#But I am terrible at expressing myself so like

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Chapter 6 + His POV Story

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The man standing in the corner of an alley, surrounded by corpses and illuminated by the moon, should have been the Victor I knew. Instead, I was staring at a stranger, at a god of death.

Kate: W-why…?

My voice shook.

(Why is he here?) (Are all those people dead?) (Why isn’t he upset?)

…Did he kill them?

Without conscious thought, I took a step back. The sound of my shoe hitting the ground echoed loudly through the silent alleyway. My hands twisted in the straps of my purse.  I could barely hear anything over my thundering pulse. Every nerve of my body sung with a prey response. I knew Victor. I wanted to see him. But… but… My brain, still unable to fully comprehend what I was seeing, was telling me I was in danger. I couldn’t help myself. I was terrified.

Victor: …Kate.

His voice calling for me only made me more afraid.

Kate: Sorry. Sorry, I-

(Why did I say that?) (What am I apologizing for?)

Sorry for seeing this? Sorry for being afraid? For letting you know I was there? My vision wavered. I felt the chilly night wind close around my entire body as I stood there, unable to accept what I was seeing.

Victor: Kate-

His hand, as warm as it always was, reached out and brushed against my fingers. But I reflexively took another step back and pushed his hand aside. His expression shifted. There was something like sorrow in his gaze.

Kate: I’m sorry.

I couldn’t reach out for him. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. So I looked away from his face and ducked my head. And then I turned, and ran.

(What was that? What was that!?)

As I ran towards where I was supposed to meet up with William, my vision grew blurry with tears and I bit my lip. The only conclusion I could come to was that Victor killed them all, though I didn’t know for sure. But what I did know was this:

(...I pushed Victor away.)

Full of fear, I pushed his hand away. Unable to face him, I fled. I was pathetic. My heart was so full of guilt that I thought it was going to burst. It hurt so, so much. As I approached the main road, I slowed down. I didn’t hear any footsteps behind me, didn’t feel the presence of anyone coming after me. But I still looked back, hoping that everything was a lie. That I was just mistaken, and that nothing had happened. …I saw nothing except moonlight in an empty alley. The quiet of the night enveloped me, and I let out a small breath. A faint warmth still lingered on my fingertips.

Kate: …I didn’t know anything after all.

The cold wind dispersed into the dark night.

-----

William: Rare for you to drink alone at this hour.

Sitting at the bar with a glass of wine in hand, Victor briefly glanced over towards William.

William: Since you’ve chosen to sit here in the common room, were you hoping to meet anyone in particular?

Without missing a beat, William slid into the seat next to Victor, who wordlessly handed him a glass and began to pour him some wine. He watched as the wine, the same color as his eyes, flowed. And then he looked beyond the glass to stare curiously at Victor’s profile.

William: I’ve never seen that look on your face before.

Victor: What look?

William: A look that says, “I’ve gone and done it now.” William: This is a bottle of that special vintage that you normally keep hidden away, isn’t it?

Looking away from Victor, William began to enjoy his glass of wine while making conversation.

William: I went on a mission with our little robin today, but something appears to have happened during the time we were split up. William: She had quite the terrible look on her face when I saw her again. It matches the one you’re wearing now, in fact.

The slight twitch of Victor’s fingers on the table didn’t escape William’s notice.

William: It looks like you know something about it.

Victor: …

Victor continued to say nothing, instead draining his glass. He stared into the empty glass, seeing the world refracted through it. The light of the common room reflected beautifully off the surface of the glass, and yet it was so delicate it seemed as though it could shatter with a single touch.

William: Everyone’s noticed by now that you only send Kate on missions that won’t involve any killing.

Victor’s dark hair slid down his shoulders, hiding his face from view.

William: Ever since that first day when she joined us, she’s never seen another person die. William: That’s all because you’ve made sure to pick which missions she joins very carefully.

Everyone in Crown had already noticed.

Victor had organized everything so that the missions that Kate would join wouldn’t require death.

William: Of course, there are no guarantees in life. There have been times when we’ve had to pay evil unto evil in that way even when Kate was with us. William: Our clever little cat has always managed to kill our targets in a way that Kate wouldn’t notice. William: He isn’t the only one. Everyone else is also trying to make sure she can return to her old life without being hurt. She is just a normal person, after all. William: But they only acted after realizing what you wanted. William: Whether it’s intelligence gathering, retrieval, or an extermination, she would never realize the death that happened behind the scenes. William: This was by no one else’s design but yours, Victor.

Victor tapped his finger against the glass. In the silence, only a faint sound rang out. Paying it no mind, William continued to speak.

William: If you want to coddle her for these last few weeks before she returns to her old life, I have no problem with that. William: However.

William closed his eyes, recalling how Kate looked a few hours ago. When they had reunited, she had been pale, and fearful. But more than afraid, she looked guilty. As if she was blaming herself for seeing something, and then rejecting it.

William: She isn’t weak.

Victor shifted slightly.

William: If you want to be overprotective, then by all means, go ahead. But she isn’t someone who would be ruined by what you’re afraid of.

Finishing his glass, William stood up.

William: It’s why I brought her here, that night. William: And that’s why you yourself accepted her. William: You haven’t forgotten what I told you, have you?

Having made his way to the door, William grabbed the handle and looked back just one last time.

William: Continue to act like nothing’s different all you like, she’ll eventually arrive at the truth.

He waved to Victor as he departed the common room. Now alone, Victor let out a deep sigh. Today, the secret hidden behind his sorrowful gaze, Was beginning to break into pieces.

-----

Last night was the second sleepless night I had since I joined Crown.

(I couldn’t sleep at all…)

After my first night, I didn’t think I’d have another night where I spent all my time counting the number of stains on the ceiling.

(Back then, I was so nervous about what would happen to me that I couldn’t sleep. But this time…)

(Was that Victor’s ability?)

Every time I recalled the sight of those people with their hands around their own necks and blissful expressions, I couldn’t help but feel a chill, and begin to shiver. But the main reason my heart felt so heavy was…

(I pushed Victor away.)

The cold of night had sapped the warmth away from where his hand had touched mine. But that didn’t change the fact that I slapped his hand away.

(What was he going to say back then?)

I wasn’t brave enough to ask him what he wanted to say then, when he was reaching out to me.

(I can’t keep going like this.)

I slipped out of bed and began dressing for the day, my thoughts now the exact opposite of yesterday’s.

(I don’t know how I should act today…)

Hesitant to see Victor again, I stood there.

Kate: I guess I should go outside.

With heavy feet, I left my bedroom.

…

Roger: Nice timing, little lady. Thanks.

I had bumped into Roger as I was walking down the hallway and whisked away. He had needed help with carrying some things, so instead of Victor’s office, I now found myself in the castle’s basement.

Roger: I’ve been wanting to read these foreign medical texts forever, so when they finally got translated I ended up ordering all of them at once.

The boxes filled with weighty medical texts stacked on top of his desk were what he’d asked for my help with.

Kate: There’s so many of them…

Roger: An allowance is meant to be spent, isn’t it?

There were texts from everywhere, from Germany and other nearby countries all the way to the east. As I stared at the unfamiliar books, Roger suddenly spoke up as if he had just remembered something.

Roger: Aren’t you going to help Victor with his work today?

Kate: Um…

As I hesitated, unsure of how to respond, Roger smirked.

Roger: What, did you two end up doing it and now you can’t face him again?

That’s not what happened…  

W-we didn’t!! (+4/+4)

I guess…

Kate: W-we didn’t!! That’s not what happened at all!!

Roger: I was kidding, you don’t need to get that worked up. Roger: But there is a reason that things are awkward now, isn’t there?

Kate: …Maybe I’m the only one feeling awkward about it…

Roger: Did you finally have enough of Mr. Overprotective getting in your business?

Kate: Huh?

I looked up and met Roger’s gaze. For some reason, he looked confused himself.

Roger: Was that not it?

Kate: What do you mean by that?

Roger: Ah crap. I shouldn’t have said anything.

He leaned against a shelf and scratched the back of his head.

Roger: But, eh, it’s fine. I was wondering about it too, anyway.

He returned to the topic, speaking as if he were flaunting a rule.

Roger: Do you remember all the missions you’ve been on?

Kate: Yes. Researching that orphanage, the illegal gambling ring, retrieving the drugged candy…

As I listed out the missions, Roger pointed at me.

Roger: And how many times have you seen someone die while on a mission?

The question took me by surprise. As if my expression were an answer in itself, Roger pressed on.

Roger: Majority of the missions you joined were all information gathering. Roger: You haven’t had many chances to witness any killing. Maybe none at all.

Roger wasn’t wrong. I knew that Crown’s purpose was to pay evil unto evil.

(After all, I saw them in action that first night.)

But ever since I became Fairytale Keeper, Even though I had witnessed scenes of injustice, I never saw anything similar to what happened that night. Why was that? Roger’s eyes gleamed as he answered my silent question.

Roger: It’s because Victor made sure of it.

Kate: Why would he…

Even as the question slipped past my lips, I felt as though I knew the answer.

Roger: He probably wants to make sure you can return to your old life as easily as possible, without witnessing any death.

(Because Victor is kind.)

Without my knowledge, I was kept in a cage as soft as the expression in his eyes whenever he looked at me.

Roger: The others probably figured it out too. They’re all trying to keep you away from it too. Roger: But I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do.

I felt my eyes burn. My lips trembled as I tried to form words.

Roger: Because you didn’t have a say in it.

At Roger’s words, I gave a small nod and sniffled. Although knowing that he was trying to keep me safe did make me happy, I couldn’t help but feel terribly lonely too.

(It feels like he doesn’t understand my resolve.)

As Fairytale Keeper, I promised myself that no matter what darkness I faced, I wouldn’t abandon my role. I was here because of that resolve. Or at least, it should have been that way.

Kate: I know that Victor was being kind. Kate: But maybe I never told him what I wanted. Kate: And I’m ashamed I never realized that I was being treated like a guest all this time.

Even if it was only for a month, I wanted to be accepted fully by everyone in Crown. But it was as if Victor’s kindness and protection had drawn a line between them and me. I’d had so much to think about ever since last night that everything was starting to come together in a swirl of irritation.

(The things I saw, how I pushed Victor away, how I didn’t realize that I was being herded away from what I wanted to face.) (I’m so frustrated it’s actually making me angry.)

Roger noticed that I was biting my lip and he laughed.

Roger: If you have something to say, go tell the man himself. Roger: Those lips aren’t made for biting. Roger: They’re there so you can use them to speak your mind.

He put his hand on my head and ruffled my hair.

Kate: Hey!

Roger: If he still doesn’t get it, you can come back here.

His hand stopped moving. I looked up. His eyes were bright behind his glasses.

Roger: I can show you a good enough time that you won’t care about Victor anymore.

Kate: Wha- don’t make jokes like that!

I hurriedly backed away while Roger smiled.

Roger: I’m not a joking kind of guy. Roger: Your face is exactly my type, you know.

Kate: I’m leaving!

Fearing that I’d get swept away by Roger’s behavior if I stayed any longer, I made my way to the stairs.

Kate: And thank you!

By the time I thanked him, Roger had already cracked open one of his books.

Roger: If you have anything else to get off your chest, you can drop by any time.

Kate: Absolutely not!

His POV Story: What I Didn’t Want You to Know

The sound of soft footsteps just outside my door heralded Kate’s arrival. I never tired of watching her enter after knocking politely on the door. She would always greet me good morning, receive her work for the day, and sit down in her usual chair at the table. Sneaking glances at her serious face in profile as she got absorbed into her work never failed to soothe. She didn’t notice my staring today either.

(She’s so adorable when she’s concentrating.)

I could tell when she finished her work by watching her: the way the corners of her mouth lifted in a relaxed smile, how she stretched. That was the sign for me to stop as well, and begin preparing for tea time. This was a new habit that I’d adopted ever since Kate began working here with me, A moment of respite in my life which was otherwise dominated by work. Due to Kate’s presence here, The cold atmosphere of my office had been replaced with warmth.

Victor: Take it as a personal request from me. Victor: Pretty please?

Our conversation began with the topic of Kate working too much, then ended with my suggestion of her taking the day off, which she had refused. So I deliberately acted cute to get her to change her mind. Since I started spending more time with her, I realized that Kate’s Achilles’ heel was me putting on this kind of act.

(Strange, when you’re so much cuter than I am.)

I suppose that normally, she saw me as someone composed and mature. So the occasional facade of childishness was like a bullet to her heart. Right now she looked uncertain, a faint blush to her cheeks as she looked away from me.

(I can’t help but worry…)

I hoped that no one aside from me would try fooling Kate like this. I waited for her reply.

(I’m already certain of what her answer will be, though.)

Kate: Fine, I will.

I beamed at her as she nodded reluctantly.

Victor: Excellent! Have a good rest.

Waving goodbye to her, that was the end of that. But as soon as I saw her off and closed the door, the atmosphere of the room shifted instantly.

Victor: …Now.

I rearranged the documents I had in hand, pulled out a few more from a drawer, and then lit a match. A burning odor filled the room as I brought the match to the paper, watching it curl and burn away. Watching ashes fall onto my desk, a sudden chill filled my heart. This was a side of me that no one knew. Not Kate, and not Crown. William probably had suspicions, but he never asked. Printed on the paper were photos of a number of men.

Victor: I have to work hard too, for everyone’s sake.

All the things I did in secret to get funding for Crown’s activities… No one needed to know.

-----

The night was illuminated by cold moonlight. I turned the corner into an alleyway. A group of men were gathered there, making crude conversation.

(Kate and William are both on a mission at the theater nearby.) (I should work quickly so it won’t bother them.)

The men were underlings of a gang that was trying to bring a new drug into the country. Here they were, chatting away, unaware that I had personally destroyed their headquarters just minutes ago.

(I will create a free and peaceful country by passing impartial judgment on the evils that threaten its people.)

That was why I served as executioner. But…

(I will never let you witness this.)

I wanted her to know only a world of beauty. But she stumbled onto the scene of a grisly execution, and stepped foot into this dark world. She was earnest, hardworking, and filled with kindness. I knew that better than anyone.

(And that is why I must let her go.)

Never let her see anything upsetting. Never make her sad. Never let her lose her smile. The feelings I had for Kate were more akin to a desire to protect her.

(But–)

Hearing my approaching footsteps, the men looked up. With weapons in hand, they marched in my direction. But I didn’t hesitate as I said one phrase. In the blink of an eye, the men all reached up to strangle themselves, and fell to the ground, never to breathe again. That should have been the end of it.

Kate: Ah… ah-

I heard a familiar voice behind me and felt my body grow cold. I spun around. And there she was. All emotion left my face as I saw her grow pale.

(She should still be at the theater right now. Why…?)

Normally I should have been able to tell that she was there. But complacent in my belief that there was no way she would be out here, I let down my guard. Kate’s eyes were wide, as if she could not believe what she was seeing. I could see her body trembling, how she was left speechless at the sight of the corpses around me. She was afraid of me.

(...To be seen like this by the person whom I least wanted to show this to. The universe loves its cruel jokes.)

I had hoped that I would be able to spend another relaxing day with her tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that, until she left Crown. Those warm, peaceful days.

(Those days I spent with you were so wonderful that I nearly forgot.) (I am the reaper.)

The sight of those eyes, so filled with fear, tore open just the tiniest hole, In the heart I thought I had thrown away so long ago.

[burningcheese-merchant]

youll be fine merchant, after all i follow you because i like you saying things, you make things interesting in a way, im not sure how to describe it, but what i do want to say is that you dont need to feel that way, u doing fine and i hope you continue doing fine

I'm grateful for your kind words. I really am. I'm touched you took the time to say something to me. But... Idk.

I'm feeling very raw today. I want to be totally real just once. Just this one time. No sarcasm or joking around like I usually do. Be my therapist/blank wall to whom I address my words of woe for a minute. Then we can all go back to normal after that

I've been having a major crisis of self-confidence lately. Been feeling stupid. Useless. Good for nothing. Probably just the Big Sad talking but that guy hasn't shut up for an awfully long time and he's harder to tune out on some days

Writing was always an escape for me. A form of catharsis. I'm actually quite terrible at speaking to people irl. I'm very shy and awkward. Social anxiety on steroids. I always expressed myself better in writing as opposed to spoken words. Idk it just feels a lot less stifling to me. I feel more free. Less judged. More in control of my thoughts. If that makes any sense.

Bit the bullet and started posting fics on AO3 just to indulge myself. Never really expected to get any attention. There was a ship I liked and there weren't really any fics for it, so I became the change I wished to see in the world. That was all it was. You want something done right, do it your damn self.

Wrote more. Different things with different characters and different ideas. Gained a lot more traction. Caught another bullet in my teeth and made this blog. People seem to like my ideas for some reason. I start to think "hey. Maybe I really am a good writer."

Then I took a few story-shaped sledgehammers to the skull and remembered that no, I'm not. Lol.

Comparison is the thief of joy. I know that. Nobody needs to remind me. But it's easier said than practiced. Read biscuitlabyrinth's stuff and felt like a fraud. Read Jambound and felt like a skyscraper-sized fraud. It's hard not to compare yourself to others when the "others" are practically hailed as heroes by the fandom. When there are mountains upon mountains of fanart happily illustrating their work. When their story has the most hits and the most kudos and the most comments and the most bookmarks in the entire Cookie Run tag on AO3, and only receives more every passing day. When there are people who want to bind the fic and make it an actual, physical book, because they love it so much. No one has ever said or done any of that for me or my stuff. Never got even a fraction of that love or attention. Not even close. And I never, ever will.

