh also you always run into his arms after his games

And OH MY GOD Ethan blushes a hella lot

And if you kiss his cheek his face turns cherry red so you make a habit of surprising him with cheek kisses because Ethan is ADORABLE and SHY and WAY TOO PURE

But don’t get me wrong, he blushes when you hug him too

So you do it randomly bc again, HE IS ADORABLE and soft and shy and aidjdjdjdj omg

And y’all have movie nights together!!!!

It’s freaking adorable

Y’all just kinda cuddle on the couch and share a blanket while watching movies together

Cause Ethan would much rather stay in than go out tbh

And you love it

But the only problem is that he always falls asleep

Like even during scary movies or super cool action packed movies

ALSO UNRELATED BUT HE FELL ASLEEP EATING ONCE because you thought he could stay awake if he's eating but noooooooo the next thing you know he's snoring with a chip laying on his chin

And you obv took a pic

But wearing Ethan’s sweatshirts?!

Omg

His sweatshirts are SO comfy

And they smell like him so it's even betterrrrrrrrrr

And also since he's like 60000 feet tall you practically drown in them no matter what your height is and it's adorable

Um... what else?

Oh!

Ethan can cook kind of good lol

His specialty is mac and cheese

But his favorite thing to do is binge eat junk food that he bought with you in his living room

Or yours — he really just wants to cuddle on a couch with you so he’s not too picky

But yeah, Ethan is precious and you love him with your entire being

OMG YOUR FIRST KISs??

Ethan was SO hesitant

He held your cheek and whispered “can I kiss you?”

And you were like FUCK YES

It was so innocent omg

But on the contrary i feel like Ethan secretly has a dirty mind lol

Like I can imagine him laughing at some hidden meaning silently and no one notices except you and you’re like “wtf man plz just be normal for like 5 seconds”

But yeah. Ethan is all cuddles and blushes

DURING APOCALYPSE:

Oh wow

Poor babe has so much guilt, even though he couldn't do anything to save them all (family, friends, teammates, etc…)

And you remind him of this, of course, but Ethan is going through a phase of self hatred and it's rough for everyone

You're the only one who knows about it though

And maybe Harry because tbh he probably picked up on it

But that's all. Harry doesn't say anything about it, too, because it's not his place and he knows it

Anyways

You like to sneak junk food to Ethan

His eyes light up and he looks like a kid on Christmas Day

It's too cute to not do

He likes to cuddle

Sometimes he gets nightmares and will silently show up at your classroom door

No words are exchanged then, but you motion for him to lay next to you and before you know it you're big spooning your baby boy and he's snoring softly

So you smile to yourself and whisper an "I love you, Ethan" before falling asleep yourself

And you don't know it but he smiles too

And whispers “I love you too”

And then he falls asleep AGAIN while thinking of how lucky he is to have you

So yeah

Also, he promises to make a home run for you, and you can't wait to be there to witness it

Also mocking him playfully

Because again, this boy blushes WAY too easily

Um... I think that's all? Basically it's just innocent and precious and you both love it, though it would def be easier without the whole apocalypse ordeal

POST APOCALYPSE:

Everything is kind of slowed down now

Like Ethan is still hella guilty for not saving his friends (bc now he has even more friends he failed to save) but at least he has you right

Yea no

You’re great and all but Ethan is just SO mad at himself ok

So you take him outside one day

And he’s like wtf but you’re like “teach me how to play baseball” bc he promised a while back when y’all stayed in that school together

And so he does

But he is still hella confused

And you’re not to great but that’s okay because Ethan is laughing and smiling and actually looks like he’s his age instead of older like he normally does

And so it’s a tradition to play baseball together when y’all have a break

But that doesn’t mean Ethan doesn’t have bad days

But you’re there for him, and that’s all that matters

Also there’s lots of freaking cuddles omg

And sleeping together? Like not sexually but just literally sleeping because Ethan is so warm all the time he’s like a heated blanket and pillow and everything you need/want

And y’all still sneak junk foods to each other but it’s mostly you so basically you still sneak junk foods to Ethan

And it’s all good

So you’ll do this a lot when Ethan’s not feeling his best

But yeah. Y’all are precious. Like each other’s light in the dark world you live in

And of course he makes that home run he promised lol

[atpaftmoom-bily]

Thoughts about Erik, why Wilhelm wasn't allowed to come out, and more.

Be warned, this is long, confusing, and I'm not even sure if I made any valid points. But I had thoughts on Young Royals, with no one to talk to, so here you go.

I've seen various different takes on Erik and what people thought his reaction would have been if Willie had come out to him, most of them being positive, and some as well saying how sad it was that Willie never got to come out to his brother. I have a different take, but bear with me it's gonna take a second to get there.

Something that I found interesting in the first place was that when August found out it was Simon and not a girl, he just seemed shocked, but not in a homophobic way that I had kind of been expecting.

Additionally, let's take a look at the comments on the video, I've split them up into three different groups. General comments (disbelief, surprise, pity, etc.), comments sexualizing them, and negative comments. (I've translated these as well as I could as they were not all captioned, but if I've made a mistake feel free to let me know!)

General Comments "OMG Have you seen this?? The Prince is gay!!!!" "Who's the other guy?" "I'm dead" "Finally some news to put Sweden on the map!" "Poor boys, I feel sorry for them" "So clumsy to get caught on film" "I know where he lives!" "I think the video is fake" "Love for the boys"

Sexualizing Comments "Royal porn" "Sexy" "Love" "Sexiest video ever"

Negative Comments "How will the monarchy survive this?" "The end of the royal family, time for Sweden to become a republic!" "Never been ashamed about being Swedish until now" "Class traitor! Your mother cries for your sins"

Now, there are quite a few things I want to point out about Sweden that I feel should be taken into account here. Of course, we don't know the exact dates that the show took place, but we do know it is modern-day, and though it is a work of fiction, I am going to assume that anything that is currently true in Sweden at the moment, give or take a few years, would also be true in the Young Royals universe.

The first point I would like to make is that Sweden is one of the most LGBT-friendly countries, even being named the most friendly country in 2019. Looking back in history, 1944 was when Sweden decriminalized sexual relationships between consenting adults of the same sex, though it was still thought to be an illness. However, in 1979 it was no longer considered an illness. Fun unrelated fact, but Sweden was the first country to legalize gender change in 1979. (If you'd like to read more on LGBT rights in Sweden here are some resources. One. Two.) If Sweden is that progressive and is that LGBT-friendly, then I wondered what the problem was with Willie coming out, so I dug some more.

I'm American, so my understanding of many parts of the world is unfortunately skewed or incomplete, but I'm working on changing that. However, because of this, one thing that surprised me in my research was that the monarchy in Sweden is more of a unifying symbol than anything else. They have no political affinity or formal powers, but rather "the King’s duties are mainly of a ceremonial and representative nature." Of course in the case of Young Royals, the Queen inherited the throne, and Wilhelm would after her.

Something else I found interesting about the monarchy in Sweden is that the current Queen, Queen Silvia, did not come from a line of nobility, so when Queen Silvia and King Carl Gustaf married in 1976, it was highly unusual. (See more on the Swedish monarchy here.)

There is one last thing I want to point out about the current King and Queen. "In summer 2000, King Carl XVI Gustaf and Queen Silvia of Sweden made history when they ate under the rainbow flag at Djurgårdsterrassen, a Stockholm restaurant owned by gay owner Arto Winter. At that time, the decision was seen as controversial, and played a valuable role in moving conversations forward – while making the royals’ position abundantly clear." (Source)

Now, of course, I understand the difference between a fictional work and real-life situations, but at least in my opinion, these same ideals should carry through to the show that we see. If the King and Queen in real life have been openly supportive of the LGBT community since at least 2000, then although specifics might not be the same, some of those ideals should carry through to Young Royals, so what is the problem, right?

I'm not trying to erase the reality of homophobia altogether, because of course, that exists. We even see in the show through comments that there are some people who are worried about the state of the monarchy, are disgusted, or downright still think that not being straight is a sin, but we also see other comments as well. If Wilhelm were to come out, what would happen? Would there be some backlash? 100%. Would there be people who would support him? Also 100%. Would it make his life harder? Probably, but would he be happier? In my opinion, yes, but I guess that's a question that Wilhelm would have to gauge on his own.

Now I want to look deeper at the conversation that Wille has with his mother, the Queen, in the car on the way home so he can give a statement to the media. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

---

Wilhelm: Why can't I just have a relationship with him? And not say anything. Just live a normal life.

Queen: You're the crown prince. And that's a privilege, not a punishment.

Wilhelm: Yes, but I didn't ask for this!

Queen: Well, nobody has ever, ever asked for this! You are the only one who can take over the throne after Erik. Don't you understand that? You are so young. When you're young, love feels like the most important thing in the whole world. When I was your age, I too had an unfortunate romance. That was before I met your father. What I mean is, is it worth it? If you feel that the attention you've been getting so far is unacceptable, it's nothing compared to what you will endure for the rest of your life. We have a chance to cover this up, I urge you to take that chance. You may not get another."

---

Something I find interesting is how much Willie just wants to live a normal life, which I get. He is under so much pressure, from being a role model, his brother's death that he hasn't even had time to process, preparing to be king someday, and (kind of) being outed to the entire world, but at least his school. It's enough to make anyone want to live normally. I think the biggest thing we have to think about here is the Queen's question as well. Is it worth it? She is right of course, the attention he will get will always be there, but I do think that Willie would be able to find a way to be happy along with being King. It shouldn't have to be a case of either-or, and ultimately I don't think it is.

Now I'm going to move back to Erik, and really, this ties everything back to the start where I mentioned I had a different take on Erik's reaction to Willie being not straight. I think that Erik already knew. It would make sense for a variety of reasons. In the show, it is obvious that the two of them have a good relationship. We also hear Erik tell Willie, "you can trust him, he's like a brother," in episode one when speaking about August, showing that trust is something strong between them as brothers. I'm not exactly sure how old Wilhelm is meant to be in the show, but I estimate somewhere around sixteen. I would like to assume that sometime before attending Hillerska, he may have had a crush or felt some attraction to a guy. We also can see from their phone call in episode three, that they're not afraid to joke around with each other about such things, meaning that Erik would most likely be the first person that Willie would go to about such things.

Another thing that makes me believe Erik already knew has to do with people assuming that Simon is the first guy that Willie has liked. Now, I know things are not the same for everyone, but if we consider what happens when the video is posted, and Willie had to deny it is him, we can conclude that being anything other than straight in their family is not okay, simply because they are royals, and the media attention will be too much. Imagine you've known your whole life, you can't be something, the first instance you encounter that, you're probably not going to give in right away. I'm talking at least some minor internalized homophobia here or something.

So put that into the context of Simon and Willie's first kiss in episode two. Simon kisses Willie twice before Willie says "Well, I'm not... I'm not... Stop! Wait, wait, wait!" and immediately pulls Simon back towards him. Let's reflect back to episode one where Willie says "I’m not… I’m not allowed to speak about political issues." I'm not allowed. Of course, there are TONS of restrictions on what he can and can not do, kissing guys, probably being one of them. But if he was going to say I'm not gay or I'm not like that, why would he instantly pull him back in, contrasting what he was just going to say. In episode three, Willie does say, "I'm not like that," which makes sense. He's had time to think and isn't in the heat of the moment. What other explanation can he give? Sure, he could say he's not allowed to be like that but saying that would admit that he is. It's a circle, a very messy circle, but it is a... loop.

