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astererer · 2 years

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For the hubby!! 👈🏼👈🏼👀 also Aster because i havrnt show much love to her as Vern haha UnU

🌻 💐🌾🍃 🌱 💮 🌷

ask meme here!!

🌻 — Where would your OC get lost in a place of beauty?

Aster

In a forest on an autumn day, the sun about to set, painting the sky shades of pink and orange as a golden light shines through the trees and reflects off the surface of a nearby stream, causing it to sparkle in the early evening. The gentle bubble of running water mixes with the crunch of leaves underfoot. The air is crisp, breathing it in makes Aster feel like she’s giving her lungs a deep clean, and a misty cloud escapes her lips when she exhales. The leaves remaining on the trees are shades of orange and red, the warmth of their colours contrasted by the cool temperature. She wishes it could last forever, but she also knows the fleeting nature of such a scene is why it’s so mesmerising in the first place.

Vernon

After a hectic Saturday night/early Sunday morning shift, Vernon sets down atop a large hill overlooking the Wild Area as dawn begins to break. He watches the sky fade from indigo to orange, as the sun’s first rays begin to emerge. He watches the shadows across the sprawling landscape change and the wild pokemon emerge from their hiding places for the new day. In a way, his day has ended just as everyone else’s has begun, when the cold of the night gets replaced by the warmth of the sun. But he’s also fairly certain he’s the only person in the region who gets to see this view as often as he does, and every time without fail, he’s struck by just how beautiful the Galar region is. He may be physically exhausted, but Vernon doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this view.

💐 — if you could send your OC a bouquet, what flowers would make it up and what is the overall message?

Aster

Her bouquet would be based around yellow, orange and red colour scheme; French marigolds, red poppies, sunflowers and freesia. Overall message being to take pride and pleasure in your passions, and to trust yourself.

Vernon

His bouquet is mostly green and white, with a dash of pink: gardenia, holly, crocus and caladium. Overall message being you’re a lovely guy, and I wish you happiness and delight.

🌾 — How picky is your OC with food? What will and won’t they eat?

Aster

Major sweet tooth. Desserts, fruit, chocolate, pastries, loves them all. Except bananas. Generally speaking though, not super picky with food. You can’t really afford to be when you’ve been on the road for nearly half your life. Does try to avoid dairy where she can, not due to an outright intolerance, but she has noticed her skin tends to get worse when she’s had a lot of it. Not really into cheese unless it’s on pizza.

Vernon

Can and will eat most things unless it’s particularly spicy. Plays it safe and goes for the medium hot sauce at nando’s because he isn’t a total coward. Despises cauliflower.

🍃 — What’s the darkest period of time your OC has been through?

Aster

Ironically, becoming Galar champion kickstarted Aster’s worst life experience in her eyes. She was still an incredibly shy and anxious girl, so struggled to cope with the post battle interviews and publicity that came with her “coronation”. And after officially being crowned, the attention did not let up. Chairman Rose also gave her two schedules to abide by, one for training her pokemon, and the other for training herself for media appearances. She was left with very little free time to do things she actually enjoyed, and the sudden change in schedule was very stressful for her. So she ran off. With the help of her parents, she managed to get on a boat to Kalos without anyone noticing she was gone until the next morning.

The next few months were difficult in a different way: she could now do whatever she wanted at her own pace, but she was in a foreign country where she didn’t know anyone, and still reeling from the short lived experience that was being champion of Galar. The first thing she did was run out into the nearest route, find a secluded space and scream until her lungs gave out. She wanted to leave Galar and see new places, just not under these circumstances.

Vernon

When Aster left Galar, Vernon was distraught. He felt awful enough for not being able to protect her from the league — he could feel his heart break for her when she came home in tears after being champion for 2 weeks. He was extremely against her leaving the region, and wanted to go with her if it wasn’t for his job. She left anyway. So he called her every day to make sure she was fine. Aster, properly exploring true independence for the first time, already in an unfamiliar environment, could not deal with the extra stress that came with her brother’s shift from protective to overbearing. At first she started ignoring his calls here and there, but after around a month she had enough and the two of them had a fight. She screamed and cried and told him she never wanted to speak to him again.

Vernon proceeded to rapidly fall into a depression as his worst fear appeared to have been realised — he’d lost his little sister who he loves so dearly. He told work that he was sick when really he would spend the day in bed and crying. After around a week, however, Aster called him back. She apologised for lashing out at him the way she did, and explained in calmer terms that she wanted to be more independent, but couldn’t really do that if he’s constantly trying to check in on her. She didn’t mean it when she said she never wanted to speak to him again, but could he please stop calling every day? Once a week is enough.

Vernon managed to get her to agree to twice a week.

His boundaries are far better now, but when they were younger, especially when Aster was a child, Vernon was more than a bit obsessed with her well-being. He still adores her, always will, but this outright rejection — the first major conflict they really ever had — caused Vernon to lose a big part of his identity as he always saw himself as Aster’s Protector. It took about a year for him to properly get over it.

🌱 — What new passions/hates is your OC discovering?

Aster

She already collects dvds and blu rays, but she’s decided to go in a more retro vein and now also collects old VHS tapes too. They’re all second hand, obviously, and she even found a VHS player to watch them on. Likes watching them not necessarily for the plot of the movies themselves, though some of them are good, but so she can see if there’s any scenes that the tape’s previous owner(s) may have particularly liked (the more a tape is replayed, the faster the image quality degrades, so if a certain scene is replayed a bunch of times it will theoretically look worse than the rest of the movie).

Also taken to dupe hunting in vintage and thrift stores. Since she can’t afford actual designer pieces, if she sees some high fashion stuff she’s into, she’ll go looking for something that’s got a similar shape/silhouette and made from a similar sort of fabric to the item she likes. Aster has standards, she’d rather buy a good quality piece that isn’t exactly the same over a cheap knock off made of plastic. Has a very low opinion of knock offs in general, thinks they’re tacky and an insult to the original designers — especially if it’s a knock off of something made by a small indie brand. Bit of a fashion bitch.

Vernon

Mentioned in a past ask meme, but latte art. This guy can draw a person’s portrait in the foam, or do some 3D foam of a cute pokemon. When he visits Aster he’ll make her a coffee w a foam Galarian Meowth head sticking out, because he knows she loves cat pokemon so much. Does not share this skill with people outside of his family, unless it’s with a significant other.

Went to a museum with his parents a few weeks ago and discovered he really, REALLY, does not like or understand the point of abstract art. He would rather look at a nice landscape painting than a bunch of paint splatters. Upon voicing this opinion he was faced with an impromptu art history lecture from his mother. He still does not like abstract art.

💮 — Has your OC ever kissed someone? Who, when, and where?

Both of these guys have kissed more than one person so you’re just getting their respective first kisses here xx

Aster

A near stranger when she was 16, who she promptly slept with so she could get losing her virginity “out of the way” (her words) while she was travelling through Hoenn. Did not use protection. Never saw the guy again. Had a pregnancy scare. Moved on.

Vernon

His first kiss happened at a party when he was 15, during a game of spin the bottle. He was drunk. Does not remember it all that well. probably for the best as he lead with his tongue and the poor guy on the receiving end was thoroughly repulsed. Was like being stabbed in the face with a raw chicken fillet lol

🌷 answered here :))

#oc aster #oc vernon #rip this is so long hahaha

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liqsouls · 2 years

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Some thoughts (mostly reaching) about Snow on the beach (ft. Midnight rain).

Ig some of those takes were discussed before but I need to get those thoughts out of my mind so yeah.

When my dear Spotify decided to play SOTB after Midnight rain my attention *finally* was caught by the fact that Taylor used "midnight rain" to describe herself but her feeling for her lover(or their feelings/love in general) she described as a "snow at the beach". I found it interesting cause basically, we can describe snow as frozen rain. So here I'd assume that Taylor is also part of this "snow", she transformed into it. In this context firstly I want to point out a super obvious thing. Midnight rain or even rain on the beach is a more common natural phenomenon than snow on the beach. So ig it can mean that this love from SOTB is something even more unique cause it seems extraordinary (maybe even greater) compared to any other experience Tay had. Or it made her feel greater and unique. Next point is that transformation from one physical state to another aka water(rain) to crystals (snow) may be a metaphor of a personal transformation. The question is what does it mean? Which difference between snow and water? I thought abt it and for me, one thing stands out: snow reflects light much better than rain does (that's why snow is white and raindrops - transparent). This can mean that in this relationship Taylor (and probably her partner) reflects love, and feelings better. I like to think that "reflect" here means that they are not just consuming(receiving) love from each other but also giving it back. Also in terms of having color(snow) and being transparent (rain), this metaphor can mean that she is feeling more seen in this relationship. Here my take based on the possibility of a connection between SOTB and midnight rain ends and it's time for SOTB solo.

Firstly, I heard a lot of interpretations of "snow at the beach" as a way to say that this love was destinated to "melt" aka to end. And I can see where it's coming from but now I wanna talk about the full process of circulation of water. We all heard abt it, so long story short, in the end snow will evaporate, form clouds in the sky, and snow/or rain again. So it also can mean this love is destinated to come back no matter what. Like it's how the world works. Yeah kinda forevermore vibes and I like it.

One more thing that keeps me awake at night is that Tay mentioned snow and aurora borealis in one song and it obviously screams Antarctica. Actually, for me Antarctica is something that can be associated with Kaylor's relationship especially with all this "blackout" period. Antarctica is smth almost uninhabited (if we talk abt humans), far from other continents (I can say hidden in some way?), some counties claim parts of the lands, but other countries (including the US) don't recognize those claims, so ig it's safe to say that Antarctica doesn't belong to any country. Also, it's something unknown and unexplored for most of the ppl and that makes it kinda magical and mysterious, fits the isolation "take me to the lakes" vibe and technically snow at the beach is a very common thing in Antarctica. At the same time, it's in constant danger cause of global warming and stuff. Yeah, I can find some similarities between the description( or rather vibes) of Antarctica and Taylor's and Karlie's relationship.

Fun fact abt Antarctica is that time kinda works differently there (change of day-night specifically). We have such terms as Polar day and Polar night. It's when the sun doesn't set(day) or rise (night) for more than 24 hours (usually it lasts for a few months). So basically Antarctica is about constant daylight for days (months) but at the same time, it's about dark nights for days as well. Also at the South Pole itself days and nights last for almost 6 months each, so in this context "One night a few moons ago" can mean a few years ago. Btw, there is another popular term for "Polar Day" - "Midnight Sun" and in Antarctica day time occurs December which is fun ig.

#kaylor #humming abt sotb

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pontevoix · 2 years

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FESTIVE : for both [ tendou and peach ] to decorate for a special occasion ! ✨ ( maybe they’re throwing ushi a surprise birthday party and being wonderfully extra about it LMAO )

in theory, decorating a venue with someone sounds great. party squad, party team, let’s go. however great it actually is, though? that’s . . . up for deliberation. mostly because similar personalities clash & contrary personalities clash &

if tendou & peach have that problem, tendou doesn’t know it.

tendou is brimming with jet lag because he’s in town for a few weeks as he transitions from one job to the next. it’s not so much paid time off as it is unemployed time off. which tendou doesn’t mind because he’s at least got a job lined up & being back in japan means he can satiate his family’s polite request for an occasional visit. at the same time, he can play the role of poltergeist when he haunts the train system to bounce between cities & say hello to old school mates / the world / ****the city of ****where ushijima makes his living. though, to be fair, tendou isn’t entirely sure that ushijima knows he’s in the country at all. tendou chooses to impose on friends with surprise visits — he likes the spontaneity, even if no one else does.

peach is an exception. she knows when tendou travels or comes or goes because they exchange a series of texts spoken entirely through emojis: planemoji-planeemoji-clinkingglassesemoji-partyhatemoji-confettiemoji-planeemoji!

& that’s just principle. beyond that, peach also knows that tendou is coming for logistical reasons because they’d agreed to celebrate ushijima before ushijima forgot to celebrate himself ( happy birthday! happy early birthday ). which works out because ushijima still doesn’t know tendou is around & in that regard, a surprise party enables tendou’s preference to visit unanounced.

& tendou cheerfully tells peach that decorating for the surprise party can be their private pre-party.

there’s some truth to this too; the decorations ultimately may be more for peach & tendou than for ushijima — though, ushijima might appreciate the time that went into decorations.

well.

tendou brings a box of chocolates to share with peach - their flavors are experimental, but the idea is still there. he relies on peach to bring music & maybe a plan for decorations because

tendou’s idea of decoration feels a little like picasso meets distraction. he finds he’s better equipped to handle providing the food, &

peach can make things classy. they’ve commandeered ushijima’s apartment itself ( because ushijima knows peach is here & peach somehow has conned ushijima into letting her use the space for something something something ? ) &

peach hangs up string lights, safely secures candles around the space, & plays with a multi-colored light system that tendou wheedled from someone who knows someone who owes tendou a favor —

in the meantime, tendou makes sangria & sets drinks aside & slides a glass of white wine towards peach.

he stretches out on the floor & ( possibly ) inconveniences peach’s work. ‘ beauty, ‘ he begins with faux seriousness. he waves hand to the decoration peach has orchestration. ‘ is in the eye of the beholder. ‘

it looks great so far, in other words.

‘ we invited people, right? ‘

missing meme | @soverina

#literally 2 months later but you know what we're fine sdfihgsdf #tendou... not the ideal decorating partner but here to have a good time sdfgsfd #i had so much fun with this i adore you nita sidfhug #117. tendou #1. question #soverina

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empyrean-thrones · 13 days

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Do you think Rebecca was inspired by any real world cultures when she was writing about Poromiel? I was wondering if she was vaguely inspired by Central Asian or Indigenous cultures mostly because of the mounted archery culture and the Poromish exports of unique textiles and grain and gems.

Rebecca is pretty clueless and careless when it comes to respectfully representing real world cultures, we saw that with the way she used the Gaelic language in the books. Do you think there will ever be a point in the next few years where Rebecca might say “yes I was inspired by ____ culture when writing about Poromiel”? Or do you think she will avoid that conversation so she can avoid accountability if it becomes glaringly obvious that she is probably lazily misrepresenting yet another culture?

I don’t know how to feel about it if Rebecca is actually inspired by Central Asian or Indigenous culture. On one hand, Rebecca does not seem to be a very mindful and informed person when it comes to non ignorant representation, but on the other hand, I enjoy the Poromish characters and the concept of Poromiel and I would love to see more Central Asian and Indigenous representation in the media if Rebecca is coached through how to do it respectfully. Avatar the Last Airbender manages to represent real cultures in a fantasy world pretty respectfully. I do not think a respectful representation of real world cultures is impossible, both in the book and the tv show if it ever happens. What are your thoughts? Do you think it would be too bold and a bad idea for Rebecca to say that Poromiel is heavily inspired by Asian or Indigenous culture or something like that?

I would love it if she was at least vaguely inspired by Asian culture, but considering the way Poromiel is written makes me uneasy.

See how Tàirn and Vi react to Cordyn:

“See that sorry excuse for a fortress on the eastern side of the farthest peak?” [Tairn] asks…“You mean the palace that looks like it’s glowing?” The structure is a sprawling, glistening combination of white pillars and blue pools that cascade in five distinct terraces down the gentle slope of the hills above the beach. “It’s just the sun reflecting off the white marble,” he grumbles. “The entire thing is ridiculous and indefensible.” How… beautiful. What a luxury to build a place like this, designed purely for aesthetics. No high walls or portcullises. Tairn’s right. It’s utterly indefensible, and it will fall should venin choose to take it…” — Iron Flame, Chapter 40

My immediate thought upon reading that was: “oh, it’s probably just a vacation home. The Viscount’s real house is probably more fortified.” But Violet never really has similar thoughts so maybe I’m just smarter than her.

Why would she consider it a luxury to build a place designed for aesthetics when her country’s safely protected by a giant magic wall and should have tons of buildings made for aesthetics? You’d think she was raised poor but her mom’s the general of the army and it’s mentioned how riders get better pay/perks so like…? 🤨 I don’t mind Cordyn being beautiful looking; I think it’s much better than just describing Poromiel as simply a war torn country, but this excerpt makes it seem like their stupid for wanting to use their wealth to show off their artistry and culture.

They have their own gods but we never hear anything about them or what their names are. Poromiel has two geographical landmarks that are named after the Navarrian pantheon (Dunness River and Bay of Malek) which is really weird considering Navarre doesn’t seem to influence Poromish culture as far as I’m aware.

And then there’s the poor gryphons. Tàirn calls them inferior twice.