Yeah yeah. Two cakes. Everyone has said that to me. But if you all had to choose. If you could only eat one cake while the other one went straight to the trash. You wouldn't pick mine, would you? You'd pick the other one. You'd pick Jambound. Everyone would. Even my friends on here would. Why bother wasting time and ingredients baking the thing if you know that's how it's going to be? What's the point?

I know I'm not owed success. Nobody is. It's earned. It just... hurts, I guess. It hurts to feel compelled to doubt yourself so strongly after finally allowing yourself to believe you've done a good job at something for once in your life. To feel like even when I try, even when I put my best foot forward, it's not good enough. Nobody actually cares. No one will ever think of you like they think of those other people and their work. No one will think of you at all. You're just a sad little wannabe loser, wallowing in their shadows.

I don't blame those people for these feelings. I don't blame anyone except myself. To think or do otherwise would be childish. No one is responsible for making me feel inferior/inadequate besides me. I accept that these thought and feelings are foolish. Whiny. Unfair. No one should pay them any mind. I'll sort through them on my own.

It's stupid, all of this. Oh no, some person's fanfiction is more popular than yours. Boo hoo. It's the end of the world. Stupid. It's all stupid. And yet, the feelings persist. It sucks. I don't want to feel this way. I'd rather just forget about it all and go back to being the loser who was content just writing for herself and nobody else, really. I don't look good in green, that's for sure lol. But it's hard. It's hard to let go of something that's got its jaws clenched around your neck so tight. Waiting for you to stop fighting and bleed out before it can finish its meal.

I always thought that writing was the only thing I was ever good at. That I was ever good for. Learned the hard way that that's not true. That my best was never anything but mediocre in reality. It's really no wonder Jambound is as beloved as it is. It's wonderful. Fantastic. It deserves all the praise it gets. I wish I could write half as well as that. But I don't. And now sometimes I wonder if anyone would even notice, even if I did.

I'm not happy writing anymore. Feels like it got snatched from me. The thing I love, that always brought me a measure of peace no matter how depressed I got. Gone. I can't draw worth a damn. I'm not funny. I'm not that smart. I never thought I had anything to give anyone except my writing. Now I understand that I don't have that, either. My cake sucks. No wonder everyone would rather eat theirs.

I'll get over it eventually. I'm stubborn if nothing else at all. I've got stories to tell and finish, even if they'll never mean anything to anyone except myself. Might as well. For my own sake.

There. Said my piece. Poured my miserable little heart out. Let's not talk about this anymore. Go back to enjoying the fancy, professional cake and celebrating the talented baker. Leave me to my cracked countertop covered in stale flour and rotten eggs and bland frosting. I never said anything worth listening to. I'm not sure I ever have.

No more self-pity after this, back to being a silly bozo as usual. Thanks for reading all this gunk if you bothered to for whatever reason. Y'all have a nice day. Better than mine, hopefully

[girlatrocity]

MAN.

[sbrn10]

Me about 50% of the time I am wading through publicly searchable CR-related tags: for the love of god, can people be. Like. Normal about anything?

Also me the rest of the time: *not at all normal about CR*

[durzarya]

Okay I realize that I am on the piss on the poor website and that media literacy is dead. But sometimes my own "Was that not obvious???" is not apparently obvious.

And I have to step back because no girl most people don't interpret a text correctly while only understanding half the words

[interpolationz]

help i got a little too silly about something that maybe one should not be silly about and i've been cursed with terrible hiccups for it

[vadlings]

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

[babsworlds]

WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE.

pairing. Pedro Pascal x younger! fem! reader

synopsis. you and Pedro do the we listen and we don’t judge trend.

warnings. mention of age gap (late 20s/late 40s), short fic.

babs’ notes. guys ik this trend isn’t trend anymore but i just had to write it

EVEN THOUGH YOU DIDN’T WANT TO ADMIT IT, you were a chronically online person. You weren’t particularly proud of it, but the constant stream of trends on TikTok was enough to keep you entertained for hours.

You loved to post mini vlogs and grwms videos on TikTok. It was fun to do, and the bonus money it brought in was a welcome perk. The creative process of filming, editing, and sharing snippets of your life with the world brought you a sense of joy and fulfillment.

On the other hand, Pedro was content with simply posting stories on Instagram. Being an older man, his Instagram was a bit chaotic, yet endearingly so. He mostly posted pictures with you, capturing beautiful moments and showcasing your love and adventures together.

So when you saw the TikTok trend We Listen and We Don’t Judge, where partners share little, harmless secrets, you just knew you had to do it with Pedro.

To your surprise, it didn’t take much to convince him; he was always up for these kinds of fun. What took longer was explaining the trend to him, but somehow, you managed to get through it.

You pressed record, and both of you said in unison, “We Listen and we don’t judge.” You couldn't help but notice Pedro's adorable expression on the phone screen; he looked so happy to be there.

“Okay, I’ll start,” you said, turning to look at your boyfriend. You took a moment to think of what to say first. “I can hear you when you’re singing in the shower, and it sounds terrible,” you said, trying hard to hold back your laughter.

Pedro narrowed his eyes at you, a mix of mock indignation and amusement crossing his face. Deep down, he knew there was a bit of truth in your words. “We listen and we don’t judge,” you both repeated in sync, and now it was his turn.

Pedro took a deep breath and grinned. “When we first met, I thought you are a bit of brat,” he admitted.

Your mouth dropped open in shock. You hadn’t expected him to be that blunt. But, as the trend dictated, you couldn’t judge. You managed to keep your expression neutral, despite your surprise.

Pedro chuckled, noticing your reaction. “I know, it sounds horrible, but that’s what I thought at first,” he said, his tone softer.

You ignored him with an eye roll, “We listen and we don’t judge.”

“Sometimes you get me so upset when you forget something,” you confessed, scanning his expression on the phone screen. “But I always remind myself you’re just an old man,” you chuckled, looking at him.

Pedro took this secret well and just shrugged. “That was obvious, I am an old man,” he said with a smile.

“We listen and we don’t judge,”

Pedro's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in closer to the camera. “Your Spanish is bad... like really bad,” he said with a smile, clearly enjoying the playful banter. It really sounded like he came just for the hate, but you smiled, ready to dish it back.

“Well, your French isn’t good either,” you retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“We listen and we don’t judge,”

“I hate when you fart and blame it on me,” you said, the words barely escaping your mouth before you both burst into laughter. Pedro's eyes widened in shock, his laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ Y/n, you can’t say shit like that to people,” Pedro exclaimed with laugh, trying to calm himself down. He had expected many things, but not this.

Your laughter was infectious, and Pedro couldn't help but join in, his body shaking with mirth. “Well, it's true!” you said, still giggling. “You do it all the time.”

Pedro wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. But we listen and we don’t judge, remember?”

You both repeated, “We listen and we don’t judge,” in unison, still grinning from ear to ear.

"When I was filming Gladiator, some lady asked me if you're my daughter," Pedro chuckled, referring to your age difference. The memory seemed to amuse him greatly, and the twinkle in his eyes made it clear he found the situation hilarious.

You gave him a knowing stare. "We listen and we don't judge," you said, the words almost automatic now.

"I love when you wear glasses, it turns me on so bad," you said with a smirk, your voice dropping a notch. It was a bold confession, one that you knew would get a rise out of him. You couldn't help but think about your PR manager, already dreading the phone call you'd probably get after posting this video.

Pedro's smirk matched yours, his eyes filled with a mix of confidence and affection. "Knew that," he said confidently, his gaze locking with yours. His playful tone, combined with the way he looked at you, sent a shiver down your spine.

Of course, you did have to cut out some parts because Pedro could be a dirty bastard and truly had no filter. His unfiltered remarks were hilarious but perhaps a bit too much for the fans and especially your PR managers.

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ No Longer Strangers — Awakened Pure Vanilla x GN Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/comfort || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: This is a part two to this fic as an apology for the angst, hehehe

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

It had been troubling, being apart without Pure Vanilla. It felt like a very piece of your souljam had been torn out, leaving you a devestated mess in the meantime. While this "Recluse" took off, you tried to pick up the pieces he had left. Yet, to your surprise, you were now face to face with the same Cookie who had said those terrible things to you. His clothes had a white tinge rather than black, the blues completely gone. The eye of his staff now sported a brilliantly shining star, matching the mark on his forehead. His expression was deeply troubled as he spoke with you. "My dear, I-... I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am" he began softly, voice thick with guilt.

You shook off your surprise at his new form, fixing him with a glare. "You should be. Do you have any idea what it was like, having you talk to me like I was nothing? Hearing you treat me like a problem?". Pure Vanilla winced, his hands nervously rubbing the handle of his staff. "I.. wasn't myself. I was under Shadow Milk's control, and... I thought you'd be safer without me. In some way, I... thought I was helping". "Well you weren't" you replied firmly. Pure Vanilla frowned more, slowly stepping closer to you. He extended a nervous hand, and you noticed how it shook. Your expression softened, and with only a moment's hesitation, you allowed him to take your hand into his.

You watched with a suspicious gaze as Pure Vanilla guided your hand to his lips, gently pecking the back of it "Oh, my dove... you didn't deserve such cruelty. Never in all my years have I ever dreamt of hurting you, even in my nightmares". As he spoke, you heard his tone waver. Something in your chest lurched painfully, but you tried to stuff it down. "But you did," you told him, voice now soft as the old aches returned "I know it wasn't in your control, but I can't forget it". "I understand" Pure Vanilla said.

He then kneeled down, bowing a little. He pressed your hand to his forehead. "Please, let me make it up to you. I'll spend the rest of my life letting you know that I adore you every day, each more than the last" he said, tone having warbled into near-begging. "Pure Vanilla..." You said, and he cut you off by opening up his eyes. You could see the darkness that once suffocated them was now gone, the soft blue and yellow you'd come to love being visible once again. He gently moved your hand to his cheek, and kissed your palm. "I'm sorry, my dove. And I can't say it enough. I can't spend another moment thinking of how you looked that last time we met"

The memory fluttered across your mind, the way it stung seeing your beloved look at you with such disdain. All traces of coldness was gone, now the healer was leaning into your hand like it was the last time he'd ever feel your touch. You felt some dampness from his eye reach your hand, and that alone broke you. You inched closer, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace. "I- I thought you'd-" you began, voice breaking up with emotion. Pure Vanilla wrapped you in his arms, a sensation you previously feared never feeling again. "Shh, shh, it's alright. I'm back now, you see? It's just me" he murmured.

You couldn't help but melt into his hold, pouring all the agony you'd felt into tears while dissolving in his arms. He sniffled, a small whimper leaving him as he cried along with you. It took several moments, but when you pulled back, Pure Vanilla began kissing the tears off of your dough, wiping your eyes clean with his hands. "I love you, my dove" he said quietly "More than anything. You don't have to forgive me just yet, but I'll try every day to prove it to you". You chuckled a little. It was so uniquely him, and for the first time in a long while, you felt he was himself again. His voice, the one you remembered, the one that comforted you countless times, was back.

You gave a quick peck to the corner of his mouth. Almost as soon as it happened, Pure Vanilla gently cupped your face, bringing you back in for a proper kiss. It was chaste, but you felt relief fill your form at feeling his kiss again. You held it with him until it slowly broke, Pure Vanilla simply breathing in the moment. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Anything you want, my love, and I'll grant it to you" he said. You smiled, hugging him once more "I'll tell you when I think of it. Can we just stay here for now?". "Of course," Pure Vanilla said, shifting to be fully sitting and putting you right in his lap. He gently pet your hair while keeping a tight hold around your waist. You leaned into him, feeling whole once again.

[witherby]

im so scared for the sick bed fic... I cant do angst man!! I am a man for the fluff and the romance not the angst- i'll cry when angst

(my imaginary therapist will be hearing about the fic if i do start to cry.)

-🕯

I had to cut myself off because this got wayyy long. It's still way long but not as long as it could've been. Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 3

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Content warnings: funeral proceeding, temporary child death, hospital visits, paparazzi harassment, slightly-obsessive behaviors from Damian but in a light-hearted way ⚠️

The funeral is a quiet affair. The entirety of the League are in attendance on the Manor grounds, varying degrees of sympathy and mourning on their faces. It's a strange juxtaposition to the rare, sunny day Gotham is currently experiencing. Damian can't stand to see it.

His suit feels far too tight against his skin. He doesn't dare complain about it, because his brothers all look similarly disgusted to be dressed up for such a terrible occasion. Dick's sleeves are stained because he ran out of tissues to dab at his eyes, but he's still mustering up a smile and thanking everyone for coming. Jason is robotically stone-faced and glaring at the ground, hands clenched into fists by his side when they aren't shoved deep into the pockets of his suit jacket. Tim hasn't left Bruce's side, eyes rimmed with pink and gaze unseeing.

Bruce and Hal... They haven't looked anywhere in your direction since everyone stepped outside. Bruce is trying his absolute damndest to hold himself together until after the procession, face a careful mask of neutrality everyone is too polite to comment on, while he hugs Tim's shivering form to his chest and wordlessly accepts condolences from the other Leaguers. Hal, on the other hand, is almost expressing his grief on Bruce's behalf. His pockets are bulging with accumulating tissues and his face is red and blotchy. Diana comes and hugs him tight, and Damian watches him just about fall apart right there as he white-knuckles her dress and stifles his sobs against her shoulder.

Damian is...numb. He's a statue in the grass, staring uselessly around the area like he has any idea of how to proceed. He doesn't know what he should be doing. He doesn't know what he should be saying.

He just knows that he has failed, and you are dead.

A hand, featherlight, touches his shoulder. Damian turns and makes eye contact with Alfred, who until now has never looked his age before. At this moment, it feels like the man might follow in your footsteps any second, his skin pale and eyes sunken with familiar loss. He looks so tired and so sad. He looks frail, worn down from suffering yet another tragedy in the Wayne family.

"It's time," Alfred mutters, almost inaudible in its resignation. Damian clenches his jaw and lets out a slow breath, nodding.

He turns, catching Dick's eye. His oldest brother gets the memo and quickly grabs Jason and Tim, and together they all approach you.

"Alright, kiddo," Jason says, voice thin and shaking as he rests his palm on the top of your coffin, painted in all your favorite colors and beautifully crafted, "one last piggy-back ride, then it's bedtime."

The four of them take their positions around you, clutching the poles under your coffin, and lift, walking you to the plot a few yards away from Martha and Thomas. You are uncomfortably light, and your casket is uncomfortably small. Something a six-year-old should never, ever have to be placed in. Selfishly, Damian is glad that the lid is closed so he doesn't have to look upon your face and trick himself into thinking you're merely sleeping, that you'll wake up and smile at him and ask to play together again like it's just another day.

He wishes it were another day. Yearns for it so badly there's a physical ache in his chest.

Your plot is surrounded by sunflowers and your headstone has a carving of your beloved bat plushy on it. Damian knows the real one is carefully tucked into your arms, something for you to hold in that dark, little space and keep you company.

His hands are shaking as he and his brothers set you on the winch that will lower you into your final resting place. His heart is racing as Clark steps forward, solemnly volunteering to be the one to turn the crank and bid you goodbye. His head is spinning as he watches your coffin slowly but surely vanish into the ground, your life as his rambunctious and annoying and mundane and beautiful and lovely little sibling cut short.

Bruce finally breaks. He abruptly gasps and turns away and Hal clutches his arm to stop him from rushing off.

"I can't do this," he stammers, tears streaming down his face. "I can't, I can't — Hal, my baby, I lost another one —"

"I know," Hal whispers back, gathering Bruce into his arms as tight as he can and squeezing. Damian notes distantly that he's never seen his father look this small before. He watches his brothers and Alfred all converge to embrace Bruce, almost seeming to shield him from the sight of your grave, but he can't make himself join them. He feels rooted to the very ground that's now been shaped to cradle you, unable to do a thing but stare at your coffin when Clark finally lowers it all the way down.

Damian would surrender the Robin mantle a thousand times over, would go and take down the remaining League of Assassins, would end his own life without hesitation, if it stood even the faintest chance of bringing you back. All the years spent resenting you over a title that's been passed down to all of Bruce's children, all the years you've shown him nothing but love and adoration as one of your older brothers, when he could barely stand to be in your presence as you grew older...

For what?

You died knowing that three of your brothers thought you hung the moon and stars in the sky, while the fourth snubbed you for the sake of a competition he'd conjured entirely in his mind. It was not worth it. It had never been worth it.

Damian's vision is blurring. People around him are talking, either to him or each other, but he can't tell who they are. Can't make out the words. Can't understand anything except the dirt being shoveled over your lifeless body. He wants to scream at Diana and Oliver and J'onn and Dinah, wants to demand they put those damned shovels down and get you out of there, wants to pry the lid open and hold you to his chest until he can track your pulse again, he wants, he wants, he wants.

His head hurts. His heart is racing. He's so angry. He's so scared. He's so upset. He misses you, he loves you, he needs you to wake up.

He needs you to not be dead.

"Please," he sobs, giving into his grief and collapsing into the grass and sunflowers. All his careful stoicism and detachment is falling apart. How dare the field look so beautiful in the wake of this nightmare? Doesn't it know you lie among it now? Doesn't it understand the tragedy that's occurred? The wet earth squelches under his hands as he forms fists in the ground.