Going back to what I'm supposed to be talking about here, Erik. This isn't Willie's first rodeo, but Erik was there for the first. One last thing I want to talk about is the phone call that Erik and Willie have in episode three. Below is an excerpt from their dialogue.

---

Erik: You've met someone.

Wilhelm: I, uh... Yes, okay, but I... I don't think we're a couple or anything. I don't know what it is but can we just...

Erik: I get it. I get it. You don't have to tell me any... I don't wanna hear any details. Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions and-

Wilhelm: They don't care about me. 'Cause you're the Crown Prince that they have opinions.

Erik: I don't get it. Why are you sitting in your room sulking when you have a crush to hang out with?

---

Firstly, Erik refers to Willie's crush as completely gender-neutral. "You've met someone" could very easily be "you've met a girl". The same goes for "you have a crush to hang out with". Very well could have been "you have a girl to hang out with". Sure, it could be completely coincidental, but we live in such a heteronormative society that it would just make sense for Erik to use female-gendered words. Unless, of course, he knew.

Secondly, "Hey. Willie, enjoy yourself. Soon enough people will start having opinions". This sounds very much to me like, enjoy your time while you can be yourself without backlash because soon you won't have that privacy. While I feel that, yes, the same may happen with anyone Willie was to date, him having a same-sex partner multiplies that, by a lot.

In conclusion, Erik knew Willie was not straight, Willie should come out, but when he is ready, and August is a really deep character that people don't give enough credit to. Gosh, I hope I covered everything, I probably forgot so much, but it's fine. Please let me know your thoughts if you've made it this far into the post.

One last thing. I hope you'll notice how in this post, I never referred specifically to Wilhelm's sexuality, and I did that for a reason. I often see gay used to label him, and though I am unsure if that's being used as an umbrella term or specifically as in he only likes men, I think it's really important to realize that they're specifically making him unlabeled. In this youtube video Edvin Ryding, the actor who plays Wilhelm, says "What we're trying to do... We're not labeling Wilhelm's sexuality. I think that's good because it's like, it portrays that it's okay that way too. You don't have to. You shouldn't have to come out. It should be allowed to be a bit fluid, a bit out there." I just think that it is important as it's another type of representation that is not seen often.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 305: Worst Intervention Ever

Previously on BnHA: Shinomori, whose name took me an entire week to memorize, was all, “nice to meet you Deku, I’m ten feet tall, do you want to know how I died?” and without waiting for an answer explained that he kicked it from old age at forty thanks to good ol’ OFA. Deku was all “wait a minute, then how come All Might, who’s fifty-five and is definitely dyeing his gray hair, is still alive?” First and Shino were all, “we really have no fucking clue but we think it’s cuz he’s quirkless, JUST LIKE YOU!” So basically, since quirkless people don’t exactly grow on trees these days, Deku is probably going to be the last user of OFA. The chapter ended with Nana being all, “psst, Deku, about my grandson. Uh, can you kill him?” which is sure to lead to a very interesting conversation this week.

Today on BnHA: Nana And The Gang are all “so, Deku, how can we put this delicately. The thing is, we’re pretty sure that AFO really fucked my grandson up, so on the off chance you can’t save him, how would you feel about, you know... [throat slitting gesture].” Deku is all “idk you guys, I kinda feel like he’s really just a traumatized child at heart and he’s in a lot of pain and stuff and so I should try to help him.” The Vestiges are all “BUT WHAT IF YOU CAN’T” and Deku is all “BUT I WANT TO TRY, DAMMIT” and the Vestiges are all “well when you put it that way, we, uh, were just testing you, so congrats, you passed!” The chapter ends with First being all, “ANYWAY SO WHY DON’T YOU TWO SHY BOYS STANDING OVER THERE IN THE SHADOWS COME SAY HELLO” before we CUT AWAY FOR ANOTHER WEEK, goddammit.

seriously, Nana

just... have you met Deku?? look, if you really want Tomura dead, just sic him on the U.A. first years and tell Shouto and Honenuki that it’s a training exercise

oh my god lmao

we’re too far away to see Nana’s face here so I will just assume that she turned and is staring DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA for this one line lmao. “I just wanted to clarify in case anyone felt inclined to take my dialogue out of context and spend an entire week complaining about it”

oh my god?! are you all purposely trying to make me sad??

someone stop me before I launch into an impromptu rant about all my Tomura feels. WHY IS NOBODY STOPPING ME. oh my god but yes, exactly. he’s just in pain all the time. this is exactly why I think Tomura has such high redemption potential even though so far he seems to lack so many of the redemption arc essentials such as feeling remorse, wanting to change, and taking responsibility for his actions. the reason why I’m willing to overlook all that in his case is because Tomura has essentially had zero agency his entire life. AFO molded him into a killer by making sure he was in constant mental agony, and making it so that the only thing that even slightly relieved that agony was killing peeps. like, please don’t think I’m making excuses for him or anything, but if you take a child and manipulate their existence to make it virtually impossible for that child to grow up as anything other than a killer, and basically never give him the chance to be anything else, then no shit he’s gonna be a killer?? he’s basically never had the choice not to be. it’s never been an option for him. anyways I feel like I am EXPLAINING MYSELF SO BADLY but nonetheless I am prepared to die on this hill

anyway so now Nana is all “that’s a rhetorical question btw because Our Hearts And Minds Are One so we can feel everything you feel bro.” so yeah, that’s interesting

now Banjou is getting started on the “let’s try and talk Deku out of wanting to save Tomura because it’s insane” part of their OFA Mystical Space Void Reunion agenda

look, Banjou, I feel you, I really do. you guys don’t think it’s realistic that Deku can defeat Tomura without killing him. so if it’s a choice between killing Tomura vs letting Deku and everyone else in the entire world die, then duh, you think Deku should kill him. I get it! and if this were a real life mass murderer I’d totally agree with you. but the problem is that this isn’t real life, this is a sympathetic shounen villain with a tragic past who might as well have FUTURE REDEMPTION ARC RECEIPIENT stamped on his forehead at this point

so First is all “look, there’s absolutely no doubt my brother has fucked this kid up good and proper by now”, which, again, fair

though, that’s kind of exactly my point though. everything that Tomura is, everything he’s done, he’s done because of AFO. AFO has so effectively shaped his personality and his worldview by this point that it’s all but impossible to penetrate that. he’s AFO’s puppet. but the problem is that rather than treating him like a victim, you all are treating him like a casualty. like he’s already a lost cause. but good luck trying to convince Deku of that

WHOA WHAT, RANDOM SUPER-IMPORTANT AND BIZARRELY UNRELATED EXPOSITION DROPPED IN JUST LIKE THAT??

way to still not reveal Sixth’s name, btw. THE PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW, DAMMIT. but also so this confirms something we basically already knew already, which is that not even AFO can steal OFA. it literally can’t be taken away by anyone unless the owner wills it. SO SUCK ON THAT AFO YOU EGG

(ETA: so I have no idea why this was omitted from this translation, but apparently the Sixth’s name was revealed as “En”, which is obviously not his full name but at least it’s something. also he most likely has a fire or smoke-related quirk based on the kanji used, 煙.)

so Banjou is saying that Deku’s “lack of an iron will” could be a disadvantage against AFO. hahaha what?? Midoriya “I’ll break all of my bones without blinking an eye just to protect someone” Izuku lacks an iron will? do tell

he says this is going to be a test of Deku’s determination. well yeah, no shit. but just not in the way you guys think

OH HELLO AGAIN

darker hair again here! but I don’t trust the contrast in these scans at all after last week. his coveralls are way darker than they looked before too, and you can clearly see he’s standing in the shadows now

(ETA: yep, once again the raw shows that his hair is considerably lighter than what’s shown in these scans here. although there’s no mistaking now that his hair is consistently being colored in this slightly darker shade, and it’s not just the lighting.)

anyways lol First was saying something about how AFO can’t steal OFA, and they’ve spent all this time cultivating it as the ultimate weapon against AFO, and blah blah blah. go on then, keep lecturing

NANA GODDAMMIT NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT

girl what?? you did everything in your power to protect your family, and AFO, fucked up man that he is, targeted them anyway. there is one person and one person only to blame for what’s happened to Tomura, and that potato-faced asshole needs a good kick in the balls

NANA GODDAMMIT DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE

SO HELP ME GOD!! I WILL GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG YOU’VE EVER HAD!! THAT IS A THREAT

so now Nana is all “I’m just going to call my grandson a Thing to ensure that fandom has only the freshest, grass-fed no-hormones-added discourse this week”

I don’t even need to drop into the tags to know exactly which specific people are going to respond to this, and what kind of posts they are going to write lmao. everyone’s all caught up in the “that thing”, and meanwhile I’m over here completely hung up on this “nay” that’s appeared out of NOWHERE you guys. look at that. she really said “NAY”

Nana, my love, my dearest, I feel you girl I really do. but he’s not an unforgivable manifestation of pure evil, Deku is exactly right actually, he’s a boy in pain. you guys need to stop questioning Deku’s shounen protagonist instincts here and just let him work his sparkly magic. “let’s try and convince Midoriya Fucking Izuku that he can’t save someone” is a plan that is NEVER going to turn out well you guys

“DEKU GODDAMMIT WHAT IF WE CAN’T SAVE HIM” lmao it’s like an intervention

“DAMMIT DEKU JUST ADMIT YOU HAVE A SAVING PEOPLE PROBLEM!”

RED ALERT IT’S ANOTHER CLOSE-UP OF THE BACK OF MISTER TWO BON CLAY’S HEAD OMG

(ETA: I was too distracted with freaking out about Two and Three to really appreciate how ridiculously handsome First looks in this panel. but on my second readthrough it stood out so much that I had to go back and add an extra bullet point just to talk about how hot he is. look at him. wtf.)

THAT IS DEFINITELY AN UNDERCUT. THE PLOT THICKENSSSS. also those are fucking exhaust vents on Mister Three’s neck. MISTER THREE COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE RELATED TO THE IIDAS, PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS I’M DYING OVER HERE

so now Deku is launching into what will undoubtedly be a “saving people problems require SAVING PEOPLE SOLUTIONS” heroic counter-speech!

I mean, they can already feel the “lol nah I’m gonna try and save him” feelings running through him lol. ~OuR hEaRtS aNd MiNdS aRe CoNnEcTeD~ and all that. this is just a formality, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love a good shounen protag speech

oh wait hold up, do you mean to tell me that the whole “hearts and minds are connected” thing I was just mocking just a paragraph ago actually allowed Deku to feel what Tomura was feeling?? like literally feel it??

YET AGAIN these Tomura feels are pounding on my front door you guys?? they just will not quit?? people my house is already full of feels, does it look like I need you to sell me any more of them?? -- what do you mean, they’re free??