“The gryphon ahead of us dips into a sharp descent and Tairn follows suit, tucking his wings and getting just close enough to the gryphon to let him know he’s no match. ��Stop intimidating them.” The last thing we need is an incident before we can even ask Tecarus for the luminary. “I can’t help their inferiority.” There’s a definite smile in his tone…” — IF, Chapter 40

This is in response to Syrena and Brennan telling the riders to show an ounce of sympathy for the fliers on the way up the Medaro Pass:

“I wouldn’t risk either of you.” “Of course you wouldn’t. Why would you, when I’m quite capable of carrying you all over the world?” I can feel [Tairn’s] eyes roll. “You did not bond the inferiority that are gryphons. You bonded dragons.” — IF, Chapter 43

The way they’re written is, quite frankly, rooted in stupidity. The magical creatures who are part bird can’t fly at high altitudes, don’t produce signets, and are slower fliers than dragons. But don’t worry! They can run really fast on the ground!

Okay. So they should have ostrich legs, right? They should be part ostrich instead of eagles if that’s the case since eagle legs aren’t designed for running long distances.

This one comment on YouTube said it best about the gryphon nonsense:

But to get back to Rebecca Yarros and Poromiel being based off Central Asia and Indigenous cultures, I don’t think she has the balls to admit she was inspired by them because of the backlash to her mispronounciation of Scots Gaelic words and her Instagram post on the current ongoing genocide. She hasn’t said a word regarding Palestine after that so I doubt she’ll say anything relating to the topic in the future unless absolutely necessary.

I’m hoping the tv series does Poromiel justice by actually exploring the culture and lore instead of brushing past it like the books do. Maybe in the next three books we’ll get more gryphon lore but my expectations are low rn.

#jey speaks #fourth wing critical #poromiel #rebecca yarros

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intercreativepudlo · 10 months

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On privilege.

I was first prompted to think about my own privileged position in the world when I moved to the UK.

Growing up in Poland in the 90s and early 00s, I knew only a handful of people who weren't white and I never gave much thought to the way they experienced living in that society. I left to study a performing arts degree in Liverpool, UK in 2007.

I clearly remember that conversation I had with my friend from university. Her parents came to the UK from India and she was born in the UK. She grew up in Manchester and to me when I met her, she was just British. I didn't think about it much. But when we talked about it, she told me that despite the fact I had only just arrived there, people were more likely to assume I was from there and to assume she wasn't. I was initially skeptical about that because I really did feel like an alien in the UK when I first got there. I was the only foreigner in my class. It was a whole other world. England was strange to me, much different than the mainland. I didn't particularly try to fit in but I did my best to perfect my English accent, for perfectionism reasons, mostly, and because I wanted to act in English plays. I didn't like the idea of being treated better than someone else for no reason other than my ethnic background, it made me feel weird and uncomfortable.

My friend told me that people would simply assume I was from here because I was white and they just assumed she belonged somewhere else because she wasn't. I think that was really when I first started thinking about it and once I saw it, I couldn't un-see it. I had of course learned about slavery, colonialism, I was aware of racism, but I rarely thought about what that really meant in the context of today to everyday people, before that conversation.

Moving through the world today, the world post BLM, I find that whenever I have a conversation in which the subject of privilege comes up, it's safe to assume that people who have it will react with a degree of hostility and aggression, at the very least mockery and some mumbling about how everyone is oh, so PC these days. Something of the kind. People who have it get very defensive about privilege. The default is to come up with an endless list that's meant to prove they don't have it, how they've worked so hard to be where they are and how anybody can do what they did, all the challenges they have faced and overcome. Being privileged is hard to admit when you feel like the underdog most of the time. And in a world where your benchmark of success are everyman billionaires or at least those people who brag about their wealth and lives on social media, basically everyone feels like the underdog.

Still, personal beliefs don't change the fact that it is objectively easier for a person with Caucasian features to move through the world unobstructed than it is for anybody who doesn't look Caucasian. This includes daily life and travelling. Of course, this is utterly insane but it doesn't make it any less true. It's part of the crazy, topsy-turvy setup of the world we live in and a direct result of the not-so-distant, after all, history.

When I first arrived in Australia, what struck me was the illusion of equality. Australia does this very well - the institutions emphasise over and over just how equally they treat everybody. But it's all too plain to see that all this is mostly a sort of covering-our-arses approach, not justice. Institutions really do try to say all the right things, so I was very weirded out when I encountered Australians being casually racist and simultaneously in utter denial of the existence of racism in this country.

I often think of diversity quotas in this context. Do they really make things better or are they simply an attempt to sweep the mess under the rug and pretend that the problem of racial injustice does not exist or is no longer really relevant? Could this practice be contributing to entrenching white privilege? Overall, of course it is better to include people from diverse backgrounds and cultures than it is to exclude or ignore them. But it's always helpful, I think, to ask who gets to do the including.

This leads me to consider Pierre Bourdieu's concept of habitus, which can be defined as "self-regulating behaviour to fit social expectations - a feel for what is beneficial and what is detrimental" (Ramsey, 2003). Our ingrained social behaviours, which we acquire similarly to language acquisition, that is without being conscious of it, play a significant role in maintaining cultural capital and perpetuating inequalities. Viewed through this lens, it is clear that there exist power dynamics inherent in the act of including, therefore our goal should be to dismantle structural barriers to representation rather than being satisfied with superficial practices.

In relation to the above, I have often thought about casting choices and representation. I usually reach the conclusion that it's not enough to simply cast a person of colour in a role written for or from the perspective of someone who's white. It is still possible to adjust characters and scripts to reflect casting choices in a more sensitive and inclusive way, ideally with some consultation. But to really change the industry to reflect a full array of human stories, it is necessary for people from from diverse cultures and backgrounds to tell their own stories from their own perspective with all that entails, including writing, directing, and producing. We will not reach the kind of equality in our lifetimes where ethnicity is truly irrelevant to casting choices, nor should we.

Our cultural background is not irrelevant to our experience of life, no matter where in the world we are. It is important for this to be reflected in the stories we tell, otherwise, we're just whitewashing and incorporating everyone into this dominant thing we broadly call western culture, proceeding under the assumption that the western experience and understanding stands for the default human experience and understanding. To question its dominance is paramount to understanding the world we live in.

References:

Ramsey, G. (20 April, 2023). Pierre Bourdieu & Habitus (Sociology): Definition & Examples. Simply Sociology. https://simplysociology.com/pierre-bourdieu-habitus.html

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processandenquiryrhianna · 2 years

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Projections onto Thermal Blanket

To explore how else to use this material, I pinned it up onto the wall in front of a carousel film projector. This was relatively effective, mostly with darker more opaque images, the lesser opaque the less the imagery would show up onto the material. I experimented with both the gold and silver side, of which I think the silver was best. The gold and silver reminded me of wealth and prosperity, the rich colour contrast with the sparkling light reflections are beautiful. I chose slides (not manipulated by me) of which I thought would compliment these qualities within the blanket as not only a base, but a part of the piece.

1) ‘London Transport’ sign, signifying the privilege of having fast, semi-reliable transport at or disposal. Not all countries have this luxury, and although it isn’t always the cleanest or most reliable, you’d find this is commonly the public fault mixed with the lack of funding. This sign is quite symbolic, being used within movies, comic books, media in general. The silver also reminds me of the materials used, not as luxurious as silver, but the metal can have similar sheen when new products are released.

2) Priests writing scriptures. The gold side made me think of the importance of the repetitive decoration of gold within original scriptures. One of the reasons for this usage was to amplify the holiness of their god, heavily inferring the importance and seriousness of the words written. The colour came out rich, as I was hoping it would do, the white sparkles compliment the gold nature of the projection nicely. The square pattern within the blanket (due to it being folded for a long period of time), I think goes well with the meaning of the picture slide. God’s are believed to be methodical and full of intent, for example the phrase “god’s plan” is commonly used to excuse when something in our life doesn’t go to OUR plan, since it may go to their God’s. Therefore, insinuating the nature of organisation within plans, just like the symmetrical squares.

3) A car, a privilege not everyone can afford. I believe this is something we can take for granted, as well as overhype. To explain, we have built a world where driving is her essential to make it anywhere. Roads can feel more common than safe, accessible sidewalks. Driving so young at 16, being gifted a car, even though you family already has 1/2, a luxury I think can be forgotten often. We build up the hype of personal vehicles, despite the negligence of the alternative; cheaper, more economically friendly, public transport. Why do we need so many cars? Does one per family not suffice? Is needed, or is it another ego-fuelled attempt to flaunt wealth? We grow deep attachments to these monsters, understandably because of the investment we throw into them. When doe this attachment become toxic though? When we have more cars than we have space? When we stop taking care of the old and cherish the new, till the future new comes in? This slide of the car is projected onto the silver side, to compliment the silver details of the car within the photographed advert. The car is not as clear as I would like it, however this could help bring into audience, making them use their brains to decipher what they see, rather than to simply ‘view’.

4) A child in their playroom. Toys, having a room to indulge, a private area to imagine, are all aspects for optimal growth. Not everyone is lucky to have these, and yet they still grow. We begin attachments at a young age, are they worth their power? The toy we were gifted as a baby, we kept till crypt, beside comfort, what is the use? Why have it? Why not? The silver background provides a more cold vibe to the original image of the fun playtime colours. It’s not the easiest to see, such as the memories we try to recall of our childhood as we grow. Those precious moments, fading with age, as we do ourselves. How does this importance rank on the world’s list of significance?

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visuallanguagerhianna · 2 years

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Projections onto Thermal Blanket

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marybeatriceofmodena · 3 years

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You know, I’ve been thinking today about how Alina doesn’t even really work as a Reluctant Hero, compared her to Frodo to see the key differences (since Frodo is pretty much the Poster Child for the Reluctant Hero), and then I realized...

You know, I think L/eigh B/ardugo wrote TGT as a very black-and-white fairytale, where Alina is the princess, Mal’s the knight in the shining armor, and the Darkling is basically the dragon, except it doesn’t really work because the worldbuilding requires an approach that’s... a lot more grey?

The thing is, though, I realized... Alina and Mal are basically meant to be Frodo and Sam. Except that, again... it doesn’t really work.

Frodo works as a Reluctant Hero, because he makes it clear multiple times that he doesn’t want to carry the Ring. He asks Gandalf to do it for him, he asks Galadriel, he asks Aragorn, and they all refuse, because they are (or are called to be) in a position of power, and while them being in a position of power is presented as good, the One Ring essentially represents the fast, easy way to get to it, which will ultimately corrupt them rather than have them fight their way towards their goal.

Frodo, meanwhile, is the right person to carry the Ring, because he comes from a humble place and he doesn’t really have any aspirations to become powerful. And while he’s clearly burdened by having to carry the One Ring, and that he makes it clear that he wishes the Ring had never come to him, he still goes on anyway, despite all the hardships he faces, because his ultimate goal is to save the Shire and his friends, and that desire is stronger than any fear or greed he may have.

Now, J.R.R. Tolkien himself said that he didn’t really see Frodo as THE Hero, and that Sam is the real Hero of the story to him. Which makes sense, given how Sam was based off young men from rural England he met while fighting in World War I. But also, the story makes it very clear that without Sam, who’s arguably the most pure-hearted person in all of Middle-Earth, Frodo would have definitely failed in his task. The reason why he resists the temptation to carry the One Ring is LITERALLY because him protecting and helping Frodo is more important to him. Sam doesn’t give two shits about power. Helping Frodo save the Shire and coming back to everything he’s ever loved is more important to him.

Both Alina and Frodo are pure-hearted orphans who are given tremendous power: Alina is the Sun Summoner, and Frodo carries the One Ring. In both cases, power is represented as a corruptive force, that makes people go mad with greed. It works in the context of The Lord of the Rings, given how the rings were given to leaders of Elves, Dwarves and Men, and that Sauron created the One Ring to rule over and control all of them. The Grisha, on the other hand, unlike the Ring-bearers, are not in a position of power, given they are essentially victims of Fantastic Racism in pretty much every country. While Ravka treats them slightly better than in Fjerda or Shu Han, it’s still not ideal and it’s something that could be taken away from them at any moment. It would be an entirely different matter if the Grisha were the ones rulling over Ravka and viewing otkazat’sya as lesser, and in that context, Alina being the Sun Summoner would be a very obvious road to her becoming corrupted.

Frodo refusing to carry the One Ring and asking other people to take that burden from him comes from a place of genuine fear of what the Ring might do to him. In his place, we’d probably all do the same thing. That’s what makes his acceptance of his task all the more admirable. Alina, on the other hand, refuses to be the Sun Summoner and to help her fellow Grisha because that stands in the way of her ending up with Mal. She never gives any sign that she’s truly empathizing with the Grisha’s plight, she tries to run away not once, but twice, and most importantly, she never sees herself as one of them. They are othered, but it matters little to her, because she doesn’t want to be othered herself, because that stands in the way of her running off with a boy. It’s basically the equivalent of Frodo being overcome by fear after seeing the fate of the Shire in Galadriel’s mirror, and just demanding to be sent to the Grey Havens straight away to save his own ass from it all and just leaving the One Ring to whoever wants to deal with it. At that point, it’s not being a Reluctant Hero: it’s being a coward at best, a selfish bastard at worst.

(And that’s why I don’t really buy her when she tells Aleksander that they could have had it all if he had told her all the truth from the start, because... again, she didn’t seem to care about the Grisha that much and Aleks telling her everything would have actually been a sure way of having her run as fast as possible the other way. I know the story is trying to tell me otherwise and that the plot point I’m supposed to see here is that Alina was willing to do something until she felt betrayed by Aleks, which is... not what was shown here, and it’s especially annoying considering how Alina is a deserter in every sense of the word, and that any army would have court-martialed her for running away.)

So if Alina is meant to be a pure, selfless heroine, who loses her powers because she also refuses to be greedy... that just falls completely flat, because if anything, she’s as selfish as Frodo is selfless, because all of this really just boils down to her wanting to run off with Mal.

Now, onto Sam and Mal. Both of them are basically Everymen who are there to help the Hero and keep their feet on the ground. As mentioned earlier, Sam is the one who helps Frodo finish his mission to Mordor, and the story makes it clear Frodo would have failed without him. TGT meanwhile presents Mal as Alina’s “True North”... which could work on paper as Alina’s reminder to temper Aleksander’s efforts and to remind him that in order for Grisha to be viewed as people, it is important for them to also remember that balance and peace between Grisha and otkazat’sya will be essential, so resentment and hatred can be healed between both groups.

The key difference here is that Sam is completely supportive of Frodo at all times. Even when Frodo sends him away in the film, Sam goes back after him the minute he realizes he’s been tricked by Gollum. He never shames Frodo whenever he falls prey to temptation, he simply reminds him of who he is and what he must fight for, and even when he’s climbing Mount Doom, he still carries Frodo on his back despite being probably completely exhausted, because Frodo’s more exhausted than he is. He completely accepts Frodo as both his friend, the Hobbit from the Shire, and the Ring-bearer he needs to help, even if he might die in the process.

Mal (in the books, that is) makes it very clear that he does not accept Alina as both the girl he knew and the Sun Summoner. He only wants the girl, and whenever Alina makes steps towards being the Sun Summoner, he basically sulks and yells at her for not paying attention to him. Despite Alina becoming othered in the eyes of the world, he refuses to see her as othered, mostly because it is inconvenient to him rather than because he loves her for who she is. That’s why in the end, people feel like Alina lost her powers in order to be with Mal, because Mal would never accept her in her entirety. Sam, on the other hand, accepts Frodo as both Ring-bearer and Hobbit, because if he didn’t, Frodo would have failed.

And while they made Mal in the show a lot nicer than his book counterpart, he still doesn’t work as Alina’s “True North”, because he cossets her in her selfishness. He may say he doesn’t care about how Alina is a Grisha in this one, but he also doesn’t consider the implications of it all - which is especially glaring given he’s a soldier himself. Like, look, if you’re going to slap in a racism plotline to make Mal/ina work, you’d think that being half-Shu would give Mal a little awareness that people are going to treat Alina badly for being half-Shu AND a Grisha, and given Alina is the MOTHERFUCKING SUN SUMMONER AND A SAINT, maybe, just maybe he’d tell her: “Heh, it’s kinda lame we’ll just run off and let everyone else in the dust, you know, especially since we could make our lives as well as everyone else’s better?” Seriously, if you’re going to make Mal Alina’s “True North”, have him face her duties and her calling whether she likes it or not, don’t coddle her when she wants to run the other way because she wants to hide under a rock for the rest of her life.

With all that being said, that leaves us with the Darkling, who... I mean, given his whole schtick is that power corrupts and makes you evil and crazy, I guess that makes him Gollum, but sexy.

Gollum, but sexy.