"Come back. Please come back, I'm sorry! I take it back, I take everything back! Don't leave!"

"Damian..." Someone mutters soothingly to him. A hand touches his back but he doesn't want it. He just wants you. He wants to see you open your eyes and be alive again. He wants his family whole again. "Damian."

"Don't leave!" He cries again. The ground under him becomes a strange texture as the hand on his back starts rubbing soothing circles against his blazer. It's soft, and pliant, and no longer damp. When he blinks, the sunflowers are gone. Your plot is gone. The tombstone is gone. "W-wait...where'd you...where's..."

"Damian," Bruce murmurs behind him. That can't be right, though, Bruce is a dozen feet away and crying over your grave. Why does he sound so calm all of a sudden? "Open your eyes, chum, it's just a bad dream."

It's...a what?

Damian's head feels like mush when he snaps his eyes open. He sits up in his bed and looks around in a panic. Bruce is there, sitting on the edge of the mattress with a small, concerned frown.

"Dami—"

"Move!" Damian snaps, throwing the covers off and scrambling to his feet. Bruce doesn't stop him as he runs to the window and leans out, scanning the grounds until he can just barely make out his grandparents' headstones in the distance.

There's no hole next to them. No newly-planted sunflowers in the field. No signs of a funeral about to be held.

He feels his body un-tense.

"A nightmare?" He still asks, cautious. Bruce nods. Damian slumps entirely and walks into his father's arms, groaning low and deep while he regains his composure. "I hate this. Take me back to the hospital."

"You know it's not your turn," Bruce says, rubbing the heel of his palm slowly and firmly up and down Damian's back to encourage calm breathing. "Tim's there with Hal for the day. Then it's Dick and Jason's turn, then you and Alfred get to go see them in the morning."

"I'll make one of them switch with me."

"That's not fair. The rest of us deserve to see them, too."

Damian fists his father's shirt and tries not to snap at him. It's not the point. Of course anybody can see you when they want, but he promised to stay. It was the only thing you asked of him before you fell into another seizure and had to be whisked off to the intensive care ward under a code blue. Damian had pitched a fit so bad when he wasn't allowed to follow after the staff that it ended up in a gossip column the next day:

YOUNGEST WAYNE SON TERRORIZES ICU STAFF AT GOTHAM GENERAL

Billionaire son tries to throw his weight around to get access to restricted area!

Bruce already has his lawyers stepping on the publisher's necks about it, but no one is mad at Damian for what happened. He saw you flat-lining, freaked out, and just wanted to stay by you to ensure your health and safety. Being told he couldn't was an understandably-frightening thing, but it also isn't good for him to just hover around the hospital waiting for your condition to approve, either.

That's why Damian is currently home. Bruce pulled him from school for the week, citing a family emergency, and created the visitation schedule they're all currently following.

Damian doesn't want to adhere to the schedule. He wants to be in your hospital room where he assured you he would remain.

He promised he would stay with you. If something happens to you and he's not there...

Bruce shifts, giving Damian a gentle squeeze to get his attention. He offers him a small, encouraging smile despite the worry lines furrowing his own brow.

"I know that face. You're following in your father's footsteps and catastrophizing again. Refocus some of that energy and come shopping with me."

"Retail therapy? I'm not five, father. Not interested."

"Hnn...let me rephrase: come shop for some "get well soon" gifts for Mouse with me."

Damian stands up and walks into his closet to get ready for the day, already plucking up the shirt and pants he wants to change into.

"Why didn't you lead with that? I'll meet you in the car," he calls. Bruce's gentle laughter trails behind him as he exits Damian's bedroom.

--

You wake up to the sounds of harsh whispering and crinkling plastic. Cracking an eye open feels like lifting the world's heaviest weights, but eventually you manage to focus your vision on your grandpa, dad and brother trying (and failing) to quietly set a bunch of things down on your bedside table.

"...u-um..." You croak, throat dry. Bruce's, Alfred's, and Damian's heads turn in your direction.

"Hi, Mouse."

"Good morning, young master."

"You're awake."

Their voices overlap each other, washing over you and making you smile instinctively. You lift your hand and wave a little. Damian thrusts the crinkly gift basket he was holding into Bruce's hands and approaches you, threading your fingers together.

"Hi," you greet him quietly. You lift your free hand and scratch your nose, briefly displacing the oxygen mask on your face. Damian readjusts it when you're done, looking solemn.

"I'm sorry," he says. You stare at him, confused, and his cheeks flush as he opens and closes his mouth, searching for the right words. "I... wasn't here during your second seizure. The hospital staff wouldn't let anyone stay with you, so I was forced to leave my post —"

"Ohh," you exclaim, then let out a raspy giggle. The red on his face gets even worse. "I forgive you."

"...what?"

You clear your throat. It's very hoarse and dry, but it doesn't hurt as bad as before. "I said...I forgive you, Dami. S'not your fault."

Bruce and Alfred are trying not to look amused. They're failing. Damian looks like you've told him something in one of the few languages he doesn't understand. His grip on your hand briefly tightens.

"What!?"

You sigh, about to repeat yourself again, but your brother shakes his head and furrows his brow.

"I broke my promise immediately after I made it!"

"I know."

"You were alone in here for hours!"

"Yeah, I know."

"Even now, everyone is on a stupid visitor's rotation that only has me here for the mornings!"

You nod. "I know."

"Then why aren't you mad at me!?"

You huff. "Because it makes you sad. I don't want you to be sad, Dami."

Bruce can't stop himself from muttering "oh, so precious," but Damian doesn't pay him any mind. He spent two days agonizing over this for nothing. Because you just took his explanation and his apology at face value, and forgave him.

"What if I lied?" He blurts, because of course he inherited his father's incessant need to pry, to work every angle of a problem until he reaches full understanding. "What if I didn't intend to stay?"

You smile again, pulling your plush bat out from under your blanket.

"You brought me Squimby," you state, like that answered everything. "You remembered to get him for me. You're not a meanie, Dami. You're my big brother."

Even Alfred makes a gentle humming noise at that. Damian feels all of the fight and stress and tension leave him, utterly helpless in the face of your unconditional love.

"Okay," he mutters. You grin.

"Hug?"

"Oh." He glances at Bruce and Alfred over his shoulder. "Uh."

"Hug," you demand now, tugging on his hand. "I'm sick. Gimme a hug."

Damian narrows his eyes. "Todd becomes infinitely more demanding when he's sick. He taught you this, didn't he? It's very unbecoming —"

You cough weakly, forcing your arms to tremble. Damian's lips press into a thin line, and he gently gathers you to his chest for a tight hug.

"Unbecoming," he whispers in your ear. You just grin and hold him back.

"You have to hug Squimby, too."

"Great. Of course I do. We can't allow Squimby to get jealous."

"Nope!" You grin, popping the P. Damian can hear Bruce snapping pictures behind him and relents to the mild embarrassment. In truth, he doesn't mind the hug at all. He just isn't amenable to public displays of affection. For you, though, he's quickly realizing he would do anything.

"Alright. Come here, Squimby. You get your hug and then Flit can open their presents."

"I'd like a hug," Bruce says.

"Squimby gets his hug and then Flit opens presents."

Bruce pouts. Alfred hides a smile behind his hand. Your laugh is hoarse, but bright.

--

"Thank you all for taking care of me!"

Several of the hospital staff "aww" and smile at you as Tim wheels you down the halls. You clutch your plush toy to your chest and grin, waving at familiar faces.

You spent a week in the hospital fighting a bad combination of pneumonia and the flu. The bright light constantly beating down on you had actually worsened it, due to the nature of your Umbrakinesis, which caused the second seizure. You spent most of your treatment after that in a darkened room receiving lots of fluids and antibiotics to help you fight it off, until finally the last of your fever broke. Then you were cleared to finish recovering at home with some more prescriptions to take.

"Bye!" You wave again, smiling at the staff near the exit. Some of them echo it back to you and wish you well, and then you're outside and breathing in fresh air for the first time in eight days.

Of course, living in Gotham, the peace doesn't last. You're almost immediately inundated with flashing lights and reporters hovering around the entrance, snapping pictures of you and Tim. You frown, hiding your face in your bat toy while your brother walks past like they don't even exist.

"Mister Drake! A quote for the Gotham Gazette about the scandal surrounding Damian Wayne's behavior in the ER?"

"Tim! Timmy over here! Gotham News is asking how the little one is fairing!"

"Mx. Wayne! Any comment on your hospital visit, sweetie?"

"Mx. Wayne, look over here, look at the camera! I'll give you a lollipop if you give us a biiiig smile!"

You shake your head a little. More cameras flash, and you hear the sound of a car door slamming several yards ahead of you.

"At least tell us how you're feeling! The people wanna know if you're okay!"

"Tim, any diagnoses we should be made aware of?"

"Just give us a wave, honey! Lemme see that hospital bracelet!"

Something brushes against your wrist. Tim barks at the reporter who touched you to back up in a tone you've never heard from him before. It's loud and rough and no-nonsense, promising hefty consequences if there's no obedience.

"For God's sake, you vultures, we're still in the parking lot of the damn hospital!" Tim continues, pushing your wheelchair faster across the asphalt. "Move out of the way!"

"Just one quote for the column please!" Another reporter asks, grabbing your hand entirely this time.

You don't get the chance to react. Tim barely gets to reach for the man dumb enough to touch you. He's there one second and gone the next, removed from your side and thrown across the parking lot by one, hulking, furious Jason Todd-Wayne. He's in a sleeveless hoodie and jeans, fists clenched, standing at his full height, and glaring at everybody around as though daring them to try something next.

No one makes a sound. No one flexes a muscle. The gathered crowd just stands and stares and struggles to process what they're seeing. Who they're seeing. Because what the fuck, is that actually the dead son? How long has he been back? And why is he absolutely shredded?

You lift your head just enough to spot your brother and raise your arms, pouting. The easy familiarity only stirs up more questions no one is brave enough to ask.

"Jay-Jay..."

Jason looks at you and his entire person softens. Gone is the frightening, brick shithouse of a man and instead there's the kind and sweet boy he was before his apparently not-death.

"Hey, Mousey. Ready to go home?"

He steps forward and scoops you up in one arm, then comes around the wheelchair and grabs Tim in the other. Tim does not protest.

"Move." It's one syllable, quietly spoken, and seems to lower the temperature around them by several degrees. Reporters and columnists part like the Red Sea for him as he marches towards the car. Alfred holds the door open as Tim is ushered inside, then you're carefully buckled in after, then Jason follows suit.

The door is closed, the butler nods to the crowd, then he gets in and drives off.

The reporter on the ground finally sits up with a groan.

"Was that Jason Todd?"

--

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Jay."

"Thanks, Ma."

Hal smirks and shakes his head, dropping the newspaper on the breakfast table and sighing. He's only rolled out of bed ten minutes ago and every news site he checks is losing their minds talking about the "magically-resurrected Wayne boy." Bruce is undoubtedly going to frame some of the articles when he wakes up, because he's sappy like that.

"Everybody in this family is so dramatic."

"Didn't you come back from a three-week mission and make B piggy-back you around 'cause you were "gonna die and pass away and perish and die without human contact?"" Tim asks, pointing his pancake-filled fork at him.

"I'm pleading the Fifth," says Hal, snatching Tim's fork and eating the stolen pancake. Tim's cry of rage just makes it taste that much sweeter.

"I plead seven!"

Hal, Jason, and Tim all face the doorway where you stand, smiling sleepily at them and shuffling into the dining room. You lift your arms when you're beside Hal and he sweeps you into his lap, scooting his chair back so you aren't squished between him and solid mahogany.

"You're not seven yet, Mouse," Hal smiles. "Two and a half more weeks."

"Two and a half more weeks!" You echo. Your voice is still quieter and raspier than usual, but your energy is coming back in leaps and bounds and you've got the strength to travel short distances around the Manor as you recover —

"Flit! Return to bed immediately!!"

— much to one person's distress.

You grin and hide your face in Hal's chest, clinging to his shirt. Footsteps stomp down the corridor and Damian bursts into the dining room, locking in on you.

"Why did you leave your room?" He demands. "You have to take another round of medicine in eight minutes."

"Bored," you mumble into Hal's chest. "Lonely."

Damian huffs, opening his arms and looking insistently at the Lantern.

"I will keep you company, in your room. Release them, space cop."

Hal, in a scarily-accurate imitation of Bruce, lifts one eyebrow while his lips are pursed and crosses one leg over the other, hugging you tighter to his chest.

"I don't think I will, Ninja wannabe."

Damian scowls. "I'm not a wannabe if I was literally trained to be a —"

"Can't hear you, I'm cuddling Mouse."

"Yes you can! Those are two completely separate senses!"

"You hear somethin' honey?" Hal asks you.

"Nooo," you grin. "Just you, mama!"

"That's right. Just me." Hal grins right back, booping your nose. "And me says you can take your medicine anywhere; it doesn't have to be in your room."

Damian throws his hands up and stomps away in defeat, off to fetch your prescription. His absence makes you relax a little.

You love your brother very much, but he's been a bit overbearing since your return home. You understand it's because he's worried you'll get sicker again, and you definitely comply when he takes your temperature and gives you the medication, but...

Well. You're entirely unused to this level of attention from Damian. Dick is attentive, Jason is attentive, Tim is mostly attentive but sometimes gets sidetracked, and Damian? Before this, getting Damian to interact with you for more than two minutes felt like trying to getting blood from a stone.

He's never been mean. You know he loves you. He just never went out of his way to spend a whole lot of time with you, especially as Robin. It feels like a switch has been flipped and now he's making up for lost time. You don't mind it but you do want a little breathing room.

"Okay, here," Damian says, walking back in with the medicine already dosed out in the special measuring spoon it came with. The pale, pink liquid makes you pout. "Take this."

"Ugh," you groan. "Don't wanna..."

"You gotta," Jason pipes up, sipping coffee from Bruce's pilfered World's Okayest Dad mug. "Them's the rules. But you can have some pancakes after t'wash the taste out."

You grumble and pout and fuss, but no one lets you get away with it. Eventually, you open your mouth and let Damian feed you the antibiotics as though you were still an infant. He immediately hands you a juice box afterwards.

"Thank you," he says, taking the spoon into the kitchen to wash it. "We'll do that again in six hours."

You watch him leave from your spot in Hal's lap, little six-year-old brain spinning its wheels in your best attempt to understand where the change is coming from.

But then you start yawning, because it turns out walking the equivalent of a quarter-mile from your room to the breakfast table when you're still recovering from a compound-illness is exhausting, and find that you just don't care.

You are loved by everyone in your family, and you love them back. As Damian takes a seat at the table and starts cutting up some pancakes for you, insistent on hand-feeding much to the amusement of Jason and Tim, you content yourself with that being enough.

"Dami?" You say between bites. His eyes snap to you immediately, hyper-attentive. "Thanks for taking care of me."

His ears go pink and his mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile. Damian averts his gaze.

"Always," he mutters.

[moomuzan]

— 𝖌𝖔𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔𝖔 𝖋𝖆𝖗

they physically hurt you during an argument , dazai , chuuya , akutagawa , angst , requested

As the fight spiraled into chaos, every word seemed like a jagged shard, cutting both of you open. Dazai stood before you, his expression carefully constructed, a facade of calm that only amplified the storm raging in the room. His words were like knives, precise and cold, but you had learned how to endure them. Or so you thought.

“You think you’re better than this?” he snapped, his voice laced with something darker, more desperate. “Better than me? You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into. You’re so naïve it’s pathetic.”

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, voice trembling but resolute. “But at least I feel something real, Dazai. At least I’m not hiding behind masks and games like you.”

For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of your words settling between you. His jaw clenched, his hands twitching at his sides. You could see it—the storm breaking through his carefully curated demeanor, the anger and fear he so often buried rising to the surface.

And then, like a thunderclap, it happened.

While his hands moved faster than his mind, shoving you back, his frustration snapped into action. The force wasn’t calculated—it never was—but it sent you stumbling into the wall with a sickening thud. Pain shot up your back, sharp and immediate, and for a moment, the air was knocked clean out of your lungs.

Defeating, merely silence followed.

As if they were still grappling with the weight of what they’d done, his outstretched hands trembled. His eyes widened, the usual nonchalance stripped away to reveal something raw, something terrified.

Hoarse, he whispered your name, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as you steadied yourself against the wall. The ache in your side was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest, the realization that this—this person, this moment—was no longer safe.

“Don’t touch me,” you managed, your voice trembling, not with anger but with something more fragile.

“I didn’t mean to,” The man said, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “I swear, I didn’t mean��”

“You didn’t mean it?” you interrupted, the words bitter as they left your mouth. “You never mean it, Dazai. But that doesn’t stop it from happening, does it?”

Dazai‘s hands fell to his sides, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words physically struck him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. For once, Dazai Osamu—the man who always had a plan, a clever retort, a way out—was speechless.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep forgiving you for the ways you hurt me, for the ways you make me doubt myself. Love isn’t supposed to feel like this.”

In a matter of seconds his expression shattered then, the mask slipping completely. He looked like a man on the edge of something vast and terrible, his usual bravado gone, replaced by a desperation that made your heart ache.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, the words barely audible, as if saying them louder might break him entirely. “Please. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Tears spilling down your cheeks as you stepped toward the door, you whispered: “You don’t know how to love, Dazai.”

