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nosuchthingasagruffalo · 10 months

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S2 Chapter 4

The Essex had spent many weeks in deep space gathering and analysing readings, Seven and Charlotte had found time to piece together the encrypted messages but without being able to see the whole picture. Seven had become increasingly frustrated that her time away from the Collective had dulled her Borg advantage, whilst her intellect, strength and stamina still put her in he top 3% of humans, she was starting to feel confusion, self doubt and fear of the unknown.

Lottie pressed the bell to holodeck three. "Sorry Commander, I don't meant to pry but people are hearing strange noises from here", she surveyed the room, the broken bar stools, the holo characters cowering in the corner and the pint glasses smashed on the bar. "Auntie Sev? Are you ok?"

"It's fucking rings" Seven roared as she threw a ring and missed "I am Borg, why is this 19th Century photonic Irishman better than me?". Lottie glanced in the corner to see a character she faintly recognised as Mickey or Mike looking terrified.

"Computer end programme" Lottie called as the pub disappeared. She went to the woman who had collapsed onto a stool "Auntie, you don't have to fix this alone, don't do this to yourself. Maybe we need to take a step back for a day or two, rest, you've lost your Borg advantage but don't forget your human advantage - gut feeling, the hunch that tells you who's friend or foe, I think we should leave the encryptions for a couple of days and look at it from a different perspective in a week. Does that sound ok?"

Seven smiled and nodded "I'm sorry, I just can't handle the frustration, the boredom, I keep thinking it all over and over" she looked at the "sorry, I've eaten into your time, I'm so stupid, you probably booked it for you and Zaye too, I'm so sorry". Lottie wrapped an arm around her shoulder "don't worry about it, he's actually got some studying to do anyway, he's determined to beat me to Lieutenant, misguided fool haha. But I do think you should get an early night, especially as I've intercepted some news of a visitor we are expecting in a few days. Apparently Abioye has a meeting with a certain puppy loving Admiral and her Vulcan confidante." Seven turned her head "just please don't tell her about Fairhaven".

**********

Admiral Janeway materialised on the transporter pad. "Admiral Janeway, pleased to meet you, I've heard a lot about you" Abioye smiled. "And I have heard much about you too" Kathryn smirked back, "Captain Tuvok and I have been looking forward to meeting with you for a while now". "Then please follow me and we will proceed to my ready room" Abioye was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, he glanced at his second in command who seemed to be more interested in checking the transporter report than the guests on the pad, rather odd he thought to himself considering how well they knew one another, maybe that had fallen out. They headed for the ready room at which point Abioye sent Seven to the bridge and showed his guests inside.

"Captain" Janeway began "it has come to the attention of myself and the Vulcan High Command that there are men and women inside Starfleet seeking to gain control not only of the organisation but the Federation, for their own personal and financial gain. The Vulcan High Command and individuals within the admiralty commissioned a tactical group to find and flush out these individuals. But they had apparently underestimated the scale of the infiltration, the tactical group are all now dead, including my son, so I'm going to ask you, very quietly and very calmly why you have been facilitating these traitors."

Tuvok watched the other Captain's face, from his conversations with Charlotte and Seven they were sure that Abioye was one of the less powerful but ideally situated men in the shadowy group they had unearthed, but looking at his ashen face, the colour draining from his cheeks, Tuvok felt an unwelcome sense of uncertainty. He tried to push it to the back of his mind as he felt an overwhelming sense of self doubt set in. "Admiral" Abioye spluttered "I can assure you I know nothing of this" He stepped back as Janeway looked ready to erupt "I have had orders, confidential data to store, but I haven't decoded anything. You know how it works, only given pieces of information, surely you know this as a member of the very Admiralty you distrust?" . Janeway looked taken aback, she swiftly ended the meeting and marched out, as Tuvok followed her he stepped into an alcove in the corridor "were we right?" whispered the figure standing in the partially open doorway "I am puzzled, it seems he does not know anything, and if he is involved it seems involuntarily, regrettably Seven, I am still unclear as to whether we can trust him" Tuvok turned away from Seven glancing back to her as he prepared to leave "the more we uncover, the more complicated this seems, most illogical, a being more volatile than you or I would find it infuriating".

*******

"So I wanted to try this new holonovel tonight. It's a murder mystery but it's set in 2301 so we can wear those funny triangle hats" Lottie laughed. "I don't know" Zaye replied "couldn't we do a sports game, I don't really think I like murder mysteries. Or if you want to get sweaty another way I can customise my own programme...maybe something from Risa" he looked at the lopsided grin facing him "after my love, definitely. But this programme looks so fun, it's got that Klingon character with the Belgian accent, god what's his name?" Zaye rolled his eyes "that sounds as fun as... your mom joining us right now" he stood up as the Admiral walked across the mess hall and bolted trying not to make eye contact.

Kathryn slid into the empty seat "I'm glad I can scare off ensigns with my mere presence" she chuckled "who was he anyway?". Lottie looked at her "a boy, obviously". "Okay" replied Kathryn "just business then, I don't know who Abioye is loyal to but I don't think he's a major player. Can we trust him? Maybe, he might lead us to the the men and women at the top. If I can give the Vulcan High Command a list of names to arrest, if we can stop Starfleet from eating itself from inside out, Amal's mission is complete. It will have meant something" Kathryn sighed. Lottie leaned in closer and lowered her voice "Seven and I can keep an eye on Abioye, and if Voyager is following a similar course to the Essex we can send encrypted comms." her mother smiled across to her "very good, I'll head back to our ship later but I'll be sure to say goodbye". Lottie frowned at her "that's all you have to say? No 'oh by the way your Dad and I are getting divorced'?"

"Ah, so your father did manage to get his message through"

"Yes he did, you know who else could have sent that message - you! We've been in contact for weeks, why didn't you tell me yourself? Were you just waiting for us kids to leave home? Was it all a lie? Did you pretend you were both happy?"

Kathryn tried to keep her voice even and low to avoid attracting attention in the public space "I'm sorry, I didn't want to mix personal and professional feelings. I don't know where I stand with your father, I can't think about that now"

Lottie fought hard against the tears threatening to spill "not even a Vulcan would be so stupid as to shut down their feelings like you do, you're not compromising the mission by having emotions you know. You know where my quarters are, when you want to talk about this you can. That was Zaye by the way, he's the Bajoran guy I told you about, that I've been seeing for a few weeks now. Not that you would remember him because he's not a part of your grand plan" she looked up at her mother who had a far off look on her face "I'm not repeating myself again so if you want any further details you'll have to hope Dad is actually willing to speak to you".

***** Unaltered endgame timeline 7 years into the journey home****

"Kathryn that other ship was not going to be able to get through our shields, you blew three decks out of theirs, you didn't need to retaliate half as hard as you did" Chakotay roared as he stormed into his quarters. "it's my job to stop you going to far but you need to LISTEN to me", Kathryn swang round "they posed a threat to us, and it's not just you and me on board, Miral, Naomi, Ensign Morgan and her baby, surely you should care about them?". Chakotay stopped "Kathryn, you're compromised. I miss her too, I can't stop thinking about Charlotte every second of the day, but if I have to I'll have the Doctor remove you from command, you can't go blowing everyone else up to try and right a wrong".

Kathryn had sunk to the floor but at Chakotay's words brought herself back to her full height "this was a mistake staying here with you, I need to move back into my quarters sometime, tonight's the night". Chakotay sighed "I thought we agreed that you would take the newly constructed Captain's quarters, it would be a REALLY bad idea for you to go back to where it all happened".

Kathryn walked across the room and stood nose to nose with Chakotay "Do you know what, you're damned right I'm going to stand up to every hostile alien, if we had been on a higher alert our daughter wouldn't have been killed in the attack last month, in my own quarters no less. I'm not moving into the new ones, I can feel her there still in her home, so that's where I will stay and you can do whatever the fuck you want. You tried to make us work out of guilt, well now you're free of that."

Chakotay walked forwards, not caring that he was backing her against the wall "and shame too - is that what you've told yourself? you didn't tell me you were even pregnant until you were bursting out of your uniform, how do you think that made me look in front of the crew, like I'd knocked you up and moved onto Annika immediately? I told you I loved you so many times over the last 7 years, I finally move on and you pull me back in, only you won't let me love you and you deny my love for our daughter". Normally an argument like this would have preceded vigorous make-up sex but all Chakotay could muster was to shuffle sadly towards the bedroom, sitting on the chaise lounge and looking out to the stars where his daughter would be watching them.

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mcmoth · 3 years

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Dream SMP fandom etiquette

So. This post is probably too little, too late, considering the fandom and the issues I'm about to talk about have existed for so long now, and a lot of the people who need to hear this probably aren't on tumblr anyways, but I just wanted to dedicate a quick post to talk about fandom etiquette. Mostly pertaining to discourse, and interactions with people outside of our circle. These are just going to be my own personal thoughts, of course, but I felt it could be good to bring some of this to attention. So without further introduction:

Where to (not) talk about discourse:

Don't go into other streamer's vods to only focus about a different character. If you want to analyse, for example, c!Techno, do it in Techno's stream. Don't go into unrelated streams, like Tommy's, Tubbo's etc. to do it, even if they were a part of the event in question. This is, of course, with the exception if the character in question didn't stream their own pov. But otherwise, stay in your own space. This is to prevent cluttering a streamer's comments about unrelated discussion. To give further example: Tubbo's vod comments should primarily focus on Tubbo's character. Not Tommy's, Ranboo's, Techno's or whoever else's.

Don't start discourse in the comments of animatics. Seriously, stop that. Animatics aren't discussion boards. The comments are there to analyse and appreciate the video presented, not argue. It's especially rude if you pick a small detail, that wasn't even the focus of the animatic, or even a completely unrelated issue to rant out your frustrations about. To give examples: starting disc discourse in an animatic of Tommy talking to Wilbur, or rambling about how tragic Techno's character is in an animatic focused on clingy duo, etc.

This applies to fan songs as well.

Video essays are the exception to these rules. I think it's safe to say they're the place to bring your hot takes, if you really feel so inclined to argue in youtube comment sections (Though I'd personally advise to still keep the topic relevant).

Keep negativity out of fanfic comments. This isn't nearly as big of an issue as the last points, but I've seen it happen a couple times, so I'm deciding to mention it. Fanfics are written for fun. Even if you disagree with the characterisation or something else, unless the author is clear in accepting critique, keep criticism to yourself. And definitely don't rant about how you dislike a character unrelated to the fanfic. Sharing your thoughts on the fanfic itself is of course fine and welcomed, but when it turns from discussing the author's story to talking about how you dislike a character in canon, that's when it crosses a line. Example: comment talking about what you don't like about c!Tommy on a Bench Trio fanfiction.

When commenting on art, keep the feedback positive. Even if you dislike any presented character, keep that to yourself. Example: Don't say things like "I hate x character, but this art is good". You might think the author would feel honoured, but it's actually just hurtful.

How to deal with discourse:

This is gonna be a shorter section, because I think we all chose to do it in different ways, and that's valid. Also, it's just that I, myself, am still learning how to do this well, but I thought it could be good to try to lay it out anyways.

Try to scroll past takes you disagree with instead of arguing if you don't think you'd be able to keep your cool. Noone likes a random person yelling at them through a screen, and if you rant, you'll get an equally frustrated reply back, and noone will be happy. Either explain your point in a calm manner, or scroll past/ unfollow/block.

On the keeping cool thing, remember to just step away. Take a deep breath and calm yourself down before proceeding. To minimize the frustration you feel on a daily basis, filter tags, block people, avoid videos and youtube comment sections that you know will upset you, and leave certain internet spaces if you find yourself unable to escape negativity even with all those steps. Remember: in the end, it's all a game played by friends, a story, and your enjoyment of it lies in what you take from it. Abandon what makes you unhappy. Marie Kondo your fandom experience.

Also, here's your reminder, to whom this is relevant, to take care of yourself. Hydrate, eat, sleep, clean up, get fresh air, remember the things outside of all this. There's plenty to do outside of this fandom, and what you can do here can wait. There is no pressure, or obligation. Not for the content you create, not for the discussions you bring, not for responding to discourse, not for anything. Fandom is meant purely for fun, so take care <3

Interacting with people outside of the fandom:

This is something that I've seen a bit of talk about, and I thought I'd drop in my own thoughts on this as well. No matter the differences, we're all just trying to vibe, and I think these are important things to keep in mind to leave both sides better off:

Don't interact with hate posts. Just don't. You don't want to see them, they don't want to see you. Even if your response is lighthearted, their animosity is not. They will feel frustrated regardless, and the grudge will only grow. And if they're being agressive, calm discussion most likely won't happen even if you're being polite. Just leave it, please.

Correct misinformation calmly. I completely get how it can be frustrating to see blatant lies and all, but with our reputation, people will not listen if you're being antagonistic. Provide sources, explain, and leave it at that.

Don't be hateful, send death threats, or assume privilege or whatever else. That's stepping into the same shoes of the people you hate. Misunderstandings go both ways, and the fact of the matter is, I think most people who dislike DSMP, even the ones who are agressive about it, don't have their stance rooted in maliciousness. To expand on why the situation became what it is today, taken from a discussion on discord:

I think it's just a combination of Dream growing so insanely quickly + how internet spaces have changed over the years. When ccs like jackstepticeye or pewdiepie etc. grew popular, activism wasn't as prevalent and held to such importance. Now it's thankfully more talked about, but that also leads to Dream being more scrutinized in comparision. Add twitter trends and the general prevalence of the fandom, and you've got everyone feeling tired and frustrated and paranoid. People also tend not to fact check stuff, especially when it comes to celebrities and stuff they're not really interested in, so rumors spread fast.

And actually, I think there's absolutely valid reasons to be made uncomfortable by Dream SMP, either in it's creators, content or fandom, and there is, of course, stuff to criticise in general. The problem is the hate and misinformation and overexposure, but we are not going to solve any of that by being aggressive in return.

(This is, by the way, not talking about more serious cases. Like doxxing, or leaving gore images in hashtags, or similar instances. That's a whole different complicated issue that I don't feel qualified to tackle.)

And finally, don't overwhelm outsiders who merely mention the Dream SMP. Don't send asks asking them to watch it, don't write paragraphs explaining the lore, don't confuse them with inside jokes, just... Don't jump on people like that. Unless they're explicitly clear in wanting interaction and getting into the fandom, that kind of thing will just drive them away. This is in no way exclusive to the Dream SMP fandom, pretty much every fandom has people enthiastic to have more people involved, but since there are so unbelievably many of us, it's especially easy to go overboard with this stuff. Just... be polite, and don't pressure anyone. Be nice, please.

So.... ya! This would be it for this one, I think. Sorry that it's kinda long, thank you if you read it at all. Hope y'all have pleasant days ^^

#dream smp #mcyt #fandom #fandom etiquette #fandom critical #tommyinnit #technoblade #tubbo #dreamwastaken #let me know if i should remove tjose tags - i'm not sure whether it counts as crosstagging or not sorry #long post #my own post

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idreamtofmanderleyagain · 3 years

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Hot takes about Severus Snape are a wierdly decent glimpse into how a person with progressive values analyses things. Literally every time someone talks about Snape, it’s like this tiny window into how one-dimentionally people actually think.

Recently saw a twitter post that was a fantastic example. Here’s how it goes (paraphrasing):

Person A:“Snape is POC and Queer coded, that’s why you guy’s hate him uwu lol.”

Person B: “Actually I hate him because he was mean and abusive to children under his care uwu but go off I guess lol”

Both of these takes are designed to be dramatic and/or reactionary. They each use partial truths to paint very broad strokes. These are get-em-in-one-hit quips. This is virtue signalling, if you’ll excuse that loaded phrase. Nobody had a substantial conversation, but now everyone who sees their statement knows the high ground they took.

At least a hundred other people chimed in to add their own little quippy hot takes into play, none of which add anything significant, but clearly made everyone feel very highly of themselves.

So many layers of nuance and complex analysis is completely lost in this kind of discussion. On tumblr, you get more of this kind of bullshit, but you don’t have a word count limit, so you guys just spew endless mountains of weak overblown evidence backing up your bullshit arguments, none of which was really about engaging in a real conversation anyway.

Here’s the thing about Snape.

He is a childhood domestic abuse victim. His abuser is a muggle.

He becomes a student at a magical school that takes him away from his abuser and immediately instills in him the idea that being a part of this magical world is a badge of self-worth, empowerment, and provides safety and security - provided that he keeps in line.

There is a war is being waged in that world over his right to exist (he is a half blood).

He is a marginalized person within the context of the narrative, forced to constantly be in the same living space as the children of his own oppressors who are being groomed and recruited into a hate group militia (the pureblood slytherins). They are in turn trying to do the same to him.

He is marginalized person bullied by children who are also part of his oppressor group, but who have “more liberal” leanings and aren’t direct about why he’s being targeted (the mauraders are all purebloods, Sirius, who was the worst offender, was raised in a bigoted household, the same one that produced Bellatrix.).