That single expression has been haunting me ever since I started writing the above novel and I fucking hate it. You’re welcome. No one wanted Sexy Gollum. Absolutely no one. Fuck this shyte. See, this is why I want Darkling Redemption. I do not want to live in a world where Gollum is sexy. I need brain bleach.

Even here it doesn’t even fucking work because Gollum hid in a cave with the Ring with a strategically placed cloth because no one wants to see his crusty ass family jewels anyway, while Aleks worked his ass off to give the Grisha a safe place to live and to at the very least ensure they’re useful enough to not be killed like animals. Like, if you’re going to give the world something that’s gonna definitely not make me sleep tonight like Sexy Gollum, at least do it right.

#now i have thoroughly traumatized myself :)#anti grishaverse #anti leigh bardugo #anti mal #anti malina #darklina #alarkling #rants and reviews

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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years

Text

—single!parent headcanons

part one

mtha thots: the manga makes me really sad and i think children deserve a childhood so i made this to cope

all characters are 18+

Warnings: it’s long but, other than that, none <3

Shouto Todoroki:

truth be told, shouto never wanted children

he knew how important someone’s childhood meant

shouto honestly couldn’t trust himself not to mess it up :(

so imagine his surprise when he came to fall in love with this little boy, no older than six, he found snooping around a dumpster

it’s actually kind of funny how they came to be bc shouto was 100% put off by the kid

when they made eye contact, they stared at each other like

shouto:🧍🏻

the boy: 👁👄👁

shouto again:🧍🏻

before the brat blew him a raspberry and tried to run off

ofc he caught up to him and, despite the boy’s tantrum, the two went straight to the police

and for some reason, todoroki ended up with him in his condo

the first couple of weeks were terrible

it seemed like Yuuma hated his guts

shouto let him have his space and only really pestered him when it was time to do the essentials

at midoriya’s suggestion, he’d try and talk to him about his day or how his therapy sessions went, but it was no use

the boy would tell him not to worry about it and scurry off

this happened for some time and honestly, todoroki was at his wit’s end

until one day, shouto realized that it wasn’t that the child hated him, he just didn’t want to be a burden him

then everything clicked

mustering up the courage, todoroki one day asked Yuu if he’d like to help him make dinner and the way the kid’s eyes brightened up at the chance to be useful made him a bit sad

but he pushed it away in favor for how the boy blossomed as he showed shouto the right way to stir meat stew and make onion rings

at the end, the red n white hero gave him an honest smile and thanked him for his help

Yuuma looked at him for a long time before bursting into tears

it was the first time shouto had seen him cry in weeks

it was also the first time they hugged

from then on, it was almost magical how well they clicked

the boy was exitable and extroverted, todoroki was quiet and reserved

they were both stubborn to a fault sometimes and that didn’t bode over well during the few disagreements they had but they brought the best out in each other

shouto made the kid feel safe and secure, always reminding him that anything he did for him was never burdensome

Yuuma gave the hero a confidence boost and a chance at another type of love he never knew he wanted

the first time his son called him dad was when todoroki made the adoption official

Yuuma shyly asked if it was okay that he called him his father and shouto will not admit to the tears he desperately tried to hide from a teasing midoriya and his siblings (ofc he had them there)

no one knows this but todoroki literally had separation anxiety the first couple of years

his child was just fine being with the babysitter but shouto would spend his work days/nights feeling very tense being away from him

called/texted the kid all the time, left him encouraging sticky notes in his lunch box, and would hug him for at least 3 min before leaving the house

he’s such a mother hen bye

he’s lucky yuu adores him bc he was lowkey doing a lot LMAO

they have movie nights together and geek over manga like nerds

yuuma cosplayed as roy mustang once and todoroki has an album of pics from that day alone

todoroki’s the type to randomly bring his son fruit just because

yuuma regularly slept in shouto’s bed/futon until around 7th grade

as his son got older, and more popular (w the ladies AND gents hehe) at school, todoroki got a little jealous bc yuuma wanted to spend more time with his friends

he was legit hurt the first time yuu canceled on movie night to go to a sleepover 🥺

todoroki moped over it until midoriya told him to knock it off 💀

it’s a shameful quality of his, but shouto will always lie to get his kid out of the stupid shit he gets himself into only bc yuu plays really funny pranks

has to keep himself from laughing in front of the principle

they’re both lowkey mischevious asf

he’ll scold him later tho so it’s okay, he’s responsible™️

shouto always calls yuu “son”

if he calls him by his full name, he’s either sad or annoyed w him

during family gatherings, yuuma is the star of the show bc of his superb cooking skills

he and fuyumi get along great

and surprisingly enough, bakugo adores the kid even though the same can’t be said for todoroki himself

yuuma wants to open a restaurant and he’s a little afraid of his father’s reaction

little does he know, shouto is ready to hand over his black card at moment’s notice purrr✨

he’s a really supportive father and he has his hiccups, but todo tries his very best and his son makes him impossibly proud every day

oh and did i mention they wear matching sweaters?

they’re that kind of family

it’s so cute i could die

Midoriya Izuku:

midoriya was born and bred to be a father

change my mind

i mean look at that face

that’s daddy material to me 😌

anyways

midoriya has two girls that are about a year apart

due to the immense pressure of being with the #1 hero and an unwillingness to be a mother, his then girlfriend at the time suddenly left him, signing over all maternal rights to the hero

it just crushed izuku

he spent weeks trying to look for her and to make it work

he wanted his girls to have a two-parent household, but she went radio silent

it was a difficult adjustment

but deku is the most ambitious and resiliant person on the planet so he was devoted to giving them the best lif he could

and ofc he had the support of all his friends and his mother

but there were a lot of ups and downs

mostly downs in the first year being a single parent

at the time, his youngest wasn’t even one whiles eldest was almost two

and izuku worked a lot

being #1 meant he was the country’s go-to whenever something happened and he missed a lot of stuff he’d never get to redo

like his youngest, Maia’s, first word which was “bunny”

and the first time his oldest, Naomi, went to the bathroom by herself

and izuku will never forget the day he came to pick his kids up after being on a week long international mission

when he reached out for them, they looked at him as if they didn’t know who he was

izuku spent the entire night crying in inko’s arms

the next morning, he only had to deliver some paperwork, but everyone noticed the usually chipper hero’s sour mood and stayed clear from his path

even bakugo and todoroki felt chills when izuku passed by

it was tough, but deku was determined

he started taking up night shifts so he could be there for his girls during the day

he’d pick them up from inko’s right after work and spend the day playing with them

izuku stayed up on a dangerous amount of caffeine and will power

there were days he literally passed out from exhaustion, but it was worth it to see them through their milestones

when Naomi went to kindergarten, he couldn’t stop buzzing around w excitement

he just adored listening her ramble on about what she learned and that persisted on even as she grew

like, she’s a genius

she was his doppleganger in intellect and resilience

she’s def a daddy’s girl and although she’s not as empathetic as her father, they’re very close

naomi is an excellent older sister and stepped up early when izuku couldn’t always be there

maia is izuku’s match in personality

she’s very sweet, a bit more extroverted, and compassionate

but pls don’t get it twisted, that girl gives the fam a run for their money

she’s got izuku’s righteousness but heightened 100x and with a lot more anger

the girl’s got quite the mean mug and she got hands highkey

they both do tbh (i mean, izuku is their dad...)

the amount of fights naomi’s had to back her up in is ridiculous 😭

they’re two peas in a pod tho so if you mess w one sister, you mess w both ‼️

regardless of all that, izuku wouldn’t change them for anything

he’s the type to obnoxiously kiss them on their cheeks before school

they’ll take turns doing each other’s hair

izuku gets pigtails that he proudly wears to work

deku has a private instagram that is so filled with those two, sometimes ppl forget it’s his

he def has a “girl dad” t-shirt

he calls them his angels 🥺

i see him getting a tattoo of their names on his arm or something

they’re all cry babies so when they get into arguments, it doesnt last long

both girls went to UA to be heroes and izuku’s heart just soars with pride every day

he also cried an obnoxious amount and for some odd reason, kept popping up for “demonstrative purposes”

they had to have a family talk so they could tell him to stop babying them in the kindest way possible

and by that i mean, naomi said it bluntly and maia did damage control lmao

overall, izuku loves those girls more than life and they love him just the same

raising them was a rollercoaster, but he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat

Sero Hanta:

another one that just looks like he’d be an amazing father

please have my children sir

sero is one of the few that was actually looking to adopt a kid

he came from a large family and desired connection with a family of his own

he tried a for a while, but it never seemed to happen

until he came about a small girl he met on the off chance of passing by her hospital room when he was getting a quick check up

she was one of the children they saved on a mission and when he saw her curled up on the hospital bed that seemed to swallow her whole, his feet moved on their own

the girl, Keiko, was left injured and an orphan, yet despite her circumstances, she was just a joy to be around

sero spent the rest of visiting time with her and just knew she was it for him

she was very sick so he’d spend his breaks visiting her at the hospital

keiko was a huge cellophane fan and it just melted his heart 🥺

she’d have a huge smile on her face, unabashedly showing off her missing front tooth, every time he walked in

they’d spend hours just drawing or talking about their day

when sero shyly brought up the possibility of adopting her, keiko could barely contain herself

she drew him one of her best pieces as a thank you and sero still has it hanging on his mirror to this day ❤️

keiko’s actually quite the artist so there’s many more up there to keep it company

the adjustment period went smoother than anticipated

the girl had her moments and hanta was getting used to being a 24/7 parent, but it was like they quickly acted as if they had been blood related their entire lives

they are ride or dies for each other LMAO

they don’t argue

like at all

the worst they ever got was when keiko rushed to help her father on the job when she happened to see him get hurt

sero yelled at her in panic

it was so startling that they avoided each other for the time being

but a few hours later, sero went and apologized

and that was that

keiko had frequent nightmares and sero would sacrfice copious hours of sleep so that he could turn on the projecter and give her a run down about every star in the “sky” before she falls asleep

he actually bought and named a star after her for her first bday with him

sero pats her head a lot and she hates it

he calls her squirt, sport, kid, and princess if they’re having a soft moment

they have an unholy amount of matching onsies

the kid was already getting to the stage where she wanted to be independent, but she would let her father pick out her outfits sometimes

only bc he put a lot of effort into doing it

aka, she caught him crying over cute pintrest pics bc he’s a simp

okay but sero really, isn’t much of a crier, but he’s sentimental asf

every milestone is recorded

every school night, he’s there (she was a good kid, so he all but gloats w pride after every visit w the teachers)

any drawing she makes, he has

he’ll do anything to be there for his daughter so it really crushed him when he couldn’t go to her high school’s father daughter dance

sero had a mission he couldnt get out of and he was sorely pissed off about it

keiko assured her father that it was okay and that it was corny anyways

but he could hear the disappointment in her voice

he made kirishima go with her anyways bc he didnt want her to miss out on the experience

and you bet your ass that when she came back home, sero was there in a tux with the living room set up to make it up to her

it is just as cheesy as you think it is, but they’re cute so who cares

also the way they both can dance is crazyyyyyy

rhythm isn’t even the word

if there was a competition for best father-daughter dance duo, they would win every time! and i stand by that!

they have at least one viral tiktok dance they did together

sero’s not the emotional type, but the first time keiko had a boyfriend he def made a threat or two to him

it was actually so scary

anyways

they’re honestly the cutest duo and everyone on the block agrees

i love it ❤️

#bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #shouto todoroki #izuku midoriya #sero hanta #father!bnha #single!dad headcanons #can you tell how much i love this idea #i love when the bnha characters are happy <3 #also supriseeee shawtyy

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

innocence - 32

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: drunkness, nightmares.

NEXT CHAPTER

- Sharon?

There she stood, in all her elegant and precise posture dignified of someone who had been trained to be a spy. Y/N had spoken to Sharon before yet it had been brief so all she knew about her was what she had learned from the media and what Bucky had told her. Yet, Bucky wasn’t one to share much about his life as a Winter Soldier or an Avenger. Despite all this mystery surrounding the woman standing in the kitchen, she trusted her. She was Bucky’s friend and Steve’s girlfriend, a decorated scholar and agent. If she wanted to hurt her the chance was very, very low. Besides, she doubted Bucky would’ve just gone around giving people his address. He doesn’t even tell anyone but the barista his coffee order, not that it is too hard to guess.

- Bucky asked me to look after you while he’s gone. - she said before Y/N could even question her. - He said you’d feel more comfortable with a woman watching over you.

- He really left, uh? - Y/N knew he had left, after all his dog tags were hanging from her closed fist, but her more optimistic self, the more happy look which wanted to believe he was gonna be told this was mistake and he could return to the normal life he had paid by with blood, sweat and tears.

- Do you wanna go for breakfast? There’s a nice spot just a few blocks away from here. - she tried to distract her, kind smile forming. - I always thought you and me should get to know each other. You know, Steve and Bucky are like brothers so we’ll see each other a lot.

- Yeah, I hum ... I just need to get dressed. - Y/N wanted to be her happy, cheery self and she knew Sharon was only trying to make her feel better but all she could think about was Bucky and if he was safe.

She knew she was no super soldier, no super spy, not a witch or an agent but she just wanted to help him. She was already helpless in her own life, merely following along as others guided her, too afraid to step too much out of line in fear of losing what she had worked for. After all, many people wanted what she had, many people wanted a contract with a household agency thus she had to be compliant. She had to step on the breaks before she even turned the key. However, if there was something she had agency on it was her relationships and she wanted to help him. God, she wished to never see that look, the look he gave her that morning after that call. It was pure sorrow mixed with anger and she wondered how long he’d felt that way. She wondered if anyone had tried to help him rather than weaponise him. It was not her choice to decide what Bucky wanted to do with his life, it was not her right to demand him explain her demons to her but it was her choice and her pleasure to be by his side and right now she wanted to be by his side. Even if her mother had raised her not to rely on a man. It wasn’t relying on him, it wasn’t being only completed when a man was around, it wasn’t her feeling incomplete whenever he was around. No. It was none of that. It was merely wanting to hold the hand of someone who had for the longest time not had anyone to hold his hand. It was loving someone so much, she’d be okay with holding his burden with him even if he didn’t want to. It was merely loving someone, darkness and light, and she loved him.

Her hands gripped the sink of the bathroom, eyes gazing onto the mirror in front of her and as such her own face. She watched every line, every corner, contour and shadow of her face, the dog tags softly dangling around from her neck, the only part of him she had near her. Y/N splashed cold water against her face, trying to let her own optimism flow into what was now a negative outcome. She stepped outside of the bedroom, a soft smile drawn on her features.

- Should we go? - Sharon suggested, grabbing her coat which was laying over the couch. - It will make you feel better, Y/N.

- Yeah, I’m just ...

- He’s one of the best operatives in the field. - Sharon interrupted her. - He will be fine, I promise you.

- You can’t promise me that. - she said as she took her own jacket from the hooks on the wall.

- I’ve seen him fight before, Y/N. I’ve been where you are, it’s shit but ... you gotta trust someone who’s strong enough to carelessly break a brick, will be fine.

Sharon meant well, she knew she did and she was glad she was there but Y/N felt nothing but completely numb to what was happening around her. It seems as he had left with her heart and now she was longing his and hers didn’t get broken in the middle of HYDRA’s crossfire. She didn’t know much about HYDRA or even the Winter Soldier, her parents had shielded her and her siblings from the bad of the world and while she had seen Washington in the TV and remembered when Captain America had been regarded as a traitor, she had never been explained much about HYDRA and all that was out in the internet was glossed over with a paint coat of big, bad monster. Funny how big, bad monsters don’t look like monsters at all. She’d not even been in the country when the first modern Winter Soldier attacks had occurred and she was younger, much more naive. What she could remember was circled with rumours of politicians then blaming every single event on the soldier, turning him into a folklore-like creature but he was not folklore, he really existed. Conscious or not conscious, he existed. She didn’t know how Bucky felt about it, he’d never tell her but what she knew was that he drew a line between who he had been and who he was now, and he hated to cross that line.

The harsh sound of the coffee steamer from the coffee machine took her from her own head. The coffee shop itself was mostly empty, highly due to it being later in the morning and all she wanted to do was return to her bedroom and stay there until she had to go for her photoshoot. However, the waitress was already taking their orders which meant she had to at least stay here until the two of them had eaten whatever Sharon had prepared.

- How do you do it? - Y/N blurted out, clearly losing any control over her mind to mouth filter. - The missions ... I mean, Steve must be going on them all the time.

- Well, whenever I don’t go ... it’s hell. - she smiled tightly. - One thing is going on a mission yourself, the other one is someone who you love going. And for what? Crocked politicians?

- I get a feeling you’re not a big fan of the government.

- You’d be right. So, what’s the schedule for today? Bucky didn’t really explain what your job entails.