He sank to his knees then, his head bowing low as if he were trying to disappear into the floor. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and broken. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to be anything but this. But I love you. God, I love you.”

You froze at the door, your hand gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles turned white. For a moment, you thought about turning back, about kneeling down beside him and telling him that love could be enough, that it could save you both.

But it couldn’t.

“I love you too,” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “But sometimes, love isn’t enough to fix the damage.”

Opening the door, you stepped out into the cold night, the sound of it closing behind you echoing like a gunshot.

Dazai stayed where he was, his body trembling, his hands clutching at the floor as if it were the only solid thing left in his world. The apartment was silent now, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

He stayed there for hours, alone in the dark, his mind replaying every moment, every mistake, every crack that had led to this. And when the sun rose, spilling light into the room, it illuminated nothing but the hollow emptiness he’d tried so hard to avoid.

In the end, he realized, it wasn’t you he’d been trying to save. It was himself. And now, he had lost both.

,

The argument had begun as a flicker of irritation, something small enough that it could have been smothered if either of you had tried. But neither of you did. It grew, feeding on unspoken frustrations, on misunderstandings too deeply buried to untangle in the heat of the moment.

Lit only by the glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds, the apartment was dim. Chuuya stood in the middle of the room, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with shallow, ragged breaths. His hat had been tossed carelessly onto the couch, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it in frustration.

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” he shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls.

“You’re not listening to me!” you snapped back, your own voice trembling with the weight of the argument. “You never listen, Chuuya! You think you can decide everything for me, like I don’t have a say in my own life!”

He turned sharply, his blue eyes blazing with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t understand what it’s like out there! You don’t know what these people are capable of! I’m doing this for you!”

“For me?” You let out a bitter laugh, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re doing this because you can’t let go of your own fears! You’re so used to fighting everyone else’s battles that you can’t see I’m not the enemy!”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching as he tried to rein in the storm inside him. But the storm was relentless, and it spilled out before he could stop it.

“You don’t get it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You have no idea what it’s like to carry this kind of weight—to know that one wrong move could mean losing the only person you—”

Though he cut himself off, his voice faltering, the damage was already done. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, and it pressed down on both of you like a tangible force.

Taking a step back, your hands trembled at your sides. “I’m not a child, Chuuya. I don’t need you to control every part of my life. I just need you to trust me.”

“Trust you?” His voice rose again, sharp and cutting. “How am I supposed to trust you when you keep putting yourself in danger? Do you think I can just stand by and watch you get hurt?”

As his anger filled every corner, the room felt like it was shrinking, the walls closing in. He moved closer, his movements sharp and unsteady, and before you could step away, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

The grip wasn’t meant to hurt—it was meant to stop you, to hold you in place, to make you listen. But it was too tight, too rough, and the heat of his frustration burned through his touch.

“Chuuya,” you said softly, your voice shaking. “Let go.”

But he didn’t. His fingers tightened slightly, his knuckles white as his grip mirrored the storm raging inside him. He was too far gone, too consumed by his own emotions to realize what he was doing.

“Why can’t you just—” His voice cracked, and he stopped, his words hanging in the air like broken glass.

You tried to pull away, but his grip held firm, and panic began to rise in your chest. Memories you had buried deep began to surface, unbidden and cruel.

A voice from your past, cold and unyielding. “You think you can just walk away? You’ll never be free of this. Never.”

Colliding with the past in a whirlwind of fear and pain, the room around you blurred. Your breaths came faster, shallow and uneven, and the tears you had been holding back spilled over, streaming down your cheeks.

“Chuuya,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please.”

The sound of your voice—cracked, pleading—broke through the fog of his anger. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he froze, as though realizing for the first time what he was doing.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He released your wrist as though it had burned him, stepping back as if the distance could erase the moment.

Though you cradled your wrist against your chest, your body trembling as you tried to steady your breathing, the fear lingered, a shadow that refused to be banished.

Softly, he called out your name, his voice thick with regret. “I—fuck, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t—”

Yet, you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words caught in your throat, strangled by the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

Chuuya’s hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to reach for you or keep his distance. His eyes, usually so fierce and determined, were filled with something you had never seen before—fear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Bluntly, you looked up at him then, your eyes filled with tears, and for the first time, he saw the crack in your armor—the vulnerability you had always tried so hard to hide. And it broke him.

He sank to his knees in front of you, his head bowed, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m a fucking idiot,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “I never wanted to hurt you. I—” He stopped, his words failing him, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to love someone without breaking them.”

As you watched him, your heart ached at the sight of him so utterly wrecked. And despite everything, despite the fear and the pain, you found yourself reaching out, your hand brushing against his cheek.

Looking up at you then, his eyes were filled with anguish, and for a moment, the storm between you seemed to quiet.

“Chuuya,” you said softly, your voice still trembling. “We can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep—”

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know, and I swear, I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just—don’t walk away. Please.”

The desperation in his voice broke something inside you, and you nodded, though you weren’t sure if it was forgiveness or hope or something in between.

But as he pulled you into his arms, his grip careful and gentle this time, you couldn’t help but wonder if the cracks in your relationship were too deep to mend. And in the quiet of the room, as the storm finally subsided, you both realized that love wasn’t always enough to fix what had already been broken.

,

Always being harsh, Akutagawa’s words were sharp enough to wound, his presence suffocating like a shadow that never left your side. He wasn’t kind, not in the way others might be, but he cared in his own jagged, brutal way—protecting you with the same ferocity he used to destroy. You were his tether, his calm amidst the storm of his life in the Mafia, the one person who softened the edges of his wrath. But even tethers could fray, and that day on the battlefield, everything unraveled.

Unraveling so, the fight was chaos, the kind of chaos Akutagawa thrived in. His Rashoumon tore through enemies like paper, his focus deadly, precise. You stood at his side, as you always did, fighting with everything you had to survive in a world that rarely spared you kindness. But the enemy was relentless, and the tide of the battle began to shift.

“Stay back!” he barked, his voice cutting through the noise. His tone was sharp, impatient, but beneath it lay something unspoken—a thread of fear he refused to acknowledge.

“I can handle this!” you shot back, your determination blazing in your eyes.

Yet Akutagawa’s patience, already worn thin by the heat of battle, snapped. “You’re a liability,” he snarled, Rashoumon lashing out in a violent arc, meant to clear the way and shield you from the enemy closing in.

He miscalculated.

Instead, the tendrils of his power struck you, slicing through flesh and bone, sending you crumpling to the ground with a scream that cut through the battlefield like a blade. Blood pooled beneath you, stark against the dirt, and Akutagawa froze, the world narrowing to the sight of your broken body lying in the wreckage of his mistake.

Afterwards, the fight ended in a blur, your enemies retreating as the full weight of his actions crashed down on him. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out, unsure if he even had the right to touch you now. “Stay awake,” he ordered, his voice unsteady, the fear breaking through. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Coughing weakly, blood stained your lips as you looked up at him, pain and betrayal flickering in your gaze. “You… you did this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Akutagawa’s chest tightened, his breath catching as the truth of your words settled over him like a noose. He did this. To you. To the one person he swore to protect above all else.

The weeks that followed were a blur of pain and silence. You survived, but the scars—both visible and invisible—ran deep. You couldn’t look at him the same way, flinching when he raised his voice, shrinking away when his hands moved too quickly.

Trying to fix it in his own way— he muttered cold apologies under his breath, offers to train you harder so you wouldn’t need his protection, promises he didn’t know how to keep. But nothing worked. The damage was done.

One night, the tension broke.

“You don’t trust me anymore,” he said, his voice low but laced with a bitterness that cut through the room.

Slowly, you turned to him, your eyes tired, your body still healing from wounds he had inflicted. “How could I?” you replied, your voice trembling. “You’re supposed to protect me, Ryuunosuke. Not—” Your voice broke, and you looked away, unable to finish.

For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Then, with a voice that was quieter than you’d ever heard, he said, “I know.”

And he did know. He knew the pain he caused, the fear that lingered in your eyes whenever you looked at him now. He knew he had crossed a line he could never uncross.

Knowing didn’t make it easier. It didn’t make the silence between you any less deafening, or the nights spent alone any less cold. It didn’t stop him from replaying that moment over and over in his mind, the sight of you bleeding because of him seared into his memory like a brand.

He still loved you, but love wasn’t enough to undo what he had done. It wasn’t enough to erase the fear in your eyes or the distance growing between you. And now, as he stood in the shadows, watching you from afar as you tried to rebuild yourself, he wondered if it would have been kinder to let you go entirely.

Yet, Akutagawa didn’t know kindness. He only knew how to hold on, even when it hurt. Even when it was the last thing he deserved.

<3

[catcze]

「 ### : 」 Modern AU ish !! Reader’s weight/size/etc. is not mentioned !! Imo Wrio is strong as fuck, so it literally doesn’t matter how much you weigh because this mf will have you sit on his back while he does push ups and will come out invigorated and wanting to do like 20 more, but this is a warning just in case it breaks your immersion !!

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

Wriothesley wraps his arms around your middle, tugging you in close so you’re pressed up against his chest. You fight back the urge to melt into his warmth and give in to his ridiculous request. The cheeky smile he wears —undoubtedly aware of the effect he has on you— makes you grit your teeth and steel yourself out of pure spite.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, honey sweet and trying to be convincing.

“Wriothesley. No.”

“Sweetheart, baby,” he tries again, leaning to murmur it in your ear— the unfair, cheating shit. You’re not sure if you want to punch him or kiss his stupid face. “Love of my life. Person I’m gonna marry. Apple of my eye. Snookums—“

“Shut your mouth.” But he does not, and you’re on the verge of strangling him.

“Honey. Pookie bear.“ He grins, holding you tighter so you’re subject to listening to all the stupid ass nicknames he can call you. “My little discord kitten—“

At the sheer cringe and secondhand embarrassment, you slap a hand over his mouth with a grimace. It works, kind of. Wriothesley’s barrage of nicknames is silenced, but you can practically feel his smirk against your palm. You’re painfully aware of the firm but gentle hold he still keeps on you— painfully aware of how you’re probably fighting a losing battle when he’s this dead set on something.

“I am not going to sit on your back while you do push ups,” you say, and that smirk melts into a pouty little frown. “I already told you it’s dangerous. You could get hurt or something.”

He pulls your hand off his mouth by the wrist, expression looking less-than-pleased. “Sweetheart, if you think that I can’t lift you, then I must be doing something terribly, terribly wrong.”

“But if you’re worried about me, then how about this—“ he presses your hand to his cheek, holding it there with his own so he can lean into your touch and peck a quick kiss to your palm. “You sit on my back while I do my routine, but if you ever think that I’m pushing myself or I’m getting tired, then you can hop off and go back to what you were doing, okay?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but in the end you’re weak to him when he’s this sweet to you, and all you can do is sigh a small, ‘fine.’ If it makes him happy, then why the hell not—

And later, with Wriothesley in that unfairly flattering black compression shirt and you sat on his back, you absolutely eat your words. You can only sit in silent shock and hardly hidden appreciation when the man goes through more than half of the reps for his first set.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, watching in astonishment how he easily pushes up with your combined weight, not a single muscle trembling in overexertion. He’s not at all rushed, taking his time with each upwards lift so as to not jostle you. Wriothesley can hear the awe in your voice, and has the audacity to chuckle. He’s not even breathless.

“What did I say, sweetheart?” He sounds smug, proud— undoubtedly delighted to be able to show off in front of you. Like a puppy who was told he did a good job. You kind of want to kiss him. “So, want to help me out tomorrow, too?”

[rieamena]

two plus two equals six

nerd!takuma ino & popular-ish!fem!reader

contains... both of you being absolute losers and incredibly embarrassing. that's about it.

word count: 9.4k (its been a while since i've written something this long...)

riea's comments: it's been a terrible couple of days but this idea really stayed in my head and i really had to act on it. idk if its one of my best works but i still like it! i will prove my spot as the mayor of takuma city!!!

technically, you weren't supposed to bother him. something about threatening a restraining order but a threat is really just empty words, amiright?

"hey…," you called out towards the man just two feet in front of you, as a result of you sneakily sliding into the seat across from him at the cafe table he sat at. your lips hung on that final syllable, really stretching out that "eyyy". "you're in my gen chem right?" the harmonic clink of your bangles rang through the space you occupied as you focused on making your voice sound as sweet and sultry as possible

the man in question, y'know, the ones your friends call p.f.b.b.. the p.f.b.b. thing was all credits to you of course. every time you talked about that day's writing or chemistry lecture, he was always mentioned as just that: pretty face black beanie, even though "pretty face black beanie" never looked your way once. it was several continuous moments of pure delusion, your pure delusion

p.f.b.b. glanced up at you and gave a small head nod before turning back to his laptop. it had a clear case with a bunch of stickers from bands you didn't recognize amongst other things you assumed he liked. "of course you are! the chemistry between us is just so genuine maybe its cause you're such a gentleman!"

a giggle escaped you as you continued talking. "see what i did there? the gen from genuine and the gen from gentleman both correspond to the gen from gen chem. which i know means general by the way, i'm not—"

"are you okay?"

p.f.b.b.'s eyes were now trained on your form, looking with an expression you couldn't discern as anything but pure concern. but of course, for you, that meant something completely different. under his gaze, you felt your cheeks heat up and you began to fidget. "p.f.b.b., stop looking at me like that! you're making me shy…"

it was silent for a few seconds before he spoke. "why do you keep calling me that?"

"i'm sorry?" you tilted your head a bit

"this is maybe the third or fourth time you've called me p.f.b.b.," he takes a sip from his coffee cup before continuing to type away on his laptop

i've spoken to you before??? is what you thought

and its also what you said.

"well yes," he started, gaze never leaving the blue light of his device, "like that time i answered professor's question and you said 'wow p.f.b.b. you're so smart!'. or that other time when i picked up your pencil case for you as i was leaving the lecture hall. or when—"

"okay i get it! i seriously don't remember that happening at all though… maybe i should start taking memory pills…" you muttered

"i know you're popular and stuff but we're in university now. the bullying thing is outdated and super uncool."

you had to take a couple of moments to fully grasp what he was saying. he thought you were bullying him. he thought you were a bully. and worst of all, he thought you were uncool. your body shivered at that thought and a pit formed in your stomach

"wait—!" you exclaimed, even though he wasn't going anywhere, "first off, i'm not bullying you! the p.f.b.b. thing is an inside joke—"

"am i in on the joke?"

you froze in place. he got you there. "well no—"

"exactly. move to the second thing please." he bluntly stated as he took another swig of coffee

"okay um, i'm not uncool! i'm actually really cool. and i wouldn't consider myself to be popular either!" you scrambled to find your words and for each syllable that you said, you felt that pit in your stomach growing bigger

"everyone in the school knows you. you're popular." he said as he reached into his messenger bag, pulling out glasses and putting them on

you usually would be entranced, but you had way bigger fish to fry. "i—i can't be popular! what if someone asks me for the best date spots, or amazing places to eat, or secret secluded areas for a bit of privacy!? i'm not from here! i wouldn't know! and—and then i'll look like a failure! i'll look like a loser! p.f.b.b. i can't!—wait."

it was only when you stopped talking that he looked up from his laptop, "what…?"

you'd never noticed it before but his voice was really nice, almost to the point where even you would shut up just to hear him talk about any topic that came to his mind 

"are you from here?"

"uh, yeah? i was born and raised in this area. why?" p.f.b.b raised his eyebrow at your sudden question to which you sighed in response. "oh nothing…," you cupped your hands on your jaw and looked out a nearby window. "i just wish a local, y'know, someone who's lived here all their life and was born and raised here, knows all the ins and outs of the city…, yeah just wish someone like that would show me around. i'm still new here…"

"well, i hope you find that person."

your eyes snapped open to see him all packed up, headphones on, and that suspiciously never-ending coffee cup in hand. "bye for now."

sitting in shock was all you could do. and sit you did. a calm five or so minutes had passed before you noticed something shiny in your peripheral. a card, but not just any card, a pokémon card, but not just any pokémon card, an ultra rare pokémon card at the back of a phone, but not just any phone, p.f.b.b.'s phone

you struck gold. pretty face black beanie will certainly be looking for this soon enough, and then you'll be there to swoop in and save the day. and it'll go something like this…

"ugh, where is that thing!" p.f.b.b. mutters frustratingly

"what thing?" you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes

"my phone. i must've misplaced it."

"oh perhaps…" you walk over to where he's standing, his phone in hand, "is this your phone?" you look up at him cutely

"yes! this is my phone! you found it! how can i ever repay you?"

"oh… you don't have to. i was just looking out for you…"

"i know! let's get married!"

"well if you insist…"

"of course! i love you!"

cue flowers and glitter and sparkles 

you giggled from how creative and vivid the scene was but unfortunately that sound broke you from your delusion and brought you right back to the real world

"i have p.f.b.b.'s phone." you said flatly, opening the door to your shared apartment. shouts of "what?!" and "huh??!" filled the space as you set down your things and laid on the couch. your best friends quickly flooded the living room, throwing questions at you

"ladies, ladies, please. one at a time."

nobara hit your thigh, "stop acting so high and mighty! how did you get his phone?"

mimiko massaged the area as she listened to you, "so long story short, we were talking at a cafe and then he left but forgot his phone so i just picked it up!"