He had a crush on a girl who is a muggleborn, and therefore she is considered even lesser than him and carries a stigma to those who associate with her. That girl was his only real friend. In his entire life.

For both Snape and Lily, allying themselves to a pureblood clique within their own houses would be a great way of shielding themselves from a measure of the bigotry they were probably facing. There would have been obvious pressure from those cliques to disconnect with one and other.

Every other person who associates with Snape in his adulthood carries some sort of sociopolitical or workplace (or hate cult) baggage with their association. Some of them will physically harm and/or kill him if he steps out of line. He hasn’t at any point had the right environment to heal and adjust from these childhood experiences. Even his relationship with Dumbledore is charged with constant baggage, including the purebloods who almost killed him during their bullying getting a slap on the wrist, the werewolf that almost killed him as a child being placed in an authority position over new children, etc. Dumbledore is canonically manipulative no matter his good qualities, and he has literally been manipulating Snape for years in order to cultivate a necessary asset in the war.

He is a person who is not in the stable mental state necessary to be teaching children, whom has been forced to teach children. While also playing the role of double agent against the hate group militia, the one that will literally torture you for mistakes or backtalk or just for fun. The one that will torture and kill him if he makes one wrong move.

Is the math clicking yet? From all of this, it’s not difficult to see how everything shitty about Snape was cultivated for him by his environment. Snape was not given great options. Snape made amazingly awful choices, and also some amazingly difficult, courageous ones. Snape was ultimately a human who had an extremely bad life, in which his options were incredibly grim and limited.

In fact, pretty much every point people make about how shitty Snape is as a person makes 100% logical sense as something that would emerge from how he was treated. Some if it he’s kind of right about, some of it is the inevitable reality of suffering, and some of it is part of the cycle of abuse and harm.

Even Snape’s emotional obsession with Lily makes logical sense when you have the perspective that he literally has no substantial positive experiences with other human beings that we know of, and he has an extreme, soul destroying guilt complex over her death. Calling him an Incel mysoginist nice guy projects a real-world political ideology and behavior that does not really apply to the context of what happened to him and her.

Even Snape’s specific little acts of cruelty to certain students is a reflection of his own life experiences. He identifies with Neville; more specifically, he identifies his own percieved emotional weaknesses in his childhood in Neville. There’s a very sad reason there why he feels the urge to be so harsh.

Snape very clearly hates himself, in a world where everyone else hates him, too. Imagine that, for a second. Imagine total internal and external hatred, an yearning for just a little bit of true connection. For years. Imagine then also trying to save that world, even if it’s motivated by guilt. Even if nobody ever knows you did it and you expect to die a miserable death alone.

There are more elements here to consider, including the way Rowling described his looks (there may be something in there re: ugliness and swarthy stereotyping). These are just the things that stand out the most prominently to me.

J.K. Rowling is clearly also not reliable as an imparter of moral or sociopolitical philosophies. I don’t feel that her grasp of minority experiences is a solid one, considering how she picks and chooses who is acceptable and who is a threat.

All of that said, this is a logically consistent character arc. Within the context of his narrative, Snape is a marginalized person with severe PTSD and emotional instability issues who has absolutely no room available to him for self-improvement or healing, and never really has. And yes, he’s also mean, and caustic, and verbally abusive to the students. He’s also a completey miserable, lonely person.

There are elements in his character arc that mirror real world experiences quite well. If nothing else, Rowling is enough of an emotional adult to recognise these kinds of things and portray something that feels authentic.

In my opinion, it’s not appropriate to whittle all this down by comparing him directly to the real world experiences of marginalized groups - at least if you are not a part of the group you are comparing him to. There have been many individuals who have compared his arc to their own personal experiences of marginalization, and that is valid. But generally speaking, comparing a white straight dude to people who are not that can often be pretty offensive. This is not a valuable way to discuss either subject.

Also, I believe that while it’s perfectly okay to not like Snape as a character, many of the people who act like Person B are carrying Harry’s childhood POV about Snape in their hearts well into their own adulthood. And if nothing else, Rowling was attempting to say something here about how our perspectives (should) grow and change as we emotionally mature. She doesn’t have to be a good person herself to have expressed something true about the world in this instance, and since this story is a part of our popular culture, people have a right to feel whatever way they do about this story and it’s characters.

The complexity of this particular snapshot of fictionalized marginalization, and what it reveals about the human experience, cannot be reduced down to “he’s an abuser so he’s not worth anyone’s time/you are bad for liking him.”

And to be honest, I think that it reveals a lot about many of us in progressive spaces, particularly those of us who less marginalized but very loud about our values, that we refuse to engage with these complexities in leu of totally condemning him. Particularly because a lot of the elements I listed above are indeed reflected in real world examples of people who have experienced marginalization and thus had to deal with the resulting emotional damage, an mental illness, and behavior troubles, and bad decisions. Our inability to address the full scope of this may be a good reflection of how we are handling the complexity of real world examples.

Real people are not perfect angels in their victimhood. They are just humans who are victims, and we all have the capacity to be cruel and abusive in a world where we have been given cruelty and abuse. This is just a part of existing. If you cannot sympathise with that, or at least grasp it and aknowledge it and respect the people who are emotionally drawn to a character who refects that, then you may be telling on yourself to be honest.

To be honest, this is especially true if you hate Snape but just really, really love the Mauraduers. You have a right to those feelings, but if you are moralizing this and judging others for liking Snape, you’ve confessed to something about how you’ve mentally constructed your personal values in a way I don’t think you’ve fully grasped yet.

I have a hard time imagining a mindset where a story like Snape’s does not move one to empathy and vicarious grief, if I’m honest. I feel like some people really just cannot be bothered to imagine themselves in other people’s shoes, feeling what they feel and living like they live. I struggle to trust the social politics of people who show these kinds of colors, tbh.

But maybe that’s just me.

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bonkywobble · 4 years

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A Bit Sus

Summary: Bucky’s hiding something, and you couldn’t wait to call him out on it.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language. This blog and all works associated with it are 18+ only.. Minors please do not interact or follow.

Word count: 800+

A/N: Wrote this on a whim while having a mini break down. Obviously unbeta’d and even more obviously inspired by Brooklyn Nine-Nine. (You all know the scene.)

Check out my masterlist here!

Try as hard as he may to avoid you, you will not let Bucky Barnes ignore you any longer.

“Barnes, I need to talk to you!”

He stops just as he’s about to round the corner. With a low sigh Bucky turns his head to look at you.

“The fuck do you want this time?” Exasperation bleeds from his voice and seeps from his body, but you couldn’t care less. You need answers.

“I want to know what you’ve been getting up to these past few weeks.”

“I told you, I’ve been -“

“Going to the gun range, I know. That’s what you’ve been telling everyone,” you point out, arms slowly crossing over one another. You step closer,

“But here’s the thing, Banana Brain - I know you’re a dirty, rotten liar.” Fully turning around, he begins to move in your direction but you remain unfazed, mouth still twisted into a smirk.

“Oh, really?” “Uh-huh. You’re being a bit sus, Sergeant.” “And why’s that? Because I’m not there when you are?” He’s circling you now, hands loosely clasped behind his back. “I mean, that’s no basis for accusing me of lying, doll.” Whipping round to face him, your smirk falls to a sneer. God, he’s insufferable. Dark locks tickle your face as he leans in closer, white teeth slightly showing through his grin. “But I guess you’ve got me figured out regardless, huh?” And there it is. World’s greatest assassin, your ass. Sergeant Barnes going to the gun range and not taking his favourite rifle with him? Unheard of. How no one else noticed was beyond you, but that was a worry for another time. You probably should have started with that, but it didn’t matter now. “I knew it!” You quietly exclaim, chest puffing out with well deserved pride. Call you the Scooby gang because you’ve just solved the mystery. “You want to know what I was actually doing instead?” He whispers enticingly, metal hand briefly darting up to tuck his hair back before returning behind him. The action distracts you momentarily. Another worry to analyse for another time, you think. Wait, why is he whispering? Oh no, what was he doing instead? Was he sleeping with Romanoff again? You know they were a thing once. Crap, if they’re still a thing and Natasha finds out that you found out about their thing, you are so dead. Another thought strikes you - what if he’s sleeping with Steve? If Romanoff enjoyed her privacy then Steve was a next level kind of hermit, the senior citizen not taking too kindly to anyone who tried to pry into his personal life. A symphony of screams starts to play in your head at the thought of Captain Rogers finding out. Might as well hand in your resignation and make a break for it. Your mind can’t take it anymore; you need answers now. “Yeah, I really do,” you whisper right back, hoping you sounded more certain than not. Straightening up, Bucky pulls his phone from his back pocket. There’s a few swipes from his flesh fingers before he rotates the phone. Screen now facing you, you can finally see what Mother Russia’s finest has been getting up to in the wee hours of the night. “Oh my god.” You can barely articulate the words because in front of you are some of the most flawless pictures of cross-stitching you’ve ever seen. “Mhmm,” he affirms, swiping through his photo gallery. Each picture he shows has more complicated designs than the last. “I know every stitch there is, including the french stitch...” Swipe. “The woven wheel...” Swipe. “The bullion knot...” You don’t know if he lists more because you’re only half paying attention, still stuck on processing the astonishing truth that the Winter Soldier has been learning embroidery. What. The. Fuck. “Given how we travel a lot, I even recreated some of the scenery.” The next photo gives his words more weight, the Eiffel Tower prettily stitched into the hoop’s fabric. Eyes move from the screen back to the Avenger in front of you, gaze narrowing. “Why are you telling me this?” You ask almost cautiously. Bucky’s smile gets wider, his steel eyes gleaming with mischief. That’s enough to tell you you’re not gonna like what comes next. “Because,” he confidently starts, readjusting his grip and selecting his art photos with a single touch, “no one will ever believe you.” It takes all of two seconds for you to figure out what he’s about to do. Your eyes widen, hands outstretched in a pathetic attempt to stop him. Unfortunately, he predicted that you’d try this and moves his device out of the way accordingly. And with another press of his thumb, he deletes them all. “NO!” Screaming your protest is futile; the damage has already been done, shock and disbelief running through your body. Your fists clench in frustration. The other astonishing truth? Bucky Barnes is an evil little shit. “You sick son of a bitch,” you softly remark, head slightly shaking with dismay. Bucky leaves you in the hallway to mentally recover, but no matter how far away he gets you can still feel the smugness rolling off of him. One day you’ll show him. You’ll make him regret ever taunting you in the first place.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes reader insert #bonkywobble writes

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

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The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it. To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth. But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me. What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them. A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen. What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining. Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance. You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me? I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee. Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.” (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence. The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way. And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty. To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

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venenatd · 3 years

Text

atsumu x reader; motion sickness - chapter three.

summary; atsumu wants to get to know reader better, and somehow convinces her to take him to the ice rink

content warnings; nsfw content, public sex, unprotected sex (nothing will come from it), dom/sub undertones

a/n; i hope u enjoy!! i think from here on out i get more into the swing of things and much prefer my writing so i hope u do too! reblogs/thoughts are v appreciated <3

ao3 | series masterlist | main masterlist | 18+ minors dni

Choosing to wake up alone means the bed is cool and spacious. You can roll over and feel nothing. Sheets fold against your body, swallowing you whole. No need to tug them away, they are all for you. You push the thoughts away too, the idea that there could have been a warmth to tuck into. All throughout your routine you ignore how someone else could fit into it.

Breakfast alone stings a little more, the hotel full of families and teams. You’re more aware now at the buffet, of the many muscular men that stand around in groups. They pile plates high of the day's energy. Wildebeest at the watering hole, you note to yourself. If there was anyone to eye roll at, you would. You notice you don’t see a certain head of toned blond hair. Not that you’re looking for it, you remind yourself.

People watching is best done on your own however, and your eyes flit between young couples, children spilling honey down their chins, and people desperate for the relief of caffeine.

Alone is safe and comforting. An observer, as Faiz would often call you. Watching and analysing and playing with the stories in your mind. You can live through the honeyed child, the tired parent. Give them a job, a goal, a life. It’s fun to enter their space, if for a moment.

The moment ends as Faiz breaks into your thoughts, fragments of faux futures shatter around you. “I have a challenge for you today.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to trust me,” the cheeky glint in his eye makes you want to do anything but.

“You already know I do.” His overjoyed energy is infectious, and your morning of distraction in other people’s brains has been replaced. You can feed off him to feel full. “What are you planning?”

“So, before you ask he’s down,” he begins, grinning at your raised brow, “but I think you should work with Makito today.” You chew on your toast for a minute, thinking through what Faiz is really asking. Or telling, as is more often when it comes to your coach.

“It’s for p—”

“Passion, you dumbass.”

“—ssion, isn’t it? Oi.” you go to flick his forehead, but he’s too quick and instead gets yours. “Ow, Faiz. Insulting and hurting me? Your favourite skater?”

“My favourite skater you may be, but you also need to score well. And I’ve got a plan.”

He drones on for a while, about how working with Makito is going to help create an environment where you’re performing for someone in particular. If you are embers, he will try and find someone or something to breathe the fire into you. You see how much he’s thought about this, and hey, you’re willing to give it a go if it might help.

As you make your leave from the hotel restaurant, you bump into something. Firm and tall and moving in such an ecstatic manner that it’s almost difficult to believe it’s so early in the morning. The someone grabs your shoulders, almost picking you up to move you to his side. You fluster, and they lean down to you.

“Sorry, sorry! Apparently way too hungry for breakfast,” his voice is deep but keeps the same energy as his movements. “Wait, do I know you?”

And then you see it. Another flashback to your night of heavy drinking. A shock of white and black hair, and bird-like features. “Barely, I think. I was drinking with your,” you’re not sure what term to settle on, “teammate, I think? Atsumu?”

“Yes, Tsum Tsum’s girl! Hey!”

“I’m not—”

“She’s not—”

And there he is. Sun gold hair still damp from an early shower. He looks like the warmth you were missing that morning. You didn’t miss it, you correct your runaway thoughts. It’s just a feeling you were once used to.

“Oh. Awkward. Well, breakfast calls!”

Like that the owl flees the nest.

“I should get going,” you say, shuffling past him as an attempt to run from the atmosphere. You don’t need to talk about it, or what you did. Hookups are a lot easier when you’re not both staying at the same hotel.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” he calls after you, waiting a second for you to turn. You shouldn’t turn around. Not if you don’t want to give him the chance to offer again. But it’s like his voice has a command over you, and you pause briefly. He rewards you with the easy curl of his lips and the way it shows in his cheeks. A small flash of hope in his eyes. “I’ll teach you a spike for a spin.”

At least there’s someone for you to roll your eyes at now.

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

“Glad ya keepin’ up.”

Atsumu is quickly realising that you don’t quite speak your mind. It’s always you won’t take no, you don’t have to. It’s so far never been, I’m interested, I want that. There’s something about the way your brain is wired that makes him curious. Not that he would tell you about the other women that have flit through his life, but his type usually falls under demanding, high strung. Osamu would tease him that he dates reflections of himself. They could barely be considered dates, if he really looks into it. It’s always to bars and parties, his ‘date’ enjoying the expensive alcohol or his teammates.

Maybe he does have a jealous streak. When he goes for those who throw themselves at him, he never quite expects them to do the same to his teammates in turn. It’s nice to be wanted though, if only as a stepping stone.

If you are not demanding, it would only be natural to assume you are easy or effortless. But you are not that either. You need persuasion and nudging to agree to the course you want anyway.

You are a curiosity, Atsumu thinks as you enter the rink together. His practice isn’t till late, your schedules are so perfectly mis-aligned.

The not-boyfriend from the bar is here too, pushing off the seats to greet you. Atsumu stays back and lets you explain the situation, giving a polite nod when Faiz is introduced as your coach. He relaxes more when Faiz gives him a grin, one that spills with knowledge of late night escapades.

“So, you’re the guy?”

“Am I the guy?” he questions you, and as your eyes once again move to roll, he speaks again, “y’know, your eyes might get stuck like that one day.”

“I told her the same thing!” Faiz laughs, patting Atsumu’s back. “She’s always doing it too, as if I’m so below her.”

“Both of you should stop talking.” It’s cute, he thinks. Your little pout that you probably think looks oh so stern. Brows knitted and a finger to your temple. A kindergartner would laugh in your face.

“Faiz, I hate to break it to you. But she didn’t deny it.” His hand squeezes Faiz’s shoulder, a look of woe playing on his face. The coach responds with a hand clasped to his chest, stepping back as if your words have shot him.

He mutters your name under his breath, as if shocked by the revelation. “You’ve been using me all this time? And here I thought we were friends.” Faiz looks between you, lips trying so hard to fight a smile, and the beaming blonde next to him. “And him? You’re using him for se—”

Your eyes widen, and your hand immediately goes to slap your palm over Faiz’s mouth. “Okay! Okay, I get it! Very funny Faiz, very funny Atsumu. You’re both first class athletes and comedians.”