- There’s a photoshoot today at 3, then it’s free days until Monday where I have to go on set to film the last scenes.

- Photoshoot? Sounds fun.

- The Virgin Bride for Vogue.

- Oh ... - she agent scrunched up her face. - Not so fun.

- They’re doing an issue on the types of brides. You know ... because type casting not only occurs in Hollywood, it occurs in life too. You got your bridezellas, your over 30 brides, your rebel brides and the virgin bride. Being the virgin bride does fit with the image they want for me.

- I never really understood type casting, if I’m being honest. You know, the rat, brit, brat pack. Never really made sense.

- It’s a marketing strategy. It is easier to market someone as a type rather than a complex person.

She liked photoshoots, she mostly got to dress up and get photographed almost like a big makeover like in those 90s movies she still curled up against her comforter to see. This particular one did make her upset, to be in a white wedding dress, surrounded by soft white fabric was particularly cruel. She knew her wedding was not going to be what she dreamed of a kid and unless she wanted to get her agency or the government in the business, the two of them would’ve had to get married in the civil hall. However, it did not matter to her where she got married, it mattered that the person she wasn’t engaged to was not here. It was almost like being dressed as a left at the altar bride ... like a widow.

She unpinned the veil from her hair, taking off all the heavy jewellery that had been used to adorn her hair and put it on top of the desk where all the makeup was still open. The dress was pretty but it was big, it was too big, it almost swallowed her, it made her feel small but it reminded of him. She wondered where he was, what he was doing, how he was feeling, if he was safe.

- That was boring. - Sharon said as she stepped inside the dressing room, holding two coffee cups. - I know that look. What’s wrong?

- I hate this dress. - Y/N sat down in the chair. - It’s too big.

- You look like a wedding cake.

- Right. - Y/N moved the fabric up playfully. - I don’t think I can even move correctly.

- You should be thinking about your own soon. - Y/N gave Sharon a confused look. - Steve told me. Don’t tell Bucky, he’ll get upset and then Steve will be upset, big mess.

- Well, it’s good to be able to speak to someone about it. - she smiled. Only Bucky and her parents knew, so she did not have many people to tell she was engaged to or to even speak about it.

- So, how do you envision your wedding dress?

- Oh, I don’t ... I don’t really think about it. It’s most likely gonna be in city hall so it’s not worth it.

- What? That’s bullshit. Everyone wears a dress.

- I can’t really go anywhere ... the paps would go crazy and that’s the last thing I need.

- Still, everyone wears a dress even if they go to city hall.

Y/N merely shrugged. Her head was not in the right space and for the first time she was looking forward to go to set. It didn’t matter if being on set was dehumanising sometimes, it mattered that her head would’ve been somewhere else. She knew that as a perfectionist, her mind would be on finishing those scenes and not on Bucky. As she got home, she couldn’t help but get lost inside her mind again as Sharon put some old sitcom on the TV. She was surrounded by him, by memories of him, things that reminded her of him. Looking to her left there were framed photos of him, his jacket was still hanging from the door, the broken shards of porcelain were still on the sink. There were pieces of him everywhere and half of her felt ridiculous it was affecting her so much as it was but she loved him. She loved him.

- Right, get your jacket. - Sharon got up from the couch.

- Why? Where are we going?

- You will see.

Y/N followed Sharon through the half lit Brooklyn night down to the back of several shops. The lights flickered, illuminating the bins filled with black plastic bags which laid in the back fronts of several shops. She watched as Sharon made her way towards a particular store back, taking a key from under a seemingly unseeingly rock which opened the heavy pad lock keeping the door shut. Sharon motioned her head towards the door and Y/N followed her into the dark shop. The agent closed the door behind them before she turned the lights. The bright white lights illuminated the shop floors and she noticed she was surrounded by hundreds of glass see through closets with various white dresses. Was she in a bridal shop?

- You need to take your mind out of him. - Sharon sat against one of the pale pastel pink couches laid around the store.

- Is this legal?

- You’re engaged to Bucky Barnes, how come you care about legality so much?

- I don’t want to get arrested, Sharon.

- It’s one of my friends bridal store. You said you couldn’t do it without paps walking around and photographing you, so ... here you go.

- I ... I don’t ... What if he doesn’t come back? - Y/N’s lip trembled as she crossed her arms and looked to the side.

- Y/N, he will come back. It is one man against a soldier with the strength of five. Trust me, if not for anything else, he’ll come back to you. Now, dress, what dress do you want?

- I don’t know.

- Come on. Pick one and try it on. We are not going home until you try a dress on.

- Fine.

Y/N stared at the dresses, grabbing the first one she could find in her own size and dragging it onto the dressing room. It definitely was not her type of dress, at least not the type of dress she had envisioned getting married in. It was pure white, sleeveless with a cut which went down to her sternum, skin tight, hugging her body in a flattering way but it just wasn’t her dress. It wasn’t the dress she wanted to get married in, but right now it wasn’t the time to think about what dress to wear when Bucky was out. She shouldn’t be playing dress up.

She waddled back to where Sharon was sat before she stopped in front of her, hands on her hips. Somehow, she had found some prosecco and plastic flutes and had her feet on top of the pale pink couch.

- Are you happy now? - Y/N sighed, mostly out off nuissance.

- Don’t give me that tone. - Sharon sipped from her own flute, handing Y/N the other one. - Come on, what do you think?

- It’s ... uhm ... fine. - her hands gestured around the fabric.

- What? That’s the first one you try. Why aren’t you crying? It isn’t the one if you’re not crying. That’s what they do in the movies.

- I can cry.

- No, spin. - Sharon waved her finger around and Y/N spun around slowly. - It ain’t it.

- But Bucky ...

- From now on every time you say the words James, Bucky, Buchanan, or Barnes, you’re drinking.

- But I don’t know if Bucky ...

- Drink. - Sharon interrupted her. Y/N scrunched her face not really believing her but she looked dead serious. She took a sip of her prosecco, placing the flute on the table near her. - Come on, what does your wedding dress look like.

- I don’t know ... I don’t want something skin tight, I want some floofy fabric.

- Yeah, go on.

- And I don’t want it to be too long, I want my shoes to show ... like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face.

- Let’s find it.

Both she and Sharon went through tons and tons of dresses, through so much lace she was sure to dream about it for the next week until they found something that resembled what she wanted. Y/N ended up rather dizzy on the prosecco, not used to drinking too much, running around barefoot with the dress that was her dress in a rather subdued white which showed her legs from the ankle down, a voluminous little shirt which cinched at her waist. A rather short veil fell from her head, pinned to the crown of her head with a fake baby pink rose prong clip. The two ended up laying on the pink couch, heads leaning against the rather comfortable pillows as they nursed the rest of the bottle of prosecco.

- Okay but I have a question ... - Y/N said, bringing her flute down. - Is it weird dating the same guy who kissed your great aunt?

- Listen, Steve is a kissing whore. - she tried to say it with a straight face but ended up breaking into laughter. - It’s true. He’ll kiss anyone, unstoppable. The blonde girl from the army, my great aunt, Natasha. If it hadn’t been for me, Steve would be Captain Kisscam instead of Captain America.

- Captain Kisscam. What superpowers would he have?

- Making people kiss each other? No that sounds terrible. I don’t know ... to be honest what even is Steve’s superpower?

- Ultimate ... - Y/N broke down laughing before she could continue. She put her hand in front of her chest, taking a deep breathe as she tried not to laugh at the joke in her head. - Ultimate frisbee.

- You know? Sex on top of the shield? Terrible, so uncomfortable.

- Sharon!

- What? I was curious, it is a weirdly unbreakable shield, isn’t it? Besides, that’s not even the craziest thing we’ve done.

- What’s the craziest thing you’ve done?

- We did it at the Smithsonian.

- SHARON! There’s children there. It’s ... a hall of science, and ... memorabilia ... and ... I don’t know, I’ve never been to the Smithsonian.

- Oh, c’mon. What’s the craziest place where you and Bucky have done it?

- You said Bucky, drink. - Y/N pointed her flute at Sharon.

- So did you. Drink. - the two girls drank what was left over in the glasses, throwing them to the side. - Come on. Tell me.

- I don’t know ... What are we counting as doing it?

- 3rd base.

- I do not understand bases.

- Handjobs don’t count.

- Oh ... then ... the parking lot of the set in his car.

- And the car didn’t break?

- Come on, it’s not that old of a car.

- It’s ancient, Y/N. - Sharon chuckled, passively looking at her watch to check on the time. - We should get going before the shop opens.

She went back into the dressing room to take off her wedding dress. It wasn’t until then she realised she was still wearing his dog tags, the cold metal against her warm skin, a side effect of the alcohol coursing through her veins. She was reminded of him again on that moment, wondered how he was doing, how he was feeling. She hoped and begged he was okay in her mind, and the memory of him haunted her mind even as she laid down in bed to go to sleep. There was a direct line from wedding gowns and dog tags to her fiance and wherever he was. Her blood distracted by the unhinging of the alcohol coursing along it, was filled with hate. Not for him but for his situation, for how helpless she was to helping him.

She turned around in her bed, forcefully shutting her eyes as a way to ensure she went to sleep instead of dwelling on those thoughts. However, she simply didn’t have a choice to leave. As her consciousness dissolved into unconscious she woke up in the same bedroom but the environment was blurry, very highly saturated yet the colours were candy bright. However, the environment wasn’t inviting at all and soon broken through the candy bright atmosphere she could hear screaming. She tried to untangle herself from her sheets, running through the bedroom yet her movements were slow and her running was more like a slow motion run. She pushed open the door, coming face to face with the same candy coloured blurred bright world but in front of her was him but not him as she knew him. Not at least as she had known him. His hair was much longer, slightly past his jaw which was covered by a mask, a muffle. His clothing was restricting, the top almost resembling a straightjacket, as if he was dangerous. He was so close but so far away, on his knees with someone whose face was blurrier than the atmosphere itself.

- Don’t worry. - the blurred person’s voice was as distorted as the vision, mechanical even as he rose a gun up to the head of a Bucky Barnes she had never met. - We will help you.

- NO! - she lunged forward as the gunshot echoed through her ears and like a rubber band she was pushed back to reality. She rose her torso from her bed in pure agony, eyes wide open and red, hand holding the sheet against her chest which rose up and down in fast paces.

Looking around, nothing was candy coloured and everything was clear. The room was dark in muddled shades barely lit by the moon light peaking from the small rips in the curtains Bucky had first gotten when he first moved in. Everything was as it was, his sleeping shorts were still hanging from the chair next to the dresser, the dead flowers were still in the vase he had once put them when they were fresh. Everything was as it was, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was lurking. The feeling that both of them had just crossed the bridge past the point of no return.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @oh-nohoney @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir @niki-is-a-thing @cynic-spirit

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tl-notes · 3 years

Text

Kobayashi’s Maid Dragon S2 Episode 9 Notes

...設立から大分地盤が固まってきており、少しずつだが、業態は改善されている。

One thing to note here is that Kobayashi(‘s narration) isn’t saying the company has already made solid improvements, it’s that the company has finally established itself somewhat (as it was only founded relatively recently, and typically new companies are especially busy while trying to get off the ground) and now is starting to make improvements.

Similarly in the second sentence, it’s not “was” slow going, it’s “is still” slow going, and the working conditions “are” improving, not “have improved.”

This is がんば ganba, short of course for がんばって ganbatte, which I’m sure most of you are familiar with: the (in)famous “do your best.”

I only mention it because I like this shortened version of it. Ganba!

This is a fun little idiom(?)/saying: 鼻で笑う hana de warau (conjugated as hana de warawareta), lit. to laugh using the nose. It’s used to describe laughing at someone you’re looking down on for whatever reason (not necessarily in a super serious way, could just be a friend being dumb etc.; in this case it’s Elma’s being naive).

Typically it refers to like a “heh-but-through-the-nose” kind of “laugh,” but as you can see in this scene (where clearly Kobayashi is laughing with the mouth, even starting with “pff” lips) it works idiomatically even if the laughing isn’t only through the nose.

You may have heard that Japan is/was a “lifetime employment” country, where typically people would get hired right out of school and stay at that company until retirement. While that’s much less true today than it was even a couple of decades ago (and has become kind of controversial in ways), it’s still much more common of a practice than in say the US.

One result of this is that there’s a much bigger distinction placed between hiring people in spring as part of the annual graduation rush (the Japanese school year ends in March), and mid-career hiring. Typically you can’t participate in the fresh grad hiring if you aren’t one, even if you’re new to the field in question.

For larger employers (i.e. 5k+ employees), roughly two-thirds of all hirings come from fresh grads, and only small employers (<300 employees) hire more mid-careerists than people directly out of school.

Of course, this split tends to apply mostly to “standard” full time jobs, not so much part time, and is not necessarily a thing in every industry/at every company.

Just as a minor point of clarity, this “organized text” in Elma’s document refers to the phrase まとめられた文章 matomerareta bunshou. In a literal sense, matomerareta can mean organized/consolidated etc., and bunshou text/passages, but meaning-wise it’s more like “writing that gets its point across clearly/cleanly.”

This is a pretty big compliment and a very useful skill to have in organizations like this, as writing such that people can quickly and easily understand exactly what you’re trying to say often saves a ton of time and frustration.

我々はエルマの気迫に押されるがままにその書類を読み始めた。

Another minor point, but where the English could imply that they were overwhelmed by Elma’s intensity through the act of reading her report, the Japanese implies more that they started reading it because of how intense Elma was being.

It doesn’t really make much of a difference either way, but it stuck out a little for me.

To justify mentioning it, I guess I’ll explain the grammar point Kobayashi uses: されるがままに sareru ga mama ni. Sareru is a generic verb/verb conjugation for having something done to you (technically here it’s 押される, to be “pushed/pressed/pressured”), and mama refers to a state, condition, or “way” (like “do it this way”).

Put together, the whole phrase is used to indicate “you” do/did something that someone else wants you to, without (meaningful) opposition. (Something similar in raw meaning but with a very different connotation would be “going with the flow.”)

If a friend says “hey let’s go do something,” and next thing you know you’re out bowling despite preferring to stay at home, this is you.

You can stick the mama ni to various other things as well to come up with a similar idea, but without the sareru the nuance may end up different.

The word for clairvoyance here is 千里眼 senrigan, lit. “eye(s) [that can see] a thousand li”, li being a Chinese unit of measurement for length (shorter than a mile, but for general purposes “eyes that see a thousand miles” is basically the gist).

Despite the perhaps physical-sounding nature of the term, it does actually describe the same power as “clairvoyance” in English: being able to perceive things outside your actual range of vision, including potentially into people’s hearts and minds etc.

Hence why it’s a thousand screen display, when she updates it with tech knowledge:

“Tainted by work” here is 職業病 shokugyou-byou, lit. an occupational disease. The “proper” definition is a disease one gets from working in a particular job, such as black lung for coal miners or even posture-related health issues for desk workers.

Additionally, it’s used colloquially to refer to noticeable habits or quirks that people in a certain profession pick up, like a baker always waking up super early or a programmer using programming lingo out of context in normal conversation. The latter being especially noticeable in Japanese, as a lot of such terms are English in origin.

“Shocking” here is a fun word: ドン引き don-biki. “Don” here is added just for emphasis; the main meaning revolves around 引き hiki/biki, from the verb 引く hiku, meaning to pull.

The idea is that someone does/says something that you recoil from. Maybe it’s gross (“I only shower once a week”), maybe it’s mean (“They didn’t smile enough so I didn’t leave a tip.”), maybe it’s creepy (“I sent like 30 texts yesterday but still no reply.”), just anything that has you feeling like you might want to create some distance because... phew.

It’s kind of similar to the current use of “cringe” as an adjective/noun, though with less of an internet-slang feel* to it, and generally used more as something the speaker is doing rather than describing whatever/whoever is being cringe.

(*I think it started being used popularly in this way in the early-to-mid 90s, with the “don”biki variant specifically popping up around 2005.)

A “Premium Friday” is the last Friday of the month, where you get to leave work at 3 pm. It is largely theoretical.

The idea was created by the Japanese government as a way to reduce working hours and encourage domestic spending (boost demand), but it has not been implemented by all that many employers, and especially not many smaller employers. There isn’t, after all, any mandate or government-provided incentive for doing so.

Evidence from the places that did implement it suggests it is actually good for the economy, but good luck convincing bosses to give extra paid time off.

“Last Friday of the month” was chosen because most people get paid on the 25th each month (Japan tends to pay monthly instead of every two weeks), so it would usually be right after payday, when people are more willing to get spendy.

Kobayashi saying eight hours here reminded me of a “fun” fact: the typical Japanese work day is eight hours plus a one hour break. Plus a one hour break, not with. So a typical work day is actually nine hours. Most commonly 8 to 5 or 9 to 6. Not many “nine-to-fives” here.