AW YISS THAT’S IT DEKU. THAT’S SOME GOOD SPEECH RIGHT THERE

I appreciate the contrast here between the Douchebag Triumvirate of Overhaul, Muscular, and Stain versus the Misguided Twosome of Gentle and La Brava. never let it be said that Deku doesn’t know the difference between a redeemable villain and an unredeemable one

OH NO -- OH MY GOD

someone please help me I need directions to the OFA Spooky Galactic Nebula Realm in this fictional Japanese manga land. it’s not on google maps. I need to give these two babies a big hug and wrap them up in a blanket and treat them to some McDonalds Happy Meals please help

other things: (1) ENDEAVOR CHILLING OUT IN DEKU’S “PEOPLE I HOLD DEAR” PANEL LMAO NEON DISCOURSE EXTRAVAGANZA, (2) “ONE FOR ALL IS A POWER TO SAVE, NOT TO KILL” I’M ABOUT TO CRY DEKU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO FEEL ALL THIS LOVE, (3) [SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] THERE’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING IRON WILL!!!!!!!! -- I’m sorry, please don’t call security, I’ll be good

I just randomly remembered that Deku is still saying all of this in his muffled “FMMPHHMMPHMM” voice and I’m somehow cracking up lol. so actually it’s a very good thing Their Hearts And Minds Are Connected, otherwise they’d no doubt be all, “...what?”

(ETA: so I completely missed this on account of it literally not being visible in the scan at all, but in the raw you can clearly see Baby Kacchan and Baby Shouto fanboying over All Might in two of these panels, and excuse me, ma’am??

thank you very much Deku for including them in your montage, particularly since you’ve never seen Baby Shouto before lol. amazingly accurate image you managed to conjure up, all things considered.)

SDKFJLSKHG -- AS IF ON CUE???

HE’S SO ADORABLE HELP?? Trippy Space All Might looks like he’s about to cry, and First is all “don’t crack a smile... you have to be Firm and Serious here... dammit, don’t smile” omg

anyways! YOU GO DEKU. “MY QUIRK MY RULES, BITCHES” damn, son

KLJLKKHLG TRIPPY SPACE ALL MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY IS CRYING ALL MIGHT HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

“I JUST... [CLENCHES FIST] REALLY LOVE SAVING PEOPLE” FUCKING HELL LMAO THIS IS THE WORST INTERVENTION OF ALL TIME

Deku is literally all “sure, maybe I’ll have to kill him, but have you guys also considered, MAYBE NOT??” it’s no use Nana he’s too powerful

LMAO FIRST

“like I’ve been saying this whole time, you should definitely try saving Shigaraki Tomura.” “but, uh... First, didn’t you just -- ” “shut up”

(ETA: clearly it’s not just his brother who inherited those smooth-talking genes.)

so now Deku has turned back into a sixteen year old and his clothes have gone missing again. just OFA things

dskljdlsklgk

yes... sure... “testing” you...

HEY

FIRST OF ALL, DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI YOU MADE NANA CRY. even if I’m pretty sure they’re actually tears of happiness/relief. and SECOND OF ALL, “TELL MY BOYFRIEND I SAID HI” DJSKDLKJJL ANYWAY MAYBE GRAN, NANA, AND MR. SHIMURA WERE IN A THROUPLE

[SCREAMS]

WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE?? WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE!!!!!

(ETA: and two-to-one odds that we cut away to some other scene once they finally start to turn around next week. I’M CALLING IT NOW. giving myself a week to brace myself for the rage.)

fucking hell. well if anyone needs me I will be adding Horikoshi fucking Kouhei to the list of irredeemable villains, peace

[thechekhov]

Hi! I saw on a post that you're agender and I'm kinda questioning my gender (again) but what interested me more about that post was that you said you believe that gender is a social construct and I'm not really familiar with that theory. I was wondering if you could explain to me what the whole idea is? (bc I kinda only feel like a have a gender in social situations? In my head, my dreams and how I picture myself in the future, I'm genderless idjskahwksjejensj) Sorry for bothering you if I did.

This is a BIG topic and it opens a LOT of wormholes. 

We’re gonna do this in pie slice statements that will hopefully help explain what I mean. Please keep in mind I’m going to simplify many things for the sake of readability.

1) What is a social construct? 

Social constructs are ideas that are negotiated by social groups. Something being a social construct does not make it ‘not real’. 

For example, money is a social construct. Yes, we have cash - coins, credit cards - but these are physical props that are REPRESENTATIVE of the idea of currency. You have some form of credit to your name - the money is a socially agreed-upon idea of value being represented by bills in your hand, by numbers in your bank account. 

[Description: Two humanoid figures are standing side by side. The right-side figure is holding a rock in its hand. 

Right side figure: Let’s agree that this shiny rock is worth 2 sheep.

Left side figure: Sounds fake but ok.]

Technically, countries are also social constructs. We, as a society, negotiate what a country is, and this can be changed.

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of a dotted line drawn on the ground. The left figure is pointing down at it while the right figure watches, its arms crossed.

Left figure: Let’s pretend that everything on this side of the imaginary line is mine.

Right figure: ...ok but my house is over there.

Left figure: ... for 3 shiny rocks you can come visit.]

Does that mean canada isn’t real? No. (I mean, obviously canada ISN’T real, but we all agree to pretend it is.) The thing that makes it real is that we are in agreement, and all follow the social rules of pretend to make it seem like the Canadian border, the idea of Canadian citizenship, etc... is an objective fact. (It’s not. These are in fact, negotiable limits and parameters. We have laws in place to define it in legal terms, but those laws can be changed, or may change in the minds of communities. That’s why it’s a construct.)

By that same token, I hold the view that gender, as we largely perceive it in modern society, is a construct. Why? Because it is not inherent; we, as a society, negotiate its meaning. 

2) What is gender? 

People will probably fight me on this and that’s fine, but here’s my (simplified) understanding of gender (from someone who personally has none)

Gender is a social category negotiated by cultures based on your assigned or desired role in your community that influences, among many other things, your physical appearance, your role in family units, your expected position in jobs, etc. 

How I think it happened:

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of the panel, both holding children-looking figures. The one on the left is wearing purple. The one on the right is wearing green.

Green figure: Hey, I’ve got an idea. What if we separate the babies into two groups based on physical traits they have no control over?

Purple figure: Wh-- okay...?

Green figure: And then limit the jobs they can do and the community ritual involvement available to them based on that!

Purple figure: ... I feel like this is going to backfire on us someday.

Green figure: Nah, it’ll be fine.

The past panel is a dramatic closeup on the purple figure’s face - which is featureless - betraying a deeply doubtful emotion. It says nothing.]

Important points to remember: what gender looks like, what the limits are, what the expectations are... are not inherent to any human biology. We make up gender roles. This is evident in the fact that across the world, gender roles differ by culture. The positions people of a certain gender are allowed to take up are different. What is perceived to be ‘girly’ or ‘boyish’ is different across cultures. 

Simply speaking - currently the (western) model we have, dumbed down, is:

You are assigned male at birth because of physical characteristics

You are raised being told to ‘toughen up’ and ‘boys don’t cry’ and encouraged not to show emotions

You are taught to wear male-coded clothes and discouraged from female-coded fashion choices

You are given more opportunities to participate in sports, encouraged to engage in physical activity, etc

You are not expected to need time off for child-rearing 

Here’s where gender as it works in society breaks down into being not a real thing but instead something we thought up: 

Nothing about having a penis necessitates wearing pants. Nothing about having XY chromosomes means you need to keep your hair short. Nothing about your genome makes the experience of nail-polish different for any human being. 

All of these are arbitrary traits we decided were allowed or not allowed to a specific group of people based on entirely unrelated physiology. 

Even if we delve deeper, there is MORE variation among individuals of the same ‘sex’ than there are, on average, of members of the ‘opposite sex’ when compared to each other. 

Many people use the excuse ‘women are physically not as strong as men’ to say that this has an evolutionary aspect driving these cultural, historical, socially-constructed gender requirements. 

But if there was a physical reasoning behind the culturally-set gender-limited job expectations, then we actually WOULDN’T need a traditional binary gender system to sort ourselves into categories. It would simply be decided as a meritocracy - stronger individuals, regardless of gender, would be given physically-demanding jobs. (Also we know that many jobs thought to be ‘traditionally male’ are just the result of sexist bullshit, so this reasoning doesn’t fly any further than I can throw it which is, coincidentally, not very far. Politics is one such area. Doctors are another. We can go on but I think you get my drift.)

My own example of this is an anecdote when my grandparents came to visit my partner and I in Japan. While we were driving down to Tokyo, my grandmother - who has a PhD in entomology - began to say that driving is a masculine activity and women shouldn’t be driving as it was ‘un-woman-like’. My partner almost immediately fired back that in Japan, studying insects or having any interest in them whatsoever was considered a heavily masculine-coded activity. In Russia, there is no such assignment, and my grandmother was left silently blinking in confusion, unable to come up with any excuse except ‘well, all cultures are different, I suppose...’

Do either of these things inherently have a gendered aspect? Of course not! But we assign gendered ideals to them anyway.

3) If gender is made up and constructed by society, then does that mean trans people aren’t real?

No.

Even if you agree that gender is a social construct, trans people are still real. TERFs don’t get a pass. Why? 

Because gender - as a social construct - still affects our everyday lives, dictates our social position in our community. Transitioning is still a thing that has to happen. The fact that you are NOT easily able to decide your own gender and are ostracized for wanting to transition, abused for dressing the way you want to be perceived, and bullied for wanting people to refer to you with different pronouns - all those are the effects of a social construct that has very REAL impact on our lives.

This is also why I dislike defining trans-ness by dysphoria. Because transgender people are not only their suffering - the suffering is coming from the outside!! Many trans people remember not being concerned about their gender identity in their childhood, because they did not yet perceive the world as being hostile to their desire to fulfil a specific role in society. The issues and self-hatred and dysphoria begins when they express wanting to be themselves - a life which they are forbidden from pursuing based on physical characteristics they were born with.

Does this mean we should try to remove gender from society? If we constructed it, we can deconstruct it, right?

Realistically, I highly doubt this is possible. Gender is so ingrained in our daily lives that it would be difficult. Nor, I would say, would it be necessary to achieve world peace. 

Having social groups - having gender - isn’t inherently a bad thing. The bad thing is when we limit those social groups to specific basic human rights, like voting, or when we forbid them from transitioning from one to another based on things that are out of their control. 

Also, I’m not saying genitals and secondary sexual characteristics aren’t real. Please don’t bother sending me that angry message, I’ll ignore it, I promise. 

But the concept of gender IS something we thought up and maintain and negotiate with each other to this very day. It’s not granted to us by a higher power, nor is it a constant, unchanging thing. It’s a part of the human experience and like everything, it has the potential to evolve - as a concept in our communal memory, as well as on an individual level, for people who feel they want to be perceived differently. 

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!