There’s murmuring that comes from the fingers covering Faiz, and you open them just enough for Faiz to let you, “was it any good at least?” before you close them again.

Atsumu goes to open his mouth, goes to prod more fun in your direction. But your hand goes from Faiz’s mouth, to his hand, and you’re pulling him and his words away.

“Please not in the locker room,” Faiz calls in your general direction, to which you pull your signature middle finger back at him.

“Are we gonna do it in the locker room?” Atsumu asks, praying the slight element of hope is hidden by the teasing. How easy it would be to guide your hand in his, move it towards your waistband.

“You wish.” He does.

“I like your coach.” Atsumu leans against the rows of lockers, watching you swap shoes for skates, “seems more fun than mine.”

“He knows me better than anyone. And he’s honest, doesn’t hide anything,” you speak as if it's routine. A question that has an automatic answer. “I already regret letting you two meet.”

“Oh c’mon, Golide,” he trails after you, admiring how on earth you can walk so comfortably on blades. “We both know you enjoy it.”

“You need me to say it?” you question as you step on the ice, whisking away before he can respond.

Maybe he doesn’t need you to say it, but he certainly wants you to. There’s elements of your attitude that Atsumu wants to learn. Why you very clearly have walls up, and how he can seep into the cracks.

Faiz comes to stand next to him, both of them watching as you move across the ice. Now you do seem effortless. Atsumu is sure it takes huge effort for you to push yourself across the ice, but somehow it looks like you prefer it to walking.

“So,” Faiz begins, and Atsumu knows the tone of the protective friend, “you like her?”

As much as you can after hanging out with someone a couple of times. Atsumu knows he’s become curious. Is that liking you? It sounds like something a teenager would say. So far he knows he likes aspects of you. Your smile, first of all. The banter between you both is easy, it keeps him on his toes. Your moans and sarcasm are both equally sweet.

“Something like that.”

Faiz hums thoughtfully and Atsumu thinks he’s not going to do it, and that he doesn’t need to make any promises. “Just be nice to her. She deserves that.”

It’s a weird way to phrase don’t hurt her, but Atsumu nods nonetheless. Just like that the men are back to smooth and easy jokes and discussions of career.

Eventually another man, the other not-boyfriend Atsumu recalls, joins them, and Faiz bids his goodbyes. They both go towards you on the rink, and so your new lesson begins.

Makito is almost giddy to work with you. His movements are too quick and too erratic for you to feel calm. Your head is usually clear in practice. Knowing where the exact places your skates should be, the extension of your hands. But it’s fogged doing it with someone else, as well as knowing two pairs of eyes are watching.

You had begun by simply holding on to one another, doing the most basic of motions to make sure you were working together well, and that no one was going to trip over the other. Deeming it a success, Faiz had moved onto the next challenge.

“Remember, this is all about feeling with Makito,” he instructs, putting both your hands on each other, “I want to see you responding to him. Acting the part.” Pretending to be in love is what he really means.

You both move across the ice, you’re meant to be jumping into Makito’s lap and the two of you leaning back to balance the weight. The idea is to make it look sexy, alluring, erotic. All words that you think far from describe you.

From the edge of the rink Atsumu wolf whistles, and he imagines the eye roll, although he’s not sure he likes the idea of that so much when you’re seated in someone else's lap.

“Makito, how did that feel?” Faiz quizzes.

He winces, looking sheepishly towards you before he answers. “Like she thought she was going to fall.”

“Did you think you were going to fall?” He directs the question your way, but you think he knows the answer. Curse him understanding you inside and out.

“I- I don’t know. Trying so hard to look romantic I didn’t think about much else.”

It goes on like that for long enough that you’re both sweating. The same song plays on repeat as you go through set movements again and again. It makes it feel like both so much and so little time is passing. Even Atsumu is just flicking through his phone now. Why did you say yes to him coming again? You know Faiz can feel your agitation, the way you bristle each time he instructs you to look a certain way. If trying your best was enough, you’d be done by now.

“Go. Take a break,” Faiz instructs. He’ll give you some time to cool off as he always does, letting you work it out isolated. It’s what works best for your brain. A whole other routine, walking away and turning music up far too loud. Stewing in it all. Absorbing yourself in the negative feelings until you can push them away or find something to distract yourself from them.

It feels like you should be alone this time. Too many wrong buttons pushed and you could snap at someone only to regret it. Too bad for you that you said yes to your newest irritant.

“You looked awesome” Atsumu begins, looking up from whatever feed he’s swiping through. He can barely finish the sentence before your face causes him to falter.

There are two pairs of steps echoing down the hallway, the creak of a rusty hinge swinging twice. Hopes of a lonesome sanctuary in the locker room are dashed.

“Hey, you okay?”

His face is full of concern, which puzzles you. Your fingers struggle to unlace your shoes. Must you struggle with everything when it comes to your profession? Maybe a distraction would be better.

“Goldie?”

The nickname bounces around in your mind, coupled with I’ve got you. Your shoes are off and next comes your sweater. Tugging it over your head and discarding it unceremoniously on the floor.

“Do you need anything?”

Perspiration still clings to your body, coming down from your workout on the ice. He is standing there, so big, so broad. It’s like a magnet is drawing you closer. He is a distraction wrapped in an aggravatingly handsome face and strong body.

“Yes, I do.”

His eyes flick down to your chest, heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat. Not the time, Atsumu. You’re looking up at him through your lashes, and his lips part, thinking about- not the time. He thought it was annoyance in your eyes, but the darkness seems to hold a different weight. Fists are balled by your side, and he’s not sure if you’re holding yourself back from punching a wall or something else.

“Fuck me, Atsumu.”

“What?” His brain is short circuiting, he thinks. ‘It’s not the time’ he repeats again and again. He’d promised to be nice to you and suddenly he’s not sure if that means talking you down or engaging with you in all the ways he wants to.

“You wanted to, right? Just fuck me.”

All of your body language is screaming at him to grab you and pull you in. Your palm crosses against his pectorals, your fingers curling to tease your nails down past his naval.

“You want me to beg Atsumu?” On tip toes you can push your body against his. Low and whispered against your voice is at the shell of his ear. “You want me to say please?”

The tensing of his muscles underneath his shirt makes you not want to pull away. You want Atsumu to want you. No, you want him to need you. To show you that you’re good for something. So you fall back on your feet, starting to turn away, heart dropping for a moment when he stays still. Maybe you’re the desperate one.

But then his hand grips around your arm, pushing you firmly against the row of lockers. His mouth crushes yours before you can even think of teasing him. Gripping under your ass, he brings your legs around his waist. You smile into the kiss as you notice he’s already half hard.

He almost growls into your sigh, realising that he does not have easy access to you like this. Slow ruts against you, easily bringing you against his crotch as Atsumu keeps you stuck between his body and the lockers. He needs convincing to let you away from him for even a second. “Say it again.”

“Please Atsumu. Please fuck me.”

It tips him over, sends him into some sort of feral need for your cunt. Dropping and rotating you, pushing you back up against the cool metal.

Fingers rip at your leggings and panties, rolling them just far enough down your ass. You think he may manage to leave you with bruises when he grabs your hips again. He is always on you, whether it’s his tongue on your neck, his hands pulling down your cami to cup your tits.

Your hands scramble behind you, desperately trying to pull at his pants. He’s quick to entertain you, bringing them down and tugging his cock a few times.

Foreplay be fucking damned. You think you’re wet enough, or at least the stretch and burn of Atsumu buried inside you will be enough to sedate your over active mind. “I need you inside me. I n- need you to fill me, ‘Tsumu.”

As much as Atsumu wants to treasure your body, give you all that you deserve, the pure desire that fills your voice drives him into a new space entirely.

His head presses at that tight ring of muscle, letting himself be lathered in your slick. Gathering spit in his mouth, he pushes it between his teeth to let it slowly drop on his cock. You whine, begging more and more. Pushing yourself back on him as best you can with your waistband keeping your thighs pressed together.

Atsumu’s thumb pushes his spit around your already stretched hole, then moving down to press against your clit. It’s enough for him to fully sheath himself, giving you the delicious burn you were hoping for.

You’ve never been fucked like this. Never been needy enough to beg for it, and fuck, maybe it’s because Atsumu seemed so eager to make you feel good before. Maybe it’s that you know you don’t have to feel anything more than his length pushing against your satin walls again and again. You’ll go home, and all the deranged things your mind made you do can stay here.

Words fall from your lips, you’ve been the one talking- begging so far. “Harder, please, please, please, fuck yes.” One large hand is holding your elbows together behind you, the other plucking at your nipples or passing over your clit. He can’t make his mind up, each one drawing a new sound from you until you're babbling under him. Going from nothing to having Atsumu smacking his hips against your ass, oversensitive everywhere as you’re grabbed and played with.

“Yeah? You can’t even beg for it anymore, huh?”

Glazed over eyes look back at him, as if his cock has been a complete shock to your system.

But you’re defiant. “P-Please,” he makes out through your gritted teeth.

It makes him think of things you both could do. Things that need safe words and more trust than he feels you’re willing to give.

He’s close, feeling his abdomen and thighs tingle and tighten. There’s some part of him that wants you to be open to ideas, open to the trust that they’d need. He would need it.

Quick thrusts slow. Atsumu moves deep and slow, his hand letting your arms go and wrapping under your chest. He almost fully pulls out before driving back in, leaving you gulping for air in short gasps. His fingers massage your clit, and instead of mocking you he’s whispering encouragement.

“You feel so good, so, hah, s’fuckin’ good. Wan— wanna make you feel it all, wanna make you feel good.”

You don’t even realise your satin walls are fluttering around him, but Atsumu does. The tightness of your pussy around him makes him want to fill you up with his cum, and then he realises. No condom. Fuck. He looks at your fucked out face, eyebrows raising in bliss.

More whispered praise against your ear, and now you can feel it too. The coil in your stomach that’s making you tighten, making you open your eyes in surprise. He’s not saying it, but all you can think about is Atsumu saying “I’ve got you” because you’re so sure he does. Holding you up and close to his body, wanting you to also feel the pleasure you can see etched across his handsome features.

Before you realise it’s happening you're falling, spasming around his cock. Repeating “‘Tsumu, ‘tsumu, ‘tsumu” in a rapturous melody. Moans echo around the locker room, and Atsumu’s pulling out from between your plush folds, leaving you to clench around nothing. His cum coats your ass, jerking himself off to completion, wishing so hard it was your cunt milking every drop from him.

Slow and sweet kisses pepper your shoulder and neck, the cheek that isn’t pressed into the metal. “You feel good?” he says softly between pecks.

“Yeah, I… I needed that.” His thumbs massage into your hips, as if he’s working out the bruises that will definitely be there tomorrow. It’s another show of care that leaves you unsettled. “Feel better without your cum on my ass.”

Atsumu lets out a low chuckle, and he steps back to admire his work. A pretty painting, if he says so himself. Tucking himself away, he has to leave you standing awkwardly to run and grab tissues. There’s sincerity in how he cleans you up too, not quick and hurried as he should be. His fingers smooth over the curve of your ass, leaving more kisses in his wake.

Once you’re clean, he neatens your hair and pulls your leggings back up. You smooth out your smudged mascara and you both head back towards the rink. It’s too quiet for too long, but before you can interrupt the silence he does.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Hmm?” you hum.

“You said you needed it. Frustrated about something?”

The cold hits you both as you push open the doors into the rink. Makito and Faiz nod at you both before going back to their conversation. Probably about how much you suck at anything close to passion, you think, the feelings you’d just managed to smother becoming too quick to resurface.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” His eyebrows deepen and his brown eyes are full of so much sincerity you can’t help but go on. “So, I did pairs skating for a while, like what you saw earlier.”

He lets out little hums as you talk, reassuring notes of interest. “But then I moved to singles, and lost the spark and, uh—”

“The passion.” Fuck Faiz and his fucking passion. Atsumu grins at him for a moment, and you’re waiting for the onslaught of teasing to begin, but it doesn’t. His eyes return to you, his smile stays, dropping from cheeky into something softer.

“That. Passion, the desire, the,” you gesture wildly, “the stuff that turns it from spins and jumps into a performance.”

“And that’s what you were doing with your friend?” Atsumu points at Makito.

“The lift? Yeah, seeing if I’ve still got it in pairs.”

In a flash Atsumu is lifting you for the second time today, grabbing you by the waist despite your “hey!” Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the breath being pulled from you as he manhandles you easily.

One large palm spreads across your back, and your body is running on it’s latest experience, curving back. Is he also thinking about what just happened, thinking about how he was going to take you like this? His face still holds onto something dark, his eyes lingering with lust. You pray your own doesn’t betray you, that you can feign it as surprise.

“That’s it! That’s the look!” Atsumu and you both turn to your coach.

His eyes wide and excited, both hands pointing at your face. Faiz is almost jumping up and down on the spot. “That’s what will make people notice! You did it!”

Your cheeks warm, watching Atsumu try to lean back also, replicating what he saw Makito do earlier. He’s strong and beautiful and everything you’re sure many women want. But with his eyebrows drawn in deep concentration, trying so hard to be elegant… He looks utterly ridiculous. Like that you’re giggling, hands having to loop around his neck to keep yourself from laughing your way to the floor.

You sound so good when you laugh. The challenge of getting it out of you is what first caught Atsumu. A smile made his drunken self feel gooey. Now sober, the noise of you trying to even your breathing as you give him a full bodied laugh. It makes him want to cup your face, marvel at your eyes creasing, the way the corners of your lips curl.

“And it’s gone again.” Faiz sighs, but it’s warm and full of so many emotions but not disappointment.

Eyes full of sweet browns and honey catch you off guard. He’s looking too intently at you. Your smile fades, body going more rigid in his hands. Atsumu lets you drop, making sure you’re steady before his hands move from your waist.

Practice starts back up, Atsumu watching from the sidelines. He can’t hear the discussion well enough between the trio on the ice, and soon his attention splits back between you and his phone.

His thumbs move quickly, typing out a ‘you’ll never believe what just happened’ to the MSBY group chat before he pauses, and presses against the backspace. To share what just happened feels wrong. It felt a little too personal. You needed him for a moment. If he was to tell the team, it’d be a fun anecdote. There’s the chance they could piece together it was with you, and if he can convince you to come to a game…

Atsumu doesn’t want to mess it up.

So instead his fingers take him to a different message, and start to type again.

Me // 11:21am

>> oi, i got a question for u

Samu🍙 // 11:24am

>> yes you need to wash everywhere. including there.

Me // 11:24am

>> ok

>> guess i’ll ask someone else

>> scrub

Samu🍙 // 11:24am

>> don’t be a baby

>> what’s up

His quick typing stops for a moment, watching you jump into Makito’s lap once more, and then the three of you are grinning and high fiving.

Me // 11:25am

>> have u ever liked someone

>> like liked

Samu🍙// 11:25am

>> are you 12 years old

>> i’ve had literal girlfriends

>> i’m trying to get ready for the lunch rush and you’re asking me about crushes?

Me // 11:25am

>> is a few days too soon to know

Samu🍙// 11:26am

>> depends i guess

>> you like someone?

Atsumu doesn’t know how to respond to that, so just hits the call button.

“I told you I’m tryna be prepared,” Osamu immediately berates his older brother, talking about how there’s only so much time before he’s going to be swarmed.

“Well, if ya shut it for a minute, I’d be able to talk.”

“Fine. So who’s my favorite twin crushin’ on?” he asks the question in a song, making Atsumu regret the call in the first place.

“I’m your only twin, dumbass,” he mutters, interrupting Osamu before they go off topic again. “I don’t know if I like her. We’ve hooked up a few times,” a gross comes from down the line, “but she’s just cool. I don’t know, dude. I just want to get to know her more.”

“So what does it matter if you like her? Just get to know her.” Coming from Osamu it seems simpler. Sometimes his thoughts can run off, get muddled and confused and overwhelming. But Osamu’s always been the calmer, the one who can keep him on track and call him out when he needs it. If Atsumu is a boat in a storm, Osamu is the anchor.

A few more words are spoken back and forth, general housekeeping to know what’s happening in each other's lives, before Osamu has to work, and Atsumu is left with his thoughts. There’s still that annoying doubt at the back of his mind. A little worm that’s dug so far down, even with someone else helping it’s hard to get out.

What if you don’t like him?

You apologise for his cold rosy cheeks and how long he had to sit and watch. He reassures you that he had fun, the both of you headed back outside into the heat of the city. You fall into place easily next to one another, walking by the river rather than ordering a car back to the hotel. Atsumu had persuaded you, protesting that without the warmth of the sun, how could he ever regain feeling in his nose.

“Next time you’ll have to get me on the ice.”

“You already impressed Faiz so much, are you sure you’re ready for the career change?”

“I’m sure a publicist could work it,” he’s quick to respond, holding hands out wide in front of the both of you, “I can see it now. The great Miya Atsumu conquers the ice skating world. Is there anything he can’t get gold in?”

