#ANOTHER 500 WORDS

[m-s-justice]

In a similar vein from my last post, Dempsey and narrative relevancy because holy shit I have lots of thoughts about this. This is mostly about Ultimis Dempsey, but some of it can be applied to Primis, too, probably.

Dempsey is, technically, the only Ultimis character that we formally "see" pre-corruption. We can hear Ult Richtofen before he was zapped by the MPD, but we play as Dempsey in Verruckt. This was probably retconned and the voicelines of the Marines in Verruckt are not likely representative of what Dempsey was like, but... isn't that just sort of insane to think about?

They so could've remastered Verruckt and have Dempsey, Smokey, Gunner, and John Banana actually be characters. We could've had a glimpse into who Dempsey was before being literally tortured and irrevocably changed.

Now, Verruckt and Nacht aren't really relevant to the overarching plot. Their consequences were, but nothing especially important happens with them, narratively speaking. (I love verruckt as a map, it's my favorite WAW map Der Riese can suck it.)

but I really hate to say it, but Dempsey does nothing and is important to nobody. Excepting McCain, but that was for one map and basically a backdrop for his motivations to be at Verruckt to get captured in the first place.

This is most prominent in DE. ZNS and GK both took place in their main character's respective country and dealt with issues specific to them, seen in their Ultimis counterpart. Takeo realizes his betrayal and Nikolai sees what he could become if he chooses to wallow in his grief.

Dempsey just fucking dies. He dies in a 935 base, still frozen by ultimis Richtofen. He's not allowed to have agency or growth. He't not allowed to have his problems taken seriously or explored in any capacity or to have any personal ties. Fucking Dr. Groph got more development in DE than the guy it was actually about.

And this is true of both Dempseys. Primis is jerked around by whoever is in charge at the time, doing what they say regardless of his own personal convictions, often because he feels like he has no choice but to. Ultimis fucks around and spits you in the eye. Bro does not give a shit about anything or anyone. Not in any real sense, anyways. He's american, but does that impact the story at all? Even when he's captured and held in custody by Broken Arrow, his status as an American and former affiliate of Pernell means nothing, it's not even brought up. He's a marine, but he doesn't really exemplify any of it's ideals or practices, other than surface level shit. Any friends or family he mentions are one off lines. They could be canon, but just as easily missed and irrelevant.

I know I've said it before, It's so sad to think about. Poor guy has so little. Probably intentionally so, at least to some degree, like with the deliberate withholding of his first name. Which drives me even more insane. This guy is such a hollow shell that he's denied everything that makes a real, dynamic character. No real connections, no deep motives, no inner conflict, not even a name. He has next to no affect on anything around him.

Everyday I wake up and thank god I'm not Dempsey.

[yurislotusgarden]

ʚїɞ Not just a little crush ʚїɞ

ʚїɞ Port mafia!Dazai Osamu x Gn!Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ word count: 1k

ʚїɞ Tw’s: literally nothing, just pure fluff of him being down bad

ʚїɞ This is literally just 1k words of Pmzai being down bad, whipped, even lovesick, for his crush🤷‍♀️

How did he end up like this?

The youngest executive in Port Mafia’s history, The demon Prodigy, one of the most feared people in Yokohama if not the whole of Japan, Dazai Osamu has fallen in love.

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't that. That the nice feeling he got whenever he was around you was just because of him standing near, or spending time with a friend, a close one, but denial can go on only for so long.

The brunette at first thought that his crush, as Chuuya had called it when he had caught onto Dazai's more than normally weird behavior, was one-sided. After all, there was no way that someone like you could love him, that just wasn't a possibility in Dazai's mind, yet you decided to go against his calculations once again, you seemed to like doing that and causing him to freak out.

It wasn't too long before he realized that, just maybe, you did at least like him in a romantic way, some acts just couldn't be brushed off as a friend gesture.

One thing he just couldn't brush off, as well as it being the reason he realized his crush may not be one-sided, was him remembering one of the times you cooked him food, even though you were aware how picky he could get with that matter.

///////////////////////////

A figure with brown-haired locks could be seen walking on the deserted sidewalk. Moonlight shone on him as he arrived at his destination, your house.

You always greeted him so sweetly, especially when compared to all the people in his life. Welcomed him like he was a classmate, a friend, a normal person that you both knew he wasn’t. He wasn't treated like a superior, like someone who would kill if the smallest mistake was made around him, and Dazai knew that he liked it from the very start.

Dazai had thought before how would it be if you somehow were in the PM, but to his surprise, he realized he hated, even despised that idea. Something about the concept of someone like you, a person who in his eyes could be an angel for all he cares, being in a dark place full of violence and death like the Port Mafia, was just absolutely not right.

Dazai had arrived at your door, not having to wait long after knocking for the door to be opened by you.

“Dazai?”

You. Oh, the lovely little thing that you were in his eyes. Innocent compared to him, a civilian who somehow met and befriended a feared mafioso without the slightest care in the world.

He had no idea how he managed to get where he was, but he had no regrets.

“Yes, me! Now let me in, it's damn cold!”

///////////////////////////

You disliked crab.

In fact, you disliked most seafood, he was perfectly aware of it, and yet, you did this just for him. 

A crab that could as well look like it was made by a restaurant chef laid in front of him on the table. It looked well-seasoned, the crab’s shell was purely gotten rid of, and the smell wasn’t overwhelming like a lot of food tends to be like to him… you really thought it out carefully. 

“What is this?” It was kind of a stupid question, but he wanted to know your reasons.

“What do you mean? I thought you liked crab?”

“I do-”

“Then shush and eat, you stick.”

What did you just call him? Did he hear it right?

“...’Stick’?” You turned to look at him as he said that, stopping the cleanup you were doing just moments before.

“Yes, have you seen yourself? When was the last time that you ate a proper meal, dear?”

Oh. Goddammit. Don’t get him started on the pet names. He was aware that you used it on people you considered close to you, as long as they agreed, and he’s been lowkey embarrassed ever since you asked for his permission to use them on him, or more like embarrassed on how fast he agreed to that. Dazai didn’t know why he liked it so much, maybe it was because of how no one ever referred to him as such, maybe it was the way you sounded when you addressed him with them, or maybe it was entirely just the fault of your voice but he simply didn’t care anymore.

“I think we both know that you’d rather not know the answer.” His answer caused you to let out a soft sigh, but what he said was kind of true. In truth, he would answer that it was the last time he ate at your place, which on one side wasn’t that long ago, but otherwise, he barely eats anything. You and Chuuya were the only ones getting any kind of nutrition into his body, which he supposed he should be thankful for… not like he’s ever going to voice it out.

“Right. Now eat, I don't need you collapsing on my floor.”

“But I don't wanna!” If any of his subordinates saw him like this, whining because of food, they would be dead on the spot, but he's alone with you, and he’s been over being embarrassed about his behavior with you a long time ago.

You sighed, and he knew that you were about to use the biggest thing you have on the brunet against him, just to get him to eat… Not like that wasn't Dazai’s plan from the start, he's gotta get his fair share of you, doesn't he?

“You eat the most you can and you get cuddles.”

“With you playing with my hair?”