[aaronhotchstuff]

i’m currently revamping my supernatural fic and now i’m working on a new edit for izzy that features ocs that are either new or has been changed, so i thought i’d make a post of all the things i’ve changed, added and kept the same on the art of running so far!! (and a bit unrelated but if you sent me an ask, i promise i’m working on it!! i just got a ton of them in my inbox and it’s taking me a while to get through all of them <3)

CHANGES;

instead of a twin sister named evangeline ‘eva’ hayes (played by jenna coleman), izzy now has a twin brother named jerome ‘jerry’ hayes (played by tyler hoechlin)

her older sister eleanor ‘ellie’ hayes is now named victoria ‘vicky’ madden but is still played by sophia bush

her dad ivan hayes, played by jon hamm, is now named jeremiah hayes and played by julian mcmahon

her mom elizabeth ‘lizzy’ hayes is now played by alyssa milano (still dead tho)

lizzy has two sisters instead of one, which are victoria ‘tori’ scott (played by holly marie combs) and rosalind ‘sally’ scott (played by shannen doherty) and tori is also dead </3

the angel abiel / abbie is now played by tala ashe instead of ana de armas

izzy’s fic series the everlasting series is now named the love and war saga, and there are now five books instead of three

my connected supernatural fic series is now named damnation of the damned instead of fall of the aegis

NEW;

madison ricci (played by melanie scrofano) is now the love interest for sam instead of laurel barnes

madi has a younger sister named alison (played by dominique provost-chalkley) and she will be paired with charlie

(not exactly new but) sarah young (played by jessica parker kennedy) is sam’s romantic soulmate, but she’s gay (for gail miller (played by shelley hennig) specifically, who is indenial about her attraction to women and also has a ✨friendly✨ rivalry with izzy)

reggie weir (played by grey damon) is a witch who reached out to izzy after she succumbed to dark magic in s2 and encouraged her to stay on that track & izzy basically cheated on dean with him although she was not entirely herself

vicky is married and has a little boy, but her husband will probably die (or is already dead) so she’s paired with cas

jerry will probably be paired with jo

ugh there’s definitely way more but i cannot think of all of them rn afajshjs

SAME;

knox taylor (brenton thwaites) is still the one that got away

violet barnes (teresa palmer) is still the detrimental ex

laurel barnes (claire holt) is still the stuck-up bitch (that may or may not be paired with adam milligan)

poppy barnes (britt robertson) is still the unwanted babysitter (that will probably be paired with jack)

lol basically everything else is the same, unless i forgot about something sfgsgd

if anybody has questions just send me an ask and i’ll happily answer!! but as i’ve mentioned above, it’ll probably take a bit of time due to the current amount of asks i have!! <3 (also some of these aren’t even for taor, more so her series in general, but anyways afajdhsjs)

tag list: @yelenabolevas @lokitrasho @richitozier @delicateblackrose @perfectlystiles @ocfairygodmother @jewelswrites-ish @raith-way @claryxjackson @hiddenqveendom @decennia @lovehermioneforever @kendelias @hughstheforcelou @multifandom-oc-hell @come-along-pond @lizziesxltzmxn @camiemendes (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)

[evienyx]

Hey so uh, sorry that this is kinda a personal question and unrelated to what you usually post but you seem really nice and I was wondering how you figured out that you were ace? I’ve been struggling with this myself for a while now, and was just wondering if you had any advice or something. Please don’t feel obligated to respond or anything, I totally get that this is kinda a weird question and might make you uncomfy, so sorry about that in advance. Thanks!

Well, I’m going to start off by saying that everyone is different. You won’t figure it out the same way I figured it out, just like how I didn’t figure it out the same way any of my friends did. That’s all right. Take all the time that you need.

Additionally, I only really figured this out for myself in the last few years, and one day something may happen that I identify with a different sexuality and that’s also okay. This is not a ‘one-and-done’ kinda thing. It’s all right. This is your thing. Yours.

For me, it was around my freshman year of high school that I started realizing that I had never really gotten to that phase where I started obsessing over anyone. Now, in middle school, even though that was the time when a lot of people around me really started going hard into the dating thing, I never did. I skipped a year in school, though, so it would make sense for me to be about a year or so later than everyone else hopping on the hype train of teenhood, but halfway through my first year of high school, it was still pretty mute.

People around me would joke constantly, say things like “Oh, well, once she gets her first crush, everything will change.” I remember distinctly my cousin asking me if I had a crush on anyone, and then me saying no, and then my grandma patting me on the cheek and saying “You just haven’t found the right boy yet.”

So, for most of freshman year, I sort of just accepted what people around me said, that I was a “late-bloomer” and I would one day fall for someone hard and everything would make sense. 

When the end of freshman year came around, I was quite sure that I was just another straight girl, who would get the whole ‘attraction thing’ soon enough. 

As the months went on, though, I realized a few things.

1. Whatever thing was meant to change, didn’t come to fruition.

2. I was perfectly fine and open to dating someone, but I didn’t care about what they looked like. When friends and cousins and the like would show pictures of actors and talk about how hot the actor was, I’d agree, but almost completely on a baseline objective level.

and 3. I was completely uninterested in the idea of sex. I didn’t seek it out, or care about it. It was barely even spared a thought in my mind.

I started thinking that there might be something wrong with me, or that maybe I had felt sexual attraction toward someone, and I just hadn’t noticed. But the further into the year I got, the more I came to recognize the fact that that was not the case. 

I recall on one specific wet day in the late winter of that year, I was walking my dog on the one day the temperatures were slightly decent, and I was just scrolling through the internet aimlessly when I noticed something that caught my eye. It was a post (which I cannot find) of around two dozen pride flags, each with a name and description of the sexaulity or gender identity it represented.

That day, walking the dog through slush that got melting snow stuck to his paws and mud clinging to my boots, as the temperature prepared to drop below freezing for another week, I learned, for the first time, what Asexuality was.

I had seen the flag before, of course, and heard the term ‘ace,’ but I had never looked into it, thought about it. I didn’t think much of it at that moment, either. I just filed it away and moved on to exhale sharply through my nose at whatever ‘Stonks’ meme came up on my feed next.

Quite a while (as in, literal years) passed, though, and I found myself thinking about the idea of ‘Asexuality’ that I had heard about more and more. 

The one thing that really held me back was the fact that I was fine with the concept of having sex with someone, though I was only really interested in doing it for the experience/intimacy, and possibly in the future to have a child, and I thought to myself, “I can’t be Asexual if I want to have a kid. That’s not how it works.”

Surprisingly (or maybe not surprisingly at all), there was one thing that really did it for me in the end, and that was when Muffin ( @muffinlance ) announced on Tumblr (in a post I cannot find) that she was going to be having a baby.

An asexual (married too, so take that grandma!), having a baby. While still being asexual.

I looked into it, discovered the idea of someone being Asexual Sex-Positive, Sex-Neutral, or Sex-Negative. I found out, truly, about the idea of being Demisexual, or Gray Axsexual. The idea of an Asexuality Spectrum was opened up to me, and I realized suddenly that all of my worries, everything that had been holding me back, didn’t matter. 

My Tumblr bio shortly after changed from ‘she/her’ to ‘she/her, ace’ and it was one of the best feelings in the entire world. I don’t quite think I’ll ever be able to describe to someone who never went through the experience of finally feeling like your belong, if only for that one moment.

(also, currently, I’m of the opinion that I am either Biromantic or Panromantic. I’m leaning more towards bi, but I’m completely open still. I also have still not dated a single person ever, so who knows. That’s not what this is about, just thought I’d mention it)

You should take all the time you need, find what fits you. It’s weird to hear, and it’s hard to do, but I’m quite sure that once you find it, you’ll know it.

Last holiday season, while at a gathering with the more intensely religious and traditional side of my family, a cousin of mine sang “I Kissed a Boy,” by Adele, but changed the lyrics to “I Kissed a Girl,” so as not to appear ‘gay’ in any way, shape, or form. 

I noticed a different cousin of mine looking a bit upset while he sang the song, and so I talked to her alone afterward to see if they were all right, and after just a few minutes of speaking about nothing in particular, he came out to me in a hallway at a holiday party when no one else but me was around. And, in return, I did the same and came out to them.

He was the first family member I ever came out to, and that was the first time I truly told someone my sexuality. I told them I was asexual, and they accepted it and we hugged and it was one of the more exhilarating moments of my entire life.

So, in the end, how did I figure out I was ace?

I just sort of did. I feel I could have done more research earlier than I did, but that’s all right. It all worked out. I figured it out, and I promise you will, too. And if you get it wrong a few times before you get it right? That’s perfectly okay, too.

Anyway, one more additional personal thought about something I noticed that I think is kinda weird:

Muffin and her actions and stuff are so weirdly tied to such random core parts of my life. I published the first chapter of Fractures because I was encouraged and inspired when I saw her own stories. I finally figured out my sexuality and felt like I belonged, like one of those flags was mine, because of her. It’s just a bit crazy to me. Thanks, I guess, Muffin.

All right, that’s about it. I hope this helps, at least a bit. 

I wish you the best, anon, in figuring out who you are. You can take as long as you need or want, you don’t need to stick to a choice. This is your identity. This is yours. Not a single person gets a choice in the matter besides you. Good luck, and remember, you’ve always got me in your corner. If anyone ever gives you shit about this kinda thing, send ‘em my way. I did Tae Kwon Do for two-and-a-half years, and I’m also constantly fueled by spite and Twix bars. We’re all here for you. 

That goes for anyone. Don’t be afraid to embrace who you are. I’m proud of you, we’re all proud of you. This is who you are. Enjoy it.

[ashdumpsterpile]

Ohmygod YES Susan Pevensie is awesome please talk to me about Susan i want to know everything you have to say

Literally THANK YOU for asking me this bc Susan Pevensie is a character I never get asked about and I have So Many Opinions.

I'm going to start by saying that Susan used to be my least favorite character in the series. This goes for the books and the movies. Some of it was for personal reasons--she reminds me of a couple of annoying ppl I know irl--but it was also bc I watched Prince Caspian which shoehorned her into a relationship with Caspian which I hated.

HOWEVER. I ended up rethinking this position after interacting with Susan fans and realizing that there are so many wonderful things to love about her!

(putting under the cut bc this got long)

Things Ash Loves About Susan Pevensie

Aight I'm not going to do a formal analysis yet on her, but instead rant about some of the unrelated things I adore about Susan Pevensie.

Susan the Archer

Look we all love archery here. I don't have anything more to say.

Okay, I actually do have more to say. I love the fact that Susan is a complete badass with the bow. You get the general impression that she's one of the royals in charge of public relations, traditions, foreign policy, etc. and yet she's the most competent archer in the series. One of the few things I liked about the movies is how they didn't downplay this. They actually let her be a badass and show off her skills.

Also the part where she kicks Trumpkin's ass was awesome.

Susan the Gentle

Susan being the most passive Pevensie was something I definitely underappreciated as a teenager. I think my non-ability to see past "I'm not like other girls" narrative and the combination of Susan being described as the most traditionally feminine woman in the Narnia series is what initially turned me off from her.

HOWEVER, now it's one of my favorite attributes! I love that Susan is a badass and the most beautiful woman in Narnia. She has hair down to her feet, every man and woman in the kingdom want to fuck her, and she's still a fucking badass who will not hesitate to kick your ass.

Susan the Sister

Most of my thoughts of Susan as an older sister mostly stem from my own personal headcanons, but she is an awesome sister to her siblings. She's Peter's voice of reason, Edmund's sass partner, and Lucy's big sister.

Susan the Mom-Friend

She is a literal mother-figure for Corin.

"[...] the most beautiful lady he had ever seen rose from her place and threw her arms round him and kissed him, saying: "Oh Corin, Corin, how could you? And thou and I such close friends ever since thy mother died. [...]"

-The Horse and His Boy, 33-34

Most everything I have to say about this ventures into headcanon territory, but I love the idea of Susan basically adopting Corin after his mom dies. The way she trusts Cor--who she thinks is Corin in this chapter--is really sweet and I wish we could've seen more of that relationship.

Susan the Flawed

Something I notice from the fandom is a lot of people who hate Susan tend to because of her flaws. On the other hand, most Susan stans like to wave away these flaws and blame C.S. Lewis for being misogynistic or Aslan for being a "cruel god" and ignore the fact that she is a deeply flawed person.