The characters for Joui are 上井, which usually read as Kamii or Uwai. It’s “Joui” because that means, when written as 上位, “superior.” As in “a superior life-form.” Like a dragon, say.

でも、ゆっくりやる事業改善案を見せてもらえたじゃない？

This one is actually kind of a critical mistake. In the English it sounds like she’s talking about the improvement proposal that Elma made and that the boss looked at. In the Japanese though, she’s talking about a different plan, one the boss showed them*, that is similar in idea but is going to take longer to be fully implemented**. So we’re being told that while Elma didn’t get what she wanted as fast as she wanted it, it is still basically going through at a slower pace.

*In ”見せてもらえた misete moraeta,” the misete vs mite means they were the ones who got shown something, rather than the ones who got someone to look at their stuff.

**Which you can tell from the ゆっくりやる yukkuri yaru, where yaru is basically “do” and yukkuri means (in this case) at an unhurried pace.

(Re previous note: Hence why she says “immediately” here.)

“Black (ブラック)” and “white (ホワイト)” in the context of Japanese employers refers to how well employees are treated: a company with good benefits/pay, reasonable levels of overtime, and feels safe to work at is “white,” while a company that has excessive overtime, often pays poorly, breaks labor laws, and allows harassment to fester is “black.”

While “white company” was created simply in contrast to the term “black company,” the latter finds its origins in front businesses for organized crime, which were called “black” in the sense of “illegal” (similar to “black market” or something being in a “grey area”). Given the international reputation of Japanese work life, you can imagine that “black company” as a term sees much more use.

There’s been some discussion about maybe replacing it due to the racial implications (especially since it uses the English word “black”), but while typically English translations drop the color for that reason (e.g. ブラック企業大賞, an “award” given to Japan’s worst employer each year, is officially “Most Evil Corporation of the Year Award” in English), it hasn’t really penetrated to the mainstream at this point.

The rice there is in a 飯盒 hangou, a metal container that looks… like that, and is the stereotypical item of choice for cooking rice while camping. It has its origins in the mess kits used by the military, but these days they’re primarily marketed as portable rice cookers for camping use.

You can get round ones too, but the bean shape is very popular.

“Settings” here is 設定 settei, lit. exactly that, “setting(s).” E.g. if you open a computer program and look at the settings menu, it’ll be settei in the Japanese language settings (settei).

I bring it up here because there’s a bit of a difference in how it gets used colloquially like this. In English, the “setting” for a story typically refers to where and when it’s set. In Japanese, “setting” in that sense is usually 舞台 butai. But settei is still used when talking about fiction, just in a different, more expansive way.

Often in these cases settei is used to refer to the various conceits that provide the context in which the story takes place. In this show, for example, one such “setting” is that dragons are real: another is that magic exists. It comes up especially often in fantasy/sci-fi type stuff where there are major distinctions between that universe and the real world—not that stories in a real-world setting don’t have settei of their own, but they often are lumped into descriptions of the plot in that case (”a dragon comes to live with an office worker in her apartment”).

It also refers to the “settings” of characters, like name or age, and things like “they run a bakery that’s going out of business and are trying to save it.” Basically all the details you’d have in a character profile.

It also gets used in conversation to refer to pretend things or (basically) lies: like here, where Saikawa thinks Shouta is playing pretend with his ley-lines talk, or e.g. if someone is trying to tell you some outlandish story (“my uncle works at Nintendo…” or someone asking for love life advice for “their friend”) and you’re just like “Okay so that’s the settei here, I see.”

Not really a big deal, but Elma’s line here in Japanese implies she won’t let Tohru call her that anymore (see her もう mou). Tohru’s response is also more of a “I haven’t been?”, since of course she wasn’t aware of Elma’s-mental-image-Tohru tormenting Elma in the previous scene:

The word for “full of” in the title here is ざんまい zanmai (a suffix form of 三昧 sanmai), usually meaning that there’s a whole lot of [whatever] to immerse oneself in. I mostly bring it up because there’s a famous restaurant chain called Sushi Zanmai that specializes in, obviously, sushi.

And you know, Elma is a water dragon that looks kinda like an eel… I’m just sayin’…

Not really a translation note, but wild that Elma didn’t even touch her parfait. (Not so wild that Fafnir finished his so quickly.) Serious business ahead...

“Genuinely” here is 素直に sunao ni, where the “ni” is used like “-ly” to make sunao work as an adverb. Sunao itself is an interesting word that falls into that category of “simple concept that is often hellish to translate.”

For some context, the first character, 素, is also used in the word 素顔 sugao, which is a face without makeup and 素材 sozai, basically raw ingredients/materials. The second, 直, is used in words like 直線 chokusen, a straight line, or 正直 shoujiki, honest.

Put them together, and you’ve got a word with connotations of directness and being unadorned. The original definition of the word tends toward “simple, natural” in the sense of e.g. life growing up on a rural farm.

The more common use for it these days is to describe people and their actions. Positively, it can mean something similar to a person being happy to help, or kind of like the opposite of conniving; open, frank, genuine. Less positively, it can mean someone is too trusting and easy to trick into doing things OR someone who is “too honest” and says hurtful things.

(If it helps: tsundere characters are often described as explicitly not sunao.)

In this case, the idea is that Tohru accepted the invitation easily as-is, without putting any conditions on it, or doing any “ugh, what a pain, do I have to, jeez” rigamarole—she just accepted. Another way you could put it in this case might be “It’s even more unusual for Tohru to accept an invitation like this without a fuss.”

Just to point out the hand on head thing again.

Also just to point out that this is another example of otsukare, as a reminder of how ubiquitous that word is.

And it makes a good place to end on: thanks for reading!

#maidragon #Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid #kobayashi-san chi no maid dragon #translation notes #anime

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ashdumpsterpile · 3 years

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I'm here from that civil war analysis. I absolutely agree with everything you said. I would also like to know what you think of wanda.

Posting under the cut because a lot of my mutuals are WandaVision fans and I respect that.

Wanda Maximoff gives me hives. I don't know if it's poor casting or just how badly her character is written. I know that she's supposed to be better in the comics and in some animated series, but I haven't encountered either.

Starting off in Age of Ultron, you have Wanda as an unsympathetic nazi. You could argue that she joined up with Hydra to avenge her parents, but I still think it was a dumbass move that gets glossed over pretty quickly in the same movie. I was mostly neutral toward her in this movie (I didn't know at the time that she was going to be a permanent main character), but I found her annoying and about as interesting as a slab of concrete.

Then we get Captain America: Civil War. A trash dumpster fire of a film. Everything starts out pretty good, she's part of the team, she botches the mission, and here I thought things were going to get interesting, we were actually going to get some good character moments with her. Except then we don't. All we get is Steve giving vague father-ly advice to excuse away a mistake that cost people their lives.

Mind you, if Wanda was part of any military branch or police force, she'd have been benched, maybe permanently. I'm not saying I'm pro-cop or pro-military, btw, I'm just saying that official organizations that have literally no accountability are doing better than the Avengers at taking responsibility. But hey, you can't save everyone amiright?

Then you have her being visibly distressed over footage of the damage she caused one film ago. And the narrative treats her as justified for wanting it turned off. Y'all, I'm sure her destroying several buildings (via the Hulk) and manipulating Tony Stark into building an AI that backfires and kills half a city is totally more traumatic than...I don't know, the people who died maybe??? The Avengers who were put under mind control, facing their worst fears? Why is the narrative treating Wanda like the victim here?

Then you have the whole "you locked me in my room" comment and that's where I really start to see red. Because Tony Stark is allowed to be put forcibly on house arrest "for his own good" a few movies ago, but the minute we try to protect an illegal immigrant without a visa (edit for clarity: I'm not bashing immigrants, legal or otherwise, the team was right to protect her) who blew up a street (accidentally, but if we aren't letting cops or vets get away with it being just an "accident," then I'm not letting Wanda either) and killed a couple of people by keeping her in a safe, comfortable, building that literally has every modern convenience she could ask for. She sounds really entitled for someone who's supposedly a victim of oppression in this film.

Her whole attitude in this movie really irks me. The whole "you were holding back" (she's his best friend ffs of course he was holding back), "i can only control my own fear" (we've literally established one movie ago that that's not true)...why does she have such bad dialogue guys. I'm trying so hard to like the hot witch with the rad superpowers, why are you making it so hard Russo brothers.

Then we have Wanda/Vision which feels so so forced and so so hetero I go insane watching it. It's a bit better in WandaVision (mainly because they actually took the time to flesh their relationship out), but the ship comes almost out of nowhere. On the MCU canon pairings scale, starting at the top with Pepperony and ending on the bottom with Bruce/Natasha...I put it somewhere around Bruce/Natasha. It's that bad.

She's was pretty cool in Infinity War, powers-wise. There were a couple of sequences I actually enjoyed. Was a little annoyed that she and Steve kept taking away Vision's choice, and ultimately Vision was right, but whatever. She had some good moments in this film so it's probably the film I rate her the highest in character-wise.

I hate Endgame for many reasons that are not Wanda related, but her "you took everything from me line" is kind of confusing because A) a wayward, stollen bomb took away her parents and B) her and brother's actions killed her brother. Unless she's categorizing Vision as her "everything" then this statement doesn't hold up. (Also the forced girlboss moment in Endgame gave me a mental illness.)

WandaVision is pretty good. The premise is interesting, the creepy moments are really creepy, and the acting is great. There are some wonky plot moments, I don't really like the meta-joke with them recasting Pietro (THEY CAN ASK THE SAME ACTOR BACK HE'S NOT DEAD OR ANYTHING???). I have no huge complaints beyond the fact that, again, this is about the most forced, hetero relationship on the planet and I'm tired.

There is the whole Wanda being white-washed and Elizabeth Olsen using slurs, but as a white person, I feel unqualified to make a comment on that. I would rather defer to someone with more knowledge on that to make an informed statement on it.

Oh shit, I forgot about the Tony Stark thing. Yeah, let's talk about Wanda's motivations in Age of Ultron. So she and her brother join the MCU's sanitized version of nazism because a bomb dropped on their house, killing their parents. The bomb had Stark Industries on it, so they think "hey we gotta get back at the guy who made the bomb" which???

Okay, so let's say a bomb dropped on my house killing my parents and let's use a real nuclear weapons company let's say it's Babcock and Wilcox. IT'S A BRAND NAME BABCOCK AND WILCOX DID NOT PERSONALLY SHOW UP IN AN AIRPLANE AND DROP A BOMB ON ME. If I really was up for revenge wouldn't I go after the people who illegally purchased the bomb and attacked my country? Tony Stark is not responsible for the death of her parents and I'm so mad that they never resolve this point of contention. They just never bring it up again?? Make it make sense.

Anyway, I'm mostly neutral, if not annoyed by Wanda. She's a badly written character in a long line of badly written characters in the MCU.

#wanda maximoff #wandavision #putting in the anti tag but i'm not anti #anti wanda #anti wandavision #anti wanda maximoff #mcu critical #mcu criticism #ash does fandom

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

"you're not helping..."

CW: Teenage OCs (Izzy is 17, Jamie is 14), children of whumper and whumpee, trauma response, referenced past captivity with parental whumper/child abuse but the references are vague

Jax Gallager (referenced) belongs to @comfy-whumpee

Izzy is seventeen years old when she grabs the post to bring it inside on her way in after school and comes to a sudden stop just outside the door, staring down at the envelope, battered and beaten after its long journey not just across a country but over an ocean and through customs, too.

Her little brother Jamie very nearly walks into her, lost in his own game on his phone, and he just barely swings to the side to avoid her. “Iz!” When she doesn’t react, he pauses. He’s taller than she is already, and sure to be even taller before he’s done growing.

Where Izzy is all skinny knees and sharp elbows, her brother has the sort of bulk that’ll turn to muscle with time. He’s a gentle sort of giant, and it’s concern and not annoyance that shifts in his expression as he reads the wide-eyed stare in hers. “Izzy? What’s up?”

Izzy swallows, her throat clicking so loud she’s surprised the flock of birds lurking in the gutters and on the roof of the place next door don’t take off startled by the sound. She can’t, for a moment, remember how to speak.

She can’t remember how to breathe.

She just holds the card out for Jamie to look at as heat burns behind her eyes, her heart racing. She feels inside her the absurd urge to be polite and sweet and well-mannered. To somehow try to ensure safety in an unsafe space.

But she’s not there anymore.

She’s not there. She’s here.

And still...

Jamie takes the envelope slowly, looking over it himself, his lips moving as he reads the return address. Then he pales, lips thinning. “How-”

“I don’t know,” Izzy whispers. “She’s not supposed to know where we live, Jamie. She-... she’s n-not allowed, but that’s... that’s her handwriting, that’s-... she isn’t supposed to know-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Iz.” Jamie glances towards the door - Jax is inside, and he’ll know if they’re more than ten minutes late either way, he’ll be looking at the clock and thinking about their safety, worrying over them the way Izzy worries over everything, too. “Look, hide it and we’ll look at it in your room, yeah? I’ll handle Dad.”

She nods, a jerky sort of motion, but she stuffs the envelope into her school bag and the two of them head inside. Izzy blames a headache for being quiet and if their dad suspects, he doesn’t say anything, just lets her go to lie down in her room. Jamie takes more time, talking about his day, getting something to eat and drink.

His skin prickles with impatience, with the need to go look. Izzy’s terror doesn’t translate to him - he mostly feels curious about the woman who makes up half his genes, who he has no memory of at all. Curious, and angry on behalf of a father and sister who struggle with what she did to them. Maybe a little angry that this shadowy woman built the boundaries of his life and made the fears that keep his father and sister up at night, and he doesn’t even remember her.

Plus, he doesn’t want Izzy to be scared alone. That’s been their deal his whole life, their agreement - Izzy doesn’t have to be scared alone. They’re scared together, and brave together.

His lips move in memorized words like a prayer as he heads down the hall. He’s been prepared for them to have to be brave together his entire life, urged on by Izzy’s careful planning, the go-bags they still keep hidden from their fathers, just in case.

My name is James Timothy Gallagher and my sister is Isabella Nicole Gallagher...

Please don’t let this be something like that.

She’s not on the bed when he comes in with a bag of crisps and some water. He finds her pushed against the wall under a blanket between the bed and her desk with a flashlight, still staring at the writing on the envelope.

“Someone e-else wrote the address,” She says when Jamie pulls up the edge of the blanket and sits beside her, squeezing into the tiny space as best he can. Her voice is shaking and her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. “Not M-Mom. She wrote my name, but... but that’s it. Oh, God, she started writing Isabella M-Marcoset and had to cross it out-”

“Bint,” Jamie says amiably. “Everything’s Gallagher now. But there you go.” He nudges her with an elbow. “She doesn’t know where we are, still, right? Someone else wrote it for her.”

“That’s n-not helping,” Izzy says, and sniffs. “That means someone helped her send it, someone who does know, someone w-who-... I can’t. I can’t look.”

“Probably her lawyers or something, they’d have our address I guess. If we tell Dad he’ll rip them to shreds over it, you know his lawyer chews them up for breakfast. If you can’t look, I can.” Jamie takes the envelope from her before she can stop him and tears it open, casually ripping half the envelope apart to get to what’s inside.

When he finds it, he blinks. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t let Dad hear y-you say that,” Izzy says automatically, with a weak smile.

“Like he’s one to say much. I think you mean don’t let Kie hear me say that.” Jamie’s eyes roam over the contents of the envelope. “Iz, this is a card for you.”

Izzy looks slowly over, peering through her fingers.

On the front, it’s pastel pink bordering a black-and-white print of a child’s chubby hand against a polka-dot dress.

It’s okay to miss your mom, the outside of the card reads.

Izzy’s lips pull back from her teeth in a snarl.

Jamie opens the card to read what’s inside, in his soft voice. He might look more like the Marcoset side than his sister does, but his voice is nearly indistinguishable from his father’s when he speaks softly like this. “... Because she sure misses you. Though we've grown apart, I really do miss you. I remember my sweet little girl on her special day. Happy birthday, Isabella. And she wrote in here her prison address to write back. Tell me about you. Love, Mom.”

He sits there for a second in silence and then says, slightly dumbfounded, “Well, shit.”

Izzy starts to cry, hands pressed over her mouth to keep it silent.

The tears run in a waterfall, burying themselves in the minute space between hands and skin. She tastes salt at the corners of her lips. Jamie slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her chopped-short hair, starting to slowly grow out on one side.

“Oh, Iz. D’you want me to get Dad?”