You smiled softly and said, “I'll even add head kisses to the mix.” knowing damn well that it’s gonna win him over.

You knew what you were doing, you had to, and he didn't mind as long as you kept your side of the deal. He's gonna finish that damn plate if it means affection from his favorite person will be solely on him for as long as he wants it.

Hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

writing at literally anytime during the day:

writing after 11:30pm:

[narumi-gens]

From the Ashes | Part Two

Mei Mei x f!Reader

summary: Mei Mei arrives at your uncle's estate as a con woman. She leaves it as your savior.

warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, smut, angst with a happy ending, historical (1920s) au, gothic romance, total rip-off of park chan-wook's masterpiece the handmaiden, con woman!mei mei, sexually and emotionally repressed reader, mentioned physical and emotional abuse, reader has some faint scars, reader continues to seem like she's losing it at times, mentioned incest, mentioned torture, mentioned suicide, mentioned murder, reader has some form of suicidal ideation, fingering, oral (f receiving and giving, obvs), rimming, masturbation, squirting, outdoor sex, mild exhibitionism, sexual awakening

words: 6.3k

notes: mind the tags! things are getting darker here, but also hornier so it all evens out.

series masterlist

Your uncle informs Mei Mei that he’s been called away on business and will be gone for a week. From the expectant look in his eyes, she knows that her time is running out. She has seven days to convince you to run off with her before she needs to decide whether to cut her losses. 

The morning he leaves, she plays the part of a besotted woman yearning for her partner’s return, wishing him well and for him to come home to her soon. But a few hours later, the pretense is done away with entirely as she corners you when you least expect it. 

Her hand darts out into the hallway as you're passing by to grab your wrist and pull you into the empty sitting room where she’s been lying in wait. She’s just able to catch the startled look on your face as she shuts the door and presses you against it before her lips are on yours, cutting off any protest you might attempt to make.

There’s an instinctual impulse for you to fight her off, trying to shove at her shoulders and wriggle away from her, but it quickly fades away as you melt into her embrace and begin to cautiously kiss her back. It doesn’t take long until you’re eagerly accepting her advances with pitiful whimpers and soft moans that she greedily devours. Your gloved hands have stopped pushing her away and have dropped to cling tightly to the fabric of your dress.

For as shrewd as you are, there’s a clumsiness to the way your lips meet hers that betrays your inexperience and naivete and it only spurs Mei Mei on.

With one hand cupping your jaw, she slides her other down your body, making sure to caress every curve she comes across and relishing the sharp inhale you let out as she squeezes one of your tits over your clothes. When she reaches your thigh, she tugs on the long skirt of your dress and you quickly release the expensive material so that she can pull the hem high enough to slip her hand underneath it and between your legs. 

Her skillful fingers are met with the finest silk money can buy only to find that it’s already soaked through from the little attention she’s shown you. You’re like a fully ripe peach that’s ready to be plucked from the branch and devoured.

As she plays with your pussy – stroking your slit over the drenched fabric of your underwear before pushing the material to the side to touch your heated folds directly, rolling your slippery clit, burying a single finger into your tight, tight cunt because that's all it can handle – she savors your moans, your blissed-out expression, and how your thighs are squeezing tight around her hand, not trying to stop her but trying to keep her there.

You’re seemingly unsure what to do with your hands otherwise and are too reserved to dare return her embrace, despite how she has a digit pumping in and out of your slick heat. Instead, your fingers scramble for purchase against the door at your sides through the haze of pleasure, the material of your gloves repeatedly slipping on the wood.

She’s unsurprised that it doesn’t take long before you’re cumming on her fingers with a sharp gasp and your head tossed back. With how inexperienced you are and how isolated you’ve been your whole life, she wonders if this is your first orgasm. 

Wearing a dangerous smirk, Mei Mei finds herself thinking that she could easily grow addicted to giving them to you. 

When she removes her hand from between your legs, you watch with lidded eyes and a heaving chest as she brings her dripping fingers to her plush lips and slowly licks each one clean. Just that small sample is delicious enough that she can’t wait to try you directly from the source.

She leans in to give you another slow, lingering kiss so that you can taste yourself on her tongue before she grabs onto your waist and gently slides you along the wall until you’re no longer blocking the door.

Her eyes twinkle when she releases you and sees how your legs tremble, knowing that it’s only the wall you’re leaning against that keeps you from collapsing in a heap at her feet. But she says nothing as she opens the door and leaves the room without sparing you another glance.  

Dinner that evening is silent. You sit across from one another, neither of you saying a word as you eat. When you finish your meal, you stand up and bid her a polite goodnight – the only words you’ve spoken to her all evening. 

Late that night, after she’s seen your handmaiden retire with the rest of the staff to the servant quarters near the Japanese wing of the estate where the guest quarters are located, she slinks under the cover of darkness through the Western side of the house and up its grand staircase to where she knows your bedroom sits. 

The door is unlocked when she opens it to find you standing at the window and gazing out into the gardens. Based on your mussed hair and the rumpled sheets in your bed, you’ve spent the last few hours tossing and turning until you seemingly decided to give up on sleep altogether.

You don’t appear surprised to see her. As you watch her enter and close the door behind her, locking it for good measure, Mei Mei can feel how your gaze roves up and down her form, which is clad in only a beautiful silk robe that clings to every voluptuous curve. The only light in your room comes from the full moon hanging in the cloudless night sky, but it’s more than enough for her to see the longing in your eyes as she crosses the adjoining sitting area in your room to meet you at the window.

You’ve been hoping for this and it makes her smirk.

She slowly tugs the sash around your waist loose before pushing the soft material of your own robe from your shoulders to meet the belt at your feet, baring you fully to her. Bathed in the moonlight, your nipples hard under her stare, your teeth sinking nervously into your bottom lip, and your chest rising and falling rapidly with want, Mei Mei finds you more beautiful than the fortune that you’re sitting on. 

She skims one lone fingertip across your collarbone and down to circle a pebbled nipple, avoiding touching the bud directly. There’s no need to rush after all. In the privacy of your bedroom, with the late hour and the household staff long asleep, there’s no need to rush. 

She can take her time with you. 

With a hand on your waist, your skin hot under her touch, she guides you to the bed, laying you out before her and then slipping her robe off to join yours on the floor, leaving her just as bare as you. She sees a flash of pink as your tongue darts out to briefly lick at your lips and from how entranced you seem by the generous curves of her tits, she doubts you’re even aware that you’ve done so.

She merely gives you an indulgent smile as she climbs onto the bed and kneels at your side. You instinctively raise a hand out to her before your senses seem to return to you and you quickly retract it, curling it into a fist and cradling it close to your chest. The motion is reminiscent of a child reaching out to grab what they want only to be harshly scolded.

But what catches her attention is how this is the first time she’s seen your hands completely bare. Without your gloves and with your hand in a fist, she’s able to see the faint lines scarred across the knuckles of your dominant hand. 

They’re clearly years old by this point and only noticeable because Mei Mei notices everything. It’s obvious what they’re from though. Your hand bears the scars of a child who was repeatedly struck across the knuckles and she can only imagine how harsh each blow was to have left such a permanent reminder etched into your skin. 