Susan gets something of a "reverse redemption arc" in The Chronicles of Narnia. This makes her not only a fascinating foil to Edmund--as both are analytical, logical people--but an interesting character by herself.

She starts out in TWW as very skeptical of Narnia and it's whole deal and also very condescending to Lucy throughout. She ultimately does admit that Lucy was right and does get on board with the whole prophecy at the same time Peter does, and ends the book being crowned "the Gentle Queen."

In The Horse and His Boy, she has a very interesting dynamic with Edmund and in even more interesting relationship with Rabadash. They don't even interact on-page with each other, but it's highly implied that she was interested in him when he was a guest in Narnia. His behavior obviously changed when she visited him in Tashbaan, but you have to wonder what their dynamic was like before for her to travel all the way to his home when relations between the countries were strained at best.

Prince Caspian is where the cracks start showing through. Susan has lived an entire life as an adult in Narnia, gets thrown back to England with her siblings, and is yet again in Narnia as a child. This book is what really emphasizes her one fatal flaw: convenience.

(Put a pin in that thought, I'll get back to it.)

Susan denies once again that Lucy saw something that the rest of them can't seen. She continues this narrative until every other sibling finally acknowledges Lucy in the right and only then does she apologize.

The last mention of Susan is in The Last Battle, where all of her flaws rise up against her in the worst way possible. I have a lot of controversial opinions on this that I'm going to address later, but I just want to say that Susan's reverse-redemption arc is something I actually like about her.

(There is also evidence that Susan does get a full redemption arc, just as Edmund and Eustace did, but C.S. Lewis was pretty much done with The Chronicles of Narnia at the point and instead encouraged fans to write their own version of how that went down.)

Okay, back to convenience being Susan's fatal flaw. So the one thing that comes up time and time again in the series is that Susan is very focused on material comforts. I believe it's implied that she's vain, and it's canonical that her own personal comfort spurs her to make decisions.

"[...] I really believed it was him — he, I mean — yesterday. When he warned us not to go down to the fir wood. And I really believed it was him tonight, when you woke us up. I mean, deep down inside. Or I could have, if I'd let myself. But I just wanted to get out of the woods and — and — oh, I don't know [...]"

Prince Caspian, 81

Prince Caspian has the strongest examples of Susan doing this, but certainly there's evidence elsewhere. There are a lot of fans who are distressed by this, claiming that Aslan and the others are too hard on her and shouldn't judge.

Honestly, I like that she's written with this flaw. Not only is it very relatable--(my own personal comfort and convenience is something I highly prioritize too)--but it humanizes a character who otherwise is ridiculously op and basically the Helen of Troy of the series. It may sound like I'm using this as an excuse to rant, but I really wouldn't have her any other way.

Susan As Portrayed by Anna Popplewell

Movie!Susan is a fucking delight.

She's sarcastic and badass and awesome and I could spend hours heaping praise on Anna's acting and her portrayal of Susan, but I can already tell that this post is going to be long so, I'll just stop here.

(10/10 want to be stabbed by her tho.)

Personal Headcanons

Let's talk about my fanon thoughts. I have many.

Susan is Aro

There's canonical evidence for this! Susan is a character who is heavily pursued by suitors everywhere, and even lets herself be courted by many of them, but chooses not to settle down. Even when she gets back to England and is described as only having interest in parties and material things, boys aren't mentioned.

I like to think that in The Horse in His Boy Susan was interested in Rabadash at first because he was a brilliant conversationalist. Nothing she says about him implies romantic interest, before and after she realizes the truth of his intentions.

Susan and Edmund Were Best Friends

This might be my love for The Horse and His Boy showing itself, but I think Susan and Edmund were thrown into circumstances where they interacted the most with each other.

Edmund is the ruler in charge of politics. Susan is the ruler in charge of Cair Paravel's public image. I imagine they spent time as ambassadors to other countries and planning royal functions.

They're also the most level-headed and logical out of their siblings, so they probably found a lot in common.

Susan Fancast

I literally just said I loved Anna's potrayal of Susan's (and I love what they gave us of older Susan too in LWW!), but I read the books in 2008 and my parents didn't let me see the movies bc I was like...nine years old and they thought it would be too scary.

So I had to headcanon my own interpretations.

Queen Susan the Gentle:

For some reason Merlin wasn't too scary for me to watch and I fell in love with Katie McGrath in like. Two episodes so. (On an unrelated note, I also fancast Bradley James as Peter at the time.)

Anyway, fanon Susan is basically Morgana Pendragon pre-evil arc. Sassy as hell, hot as fuck, and can kick your ass.

Unpopular Opinions

Yeah, feel free to skip this part if having controversial fandom opinions is a deal breaker for you.

The Problem With Susan Isn't Actually A Problem

I'm about to start so much discourse in the Narnia fandom, but C.S. Lewis's choices with her in The Last Battle weren't misogynistic. Bear in mind, I'm not saying that all of his writing choices in the series were A++ or excusing away certain racist/sexiest bits, but it's honestly baffling to me that people are so up in arms over Susan's exclusion in the final book.

So the part that everyone loses their shit over is as follows:

"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."

"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"

"Oh Susan!" said Jill, "she's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."

"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

The Last Battle, 83-84

There's a lot to unpack here and I first want to say that everyone's opinion on this part, no matter how different than mine, is valid. I'm going to be quoting some other ppl's opinions on here and by no means am I bashing them. I just want to address my feelings on the matter and the best way to do that is to cite the thoughts of ppl who have opposing ideas.

Here are some arguments on Tumblr I've heard regarding "The Problem of Susan":

"How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn't deserted Susan? [...] What if we didn't tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn't have again."

"Narnia is filled with metaphors (often not very subtle ones) that are supposed to teach us how to be, and the most glaring one for any young girl to absorb is that it's okay to be a girl like Lucy, unthreatening and cheerful and valiant and faithful, but to be a girl like Susan gets you punished - in fact, you aren't just punished, you're destroyed."

"why do we call it ‘the problem’ where’s the problem about a young woman dealing with her trauma and choosing her own path, actively making the choice to keep living and to stay and to carve a life out in England when her siblings couldn’t? what is the problem about susan forgetting to somehow cope with what she’s experienced? why is it ‘the problem of susan’ that she recontextualised her faith?"

And then there's JK Rowling who said this:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She's become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.

It's weird how I'm still finding new ways to hate JKR in the year 2021. Again, there is absolutely zero implication that Susan had sex when she came back to England. ZERO. Did she actually read the books? IDK. If someone shares this opinion pls reply with actual canonical evidence.

Back on topic, I'm a firm believer of death of the author and interpreting art via your own experiences. Which is why I'm also going to share my own interpretation by saying y'all are wrong.

Susan Pevensie was not abandoned by Narnia. She was not barred from Narnia because she is traditionally feminine or because she "owned her sexuality" (another opinion I didn't have time to condense down for this post) or because she recontextualized her faith or even because she deserved to be punished.

I also fail to see how Susan recontexualized her faith, as the entire point of it all is that she has none. Bringing this back to Susan's fatal flaw (personal convenience/material comforts), her prioritizing herself over her own faith is the reason she is "no longer a friend of Narnia." Not...whatever fanon y'all are imposing on her character.

Susan is not being punished for liking lipstick and looking pretty. Susan's not even being punished. Y'all read Neil Gaiman's The Problem of Susan and forgot it wasn't canon.

There are many reasons Susan is not in Aslan's Country (one of them being that she's not actually dead yet), but the main one has to do with this:

"[...] But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

Voyage of the Dawn Treader, 215-216

Yeah, okay that's why Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia. The implication when the Pevensies are told that they can no longer enter Narnia is that they are to find Aslan in other places. Susan doesn't do this, instead choosing to focus her life on material things. It isn't the lipstick, it's that she only wants the lipstick.

Susan Had Sex In The Books

Oh and not in the context y'all are thinking. (Again, there are no implications that Susan was barred from Narnia for having sex or that she had sex when she came back to England.)

So there's actual canonical evidence that Susan and Rabadash had a sexual relationship. Sort of.

"What think you? We have been in this city fully three weeks. Have you yet settled in your mind whether you will marry this dark-faced lover of yours, this Prince Rabadash, or no?"

-The Horse and His Boy, 35

Edmund calls Rabadash her lover. Not her suitor. I don't know if the word had a different meaning in 1954, but it feels like C.S. Lewis is saying that they're fucking. I'm not really happy with the idea of Susan sleeping with an abuser, but really proud of her for Getting Some as a woman born in a time period where having premarital sex was a big no-no.

This also invalidates the weird opinion going on that Susan was barred from Narnia because she had sex.

Suspian Is The Worst

I haven't really talked about Movie!Susan much, but as long as we're talking unpopular opinions, it's worth noting that I hate Suspian. Some of it is the "Susan is Aro" headcanon screaming inside of me, but it's also the fact that it's written poorly, does nothing interesting for either character and generally comes across as awkward.

I feel like they were trying to make Prince Caspian sexy and relevant to teens. It came across as super heteronormative and unnecessary.

It also gets really really weird bc the next movie then gives Caspian and Edmund mad chemistry and we're all just like........ok.

Final Thoughts

Susan may not be my favorite character in the series, but she's grown on me over the years. I have many issues with fanon interpretations of her--which definately fueled some of my disdain for her initally--and I don't identify as a Susan Apologist.

I do however adore Susan and have many headcanons for her not mentioned here. I love reading fanfic, writing fanfic and meta, and generally having conversations about her and would love to talk more about it.

I welcome criticism (CONSTRUCTIVE) and conversation on all of my opinions and observations. Please drop into my inbox. <3

[relax-and-read-on]

I’m going to try and be as held together as possible. But the Primarchs are BROTHERS. Yes, the astartes are a whole another can of worms. But they’re brothers. Why? What is with the incest in this fandom? (I’m totally for lgbt I’m aro ace myself and a fanfic writer.) But this is just why?

Well, I fully expected someone to come at me eventually about this, and I thank you for actually being very polite about it! I'll try to explain myself as much as I can. I will only speak about myself and how I see it, it might be different for others.

First one all: Imo, genetically, they are not any more related than two random humans plucked from different continent. It's canon that Big E mixed up many string of DNA to make them. I do headcanons some of them as closer, genetically. Alpahrius Omegon are obliviously twins, and I like to Imagine Corvus and Konrad as such too.

Second: Culturally, again, imo, most of them don't see each others as brothers. They grew up on different planets, some with actual siblings and foster family, and only became into contact with each others as adult. Im pretty sure that canon Emperor simply decided to use a "family" structure to control them more easily, creating a sense of loyalty in them and not just going "hello im a weirdo who made you in a lab and then accidentally lost you around the galaxy".

I actually think it greatly vary, how the boys see one another. Magnus definitely see Lorgar as his brother, but if my memory is right, never gave a shit about Konrad. As a result, calling someone "brother" with meaning feel like a very deliberate choice for them.

Third, author intent: warhammer was created in.... An area were representations was, at best, minimal. Now I know it's the imperium and all, but they still somehow managed to sneak in some really awful queer coding. Fulgrim being so obliviously lgbtq+ and being the one to fall to the demon of sex and lust? (I know, slaanesh represent other things, but the link is here). Lion being LITERALLY named after a queer poet and having his entire concept being into hiding and secrecy? It suck. It really, really suck. So, I queer up some more of the characters. I make Corvus a transwoman, turn Ferrus into a gay icon, and let Leman be the bisexual horn dog he always deserved to be.