She shakes her head viciously, little hitched sobs and half-sounds coming from her and little more. Even if Jax had his ear pressed to her door, he wouldn’t hear her, Jamie thinks. His big sister learned how to cry silently, to keep herself safe by not doing anything to bring her mother’s attention on her.

She knew how to be silent out of fear before she learned how to speak in full sentences. Jamie heard someone say that, once, he can’t remember who. He wasn’t supposed to hear it.

They tried not to let him see how hurt she was, but Jamie has always known his sister was shattered and he wasn’t, and he’s always felt like he has to be the one who stays whole for her.

“Please, Iz. He’ll know what to say. I, I don’t know what to do-”

“It’s not my birthday.”

Her words are muffled behind her hands at first, and so quiet he nearly misses them even in the stuffy silence under the blanket.

“What?”

“The-... the c-card said happy birthday, but my birthday was... was seven m-months ago.” Izzy’s tears turn to bitter, cynical laughter, no less worrying than the crying had been, still nearly soundless. “She doesn’t even know when my fucking b-birthday is. You’d think since s-s-she’s the one who fucking made me-... oh, my God. She doesn’t even know my birthday.”

“No, I-... I guess she... doesn’t.” Jamie opens the card again to look it over. He hadn’t even thought about that, but now looking, he can’t help but start to laugh, too. “Iz, why’d she-... she could have just asked someone when your birthday was, it’d be in the court stuff, right? Birth certificate and shit?”

“Right. She wouldn’t want people to kn-know she didn’t remember. Or she just didn’t care.” Izzy’s shoulders shake, now, laughter or tears or both. “She doesn’t want to know me, she can’t even bother to know my fucking birthday. She’ll just-”

“Ask about Dad,” Jamie whispers.

“Right.” Izzy stares down at the card, then hands Jamie the flashlight and takes the card right out of Jamie’s hands and tears it right down the center, then again, and again, and again. The sound of the thick cardstock paper shredding is the loudest sound in the room.

“She doesn’t fucking know me, she doesn’t know anything about me, she doesn’t know she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t even fucking want to try-”

Finally, when all that’s left is a scattering of little bits of paper with the occasional visible word, like the world’s most irritating puzzle, Izzy shoves the blanket off entirely, picks up the pile in both hands and throws it up into the air, giving another bitter laugh as the pieces float down like confetti.

“She can’t even be scary right,” Izzy declares, and Jamie watches his big sister force down her fear to mock the monster under the bed, the nightmare mother who never quite leaves her mind. “That’s how awful Mom is. Even when she’s trying to scare me, she can’t do it r-right.”

“I don’t think she meant to be scary,” Jamie says, a little hesitantly. “I think that was her trying to be our mam and fucking that up.”

“Well, she’s not a mam, is she? She’s not. She’s a fucking... she’s... Fuck her!” Izzy sweeps up the scattered bits of card and dumps them into the little bin she keeps by her bed, covers them with some tissues to hide them from anyone who might see.

She turns to look at Jamie. “Don’t tell Dad, okay? He doesn’t need to know about this.”

“Iz...” Jamie stands and reaches out to pluck a piece of card that had gotten stuck in her hair. There’s a clearly recognizable Isab- visible on it. “You should tell him.”

“But you won’t.” Izzy’s eyes search his, looking up at her younger brother. They’ve always trusted each other, been each other’s backup more than anyone else, in the way of children who know they might have to keep each other safe when adults can’t. “Promise, Jamie. Promise you won’t tell Dad.”

“I promise,” Jamie says, uneasily. “I won’t tell, Iz. But you still should. Or at least tell therapy, or... something. Not just sit on this like it didn’t happen.”

Izzy doesn’t say anything either way, half-chasing him from her room so she can duck into the little bathroom and wash her face, wiping away the evidence of her tears, leaving only the hint of red in the corners of her eyes to give her away.

She comes out and blames it on her headache, promises Jax she’s taken something for it, disappears back into her room. He can’t tell if Jax believes her - their dad is hard to read sometimes. But... Jamie thinks maybe he knows something’s up.

Jamie settles down to play his game on his phone a while longer in the living room, and he wonders if she’s in there digging the pieces of the card back out to put in the box under her bed she thinks nobody else knows about.

But he knows.

He’s seen the CD cases, printed out photos from old interviews, an old magazine she’d nicked from a hair place after getting her hair cut once. Their mother’s face again and again and again, younger or older, in prison and before prison and between prison, too.

The monster literally under the bed.

He should tell Jax, probably. It can’t be healthy, to keep all those things. Right? But he can’t bring himself to break her trust, when Izzy trusts almost nothing and no one outside her own home. He can’t be the one to wreck even that for her.

He can’t.

He promised.

Jamie glares down at his game, the little tinny sound coming from his phone’s speakers, a repetitive melody, the soft sound of explosions.

He should tell Jax.

He should tell Kieran, maybe.

But he swore he wouldn’t, and they’ve always been there for each other even when no one else could be, and so Jamie doesn’t tell anyone at all.

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @raigash @whumptywhumpdump @eatyourdamnpears @pretty-face-breaker

#izzy fucking gallagher #jamie gallagher #I love Jax #comfy-whumpee #trauma response tw #trauma recovery tw #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #fear response tw #familial whumper #parental whumper #child of whumpee #panic response tw #whump #caretaker and whumpee

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the-angriestpineapple · 4 years

Text

Love and War (Miruko x Fem Reader)

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Usagiyama Rumi / Miruko

Inspiration: My SECOND piece for the Citrus Dome Discord server’s Gods AU collab. It’s a bonus! Written mostly for my partner and Peach, because they love her. Masterlist is here.

Prompt: Worship has always been a part of your daily routine. Each season you place the fruits of your labor at the altar. Every day you pray. It’s human nature, seeking answers from the Gods.

But you never expected one to answer…

Word Count: ~4.6k

You yell out a war cry as your sword falls, the metal making a harsh clang against the shield of your opponent. You’re in the middle of a war, and fighting for your life. Most of your fellow warriors have been killed and there is a scant few still remaining on the field. The enemy forces have been whittled down as well, but there’s definitely more of them than are of you. These were forces of a man who was trying to take over any country he could, and you were defending the smaller villages in the area since they couldn’t defend themselves. You had prayed to your goddess that morning, a goddess of strategy and war, and all you could do was hope that she would not allow you to fail. You hear a cry of pain to your left, a voice that you know. It’s one of your friends, a man you’ve known since childhood, and you make the mistake of looking toward the source. You see your friend fall, but then feel a searing pain in your side as well. The momentary lapse of concentration may have just cost you your life. You see the man you’d been fighting run off toward another of your comrades as you sink to the ground. Your vision goes black at the rims and you feel your sword fall from your hand before your eyes shut and you hit the ground hard. Your mouth makes one word as you lose consciousness.

Miruko.

You feel yourself coming to consciousness, your mind flashing through your death. You’re in Tartarus, you’re on the beach, waiting to take the ferry to the underworld. You’re dead. Your goddess didn’t hear you. With a heavy heart you open your eyes, thinking about how many of your friends you would be making the journey with, only to find yourself in your temple of worship. You stare up at the statue of Miruko feeling absolutely dumbfounded. How did you get here? How did you survive? “Good, you’re awake!” The unfamiliar tone draws your attention, and you look up to see an absolutely gorgeous woman walking toward you. Your eyes widen as you look her over. Dusky skin. Flowing white hair with two silken ponytails atop her head. Strong arms and thighs revealed by the cut of her tunic. Cocky smile on her face. You were staring at your goddess, at the patron of this temple. You were staring at Miruko. She grins wider at your expression and lets out a sharp bark of a laugh. “You’re confused, I can tell. That’s fair. I can explain. First, no, you aren’t dead. You were supposed to be, but I can’t let my favored devotee die just yet. You will eventually, obviously, being mortal and all. But the underworld can’t have you yet.” She shrugs, reaching for a peach on the offering table under her statue and taking a large bite out of it. She says it so casually, as if she doesn’t care what the god of the underworld thinks. That she just does what she wants. “I’m… not dead? But what of the battle? What happened to the villages? What-” You cut off, wincing in pain as you try to sit up. Your side suddenly felt as though it was on fire. Miruko quirks a brow, placing the half-eaten peach on the table and walking over to you. She tips your face up to hers with fingers that you feel could easily snap bones and gives an almost feral smile. “The villages are safe. None can hope to stand against me on the field of battle.” There’s a wild edge to her tone that chills you to the core and you nod. Like you would disagree with her, especially to her face. Especially with that wildness in her eyes.

“T-thank you.” She stares at you with that feral grin for a few moments longer before it falls into a softer smile. “It felt right to step in. And besides,” She drops your chin, rolling her shoulders. “It’s been ages since I had a good fight.”

She’s as terrifying as she is alluring, that’s for sure. You look down, wanting to avoid her piercing gaze, and realize that you’re wearing nothing but a bandage around your chest. Your eyes widen and you pull the blanket up to try and protect at least a little bit of modesty. This apparently strikes Miruko as amusing, since she starts laughing. Your face colors in embarrassment as she wipes at her eyes. “Come now, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” She gestures to her own very filled out feminine form. She isn’t wrong, but it doesn’t make you any less self conscious. She smirks a little and looks back to the fruit bowl, plucking out a few figs. It’s a good thing you offer her fruit, she seems to like it. But then she brings the figs over to you, and holds them out. Wanting you to take them. “I can’t have those,” you gasp immediately. “They’re for-” You cut off, and Miruko raises a brow and smirks. They’re for her. And she can distribute her offering as she sees fit, right? Gods, if the High Priestess could see you right now she would have a stroke. Your shaky hand rises and your fingertips brush her palm as you take the figs from her hand. “There you go. Good girl. You need to eat to get better. I’m not exactly a healer, after all.” She turns from you to retrieve her peach and you’re relieved she didn’t see the shudder that went through you at the praise. This was so strange. Most of your life you prayed to this goddess. You joined her order when you were scarcely out of childhood. You trained to be a warrior, vowed to protect those who needed you, just like she does. And just as you thought she had turned from you, here you were. In her presence. With her feeding you her offering fruit. “Why…?”

Miruko quirks a brow as she looks back at you, peach halfway to her mouth. “Why? Well, I can’t be the goddess of everything. I may have called in a favor with Hawks to make sure you weren’t gonna die on me anyway, despite my interference.” Hawks, the god of healing. Also medicine, archery, music, and poetry. The goddess leans on the table and brings the peach to her mouth, but pauses. “Ya know, Hawks is a bit of an overachiever now that I think about it.” She takes her bite and chews thoughtfully, looking up at her own statue.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Her eyes dart back to you, and you flinch. You never realized that her eyes were red. All the depictions you’ve seen of her have been in stone, and it makes her even more intimidating. “I meant, um, why save me?”

Miruko stares at you and takes another bite of her peach, not blinking as she chews. It’s a few agonizing moments of silence, but then she gives a half smile. “Because I wanted to. Haven’t you ever been taught not to question the gods?” Your eyes widen, thinking you just offended her, but she chuckles. “I’m kidding, calm down. You’re gonna need to relax if I’m gonna be here making sure you heal. Now, eat those figs and get some rest. Hawks said you’re gonna sleep a lot at first.” You look back down at the fruit in your hands and slowly lift one to your mouth. Of course the goddess was given the best of the crop, so the figs were almost unbearably sweet. You eat all three, and she gives one approving nod before pushing off the table. “Good, now sleep.” You weren’t sure if you could, with your literal patron goddess in front of you. But once you slowly laid back down and closed your eyes sleep easily claimed you.

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

When you woke again you felt much more rested, and this time when you cautiously sat up there was no stabbing pain. You feel your side and find that it doesn’t hurt at all, which surprises you. You’d been dealt a mortal blow, surely it couldn’t just be gone. But it seemed to be. Along with your bandages, apparently. You were now wearing a simple tunic instead. You glance around the room looking for a sign of Miruko, but you don’t see her. Maybe she was gone. Maybe she saved you at that was all she wanted. You slowly slide from the bed, wanting to look around but not wanting to injure yourself in case you aren’t as healed as you seem to be. You seem to be okay though, and you feel confident enough to look around. This room is the main offering room in the temple, with the huge statue of Miruko dominating the center. Gone are the fruit offerings from the table, and in their place looks to be something covered by a linen cloth. Curiosity gets the best of you. You walk over to the cloth and slowly pull it away. Under it is a small loaf of bread, olives, more figs, and a bowl of soup. Along with the food is a note.

ΦΑΕ αυτο. Eat this.

You know it’s been left for you, and it smells amazing. You don’t waste time picking up the bowl and drinking a third of it down. You can practically feel your energy going up with each swallow. The bowl goes back to the altar, and you grab the bread next. You suddenly feel ravenous, like you haven’t eaten for days. You rip hunks off the bread and swipe it through the broth of the soup. It tastes fresh baked, and the grain compliments the spices of the soup perfectly. You aren’t quite back to normal yet but you feel like you’re getting there. You’re sharp enough to hear footprints coming up behind you though. You turn, not entirely sure who you’re going to see. The High Priestess? Maybe Miruko came back? You definitely don’t expect to see a man with messy blonde hair approaching you, and your body is shifting into a defensive position without even thinking about it. He holds his hands out, eyes widening. “Whoa whoa whoa, little warrior, I come in peace. I’m just here to check on you. You’ve been sleeping for a while.” You don’t shift out of your pose, eyes narrowing. The man drops his hands and smirks. “Miruko always has the most suspicious followers. Fine.” Large red wings unfurl from his back, and he presses off the stone with his foot. He rises in the air and hovers a foot or so off the ground. Only now do you rise from your pose, eyes widening. “That’s more like it. Hawks, god of medicine, archery, music, poetry, and luckily for you and Miruko… healing.” He sweeps into a bow in midair, and you can’t help but smile a little. He’s pretty charming, though you would imagine that a god of music and poetry would be. He sinks gracefully back down to the ground and folds his wings back. “Ah, a smile! That’s better. So, songbird, I see you’ve eaten. Good. You’ve been asleep for nearly two days straight.” He shuffles closer to you and leans forward, getting very in your space. You can’t help but pull back, which makes him grin. “Your skin is a better color. Less pale. Eyes are responsive.” He holds a hand out and presses it to your forehead before you can move. “No fever, so I doubt there’s an infection. There’s just one problem left.” His face falls, seriousness taking it over. A problem? You bite your lip, wondering what was wrong, but then Hawks breaks out into a grin again. “A cutie like you is stuck in this temple with Miruko.” “You want your wings tied together, you overgrown pigeon?”

You both jump as the goddess strides into view, that feral grin back on her face. Hawks straightens and flings his arms wide as she approaches. “Miruko! There’s my favorite war goddess. I was just checking on your disciple here. Seems fit as a fiddle. Of course, I treated her, so obviously she would be.” He preens a little, pleased with himself. Miruko rolls her eyes and shoves him.

“Yeah yeah. You’re miraculous. Now if she’s no longer about to head to Shouta, please vacate my temple before I physically kick you out of it.” There’s a tone to her voice that sends a shiver down your spine, but Hawks just looks gleeful. “Of course. Just let me know if you need my services for anything else-ow! Fine, I’m going!” He’s scowling and rubbing his arm where Miruko punched him. He gets the last laugh in though, turning and snatching your hand up to kiss it before disappearing in a cloud of feathers and laughter as the war goddess swings again. “I’ll get that mouthy feather duster when I get back to Olympus,” she grumbles, then turns to you. “Are you alright?” She steps in closer, red eyes glancing over your form. You nod, unaware of the fact that you’re holding your breath at how close she is. “Good. Now that you can move well enough, finish eating. Then we’re going to spar.” She turns and walks away from you as your eyes widen. You were going to spar with the goddess of war and strategy. That didn’t sound like something you’d be able to easily win. But at the same time, the challenge was enticing. And you would get to see her in action. But first, the rest of the food.

You turn back to the altar, picking up a few olives to pop into your mouth. You don’t want to rush eating because you know that if you do that, it’ll make you feel sick. But… you’re pretty excited to be sparring your goddess. You tear off another hunk of bread to dunk into the soup, and just as you shove it into your mouth you hear Miruko behind you. “Here. Water.” She hands you a cup, and you gratefully accept it with a murmured ‘thank you’. You’re very thirsty, and the water in the cup tastes pure and clean. You greedily drink all of it down, and when you come back up Miruko is giving you a half smirk. “I’ll get you more.” She plucks the cup from your hands, her fingertips brushing yours as she takes it and turns away. You blush slightly at the subtle touches, not entirely sure why.

You choose to not dwell on that uncertainty though. If you’re going to spar Miruko and hope to hold your own against her you need to be focused on that. So you spend the remainder of your meal with your eyes closed, taking deep, controlled breaths. Eating slowly. Balancing, preparing yourself for a battle. Normally you would also be praying to Miruko, but that didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to do if you were about to fight her.