For as much as her curiosity has been piqued, she doesn’t linger on them. You hide them behind your gloves for a reason and she won’t make you doubt yourself when she already has you right where she wants you. But much like every other piece of information she learns about you, she tucks it away for later to be added to the puzzle.

Instead, she gently but firmly takes your curled first and brings it up to her chest, unfurling your fingers with her thumb and pressing your hand to her breast. You softly gasp as your palm makes contact with her smooth skin and she absently wonders when you last touched another person of your own free will, if ever. 

Her hand guides yours to cup and squeeze her tit, encouraging you to take whatever it is you desire — especially when that thing is Mei Mei. Once she feels that you no longer need her wordless instruction, she leans down and finally presses her smiling lips to yours in a gentle, teasing kiss that you quickly return, eager for more. 

Your tongue is warm and wet against hers as she guides you by example, enjoying the little whimpers that escape you. They only grow louder and more pitiful when she begins to move her mouth away from yours to capture a nipple between her lips, sucking and swirling her tongue around it before lavishing the other with the same treatment. 

While Mei Mei’s hand still keeps one of yours to her breast, your other one has found its way into her long, silver strands, pressing her closer to your tits as your thighs rub together with need. When she starts to turn her attention away from your chest, you protest with a softly moaned, “Mei?”

Hearing her name on your pretty lips without an honorific attached to it sends a rush of wetness to her own cunt. She gently shushes you as she starts to leave a trail of kisses and licks down your torso, moving to lay between your legs. In a practiced movement, she tosses a thigh over each delicate shoulder and you gasp at the mere sensation of her breath against your dripping pussy.

She uses her thumbs to gently part your glistening folds and grins when she sees how needy you clearly are, your clit swollen and slick leaking from your twitching hole to make a mess of the sheets below your ass. She thinks she could continue to drink in the sight for hours, if not days. But she’s never been one to deny herself what she wants, so she doesn’t hesitate any longer before burying her face in your weeping cunt. 

You writhe beneath her with every suck of your clit and flick of her tongue, moaning aloud into the darkness of your bedroom. She inserts one finger inside of you, meeting no resistance with how wet you are, and gives it a few pumps before coyly asking if you can take another. You nod without thinking. In this state, you would agree to anything — just as she planned. 

A soft hiss escapes you from the sting as a second finger slides inside of you to join the first, unaccustomed to being stretched in such a manner. But whatever pain you’re feeling quickly morphs into pleasure as she massages your walls. It doesn’t take long before you’re meeting each thrust of her fingers.

When the pads of her fingers find a spongy spot inside of you, a hand darts down to the back of her head to keep her mouth right where it is. It’s a far cry from how you were too timid to touch her earlier in the sitting room. But just like that afternoon, you cum for her quickly, your head tossed back into your pillows, your back arched up from the mattress, your thighs clenched as close as they can be with her head between them, and your walls spasming around her fingers.

Her name leaves your lips like a hymn that consists of only one word sung over and over again to the gods, “Mei, Mei, Mei.”

It’s one that you sing all night as she makes you cum again and again and again with her pretty lips and talented tongue and deft fingers. And you receive everything she gives you without complaint or protest, hungry for every scrap of the pleasure that’s been so foreign to you up until 12 hours ago.

When she finally has to leave you in the early hours of the morning, you’re an exhausted mess. Your folds are swollen from overstimulation and every so often there’s a slight twitch in your muscles. She helps you dress in your discarded robe once more, guiding your limbs through the sleeves and tying the sash in a perfect bow before tucking you back into bed. 

There’s an urge to crawl into the sheets beside you, but even an amateur con artist would know the danger of being caught in your bed by your handmaiden. So, she parts from you with a lingering kiss that wordlessly promises this is only the beginning. 

With every step she takes back to her room, the wetness between her legs grows more and more uncomfortable. When she slides between the sheets of her own bed, she quickly slips her hand between her thighs and begins to play with her pussy until she cums on the same fingers that have spent the past few hours buried inside of you and with your taste still on her tongue.

Come morning, breakfast proceeds much in the same way that dinner did the night before – in silence and with a tepid acknowledgment of one another. But that afternoon after lunch, Mei Mei stops you before you can leave the dining room.

“Would you like to take me on a tour of the gardens?” she asks innocently and from the way you suddenly stiffen, she’s sure that the request alone is enough to make you wet if you weren’t already. 

In the most secluded spot on the estate, hidden deep in the garden’s wooded area, there’s a small break in the trees that allows the sun to warm the patch of grass at the center. The house is a good twenty-minute walk from where you’ve secluded yourselves, which means there’s no need to worry that someone may stumble across you.

If they did, the scene would undoubtedly leave them shocked and scandalized. They would find an heiress on her knees, her cheek and chest pressed into the soft grass, bent over by the woman currently being wooed by her uncle. 

Your skirt is pulled up around your waist to allow her full access from behind as she buries two fingers knuckle-deep inside of you and circles your slippery clit with her thumb. Her free hand is placed above your clothing on your lower back, pressing your spine into an arch that only enhances how deep she can reach with every thrust. 

Your moans and cries of her name fill the clearing and if Mei Mei was feeling crueler, she would condescendingly tell you to hush. But for as cruel as she is, she doesn’t feel the need to be cruel with you. From the way your scarred knuckles shine under the bright sun as your bare fingers tug at the grass on either side of your head, your gloves discarded off to the side, she thinks you’ve already experienced more than your share. 

She chooses instead to enjoy your lack of inhibitions, your sense of propriety tossed out the window. Whether it’s with her fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, or with her lips wrapped tight around your clit, or with her tongue slowly licking at the ring of muscle a little higher up, she revels in pulling orgasm after orgasm from you in the small clearing.

By the time the sun has started to sink deeper in the sky, you’re nothing but a heap on the grass as Mei Mei’s fingers and the lower half of her face are absolutely drenched with your slick. When you manage to roll onto your back, you give her an easy smile that looks so foreign on your face, but at the same time seems like the only thing that belongs there.

You press the back of your trembling hand to your sweaty forehead and softly laugh with a disbelieving shake of your head before beckoning her closer. She quickly complies, letting you wrap her in your arms and hold her close as she gives you a slow and languid kiss, liking the way your smiling lips feel against hers.

On the slow journey back to the large, looming house, you walk close to her, your shoulders touching and the backs of your fingers intimately brushing against hers. And even once you’re back inside the house’s cold and dark walls, there’s a lightness inside of you that she hasn’t seen before.

It carries you through another quiet dinner. It carries you as you bid her a polite but cool goodnight.

It carries you to straddle her lap where you ride her fingers while she worships your tits with her lips and tongue when she comes to visit you just as she had the night before. 

And it carries you to you sit on her face, one knee on each side of her head as you let her hands on your ass guide you into grinding down on her mouth until you’re falling apart on her tongue for the umpteenth time in two days.

The next afternoon finds you both having tea in the same sitting room where she first cornered you, this time seated next to one another on the couch by the room’s large window that looks out into the gardens. And once again, her fingers are buried in your cunt as she watches on with hungry eyes. 