Fourth... Well, this is a bit more shallow, but: it make for great story. Literally almost everyone that is a big name in warhammer is freaking related, unless you move to the guards (Wich I do, god I could write love letters about the guards). As such, if you want to add romance to a story, and I do enjoy solid romance, and sex, and drama, you will quickly run into some issues of just... Not having enough unrelated character. Wich suck!!! I want more normal humans to have SM bf!!! Heck I want xenos to date the big dudes!!!! One of my fav ship is literally Yvraine/Guilliman yall

Im also terrible at dealing with oc, I don't enjoy writing them most of the time, and they feel extra cringy if I try to ship them with a main cast.

Fifth point, kinda related to the precedent two: something, having the boys being in love make a better story. The absolute tragedy of Fulgrim killing Ferrus, and then realising what he has done?? The pained betrayal of Sanguinius, after realising that Horus was utterly lost to Chaos? Beautiful. I like those things better with a flavoring of romance, but I fully respect someone who think it's more poignant to write about family members experiencing that betrayal.

Sixth: I write mostly to cope. I have a lot of pretty serious health issues, and suffer various shade of ptsd. I have experienced very personal and awful things before, and worked frontline in healthcare during the worst of the pandemic. It might seem like a strange way to justifie it, but going feral and posting outrageously sexual and stupid things really does help me relax and deal with bad things in my life.

And finally, the one that is the most important to me: they are fictional. They are literally plastic figurine that I can walk around on my table and can make them kiss in pretend if I want to. I could also take their mini, grab some greenstuff, and decide that, my Magnus is now "Sir flying mc pants, level 5 wizard of birbs and stupidity" and paint him green.

I have fun imagining them fucking or falling in love or eating spicy tacos or singing at eurovisions (and yes that post is coming), because it bring me joy, and I don't see it as incest. They aren't real. I can literally decide to not make them brother in my brain, just as I decided that Colchis should be based on Algeria in all my hc, or that Vulkan should not be chucked in black paint.

So yeah, that's why I write what I write!!! To be honest tho, you came around at a bad time, rn almost everything recent is peak horny posting lol. My mutuals do seem to enjoy it??? Good for them?????

If this is still distasteful to you, that's totally ok! We all have different tolerance level for fictional content. There's plenty of things that I avoid, and I don't mind at all if people block me! Your comfort level is more important than exposing yourself to potentially triggering content.

[haleigh-sloth]

Hi 🙋‍♀️ my friend thinks that Dabi is going to be put down(killed) and Endeavor will be the one who’s going to do it as an act of atone. I told her that it was a horrific take because that would be a horrible way to atone and two your essentially saying that Endeavor should re-kill the son he failed and basically killed by his actions of neglect/abuse as a parent which would not be a good path to take! I also stated that three villains are being set up to be saved. She still doesn’t believe me, and asked if I could get a better perspective. So I’m here begging 🙏🏻 🥺 for your input please? Your definitely a lot more perspective and have a better eye than I!

Hey! So I’m going to answer everything, but first ask your friend to provide evidence of this, and to also explain how any of that would be even remotely acceptable to portray in a story that is aimed toward a very large, young, impressionable audience, in which a portion has undoubtedly experienced abuse in their own lives. How would those people feel reading that? What kind of message does that send? Horikoshi isn’t like a writing genius or anything, but he is not THAT incompetent. I mean...do give him credit where it’s due. He’s been building up their redemptions for a long time and he’s already established that as the next narrative challenge for Shouto, Ochaco, and Midoriya. I’m not going to say anything about your friend’s way of thinking because I can’t tell by the way your ask is worded if she believes that’s how it SHOULD go (which is....not good) or if she just has no faith in the writing (which is understandable but I’m gonna try to relieve some of those anxieties). In order to remain polite and civil I’m gonna go with the ladder and assume she just has no faith in Horikoshi, which is understandable, but not necessary! I hope you’re comfortable because this is probably going to be longer than I am anticipating, but oh well. 

Anyway, I’ll start with establishing what is deemed acceptable in the world of BNHA as far as killing goes.

*clears throat* It’s not fucking acceptable. Never was, never will be.

Look, please pinpoint to me where a pro-hero in the story has killed a villain and it was viewed as acceptable. And before you point at Hawks, I’m going to direct you here, here, and here. And there are so so SO many more posts I could find and link you to that explain my point further on that matter, but I won’t do that unless it’s asked of me. Regardless, Hawks murdering Twice was not acceptable, it was not portrayed as such, it was not viewed as such by the characters within the story. Therefore, it was not acceptable. And I’m fairly certain Hawks has a really rough road ahead of him because of his terrible choice, so prepare yourself for that.  But where was I? Oh yeah, establishing whether or not it’s acceptable to kill:

I mean there are more, but I don’t have all the time in the world. Tell her to read the story from the beginning and pay attention to what the story is telling its readers  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Now, we’ve established that heroes in BNHA do NOT kill. That is not what being a hero means in THIS story. Now, what else is something important in BNHA that has repeatedly gotten focus?

Family.

To me personally, the most important callout to the importance of protecting your family is here:

He’s calling out all heroes, but he’s saying this in front of Endeavor. Important. Note that. There’s an entire subplot dedicated to the importance of portraying that putting your family first is the utmost responsibility of a parent. Outside of that subplot, we are shown the very dire consequences of what happens when parents abandon and reject their children.

Exhibit A: Toga

Exhibit B: Toya, or Dabi

Exhibit C: Tenko, or Tomura

These adults are the result of parents who failed their families.

Look, regardless of what people want to say the story is about: whether it’s about heroes vs. villains (it’s not), or about Midoriya graduating UA and becoming the number 1 hero (it’s not), or about Midoriya mastering his quirk (it’s not), there is no denying that BNHA is about heroes SAVING others and parents protecting their FAMILY. 

Horikoshi made it a point to establish a clear difference between the adults and the children in BNHA. He also made a point to show ALL THREE VILLAINS’ origin stories and showed us that all it took was ONE BAD DAY when they were CHILDREN. There is literally a chapter titled “All it takes is one bad day” specifically to drill this into your head. Toga’s life went downhill after attacking that boy in middle school from suppressing her biological nature for so long. Toya’s life went downhill when his flames nearly killed him. Tenko’s life went downhill when his quirk activated and killed his whole family. All it took was one bad day in these children’s lives to completely ruin their futures and take any and every chance away from them at a normal life. 

So with the strong focus on heroes saving people and parents failing their children, why why WHY would it ever be acceptable for Enji to KILL his SON? That not only repeats the first mistake made (Toya’s death), but also negates ALL of the narrative focuses of the entire story. I just...that’s a very very deep disconnect that I can’t force closed unless your friend chooses to look deeper than surface level reading. And it’s not just BNHA that has narrative themes and focuses throughout the story. That’s ANY story you read. Well, any good story at least. I’m not a writer by any means but even I know the basic rules of story telling: 

Leave a message for your readers. Give your story a goal. 

Otherwise it’s just words and pictures on paper that don’t mean anything. 

So I gave you the basics of what BNHA is about, now I’ll give the specific moments that directly tell you that Toya, Toga, and Tomura are going to be saved and redeemed. 

Toya:

Toga:

Tomura:

Now....does your friend really think these panels up here just mean nothing? Because that’s not how manga works. The panels have meaning, especially the ones given the most attention to drawing detail, the ones given the most space on a page. All of these were given their own big moments in their respective chapters. Toga is going to be saved by Ochaco, Toya is going to be saved by his baby brother, and Shigaraki is going to be saved by our main character Midoriya. It’s clear as day right there. 

Now I want to take it back to the Todoroki family for just a bit once more. Their entire subplot revolves around reunification. That has been the established endgame since Shouto’s origin chapters. And honestly? You don’t even have to be smart to figure this out. Like when you see Rei in the hospital, you already assume that she’s going to get out and come home at some point within the story, making the family whole again. THEN you learn about Toya and you learn that he’s ALIVE after ten years of being presumed dead. You really think HE isn’t going to be brought home just like his mother was??? Fam, that is the established goal of the Todoroki Family Subplot. There is no denying this, it is there in the text, and it is not even a little bit subtle. Horikoshi is not subtle. At all. With anything. Ever.  

However, no matter how much textual evidence we are given, there are still people living in denial because it’s either A. Not the direction they want, or B. They really just aren’t grasping the writing. Either way, the redemption set ups are there, whether they like it or not. At this point I’m convinced that the only way to shut villain-haters down is to wait til the last chapter has come out and the villains are fine, Toya is reunited with his family, Toga is alive and well and finds community with the other kids (at least that’s what I predict), and Shigaraki is alive and well and surrounded by people who care about him, a family if you will. Other than just waiting for that moment, idk what else it’s gonna take for the bad takes to stop. 

Now here’s my reality check disclaimer:

Horikoshi could screw us all and just kill the villains off. But that would be bad writing and also ruin the ENTIRE STORY. And believe me I will bitch and bitch until I am six feet under and I will continue to bitch about it in whatever afterlife awaits me. But seriously..he won’t do that. Not to mention I have a million other reasons somewhat unrelated to the writing but more so to Horikoshi himself as to why I believe with all of my being that the three villains are going to get a happy ending, but that’s a different discussion for a different time. This post is already long as shit. 

I hope your friend will look a little deeper at the story so she can enjoy it for what it is. The story has flaws, the Todoroki subplot is definitely a MESS right now because of the focus on Endeavor 🤢, but I believe it will clean itself up and be great in the end. The redemption arcs of the villains are the most interesting thing about BNHA and I know I speak for a lot of others and not just myself when I say this but, the villains are the only reason a LOT of people are still even invested in the story to begin with. If it weren’t for them? We’d all be ghost. So, do with that what you will. I hope this helps ease your anxieties a little bit and helps your friend understand what to pay attention to in the writing.

[jaehyunhour]

sacred heart | mark lee

genre + idol → slow burn, angst, smut, college au, college!mark (x fem!reader), ft. slight johnny x reader

word count → 5.1k

warnings → mentions of sex, explicit language, alcohol consumption, college party, blasphemy, oral (m/receiving), unprotected sex (always wear a condom pls guys), sex in a church.  

summary → mark lee is warm ocean water and you are unrelenting cold air — together you are a hurricane.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing inside Sacred Heart this late on a Friday night?”

“Father Fitz hid a spare key in the birdhouse outside for me in case I ever felt like being with Christ.”

“You’re so holy, Mark.”

a/n → i’m trying a new style/format for my fics hehe, normally my fics are written in all lower case but this one is actually capitalized properly so~~ let me know if it makes any difference. also this fic is purely an act of self-indulgence because i go to a jesuit institution and think a lot about going to my college campus’s church with mark.

Mark lets out a frustrated sigh as he pulls his keys out from his pocket. It’s been a long day — he had a sociology midterm in the morning, left his meal card in his room so he couldn’t get cafeteria lunch, and broke a glass beaker in his Chemistry lab. All he wants to do is get back into his room, have a bowl of instant ramen, get into bed and sleep early. But as soon as the door swings open and he looks inside, he’s met with your beautiful yoga short clad ass laying in Johnny’s bed. His dick twitches in his pants at the sight and he lets out a sigh. You turn over to lay on your back, making eye contact with Mark as he stands stunned at the door.