“Real humble, Miya,” you say with an exasperated smile.

“Miya?” he echoes, “and here I thought I was gonna get a nickname.”

You’re either looking up at him with a quizzical stare or the afternoon sun is in your eyes. Either way Atsumu notes that it’s a cute expression, one that brings out the flecks of colour in your irises.

Pausing for a moment, people shuffle around you, going about their days in the city. Bringing his lips to your ear, you can feel the width of his smile on your cheek. “‘Tsumu, ‘Tsumu, please ‘Tsumu” he whispers the whines - your whines - much to your dismay.

Pushing him away, you’re only reminded of the hard planes of his abs, and now there’s definitely heat rising in your face. “Shut it Miya,” you wish you said with more defiance. Your grumble let’s him know he’s won your embarrassment.

“Thought ya liked it when I talked,” he teases, twisting you around by the shoulder to keep walking. The way you try and avoid eye contact only makes him want it more, and deciding between poking fun and giving in is all too difficult.

You come around quickly though, Atsumu using his seemingly effortless charisma to smooth over jokes, bring you back out of your shell. There’s a feeling that he can, innately, get people on his side. Despite his seeming arrogance and over-confidence, he takes the quips you throw at him on his shoulder. Letting deep chuckles spill off his tongue and reassuring touches whenever he responds in a similar jest.

Atsumu tugs you left and right, pointing your way back to the hotel with ease. The walk proves longer than the twenty minutes Google Maps promised you, trusting Atsumu when he says he ‘knows these streets like the back of his hand’. He does know them pretty well, at least knows that right turns should in fact be left. But the banter and laughter you two are sharing is doing more to him than the sun. It’s still surface level, discussions about plans for the week, where your home is. There’s a segment featuring each of your favorite colours, foods and films.

“Really? Rear Window?”

“What? It’s a classic!”

“The fact that you’ve even seen it surprises me.”

He goes on to explain that yes, it was the only film available at the hotel, but that he admired the determination of the main character. You wouldn’t have pegged him for watching anything considered old, or classic, let alone admiring the story. “And Grace Kelly, right?”

“I mean,” he begins sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck “yeah but—”

Your giggles quiet him.

Eventually you’re back where it began, standing outside the hotel looking at one another.

“So, are you goin’ give me your number or am I goin’ to have to beg you for it?”

“Oh, there’s a chance you’ll beg for it?”

You don’t miss the glint in his eyes, flashing quickly before it passes. “Is that a no, Goldie?”

It would be easier if it was a no. Your hands are acting on want, pulling your phone out and handing it to him with contact screen open before you can think too much about it.

“You better text me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Atsumu hopes that you will. Maybe asking him to a meal or if you need him again, to your room. He settles that want next to another. No running before you can even walk. Like Osamu said, just getting to know one another.

Afternoon practice is long. Time spent sweating and running and jumping for hours away from his phone. He’s thinking about hyper active teammates, making sure he’s setting just right for them. Touching you right. All of his energy spent on the blue and yellow ball before him. Spending his energy on you. Then he’s on to letting his mind be consumed by proteins and carbs and what he can eat over the next week. Maybe just a film in, rather than dinner out. Thinking about Kiyoomi who’s acting all analytical, watching the group and remarking on Atsumu’s performance.

“You seem distracted.”

But he’s not, of course. He can laugh it off and joke around with Bokuto in the locker room. Purposefully not thinking about earlier in the day. His heart wouldn’t race when he finally can open up his phone. It wouldn’t thump in his chest when he checks his notifications.

Unknown Number // 5:48pm

>> i can’t think of anything cool to say so

>> hi tsumu✨

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader smut #haikyuu smut #miya atsumu #atsumu #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x y/n #atsumu smut #atsumu fic #atsumu multichapter #haikyuu fic #ven; motion sickness

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luvnami · 3 years

Photo

𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 (here) | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Second part to ‘Ocean’! Hope you enjoy it :> Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife @amjustagirl @aliteama

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares, Relationship Issues (lack of communication), Overthinking/Anxious Thoughts, I criticise Nanami’s choice of clothing

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5k

Nanami decides to enter university and get a degree. He casts a life of sorcery behind and turns a blind eye to curses that peer at him curiously on the street. When you text him and ask about how life is in the city of Tokyo, he replies that it would be much better if you were here with him. You choose to ignore the meaning between the lines and tell him that he’ll do great in university; you’re sure of it!

Truth be told, his parents are more than glad to fund Nanami’s ventures and encourage him to do so. As a result, he finds himself engulfed by the world of rigorous studying. Lectures and tutorials drain his time from morning to evening, not to forget project meetings and whatever the hell ‘socialising’ means.

But campus life is invigorating. He wakes up to the smell of coffee and his roommate singing a foreign song with a catchy tune and has time to enjoy a lovely breakfast before he heads off for morning classes. Everything is done in his own time. No one rushes him to save the lives of innocent civilians, nor does the weariness of a day’s fight linger in his bones.

Quietly, gently. That is how Nanami’s time in university goes by. Writing essays on analysing market trends or a project on that sociology elective module he chose is nothing too tricky, especially when one compares it to sorcery.

He learns to relax, unwinding in the golden hours of the evening with a Murakami paperback and a steaming cup of coffee by his side. Nanami meets new people — people who have never heard what a curse is (though he does find his witchy neighbour intriguing), people who have families at the furthest ends of the earth. Their companionship is refreshing.

You, meanwhile, earn a nice sum from working at Jujutsu Tech. You don’t work directly with curses (something which Nanami is thankful for) and enjoy your time surrounded by nature, treating the younger students with a smile and warm cup of tea.

You and Nanami decide to move into an apartment where the commute is halfway between both schools. It’s a nice change of pace, really. You wake up next to each other in the blinding morning light, still entangled in the cheap (and slightly scratchy) duvet you got on sale. Nanami presses a kiss between your brows. You smile, your hand warm on his skin.

“Good morning, Ken,” you croak as the sunlight frames your face.

You lean forward and place your head against his chest. Nanami’s hand strokes your shoulder lovingly as the both of you make small talk on the day’s events, then laughing when he makes a cheesy (and slightly indecent) joke about what he enjoys eating for breakfast. Your heart soars in your chest, catching the upwind and slicing through the clouds. It feels like heaven.

But the sea does not always remain calm and peaceful. Its tides rise and fall with the waxing and waning of the moon, and waves can come crashing down on boats that dare sail through its treacherous waters.

Nanami buries the constant nightmares of Haibara under his pillow, waking up in the middle of the night with your arms around his waist. He pretends he does not see the curses that linger in the corner of his lecture theatre, nor the ones that stare back in the bathrooms. Nanami slips a pair of spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. His fellow classmates call him intelligent, quiet, but kind.

He wants to believe that, too.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami joins a hedge fund company after graduation.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Ken?” you ask over the table.

The restaurant you had booked for dinner boasts of its month-long waitlists and seasonal menus. You poke at the raw fish that sits on your plate, Nanami holding a glass of amber liquid. He watches its colour swirl under the dim light.

“The pay is good. We’ll be comfortable.”

“I don’t care about money, Ken. I’d rather you do something less stressful and be happier.”

“Let me try it out for a year or so. That can’t hurt, right?”

He smiles, you smile.

Your hand slips into his comfortably over the table, and your eyes meet in silent understanding. You squeeze his hand.

The company changes Nanami. Some things are obvious — the way he now parts and combs his hair back with wax, the pressed suits that line your shared wardrobe, the work phone that buzzes with notifications every minute of the day. Others are more… subtle. He comes home later and later each night, occasionally staying over in the office. His alcohol consumption increases. You spend the weekends alone.

It’s gotten to the point where you’re lucky if you eat dinner with him once a week. You’re busy with your own work, too, but you assume that Nanami would be able to come home on at least the weekends. Your mind begins to drift.

Is there a colleague who wears a skirt too short, a manager who touches his shoulder a second too long? It’s been at least four years since you and Nanami had gotten together, and you still don’t know his stance on marriage or children yet. Does he love you, or does he love his job more?

You fall into a pit of doubt and despair. Perhaps you should have been a lesser burden on Nanami. He spent so many hours taking care of you back then, wearing himself thin between missions, that the idea of him getting tired of being a caregiver to someone who didn’t remember him at all was… possible; reality, even?

There’s nothing original about you, either. Your handwriting is the same as a girl you’ll never remember from middle school, the way you text influenced by the students you work with. Maybe you laugh too loud. Or you’re too fat, too skinny, too quiet, too noisy, too blunt, too shy, too clumsy. So what made him love you? Or was he just in love with a previous version of you that you weren’t now?

It feels like you’re staring into a mirror when you try to remember who you used to be with childhood journals and photographs. The same face, the same body, memories that don’t make sense and a head that has become a blank canvas. A parent’s child, a teacher’s student. Unable to reach past the glass.

You don’t know who you are anymore with how you’ve changed to please Nanami — a person of personalities that switches in the blink of an eye. So why does he still keep you in his rented heart that’s full of other tenants, and under the contact name ‘Dear ♡’? You place the button in a drawer amongst a mess of spare keys, bits of tissue paper and promotional pamphlets.

It’s tiring. Nanami’s head is in the clouds as you share a parfait, and you ask him, “Kento, do you really love me?”.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Of course I do.”

The eyebags that are on his face have been there since two weeks ago. Nanami can’t remember when the last time was when he got a proper night of sleep, and currently, he’s thinking about the new client that-

“Kento,” you interrupt. “You’re exhausted.”

You point your spoon at him for extra emphasis, the tip of it having a dollop of whipped cream.

“Pointing your utensils around is bad manners.”

“Never knew you cared about table manners.”

“Well, now I do.”

You lick the spoon clean and eye Nanami. He returns a tired stare before his gaze falls to the side and he lets out a sigh. He almost wishes that you would stop bothering him about this and let him go back home. There are so many emails he needs to send, and he can’t sit still without checking the stock market every hour or so.

“Do you want to break up?”

The words come easier than expected.

“Huh?! What makes you say that?”

“You seem like you want to.”

“You can’t just assume things like-”

The girls sitting by the next table fall quiet. Nanami thinks that they’re eavesdropping on your conversation; you think so too. You glance quickly at them and they pretend nothing had ever happened, hiding their looks of surprise as they shove spoonfuls of dessert into their mouths.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

You sound irritated. Nanami pays with his card, grabbing his things as you step outside of the cafe first.

“Slow down,” he mumbles and pockets his wallet.

You whip around.

“You can’t just assume things like that, Kento.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

Staring at him, your eyes seem glazed over. Tired, maybe. Tearing up, maybe. Maybe, maybe. Many maybes. Nanami doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s been going on with you, actually. You seem distant, out of reach when you’re lying in the same bed as him. Is it the money; is he making enough to make you happy?

Nanami reaches out and tries to hold your hand (when was the last time he had done that?) when his phone buzzes. He retracts his hand and reaches for his back pocket, but you grab his wrist. He looks at you.

“What are you doing? Let go.”

Irritation laces his voice.

“Don’t answer that.”

“Are you crazy? It’s from work. I have to.”

“Work this, work that! You spent the last year basically married to your office and the one time we get to go out together, you want to work?”

Your voice is sharp, slicing Nanami’s hazy conscience. He watches as it pools at his feet, a gust of fresh air tickling his skin. He relaxes his wrist and you pull your hand away. Passersby glance at you briefly before continuing their daily commute, not bothering to give you a second glance.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay,” Nanami replies.

The both of you stand in the street, suddenly feeling as if you’ve drifted away from one other unknowingly. Like a boat in the ocean, Nanami rocks with the waves that splash gently on his hull. Everything is blue and vast around him. He can’t see the land.

Nanami thinks about that girl at the bakery. The way she always cried out ‘Come back soon!’ every time he left as if he wouldn’t return a second time. And then he thinks about the clients he serves, all outfits and jewellery that easily cost half his salary. They shove money into his hands, expecting even more in return without a word of thanks.

“Hey,” Nanami says.

He reaches out across the waters and grasps your hand in his. You look up, eyes brimming with tears. He swipes at the corner of your eye with his thumb. Understanding washes over him and he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Nanami whispers sincerely.

That night, he calls Gojo when you’re safely tucked into bed. Nanami tries to ignore how the older sorcerer cackles at him and hangs up once the call is presumably over on his end. He slips under the covers as you turn over in your sleep, resting against his chest. Nanami kisses your brow.

He gets his first night of good sleep in a long, long time.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami falls back into the rhythm of sorcery. He trains for a good month until he gets his stamina and strength back, obtaining a new weapon from the school for his missions. Gojo seems oddly delighted to see him return, laughing when Nanami’s out of breath from a workout.

“Ken,” you say, wrinkling your nose when he steps out of your shared bedroom. “You’re going to work in that?”

Nanami adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, staring at you.

“Is this not appropriate?”

You observe him from head to toe. The leopard print tie, blue shirt and tan suit — you resist the urge to tell him he’s so close to looking like a pimp. Out of all the lovely suits that Nanami has, he chooses to wear this one?

“It’s a bit bright, that’s all,” you laugh.

“I thought I would go with something eccentric. You don’t get to wear this at the office,” he remarks, striding over to the kitchen to grab your packed lunches.

You remain quiet and fiddle with a loose thread on your own suit jacket.

“Something the matter?”

“Oh! Nothing at all. Let’s go.”

It’s more convenient now since the both of you work at the same place. Nanami drives to Jujutsu Tech every morning and picks you up in the evenings as well. He detests how Gojo makes fun of him for it, calling him a ‘lovely husband’. It makes your cheeks warm, and you duck your head before Nanami can ask you anything about it.

Peace reigns true for a few months. The morning routine is a nice change of pace compared to Nanami’s previous job. You’re able to spend more time together, even to the point of going grocery shopping or watching a movie with takeout on Friday nights.

Nanami relaxes only a little. Compared to office work, this is probably just as bad. First of all, he has to see Gojo almost every day and have him talk his ear off. Secondly, he returns to being the balance between life and death for civilians once more. It’s not a task he enjoys. However, he harbours that the thanks he receives and the lives he saves are a good enough exchange.

Years come and go, as do students of Jujutsu Tech. Nanami sees more dead sorcerers and exorcises more curses. You quietly type away at a laptop, filing their deaths and completing any tasks you’re given from the higher-ups. It seems that life has slowed down once more and you return to a monotonous pace.

You wonder if your relationship with Nanami will progress any further. It’s been close to nine years and yet… nothing has developed beyond living together or the odd weekend date. That’s not to say that you don’t love Nanami. You do, honestly. He treats you well and listens to your occasional nagging to put his stacks of books away, but you want something more. You crave the thought of getting married, to be lawfully his and maybe start a family. But, contrary to belief, Nanami isn’t opposed to it when you bring the topic up over dinner one night.

“Marriage?”

His chopsticks pick off a portion of grilled salmon and he brings it to his mouth with some rice. He chews, swallowing.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been together for so long, you know? So it kind of seems natural for us to do so.”

Your gut twists nervously. The steam from your miso soup rises silently in the air, wisps of white smeared out at the edges.

“Sure.”

“Huh?”

“Sure, let’s get married.” Nanami says.

You have to physically close your mouth and your eyes are widened in shock. Your heartbeat accelerates that much faster.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, were you serious when you asked me that question?”

Heat rises to your face.

“As you said, we’ve been together and living under the same roof for quite some time. Marriage seems like a plausible idea.”

“Then let’s-!”

“But I have one condition.”

Momentarily, your heart wavers. Nanami finishes the last drop of miso soup in his bowl and balances his chopsticks on top of the porcelain. As usual, his plate and bowls are scraped clean.

“I’ll only get married after I stop being a sorcerer.”

Your face twists in confusion as you try to understand where Nanami is coming from. You don’t get it — didn’t being a sorcerer mean that Nanami faced death everyday and that he should be taking advantage of what time he has left? But, of course, you don’t mean to curse him into an early grave like that. Except… Except that your face visibly falls and Nanami takes notice of it.

“I’d rather not have my life entangled with curses more than it should be. Once we both earn enough money and have a nice savings account, we can retire and go do whatever we want. Besides, I’ll invest. It’ll be more than enough.”

You remain silent and stare at your half-finished dinner. Nanami reaches over the table and takes your hand in his.

“Can you give me some more time, please?”

You don’t reply.

☆*: .｡.

“Did you hear about the new first years?”

“Mm. The one who died, right?”

“Gojo wants me to mentor him for a while.”

Nanami’s hands are positioned on the steering perfectly. His palms guide the car carefully through the steep roads that climb up to Jujutsu Tech. You flip through a checklist of things you need to do for the day.

“Will you be heading out of school?”

“Probably. There’s a scene I need to check out.”

“Stay safe, alright?”

“Of course. You too, don’t forget to have your lunch again.”

Nanami pulls into the parking lot of the school. Leaning over the clutch, he presses a kiss to your hairline. You gently peck his jaw.

“See you tonight. I might not be able to pick you up, so get Nitta to drive you.”