Your hand is slapped over your mouth to keep you from crying out and catching the attention of any one of the servants who may be passing by in the hallway. The only sounds in the room are your panting and the slick sound of her fingers as they slide in and out of your needy pussy. 

When she feels your walls beginning to spasm, she uses her free hand to guide your face into her neck so that you can softly moan her name against her skin as you fall apart. 

There’s a vulnerability to the way you stay there after you cum, cuddled close even once she’s removed her fingers from you and your breathing has returned to normal. And something about it has her starting to consider you as part of the fortune she intends to steal. 

That night when she visits you, it’s your turn to take her by surprise. Because when she crawls into your bed, you guide her with nervous hands into a position she never would have expected from you. Her face is buried in your cunt just like it has been for the last two nights, but your face is now also buried in hers as you both lay on your sides, giving and receiving at the same time. 

Your inexperience shines through once again, but Mei Mei savors it, knowing that she’s your first in so many different ways. Even as she focuses on bringing you to your own peak, prioritizing your pleasure first, she lets you take your time exploring her pussy, suckling at her clit timidly in between lapping at her folds, even daring to go so far as to dip your tongue inside of her.

In the early hours of the morning, after she’s made you cum again and again, and after she’s given you your first in what she hopes will be many lessons in how to pleasure another woman, you both lay exhausted and sated as you face one another. You tiredly play with the ends of her long hair, a soft smile on your lips the entire time.

She can see a new sense of contentment in your eyes and she’s sure that she’s won you over.

“Run away with me and every night can be like this,” she murmurs, taking the hand toying with her strands and pressing a gentle, wet kiss to the tip of each finger. “I’ll look after you.”

The words are unexpectedly sincere, but as soon as they leave her lips, the wall that you’ve lowered over the past few days is suddenly back up at full height. Your gaze and expression are cold once more and you yank your hand from hers.

Without sparing her a second glance, you sit up and turn your back to her as you get out of bed, picking up your robe from the floor and sliding it back on, tying its belt with practiced movements. You then take the pair of gloves on your bedside table and walk to the window.

“You should leave. It’s inappropriate for you to be here,” you say and at that, Mei Mei can’t help but toss her head back and laugh wickedly.

“I think we crossed the line of what’s appropriate and what isn’t when you first came all over my fingers,” she counters with a smirk that goes unseen with your back to her. 

As you continue to silently stare out into the gardens, it’s clear to Mei Mei that teasing won’t get her anywhere. She gets out of bed and puts her own robe back on.

“Your uncle returns in four days and I’ll need to disappear not long after,” she tells you as she ties her robe closed and moves toward you. Her tone is matter-of-fact as she tries to make you see reason. “What will you do then? You have no means to access your fortune without a marriage, which you say you’ll never have, meaning your greedy uncle will continue to siphon off as much as he can as your guardian.”

She comes to a stop next to you by the window, joining you in looking out through the glass and it isn’t the first time she’s taken note of how your room directly overlooks the sakura tree where your aunt’s body was found hanging — where you found your aunt’s body hanging. She can only imagine what growing up with a constant reminder of such a morbid discovery outside of your window every day of your life has done to you.

“Will you spend the rest of your days as a caged bird in this estate with only an old man and the rats in his pocket for company?” she asks and you finally meet her gaze through the reflection in the window. 

“I have a plan,” you answer in an emotionless tone that she had almost forgotten over the last few days. 

When she gives you an expectant look, wanting more information on this supposed plan, you offer nothing else. You simply turn away from her and walk back to your bed, where you grab the long, tasseled cord hanging from the ceiling that will summon your handmaiden from the servant’s quarters and begin to tug on it impatiently.  

Mei Mei knows that it’s also her cue to disappear. The threat of being caught by a third party is the only thing that could get her out of your room at this point. 

“This is the only plan that can set you free,” she reminds you just before she takes her leave.  “Unless you plan to die here, having no one else on this earth. But what a shame that would be when you have someone offering you their hand.”

Later that morning as she makes her way to breakfast, she sees your handmaiden scurrying through the corridor and trying to stay out of her way. She doesn’t miss the red, finger-shaped marks on the woman’s wrist, which will bloom into deep bruises over the next days, or the fresh cut on her cheek. 

Mei Mei would pity her for finding herself the outlet of your ire if she didn’t already know that the handmaiden reports back on your every move to your uncle, even going so far as to search through your belongings when she thinks that she’s alone and blind to the con woman’s ever watchful eye. 

When Mei Mei suggests a walk through the gardens after lunch, you brush her off without a word. When she tries to visit your room that night, she finds the door locked.

The following day, the fifth day, she contemplates her next step as she drinks her tea alone. As she looks out the window at the pouring rain, she readies to resign herself to the fact that she may just have to consider this job a loss. A con artist needs to know when not to press their luck and she knows that without you on her side there’s not much that can be done. 

You just don’t seem to trust her or her intentions, seeing her seduction of you as nothing more than an attempt to manipulate you to get at your money. And while she concedes that manipulation is her forté, her aims have grown beyond making off with your fortune, to also needing to make off with you. However, she’s at a loss for how to make you believe that she doesn’t plan to betray you.  

She’s pulled from her thoughts when the door to the sitting room opens and she looks up to see you standing there silently in the doorway. You both look at one another and when Mei Mei sees the conflict raging in your eyes, she forgets all about calling off the job. 

“Would you like to go for a walk?” you softly ask and Mei Mei raises a delicate eyebrow before glancing out the window at the sheets of rain that are coming down, leaving huge puddles on the grounds. But when she looks back at you and sees the unfamiliar tinge of desperation that’s crept into your expression, she easily agrees. 

Despite being waterproofed, the bamboo and paper umbrella you sneak out does little to protect either of you from the strong winds that have the heavy rain falling at a slant and you’re soon both drenched from head to toe. 

But you keep going, your arm tightly wrapped around hers to tug her alongside you deeper into the gardens. She knows the path that you’re walking, it’s the one that leads to the small clearing in the trees. As you trudge through the muddy path, leading her further and further, she finds herself surprised by your determination in the face of the elements. 

Finally, once you’ve reached the clearing and seem to feel that you’ve put enough distance between yourselves and the house, you come to a stop and face her. Your shoulders are rising and falling rapidly from a mixture of exertion and what seems to be fear if the look in your eyes is anything to go by.

She doesn’t know what it is that could have you so terrified and it puts her on guard

The torrential rain is deafening and Mei Mei knows that you brought her here now because even if anyone was willing to brave the storm to follow you, they would never be able to hear you.

“Can I trust you?” you ask. It’s the first thing you’ve said since you both left the house and you have to raise your voice to be heard. The question is so blunt that it gives Mei Mei pause. “You make your living lying and cheating. You came here with a plot that ended in my disappearance and you in sole possession of my inheritance. Can I trust you?”

If anyone else were asking her that question, the answer would be a resounding no. If you were asking that question on the first day of her stay, it also would have been a no. 

But as she’s used her fingers and her mouth to soften your hardened exterior and bring out an entirely different woman than the one she first met, her idea of what a successful job looks like has changed. It’s no longer about stealing only your money – she also needs to steal you. 