To many, Mark Lee is just your typical Christ-loving Chemistry major Mama’s Boy. He has no real enemies, treating everyone as his equal and giving them the respect they deserve. He chose to attend a Jesuit institution despite his Christian upbringing because he wanted to “see another side of our Savior.” He is so painfully average to most, but to you he is everything. He is the most passionate, intelligent, and hard-working person you have ever met. His love for Christ shines in all of his relationships, he is kind and caring and thoughtful. He makes your heart skip a beat and your pussy clench.

You give Mark a smile as he takes in your entire figure — your cheeks are flushed pink, hickies littering your neck and your hair is a mess. You still haven’t come down from your post-sex high and Mark can tell.

“Mark! You’re here!” You say excitedly, jumping up off the bed to pull him into a hug. He doesn’t reciprocate, his hands staying still at his sides as you pull back, pushing his hair out of his face and fixing his glasses for him.

“You didn’t come to lab today,” Mark mumbles, pushing you off him as he heads over to his desk. The bedroom door slams behind him, making you jump, as you watch Mark grumpily dump his things out on his desk before slipping into bed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was going to come I swear, but I came over to get something from Johnny and then… I forgot,” you pause for a moment. “Do you have the lab?”

“Yeah, it’s in my notebook, I can send you pictures tomorrow. Where’s Johnny?”

“He went to go get food. I saw you left your meal card and I didn’t want you to eat ramen for dinner, so I had him go get fried chicken for us.” you sit on the edge of Mark’s bed, your hand reaching out to play with his hair. He relaxes into your touch and lets out a content sigh. Mark knows this is so wrong — you’re sleeping with his roommate, he’s heard you guys before, but he can’t help the overwhelming warmth that overtakes his body when you act like this with him. You care so much for him, and Mark wishes you would just get over Johnny and be with him.

“Bad day, baby?” you ask. Mark nods with a slight pout on his lips. His eyes are shut closed, unwilling to open them and stare at the love bites all over your neck and chest left by Johnny. He would rather live in blissful ignorance than face reality. You lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead and just as you pull back, Johnny walks through the door holding your food.

“Honey, I’m hooooome,” Johnny says in a sing-song voice. You shoot up and out of Mark’s bed quickly, running over to Johnny and wrapping your arms around his neck. He sets the food down on the table in the middle of the room, placing his hands on the back of your thighs and lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and let out a giggle as he kisses you.

“Did you miss me?” Johnny asks, squeezing your thighs. You nod in response. “I bet you did, you dirty little wh—“

“— Can we just eat?”

During dinner, Johnny asks you to spend the night and Mark knows he isn’t going to be getting the rest that he deserves after the shit storm of a day he had. Every time you spend the night, you and Johnny talk late into the night, kissing and touching underneath the covers. It wouldn’t bother Mark if he could at least see you — see the look on your face as you cum undone on Johnny’s fingers, your teeth biting down on your fingers to try and keep the noise in — but he has to pretend he doesn’t know what’s happening. And tonight is no different. Mark stares at the wall of his room, back turned towards you and Johnny, and he listens as Johnny eats you out at 4 in the morning. He can hear the sloppy wet noises as Johnny’s fingers thrust in and out of your pussy, the sound of the bed shaking slightly as your entire body convulses when you cum, and the whimpers muffled by your fingers as you reach your high. Both his dick and his heart hurt as it all goes down, and Mark wonders if he’ll ever be the reason for your early morning muffled whines.

The following week, you get to lab before Mark does. You bought him his favorite sandwich from the cafeteria as an apology for not showing up to lab the week before, and did the pre-lab assignments for this lab and the next to take some weight off his shoulders. When Mark walks into lab just barely on time, and sees you sitting patiently at your assigned table, he can’t help the smile that forms on his face. Your heart begins beating faster at how happy Mark is to see you, and the butterflies in your stomach are flying rapidly. Mark wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans as he walks over to you, and you do the same underneath the table. He takes a seat, and before he can even get a word in, you’re already talking.

“I brought you your favorite sandwich,” you say, handing him the neatly wrapped sandwich. “And I already did the pre-lab today and for next week, so you don’t have to worry about it. I’m sorry again about last week!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark says, shrugging his backpack off and placing it on the floor next to him. He unwraps the sandwich, quickly taking a big bite and letting out a satisfied groan at the first bite. “God, how did you know this is what I get?”

“Well, I actually didn’t know. I went to go get a sandwich for lunch today, and I was talking to Julio, the deli guy, and you know how I overshare… I told him you were upset at me for missing lab, and he handed me this sandwich and said ‘para tu amante’ and then I left.”

“What’s amante mean?”

“Lover,” you explain. Mark chokes on the sandwich and your eyes widen, as your hand instinctively moves to pat his back.

“Did you correct him?”

You shake your head no and Mark raises an eyebrow at you, continuing to eat the sandwich as you wait for your instructor to arrive and begin class. “Why would I?”

“Well, I just figured, you and Johnny—“

“— Johnny isn’t my boyfriend, he’s just a pretty boy to mess around with. Plus, you’re really the only one who knows that I’m involved with him.”

“I’m not your boyfriend, either,” Mark mumbles.

“But you’re more to me than Johnny is.”

Before Mark can respond, or even process what you’ve said, your professor walks through the lab doors and begins instructing you guys on your lab. Mark can’t focus very hard on the tasks in front of him, your words loud in his mind, so he lets you take the lead on the assignment. It’s the least you could do for abandoning him the week before.

The following week, Mark walks into his room after another long day half-expecting to see your yoga clad ass laying in Johnny’s bed yet again, but this time — your beautiful ass is laying in his bed. You’re half asleep already, trying so hard to stay awake as you wait for Mark to get home. You hold one of his plushies in your arms, snuggling close to it and Mark’s body relaxes at the sight.

“Where’s Johnny?” Mark asks, puncturing the comfortable silence. You jump awake at his words and sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and running your fingers through your hair.

“He had to go pull an all-nighter at the library for his Comp Sci midterm project, he left like 3 hours ago.” You explain. Mark knows that Johnny’s Comp Sci midterm project isn’t due for another two weeks, and he hates that Johnny lied to you just so he could go stick his dick in someone else after already having you. But Mark doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’s lying, he’s afraid he’ll never see you in his bed again if you stop seeing Johnny, so he plays along.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, because this is quite the view,” Mark begins, motioning to your half-naked body in his bed. “But why are you still here?”

“I wanted to see you,” you mumble, sinking back into his bed. You shift onto your side, and Mark slips into his bed, laying on his side to face you. Mark locks eyes with you, lips parted slightly and tongue poking out of his mouth to lick his lips.

You reach a hand out to play with his hair, an action all too familiar for Mark but his heart still races as if it was the first time. “How was your day, baby?”

Mark sighs at the pet name. “It was okay, I s’pose. It just felt so long, I couldn’t wait to get home and sleep.”

“Sorry, I should’ve just gone home when Johnny left, you would be asleep right now, but I missed your face.”

“That’s okay, I’m not complaining,” Mark responds. You twirl the ends of Mark’s hair between your fingers, tugging slightly to see if he’ll react but he doesn’t. He’s too busy memorizing every feature of your face, his eyes traveling from the part of your hair down to your neck and taking a mental photograph of what your neck looks like without Johnny’s markings all over it. You are so beautiful to him. “Hey, Y/N?” Mark asks, shattering the silence between you two. Your fingers stop moving as your eyes shift from the ends of his hair back to his face, locking eyes with him again.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“Have you ever thought about ending things with Johnny?”

“I have.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes I think about falling in love and I know I don’t want to be in love with him.”

“And have you ever… nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“No, no, it’s not stupid. Ask me,” you say.

“Have you ever… thought about me, like that?” Mark mumbles shyly, flopping down onto his back to avoid your gaze, but he can feel your eyes staring at him still.

“I’ve thought about you in a lot of different ways,” you admit. “Some are nice, and others, well…”

“Well?”

“Let’s just say, Father Fitz is getting real tired of hearing my voice at Sunday confession.”

“Oh,” Mark says quietly, his dick stirring at his pants at the thought of you thinking such unholy things about him that you feel the need to confess at Sunday confession. He knows you aren’t particularly religious, only choosing a Jesuit college because of the scholarship money, so it must be really dirty if you really do attend confession just to talk about him.

“Mark?” You ask. Mark shifts his body onto his side again, locking eyes with you for the final time that night. His eyes are wide and glossy, a direct mirror image of yours. “Can I kiss you?”

Before Mark can process the question, he’s nodding his head yes. The hand that was previously playing with Mark’s hair now rests on his cheek, and you lean down and capture his lips in yours. His lips taste like cherry chapstick and you smile into the kiss. Your hand leaves his cheek, trailing down to his stomach, slipping underneath his shirt as your fingernails scratch at his abs. He lets out a gasp and your tongue slips into his mouth, kissing him with more passion and fervor. Mark has never kissed anyone like this before and he’s a bit unsure of what to do, but his tongue meets yours and he follows your lead. Your hand trails down to the waistband of his underwear, but his hand shoots out quickly to stop you.

You pull away, concerned etched on your face, but before you can ask if he’s okay, he’s already speaking. “We shouldn’t,” Mark says. “Johnny might come back and see.”

“Right,” you say, nodding. You lay on your back on his bed, staring at the glow in the dark stars Mark has on his ceiling. “Did you stick those yourselves or did it come with the room when you moved in?”

“I put them myself, I really like stargazing but have never had anyone to go with, so I do this until I find someone special enough to go stargazing with.”

“Am I special to you, Mark?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go stargazing with you one day,” you say, cuddling into Mark’s side and closing your eyes. You yawn, and within minutes you’re knocked out. Mark waits to hear your quiet snores to know you’re fully asleep, before picking you up and putting you to sleep in Johnny’s bed. He knows Johnny won’t come home tonight, but just in case he does, he doesn’t want to have to explain why you were asleep in his bed, cuddling him.

“God, you drive me fucking crazy,” Mark says, tucking you into Johnny’s bed and pressing a kiss to your forehead, then jumping back into his bed and willing the tent in his pants to go away so he can sleep peacefully.

When Mark says you drive him fucking crazy, he means it. He’s so infatuated with you, it drives him up the wall. He can’t stand the way you and Johnny walk all over him — you guys act like a couple around him, he hears you fool around, but as soon as Johnny has gotten his nut in you’re in Mark’s bed, cuddling him and kissing him. He feels like he’s getting Johnny’s sloppy seconds, he’s playing the part of boyfriend that Johnny refuses to play.

But it’s such a comfortable role for him. He loves the way you kiss him when Johnny isn’t around. He loves the way you baby him outside of this tiny dorm room, the way you take care of him in lab and make sure he’s eating and getting the rest he needs to function. He loves the way people think you’re dating and the way you don’t correct them. He loves when you sneak out of Johnny’s bed once he knocks out, just to come tuck him into bed and kiss him goodnight. He’s a masochist: he loves the pain and pleasure that comes with being in love with you.