“See you, Ken.”

Nanami watches as you open the car door and step out. You turn back, giving him a wave and smile through the window. He returns the gesture. Once you’re out of sight, Nanami pulls out his phone as he sits in the car. He thumbs through his emails and his Adam’s apple bobs as soon as he sees the confirmation sent to him. A loose sigh worms its way out of his chest. He pushes the door open and steps out.

The rest of the day is spent teaching Itadori Yuuji about the sanctity of being young and simpleminded. Sorcery isn’t child’s play — especially when there are lives involved. He watches as Itadori’s face crumbles at the mention of the transfigured humans. He wants to comfort him, place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it isn’t his fault.

They have a quick debrief of the situation with Ijichi before parting ways. Nanami shoulders his burden once more, watching as the car pulls away in the direction of Yoshino’s home.

As night falls, Nitta drives you home. She’s chatty, serious about her job and does it well. You smile when she gushes about how lovely Nanami must be at home, and, oh! Do tell him to lighten up at work.

You thank her when she drops you off. As you walk through the lobby of your apartment complex, you make a routine stop by the mailboxes. Junk, bills and… a box? You flip it over to see who it’s addressed to; perhaps Nanami had ordered something online. However, your name is printed neatly across the label.

The first thing you do when you get home is to open the box. It’s small, probably not more than a hand’s breadth in length. Your pen knife slices through the tape cleanly and when you push aside the flaps, you spot two velvet boxes sitting in a mess of paper filler. Your fingers tremble when you pull one of them out and open it.

A silver ring sits in the furrow of a cushion with Nanami’s name on the inside. Your heart skips a beat and you reach into the cardboard to pull out the second ring box. This one is a little larger, with your name engraved on the interior side of the band. It must be Nanami’s, then.

It’s already well past 6p.m. as you dial his number with your lower lip between your teeth. You pace around the house, bouncing on the balls of your feet. What were these meant to be? Promise rings? Engagement rings? You hadn’t dared to slip the one with Nanami’s name engraved onto your finger just yet.

“Hello?”

Nanami’s breathing is laboured. Your heart falls and you stop in the middle of your living room, staring ahead at nothing.

“Ken? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… just a little hurt. It’s nothing serious.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve called Ijichi to pick me up, don’t-”

“So it is serious, then!” you cry out in horror.

“No, no. I said I’m fine. Look, did you receive the rings yet?”

“I did, but that’s not the point now. Are you safe?”

“I-”

You hear Nanami’s phone clatter to the ground and the thump of his body on the floor.

“Kento?” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply.

☆*: .｡.

You’re seated on the floor of your shared home, an oversized pajama shirt stolen from Nanami’s closet swallowing you. Sunlight pours in through an open window at two in the afternoon and the quiet hum of vehicles outside can be vaguely heard.

Clip, clip, clip.

One hand holds a nail clipper, while the other cradles Nanami’s fingers gently. The blond watches you absentmindedly while you trim his nails. He had insisted he was perfectly capable of doing them on his own, but the glare you gave him made Nanami sink back into the sofa.

He was hurt after a fight with Mahito — the wound on his side made him grimace whenever he stood up, and Nanami found himself relying on you more than he wished to. Thankfully, he had passed out from blood loss and pain but nothing too devastating had happened. That didn’t change how concerned you were about him, though. You try to forget how you had hailed a taxi just to rush back to Jujutsu Tech to see Nanami lying in the sickbay with a blood drenched shirt.

Nanami thinks it’s childish. When was the last time someone had clipped his nails for him? Was it his mother? A warm breeze wrings itself through the window. You run the pad of your finger over the cut edge, feeling for any sharp portions.

Nanami stares at the top of your head. Your fingers feel uncharacteristically soft against his own calloused ones — wielding a weapon in battle wore his palms down at the end of the day. He doesn’t particularly want to admit he likes it.

Nanami is a man of truth. He hates lying, and definitely doesn’t tolerate beating around the bush. But if he spoke as he thought, told you everything he felt about you as often as it came like the wind, how would you react? He clutches his heart in the aching hand of a budding teenager, the fears of facing a cruel world fresh in his mind.

Being a sorcerer means facing death on a daily basis, especially with the increase in curses with modern times. It doesn’t help that with both of you on the field, it means double the chances. Sorcerers never die without regrets.

Nanami wishes he could love you more, let you explore each crevice of his heart without fear of leaving you; being left behind one day. He doesn’t want to curse you if he dies. He doesn’t want to become a burden to you any more than he should be.

Clip, clip, clip.

“Is it too short?”

You glance up briefly at Nanami and brush the hair out of your eyes. He stares down at his fingers and feels them over with his thumb. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine.”

You nod and move on to his next hand. You’re systematical about it — trimming off most of the grown parts in three portions, then a couple tinier clips to finish the job off. A nail file sits on the ground beside you, the tiles of the floor cool against your bare legs.

“Hey, Ken?”

“Hmm?”

“I heard that there’s a new bakery opposite that popular department store. I was thinking of going to take a look later. Do you want me to get anything for you?”

“Nothing too sweet would be nice.”

“Okay.”

The living room falls back into a comfortable silence.

Clip, clip, clip.

☆*: .｡.

It takes a few more weeks before Nanami is cleared by Ieri to return to regular sorcery work. He tries to rest in the downtime he has, he really does — but the itch to get up and finish Mahito off has him restless.

At this, Gojo sends Nanami and you off to Hamamatsu on another curse investigation for a change of scenery. Gojo doesn’t want to admit it, but he had mumbled to you something about taking care of Nanami’s mental health. Maybe the beach would help? You told him he sounded like a doctor from the 20th century. You’re not one to refuse a free trip outside of Tokyo, though, so you and Nanami pack your luggage and troop off to Hamamatsu on the Shinkansen.

“Thank you.”

Nanami’s fingers curl around the ice cream cone handed to him, the sun scorching his back. It’s too hot for this; for anything, really. He makes a mental note to give Gojo a good stare of disapproval once he returns to school.

Why did the mission have to be on the warmest day of the year? With how the heatwave makes perspiration trickle down your back, though, the dangers of facing a possible special grade curse is the least of your worries right now.

“It’s so hot!”

You eagerly lap at the soft serve, savouring the cold, sweet treat. Nanami wanted to take a photo of the ice cream, but- oh well, you’ve begun eating, and the horrendous heat would have probably melted it before he found a good angle, anyways.

Protected by the shade of a shopping district, Nanami and you had agreed to find refuge for a few hours — the curse could wait till the sun began to set. Besides, it would be more likely to turn up after dark.

“How does yours taste, Ken?” you ask and peer over at his cone.

He had gotten a cookies and cream flavoured one, despite how you egged him on to try out the local eel flavour. Nanami was not going to ruin his taste buds just like that, thank you very much.

“It’s alright,” he says, licking traces of ice cream off of his lips. “Could do with a little more cookie.”

“Wanna try mine?”

You stick your cone into Nanami’s face. He’s greeted with your half-eaten soft serve, where your tongue has made a path of its own against the original swirl. He eyes you carefully and you offer the cone to him once more.

“That’s unhygienic.”

“Oh, come on, Ken! We’ve kissed before, sharing saliva on ice cream is nothing compared to that.”

Heat rushes to his face, though Nanami assumes a composed facade. He blames it on the weather without hesitation. Not wanting you to tease him anymore, he leans forward and nips a tiny portion of your ice cream off of the tip.

“Yummy, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

“Want to try mine too?”

The words leave his lips on reflex. Nanami wonders when he’s begun letting you try his food — when he used to be so adamant that no one could even touch its container or look in its direction (thanks to Gojo’s greedy fingers). You nod excitedly and lick off of a portion.

“It’s good!”

What was the first time he had said it to you? Over oden in the winter; over those disgustingly sweet slurpees you insisted on from 7 11? All those small moments that had built up culminated in Nanami’s affection and understanding towards you. The way in which you offer him a bite of your food without expecting anything in return; is that what love is like?

“You’ve got some ice cream on your face,” Nanami says.

You instinctively use your tongue and try to clean it off. “Did I get it?”

Nanami shakes his head. “It’s on this side,” he replies, pointing a spot on his own face.

You try again, to no avail. Nanami sighs.

“What would you do without me?” he asks monotonously, using the pad of his thumb to wipe it off.

You stand there, frozen for a second when he leans in. His promise ring is cold against your cheek.

“Kento?” you whisper.

Under the light of the shining sun, he presses his lips to yours, shielding you from warm rays and the glances of passersby with his back. You let out a muffled sound of surprise as you taste cookies and cream, your eyes fluttering shut instinctively.

Nanami isn’t a fan of public affection. God forbid Gojo see him kissing you, really. But as he leans back and watches your half-lidded eyes stare up at him, he asks himself if you’ve ever received his own sort of love in return.

A relationship’s all about give and take; but has he given as much as he should have? Has Nanami loved you in a way that matters? Life is a fleeting concept to all sorcerers. Should he die and leave you behind, Nanami wonders if he would pass without any regrets. Did he do enough when he tugged the covers over your shoulders when you fell asleep on the sofa, was there more he could have done even after buying you that watch you had eyeballed for the past few months?

There’s that sort of incompetence that curls up in his chest on sleepless nights, even with you tucked into his side. It makes his head spin and his heart fall into a bottomless pit. With all the eyes of juniors and students that look up to him, Nanami can’t help but wonder if he’s truly as good as everyone thinks he is. Being a sorcerer holds little problem. But what about a lover, a husband?

He couldn’t save Haibara, so how dare he think about…

“Kento,” you swallow. “Ken?”

Nanami snaps out of his daze. “Huh?”

“I dropped my ice cream,” you whisper.

He swivels his head and spots your cone face down on the sidewalk. His own cone drips down his hand, the melting liquid staining the sleeve of his suit. For once, Nanami’s mind runs blank.

“Kento? Are you okay?” you ask gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Mm?”

Nanami’s careful to avoid the pool of melting ice cream as he steps closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your breath hitches as his cologne invade your senses.

“I love you. Let’s get married.”

96 notes · View notes

starsstruck · 4 years

Text

cloudbusting; part five.

a classic coffee shop story. harry is a painter that quickly becomes a regular at his neighbourhood cafe, and it just might have something to do with a certain barista. cloudy mornings, gallery openings, and rooms full of paintings.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, mentions of anxiety words: 8.9k

series masterlist

art by holly warburton. (i have no vision for the mc of the fic, people in the images of paintings i use are purely because this is how i envision harry’s art to be)

a/n: i am so excited (and nervous) to share this chapter but she is here ! amazingly big thank you to tina @sunflowers-styles for beta-ing, you are the best ily💕 ! as always please share if you can, and let me know your thoughts, i love to here everything you have to say !!🍊💕 happy reading xoxo

The clouds that came in seemed to have doubled, growing bigger and darker as a cool wind came with them.

The change in weather was quick, summer seeming to slip right out from under you as fall settled into the air. Although, the change was welcomed. There was always something about the sun glowing in the sky while the air was cool. But this was not one of those fall days, no today was damp and misty and not at all pleasant.

That Saturday morning, there was a light rain when you woke up for the mid-shift that you had to cover since apparently your coworkers didn’t know how to give notice before deciding they couldn’t work.

“What time are you off?” Your brother asked, as you were taking a bite out of the jam covered toast you had made yourself before needing to run off to work.

“Three,” you called between bites.

“I can come meet you when you're off if you’d like,” he said, joining you in your kitchen. “Might bring in my laptop, get some work done.”

You nodded. “That sounds good,” taking a quick glance out the window, you faced him once more. “Hopefully it’ll be slow today considering the weather.”

“Fuck,” you muttered quickly, half a slice of toast in your hand as you caught a glance of the time from the clock on the oven. “I gotta go. I left you the key on the table if you want to head out and I’ll see you this afternoon!”

You called to your sibling who was behind you as you grabbed your jacket and bag from where you had left them on the couch. “Sorry again about this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, looking through your recently filled fridge. “I have some things to get done so it works out well.”

With a hurried goodbye, you were out the door and rushing down the street. You always left maybe a minute too late and ended up having to power-walk to work. The morning air was chilly and just wet, overall unpleasant and not doing much to up your mood.

You hadn’t slept well at all the night before.

You were unable to sleep after the hole you had dug for yourself from your Instagram deep dive, your mind not shutting up about everything that happened within the past two months – the past two months with Harry.

You were feeling this small twinge from the back of your mind, something that was getting louder and louder in your head. A small hint of a voice that you knew was your own, that was telling you that you should be afraid.

And after all the emotional exhaust from the previous day, you had to go make small talk with person after person which was something you just really weren’t looking forward to.

“What are you doing here?” Saya asked when she saw you turn in past the counter and into the back room to hang your coat and bag. You were happy to see that there weren’t a lot of patrons, and that Saya seemed relaxed with the morning so far.

“I’m covering for Noah,” you told her as you clocked in, not even aware of the way your eyes scanned over the work space to look for anything that needed to be done.

“Of course he’s off,” she muttered under her breath, herself having her own issues with being unable to say no when people asked her to cover for them. “Weren’t you supposed to have the week off?”

You nodded. “The whole week, yeah. Grace is going to cover one of my shifts so I’ll have an extra day off, which is nice. But my brother is visiting and I just –” you sighed, “don’t feel like being here.”

“I get that,” Saya shot you a smile as you made yourself a big hot latte. “It’ll be okay, I don’t think today will be that busy.”

And boy was she wrong.

Seemingly minutes after your conversation, a steady flow of clients came in. The steady flow turned into a rush, which again never seemed to end. You didn’t know why everyone was out and about, wanting coffee on this cloudy September morning, and why they couldn’t just be at home.

Saya, the angel she was, took the orders while you rushed through making drinks. It was arguably more stressful to be the one making drinks, but it also meant you didn’t have to talk to people as much. At ten-thirty, Aleena came in as well, and joined your side in making drinks so it became a bit more bearable.

Your brother had come in at the height of the rush, lucky to find a spot in the back to sit at and do whatever work he needed, as he drank the americano you’d made for him.

Luckily the noon lull came, as it often did, and you had a small moment to catch your breath and do some tidying up before it inevitably got busy again.

You walked around with the dish bin against your hip, and it quickly got heavier as you filled it with utensils people had neglected to bring back. A man then very rudely grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks to ask you where the washroom was and you were muttering under your breath in annoyance as you balanced the bin to pick up a stack of plates.

“Hey,” a voice that you hadn’t expected to hear, and one that you were trying to keep out of your head, was suddenly sounding next to you.

Head whipping up to where it came from, you pushed some of your hair out of the way after placing the plates along with the other dishes in the bin.

“Oh, um –” you said, a bit dumbly. “Hey.”

“Surprised to see you here again – I remember how you said you had a week off.” Harry said, standing tall and beautiful and everything you didn’t need to be reminded of right now.

“Covering again,” was all you said, avoiding his gaze. The dish bin in your hands felt like it was growing heavier and heavier, and provided you the perfect excuse to step away from the conversation.

“I got to um,” you lifted the bin in your hands, wordlessly telling him you needed to empty out the bin.

“Oh, of course,” he nodded with a tiny furrow in his brow that you didn’t have time to analyse as you kept your eyes on the small line up that had re-formed in front of the till.

You stepped past him, quickly disappearing behind the door of the back room, where the dishwasher sat ready to be loaded.

Just as you were stepping out after rinsing the dishes and loading the washer, you were heading out from the back room when someone stopped you again.

A call of your name made you jump slightly, a small ‘jesus’ leaving your mouth before you turned to see Harry slightly invading the employee space of the café as he tried to reach out to you.

“Sorry,” he spoke, after seeing your small bit of shock. “I wanted – are you alright?”

You hated yourself for the passive answer. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh I just,” he paused, a slight furrow between his brow. “You seemed stressed yesterday…”

You shook your head, teeth pinching the corner of your bottom lip. “I’m fine.”

Seeing his mouth part open to speak once more, you were quick to cut him off with a motion towards the register. “I should get back – busy day.”

And then you were off without sparing him a second glance. Your heart rose to a lump in your throat, a nauseated feeling taking over your stomach that you didn’t think was due to the coffee intake.

You rejoined Aleena by the espresso machine, and saw that she in fact was not busy and was just wiping off sparse grounds from the counter top, and cleaning out milk pots.

You helped her, cleaning out the already clean baskets again to occupy yourself as you knew from the corner of your eye that Harry had walked to the till to order something and that would mean his next stop would be counter by the espresso machine to pick up his drink.

Letting Aleena make the drinks, you bent down to rearrange the mugs that sat under the counter to occupy yourself. When you stood back up to your feet after completing the menial task, you stumbled back away from the counter lightly due to the small head rush, and to the fact that Harry was leaning forward across the counter, forearms lightly resting against it.

“Doesn’t look too busy.” Although his words seemed to have a small bite to them, his tone was light and maybe the punch wasn’t intentional.

“It was…” you stated weakly, eyes briefly flitting over his before looking back down again.