Her answer comes in the form of a kiss so heated that it causes you to drop your useless umbrella into the puddle at your feet. She cradles your face in her hands as her lips move against yours hungrily, the rain pouring down on you both and washing away whatever remaining doubts you had.

When you break apart for air, she rests her forehead against yours and is taken aback when she sees how your eyes are brimming with tears, a few escaping to mix with the rain that’s drenching you.

“I have no one on this earth,” you plead helplessly, echoing her words from the other night, and she gives you a fierce look in return.

“You have me,” she swears, meaning every word with her black and crooked heart. 

And then, with her hands still cupping your cheeks, her touch giving you the courage you need, the truth begins to spill from your lips.

You tell her about your sadistic uncle, about the terror he unleashed as you were growing up, about his house of horrors. You tug the glove from your dominant hand and present it to her to show how his cruelty has been scarred across your knuckles in neat lines.

Mei Mei takes your hand in hers and presses a gentle kiss to each knuckle. Unbeknownst to her, each touch of her lips feels like the tender care such wounds should have received all those years ago but that your uncle refused to allow. 

As your fingers curl tightly in her hold, you tell her about how his cruelty has also left scars of a different kind on you all your life, about your aunt who tried to run away when you were young and she could no longer endure his torment, only to be caught, tortured, and killed. You tell her about the house’s dark basement where you were forced to watch as it all happened. 

You tell her about how her body was hung from the sakura tree under the guise of a suicide and that you’ve been promised the same fate should you follow in her footsteps.  

You confess how scared of him you are. You confess how disgusted by him you are. You confess that you think he’ll haunt you wherever you go, that even if you escaped with Mei Mei to the other side of the world, you would have to live your life looking over your shoulder for him, lest you find yourself in his basement once more.

Through your sobs, you reveal that he hopes to marry you so that he can keep you and your fortune under his thumb forever. Mei Mei’s sudden arrival is just another opportunity for him to grow his wealth before she becomes another loose end that needs to be cut.  

With every truth revealed, the white-hot rage in Mei Mei grows until she’s ready to return to the house and destroy every brick and wooden board with her bare hands until not even the foundations are left. She wants to raze the house and the entire estate to the ground.

She wants to inflict the same suffering on your uncle that he’s inflicted on you. She wants to inflict more suffering on him than he’s inflicted on you.  

But more than that, she wants to steal you away from the prison where you’ve spent your entire life. She wants to melt the ice trapping you and bring you out into the sunlight where you belong, far away from this house and the man inside of it that have both loomed so largely over you for your entire life like a dark cloud. 

She wraps her arms around you and pulls you close. You eagerly return her embrace, burying your face into her neck and holding onto her tightly like she’s the lifeline that fate tossed you to pull you free from the inky depths of your misery and your uncle’s depravity.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, her voice barely loud enough in your ear to be heard over the clap of thunder that rings out from the sky. 

There’s a long moment where you don’t do anything but hold her tighter. And then, very slowly, you nod. 

“Please save me, Mei,” you softly beg through your tears, and as the rain falls in curtains on the two of you, Mei Mei swears to you that she will. 

That night, Mei Mei worships you. She’s never been rough with you, even in the most heated of moments, but now she’s as soft as a woman like her knows how to be. She takes her time with every kiss, every stroke, every lick and suck. She makes sure to lavish every inch of your skin with attention, as if she’s trying to make up for the affection that’s been absent all through your life. 

You beg her for more, for her to move faster, but she won’t have it. When she looks up at you from between your legs with adoring eyes, she maintains the same, languid pace, her free hand holding your scarred one in hers against your hip, your fingers intertwined tightly together. 

And as you finally cum, the sound of her name leaving your lips in ecstasy and the feeling of your thighs clenched on either side of her head, the sudden gush of wetness that drips down her chin and soaks through the sheets to the mattress below is just an added bonus. 

Your form trembles beneath her as she leaves a trail of wet kisses up your body until she can meet your lips. You wipe your thumb over her chin, which is shiny and drenched with your arousal, but she simply catches it between her lips and sucks the taste of you clean, not wanting a drop to go to waste.

A soft giggle escapes you at the way she teases you and you press your smiling lips to hers, the fingers not tangled with hers running through her long, silky locks. 

Once you’ve both had your fill — not that Mei Mei truly thinks such a notion is possible where you’re concerned — you lay wrapped in each other’s arms, your sweaty curves pressed right up against hers, neither of you willing allow any space between. 

Mei Mei dreads looking at the clock, wanting nothing more than to let you fall asleep in her arms where she can keep watch over you and protect you from whatever monsters lie in wait, but knowing that doing so will have to wait until she’s freed you from your cage.

“I want to show you something,” you murmur with a timid look in your eyes. You then sit up on your knees and reach over to your bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling a black-bound book from within.  

She joins you in sitting up, her posture much more relaxed as she leans back against the headboard. You take a moment to look at the book’s blank cover before offering it up to her with two hands and your head bowed, and she raises a curious eyebrow when she recognizes it as your sketchbook. 

When she takes it from you, she beckons you to join her at her side, but you shake your head and remain kneeling before her. Even fully nude and on a bed of rumpled and dirtied sheets, you manage to look like the lady you were raised to be as you sit in a perfect seiza, your palms on your thighs and your head tilted down. 

She frowns at the apprehenshion she can see in your pin-straight posture. Whatever it is you’ve spent your days sketching is a secret that you’re afraid to reveal. When she opens the cover, she realizes why.

On the first page is a detailed sketch of a body hanging from a tree, the same sakura tree outside your window. She turns the page to find a similar drawing, only this one is much more focused on the expression of the woman hanging from the tree. 

She flips to the next page and it’s the same again with only a few minor differences. As she continues to make her way through the sketchbook, the body in the drawings begins to change, morphing from a woman she doesn’t recognize — your aunt — to one that she does, intimately. 

You. 

“Was this your plan?” she asks quietly, her voice thin as she flips to another page where more of the same waits for her. The idea of you seeing no other way out from under your uncle’s thumb and succumbing to your despair stokes the raging fire she feels for the man. 

When you don’t answer, she lifts her gaze to look at you. Your hands have clenched into anxious fists on your thighs and your shoulders are hunched up to your ears self-consciously. You take a shaky breath and nod before daring to look up at her.

The rawness in your expression reaches down to her core. Your eyes are wet and shining under the warm lamplight, but in them, she can also see a hint of hopefulness, a feeling she’s sure that you’ve never experienced before.

“Until a better one came along,” you whisper with a soft smile as a tear escapes your lashline and rolls down your cheek.

When Mei Mei looks back at the sketchbook, she finds that the rest of its pages are filled with portrait after portrait of herself. 

[c1trvswurld]

Finally glad the mouthwashing fandom-at least on here- is finally coming around to see the idea that neither curly or jimmy are completely innocent nor should be babied or completely villainized because to do that you'd need to *checks notes*

Completely ignore how mouthwashing is a story of how systems of abuse are kept in power. Particularly rape culture and the patriarchy that encourages these actions while also encouraging bystander effect from other men close to predators...which is all encouraged under a system like capitalism.