"so… you stole his phone." nanako stated

"no. he left it and i picked it up."

"wait— don't you know his schedule?" nobara mentioned, resting her head on the plush couch, "shouldn't you have been able to give it back to him?" 

"well no… i'm not a stalker! i just have general knowledge of when and where his classes will be during the week."

"so why didn't you give it back to him, instead of stealing it?" mimiko teased, now kneading at your calves

"not you too, mimi!" you whined, "like i said, i didn't steal his phone! he left it on the cafe table and i picked it up!"

their voices mixed together to try and get the same two words through that thick skull of yours

"that's theft!"

the arguing of you and your roommates concerning your concerning ethics filled your ears, preventing you from hearing anything else. especially that banging on the front door

nanako shushed you all, bringing her voice to a barely audible whisper, "do you guys… hear that?"

thump. thump. thump.

"its probably one of your packages," nobara mentioned, earning an enlightened nod, "you seriously have a shopping addiction."

the shopaholic stood up and walked over to the door, still whispering, "you're one to talk!" you, nobara, and mimiko watched on as nanako's hand slipped over the door handle and turned it open. you swore that the door wasn't even open for a full five seconds before it was slammed shut. "it's a man."

the four of you exchanged confused looks. "yeah… maybe it's the delivery man…? check for a package," you said reassuringly. the door opens and it closes. nanako's voice right after. "no package."

"well… uh… what does he look like? maybe he's returning something one of us misplaced?" mimiko stammered, feeling the tension in the air rise at the unexpected stranger. the door opens again and it closes again. "brown hair. brown eyes. he's kinda emo looking…"

"spencer's emo or hot topic emo?"

"spencer's."

"wait!" you realized, practically falling over yourself as you ran to the door and pulled it open, "its–!"

"uh, hi..." you said, voice suddenly small compared to your usual playful demeanor. he was standing right outside your apartment door, looking more tired than annoyed, though the crease in his brow said he was definitely annoyed

"hey," he replied, with little emotion. his eyes briefly flicked to your roommates huddled behind you, who had all gone suspiciously silent. "you have my phone."

you unfortunately understood his intentions of finding where you live. it wasn't to ask you on a date, or to take you up on that offer you made earlier, it was to get his phone. you could've lied and said you didn't have it but…

"i do!" you held it up triumphantly like some kind of trophy, though the look on his face immediately made you regret it. "...but i swear, i wasn't trying to steal it or anything!"

his eyebrow raised slightly, and for a second, you thought he might actually laugh. instead, he sighed and reached out his hand. "can i have it back?"

"of course," you said quickly, but just as you extended it toward him, you froze. "wait! how do i know this is really your phone?"

"i'm sorry?" he blinked, looking somewhere between incredulous and exhausted. "you know it's my phone. you picked it up."

"yeah, but..." you stepped back slightly, holding it just out of reach. "what if it's not your phone, and you're just some random guy who also happens to wear a black beanie and drink coffee in moody cafes?"

your roommates groaned audibly from behind you, and you heard nobara mutter something like she's impossible under her breath

p.f.b.b., stared at you for a long moment before pinching the bridge of his nose. "okay. fine." he held out his hand again, palm up. "ask me something only i'd know if it's my phone."

you paused, scrambling for a question. "uh... what's on the back of your phone case?"

"a meowscarada pokémon card. holo, rare," he said without missing a beat. "which you clearly already saw, since you're holding it."

damn. he had you there.

"okay, okay," you relented, placing the phone in his outstretched hand. "i believe you. say no more."

he chuckled softly—barely audible, but enough to make your heart do a little somersault. "thanks. i appreciate you picking it up. i was worried i'd have to replace the card."

before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "you must really like pokémon, huh?"

"it's nostalgic," he admitted, remembering his childhood. "my brother and i used to play together when we were kids."

your lips curved into a grin. "that's cute. guess you're not as emo as you look."

his head tilted slightly at that, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. "guess not. anyway..." he glanced past you at your still-curious roommates. "thanks again. i should go."

"wait!" you called after him as he started to turn. he stopped, looking at you expectantly. "how do you know where i live? do you live around here or something?"

"i… uh… live just over there," his thumb pointed behind him and you followed that direction to…

the unit right across from yours.

703.

"what?!" you gasped, "how come you never said anything? plus, i never see you in the mornings? how is this possible?!"

"one, we don't know each other well enough yet to know where the other lives," p.f.b.b. scrolled through his missed messages while he continued, "and two, i make sure to leave early and come back late every day just so i can avoid you."

grumbling, you wanted to slam the door in his face again but remembered that you had to choose peace. "that's great! i hope you're happy!" aaaand you slammed the door anyway

yet. we don't know each other well enough yet.

"oh p.f.b.b~!" nanako swooned

"oh [name]~!" nobara giggled

"insert kissing sounds and the actors are running their hands over the other's body." 

"stop that!!"

music was blasting and your spirits were up. you were practically skipping to your next class. that was… until you caught sight of a familiar head of blonde behind the granite fountain 

"uncle ken!" you called out, rounding the fountain's corner

"hello, [name]. what brings you here?" the well-composed man paused his previous conversation, giving his research assistant a silent apology while he focused on you

you nodded to p.f.b.b. before answering kento, "nothing much! just walking to my next class,"

"uncle…?" p.f.b.b questioned under his breath

unfortunately for him, his mentor picked up on it. "my apologies, i should introduce you two," kento turned towards the other man who seemed to regret his decision of speaking his thoughts, "ino, this is [name]. her parents and i are close so, naturally, she calls me her uncle. and—"

kento spun back to you, using his hand to motion towards "ino". you noticed a bracelet adorning his right hand. kento doesn't like wearing anything that's not a watch and it looks handmade and those colors… yellow, blue, black and brown??? how odd… "[name], this is takuma ino. he's been my research assistant for two years."

it was kind of weird to realize that p.f.b.b.'s name wasn't… well— p.f.b.b. like, he has a whole name: takuma ino. it hung on your lips and your tongue savored the taste. "hi," you spoke, giving ino a small wave. "hey," he responded, parroting your motions

"was that what you were working on at the cafe yesterday? some data stuff?"

"uh…, yeah. yeah i was."

kento silently watched this happen and even he was uncomfortable. there was a slight tension in the air. it was missable but apparent enough if you looked for it. he cleared his throat softly, bringing your attention back to him. "how are your parents?" he asked.

"they're good," you replied, smiling, though your voice carried a slight hesitation. "they always ask about you, by the way. mom wanted me to tell you that you're still her favorite."

kento allowed a rare chuckle, shaking his head. "i'm flattered, but i imagine that makes your dad roll his eyes."

"it does." you laughed

"speaking of family," you continued, "my brother is getting discharged from the military soon! and we're planning to have a little get together or something. nothing too crazy, but it'll be our first one together since he left and i know how much he loves you so…" your voice trailed off, hoping that the silence was strong enough to carry your unspoken words

"i understand. of course i'll be there."

kento smiled when he saw you beaming, on the verge of jumping up and down from happiness, and from the corner of your eye, you swear that you saw the corner of a lip curl up from that "ino"

"great—oh shoot—!" you checked the time on your phone and realized that… if you didn't go now, you'd be late. and that professor does not play. you showed up three minutes late to one of his lectures and he basically publicly humiliated you. "i gotta go but text mom and dad about it, okay uncle? bye now! bye ino!"

as you speed walked away, you felt ino's eyes lingering on you. a soft chuckle escaped your lips. takuma ino—you liked the way it sounded

the campus library was unusually quiet for a wednesday night, the usual hum of late-night chatter replaced by the occasional sound of a book being flipped or the muffled footsteps of a librarian making their rounds. you had no plans to be productive tonight; in fact, you'd come here specifically to procrastinate. or, more accurately, to bother someone

your target was easy to spot, tucked away in the far corner of the library like a hermit hiding from civilization. p.f.b.b was hunched over his notebook, one earbud in, one out, the faint sound of rock music drifting in the air around him

you made a beeline for him, sliding into the seat across the table before he could even process what was happening. "fancy seeing you here," you whispered conspiratorially, even though this was his obvious habitat

he didn't even look up, just sighed. "you're aware this is a library, right?"

"and you're aware you're in my study spot, right?" you countered, setting your bag down with an exaggerated thud

finally, his eyes flicked up to meet yours, unimpressed as always. "you… study?" before you could fight back, he continued, "anyways… pretty sure i've been coming here since the semester started, so if anything, this is my study spot."

"well that's too bad for you because i've been coming here since the first day i set foot on this campus," you shot back with a grin, leaning forward on your elbows. "but i'm willing to negotiate. how about we share?"

p.f.b.b. stared at you before shaking his head and returning to his notes. "as long as you don't talk too much."

"me? never."

silence settled between you for a few moments, a fragile truce held together by his focus and your determination not to annoy him too much. but that didn't stop you from sneaking glances at his notes

"why are you studying organic chem?" you asked after a while, squinting at the complicated diagrams on his page. "i thought we were suffering through general chem together."

"because i'm actually trying to graduate," he replied flatly

"well, me too," you said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in your chair

he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, finally setting his pen down. "if you're not here to study, what are you here for?"

you grinned, pulling a pack of gummy bears out of your bag and sliding them across the table toward him. "to make sure you don't pass out from starvation, obviously."

he looked at the gummy bears, then at you, his expression unreadable. after a beat, he shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "you're weird, you know that?"

"compliments will get you everywhere," you said, plucking a gummy bear from the pack and popping it into your mouth

for the rest of the night, you sat across from him, not saying much but somehow managing to get under his skin with every little comment or movement. oddly enough, seeing him work made you itch to do some studying of your own. and when he finally packed up to leave, muttering something about having an early class, he didn't tell you to leave him alone or call you annoying

instead, he paused just before he walked away, turning back to you with a bemused look

"thanks for the gummy bears."

"anytime— wait! aren't we going the same way…? wait for me!" you scrambled to pack up your pencils and books, stuffing them in your bag, not realizing that p.f.b.b—i mean— ino, was kinda, sorta, maybe, if you had asked him he'd say "no", but from what i saw, he was… waiting for you…

"then move faster, idiot."

you walked through the halls, passing numerous rooms, a small skip in your step. your body froze as you recalled a certain room's number, kento's research lab. walking back to where it was and peeping through the windowed door, you saw that it was… organized chaos. papers and binders were stacked, whiteboards covered in dense equations, and the faint scent of coffee could be smelled from outside the door. looking closer, you could see someone hunched over a desk, scribbling something on a notepad. ino.

you twisted the handle of the door, opening it with a push, "tough work?"

ino looked up from his desk, blinking at you in mild surprise. his hair was slightly disheveled and rid of that beanie, and there was a smudge of something that looked suspiciously like marker on his cheek

"i'm fine," he said, though the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. "really. i've got it handled."

you raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "you're drowning in… whatever this is. don't worry about it, i'll just provide extra assistance."

he groaned, leaning back in his chair. "seriously, you don't have to. it's not a lot of work."

the phrase held so much irony considering there were sheets upon sheets of paper, and towers of that. you guessed he realized his small lie once he glanced around the room

ino sighed but didn't argue further, instead gesturing to the mountain of work in front of him. "fine. if you're so eager to help, you can start with that pile over there."

you pulled up a chair beside him, scanning the papers and the spreadsheet open on his laptop. "okay, let's see what we're working with."

as you both settled into the task, the room grew quieter, save for the sound of typing or the rustle of papers

"you're surprisingly good at this," ino said after a while, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye

"surprisingly?"

he winced. "i didn't mean it like that. just… i didn't expect you to pick it up so quickly."

"thanks for the backhanded compliment," you said dryly, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips

he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "sorry. i meant it as a real compliment. you're making this way easier."

"you're welcome," you said, turning back to the spreadsheet. "but seriously, how have you two been doing this without losing your minds?"

"coffee," he said immediately

you snorted. "yeah, i can tell. your bloodstream is probably ninety percent caffeine at this point."

he smirked, but the teasing in his expression softened into something more genuine. "it's been… a lot. nanami keeps me grounded, though. he's really good at this kind of thing."

"yeah, he is," you said, pausing for a moment before adding, "but so are you."

ino blinked, caught off guard. "me?"

"yes, you," you said, glancing at him. "you're smart, ino. you don't give yourself enough credit."

he looked at you for a moment, his usual demeanor towards you faltering. "thanks," he said softly

the moment lingered longer than either of you expected, the air between you feeling just a bit heavier

the hours passed in a steady rhythm of work and banter sprinkled in, and by the time the sun began to set, the two of you had cleared more than half of the tasks kento had left behind

"see?" you said as you leaned back in your chair. "teamwork makes the dream work."

ino laughed, shaking his head. "alright, fine. you win. maybe having you here wasn't the worst thing."

"don't get too used to it," you teased, grabbing your bag. "next time, i might just let you suffer alone."

he playfully shot you a look while stretching in his chair, "hey, how about i show you around."

"what? are—are you joking?"

 he got up and packed his bag with never before seen speed, "yeah. i am."

"you—!"

"follow me."

ino led the way out of the building, his energy contagious despite the long day you both had. the evening air was cool and refreshing, the city humming quietly as the golden glow of the setting sun bathed everything in a warm light

"i know this great spot," he said with a grin as he walked slightly ahead, hands casually stuffed in his jacket pockets. "you've been here for a while, but have you actually seen the good stuff?"

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "define 'good stuff.'"

he smirked over his shoulder. "you'll see."

as you followed ino down the bustling streets, the city seemed to transform as it got darker. neon lights flickered to life, illuminating the shop windows and casting colorful reflections on the wet pavement from an earlier drizzle. the aroma of street food mingled with the faint scent of rain, creating a vivid tapestry of sights and smells

"so," you began, dodging a biker weaving through the crowd, "what's the first stop on this magical mystery tour of yours? please tell me it's food. i'm starving."

ino grinned, gesturing dramatically toward a food cart that had a line of eager customers. "you, my friend, are about to experience the best takoyaki this city has to offer."

"oh, come on," you teased, falling in step beside him. "isn't that what everyone says about their favorite food cart?"

"don't disrespect taro-san like that," ino shot back, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "this man has been perfecting his craft since before i could hold chopsticks."

moments later, you stood together, balancing plates of piping hot takoyaki drizzled with sauce and topped with dancing bonito flakes. ino took a bite, his expression almost reverent. "see? what did i tell you? food of the gods."

you took a bite, and your eyes widened. the crisp shell gave way with a soft crunch, revealing the molten, creamy filling inside. it was so warm it nearly melted on your tongue, a perfect blend of savory depth and a subtle sweetness that made your mouth water instantly. the octopus at the center was tender, just the right amount of chewy, and so fresh it almost seemed to bring a whisper of the ocean with it. the sauce on top was like a burst of fireworks—sweet and tangy, with a smoky undertone that paired flawlessly with the creamy mayo drizzled alongside it

you had to pause for a second after swallowing, just to appreciate it. the warmth lingered in your mouth, and you already knew one bite wouldn't be enough. within seconds the entire thing was gone, but you couldn't give ino the satisfaction of being right

"it was alright i guess." you shrugged, "i suppose you're not as full of it as i thought."

"right…," ino said with a suspicious grin, nudging you lightly with his elbow. "stick with me and i'll make you a connoisseur."

he didn't waste any time bringing you to the next point of interest, grabbing your hand with his and dragging you to a small, secluded alley lined with string lights and small artisan shops. it was beautiful, to say the least

"it's… quieter here."

"yeah," ino agreed, his voice softer now. "this is one of my favorite spots. it's like the city pauses for a second."

you glanced at him, noticing the way his eyes softened as he looked around. "you come here often?"

"used to, back when i needed to think. or when i was avoiding studying," he admitted with a sheepish grin

"you? avoid studying? how unlikely…" you sneakily caught a glance at your still interlocked hands, noticing a small, oddly colored, handmade bracelet around ino's wrist. but it seems you were staring at it for far too long

"oh! sorry!" he stuttered, pulling his hand from yours, and bringing it to his chest. you immediately felt the slight chill of the night but still flashed a bittersweet smile that conveyed something of a don't worry about it. out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the shops practically twinkling. getting a closer look, your wallet itched once you saw the array of jewelry and hair accessories. it was sorted by color and then by type, gold earrings on the far left and silver necklaces on the far right. but you were inexplicably drawn to one item: a hair clip with four small, white seashells on it

"that one?"

ino's voice next to you made you jump slightly. giving him a small hit on his shoulder, you followed his finger to the item you were just admiring. "yeah, that one. it's really pretty, isn't it?" ino hummed in response, surprised to see you turn away from it and walk down the alley instead

"but…, maybe i'll get it another time."

after a minute or so of window shopping the rest of the stores, ino caught up to you. "next up is the park. you can't say you've really seen the city until you've walked through it at night."

once you got closer, ino pointed at the beautifully lit area in the distance. lanterns illuminated the paths, and the sound of a bubbling fountain echoed softly. children chased each other, their laughter carrying through the crisp air, while couples strolled hand in hand. ino brought you to a bench overlooking a pond, the moonlight reflecting off its surface like a scene from a painting

"alright, i'll give it to you," you said, leaning back and stretching, stomach craving that takoyaki from earlier. "you weren't kidding. this is incredible."