There was a small pause, one far too uncomfortable for you to deal with, especially with Aleena right next to you and other customers on the other side of the counter.

“Are you upset with me? He asked you directly, his words causing you to glance back up at him.

“No, I –” you paused, unsure of what to say and not wanting to say it here. Waving your hand in a motion for him to follow, you turned on your feet and headed to the space before the back room, where the floor of the café met the floor from behind the counter.

Harry followed you from the other side, meeting you where he had stopped you a mere couple minutes ago to talk – something that seemed like you couldn’t avoid at the moment.

“Are you okay?” He repeated the question from before, as you leaned your side against the wall, arms crossed over your chest.

“Yeah, I’m just a bit stressed I guess,” you said lamely, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves. “A lot going on.”

He slowly nodded, as if not convinced by your words. “Did you want to do something after your shift, blow off some steam and relax?”

Shaking your head no, eyes dropping away from his as you couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye anymore. “I can’t, my brother is with me for the weekend.”

You darted your eyes over to where your brother actually sat not far off, oblivious to the interaction unfolding near him with his eyes glued to his laptop.

“Right, sorry I forgot.” His voice was quiet, words being followed with another moment of silence that you wished to skip through, the only noise coming from other voices in the cafe and Comment te dire Adieu playing a bit too loudly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He probed for the third time, the frustration in his tone starting to seep through.

“I am,” you didn’t know if he caught the slight shake in your tone, the slight shake that completely contradicted the words to leave your mouth.

“It’s just,” you paused again, all words seeming to fall out of your head as you were unable to form a sentence. Either that, or you were holding back what was about to blurt from your mouth. “I think that –

He sighed your name. “You think what? Did you want me to leave, or something?”

“I – what do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you…” he ran his free hand over his forehead, pushing some hair out the way. With a little sigh, he glanced at you again. “You’re acting like you want nothing to do with me.”

The nausea was rising from your stomach to your throat.

“I think that um, maybe you should go.”

He didn’t move. “Where is this coming from?” There was a small crack in his tone, one that made your eyes shut for a moment too long as you willed yourself not to get visibly upset.

“I’m tired… I’m tired of being someone that people just pass through.”

You dared to cast a glance at his expression, seeing a deep pull in his brows and a frown on his lips. It hurt you more than you’d like to admit.

You liked him – probably more than you’d had liked anyone, but that was something that you couldn’t think too much about. You liked him a lot and you were so afraid that your first instinct was to run and hide. You knew very well that you were succumbing to your own insecurities, that you were picking and pulling at any loose thread that could be used as a valid reason for your fears.

“What are you saying?” He asked, frustration growing in his voice as he silently begged you to look up at him. “I don’t – I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I just – I’m tired Harry.” You sighed, worrying the inside of your mouth. “I’m tired of being hurt…”

Voice not sounding like your own, you spoke words that were about to bring tears to your eyes. “I think you should go.”

You saw his expression twist in every which way, but he only shot you a curt nod before turning on his feet and walking away from you just as you’d suggested. It was the last thing you had wanted to see, but at the moment, at work, you couldn’t deal with anything more than that.

Taking a brief moment, you begged yourself not to start crying for the thousandth time. You made sure not to watch him leave, knowing that it would only hurt you more. Instead you watched his figure walk through the door from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn a quick corner and disappearing you’re your sight. You had no idea when you would see him again.

Wordlessly joining Aleena, you picked up one of the order slips and read over the list of three personalized drinks. Hands moving on muscle memory alone, you cleaned out espresso filled baskets and pulled two shots to start preparing the drinks.

You let your mind wander just the slightest as you steamed milk, thinking about the way you had just completely sabotaged yourself. You knew you had your own reasons for it, as crazy as they may seem.

The slight screeching sound of the milk growing too hot brought your attention back to your task. You watched as the milk was just about to bubble out of the jug, quickly twisting the dial on the steam wand to turn it off. You poured the milk as you always did into the to-go cup, with a nice little rosetta for the customer with the medium latte, before you repeated the same action over and over, making drink after drink.

You also knew that any fear you had over Harry’s ex was probably overly thought of, something that you shouldn’t be thinking about, but you just couldn’t help it. The self-deprecating part of you just didn’t see Harry wanting you to be that person to him, as much as you maybe wanted to.

So you continued to steam milk, working in perfect unison with Aleena as the workflow picked up again

Your shift continued as it always did, with nothing out of the ordinary, and soon three o’clock was rolling in and you were free to leave and do all the wallowing you could ever want to do from the peace and calm of your own room. You left along with your brother, who said he had gotten all the work that needed to be accomplished just in time.

You walked in silence side-by-side down the street, with a tea in hand from work to warm you up and your brother with another coffee. The sky was swirling with dark greys and blues, the smell of rain high in the air as if a downpour was ready to come at any moment.

“Who was that, earlier on?” Your brother asked, after a moment.

You held in a breath. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to, in the cafe. You looked upset.”

“He’s just,” you paused. “A friend. Or we were friends, I don’t know.” You muttered, your eyes stuck on the ground as the both of you walked together.

Your brother was quiet for a second from next to you, and you thought that you had been vague enough for him to drop the subject, but no such luck. “Did you guys date?”

Pausing, again you weren’t sure how to answer. “Not really.”

Looking at your sibling next to you, you saw him watching you with a little furrow between his brows. “What do you mean, not really?”

“Like,” you sighed. “Kind of, I don’t know. We had… a thing but never really went out I guess. Either way, I think it’s over.”

“You looked upset,” he repeated, as you turned onto the steps to your apartment and searched for your keys. “Did he say something, or…?”

You shot your brother a glance, nearly smiling as you shook your head. “No, it just…” you trailed off. You kind of wished you could tell him more, but also didn’t know what to say.

You opened the door to the building, letting the two of you in before walking up the flight of stairs together to your floor.

“You can talk to me, you know.” His words caught you slightly by surprise. You wanted to be able to talk about it with him, you wanted to be someone who could talk about anything they wanted with the people that were close in their lives.

Remaining silent the rest of the way up the stairs, neither of you spoke until your apartment door shut behind you.

“I kind of fucked everything up,” you sighed, words falling free from your mouth. Your brother put down his bag on the shelf by the door, watching you as he kicked off his shoes.

“I felt – I don’t know,” you repeated the three words for the thousandth time. “Today I think I completely pushed him away.”

Your brother was quiet, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Is that what you wanted?”

“I mean,” you sighed. “No. I don’t know, maybe. The thing is, he didn’t do anything wrong, not really. And I know that, and I feel dumb for it but I just –”

You cut yourself off, hearing the small shake in your voice. You knew if you kept speaking that tears would start to fall from your eyes, always being an angry and frustrated crier.

“But now I probably fucked that up for good. It was nothing serious to begin with so I’m sure I only scared him off.”

Your brother cleared his throat, unmoving as he spoke softly. “You don’t know that.”

“I guess,” you sighed, grabbing a glass from the cupboard for some water.

“I always do this,” this time, a few tears fell past your eyes as you couldn’t do anything to hold them in anymore. “I always said I needed to be more selfish in life and let things come my way but I – I guess I was selfish because I did what I did for no reason other than protecting myself.”

“Protecting yourself?”

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, slightly tilting your head back as if to blink back in the tears that were freely falling.

“I do the hurting before I can get hurt, you know?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that the rest of the tears inside your eyes would fall and you’d be done, but it didn’t seem to work quite like that. You opened them when you felt his hand on your shoulder, wrapping you in for a small side hug.

“You,” he sighed. The two of you had never been that affectionate with each other, it was something you were not used to. “You deserve more than that.”

You think that it is one of the nicest things he has ever said to you.

“I always fucking do this, you know? I don’t know why; I don’t even notice I do it until after.”

You were on a roll, now freely crying and letting everything you wanted to say fall from your mouth. “I can’t – I feel so stuck. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of everything.”

“I just can’t let myself be happy for some reason.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder. “You deserve to be happy, too.”

The two of you were quiet as you cried. Letting the tears fall down your face, chest shaking with small heaves as you let everything out.

After a moment, he asked you. “You really like him, huh?”

“What?” Your voice cracked lightly, breathing evening out as you wiped away the wet streaks on your skin.

“The guy, at your work. I don’t think you’ve ever told me about anyone you’ve dated.”

“I have too,” you muttered lightly, although you knew he was right. You had mentioned names in passing, only of the few more serious relationships you were in. Even then, the details were very sparse.

“But seriously,” he continued. “It’s okay to let yourself be vulnerable. Sometimes that’s all you can really do.”

You let him wrap you in a true hug, something you don’t think you’d done with your brother since you were young.

“Do you want to order in? It looks like the rain finally started,” he spoke after pulling away. “We can eat, watch a movie.”

You nodded, the idea of food sounding like the best thing in the world right now. “That sounds good, yeah.”

“You choose what we watch,” he nodded to you, grabbing his phone from the counter, presumably to order whatever kind of food he had in mind.

Wordlessly walking over to your couch, opening up your Netflix as you mindlessly scrolled. You weren’t really paying close attention to the titles, mind still stuck on the little breakdown you had just had.

“What was the French movie you always used to watch when you were sad? I don’t mind watching that if you want.” You head your brother call from the kitchen.

“Oh,” you hummed, nodding at the perfect suggestion. Already knowing that Netflix had Amelie, you quickly found it and had it ready to play.

“It’s a happy one, right?” Your brother spoke, as he sat next to you on the couch while you watched the rain hit the window and pulled a thick blanket over your legs.

“Kind of,” you nodded. “It is a nice ending, but it’s a kind of happy-sad movie, you know?”

“Did you not want to watch it, then?”

“No, no I do,” you offered him a small smile. “I like to watch it when I feel lonely, or upset. Plus, I almost like that happy-sad feeling, it feels just more realistic.”

There was something about it, about your self-induced melancholy. There was still something that felt right, about sitting under a heavy blanket after your wallowing, the only noise around you coming from the rain against the window and the opening notes of Yann Tiersen’s soundtrack playing.

There was something so calming and comforting about the music coming from the TV, a soundtrack you knew maybe too well considering the amount of times you had seen the movie, on top of how often you simply listened to the soundtrack itself on its own.

But a little comfort was just something you needed right now.

You had your little days of comfort, wallowing, lounging, and relaxing. Your time with your brother ended up being surprisingly pleasant, and you two left off on a good note.

You still had three more days off until you had to go back to work, Grace was coming in and covering one of your shifts since you had picked up those extra ones when no one else could.

You spent those days relaxing, getting dinner with Mae and some other friends, running errands, and cleaning out your entire apartment. The weather never changed, the rain pouring the entire time, something that you for now were enjoying because it made you feel okay for lounging at home.

But now you powered down the street as you were about to be late, with your umbrella swaying in the wind and your off-white sneakers splashing in the puddles. You felt the relaxation of your week off slipping away and a small pit of anxiety settle in.

It wasn’t about going to work that stressed you out so much, it was about the possibility of seeing someone who you usually seemed to see at the café.

Once you pushed past the heavy front door, you immediately were looking around at every table to see if you could spot the familiar figure of curly hair as he hunched over the table, twirling pencils between his fingers.

But he wasn’t there, and that table where he usually sat in the back was occupied by a middle-aged woman sipping a latte and speaking loudly on the phone.

He wasn’t there when you were steaming milk and someone was asking you about who had painted the paintings that were hanging on the walls, and he wasn’t there when you had to close alone.

The following day was the same, as well as the weekend, and the next week.

That particular Monday morning you thought you might see him, a shift where he never failed to come in even if he couldn’t sit and stay.

But the only familiar faces were those of older regulars who talked to you about the changing weather and the week of rain that was happening.

That week slipped by, just as the other had. It had been two weeks since you’d had your little breakdown, and since you’d indulged in your self-sabotaging streak. You really knew that it was the wrong thing to do, but just like everything else, you knew that this would pass.

When you really thought about it, he was just listening to you. You had basically told him to leave you alone and that was what he was doing.

But when it had been over two weeks since you’d seen him, you realized you might have had the slightest tinge of heartache.

Just as you would always do, you pushed that feeling away. Telling yourself to forget about it and move on, and that would be that. A thing of the past, a future memory.

Though things had a funny way of working out, apparently it was in store for you to see Harry again.

Nearly halfway through September, the air fresher and more crisp, another thing about the changing weather had you pleased that you could layer on a big sweater but didn’t need a thick coat.

That Monday, you were coming in for the afternoon shift, distracted by attempting to close your soaking wet umbrella when the door of the coffee shop swung open and nearly smacked you in the face.

Taking a stumbling step back in shock, the umbrella in your hand still opened with the rain hitting the top of your head because, of course, the light-knit jacket you were wearing didn’t have a hood.

“Sorry,” deep voice muttering over the sound of cars driving on the wet road, a taller figure appearing from where the door had opened. “You alright – oh –”

Head turning at the far too familiar voice, looking up to be stared down by those clear green eyes.

Fuck.

He had a big coat on just as you did, a hair seeming a bit wet as well and sticking to the skin on the side of his face. There was a little 4 oz cup in his hand, looking so much smaller than it usually did, eclipsed by the size of his hand.

Fuck.

The two of you must’ve looked a bit ridiculous, both with wide eyes and mouths agape, stuck in the doorway of a café with rain hitting the tops of your heads. But you couldn’t move, and you couldn’t walk away, and you wished that the rain would form a current and swiftly wash you away.

“Sorry,” you eventually blurted, gaining a confused look from Harry.

He had the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, fingertips tapping against the little cup in his hands. Part of you hoped he felt as nervous as you did, but part of you also knew he was probably upset with you and wanted nothing to do with you.

“Have nothing to be sorry for…” he eventually said, words trailing off as if he wanted to say more.

Your eyes shot through the glass window of the coffee shop, knowing you were now officially late for your shift and that maybe someone would run out and tell you that you absolutely had to get to work, but again, no such luck. You could see Aleena yawning through the coffee shop opening.

Again, there was that pit of anxiety, the one that twisted your stomach and made your legs feel numb, as if you couldn’t stand straight but couldn’t move either.

“I didn’t think you were working today,” his words pulled you from your thoughts. “I uh, didn’t see you this morning and thought –”

He cut himself off, stumbling over his words, his gaze flicking away from yours. You didn’t even know what to respond, hoping that anything could get you out of this awkward encounter.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, just as you had.

You shook your head, biting your lips together. He had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

“You –” again stopping yourself, not knowing how to say what you wanted to say. “I need to get to work…” you said instead, a small point to the door of the café that was still slightly propped open.

“Right – of course,” he took a wide step out of the way, allowing you space to walk out from the rain and to hold the door open for yourself. “Have a good shift.”

You only sent him a tight smile and a little nod, unsure of what else to say.

Not looking back, you quickly walked across the floor of the café with small squeaks coming from your wet shoes. “Oh my god,” muttered under your breath, feeling yourself heat up and grow uncomfortable under the layers you were wearing.

That entire interaction was so completely embarrassing and awkward, and nothing you wanted to ever happen.

You gave yourself a moment in the back room, hanging up your bag and coat, setting your dripping umbrella on the ground. The door pushed open slightly, Aleena’s voice speaking through the wood. “You okay?”

“Hey,” you opened the door all the way for her, hands running over your dampened hair, you sure looked a bit messy. Aleena watched you quietly for a second, as you smoothed your hands over your pants. “I’m assuming you saw that,” you said to your colleague after a moment.

“I did…” she trailed off. She knew more or less everything that had happened between the both of you, and you had no idea that he still came in and seemingly on purpose when you were not working.

You didn’t want to ask, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking -- even though that was ridiculous and he wouldn’t possibly know that you were asking about him, but you couldn’t help it. “Does he come in a lot?”

“No,” she shook her head. “First and only time I saw him was today.”

Only nodding, you grabbed your phone from the table and slid it into the back pocket of your pants. The two of you headed out of the back room, you went to clock in and Aleena stood by your side to take the order of a customer.

You followed her to the espresso machine after the order was taken, pulling a shot to make yourself a drink as well.

“He asked about you, you know,” your coworker spoke as you were watching the steady pour of espresso as she was steaming some milk. “He said he thought he’d see you when he came in – which I guess he did.”

Your ears buzzed with her words, but you let the heat in your spine settle as you remembered the reality of the situation. “Didn’t really seem like he wanted to see me.”

Aleena only shook her head, tapping the milk pot on the counter before taking a second to slowly pour it into the mug that already had espresso in it. Once she made a nice big heart with the white foam of the milk, she placed the mug down on the counter and called out the drink before facing you once more.

She looped a finger through the belt loop on your jeans, tugging you towards her tightly. “Babe you’re too hard on yourself,” she spoke as she shook you by the jeans. “He asked about you, asked why you weren’t working this morning.”

You ignored the nervous twist in your stomach at her words, and the heat that rushed to your neck. Although really, you needed to remind yourself that you should remain grounded to reality.

And that seemed to be it, for the moment at least. You had told yourself that you’d made your peace with it, although you knew that really wasn’t true, and so things continued as they always did.