Idk read more of tha rant in tags I got carried away I fear.

[expelliarmus-percabeth]

one interesting thing I haven't seen people talk about is the way lucy gray baird's personality is very reminiscent of the manic pixie dream girl trope - and that's not to say that she's poorly written or one-dimensional in any way, but the dress, the spontaneous singing, all her "quirky" behaviours, the way she's seen through the eyes of a guy who's "stuck in a societal system" and sees her as this completely different, rebellious, being that "breaks him out" of the mold he's in - sound familiar? but this is a dystopian novel and not a romcom - her character was very specifically crafted this way because of the role she serves in the greater narrative in the end: a legend, a myth, a mystery - and that's why her mpdg-type personality works so perfectly. to snow and the reader, lucy gray is always going to have that air of intrigue around her, because she ultimately lives on in our memories not as a person, but as an idea and an icon.

[bitebitesnap]

Y'all know what time it is.

Hand posting time. Special Edition.

Raziel's hands are not soft. They're hard, stiff, a bit coarse in places-outside of the beyond old bandages still wrapped around each palm. A distinct lack of meat forces the fabric to bunch up in the gaps where his palms would fold and crease, creating pockets where extremely stiff ridges carve up semi-pliant skin.

Yet. he's surprisingly careful. His grip is firm, resilient even to the most determined of struggles, but he doesn't dig claws into skin unless provoked. Said claws are surprising limber despite looking like fresh bone carved free of the skin, their sharpest points at each tip ruggedly sharp as if previously raked across the nearest sturdy surface. A bit of elegance is in his touch with expert precision keeping those razor sharp ends away from delicate flesh, but always just a hair's turn from slicing right in if need be.

His right is always buzzing, a slight tremor constantly keeping the claws flexing. Errant twitches slide his hand over anything he holds as if it can't remain stagnant. The claws are sharper, as the dominant use keeps the edges fresh. Even so the lingering static buzzes and snaps in the air just below ambient noise, only noticeable if you're really close. He keeps this hand away, only using it to interact with the world around him.

The moment you touch him he flinches. He'd never used his hands for much more than violence or threats-and even more so during his time undead. So startled is he that he looks at you with narrowed eyes, claws closing shut and pulling away just a bit. What are you doing? Why are you doing it? What are your plans here, weak one?

But he doesn't raise those claws at you, or even step away, he simply leaned to the side. He's careful in his threats, and you've given him no reason to raise any now.

So when you still reach out and grab his hand he doesn't pull away. Now he's curious-what could have caught your interest in his claws of all things? The regard you have for something so minimal is astounding to him, as very few see his claws outstretched and live. Yours are wrapped around his palm, the left specifically, holding his claws out and away while you inspect the dirtied wrappings. His gaze falls to them as well-perhaps he missed something penetrating his palm and you were simply removing it.

Yet, you didn't start digging into his wraps-or even nudge them about to start looking.

Your fingers drift down to cradle the bone. His palm, though eviscerated, is still wider than yours alone-it takes both hands just to hold his claws away. Bemusement has those claws pulling apart for you, just in case you were still looking for something he may have missed.

They freeze in place, as if locked in stone, when your thumbs rub deep into the fabric skin. They dig into the spaces where muscle and sinew would resist, where bone is left to do the part of both. The sensation of prodding into such withered yet delicate skin nearly has the hand yanking out away from you, away from your curious and determined touch.

But you are so soft, so careful, as if he were made of crystal that would shatter at a breath. Even though your hands need to dig deep into the wrappings to find him, find him you do with a tenderness these claws do not recognize. They itch, ready to close and snap against the intrusion-but he resists with everything he has. The probing disturbs bones long since petrified, remainders of skin turned leathery and hollow.

He can't feel it. He can't feel anything.

And yet, he knows what you're doing. He understands it.

And he allows it.

If you are a human he just met, he allows it for only a few moments. Curiosity, he can tolerate-it's cute in a flattering way. How his broken, destroyed body invokes your interest draws upon old emotions he doesn't have much time to linger on, nostalgic in a bitter sense. So he lets you have your way this once, but the memory of it stays with him for days.

But if he knows you. If he cares for you.

He does not move at all. He stands still, focused entirely upon your ministration. If he had breath it would be stolen, lungs silenced under the weight of you. The errant twitches of his cursed right hand fall silent, a sensation of vertigo tilting his empty palm to close. And if they were full again his wings would rise up to close the two of you away-the sight tugs at muscles long since gone after being wrenched from their place an eternity ago.

You see him as something to revere, to cherish despite his ruined facade. In spite of the stench of dirt and lingering rot, you find something worth holding in your perfectly clean hands, no matter the blood spilled.

The weight of you burns in his cursed soul. What he must do one day, what must become of him-but what of you? Where will you be left when his destiny finally takes him? If escape is possible, how will time change? How will you change?

Will you be able to even remember him? Can mercy, even light, be granted so even a glimmer of his memory remains with you?

He does not feel pain. Pain would not sway his hand.

Yet it hurts to imagine any timeline where you do not even know his name.

He can't find it in himself to pull away. He lingers, hand in yours, as your hands worm into flesh that barely clings to bone. He allows a moment where his eyes close, shoulders dropping as he leans forward, into you. He restrains himself from setting his entire weight on your shoulder as his face hides in your hair.

It's just a moment, a scant few minutes where he listens to your breath, the faint beat of your heart, while your hands hold his. Claws so terrible close softly around your fingers, the only flesh he's never rended.

[xbraveheartx]

Just full of ✨ Thoughts ✨ over the development and progress from when you start the game to when you finish on how P/Carlo just evolves, and kinda just thinking on some internal stuff on how I would like to write him.

How you start and he's just P, he doesn't know his purpose, he just knows he's being called somewhere. Lost, alone, faced with peril and made to fight when he hasn't even stepped out of his "birth place". He wakes up and he's just handed a sword. And he fights. At the start he's very much this empty slate; A newborn stumbling through Krat, and despite the man who calls himself himself father saying stuff like "Krat isn't how you remember it--" He really doesn't 'remember' anything at all. What is there to 'remember', he wonders?

And then he starts to get the memories-- they're not his but also... they are? They feel so close and yet so far away; Foreign and yet familiar. And then he hears a name whispered: Carlo-- and his whole world shifts right from under him. He feels sick, the name makes his head spin. The voice to have said it makes his head spin all the more. And bit by bit. He remembers. Not all of it, but... he remembers enough.

And he's hurt by what he remembers.

But by the end of it, after he claims his own freedom, after everything is resolved, and he returns to the hotel, he doesn't feel fully like Carlo-- doesn't feel at all like "P", either. He woke up not too long ago, and suddenly his life is flipped in its entirety. He's neither, and yet he's both. He doesn't know who he is anymore, but the name sticks. It's all he has left, even if a part of him feels some strange form of imposter syndrome, somewhere deep down... But he doesn't like being referred to as Geppetto's Puppet, either. He's not a puppet, not anymore. He's human, albeit, a different kind of human.

So just Carlo, is fine with him, even if he's changed far beyond of who-- and what-- Carlo was.

'--an Ergo puppet can have a second life and become another kind of human--' He just needed now to decide just what that second life meant for him, now.