Mark knows this isn’t sustainable. He knows this isn’t healthy but he doesn’t reach his breaking point until he decides to attend the end of semester Tri Delta party. After months of being in this game with you, the semester is finally over and he will have a month long break from you before you guys are ultimately stuck with each other again next semester in yet another chemistry lab. Mark isn’t one to party, preferring to stay indoors and binge watch whatever show he’s been trying to finish, but he hopes that he will run into you there, that you will finally kiss him in public and he will be more than just your dirty little secret. More than just his roommate’s casual fuck, his midnight kisser, his lab partner.

He walks into the sorority house and is immediately uncomfortable. The music is loud, lights are flashing, and he just wants to go back home and get into bed. But he refuses to leave until he sees you, has a few drinks at the very least, and kisses you once for someone to see. He doesn’t care if it’s Johnny, or if it’s one of the sorority girls, he just wants someone to see you and Mark together. In public. He’s spotted by one of your friends and she runs over to him and pulls him into a hug. He recognizes her from his Ethics lecture, and from the polaroid photo you have of her in your phone case.

“Mark! What are you doing here?” She asks, loud voice competing with the loud music in the house.

“I’m just trying to have a little fun, I s’pose,” Mark responds.

“You look like a fish out of water! Do you want a drink or anything?”

“I’ll probably have one later… Have you seen Y/N?”

“She’s here somewhere! Hey, what’s up with you two? Are you guys together or what?”

“Uh,” Mark pauses for a second, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Something like that.”

“She’s always got these huge hickies all over her neck. You’re a dog, Mark! Have some fun tonight,” she pulls him into another quick hug and walks away.

Mark sighs, wiping the sweat from his forehead before traveling deeper into the party. He scans the living room carefully, looking for your small frame, but he doesn’t see you anywhere in there. He sees many different couples, kissing and touching and grinding in the middle of the living room to the beat of the song. He’s glad you’re not in there, with someone random, but he just prays that you aren’t upstairs inside someone’s room getting stuffed by someone who isn’t him. It should be him.

And his prayers are answered. He walks into the kitchen and sees you. You aren’t out in the living room dancing with someone random, you aren’t upstairs inside someone’s room getting stuffed by someone else. You’re sitting up on the kitchen counter, drink in hand, as Johnny stands between your legs with one of his arms wrapped around you. Johnny pulls you close to him, and you smile as your other arm wraps around his neck. There’s an uncomfortable tightness that builds in Mark’s chest as he sees you there with him. You’re not one for public affection, to tell people who you spend time with behind closed doors, and Mark can already feel the rumors of you and Johnny beginning to circulate.

You feel someone staring at you, and tear your gaze away from Johnny to the entrance to the kitchen. You see Mark standing there, in his tight jeans and a black button up, and your heart swells at the sight. He’s wearing contacts, a sight all too familiar for you, and his hair is styled back and you can see his forehead. He looks absolutely incredible. Without thinking, you push Johnny off of you and you smile brightly as you make your way over to Mark. Mark doesn’t return your smile, instead he turns around and walks straight out of the party. You stand stunned in the middle of the kitchen, smile dropping from your face. Johnny comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing his lips to your ears.

“Let’s go upstairs, honey,” Johnny asks, rutting his hips against your ass. Your heart hurts and you just want to see Mark.

“I-I’m gonna go, sorry Johnny, I’ll see you later. Maybe,” you say quietly, barely audible over the music. You shrug Johnny off your body, downing the rest of your drink and walking towards campus in search of Mark. The air is cold, it’s nearly midnight and the fog is settling low as you walk in no particular direction. You walk past all of the lecture halls, past the science building, wondering where Mark could be until you see the church in the distance.

You walk into the church using the side door and are met with Mark sitting in one of the pews in the middle of the church. You shrug your jacket off, placing it on the coatrack near the door and walk towards him slowly, your footsteps echoing in the empty church.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing inside Sacred Heart this late on a Friday night?’ you ask.

“Leave me alone,” Mark responds.

“I asked you a question, baby.”

“Father Fitz hid a spare key in the birdhouse outside for me in case I ever felt like being with Christ.”

“You’re so holy, Mark.”

You stand in front of him in the pew, wrapping your arms around his neck as you slither into his lap. Mark’s arms instinctively wrap around your waist and he sighs, looking at your face. The moonlight shines through the stained glass windows, illuminating Mark’s face. His cheekbones sit high on his face, sitting prettily and one of your hands reaches for his face to trace all of his features. By now, Mark has taken his contacts out and is wearing his glasses again.

“Why do you have to hurt me?” Mark asks quietly.

Your breath gets caught in your chest at Mark’s sudden forwardness. He’s never been so forward or open with you about anything before and it leaves you shocked. Deep down, you knew what you were doing with Mark wasn’t right, but you didn’t think you were actually hurting him. Tears brim in your eyes as you think about a response, you knew you weren’t in any position to be crying, Mark is the one who’s being hurt. One of his hands wipes the tears from your eyes before returning back to your waist.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why can’t you just end things with Johnny? Do you know how much it fucking sucks to feel like I’m getting his sloppy seconds?”

“I’m sorry,” you say. You slink into Mark’s body, resting your head in the crook of his neck and willing the tears to go away. “I shouldn’t be crying, Mark, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve any of this, I’ll end things with Johnny. I promise.”

“Stop crying,” Mark says, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. “Don’t cry, c’mon, baby.”

You pull back, sniffling slightly while wiping the tears from your eyes and letting out a giggle. You hold Mark’s cheeks in your hands before leaning in and pecking him on the lips.

“What was that for?”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me baby. I like it,” you respond.

“Did Johnny ever ca—“

“— Never. I never let him.”

“Y/N, I really think I’m in love with you.”

“I know.”

“Do you lo—“

“— Yes. You’re special to me, Mark. You know that.”

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod, and in an instant his lips are on yours. He kisses you as if he’s been wanting to kiss you for his entire life, even though he had kissed you just two days ago in his bed. But this time it’s different, Johnny isn’t in the bed next to you. He knows he won’t hear you cum around Johnny’s fingers tonight, because you’ll be cumming around his. Tonight, you are his, and he’s going to treasure this moment.

Mark slips his tongue into your mouth, yours coming out to play with and tease his. Your hips grind down against his, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging slightly. He lets out a groan and tightly grips your hips, pulling you closer and pushing you down harder. A whine slips past your lips, muffled by his, and you can feel the wetness pooling in your underwear.

It isn’t until Mark pulls away, lips attaching to your neck and beginning to leave hickies that you realize where you are. The stained glass windows remind you that you are in a sacred place, Mark’s safe space, and you are actively sinning.

“M-Mark, we’re still in the church, let’s go back to yours,” you suggest. His hips buck up, his hard on begging to be released from the confines of his jeans.

“Don’t care,” Mark mumbles against the skin of your neck. “I won’t make it back to my room.”

You push Mark off of you slightly, and he looks concerned. He’s about to ask if you’re okay, when you sink down onto your knees in front of him. Mark pushes his pants and underwear down quickly, cock springing out and hitting his lower stomach. Your hand reaches out to touch him, and you spit on the tip, letting it dribble down the side of his cock.

“Oh my god,” Mark says with a whine. He can’t believe the sight in front of him: you on your knees for him in the middle of the church, hand wrapped around his dick pumping him slowly, and tongue kitten licking at the tip.

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Mark,” you say, before wrapping your lips around the tip entirely and taking him further in your mouth. You go as far down as you can, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Mark throws his head back, his hands coming up to hold your head still as he thrusts into your mouth.

“F-fuck, you feel so fucking good. So so good, oh my God.”

Mark thrusts into your mouth slowly, memorizing the feeling of your wet hot mouth wrapped around his hard dick. You’re so good to him, and in this moment, Mark knows he doesn’t want anyone else to ever suck his dick. He looks down at you with his lip pulled between his teeth, you’ve pushed your pants down slightly and your hand is shoved inside of your panties rubbing at your clit. You whine around Mark’s dick, the feeling of your fingers rubbing quickly on your clit bringing you closer and closer to your high by the second. You’ve been waiting for the day you finally get to see Mark like this, and you can’t believe it’s finally happening. You pull back, Mark’s dick slipping out of your mouth, and your fingers move faster.

“Fuck, Mark, I’m gonna cum,” you whine.

“Let me see you cum, baby. Wanna see you get all messy for me.”

And with that, you let out a loud moan and cum in front of Mark. You clench around nothing, the emptiness frustrating, but you relax and slump onto Mark’s thigh as you come down from your high.

“Get up, baby,” Mark says. You nod, standing up as your legs tremble slightly. Mark pulls your pants and underwear the rest of the way down, helping you step out of it before pulling you back onto his lap. You grind against him, wet pussy covering his dick and bringing him so much pleasure.

“You know, when Father Fitz gave you the keys to the church to be with Christ, I don’t think this is what he meant, Mark.”

Mark pushes his cock into you, and lets out a groan at the feeling of your pussy tightening around him. You let out a sigh of his name, head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Your pussy is God.”

Mark quickly begins thrusting up into you, fucking you with all of the pent up rage he’s been holding in from hearing you fool around with Johnny for the last few months, and you can’t help the moans that fall from your lips. Your hands rest on Mark’s shoulders, gripping tightly as he drills into you, your hips rolling forward to meet each of his thrusts. You let out a particularly loud moan of his name, head lolling onto his shoulder. You press a kiss to his neck, taking the skin into your mouth and between your teeth, leaving a beautiful purple mark on his neck as he moves his hips to thrust into you in a particular angle.

“Fuck, I’m not going to last,” Mark says, hips already beginning to fail in their rhythm as he gets closer and closer to his high.

“Mark, please cum inside me,” You say, one of your hands reaching for Mark’s hand, bringing it to your clit. His thumb rubs messily at your clit, bringing you closer to your own high. His eyes travel all over your body, taking in the sight in front of him. Your neck is covered in marks that he has left, your pussy is wrapped tightly around his dick, his fingers are rubbing at your clit, your hair is all over the place because of him, and you’re cumming around his dick saying his name. His. Not Johnny’s.

At the feeling of your pussy tightening around him, and the sound of you calling his name, Mark’s hips stutter and push his dick all the way into you. He cums in thick white ropes, filling you with his cum as his hands grip your hips tightly, whining as he says your name. You both sit there, breathing heavily as you try to come down from your high. Mark’s dick softens inside of you, and you smile at him as you try to regulate your breathing.

Your cheeks are flushed pink, hickies littering your neck, and your hair is a mess. Your post-sex look is nothing new to Mark, he’s seen it a million times, but this time it’s different. This time, you’re dazed and satisfied because of him. He feels his heart swell in his chest at the realization, and he brings you in for another soft kiss.

“Baby, we should probably leave the church,” you suggest.

“Probably,” Mark says. He leans over, still inside you, pulling your underwear and pants up off the floor to help you redress. You both whine softly when he pulls out, and he quickly slips your underwear on for you. His cum drips out of you, pooling in your underwear as you pull your pants back up. Mark redresses, holding your hand as he walks out of the church, locking it behind him and hiding the key back in the birdhouse.

He instinctively begins walking towards his dorm, but you pull him in the opposite direction.

“Y/N, I live on the other side of campus,” Mark says.

“I know,” you respond. “We’re going to the soccer field.”

“Why?”

“It’s the best spot on campus to look at the stars. I went earlier this week so I could take you there.”

“But it’s cold,” Mark whines. You roll your eyes, slipping your jacket off and placing it over his shoulders.

“There you go. C’mon, let’s go.”