"see?" ino said with a smirk, leaning back beside you. "i'm full of surprises. and speaking of that… here." ino reached into his left pocket, pulling a small item out, and pushing it into your hands

staring down at it, you realized it was the seashell hair pin you were eyeing from earlier. overrun with happiness, you flung your arms around ino, showering him in thank you's. pulling away and on the edge of bouncing in your seat, you slipped it into your hair, looking at ino for validation

"how does it look?"

oh. oh.

she's… beautiful. though, i've always known that…

thanking the cashier and gathering your bags, you made a beeline for the exit. you see, you were trying to make it home as quickly as possible because it was friday and you and your roommates always watched a specific show on friday nights. you guys ordered in and it was just amazing, until nanako said that she was craving your cooking, everyone agreed, and then you somehow lost the four way rock, paper, scissors on who goes to the store to get the ingredients. so here you were, standing under the awning of the nearby grocery store, bags in hand, watching the wall of rain as it drenched the street. the rain that wasn't in the forecast and the kind of downpour that left everyone scrambling for cover

great. just great.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a text from kento

kento: the rain was unexpected. are you alright?

you sighed and quickly typed back

you: yeah, just stuck waiting for it to stop. don't worry, i'll figure it out

after a couple minutes of you standing and contemplating your next move, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and the passenger window rolled down, revealing p.f.b.b.'s grin that even though you've seen about three times, you'd never get used to

"need a ride?" he called out, leaning casually over the center console

you blinked at him, caught off guard. "what are you doing here?"

"i was with nanami when he mentioned you," he said, shrugging. "said you were stranded. figured i'd play the hero."

you tried to cross your arms but the weight of the bags were kind of weighing them down, "play the hero driving kento's car? do you even have your license?"

"hey—," he explained, raising his voice just a bit, "it may be nanami's car but he said i could take it! and yes, i do have my license!"

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "alright, fine. but what about these?" you gestured to your grocery bags

"pop the trunk," he said, pressing a button on the dash. the trunk lid opened smoothly. "problem solved."

with a sigh, you stepped into the rain long enough to stow your bags before climbing into the passenger seat, shaking droplets off your jacket as you settled in. the interior was warm, the faint scent of leather and air freshener filling the space

"comfy?" he teased as you buckled up

"more than i'd be waiting in that rain," you shot back

he laughed, the sound light and easy, as he pulled back onto the road. the rain drummed steadily against the car, but inside, it was quiet, almost peaceful

"alright, then…, let's go home."

home, huh?

the blue light of your laptop pierced your eyes as you typed the final words of your assignment, and submitted it, chemistry work abandoned at the edge of your desk. as you were looking at it ashamedly, a ping came through your phone

xxx-xxx-xxxx: have you done the writing assignment yet?

you: wrong number

xxx-xxx-xxxx: no. it's p.f.b.b.

you: oh! how did you get my number?

p.f.b.b.: don't worry about that. did you do the assignment?

you: yeah i just finished. why?

p.f.b.b.: can you come over? i need some help with it. in exchange, i'll help you with your chem work that i know you didn't start

you: well since you're offering…

"do you still even like him?" nobara questioned, "before you'd be jumping up for joy."

"yeah, i do," you put your laptop and chemistry work and textbook in your tote, grabbing some snacks from the pantry too, "i'm just not as upfront about it anymore. maybe it's cause we're friends now, but i don't know!"

you slung your tote bag over your shoulder, opening the door to your apartment and saying a quick "i'll be back" to your girls. walking just across the hall and knocking on his door, you barely had time to exhale before it swung open to reveal ino in a hoodie and sweats, his hair slightly tousled like he'd just slipped off that beanie

"right on time," he said with a grin, stepping aside to let you in

"you texted me like two minutes ago—"

"make yourself at home," he interrupted, already moving to clear space for you

his apartment mirrored yours in layout but had its own chaotic charm—textbooks and notes spread across the coffee table, an empty coffee mug sitting precariously on the edge

you dropped your bag and slid onto the couch, pulling out your laptop. "let's see what you've got so far."

ino groaned, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. "barely anything. writing isn't my thing."

you rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "that's what i'm here for."

the second session, where you both stumbled through the assignment, bickering over comma placement and syntax while munching on the snacks you brought. you teased him for his messy handwriting, and he fired back with jokes about your overuse of sticky notes

the fourth session, where ino finally made good on his promise to help you with chemistry. he sat cross-legged on the floor, explaining concepts in a way that actually made sense while you leaned over his shoulder to read his notes

the sixth session, where the stress of exams had both of you yawning into your notebooks. he brewed coffee—terrible coffee—but the gesture made you smile. you fell asleep on his couch that night, waking up to a blanket draped over you

or that one time he showed up at your door, unannounced, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a thick textbook in the other for an "emergency study session,"

today was no different. you walked over to ino's apartment that he graciously started leaving unlocked around this time—just for you. walking in and greeting him briefly, you sat on his couch, your knees brushing against his as you both hovered over the same textbook as you reviewed chemical equations. the proximity made it hard to focus; you were acutely aware of the way his shoulder brushed yours every time he shifted, and you wondered if he was too 

"see?" you said, pointing to a diagram. "like what does that even mean? what does this show me?"

"okay so, this shows esterification.  ethanoic acid and ethanol produces ethyl ethanoate and water in the presence of an acid catalyst like sulfuric acid. the reaction begins with the acid protonation of the carbonyl oxygen of the carboxylic acid, making the carbon more electrophilic." he replied, the words falling off his tongue with ease

you glanced up at him, finding his eyes already on you. though the usual playful spark was there, his words went in one ear and out the other, and you felt embarrassed that you didn't understand a word except acid, produces, reaction, and catalyst

neither of you spoke for a long moment. the tension was palpable, the world outside his apartment fading away until it was just the two of you in this bubble of uncertainty and longing

"ino, repeat that for—" you started, but your words were cut off as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so tentative it felt like a question

your breath caught, your mind racing even as your heart leapt. what is happening right now? it was almost an immediate reaction that you kissed him back, the touch lingering just long enough to send your thoughts spiraling before you pulled away

"i—" he started, his expression a mix of surprise and hesitation. "i didn't mean to—"

you shook your head, rising from the couch as you scrambled to gather your things. "i should go."

"wait," he said, standing as if to follow, but you held up a hand to stop him

"i'll… see you later," you murmured, avoiding his gaze as you slipped out the door

the walk across the hall to your apartment felt endless, your heart pounding in your chest. once inside, you leaned against the door, your fingers brushing your lips as you replayed the moment over and over

what the fuck?

the party was in full swing, a cheerful celebration of your brother's long-awaited return. laughter and chatter filled the room, plates of food were passed around, and glasses clinked in endless toasts. you were busy setting a tray of drinks on the counter when you spotted takuma ino standing near the door, looking a little out of place but still managing to charm a small group of your family members and friends with his easygoing smile

your steps faltered, your chest tightening. he hadn't mentioned he'd be here. not that you blamed him—why would he? last night's kiss wasn't a topic either of you seemed ready to breach today. but still, the sight of him caught you completely off guard

turning on your heel, you found kento by the kitchen, nursing a glass of wine. marching up to him, you jabbed a finger in his direction

"why is he here?" you hissed, keeping your voice low

kento raised an eyebrow at you, calm as ever. "he's here because i invited him. your brother wanted to know more about my project. what better way to tell him about it than to bring my research assistant? why?"

you rubbed your temple, biting back a groan. "look, i'm not saying that he can't be here, but… you could've given me a heads-up."

kento's gaze turned suspicious, and his lips twitched into a slight frown. "why would you need a heads-up? haven't i introduced you two?"

you felt heat rising to your cheeks, the embarrassment seeping into your voice as you fumbled for an explanation. "well, yeah, formally, but he and i—we—we're—he and i—NO!"

kento stared at you, unblinking, while you buried your face in your hands, muttering curses under your breath. his frown deepened, and you could practically feel his uncle intuition kicking in

"wait," he said slowly, his tone sharpening. "what do you mean, 'he and i'?"

"nothing!" you snapped, dropping your hands, "i meant nothing. just—just forget i said anything."

kento's expression didn't waver. he studied you for a moment longer before sighing and shaking his head. "whatever you're freaking out about will pass. ino's a good guy."

"yeah, i know," you muttered under your breath, glancing back toward ino, who was now engaged in a conversation with your brother. his laugh echoed across the room, and you couldn't help the flutter of nervous energy it sent through you

as the party continued in full swing, you moved around the room, trying to keep busy—refilling snacks, grabbing empty plates, and avoiding ino's gaze whenever your paths seemed to almost cross

you weren't sure how long you could keep this up. every time his laughter reached your ears or you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, your heart seemed to skip a beat. the kiss from last night lingered in the back of your mind, a constant, unspoken weight

you had just finished setting down a fresh tray of drinks when you heard a voice behind you

"hey."

you froze, recognizing it immediately. slowly turning around, you found ino standing there, his hands holding a can of soda; they were shaking. his usual smile was softer now, almost nervous

"can we talk?" he asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear over the party noise

your heart sank and leaped at the same time, "uh, sure. now?"

he nodded. "yeah. just for a minute. outside?"

you hesitated, glancing around the room. kento was chatting with your brother near the couch, and the rest of the guests were engrossed in their own conversations. no one would miss you for a few minutes

"okay," you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended

ino led the way to the front door, holding it open for you before stepping out into the cool night air. the silence stretched as you stood there, arms crossed against the slight chill. ino rubbed the back of his neck, clearly searching for the right words

"so," he started, his tone careful, "i uh… figured it was probably a bad idea to bring this up inside. with, you know, everyone around."

you nodded, unsure of where he was going with this. "probably."

he let out a small breath, finally meeting your eyes. "about last night…"

your stomach flipped. of course, he'd bring it up. you'd been bracing for this moment all day, but now that it was here, you didn't know what to say

"look," he continued, "i don't want to make things weird between us. especially not with nanami, or your family, or—"

"it's not weird," you interrupted, surprising even yourself. "at least, it doesn't have to be."

his brows lifted slightly, a flicker of hope in his expression. "really? because i was worried i'd screwed things up."

"you didn't," you said quickly. "it's just… unexpected."

ino nodded, stepping closer. his voice softened, almost hesitant. "i don't regret it, you know. the kiss. but if you're not okay with it, i'll back off. no questions asked."

the sincerity in his tone made your chest ache. you looked up at him, taking in the way his usually confident demeanor seemed so tentative now

"i didn't say i wasn't okay with it," you murmured, barely louder than a whisper. "believe it or not, but i've been flirting with you for a while now."

ino blinked at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. "wait… what?"

you tilted your head, giving him a look that said seriously? "flirting, ino. you know, dropping hints, teasing, trying to get you to notice me?"

he stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if the realization was slowly dawning on him. "you're kidding."

you let out a soft laugh, part amused and part exasperated. "no, i'm not kidding. you're telling me you didn't pick up on any of it? not even when i started making excuses to see you more?"

ino's hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that familiar sheepish way. "i thought you were just being nice! like, nanami-level nice."

you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "nanami-level nice? ino, i bought you coffee with your weirdly specific order three times in one week. kento would never do that."

he opened his mouth, then closed it, a look of genuine shock crossing his face. "wait… that was flirting?"

"yes," you said with a small laugh. "and the time i told you your new haircut made you look good? or when i made sure there was always a snack for you at kento's? flirting, ino."

ino's jaw dropped slightly, his hands falling to his sides as he processed your words. "oh, my god. i'm the dumbest guy alive."

"well… maybe," you said, trying not to laugh at his adorably stunned expression

"i am," he insisted, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "you've been into me this whole time, and i've been walking around like an idiot, completely missing it."

you couldn't help but laugh now, the sound easing the tension between you. "well, now you know."

he took off his beanie and ran a hand through his hair, still looking flustered but with a hint of something softer in his eyes. "yeah. now i know."

for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet night stretching around you. then, almost shyly, ino glanced at you again. "so… does this mean i can kiss you again? like, now that i'm finally catching up and all."

you smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. "i think that depends. are you going to keep being oblivious, or are you going to start paying attention?"

he grinned, his usual confidence flickering back. "oh, i'm paying attention now. promise."

before you could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours as his gaze met yours. slowly, he leaned in, his lips expecting to meet yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was certain, but… instead they met your pointer finger

"do you hear that? i think someones calling for me." you walked back into the house, leaving ino to wallow in his self-inflicted embarrassment for a while

the convenience store's fluorescent lights buzzed softly above the aisles, casting a harsh glow on shelves stocked with instant noodles, snacks, and cheap energy drinks. you and ino—or, as he let you call him in private, takuma—had wandered in after a long evening of hanging out at his apartment, the kind of night where laughter and teasing filled the silence

takuma leaned against the refrigerator door, his black beanie pushed back enough to reveal a few strands of his messy hair. he squinted at the drink selection like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries

"you've been staring at that for a full minute," you teased, sliding up beside him. "it's not that deep. just grab the green tea like you always do."

he smirked without looking at you. "and miss out on your expert critique of my choices? never."

you reached past him to grab a bottle of sparkling water, your shoulder brushing his arm. it wasn't much, just a small touch, but it was enough to make the air between you shift. for a second, it felt like the buzzing of the fluorescent lights got louder, the hum filling the space where words should be

he cleared his throat, stepping back just slightly. "you always drink that fizzy stuff. isn't it just soda pretending to be fancy?"

"it's called having taste," you corrected, placing it in your basket

"right. taste," he said, rolling his eyes but smiling anyway

as the two of you wandered through the aisles, the quiet of the late hour settled over you, broken only by the occasional sound of a cashier scanning items. you found yourself in front of the snack section, takuma trailing behind you with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets

"you want anything?" you asked, holding up a bag of chips

"nah, i'm good," he said, but his eyes lingered on the pack of pocky in your hand

you smirked, tossing it into your basket. "liar. i'll grab it for you. consider it a thank you for giving back that hoodie you stole last week."

"i didn't steal it," he argued, though his tone was more defensive than adamant

"oh, so it just walked out of my closet on its own? how did you even get in?"

he scratched the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "mimiko let me in… and… it's comfortable."

you grinned, but decided to let it go. instead, you nudged him lightly with your elbow as you headed toward the counter. "next time, just ask. i might even let you keep it."

he followed you in silence, but when you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest hint of pink on his ears

after paying for your haul, you stepped outside into the crisp night air. the streets were quiet, the kind of stillness that felt rare in the city. takuma walked beside you, the pocky in his hand already opened

"you're eating that now?" you asked, digging through the bag for that sparkling water of yours

"why not?" he said around the stick in his mouth, offering you the box

you took one, the chocolate coating melting slightly against your lips. for a moment, the two of you just walked in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier still lingering but softer now, like a thread pulling you closer without snapping

"thanks," he said suddenly, his voice quiet

"for what?" you asked, glancing at him

he shrugged, not meeting your eyes. "i don't know."

"he knew. he definitely knew," you insisted, gesturing wildly as you paced the living room

mimiko tilted her head thoughtfully. "but if he knew, why wouldn't he just say something?"

nanako smirked. "maybe he's waiting for you to say something first. or maybe he's just an idiot who can't read the room."

nobara clicked her tongue. "i mean, the guy's not exactly subtle. pretending he needs help with writing assignments? clearing his schedule to go grocery shopping with you so that you never have to carry the bags in by yourself? and don't even get me started on how he looks at you when you're not paying attention."

you threw up your hands, exasperated. "what am i supposed to do, just march up to him and demand he explain himself?"

"yes," they chorused

"ugh!" you groaned, grabbing your bag and stomping toward your room. "i don't wanna do this anymore!"

their laughter followed you down the hall, but your irritation evaporated the moment you stepped inside. on your desk, there was a letter

your name was scrawled across the front in unmistakable handwriting. your breath caught as you picked it up, hands trembling slightly as you unfolded the paper. the words inside were written with care, each line pulling at your heart:

to you, the one who's always on my mind,

i've started and restarted this letter more times than i can count, and even now, i'm not sure if i've found the right words. how do you tell someone that they've completely changed the way you see the world? that their laugh is the best sound you've ever heard, or that their smile makes even the worst days feel a little brighter?

i've never been good at this—putting my feelings into words—but for you, i'll try. because you deserve to know how incredible you are, even if i can't say it as smoothly as i'd like.

you have this way of making everything feel easier, lighter, just by being yourself. and it's not just the big things, like how you help me with work or how you always know exactly what to say when i'm frustrated. it's the little things too. like how you hum under your breath when you're focused, how you tilt your head when you're confused, how you always manage to start an argument over the stupidest of topics, how you light up when you talk about something you love. it's those little things that make me fall harder for you every day.

i don't know when it started—maybe it was the late nights we spent working together, or maybe it was how you didn't let me quit when things felt impossible. but now i don't think i want to stop. you make me want to be better, just so i can be someone worthy of being by your side. and maybe i'm not saying this the right way, but i hope you understand what i mean.

i don't know what you'll do with this letter, and maybe i'm an idiot for writing it (and asking mimiko to put it on your desk for me), but if nothing else, i just needed you to know.

yours (if you want me to be),

p.f.b.b.

your chest tightened, emotions flooding through you as you reread the letter. before you could realize it, you were across the hall, in front of takuma's door

you knocked on it and pushed it open without waiting for a response. "takuma—"

he was standing in the kitchen, and your eyes immediately caught the bouquet of your favorite flowers on the counter. the vibrant blooms were arranged with care, their familiar scent wafting through the room

takuma turned, his face a mix of surprise and panic. "oh. uh… hey."