[bluemoonscape]

*inhale* IVANTILL

[ditch-lily]

What's a fun work story involving Kim and P'Mod?

omg apparently you get a whole ficlet :) enjoy! I wrote this instead of making my dinner lol

--

Kim leans in close, lips grazing the mic.

"A knife."

He's not sure how the mic works, he's not used to this set up. This is only maybe his second proper interview. But his answer seems like it came across strong and clear.

The host is looking at him.

"...a knife?"

Well yeah. It's a deserted island.

"What would you use it for?" The host is trying to sound upbeat and chirpy.

Kim raises a brow. "For hunting." Maybe other things, who knows. He's good with a knife.

"Uhhh okay, very useful! What else would you bring? Remember it's a deserted island! Maybe your phone? A guitar?”

"A lighter. Fire's good. Useful." He explains it this time, this host seems to need that. Kim thinks maybe he's a bit dense.

"Ahhh. Okay sure, I get it! You're a survivalist! Do you watch any survivalist shows? Any tips?"

What? No he doesn't. Kim scowls. But fine, he can be chatty. P’Mod told him to be chatty. He leans close to the mic again. “My tip would be, make sure the knife you bring is a good one. Balanced, good for throwing. You might need it for multiple uses."

The host is a bit big eyed. He nods at Kim, a little shakily.

Okay, Kim nods back. This is working, he's being chatty. "Here." Kim reaches into his pocket and brings out his favorite switchblade. Snicks it out. "This one's good-  it's my favorite brand, and the tip is strong. Resists a lot of throwing. Keeps its point well."

There's an almost soundless noise from the host, a weird little rasp. He's nodding his head again, scooting his chair back, fast.

A movement catches his eye. P’Mod is waving frantically through the glass, hand viciously jerking through the air in a fast motion. Kim squints.

He doesn’t know what exactly she means. It looks like she's motioning…a throwing movement? Huh? Okay, he could throw it, maybe a demonstration would be good.

--

After, with the host wide eyed and saying, a little high pitched and nasally, oh don’t worry - the wall’s easily repaired and wow. That knife sure got in there deep, huh?

Well after that, and after P’Mod shaking their head, apologizing to the staff, she grabs Kim and drags him out of the room, down to the break room.

"Holy shit kid, what the fuck. You are so lucky that was radio."

She pinches her brow, sighing heavily, a little bit in shock. "New rule. And I can't believe I have to say this- but from now on? No knives on set.”

--

[the-ghost-in-your-walls]

Me writing fanfiction instead of studying for my test like

[godsfavoritescientist]

My fic from the Until the End of Time zine! A 700-word stream-of-consciousness fic about Bill's feelings on possessing Ford and wishing things could stay like this forever.

[suddencolds]

almost done... 🙏

[mikesbasementbeets]

[bright-and-burning]

battling the “i should engage in self-destructive behavior” urges while looking at my local yarn shop’s october events… nothing like going ooo queer fiber craft night!! while actively fighting to ignore the voices

[inkameswetrust]

The Window Sill (Pt. 2)

Pairing: James Diamond x Kendall Knight

Characters: Kendall Knight, Katie Knight, Jennifer Knight, (The Mention Of) James Diamond Content Warnings: Fluff, BL, SFW

Word Count: 2,093

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

In quick, erratic motions, Kendall almost tumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. His feet were light on the floor while his arms hurriedly flailed about. He shuffled over to Jennifer's side near the oven, lightly panting and smiling bravely. "You called?" Kendall uttered, his flushed cheeks punctuating his words.

"Honey, are you alright? You don't look too good." Jennifer entreated, bringing the back of her hand to meet Kendall's forehead, "Did you magically come down with something in the time it took you to run downstairs?"

The memory of James blessing him with a quick goodbye kiss conquered the crevices of Kendall's mind and played in slow motion. His face soured and drooped at the thought of this moment playing back as reality broke away piece by piece. Amidst Kendall's nervous daydreaming, Jennifer waved her other hand in Kendall's face, saying, "Hello? Are you okay?"

Kendall shook himself back to reality, swiftly swatting Jennifer's hands away from his face. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine!" Kendall responded sheepishly, "Never better."

"Okay..." Jennifer muttered, slowly shifting her focus back on preparing dinner, "Anyway, I just need you to watch over the food while I change out of uniform. There's mac and cheese on the stove and dino nuggets in the oven."

Puzzled and indifferent, Kendall knit his brows and scoffed, saying, "Don't you think I'm getting a little too old to eat dinosaur-shaped chicken?"

"But you love your dinosaur chicken!" Jennifer cooed, a reminiscent smile stretching across her face. Kendall rolled his eyes, wearing a smirk to combat his mother's smile. "Yeah, when I was eight," Kendall replied.

"Just watch over the food, please. I'll only be gone a minute." Jennifer sighed as she turned around and retreated upstairs to her bedroom. Kendall turned around to face the stove. He took the serving spoon from the kitchen counter and stirred the pot of mac and cheese in hopes it would diminish his inner turmoil.

"You are such a bad liar." Katie sneered, tapping away at the buttons on her Nintendo DSi.

Kendall's shoulders shot up like rockets at the sound of Katie's voice from the dining table. The serving spoon slipped out of his hand and flopped onto the stove with a clump of cheesy residue.

"How long have you been sitting there??" Kendall cried, his eyes bulging and his heart racing.

"Not very observant either..." Katie jested with a mocking grin etched into her face.

Kendall, ignoring Katie's snide remark, turns the oven light on to watch the dino nuggets cook. He leans over the kitchen counter, doing everything in his power to silence his thoughts and stick to the task at hand.

"Y'know, you're gonna have to tell her sometime," Katie remarked, her eyes never leaving the DSi screen.

"Tell her what...?" Kendall queried, his voice laced with distress as he took the serving spoon from the counter and wiped it off.

"You think I don't know when you sneak James into the house?" Katie scoffs, pressing pause on her game of Castle Smashers, "I keep finding him hiding in the bathroom when Mom comes home, and he bribes me with hair gel to keep me quiet."

After a brief moment of awkward silence, Kendall's voice, just barely audible, squeaks its way through the atmosphere. "...Did it work?"

"Kendall!" Katie barked as she stood up from her seat at the dinner table.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Kendall replied hastily, "But I am not going to tell Mom anything. It's just not that simple."

Katie scoffed once more, crossing her eyes and wearing a neutral look on her face. Amidst her palpable indifference, Katie glanced over Kendall's shoulder to see the pot of mac and cheese starting to boil over.

"Uh, Kendall?" Katie muttered.

"Not now, Katie. I need you to understand how important this is." Kendall began, almost as if to implore Katie, "This is teenager stuff, and it's a lot more complicated than it looks."

"Kendall—" Katie chimed in.

"Let me finish." Kendall announced, speaking with his hands, "James and I have a lot we need to figure out right now, and I'm not too sure if—"

"Kendall! The pot!" Katie cried as she pointed toward the stove.