Once you’re calm enough and feel as centered as possible, you open your eyes. Miruko had replaced the cup at some point and you grab it. This time you sip, looking around you at the temple. The bed you’d been on was shoved to the far side of the room against the wall, and Miruko was standing in the empty space. Waiting for you.

It was time to try your luck against your deity.

You place the cup back on the altar and step over to her, sliding down in the defensive position you had taken when Hawks arrived. Her neutral face curls back up into that feral grin that you’re now accustomed to and she slips down as well, hands arching into claws. Arms and legs spread wide. It’s intimidating, but you refuse to show it.

“I’ve watched you for a long time, I’m looking forward to this.” Her grin widens and she’s moving, pushing off on her foot to launch herself at you. She’s too fast for you to be able to avoid her and you shift so she doesn’t hit you head on. You grab her side as she slams into you and pull, trying to make her be off balance. Miruko just gives a manic cackle and manages to land and put all her weight on one foot and tangle the other leg between yours. She crooks her leg quickly to trap you, your eyes widening at the pressure of the single leg lock she put you in.

Holy fuck, she’s powerful.

Obviously she’s powerful, but there’s something completely different about seeing the latent muscles in her form and fighting her. Gods, she must be breathtaking on the battlefield. You’re almost sad that you were unconscious when she took down your enemy. But now wasn’t the time to swoon, you were in the middle of a fight. You had to get out of the lock.

You twist yourself, able to wrench your leg out from hers. Though you have an inkling that she let you do that. The wildness in her eyes is back, pupils dilated to the point where there’s barely a red ring. Miruko lets out another laugh as you launch yourself at her. It’s like a dance, this fight. She’s allowing you to feel her out as an opponent since she knows exactly how you fight. You have a solid lock around her waist but she grabs yours in return and flips you up, the back of your thighs landing on her shoulders. She grins wider up at you from between your legs and your heart skips a beat, but then she throws you off of her. You land hard and roll but pop right back up, a little shaken.

You’re circling each other again, and now it’s her turn to charge you. You’re more ready this time though, and you shift and grab her arm. You pivot, your hip checking into her and you’re able to throw her over your shoulder. Her face fades to surprise for a second and then she’s behind you. You’re too slow to turn, and her foot strikes out in a wide arc. Miruko easily sweeps your feet out from under you and you land on your back, the breath knocked out of your lungs. Then her face fills your vision, she grabs your wrists and slams them above your head. You can feel her strong legs pinning your lower half. You’re both breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight. She increases the pressure on your wrists and your breath hitches. She pauses, her red eyes studying your face, and then she leans in and crashes her lips to yours.

Your mind shuts down for a second before you’re kissing her back. That’s what the feelings were when she brushed your skin. You were attracted to her, and obviously she was to you as well. She saved you, plucked you right out of your descent to the underworld. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, you were entirely at Miruko’s mercy. And gods… this was exactly where you wanted to be.

The goddess finally lets up on your wrists in favor of cupping your face, which allows your hands to come down and rest on her hips. She’s solid muscle, you could tell that when she was fighting you but now that your hands were sliding over her form it was like caressing smooth, warm marble. Unyielding. Unstoppable. A small groan escapes your lips to be lost in her mouth, and she increases the pressure of her kiss.

She pulls back with no warning, a smirk on her face. “I’ve won,” she says with a smug note in her voice. “Are you ready for my reward?” If it’s anything like that kiss she just claimed, then you definitely were. She rolls her body to gracefully rise from the floor once you agree. You start to rise, getting ready to stand as well. Just as you gain your feet you find them swept out from under you again. You hit the floor hard, but then you freeze when you feel a foot on your neck.

“I didn’t say you could get up,” Miruko practically purrs. “Now, I’ll ask again. Are you ready?” “Yes,” you breathe, looking up at her with wide eyes and parted lips. You wanted anything she would let you do. With her foot still on your neck she peels her thigh slit tunic dress off of her body and drops it to the side. She’s nothing short of magnificent, and you forget to breathe for a few moments while you’re staring at her.

She smirks at you and removes her foot from your neck. Then she pivots, her muscular back toward you before gracefully stepping over you to straddle your chest. You watch as she lowers herself, and as she moves closer she reveals the beautiful pink of her sex, already glistening. Miruko settles herself hovering just over your face and braces her hands on her thighs. She looks back at you, smug smile still tugging at her lips. “Well?” You don’t need to be told twice. You wrap your hands over her solid thighs and pull her down to your face, immediately licking with a flat, wide tongue. She inhales sharply at the contact. You let your tongue drag down to circle her clit, which earns a soft gasp from Miruko. She tastes sweet, and the way she gasps when your tongue drags up and down her slit is intoxicating. But the noise she makes when you wrap your lips around her clit drives a spike of heat right to your core. “You’re so talented with that tongue. What a good girl,” Miruko get out between her pants, “I think you deserve a reward.” Your fingers dig into her thighs as you realize what she means when she slides your tunic up your thighs. You watch the muscles in her back flex as she leans forward, strong arms pushing your thighs apart. Your body is coils tightly in anticipation as she starts kissing along your thighs and up to the apex, but then kisses back down. She’s teasing you. It’s making it all the more exciting, but you need the relief. You wrap your lips around her clit again to suck in an attempt to get her to give you more. And you get what you want. She groans, her hips rolling, and circles her tongue around your clit as well. Miruko dips down, her tongue tracing your entrance, and she groans. “Mm, you taste so sweet. Even better than that peach you gave me as an offering. Maybe that’ll be what I call you,” her voice has a hint of amusement to it, but it makes you visibly squirm. She notices. “You like that? My peach?” Miruko leans back in, her tongue slowly dragging up and down your clit. You make a noise that you hope is taken as an affirmative because you can’t bring yourself to pull your mouth from her sex. Her hips are rolling down into your mouth and yours up into hers, stifled moans the only sound echoing in the room. But your voice kicks up an octave as you feel her fingers rub at your entrance and slip inside you. She chuckles at your reaction as she crooks her fingers up, easily finding the spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. It makes you work her over more vigorously and her smugness over the reaction she pulled from you melts away. Her choked moans get louder and louder, encouraging you to go at her harder. Pull her thighs harder. It’s getting more difficult to breathe, but it’s so worth it when she finally tenses as she hits her orgasm. You keep licking as she comes down from her high, but whine when her fingers slip out of you and she rises. You hadn’t had your own orgasm but you weren’t about to complain to her about it. Just as you’re about to rise to your feet Miruko surprises you by reaching down and pulling you up as if you weigh nothing. She’s yanking you into her body and crashing her mouth to yours in a heated kiss. Miruko only breaks the kiss when she quickly pulls your tunic from your body and throws it off to the side. “You’re delicious all over, it seems,” she murmurs into your kiss-swollen lips. You have no opportunity to answer, her hands seizing your waist. She lifts you off the ground and easily walks you to the smooth stone wall, lifting you high enough that your thighs can rest on her shoulders. Her arms lock your thighs in place to keep you there. Your eyes are wide at the show of strength, and you are very aware that her face is now at a perfect height for her to devour you. And she does. Her red eyes lock with yours for a moment before she is diving back in. Your head falls back at her skilled mouth, hips almost immediately rolling into her. You’re surprised as you feel one of the hands holding you up vanish from your thigh and easily slides into your wet heat again. Miruko’s fingers immediately curl up and press into the spot that makes you cry out. You can’t help it as your hands grasp for something to hold on to. Fists wrapped around her twin ponytails, allowing you to anchor youself. “Look at me,” she rasps out, and it takes all of your remaining senses to comprehend and comply. “Cum for me, Peach.” Then she flicks her tongue on your clit before sucking it into your mouth as she presses up with her fingers again. And the tight thread in you snaps, and you completely fall apart around her. Miruko keeps licking and crooking her fingers as you ride through your climax, red eyes still trained on your face as you try desperately to catch your breath. Without you really noticing your thighs are slipped from her shoulders and you’re gently lowered to the floor. She catches her lips with yours again but this time the kiss is soft, tender, and she pulls you into an embrace that has your head tucked under her chin.

Miruko doesn’t move for a moment, and you wonder if she feels as bone-tired as you do. But then she’s once again sweeping you up in her arms as if you weigh nothing. You marvel over her strength for what feels like the hundredth time as she brings you over to the bed you’d healed in. Only this time when she places you in the bed, she crawls right in after you. You lie there, both naked and turned toward each other with the blanket pulled up just enough to cover both of your forms. She’s gently running fingertips up and down your side, and now you can fully understand why she broke rules to save you.

“Ah, now I understand why you’re a disciple of this temple!”

Both of you jump, and Miruko’s eyes narrow to slits as she looks at a grinning Hawks floating in front of her statue. “Way to go Miruko.” He winks at her, then looks at you with a wide grin. “Songbird, how is she? I bet she’s bossy-” He cuts off with a yelp as a nude Miruko flings herself from the bed to attack him. Hawks immediately vanishes, disappearing again in a cloud of feathers. Miruko stops short, then snaps her fingers and her tunic dress flows down her form like water.

“I’ll be right back,” she says with steel in her voice, “I have a chicken to fry.” She vanishes too, and you lean back into the bed with an incredulous laugh. Who would have thought this would be the outcome of becoming a disciple of the goddess of war.

#Usagiyama Rumi / Miruko #usagiyama rumi #miruko #miruko imagine #bnha imagines #citrus dome collab #citrus dome #bnha smut #miruko x reader

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mikauzoran · 3 years

Text

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter One

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter One

A whole week had passed since The Breakup, and Luka was still reeling.

“You brought this upon yourself,” he reminded bitterly as he rolled over and found the space on the bed next to him empty and cold.

He kept telling himself, “You broke up with her”, “It was the right thing to do”, and “You couldn’t keep waiting for her to move on. That wasn’t healthy”, but the words never quite sank in.

One week later, he was even more of a mess than when he’d finally gotten the courage to break things off. The pain of being without her, knowing that it was really over, was worse than having her by his side knowing that she was thinking about someone else when she kissed him.

At least before he’d had a place in her heart, even if it was only second.

With a groan, Luka pushed himself up to sitting and grabbed his phone off the nightstand.

There was a text from Juleka berating him for drinking too much, not returning her texts, and taking crap care of himself.

Rose had also sent him a message reminding him about family dinner that Sunday.

Jacob, the bassist from his band Eternal Nocturne, had texted him not to be late for the auditions for a new lead singer that afternoon.

Luka cursed, setting his phone down without replying to anyone. He scrubbed his face with both hands and then forced himself to kick the covers off and get up.

It was already almost noon, and the mature, adult part of his brain knew that he had to get his stuff together. He was twenty-six, and he’d been through breakups before. He would survive this one as well…even though it didn’t feel like it at the moment.

He pushed himself out of bed and began to search around for something clean to wear.

He really needed to do laundry. And the dishes. And the grocery shopping.

Luka winced as he uncovered a lacey pink bra with white polka dots under a pile of jeans that reeked of alcohol and stale bar smell.

He needed to make a breakup box, put all of her leftover things in it, and send it back to her.

His heart sank at that realization, the finality of it.

He put the bra back under the jeans and promised himself he’d deal with it later. When he was feeling better…. Whenever that happened to be.

The important thing just then was to find something that could pass as clean so that he could get to the audition and not let his bandmates down. He was already disappointing himself and his family. He needed to do right by somebody at least.

Adrien was screwed.

He’d been back in Paris for two days, and, already, his funds were almost entirely used up. He’d found a cheap hostel in Pigalle where he’d been able to shower and get a decent night’s rest without having to worry about anyone bothering him, but he wouldn’t be able to stay there for much longer unless he found work.

That was turning out to be much harder than anticipated. In Paris, people were a lot stricter about having to have valid identification to secure employment. They were also a lot more persnickety about hiring Adrien Agreste, even if it was just to wash dishes, clean hotel rooms, or wait tables.

Maybe he could talk to the owners of the hostel about working the front desk. He’d done that before in Nice and Lyon.

If the situation really got dire, he could always try to find someone like Nino from his past who would be sympathetic and maybe let him sleep on a couch or something until he could get back up on his feet again.

He didn’t want to do that, but it was beginning to look like he had no other choice. It had been four years since his father’s arrest, four years since Adrien lost his family, his fortune, and even the ability to use his own name. He’d thought that maybe people would have cooled off and moved on, that it was safe to come back to Paris, back home…but it wasn’t looking like it so far.

He was starting to think that it had been a mistake to return, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He was tired of roaming the country and scraping by, and he couldn’t go on like that any longer. He wanted to establish roots and make a place for himself. He wanted to feel grounded again.

He was determined to figure things out and make it work, and if that meant going door to door to every restaurant, shop, and hotel in Paris until he found a job, that’s what he was going to do. He was through running away; it was time to settle down and make a life for himself.

He wasn’t sure what that life would look like, but if it included years of hard work, a partner who saw him and not his father’s crimes, some children who inherited his mother’s smile, and a pet or two, Adrien would be content.

He just had to find a job first so that he didn’t end up on the street nicking food out of restaurant dumpsters again.

As he descended the steps into the Métro, a flyer advertising auditions for a lead singer for a band caught Adrien’s eye.

He stopped and studied it, noting that auditions had begun twenty minutes prior at a bar just a few blocks away.

He grabbed the flyer and took off at a jog.

“No one’s coming,” Jacob grumbled half an hour into the audition time when it became apparent that not a single soul was going to show up.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Josie the drummer agreed, tipping back on her barstool so that it balanced precariously on two legs. “So, what are we going to do without a vocalist?”

“Yeah, we’ve got that gig coming up this weekend,” Jacob reminded, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip.

Josie and Jacob both looked to Marc—guitarist, keyboardist, and the band’s unofficial leader/mum.

“Josephine, don’t do that; you’re going to fall,” Marc sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…I mean, I can cover lead for one night.”

“Who’s going to do your backup vocals, then,” Josie demanded, setting her stool legs back on the ground.

“Luka can,” Marc informed.

Jacob snorted. “Luka’s drunk.”

“Luka is not drunk,” Marc growled defensively. “He knows better than to show up drunk. He’s just hung over, isn’t that right, Luc?”

“Yes, and I’m nursing a killer headache, so if we could take the volume of the talking down a few decibels, it would be greatly appreciated,” Luka groaned, pulling his newsboy cap down a little further to shield his eyes from the bright light emanating from the stage where the people auditioning were supposed to be performing.

“And who’s going to do Luka’s backup vocals?” Josie persisted, lowering her voice out of consideration for Luka.

“I don’t know. Jacob?” Marc suggested uncertainly.

Josie let out a bark of laughter. “Jacob can’t walk and talk at the same time. How is he supposed to play and sing?”

“Josie,” Marc scolded. “Be nice.”

“No, she’s got a point,” Jacob cut in. “I’ve walked into poles before because I didn’t see them because I was talking to someone. Multitasking really isn’t my strong suit.”

Marc opened his mouth to reply, paused to consider his words, and then shut his mouth.

“Excuse me?” a new voice called out.

The band turned their heads to find a thin, scraggly young man standing in the doorway.

He had scruffy, wild blonde hair and piercing peridot eyes, and it was impossible to say how old he was exactly. He looked young, but he had one of those ageless faces that could have just as easily been twenty as forty. His clothes had been expensive, good quality when they were new, but now they were well-worn and showing their age.

“Are auditions over already?” he inquired, taking a tentative step into the bar.

The door closed behind him, and now that he wasn’t backlit by the daylight pouring in from outside, Luka could see him clearly.

His eyes widened as he recognized his former crush whom he hadn’t seen in four long years.

“No, we’re still going,” Jacob informed.

“You here to try out, Kid?” Josie asked with a big smile, turning on her stool to face him.

Adrien nodded, holding up the flyer in his hand. “I just learned about the audition, like, ten minutes ago, so I don’t have anything prepared in advance, but I’m a good singer with a pretty expansive range. I’m a quick study too, so, if you teach me, I’ll pick up your songs right away.”

“All right,” Marc agreed with a grin. “Go ahead and take the stage, and we’ll see what you’ve got. What’s your name?”

“Émile,” Adrien responded with a smile as he took his spot in front of the microphone. “Émile Dupain.”

Luka frowned.

Surely, he wasn’t mistaken. The years had changed Adrien, yes, but he wasn’t that different. Luka knew that face, those eyes, that smile.

“Nice to meet you, Émile,” Marc greeted amicably. “I’m Marc. I play keyboard and some guitar depending on the song. I also do backup vocals.”

“I’m Josie. Percussion,” Josie took over. “This idiot is Jacob, our bassist,”

Jacob gamely raised a hand. “Sup.”