"you're unbelievable," you said, holding up the letter, trying to fight back your smile

his ears turned red as he scratched the back of his neck. "so, you found that."

"takuma, what is this?" you gestured to the flowers and the letter, your voice a mix of exasperation and something softer

he hesitated, looking uncharacteristically shy. "i… i wanted to tell you how i feel, but every time i try, i just… i mess it up. so, i thought maybe this would be easier."

you stared at him, your heart pounding. "and the flowers?"

"i thought they'd make you smile," he said simply, stepping closer. "do they?"

you felt your lips twitch despite yourself. "they do."

his shoulders relaxed slightly, but the tension between you only seemed to grow. his voice dropped, softer now. "i meant every word in that letter. i did."

your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted, "why didn't you tell me sooner? i've been…" you trailed off, shaking your head

"been what?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours.

"waiting," you admitted. "i've been waiting for you to say something since the party. anything."

takuma stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours. "i'm saying it now," he murmured. "i care about you. a lot. more than i probably should. and if i'm being honest, you terrify me a little because of how much i feel when i'm around you."

your heart twisted at his words, and before your mind could find a reason to say no, you leaned up, capturing his lips in a kiss. it was hesitant at first, soft and searching, but when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, the world seemed to melt away

when you pulled back, both of you were breathless, his forehead resting against yours

"i think we should date," he said, a small smile playing on his lips

you laughed softly, your nerves giving way to warmth. "i think we should too."

his grin widened, but before the moment could get too serious, he quipped, "does this mean i get to steal your clothes now?"

you smacked his arm playfully. "i'm pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around."

"hey…, what does p.f.b.b. stand for?"

"mmm," you hummed, looking at your… boyfriend. "don't worry about it."

jjk taglist

@blendingcaramal @gzchaos @theamazingrain @woah-girlz @voloslobotomyservice

@kyozvy @obessionofagrl @bubybubsters @sugurusbaobei @raindropsonrwses

@c-moon20-12 @saltynanobeanie @theamazingrain @synthiiiiis @ghostlyluminarycloud

@poopyyy @supernatrualqueen @bxrbie-jadeee @laitifly @babysoo-meu

@cheesecake95 @strawberry-cherrypie @makeshiftproject @magiamad0ka @ncitygreen

@mayyhaps @oniondrip @cloudy-yyy @definitely-not-leena @kidd3ath

@atigerandabear @russianremy @ohnoitsamistakee18 @ivy-vivii @ourfinalisation

@1ndee @yourhornysister @ancientimes @cupcaketeddybehr @tomikixd

@e-dollly @ozdramaqueen @nymphsdomain @beeksyurr @colorcode

@baekhyunsbestie @vorfreudevortex @leuriss @xaithings @corvid007

[woso-story]

Bad Driver

Alexia Putellas x Reader

It was a crisp Friday evening, and the anticipation of date night had you buzzing with excitement. Alexia, your longtime girlfriend and the love of your life, was getting ready in the bedroom while you paced the living room. The plan was to drive to your favorite restaurant, where you’d made reservations days in advance. Usually, Alexia drove her sleek Cupra, but tonight, you felt a spark of rebellion—you wanted to drive for once.

When Alexia emerged, radiant in a fitted blazer and her signature confidence, you smiled and said, "Babe, I’ll drive tonight."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You? Drive?" she asked, her tone light but her expression anything but.

“Yes, me. Why not? You always drive. Let me take the wheel this time,” you replied, grinning.

But Alexia didn’t hand over the keys. Instead, she shook her head with a nervous laugh. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll drive.”

Confused, you stepped closer. "Why not? It’s not like I’m a bad driver or anything."

She hesitated, her gaze darting away. "It’s not that. I just… prefer to drive myself, that’s all."

Her response only deepened your suspicion. You crossed your arms and gave her a pointed look. “Alexia, you’re a terrible liar. Just tell me the truth.”

Alexia sighed, running a hand through her hair. After a long pause, she finally muttered, barely above a whisper, “I don’t think you’re the best driver.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

She winced, clearly regretting her words. "It’s not a big deal! It’s just… every time you drive, I get a little nervous."

“Nervous?” you echoed, bewildered. “Why would you be nervous? I’m a good driver."

Alexia bit her lip, as if debating whether to continue. Finally, she said, “Well, you’re often over the speed limit. And you’re late on the brakes… like, really late. Sometimes I think we’re going to hit the car in front of us. Oh, and there was that time you drove over the curb and scratched my rims. Twice.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “You noticed that?”

She gave you a sheepish smile. “I… might have had them repaired. Twice.”

Her confession hit you hard. You couldn’t believe you’d never noticed how nervous she felt. The thought that she didn’t trust you to drive her car made your heart sink. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Alexia said softly, stepping closer. “You’re amazing at so many things, mi princesa. Just… maybe not driving.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t land. You felt embarrassed and hurt, retreating into silence. The drive to the restaurant was quiet, the usual easy conversation replaced by an awkward tension. Even dinner felt different, with you picking at your food and Alexia watching you with worried eyes.

---

The dimly lit restaurant, usually your haven of laughter and love, felt muted. Alexia’s gentle attempts to pull you out of your shell failed to break through. Her jokes felt forced, and her compliments only deepened your self-consciousness. As dessert arrived, Alexia reached across the table to take your hand. "I’m sorry if I upset you. That wasn’t my intention."

You nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "I know. It’s just… hard to hear."

As you left the restaurant, Alexia stopped you by her car. “Here,” she said, holding out the keys.

“What?” you asked, frowning.

“You’re driving us home,” she said, her tone firm.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m not doing it now."

“I had a little too much to drink,” she countered, giving you a small smile. “It’s up to you now.”

You hesitated, suddenly suspicious. “Was this your plan all along? Get me to drive so you can complain about how bad I am?”

Alexia laughed, but her expression softened. “No, I just want to show you that I trust you. You’ve got this.”

With a sigh, you took the keys and got into the driver’s seat. The drive home was smooth, largely because you were hyper-focused on every move—checking mirrors, braking early, and staying well under the speed limit. Alexia’s amused glances didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re doing great,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

For the first time that evening, you felt a flicker of pride. That is, until you reached the garage of your apartment complex. As you turned the corner, Alexia shouted, “Careful!” but it was too late. The screeching sound of metal against concrete filled the air.

Your heart sank as you parked and got out to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the rim was scratched—again. Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned to Alexia. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for the repair this time.”

Alexia walked over and pulled you into a comforting hug. “It’s okay, mi amor. It’s just a rim.”

“But I ruined it… again,” you mumbled into her chest, tears streaming down your face.

“Shh,” she soothed, stroking your hair. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re perfect to me, rims and all.”

---

Back in the apartment, Alexia made you tea and held you close on the couch. Slowly, your embarrassment faded. She didn’t try to fix the situation with words; instead, her steady presence spoke volumes. The warmth of her embrace and the rhythm of her heartbeat calmed you.

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

She kissed the top of your head. “Always. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, snuggling into her.

After a few minutes of silence, a laugh escaped you. Alexia tilted her head, curious. “What’s so funny?”

“I always wondered why you never let me drive,” you said, grinning. “Now I know.”

She chuckled, pulling you closer. “You’re the perfect passenger princess, mi amor. Let me drive you wherever you want to go.”

Smiling, you nestled into her embrace, the tension of the evening finally dissolving. With Alexia, you knew you were safe—in love, in life, and yes, even in the passenger seat.

[gothwineaunts]

Wow, hello!

So, I was actually feeling pretty motivated to write this post yesterday. But things have gotten exponentially worse, and I admit the pressure is getting to me. There seem to be a ton of expectations surrounding what I should be saying here, in order to… I guess, absolve myself? As if there’s a checklist people want me to go through to perform the “perfect” creator apology. But, I don’t see the point. I care a lot about this community and I think you deserve something a lot more sincere than some hollow chat-gpt apology. I understand that that’s foolish, on my part. Things are done that way so often because they work. But what you’ll find throughout this post, is that I’m kind of an idiot about some things. I’m stubborn and hard-headed and a little bit pretentious. And so, what I’m planning to do here is to simply tell you the truth about what happened. No cherry picking. All my mistakes, but also the context that goes with them. And at the end, my formal apology. This is a long and winding tale with a lot of characters. I’m going to be sharing some usernames as we go, in the interest of clarity and transparency. You’ll understand why with the context. But please do not seek these people out. Don’t pick fights with them. It will only make everything worse, for all involved.

Cool? Cool. But first I need to address the elephant in the room. This will probably seem like irrelevant drama at first, but this is the nuance and background that I wasn’t adequately able to articulate the night before last. In more ways than one, this is a story told in twos. The first set of twos is you, the readers. Who you are, and what you’re hoping to find out in this post.

1.      The overwhelming majority of you, are earnestly wanting to understand what has happened in the Nevermore Discord. You are concerned that I am not who you hoped I was. You are disappointed, and I understand why. To you, I am so sorry. I want to say that things are not as bad as they seem, but that is not for me to decide. You will need to draw your own conclusions from the words I write. And I understand, whatever you choose to do next.

2.      And there is a small, but incredibly vocal minority of people who are absolutely living for this. They are spreading complete fabrications with no screenshots to speak of. Horrible, horrible accusations. People who are more excited about watching a dumpsterfire than they are about the series that brought them here in the first place. I’m not going to attempt to cater to those people in this post. Because nothing will ever be good enough. Everything that can be taken in bad faith will be taken in bad faith. It would be pointless. But you’ll see them in the comments and reblogs. This is a known group to not only myself, but many others. I will share some of their names in a later section so you know who to watch for. They will make a lot of noise around this post because they’ve been trying to make something like this happen for actual years. And now that I had a genuinely concerning response that good people reasonably want me to explain, they’re lunging at the chance to throw absolutely anything at the wall. It’s parasocial levels of hatred. This is some deep and horrible lore.

The next set of twos is how two things can be true at the same time. And that is exactly what is going on here, in this situation. Let me be really clear, because I don’t want either truth to be lost in my explanation as they are intrinsically linked to one another.

1.      I did a downright terrible job explaining myself in the Discord when people started asking about crimson. I can give you all kinds of contributing factors for this, and I might later. But none of them really matter. It was incredibly careless of me to use “egging them on” and “cried wolf”  to describe what I understood. At the time I was really laser-focused on expressing what happened as simply and quickly as possible because the channel replies were paused and I felt like everyone was just waiting for me to be finished with my message. But after stepping back, I immediately understood how badly I messed up, because of course these idioms are routinely weaponized against survivors of SA and CSA. That is not how I intended to use them. It was an unfortunate case of one thing looking and sounding like another thing. Incredibly ham-fisted and irresponsible on my part. To the survivors who read my words and felt that it echoed their past experiences, I’m heartbroken that I did that to you. That lapse of judgement was a betrayal to both you and me. I don’t know where my head went, and I’m just blown away by my own lack of awareness in that message. So for that I am and will continue to be sorry.

2.      The second thing that can be true is that, while you are all absolutely owed an explanation and an apology, there are also some people amongst you who are using this fuck-up on my part as a springboard to take me down.  These people have been trying to get a call out post to pop off about me for at least a year, and they have been very quick to jump into the reblogs and comments about this very serious topic with complete lies and slander. Just, anything that might stick to the wall. We’ll address this later on as well. But please understand that me discussing the harassment I’ve faced from these groups is not at the expense of me also owning up to my faults and taking the proper accountability.

And the last set of twos is one I’ve alluded to in the first sets, concerning a pair of toxic side-servers that ran adjacent to the main Nevermore Discord. Completely unofficial cliques. And invisible to myself and Flynn and our mod team. We were eventually made aware that both of them were breaking laws and Discord ToS in ways that leaked into our server and affected our members negatively. As such, both groups were mass-banned. And the cliques are the ones running a majority of the discourse you’ve been seeing here, because while they are formally banned from the discord, we have absolutely no say in their participation on Tumblr. Now, keep in mind. Both of these groups were uncovered after crimson was banned the first time. That’s important later.

Clique #1

My understanding of the first group is that it started as a gaming server for people who met one another through the Nevermore Discord. I don’t know when or why it started being used to talk shit about other readers, but I do know that it got really vicious. And it was sort of an open secret for long before I knew anything about it. I found out after that there were a lot of people passively in this server, just observing. It was that much of a spectacle.

Now, this clique had been pretty rude. Like they’d try to start fights with me in the discord fairly often, both in the Patreon and free spaces. But it wasn’t grounds for dismissal until we found out about the baiting and the alts.  These people had a lot of grievances, but one really united them: they were extremely upset about anyone who would ship Prospero.

Many of you know, that Prospero is an aromantic character, canonically. And you may notice that canonically, he has no apparent love interest. But this group wanted to make sure other readers were not thinking about Prospero in relationships, or creating ship content of him for any reason on the grounds that it would be considered a “proship.” I told them (and I stand on this) that it’s not up to them to police the thoughts of other readers, and that aromantic people have widely varying lifestyles and experiences and do not need to be infantilized that way.

This turned out to be a bad move on my part, because it brought with it an onslaught of alt accounts coming in and "innocently" kicking up what I now refer to as the “prosp-aro” debate every time they had the chance. But because of this and what a common occurrence it was, we started being able to pick out the alts. And we realized that this group of people had been using the same alt accounts with different names to antagonize certain readers they’d decided they hated, and it had gone on for a long time.

I did a lot of investigative work in dms trying to figure out who all was responsible for the harassment, and settled on a list that was vetted by three different people who knew about the clique. And all three of these people insisted that, while Laci was in the group and in a lot of the screencaps saying pretty dubious things, that she was good people. So I believe them, and let Laci stay. This group was banned on April 3, 2024, and contained the following users:

-          lilnatx (nat)

-          suitino (sushi)

-          jj_the_jet_plane (layden)

-          rivsticks (jasper)

-          atheimee (athena)

-          jinxs.com (lanx/jinx)

-          smartestginger (nico)

-          thereallandofbugs (bugs)

-          rosienemui (rosie)

These were the names they were known by on the Discord. I don’t have the Tumblr accounts tied to these identities. But some might be the same. I know a lot of them are here.  It should be noted that jinx was later unbanned due to pressure from Laci that they had been banned in error, after the fact. We allowed them back in after a few days as a favor to Laci since the situation seemed like it was very stressful for her. This would prove to be yet another a mistake since, as you have probably seen in the screenshots from the night before last, jinx rapidly escalated things to another level while I was trying to figure out how to handle crimson’s unbanning and subsequent rebanning an hour later.

Clique #2

Phew. Still with me? Great. The second group we needed to ban was one that actually started long before the first one, but was a lot smaller and comparatively more subtle. This group, to my knowledge, cropped up around the time that ep. 39 of Nevermore was released. (11/10/22) We knew about this group but not who all was involved in it or in what capacity for a very long time. They would consistently post things on Tumblr trying to start a scandal. I recall posts alleging that we were racists, or SA apologists, or that we were sending death threats to a random confessions account.

To be clear, these allegations are completely false. This clique will say anything. Like a recent post one of them put up during this discourse said that hiwi (our mod) is both a r*pe apologist and a childhood friend of mine and that’s the only reason she hasn’t been banned. Hiwi is absolutely nothing of the sort, and I have never met her in person. In fact, she lives on the other side of the continent.

Now, this clique is a little different than the first. The first, to my knowledge, was a group of friends that got toxic and felt morally superior about their opinions and it all kind of got away from them. The vibe was a little catty, I guess. Gossipy. But this clique has more of a stalker vibe. It’s dark.

They’ve had it out specifically for me for as long as I can remember. And some of them (at least one, at all times) would subscribe to our patreon, both to sow dissent in our stream chats and also to leak literally all the content back to the others, including me talking about random shit like what I ate for lunch. Just so they could like. Laugh about it, I guess. I’ll never understand why. [Editing note: because in the final moments of proofreading this post I see one of these people has made some master post about what a terrible person I am? A lot of those screenshots are from Patreon channels and the guy STILL has them laying around. I’m telling you, they stole everything that wasn’t nailed down.] 

The biggest grievance this clique had is that any ship with Montresor is an “SA fetish ship” because to them he is a r*pist because of how he made Ada bark (?) and since Montrada is canon, that means we are supporters of SA, and that Morella and Ada should be together instead. Listen, I’ll level with you, this one baffles me. I don’t even know how to begin to untangle it. But if you see a lot of vitriol about us being SA apologists from these users, it’s because Montresor exists. That’s pretty much it.

You can ask them for screencaps ‘til you’re blue in the face, but unless they build fake ones from the ground up, they’re never going to be able to back up their wild claims. Simply put, they’re provocateurs, and they use the scariest words they can to whip people up into a panic.

We became aware that they were leaking patreon content when one of them was caught publicly referring to things that were being said behind a paywall when we knew they weren’t a patron. It unraveled from there.  People who knew about their antics shared screenshots and information with us, and we finally realized the scope of the clique’s hatred and banned whoever was even left in the Nevermore Discord. But they continue to be active in the community on tumblr. You’ll have seen them around. They were banned on 5/11/2024 and the names involved are as follows (again, a mishmash of discord names, nicknames, and tumblr accounts):

- percy (gremlinguy145 on tumblr)

- queenmorningrose (annabel-lee-nevermore on tumblr)

- spoopycactus630 (spoopy-nevermore-dump on tumblr)

- grif/horrorshow (conscience-grim on tumblr)

- unreqiknizd

- duke aralt (westofthestyx)

- eden (sapphic-mad-scientist on tumblr)

- priemium

Again I’d like to reiterate. The point in sharing these names is not to incite any sort of response against these people. But they are folding themselves into the fray and doing what they can to whip everyone else up into a mob, and all as we’re talking about a discord server that they have been banned from for months now. The above context is also relevant for the next section, which is why you’re all here in the first place.