As Kendall turned to face the stove, he saw bubbling water pooling out from the pot of mac and cheese. His breath hitched with a silent scream as he rushed to cover the pot with its glass lid. In scrambling to retrieve the lid, Kendall dropped it on the floor, causing it to shatter upon impact.

Kendall and Katie shared an uneasy glance, knowing Jennifer heard the sound of shattering glass. "What was that?!" Jennifer cried from upstairs.

"Nothing!" Kendall and Katie replied in unison, their voices laced with false positivity.

Kendall narrowed his eyes, laser-sharp focus fueling his gaze as he widened his stance in preparation. Katie looked at him in understanding as she listened to his plan to deter Jennifer's suspicions.

"Okay, you sweep up the glass. Be careful, by the way." Kendall commanded, "And I'll deal with the pot."

"Why do you get to deal with the pot??" Katie groaned in annoyance.

"Why would you think I'd let you handle boiling water??" Kendall replied, stretching out his hands as his words crescendo with concern.

"Okay, fine!" Katie grumbled as she left the kitchen in search of a broom.

Kendall returned his hand to the dial on the stove, desperately trying to turn it off to no avail. It stuck in the same position every time, and each clicking sound of the moving dial chipped away at Kendall's temper.

Katie returned holding a broom and a pail, standing awkwardly as she watched her brother panic. Kendall almost instantly changed his mind by the time Katie returned and refused to let her anywhere near broken glass.

"Y'know what, why don't I take care of this?" Kendall suggested, taking the broom and pail from Katie's hands and quickly sweeping up the shards of glass. As he took the pail over to the garbage can to dispose of the glass, a pungent smoke circling from the pot of mac and cheese triggered the smoke alarm.

"Kendall!" Katie cried, wanting to step in and help despite Kendall's protests.

"Stay out of the kitchen, I'll deal with this!" Kendall retorted as he lowered the pail to the floor and rushed back over to the stove.

"What's going on down there?!" Jennifer hollered as she came rushing downstairs from the sound of the alarm.

"N-Nothing, Mom!" Kendall shouted in response as he desperately fidgeted with the stovetop dial. After continuing to unsuccessfully turn the dial, he rushed to open the kitchen windows to avoid excess buildup of smoke.

"Kendall, you're turning it the wrong way!" Katie called out as Kendall dashed around the room in a stupor.

Kendall stumbled back and forth, trying to tackle each issue at once before he could process what was happening. Jennifer hurried into the room, her face dropping from shock and her voice just barely audible at first. She scuttled over to the stove, turning the dial in the correct direction to shut off the burner. Jennifer then removed the pot from the stove and poured the contents out into a bowl to reveal dried, clumpy, burned residue sticking to the inside.

After placing the pot in the kitchen sink, Jennifer turned around to face Kendall and Katie, her face sullied with worry. "What happened here? The truth, now."

"Well... it's a funny story." Kendall began, "It's just that... Well, what I mean is... I just—"

"It was my fault." Katie chimed in, her gaze falling to the floor and her voice dropping, "I distracted Kendall from watching over the food and it burned... but at least the dino nuggets are okay." Katie assured, a weak smile just barely stretching across her face as she gestured to the oven.

"Go to your room." Jennifer sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger, "I need to talk with your brother."

Katie shuffled away and retreated to her bedroom without a second to look anyone in the eye. Jennifer turned to Kendall, refusing to ignore the truth he was hiding from her.

"What's actually going on here, honey?" Jennifer implored, "You've been acting strange the entire time I've been home today."

"I can't tell you," Kendall replied sheepishly, struggling to meet Jennifer's gaze.

"Why not?" Jennifer queried.

"I just... can't." Kendall insisted, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Jennifer sighed defeatedly at Kendall's resistance. She knew he couldn't force the words out of him, especially if he couldn't form them himself. Jennifer placed her hands firmly atop her hips, a sympathetic glint in her eyes flickering faintly.

"I know things get a little more complicated and scary as you get older, Kendall," Jennifer began, "I hope you know I'm not here to judge or ridicule you."

Jennifer brought her hand to Kendall's cheek, attempting to ease any sense of turmoil with the gentle caress of her thumb. "If something's bothering or confusing you, I want to be here to help you."

An apologetic grin stretched to the side of Kendall's face as he leaned into his mother's embrace. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're very welcome, sweetie." Jennifer replied happily, "Now let's try to salvage dinner."

After cleaning the kitchen and an awkward meal of frozen foods, everyone but Kendall retired to their bedrooms to conclude their day in preparation for the next. Kendall noticed an eerie sense of silence in Katie's stead. While clearing the table, he noticed Katie's Nintendo DSi still sitting by her chair. Kendall swiped Katie's DSi and made his way to her bedroom.

Kendall contemplated knocking on Katie's door, wondering if she needed more time and space to process her feelings. He figured there was no harm in trying, and gently knocked on Katie's door before entering.

"Knock, knock, haha." Kendall chuckled awkwardly, closing the door behind him, "You left your DSi on the table."

"Thanks," Katie spoke in a monotone voice while lying in bed. She stared blankly at the wall, barely moving a muscle or making a noise.

Kendall gazed sympathetically at his sister, feeling remorseful about her taking the fall for him. He wished he wasn't as erratic and irresponsible as he was. Kendall sat down at the foot of Katie's bed, glancing at her with a faint grin he hoped would lift her spirits. He then placed Katie's DSi on the dresser beside him.

"You didn't have to take the blame for me, y'know," Kendall admitted, a defeated sigh slipping past him.

"Yes, I did." Katie retorted, sitting up on her bed.

"No. You didn't." Kendall refuted, "I'm your big brother, Katie, I should've been more focused and responsible."

Katie hugged her knees and remained silent for a moment. She feared saying the wrong thing in response and withdrew herself as a result. Katie hated the way Kendall constantly blamed himself for everything, even when they weren't necessarily his fault. But she knew she couldn't change his point of view.

"Is Mom mad at me...?" Katie asked reluctantly.

"No, Mom is not mad at you, Katie," Kendall assured as he knelt at Katie's bedside, gently hovering his hand over hers.

"Are you mad at me?" Katie continued.

Kendall was taken aback, his brows rising and eyes widening. His heart winced for Katie, not knowing she could ever be this vulnerable and remorseful.

"No, Katie." Kendall replied, his voice firm and confident as he cracked a grin on Katie's behalf, "Not at all."

Katie lunged in Kendall's direction, hooking her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. Kendall, mildly bewildered by Katie's actions, took a moment to process what had happened before hugging her back.

"What's gonna happen with you and James?" Katie inquired, "Are you gonna start dating?"

Kendall chuckled warmly, continuing to hold Katie in his embrace as he pondered her question. "I don't know, I haven't asked him yet," Kendall replied, slowly pulling away from the hug, "I think I'd like to, though."

Katie laid herself down in bed as Kendall pulled the covers up to her shoulders. She found solace in her brother's words and appreciated how he came to reassure her. Though, she'd never admit that out loud.

"You really like him, don't you?" Katie queried, her head sinking into her pillow.

"Oh, you have no idea." Kendall chuckled, combing Katie's bangs back with his hand, "Good night, baby sister."

"Good night, big brother," Katie replied, yawning quietly as her eyes fluttered shut.