“and Mr. Doom and Gloom over there is Luc,” Josie completed the introductions. “He plays guitar and does backup vocals. Ignore him for right now. He just broke up with his girlfriend, so he’s kind of in a funk. Normally, he’s the nicest person, so give him another week and you’ll be best friends.”

“Thank you for broadcasting all that, Josie,” Luka grumbled as he waved at Adrien, just waiting for him to recognize Luka.

He worried that if Adrien were trying to conceal his identity, he wouldn’t appreciate the reunion, but a part of Luka hoped that Adrien would be excited to see him again. Luka was certainly happy to see Adrien.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Adrien replied, friendly expression not changing in the slightest. “What kind of music do you guys usually play?”

Luka fought down a tsunami of disappointment at Adrien not seeming to recognize him.

“Usually alternative or punk,” Marc supplied, not appearing to notice the way Luka slumped in his chair. “We mostly do covers, but we have our own songs too. Our next show is Saturday, but we’ll just be doing covers for that one, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to get up to speed if we decide to hire you.”

Adrien nodded. “Sounds good. I’m a hard worker, so I’ll get the music memorized right away and be ready for the show.”

“Have you ever been in a band before, Émile?” Josie inquired curiously.

“Yes,” Adrien answered with confidence. “I’m a little out of practice at the moment, but I played keyboard and did a little bit of backup vocals.”

“What kind of band was it?” Marc asked.

“Uh…the genre’s called kawaiicore, if you’ve heard of it,” Adrien informed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Jacob’s forehead furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall. “It sounds familiar, but I’m coming up blank. What’s kawaiicore?”

“You know when I showed you Babymetal?” Luka reminded.

Jacob’s face lit up, and Josie started to nod too.

“Like Kitty Section!” Jacob exclaimed.

“Yeah!” Adrien perked up. “That’s—”

He cut himself off and went pale when he realized that telling them that he had been the keyboardist in Kitty Section was just as good as revealing his identity.

“That’s right,” Adrien completed. “Like Kitty Section. I can do other genres, though. I can sing anything: musical theatre, opera, jazz, pop—whatever.”

“So, what will you be singing for us today?” Marc prompted, very interested in seeing what Adrien would come up with.

“Well, I’ve kind of been living under a rock lately, so I’m not exactly up on what’s popular now,” Adrien hedged. “I mostly listen to music in Japanese, so maybe I could just sing something so that you can see if my voice is a good fit for you guys, and then you can give me a list of songs you usually do so that I can memorize them.”

“Sounds fair,” Josie replied with a shrug. “So, what are you going to sing?”

Adrien bit his lip and took a deep breath, scanning his mind for a song that would show off his abilities.

“Do you know Charles?” Luka spoke up. “That was popular a couple years ago. If you know that one, I could play the guitar part along with you.”

Adrien had been the one to introduce the song to Luka, and they’d played it together with Kitty Section with Adrien doing the main vocals. Luka still played that song from time to time when he was feeling nostalgic.

On stage, Adrien’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, I know Charles. It’s one of my favourites. You wouldn’t mind?”

He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at Luka’s facial features, but the hat blocked Adrien’s view, and it was difficult to discern Luka’s face clearly in the dim lighting of the bar when contrasted with the blinding lights on stage.

“I’d be happy to,” Luka assured, reaching down to grab his guitar off of the amp where it lay.

“Thank you,” Adrien replied with a big smile that made Luka positive that he hadn’t been mistaken about “Émile’s” identity. “Ready when you are.”

Luka counted them in and began to play.

Adrien blew the band away with his vocals. His voice was smooth and lyrical, gliding over the notes like a swan across a pond.

“He has really clear intonation,” Marc hummed softly in approval to his bandmates after listening to Adrien sing for a bit.

“And he wasn’t lying about his range,” Josie chuckled as she drummed out the rhythm on her thighs and danced in her seat.

“I certainly can’t hit those notes,” Jacob laughed.

“Neither can I,” Josie snorted. “Well, maybe on a good day, but not the way he does. He just shoots all the way up there and drops back down again like it’s nothing.”

“It’s so clean too,” Marc added. “His voice doesn’t crack or squeak or waver or anything. He hits those notes dead center, and then he stays there until it’s time to move to the next note.”

“I think we struck gold,” Jacob snickered.

“He’s super cute too.” Josie smirked deviously. “He’s sure to attract a crowd. We just need to put some eyeliner on him and get him in leather pants, and—”

“—Distracting me,” Luka hissed quietly so that he wouldn’t interrupt Adrien.

Jacob waggled his eyebrows as he whispered, “What? Imagining Émile in leather pants?”

“Jacques,” Luka warned testily.

“He’s totally your type, though,” Josie joined in helpfully. “I think a new romance is just the thing to get you over your breakup.”

“Jacob, Josephine,” Marc called quietly but firmly. “Leave him alone.”

Josie and Jacob both held up their hands in a placating gesture and let the subject drop.

Luka redoubled his focus on his fingers, trying to banish the thought of Chat Noir from his mind.

“Waraiatte sayonara,” Adrien finished softly and then looked to the band for their judgment call.

Jacob started clapping, and Josie wolf-whistled.

“Can we do that song sometime?” Jacob directed at Marc. “I bet the bass part is killer.”

“Yeah!” Josie cheered. “I can’t wait to get my drumsticks on that.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t,” Marc agreed and then turned back to Adrien with a smile. “You really can sing. That was great.”

“You think so?” Adrien asked with a breathless giddiness, starting to squirm in excitement.

“Definitely,” Luka assured. “You sing like an angel.”

“Make him sing something else,” Josie demanded of Marc who had the grace to blush.

“Josephine, I can’t just make him sing for us,” he sighed and then looked to Adrien. “Would you mind singing something else?”

“Not at all,” Adrien easily agreed, eager to please.

He needed the job desperately, and if he could get paid just for singing, that was certainly easier than anything else he’d done for money the past four years.

“Um…let me think of something else I could sing for you,” he mumbled, chewing on his lip as he wracked his thoughts.

“…Do you know Ranbu no Melody?” Luka suggested. “That’s another one I could play along with you, if you’re familiar with it. I only know the minute and a half that was used as the Bleach opening theme song, though.”

“Yeah, I think I remember how that version goes,” Adrien fibbed.

Luka and Adrien had watched portions of Bleach together, and Adrien had sung along with all of the openings. If Luka still remembered the guitar part, surely, Adrien remembered the lyrics.

Luka counted them in again, and Adrien proved not to have forgotten at all. He sang with every ounce of confidence and enthusiasm that he had back when they’d been teenagers watching anime together.

It was reassuring for Luka to know that, even though Adrien might have changed in the years they’d been apart, there were some things that remained the same.

“How do you know all this weeb music, Luka?” Jacob wondered.

“The Boy was a total anime nerd,” Luka explained with an affectionate smile.

Jacob and Josie let out soft “Oooooh”s and started to nod.

The Boy was practically a mythical figure at this point in their friendship. Luka had talked a lot about The Boy over the years, just like he’d talked a lot about The Girl. Luka had dated many people and loved a small handful, but no one had penetrated so deeply into Luka’s heart as Adrien and Marinette.

“…He’s really good,” Marc observed, visibly delighted as he listened to Adrien. “He puts a lot of emotion into his voice, and I am loving it.”

“Yeah,” Jacob chimed in. “I have no idea what the hell he’s saying, but I feel it, Man. It’s intense.”

Luka’s smile turned melancholy as he remarked, “If I remember correctly, the song is about soldiering on and taking on whatever difficulty is in front of you and then carrying those experiences forward to present them to the person you want to spend your life with. It’s kind of like…we’re the sum of our experiences, and the singer hopes that the person they love will accept them anyway, even though they’ve got cracks and jagged edges in places.”

“Wow,” Josie whispered. “That’s…deep.”

“That’s what I got out of it, anyway,” Luka quickly added. “The Boy translated it into French for me, and then I kind of interpreted it artistically, taking some liberties, but that’s what I got out of it.”

“I like this song,” Jacob decided, tapping his foot along. “I like this kid.”

“We’re adopting him,” Josie decreed.

“Yeah.” Jacob nodded resolutely. “I need to get him to show me more weeb music. I feel like I’ve been missing out.”

“Wooo!!!” Josie cheered loudly as Adrien finished. “We love you!”

“Sing more!” Jacob encouraged as he clapped.

A blush spread across Adrien’s cheeks like fire catching on dried grass.

He rubbed at the back of his neck and looked to Marc for instruction, sensing that Marc was the leader of their little circus.

“I think it would be good if we all played something together to see if we mesh well as a band,” Marc decided. “Would that be okay with you, Émile?”

Adrien nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course.”

Jacob turned to Luka. “What song does he know that we could all play?”

Luka shrank, semi-hiding behind his guitar. “Why are you asking me?”

“You did the psychic thing with the songs in Japanese,” Jacob reasoned with a shrug. “Do it again.”

“Yeah,” Josie urged, reaching across Marc to poke Luka. “Do it.”

“I don’t know,” Luka grumbled. “How about This is Gospel? We play that one sometimes.”

And he had taught Adrien how to play it on guitar, so maybe Adrien remembered the lyrics.

“I know that one,” Adrien offered.

“Awesome!” Josie trilled, jumping down from her stool and heading over to the stage to join Adrien.

Once she reached him, she pulled him into a crushing hug.

It was kind of cute. Josie was a statuesque six-foot-two, and Adrien was only five-eight. (Five-ten with shoes on, he used to always insist, sensitive about his lack of height.)

“Hi. We’re adopting you,” Josie informed him as she pulled back with a grin and then abruptly turned on her heel and headed for her drum set.

Marc shook his head, getting up and making his way to the stage to turn on his keyboard.

“Josephine, don’t scare the poor kid,” he chastised wearily.

“I’m not!” she insisted. “I’m being friendly!”

Marc placed a hand on Adrien’s shoulder as he passed, assuring, “She means well. If we ever make you uncomfortable, just say something, okay?”

“It’s fine,” Adrien assured, wiping at the tears beading at the corners of his eyes, hoping that Marc couldn’t see. “I’m just…I’m not used to people being so friendly. I don’t…people don’t hug me. Ever.”

Marc frowned at that, his mum senses kicking in. “Do you like being hugged?”

Adrien nodded.

“Okay then.” Marc didn’t even hesitate as he pulled Adrien in for a hug—not a guy hug with a pat on the back, but an honest to goodness hug.

He pulled back with a smile, instructing, “Just let us know whenever you want a hug, okay? You’re family now. Family get hugs whenever.”

Adrien had to actually bite his tongue to hold in a whimper. He couldn’t find his voice to reply, so he nodded and rubbed away the tears that were quickly taking the previous ones’ place.

“I’ll give you a hug in a minute, Kid,” Jacob assured, picking up his bass. “I’m just lazy, and I’m already set up over here.”

“Same,” Luka latched onto Jacob’s excuse, figuring that now wasn’t the best time for a reunion with Adrien.

Josie counted them in and started the heartbeat-like rhythm that began the song.

Adrien took a deep breath and sang.

The full sound of the band all playing together resonated powerfully through the bar, giving Adrien chills.

It wasn’t perfect. The timing was a little off in places, and Adrien needed to learn his cues if he was going to sync up with the others. They needed to work out the backup vocals and other little things to make the performance come out smooth, but they were starting in a good place. They could polish this up and make it shine.

It felt good to be playing with a band again. Adrien hadn’t realized how much he’d missed making music with others, being a part of a team.

He’d been so alone these past four years.

Partly that was his own fault. He’d run away both literally and figuratively and shut people out who otherwise would have been there for him. He’d let pride and shame and fear of rejection win…and now he was finally realizing how exhausting it had been.

Now that these nice people were opening up to him and accepting him into their little family, it finally dawned upon Adrien that he’d been foolish to try to make it on his own for so long. He hadn’t realized how draining it had been until he’d been offered the chance to rest.

He needed to call Nino and reconnect.

He needed to find Marinette and apologize for giving up his Miraculous and taking off because he’d been overwhelmed after his father’s arrest and hadn’t felt worthy of being Chat Noir.

He needed to fix things, fix his life.

As the song came to an end, a feeling of calm and peace settled over Adrien.

He was still broke and not sure where his next meal was coming from or if he’d have a roof over his head in the intervening days between now and the show on Saturday when he’d presumably get paid, but, oddly enough, he felt a little better about things.

“We killed that,” Jacob preened as he set down his bass and went over to join the others on stage. “Excellent work, Kid,” he announced, pulling Adrien into a hug.

“I’m guessing I got the job?” Adrien hazarded a guess, looking around at his bandmates for confirmation.

“Oh, definitely,” Josie assured. “You know that one meme? ‘I’ve only known Émile for twenty minutes, but if anything happened to him, I’d kill everyone and then myself.’”

Adrien cracked up, beaming. “I don’t think anyone’s ever felt that strongly about me before.”

“Poor boy. And now he’s stuck with us,” Jacob snickered, giving Adrien’s hair a tussle.

“Let’s exchange contact information so we can get ahold of you,” Marc suggested. “Are you available tomorrow? We’re going to need a lot of rehearsal time between now and Saturday in order to be ready.”

“Yes. I’m available,” Adrien quickly confirmed. “I don’t have a phone, though, so if we could communicate by email, that would be great. I’m le chat de la princesse de la nuit on gmail. All lowercase and run together.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Marc assured, getting out his phone and opening up a new email. “I’ll email you all of our numbers and emails so you can get in touch with us. I’ll email you again later with the place and time. It’ll probably be Phantasmagoria over in the eighth arrondissement. You know it?”

Adrien nodded. “I had a friend whose band played there. He used to sneak me in before I turned eighteen.”

The fond smile on Adrien’s face gave Luka some hope that maybe he was still a good memory for Adrien and that Adrien wouldn’t be too upset when he realized just whose band he had inadvertently joined.

It didn’t occur to Adrien until later to wonder if Luka still played at Phantasmagoria and if Raoul the bartender still worked there and would recognize Adrien.

“Good,” Marc chuckled. “I’m glad you know it. Like I said, I’ll confirm place and time later this afternoon.”

He then turned to Luka. “Hey, Rich Boy. Would you mind picking up a phone for Émile? It’s going to be really inconvenient if we can’t get ahold of him.”

“You don’t have to do to that!” Adrien looked frantically between Marc and Luka. “I’ll-I’ll pay you back when I can. I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it, Angel,” Luka assured with a kind smile as he got up and started to put his guitar away. “My bio dad got hit with a huge dose of guilt a few years ago for never bothering to find out I existed let alone pay child support for me, so I’ve got a ridiculous trust fund that I don’t know what to do with now.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed, and he wanted to protest out of principle, but even he had to acknowledge that it would be really useful to have a phone, and he was too down on his luck to afford one.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it, Luc,” he replied with sincerity.

“Sure thing.” Luka smiled, giving Adrien a wink and doing an internal victory dance when Adrien smiled back at him.

“…Well, I guess if you guys don’t need anything else from me, I’m going to head out,” Adrien excused himself politely, starting to make his way towards the door. “It was lovely meeting you all.”

“You too, Kid!” Jacob assured, and Josie seconded the sentiment.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Émile.” Marc waved him off. “Be safe.”

Adrien returned the wave and turned to go.

Luka bit his lip, debating with himself.

“What’s that face you’re making?” Josie snickered, coming back to perch on her barstool.

“You should go ask him out to coffee,” Jacob suggested as he came over, making a shooing gesture at Luka.

“Jacob will babysit your stuff for you,” Marc volunteered.

Luka looked to Jacob, and Jacob shrugged.

“We all want you to start feeling better soon,” Josie explained, giving Luka a soft smile. “Spending time with someone new will be good for you.”

“Just don’t come on too strong so that you scare him off,” Marc cautioned. “Don’t do that heart-song stuff. He’s a good kid, and we need him for Saturday.”

Luka rolled his eyes, handing his guitar to Jacob. “Thanks, guys, but this isn’t a romantic thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Josie agreed disingenuously, a cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Have fun,” Jacob snickered.

Luka shook his head, making for the door.

He looked back and forth once he got outside of the bar and just happened to spot Adrien turning the corner.

He raced after him, slowing down as he began to catch up because he figured the last thing Adrien needed was someone he didn’t recognize barreling towards him and making him think he was in danger.

He decelerated into a walk and took a few deep breaths before calling out, “Adrien!”

Adrien froze, every muscle in his back going tense as he slowly turned.

“I’m sorry. I think you’ve confused me with someone el—” he started to say but then stopped short as he got a good look at Luka in the light of day without his cap obscuring the view.

Adrien’s eyes widened, his cheeks lost all colour, and his mouth dropped open.

“Luka?” he breathed, his heart stopping in his chest.

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