What the hell happened with Crimson?

I hope it’s not confusing, but now we’re going back to 3/14/2024, before anything I just outlined above had come to light. The cliques were quietly doing their harassment and baiting and raiding and whatever-the-hell behind the scenes, but Flynn and I and the mods were blissfully unaware of how bad it was getting. We get a dm from Laci. The same Laci who was part of Clique #1 and was rescued from being banned with the others by her friends outside the group. Jinx’s friend, who managed to get them unbanned as well. You have probably seen these screencaps already, but I will show them to you again, just in case.

Sufficed to say, we were immediately alarmed by the information Laci shared in her DM with us. Now, I want to be very clear about this because it’s been lost in the game of telephone. What Laci outlines in her dm to me, were the events that occurred between six users (including crimson) in a group chat with minors. Everyone in the evidence was censored (pfp and username), as was the image that crimson showed them. When I asked, Laci agreed to give me one name of one of the minors in the dm. I’ll call them Alice, but that is not their real name. I asked if I could talk to Alice about this, I was told by Laci, no. Alice doesn’t want to talk. I was like, ok I understand, that’s fine. 

I hope it makes sense when I say that it is not feasible for us to moderate the things that happen in peoples’ dms. As you’ve seen above, the mod team doesn’t usually get involved with drama unless whatever is happening is directly affecting the experience people are having in the Nevermore Discord because that is all we can see and the only place we have any real authority.  But this was obviously a special case. We banned crimson very quickly without asking any follow-up questions, because of course we did!? I’ve seen people say I’m harboring or defending crimson or that we’re buddies but we barely spoke, ever. They were a stranger to me then, and they still are now.

But something about the entire situation wasn’t adding up to me. And I want to be clear that none of this is in any way meant to discredit csa survivors, I’m really just trying to put you in my headspace and walk you through my thought process. But I found that the evidence was just, sort of strange. Laci started her dm explaining that she found this information out because she and a group of people were investigating crimson for ‘art tracing’ which felt, to me, like a bizarre non-sequitur and totally irrelevant next to the evidence of them showing nsfw content to minors. Petty, kind of. Like I wanted to ask – why were you doing that in the first place? People trace Flynn’s art all the time. As long as they’re not selling it, it’s not a big deal.

Most of the crops are from a PC but the windows are oddly small, and only contain a couple messages at a time. Some have American formatted time and some have European formatted time. So different users, I assume? The names were blotted out, which I would understand for a public call-out but not for a private report to the mod team. Laci was not in this gc at any point in time, despite being the one to report. 

One of the users was apparently 12, to which I ask – what is a 12-year-old doing on discord at all? If we knew who they were, we would have reported the account. Discord is not a safe place for a child that age, let alone a small group chat. Along with 18-year-old Crimson, there was also a 22- and 17-year-old in the chat, which left us wondering – why hadn’t anything been done?

I had no evidence that anyone ever told crimson they were minors, and I feel if it existed, it would have been in the screencap dump (I find that sometimes a noticeable lack of key evidence is evidence in itself). No one seems to have tried to kick crimson from the group chat or report their account for inappropriate behavior. Then there’s the fact that this is a group chat. Anyone in it can leave at any time. 

Then I came across the messages that started this whole gc, and it only got stranger when I realized Alice started it, called it “Women Lovers” and created it “so we can talk about Nevermore women without having to filter ourselves” after they all reacted to a sultry but sfw drawing of Lenore that crimson had made and posted in our hideout channel. And all that made me wonder why Alice didn’t just kick crimson, if she had admin power?  Do you see what I mean? It’s just all a bit head tilty. I noticed it at the time. But I said nothing. Because it didn’t matter. Crimson, no matter what happened, exposed minors to nsfw content. And that’s on them. And I’ve never in my life defended it. We banned them.

Crimson was beside herself. She came off humiliated and apologetic, and insisted she had no idea and begged to come back to a community she said she loved. But we told her no, there’s no coming back from doing what she did.

Time passes and we uncover Clique #1. And while we figured out who the main players were, I dmed with Laci. And it was Laci herself, who tells me that it was Alice who made most of Clique #1’s alt accounts, and that it was Alice who used those alt accounts to harass people and try to get them to start fights or say something that might get them in trouble. 

And I’ll be honest with you, the mod team still didn’t think much of it, outside of – we need to figure out which accounts were the alts. So we did. We had several confirmed to us.  And those accounts were zeroing in on certain users that the clique didn’t like. At the time we noticed two notable targets in addition to the mod team. I won’t name them, it’s their business if they want to weigh in about all that. But in screencaps, they’ll be labeled Target #1 and Target #2.

More time passes and Clique #2 comes to light. As you can imagine, by now we’re feeling disillusioned, and very tired of trying to moderate shit we cannot see for ourselves. And that’s when crimson comes back to very hesitantly ask if they might be able to appeal their ban. It wasn’t until then that it occurred to us that Laci (on behalf of Alice) was the only one who ever reported anything to us about Crimson. 

And I want to just say that again. Because it’s gotten lost too. Laci was the only person who ever reported Crimson. There was not one single other person who ever sent a modmail or a dm or even a ping to anybody on the mod team. I have since (only yesterday) seen some screencaps that are rather skin crawly, but even those happened in yet another side server. Thinking on this, the mods went back through the known alt accounts Alice had used. And they found that Alice harassed crimson both on her main account and on the same alt accounts that she used to harass the other targets.

By now, Alice is banned for completely unrelated reasons. Not because of what happened with Crimson. I’ve seen that one flying around and I’m sorry it’s just not true. It’s because she was relentlessly harassing and cyberbullying people in the discord we moderate. Laci is still there, but had lost my trust, for being involved with both the drama I’ve mentioned here and more that I don’t care to dip into. It’s ultimately irrelevant. But what am I going to say to Laci? “Hey, did you and Alice, by any chance, coordinate some kind of bizarre trap together to get crimson banned from the discord because you suspected them of tracing their art?” And once again. Because I want to keep this top of mind. Even if that were the case, it doesn’t make what Crimson did alright, and it never will. Sharing nsfw content in front of minors is a disgusting thing to do. And one that we frankly are really irritating about in the moderation of the discord. I’ve heard people say that we over-moderate when it comes to art. 

But all this stuff about a “known pedophile?” If it was known, then we were on the outs. And to even this minute right now, I don’t have any conclusive evidence that Crimson is a pedophile. The evidence I have is that Crimson shared nsfw with a group of people whose ages they did not know. Which is fucking gross. It’s an adult’s responsibility to make sure they’re speaking with other adults before posting things of that nature. 

But at the time, the way I read the situation is that Crimson had only just stopped being a minor and was egregiously negligent in how they were speaking and what they were posting, likely in part due to them not being aware enough of their adult responsibilities.  And hey. I know some of you are chomping at the bit. You can call me naïve for this! This is what I’m referring to when I say that I can be a real idiot. But I feel everyone has been very quick to call Crimson a pedophile. I know this is pedantic to say, but the prerequisite for being a pedophile is “being attracted to minors.” Based on the information I had at my fingertips, I did not think Crimson sought out these minors. Crimson was invited to the gc, they did not ask to join. 

I have seen discussions about all the things crimson did to their victims since we unbanned them but I have not seen screencaps to support that whole ‘marriage proposal’ thing, and again I think it sounds a bit odd coming as a pedophilia accusation from someone only one year younger than crimson.  

But you know what? I don’t know crimson. Maybe we were wrong. But even if we weren’t, I realize in hindsight that it was a stupid decision for the mod team to give them a second chance. We didn’t have anyone to consult about what happened because all the other people in the chat had been obscured from me and I didn’t feel like Laci would give me a straight answer. 

The mods and I felt at the time that crimson, like the other targets of Clique #1, had been singled out and that they deserved another very closely monitored chance in the discord, which they said they still missed dearly. I’m a bleeding heart, alright? A total sap. I know that. But being honest with you, I felt bad. It feels horrible to be singled out and targeted. And I was probably too close to that feeling at the time, seeing as we were on the tail end of finding out the Clique #2 had pursued me so relentlessly for so long. 

So for my part, I’m sorry. I made a rash decision that was influenced by some very personal circumstances. And we should have left it alone. Based on the evidence I've seen, I don’t know if I personally would call crimson a pedophile and certainly I wouldn't call them a known pedophile, but I am regretful that we risked it either way.

When I was trying to explain all of this in the west common room channel two nights back, things had boiled over and were already getting out of hand very quickly. A lot of brand new accounts were joining the discord with one word intros just to start conflicts in the public server with crimson. Alts. Either from banned users or burner accounts. And I got panicky. One of the mods paused the messages in west common room but no one besides me was available to handle the situation at that moment. Reacts about being silenced were pouring in and I felt pressured to quickly take over and try to explain. 

In my rush, I stupidly didn’t backread more than a quick skim. And I ate shit, y’all. You saw. One thing I want to state outright. I’m talking a lot about my thoughts and my feelings and it’s because I don’t wanna speak for Flynn or for the mods. But I didn’t make this decision alone. In fact, I was dragging my feet and being really lazy about okaying the whole thing. Just because I was busy, not because I was fretting over it or anything. But I had to be pinged and then literally tapped on the shoulder by Flynn, asking me to respond to mod chat when this was being discussed earlier that day. That doesn’t change the fact that I was part of the decision. I agreed to unban crimson. Foolishly. I understand that, now. 

I hope that now it makes some more sense though, how it came to happen. I never meant to hurt anyone. My own past and present feelings got in the way, and I own that. But in the moment, my personal intention was to give crimson a second chance because I felt that they’d been targeted by Clique #1. Not to ignore anyone’s concerns or make them feel unsafe, even if those were the ultimate outcome.  

So, completely underprepared and defensive, I jumped into west common room and I just. Blew it. Totally fucking blew it. I knew it instantly but it’s hard to stay logical when people are telling you you’re vile and evil and they’re sick that they ever thought you were a good person and that they’ll never see you the same way again. My mind went blank and I don’t really remember much of what happened next. But I said what I said, and I should have done better. 

I wish there was a word bigger than sorry. I’m beside myself. I know there was probably a way to make everyone happy. To make everything okay. But I wasn't clever enough to figure it out in the moment, and it eats at me. So it’s like I’m sorry for my poor judgment and my terrible choice of words, but there’s another layer where I’m also sorry for not matching how wonderful this community is with how wonderful (or well, unwonderful) I was two nights ago. I promise I am going to work harder to be better for you all.

Again, to every victim of SA and CSA, my heart is with you, more personally than you might realize. I don’t think I could have handled my explanation in a worse way. And I’m so so sorry.

Moving forward, I am also going to take an enormous step back from moderating and participating in the discord in general. I feel like a lot of this happened because I was still treating it like it belonged to a smaller fandom, like Shiloh’s. But realistically, I don’t have time to both moderate and make the series itself, and I really dragged my feet on being honest with myself about that. And for that too, I apologize. We’re going to get more mods, they’re going to have full control of the moderation, and Flynn and I are going to do what we love more than anything in the world and just make Nevermore.

I understand if you won’t be there for it. This is not a flattering picture I’ve painted for you. And you’d be well within your rights, to decide not to give us another chance. But it's been a pleasure to lurk here in this wildly talented corner of tumblr. And I’ll never forget it. <3 Yours truly, -Kit Trace

[saphronethaleph]

He's the Calm One

“Give yourself to the dark side,” Vader advised, as he stalked through the darkened areas of the throne room. “It is the only way you can save your friends. Yes, your thoughts betray you. Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for…”

He paused.

“Your sister,” he said, interested. “So, you have a twin sister. If you will not turn to the Dark Side, then perhaps she will!”

“No!” Luke shouted, springing out of cover, lightsaber held ready.

Vader moved his own blade in a block, then stopped a moment later as he realized Luke wasn’t actually attacking.

“You mustn’t make her turn to the Dark Side,” Luke said, voice laced with urgency.

“I must not?” Vader asked. “That is not up to me-”

“No, father, that’s not what I mean,” Luke replied. “It’s a matter of safety. Personal and… galactic.”

Vader’s expression did not change, because he was wearing a helmet.

“You realize that I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said. “Who is your sister?”

Luke paused.

“Leia,” he said. “You should know that, father. Maybe now you’ll understand.”

Vader’s helmet tilted slightly.

“What?” he asked. “I never felt a thing. Her emotions never betrayed her.”

“She didn’t know,” Luke pointed out. “I didn’t know until you told me.”

“Still…” Vader mused. “The Force can be strange… but you seem insistent on keeping your sister from the Dark Side.”

“You’ve met her, haven’t you?” Luke asked.

Vader paused, giving that due consideration.

“...I suppose she would probably be suited to the Dark Side,” he said. “She would make a good apprentice.”

“You’re not listening,” Luke complained. “She would be a terrible person to have as an apprentice in the Dark Side of the Force, specifically.”

Vader attempted to glare at Luke. “You fail to understand the value of passion to the Dark Side.”

“Why have you stopped fighting?” Palpatine demanded, from the other side of the throne room.

“We are having a moment,” Vader called back. “I am attempting to turn Luke to the Dark Side by using his family members against him.”

“Very well!” Palpatine said. “Continue! That usually works.”

Vader inclined his head, slightly, the only sign of what was probably a frown under his helmet.

“I may need to think about that,” he said, under his hissing breath, then returned his attention to Luke.

Who was gesturing for emphasis.

“Maybe I’m not getting this across properly, Father,” he said. “But perhaps… you sent Han to Jabba the Hutt, didn’t you? You knew him?”

“I do not know Jabba the Hutt, son,” Vader retorted, his voice dark with rage. “I know who Jabba the Hutt is. But I fail to see the relevance.”

“As part of the plan to rescue Han, she got captured,” Luke explained. “Jabba chained her up and made her a dancing girl. The moment I began to fight during the rescue, she cut the lights and strangled him with that very chain.”

He stared into the eyes of Vader’s helmet, unblinking and unbowed. “Do you understand, Father?”

Vader considered that, then nodded, very slightly.

“I begin to see your point,” he said. “Damn.”

“If Leia turned to the Dark Side and was made an apprentice to you or the Emperor, it would be extremely bad for the health of everyone inside this room,” Luke summarized. “And also for the galaxy, more generally, though it would at least be run efficiently.”

“The Emperor has brought order to the galaxy,” Vader said, in a sort of distant voice like he wasn’t fully paying attention to the conversation.

“Have you seen how much he’s spent on pointless superweapons that get blown up by the Rebellion?” Luke shot back.

Vader held up his free hand, and for a moment Luke wondered if his father was about to use the Force… only for it to mean nothing more than a request that Luke be silent for a moment.

“...humour me, son,” Vader said. “What, exactly, is your plan here?”

“With surrendering myself to you?” Luke asked, and got a slight nod. “I hoped to be able to convince you that you’d done something wrong, and that you could realize that there was still good in you. That you were not trapped in the Dark Side, and could – if you truly wished it – return to the side of good.”

He paused. “...I will say, Obi-Wan and Yoda both told me it was impossible.”

“They do that,” Vader said, still sounding distracted. “And my daughter was raised by Bail and Breha, and she ended up… hm.”

“...Father?” Luke asked, after several seconds of silence had elapsed.

“I am just realizing that you are, apparently, Padme’s child of the two of you,” Vader said. “She killed Jabba the Hutt? Really?”

“Really,” Luke agreed. “Since you send Han to Jabba, we came up with a plan.”

He twirled his lightsaber. “First, I gave Jabba the droids C-3P0 and R2-D2, after concealing my lightsaber in R2. Then Leia turned in Chewbacca for the bounty, while disguised as an Ubese, and threatened to set off a bomb. Finally I came in to ask politely for Han’s release, offered Jabba one last opportunity to free us while about to be thrown into the Pit of Carkoon, and when he refused I killed… about half of Jabba’s entourage. Leia got Jabba and the other half when she rigged his sail barge to explode.”

“...this is a new feeling,” Vader said, almost to himself. “This must be paternal pride. Damn.”

“Have you turned him yet?” the Emperor called, waspishly.

“I’m working on it!” Luke called back.

Vader missed a breath, then his respirator worked overtime to recover.

“I still want to turn my daughter to the Dark Side,” he said, once he’d recovered. “But mostly to find out what would happen.”

“Fair,” Luke admitted. “I’m curious as well, but I don’t want to be in the blast radius and I’m fairly sure the entire galaxy would be the blast radius. Even if we were both trained Jedi I’d insist on being the one who came along, because I’d rather see you alive instead of a sort of faint ozone sheen in the air.”

“What is taking you so long, Vader?” Palpatine demanded, stalking over. “By this point, someone in this room should be dead. This delay is entirely tiresome!”

“All right,” Anakin replied, and pushed Palpatine off the bridge.

“...do you think that counts as dark side or not?” he added, glancing at his son. “I’m genuinely not sure, he was a very old man…”