But things had a way of finding the person they were intended for, and on a chilly Saturday afternoon a few days later, it was like a sign had landed right in your lap.

The day was slow, the colder weather usually slowing down clientele for a little while at least a little while. With a lull, you did as you always would and started some cleaning around the café. Wiping down tables, looking for dishes, sweeping up big messes that usually wouldn’t have to be dealt with later on in the day.

Your eyes sweeping over the side of the café, glancing at every table for any forgotten dishes or spilt drinks. Only seeing a few empty mugs left on a table in back, you walked the short distance needed to grab them and wipe over the wooden table with a dampened rag, just as something on the community bulletin board caught your eye when you casually glanced over it.

Two sheets of paper side by side, both the same, were screaming your name.

Metaphorically, of course.

They were posters made to promote an event; the name of the gallery written on top being one you were funnily enough familiar with. But that wasn’t what drew your attention in.

The design of the poster itself was minimal, the only image was front and centre. Image of a painting, one that was bright and cheery and screamed various shades of orange and yellow with a few streaks and splash of blue and green

It was the café.

“Oh my god …” muttering under your breath, you snatched one of the posters off the board as your eyes scanned over the page.

The name of the show was written over top in big bold letters, One Last Time Before You Go, with only one name written beneath it, one name you didn’t even need to read in order to know it was him. With Harry Styles, opening Tuesday September 22nd.

Forgetting the dishes you had been about to pick up, you brought your rag and the paper back to your colleagues.

“Do you know when this was brought in?”

It had to have been yesterday, it was the only day you were off. Noah had no answer for you, saying he hadn’t seen it until now. Aleena, however, had a much different answer for you.

“Oh, shoot sorry babe. I almost forgot,” she grabbed the paper from your hands as Noah went to take an order.

“Forgot what?”

You felt faint, your head was spinning. Why did he put these up here? When did he put these up? Does he come in more often when you're not working, has he asked about you more than that one time Aleena had mentioned?

“I think you know who put these up,” she clicked her tongue, flipping the page over to glance at the backside. “Wrong one…” she muttered.

“What? What do you mean wrong one?” You were babbling, questions flying out of your mouth.

She only smiled, weaving her way around you and until she was leaving from behind the counter and walking back to the bulletin board in the back where you had found it in the first place. You followed, watching her grab the identical one from the board and pin back up the one you had grabbed.

Handing it to you, she nodded her head at it. “He came in yesterday, told me to make sure you saw it. He also left a little something for you on the back.”

You glanced down at the paper in your hands, flipping it around and seeing she was right. On the back was written a note addressed to you in blocky red writing.

“I think you’d enjoy this show, and I’d love for you to be there. Hope to see you, Harry.”

Signed with a little scribbled in red heart and everything.

“Oh my god” you mumbled again, reading and rereading the note again and again.

You forgot you were still standing with Aleena. “You’re going to go, right?”

“What?” Raising your head at the sound of her voice, you saw her watching you with a smile playing on her lips. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll go with you, come on.” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“I think I close,” you stated, very weakly. The opening started at eight, and went until eleven, just like the other one. Even if you were closing, which you realized you weren’t, you would have plenty of time to go.

“No, you don’t,” she stated. “You open and I’m mid-shift. I’ll go with you, c’mon!”

You smiled at her. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I’ll come to your place that night, and then we’ll go together, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded slowly.

“Good.”

Three days. For three whole days it was all you could think about.

You knew you had made a bit of a mistake; you really knew that right away – as soon as you had pushed him away.

You wondered how he’d talk to you, if he’d even want to. You wondered if it would be like when you’d run into him briefly outside of the café, if it was going to be awkward and tense with nothing good to come out of it. You knew that technically he had invited you, technically. But still, you really didn’t know if any good could come of it.

Maybe Rory would be there too – tall and gorgeous and literally looking down on you – but also maybe you were just slightly spiralling.

When Tuesday finally arrived, you were practically buzzing, and it wasn’t from the amount of caffeine you had had in the morning.

You took a nap after your opening shift, showering just before Aleena came over. She brought a bottle of wine, immediately opening it and telling you to pour yourself a glass while you got ready.

The weather was still warm enough outside, but there was a brisk fall breeze in the air. Deciding to layer up just a bit since it was also dark out earlier, you pulled a chunky knit cardigan over your patterned orange dress.

After both sharing and finishing off the bottle of wine, you grabbed your beaded purse and headed out the door. You felt as though the wine had helped, but you were still bouncing with nerves. Aleena was chatting your ear off about the car her husband wanted to buy that she thought was too expensive, her story distracting you from your anxious state.

The two of you got to the gallery just before nine o’clock, purposely a bit late.

It was the same energy as the last time you were there, again a man in a red blazer stamping your hand at the entrance right after walking through the double glass doors. Aleena stuck by your side, now done with her story and telling you that you would be okay.

The first painting you saw was directly in the middle. The gallery seemed to be arranged differently than it was before, and although you knew they couldn’t have moved an entire wall, for some reason everything felt more enclosed, more tightly hugged together.

The first painting was the same as the one from the poster, except this time it was in its full size and glory and completely took your breath away. Now as you saw it larger, it was one hundred percent clear to you that it was the café Harry had painted.

“Wow,” Aleena mumbled from next to you, eyes also trained forward. The two of you slowly walked further into the space of the gallery, away from the door and towards that first painting.

It had to be at least seven feet tall, and nearly just as wide. It was all oranges and yellows, with a few streaks of blue. There were also some loosely painted figures of people in front of the shop, all vague and loose but you still wanted to know who he was basing them off of.

After spending another minute or so in front of the painting, you read the small white card that was placed next to it.

Harry Styles And I could sit here for hours. And I did. Oil on canvas, 2020

You read over the words again and again.

If you thought that was breathtaking, you were absolutely not prepared for what was to come.

As you let your eyes wander around the rest of the space, you felt like your heart was a brick in your chest, sinking through your body until it shattered on the floor to your feet.

The gallery was filled with warm hues of orange and blue.

Paintings of hands touching, heads resting on shoulders, arms wrapped around each other. Paintings of what you recognized to be the café, paintings of shared fruits, paintings of your favourite colours and your favourite places in the city.

You felt so overwhelmed and you didn’t know where to start.

Finding it in yourself to move your feet, you walked towards the nearest wall away from the entrance. From the corner of your eye you had seen a smaller piece, one that was drawing in your attention. It was slightly tucked away near two bigger paintings, but your eyes remained stuck on this particular one.

The blue was so strongly familiar, like the wave of the ocean encompassing your entire body and pulling you away with it. You realized, as you squinted slightly at the smaller canvas, just why it was calling out to you.

“You keep it,” you shook your head as Harry tried to convince you to take the barely started painting with you home.

“Are you sure?” He watched as you swung your bag over your shoulder, having slipped the light cardigan you had brought in case it got cold.

You nodded. “I couldn’t do much with it, I don’t even have paint at home.”

“Okay,” he slowly nodded, eyes falling to the ground as he placed the small canvas on the table next to him. “Guess I will need something to remember this day by.”

You only laughed, watching the way his eyes glowed with his joke, before dipping your head down and hid your smile as you slipped on your shoes. You wanted to brush off his little comment, but really it made your stomach twist with the possibility that he did really want to remember every moment of his time with you.

The feeling of his hands gripping your thighs barely an hour ago was still burned into your skin, and you were sure to find a few more streaks of paint along yours legs that a part of you was excited to see.

“Let me walk you home,” his words took you slightly off guard, not expecting the offer.

“Oh,” you stood up after tying the laces on your sneakers, “you don’t have to, I’ll be f –”

“I want to,” he cut you off, as you faced him. “And it’s late out and …” he paused, biting his lips together, “and I want to.”

“Okay,” you smile, wanting him to walk with you too. “That would be nice.”

He grabbed a lightweight black jacket that was sitting on the shelf by the door, slipping his arms through it as he held his front door open for you.

The two of you walked side by side, down the emptying street as the moon rose in the sky and the air cooled down. You discussed your day off, and what you had going on with some friends that you hadn’t seen in a while. He told you about how he had promised his friend to help him move, a feat that no one enjoyed.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that painting I started?” You asked, as your feet came to a stop in front of the stairs that led to your building.

“Hmm,” he raised his head slightly, as if thinking deeply about his answer. One of his hands rested at his side, while the other slipped around your back until he was hugging you from the side. “Think I’ll hang it above my bed.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling his hand pinch your hip. Shoving him with your elbow lightly, as if to try and push him away, but he quickly tightened his grip around you and pulled you into his chest instead.

Only laughing again, chest shaking against his and you felt his other hand wrap around you and keep you locked in close. You instinctively raised a hand to his neck, fingertips toying with the strands of hair that poked out above the collar of his jacket, while your other hand rested on his shoulder.

He kept his gaze locked with yours, smile in his features and on his lips as he mirrored your laugh. You only stared up at him, feeling like the two of you were the only ones standing on the street, like the only ones in the city.

You saw his smile die down a bit, before his lips parted slightly. You knew you were staring at his mouth, and when you finally looked back into his eyes you saw him staring at yours as well.

“Do you think things happen for a reason?”

He spoke lowly, his eyes meeting yours again. You felt as though his words carried the weight of the world, but his tone was light as he peered down at you.

“I don’t know…” you shook your head, unable to think. “Why?”

Harry only hummed, remaining quiet as he kept you pressed tight against his chest. “Do you?” You asked after a second, throat feeling dry.

His head dipped down the slightest bit, his nose nearly brushing yours. You let your eyelids close lightly, feeling his lips nudge yours as he spoke again. “Could be,” he hummed, the words pressed as kisses on your mouth.

You couldn’t remember what he was even responding to.

His lips pressed lightly with yours, a sweet kiss of opening mouths and whispers of names. His hands around your back held you tight, as he let out a shaky little sigh against your mouth.

Pulling away for a second, he murmured softly from across you.

“I think I’m starting to have a pretty good idea of what to do with that painting.”

It was the painting. He had added some details over what you had started, more than some. There was nearly an entire figure added, but it was the painting.

The one you had started with him the first time the two of you truly purposely hung out outside of the café, the second time he had kissed you. The painting you didn’t get the chance to finish because he had laid you down on the floor with his head between your thighs and his name on your lips.

Slowly walking towards it, you let your eyes scan over every stroke of the brush.

The figure on the canvas – you knew it was you. Lying there on the floor, only painted from the chest up. Your dress was blending in with the background, one arm bent with your hand resting just above your head. Face turned to the side, you had your eyes shut and your bottom lip between your teeth, though still a hint of a smile on your face.

Orange and pink highlights over your cheeks and under your jaw, lighting up your entire face as the rest of the painting was more gestural and less defined.

To anyone who looked at it, you were sure it must look like someone lying in the sun, perfectly content. You had absolutely no idea how he had captured your likeness. It was done in an extremely realistic manner, but it was you.

You glanced at the white card next to it, breath stopping in your throat when you read over it.

What did my fingers do, before they held you? Acrylic on canvas, 2020

Over the title, just as every other card in the gallery was his name. But with this particular painting, there was a little “, and” following his name, where yours was written.

You were in awe. Technically, the two of you had both put paint onto this canvas but for him to credit you?

Stuck in front of the painting for who knows how long, you had multiple people come and pass you as you stood there. It was when a familiar voice broke you out of your daze, that you finally turned around.

“It’s my favourite piece too.”

Your stomach twisted into a big huge knot. When your eyes fell to him, you felt like you had forgotten your own name.

He looked so handsome, and maybe even nervous with the way his hands were fidgeting with each other. He had a bright yellow sweater on, collar of a shirt underneath peaking through, with some light grey trousers and a longer black jacket over everything.

His hair was falling perfectly in soft curls around his face, that sweet little smile on his lips as he met your gaze.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come…” he spoke softly, fingertips rubbing over the skin of his bottom lip.

You were sure you looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes widened as you looked at him and failing to come up with anything to say.

“I was worried you wouldn’t even see that poster I put up,” he continued, after you didn’t say anything. “And that you wouldn’t have seen the note I left.”

“Aleena,” you finally spoke, voice quiet as you turned around for a second and waved your arm around to the general space behind you to motion to wherever Aleena stood. “She showed me.”

“Good, good,” he nodded, hands clasped together as your eyes met again. “That’s good.”

A small silence hung in the air, and you wanted to sink into the ground. “I actually saw the poster first,” you blurted in a quick breath, a small sigh leaving your parted lips as you paused. “I recognized your art.”

You saw a smile dance over his features, calming you down the slightest bit. “Really?”

Nodding, you couldn’t help the way your eyes darted over his features again. “Really.”

A pause in conversation again, the two of you stood facing each other, both unsure of what to say or do. “Harry I –”

You cut yourself off, just as he started to speak. “What do you –”

Another little silence hung in the air, before you cleared your throat and spoke again. “The show – it’s really…”

Again, you found yourself unable to properly finish a sentence.

Harry rocked forward on his feet slightly, a little furrow in his brow as he watched you attentively. “Do you like it?”

“It’s so,” you glanced around, completely at a loss for words. “Harry it’s so – it’s beautiful.”

His features relaxed. “Yeah?”

You nodded, feeling your nerves calm down. “Yeah. I don’t even know how you did all this,” your words trailing off as you glanced around once more. “I mean, its all…”

“You. It’s all you.”

You didn’t think you had ever heard him speak so surely about anything. Your heart twisted and jumped in your chest, pounding so heavily that you could barely focus on your breathing.

“Harry –” your voice shook, unable to finish your sentence once more as you didn’t even know what to say and you didn’t think you could properly control your voice at the moment.

He shook his head, lips pulling a bit higher in a smile, although you could still see the way his teeth anxiously pulled at his bottom lip. “Have a look around,” he spoke softly. “We can talk after?”

You nodded lightly. You didn’t deserve him.

“After.”

#i am nervous and excited !! please do come tell me what you thought !!!🥰#🥺 i hope everyone enjoyed #cb #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry syles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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teawaffles · 3 years

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The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 5

Returning our view from where the two girls began to rekindle their beautiful friendship to the site of the flag once again, a fierce battle was still raging on.

Just moments earlier, the blue team had been at a numerical disadvantage. But with their allies having received their communications and returned, the battle could now tilt either way…… No, they currently had the momentum to push the enemy back just a little.

“Alright, we’re totally forcing them back here!”

“If we can get through this fight, there’ll only be a handful of them left. We just have to hold out a bit longer.”

The nobles had spotted a chance of victory, and they could even afford to smile now. But as they verified their opponents’ positions from within a thicket, from behind a tree on the opposite side, a mysterious object was lobbed in their direction.

“What’s that?”

One noble had noticed the item sailing towards them — a bulging leather pouch. But its opening wasn’t fully shut, and as the blue team members stood rooted to the ground, the contents of the pouch spilled out onto them from above.

Out the bag poured a vast quantity of dummy bullets.

“H-Huhhhhhhh!?”

Stunned, the men shrieked as the rain of bullets pelted them without mercy. Of course, in the blink of an eye, most of them had been covered with paint.

One of the noblemen touched the paint on his clothes with a finger as he spoke in a daze.

“Is this, really possible?”

It seemed that doubt had surfaced in the others’ minds as well, for those who’d been paint-bombed simply stood where they were, their confusion plain as day. And as they did so, in the distance, a figure watched them from behind a tree.

“Sorry about that. Still, this is a great tactic.”

——As James Bond murmured that, he chuckled.

Needless to say, the one who had delivered that hefty blow on the blue team was Bond. At a spot far removed from the crossfire, he’d quietly made his preparations alone, and lain in wait for the chance to pull off this stunt.

Using bullets in this manner, when they were meant to be shot from a gun, could potentially invite controversy; but Herder had said, “If you get paint on any part of your body, you are out” — and not “if you are struck by a bullet fired from a gun”. In other words, if one adhered to the rules as explained, it could be said that this tactic of raining huge quantities of mock bullets on the enemy was legitimate.

Although they’d been suspicious at first, after a moment, the nobles looked at one another and laughed.

“That was an interesting attack for sure, but now…… what’ll we do? Should we call the referee and seek a decision?”

“Nah, we were completely done in — it’s our loss. Let’s bow out with grace.”

Far from leaving them frustrated, the innovativeness of that idea had felt refreshing; even as they harboured twinges of regret, the men obediently left the battlefield.

The red team members glanced at one another, as if wondering why their opponents were leaving the battlefield: it seemed Bond’s unconventional attack had surprised even his own allies.

Gazing at their puzzled faces with delight, Bond began to head for the apparent location of the opposing team’s flag. There was no rule that a certain person had to capture it, so he wanted to settle things himself if he could. With the blue team’s forces severely depleted, as long as they eliminated the remaining few members, they should be able to steal the flag with ease.

But the instant he saw the path to victory, from the direction of his own allies came a familiar voice.

“O—i, everyone. I’ve taken the flag. The game’s over now.”

That was absolutely impossible. A chill ran down his spine.

The voice announcing their victory—— was his own.

“Huh? We’ve already gotten the flag?”

“That was quicker than I thought.”

Naturally, since they thought the game was over, his allies had let down their guard. Bond shouted to them as fast as he could.

“No! That’s not me!”

But the warning came a second too late. Before his voice could reach them, several gunshots could be heard coming from their direction.

“……They’re done for.”

Bond bit his lower lip as he headed for his allies. There, a group of men stood in a daze, their clothes stained with paint. It seemed they had fallen into a spectacularly executed trap.

The number of players eliminated here was comparable to what Bond himself had taken out earlier. Once again, the balance of the battle had been restored, and his shoulders sank — but then he heard the rustle of leaves from a thicket behind him.

Sensing danger, Bonds dived swiftly into the nearby bushes. That instant, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a certain colleague’s young face.

Bond smiled as he raised his gun.

“You said you weren’t the type to get passionate, but that was a pretty nasty trick you pulled there ——Fred-kun.”

“That’s because I can’t let the team Mr William is on be defeated.”

Fred Porlock responded in a flat voice.

“Bond’s” voice from earlier had been a product of Fred’s mimicry. He’d led his opponents to mistakenly believe that the blue team’s flag had been captured, then took advantage of their lowered guard to inflict a massive blow.

“Hmm, so you’re determined to win too. Speaking of which, you’re rather passionate for someone who’s stone-faced.”

He purposely slung those provocative words over, and from the other side of the thicket, Fred’s retort sailed back.

“Perhaps — but getting too passionate only impedes my work. For me, an ironclad rule is to remain calm at all times.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true. It’s precisely this important work which requires a passion that’s second to none.”

“In that case, shall we prove who’s right?”

Fred’s unusually provoking comment had a somewhat joyful ring to it.

Bond chuckled.

“I knew you were a passionate man.”

With that single line uttered with joy as the catalyst, Bond leaned out of the vegetation and raised his gun. It seemed Fred had the same idea, for both of them were now pointing their revolvers at each other. But this was no time for indecision. Both men pulled the trigger, then took evasive action. The bullets passed through the exact spots they’d been a moment earlier, and they each hid behind a tree at the same time once more.

That thrilling battle lasted only a moment. Then, Bond called out with a childlike innocence.

“Aah, what a shame: I’ve been hit. Look, here’s the paint stain.”

“I’m not getting fooled by that — you completely dodged the shot.”

Fred had instantly seen through his deception. But even after his true intentions had been read like a book, Bond seemed to be enjoying himself, and he made to step out in preparation for his next move.

——Then, as if in response to that action, Fred raised his voice.

“Mr William, we can carry out a pincer attack now.”

“……What?”

That shocking line sent Bond looking around the area in suspicion. Then, as Fred had said, he saw William standing behind him.

“Hey Bond. How’s it going?”

“W— Will-kun!?”

For a split second, Bond panicked. He’d been trying to keep an eye out for William’s movements, but then the man showed himself just when he’d been focusing on Fred — this was the worst possible situation he could’ve found himself in. Bond knew he still had a few teammates left, but could it be that William had wiped them all out without making a sound?

In any case, it was a fact that his most formidable enemy had crept up behind him. Bond switched gears: in a flash, he took aim at William.

But far from defending himself, the man simply shrugged, as if he was troubled.

“Sorry, but — I’ve already been eliminated.”

“Eh?”

Yet another surprising statement. Bond’s thoughts were in disarray as he stopped himself, his gun still trained on William. Then, he felt something thud against his back.

“…………”

With an awkward smile plastered on his face, Bond turned his head, and looked behind him. There, stood Fred with his gun raised. Somehow, it seemed a slightly victorious smile had risen on his face.

He didn’t even need to check his back — he knew he’d been hit. With a magnificent sigh, Bond sat down on his haunches.

“Ah~, you’ve got me. So something like that was possible too……”

Now, he finally understood the plan that William and Fred had concocted. Bond ruffled his hair in regret, and William smiled as he spoke.

“There wasn’t a rule saying that you can’t take a detour as you leave the battlefield.”

William had anticipated the strategy his opponent would employ, then used the fact that he’d been eliminated, purposely passing through the frontline where Bond and the rest were in order to give the impression that he was still in the game. Of course, he made sure to tell the people he encountered that he was already out, so that they could avoid wasting bullets on him.

Even so, for those who knew William’s true power, the effect of his presence was enormous; now, just as William had planned, Bond made the mistake of leaving his back open to Fred.

“I didn’t think you’d also exploit loopholes in the rules.”

“Nonetheless, it’s a tactic bordering on foul play. Though, as long as Herder doesn’t show up, it should be alright.”

“……Will Herder-kun appear when someone breaks the rules?”

It was certainly an entertaining thought, but keeping watch over the movements of every single player must surely be a monumental effort. That said, it was flat out impossible for a single person to cover such a huge area — that was probably just a joke, wasn’t it?

In any case, Herder had yet to reveal himself; whatever the truth about his actions behind the scenes, with Bond — the mainstay of his team’s offence — now eliminated, this battlefront had effectively collapsed. As a result, the red team’s chances of victory were now almost zero.

“Aww, even though I was so fired up; I wanted to play on just a little longer.”

Bond hung his head in regret, and William smiled gently at him.

“It’s a pity indeed. Now it’ll be up to Moran and the rest to turn the game around.”

Analysing the state of the battle from here on, William looked towards the little cabin: the setting of the game’s impending climax.

Scoreboard

🔹 Blue team: Albert, Jack, Fred, William, Kevin, Andy

🔺 Red team: Moran, Bond, Louis, Helena

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows #illustration insert

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btsandvmin · 3 years

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Answering asks in regards to my recent post about shipping

Ok, so I got a few asks which I think are all responses to my recent post How much do we really know?

I got a few others but these are the ones I am choosing to reply to.

If you follow me and have done so for a while you probably understood my post already, and thus most of these replies might not be that interesting to my general readers. This for the most part just a reply to explain the points I felt got completely misunderstood by these particular anons. But I also go through some others that asks as well. Those will be at the bottom of the post if you want to skip the explenations.

Here goes. So the first ask I got was this:

Anonymous asked:

You mentioned in a post that during the billboard Vlive V suggested that him and Jimin “sleep together casually.” But the very next day Jimin said in a press conference that he was with JK all night and cried with him over the #1 spot. Do you think you ignore things JM says or does to fit your Vmin narrative? There just seems to be a big confirmation bias. A lot of your evidence seems to come from V’s songs but that’s entirely your analysis based off your perception of their relationship. (Not that I don’t agree with you on some of it.) How do you step back and look at things unbiasedly or rationally?

First of all, yes I did mention this but I didn't say that Jimin and Taehyung slept together that particular time/day. I am not 100% sure the post you read was the "How much do we really know?" but if it was, I said this:

"....or that Vmin seem to casually sleep together in private (if we take Tae’s words for it in the Billboard vlive)..."

Meanwhile in that vlive this is what Taehyung said.

"I told him to sleep next to me" followed by "...as he's too lazy to come to my place" it makes it sound like they normally would have gone to either place to sleep together, but both were too lazy to do so this time. Thus they didn't sleep together this instance, but the way Tae talks makes it sound like they casually ask each other to sleep together at times and like it almost was a given that one of them go to the other.

Worth noting is also that the way Taehyung says it (though there is always room for error since I don't speak Korean) it seems he was asking Jimin to come over first, and he wasn't even aware of the Billboard result. He also asked Jimin to do this on JK's birthday, so clrealy it didn't seem like a big deal at least from Tae's side to ask Jimin to come over to him on this particular day.

What I said in my post applies even if they didn't do it that day. Because it doesn't matter if Jimin went in the end or not, Tae still "casually" asked Jimin to come to his place to sleep.

You can look at the whole vlive (1st in BILLBOARD! Gather ARMY!) from September 1st 2020 and get your own understanding, it's not that long and it's full of cute moments.

But if we get into Ji/kook a little bit, the way I understood the situation from what they said is that of course yes, Jimin did tell JK about it. He said as much and of course I will believe him when he says it.

I never said that Jimin didn't say this, so I don't understand how my post would in any way imply that I ignore what Jimin says or does to fit a Vmin narrative. I didn't even mention Jimin, because it wasn't what I was talking about. Jimin's situation didn't matter in that context, just that Tae asked Jimin to come sleep with him.

Sadly I can't include all pictures because there is a photo limit, but Jimin also says he wasn't prepared for the news, and he was talking with Taehyung, and then he started to cry as he got the news. To me it seems he might have told Tae first (and that they already were on the phone when Jimin got the news?), and that JK likely wasn’t with Jimin when he got the news himself, but that he told JK at a later point.

But aren't you ignoring how they told the story a bit as well if you see this as a pure ji/kook moment?

The thing is that to me, no matter what ji/kook did that night doesn't even matter for what Tae said. It still indicates Vmin sleep together casually in their private time even if they didn't end up doing it that particular day. And if Tae could say that and ask that on the night leading into JK's birthday then how does that make Ji/kook seem like likely lovers even if they were together? Of course it doesn't mean that Vmin automatically becomes real, but I never said that either. Maybe the two ships cancel each other out, but in the end the fact that Taehyung said this, said it like it was normal, and suggested it the night before JK's birthday says something to me.

It's fine if Ji/kookers love the fact that JM told JK, I don't blame them, but they in turn need to take Tae's words into account as well. The whole point of my original post was to say I don't understand how shippers can feel confident in their ship being real, and this is a perfect example of why focusing in on one thing and ignoring or not noticing another makes these beliefs based on too little information.

You also seemed to ignore the rest of the post (if that was indeed what you were reading) where I state that I do have a bias and where ALL shippers use narratives that fit their ship to tell a certain story.

You also mention me ignoring moments and having confirmation bias, and sure I can't truly get rid of that, but again... I didn't ignore Ji/kook. I never said those things didn't happen. If anything I keep saying all ships have moments and shippers focus on them so much they don't see others have similar moments. Likewise I won't deny ji/kook moments when they clearly exist, that was a big part of the post, if you actually read it and didn't just get stuck on the small details. But it's good you are curious about and know confirmation bias. I have brought it up as a problem many times as well, and I will surely talk about it more in the future too.

Then, moving on to your point about "evidence" I would once again like to say (like in the post) that there is no such thing as proof or evidence for ANY ship. Just moments that shippers put together with their interpretations into a narrative. So you saying "A lot of your evidence seems to come from V’s songs but that’s entirely your analysis based off your perception of their relationship. (Not that I don’t agree with you on some of it.)" is why I felt you somehow misunderstood my whole post.

Of course it’s all my analysis based on my perception of their relationship. That’s the WHOLE POINT about how all shipping analyses work. Not just mine, but all.

Also, yes Taehyung's songs is a big part of why Vmin is suspicious, but it's far from the only reasons I have to question them. I simply used Tae's actions as an example in my post because they are quite many and out there. Many facts tied together, but of course what they mean is always a guess. Which I also stated clearly. I literally brought up a lot of examples of Vmin and said they make a lot of sense, but that doesn't mean we can be sure or "know" Vmin is real.

So, yes, I do feel you misunderstood me on several points, and it seemed you didn't read properly at all but rather got stuck on the details and then used Ji/kook moments to "refute" me even though it in my opinion wasn't relevant to the post at all. Which is why I in turn posted this reply:

It didn’t take long for someone to misunderstand my posts and get caught up on the details and examples instead of the general message. While they were at it they decide to throw in a good “accusation” of something I legit have said I am many times and no one can avoid. Good to know some people just don’t want to understand. 😗👍

Not only you but less interesting/good asks as well might have made me feel a bit annoyed, so I replied like this, I suppose I misunderstood your intentions too.

You also asked "How do you step back and look at things unbiasedly or rationally?" and my personal belief is that I can't. I am biased towards Vmin, and I do try to see things from many ways and to get content in its full context. But simply by consuming and remembering more about Vmin than other dynamics I will still remain biased. I don't think any shipper can truly remain neutral.

Then I got a a second ask (Edit; I now know this is by another person than the first ask).

This isn’t me trying to misunderstand you, I’m just genuinely curious how you ship vmin while also questioning Tae’s honesty (your BB night comment) and thus also Jimin’s, and also hand over the best tools to anti-vminnie who can use your words as proof that “well even vminnie don’t believe vmin so why should we?” And if all ships are basically equal, why ship at all, or why ship vmin? They have the most conclusive things and yet the more we get the more you question and doubt them.Why?

And suddenly there came a whole new additional set of problems.

I suggest reading my post Shipping vs Believing because if you knew my stance you would understand that I think there is a huge difference between shipping and believing and that you can ship whatever you like and it doesn't have to be tied to reality at all.

In general this ask makes you sound like a delusional and defensive believer, so I perhaps suggest reading my post Can shipping turn into conspiracy theories? as well. This additional ask is why I replied with this second short post:

You say I question the honesty of Tae or Jimin's words, but hopefully you understand this is not at all true since I explained what I actually meant in my original post. Tae asking Jimin to sleep with him is just as true as Jimin telling JK about the win. These two things don't contradict each other and I trust both of the statments to be real.

Also, how am I "handing over tools" to anti-vminies? These things are all out there, and I wasn't even talking about anything negative? Just because I have a more healthy approach than "Vmin is obviously real" that doesn't mean my words should be interpreted as "shipping Vmiin is pointless". However, you did get it right that I don't believe in Vmin, but you seem to have the wrong idea of why I have that stance to begin with. Which again, was part of the message in the original post which you here continue to not understand in other ways.

Me not talking as if Vmin is 100% real doesn't mean I hand out tools to antis. Personally I think that's a weird interpretation of my text, but I can't do anything but try to explain my view on shipping, which I feel that I have many times.

I also don't personally think all ships are equal, but I do think many ships have similar moments and that those moments either get ignored or hyper focused on in a way that makes shipping analysis less trustworhty and always biased and not based purely on facts and the full context. Basically yes, a lot of ships seem to cancel each other out, but that shouldn't stop anyone from shipping. BUT it should make people careful about calling moments "proof" and be sure their narrative is the only possible truth.

I also don't think it's fair to say "They have the most conclusive things and yet the more we get the more you question and doubt them.Why?". I've always tried to keep a distance between shipping and analysis and while we do get more and more for Vmin it's not that I start doubting them more... It's just that I remain open to other things despite more things happening that fits in a Vmin narrative.

I honestly can't tell if you have read a lot of my posts before or not, but it doesn't seem like it, and thus it feels even more unfair for you to lay this judgement on me as well.

Then I got a third ask (edit: which was a second one from the first anon):

Anonymous asked:

I think I’m the anon you responded to. I did read more of your posts where you question things a bit. It’s nice to see you still have a healthy view point on things. I wasn’t really disagreeing with your posts, just wondering if you felt everything was being considered when coming to conclusions. Have a good one !

All this drama, and for what? :P But have a good one too I guess. Thanks for taking the time to read more and trying to understand my point of view.

I also got this ask from another person, and I hope you might understand what I meant after reading my reply to the first anon.

Hi I am sorry I am confused. Can you tell me why specifically you think Vmin alluded to sleeping together during the Billboard Vlive? Didn't Tae say he was talking to Jimin on the phone and told him to come over? Then at the press conference Jimin said "I was with Jungkook" and they were sitting stroking their phones. I am not a shipper or an anti shipper or anything like that. I just would love to see the receipts on this if you have them?

Again, I didn't mean Vmin slept together that day. But the fact that he asked and it seemed like a very normal (even perhaps expected) thing that one of them would go to the other, I can still express it as Tae alluding to Vmin sleeping together at least sometimes during their private time.

Now onto another anon, with a very different take. :)

Anonymous asked:

Spot on. Shipping is one thing but how can some people "believe" in a ship, I'll never understand. People need to realize that even with all the content we get (from concerts to DVDs to Run to BV to interviews), we only see them for maybe like 2-3 days (total) out of 365 days. Like? They visit a country for 7 days and we only get 10 hours of content from it. Do we have any idea what any of them is doing right at this moment? "Supporting" a ship is stupid even if you're right at the end.

Thank you anon. I don't fully agree that we get as little as 2-3 days total out of a year, but we definitely don't see the majority of their lives. And while you are a bit crude, I agree... Even if a ship is real, supporting and believing and being convinced of only one ship is at least in my opinion not the right way to go about it. Which is why I say let's speculate but also support them all whatever the truth might turn out to be.

There we go... It ended up being a lot of drama made out of nothing else than a small misunderstanding. Anyways, I hope I made myself clear. Thanks for the asks, sorry for the somewhat annoyed attitude and I hope you understood what I tried to say.

Thanks for reading. If any of you had the patience to do so all the way through I salute you. <3

#vmin #vmin analysis #bts shipping #btsandvmin answer #btsandvmin ask #btsandvmin #my post #this felt a bit like a waste of time #i hope someone reads it #but at least it will give me some peace of mind #rant

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